Delay—Presentation of the child—Against the Crow
No opportunities for escape presented themselves after the birth of her daughter. Through the winter, she remained in a weakened state from her confinement and did not recover as quickly as she should have. A new mother was given no privilege of rest or increased food in the native culture. As a captive, Anne was treated exactly as she had been before, albeit now she had the added care of a baby.
After the child had survived to a month old, she was presented to Snake Man and his wives during a feast day. The chief chucked Solace under the chin but after that took little interest in the babe. He did insist that Anne again sleep inside the teepee, where he visited her nightly. Luckily, due to her poor health, she did not conceive the whole following year.
Neha had gone for the winter to visit her father’s tribe, and although Anne had begged to accompany her, such privileges were not given to a captive. The wives would not want to do without her labor. Anne was bereft without her company.
During the third year of her captivity the tribe covered twice the distance as the previous year in search of buffalo. The women lagged and complained that the pace was too arduous for the young and the old.
In the fourth year they traveled equally far but were not even rewarded with adequate hunting. They were reduced to scavenging nuts and berries, and the future held no promise of their lot improving.
* * *
ON ONE PARTICULARLY DIFFICULT JOURNEY, the grandmother of one of the chiefs, a woman so bowed and wrinkled as to appear beyond age, sat down roughly and dropped the sack she carried. The women around her stopped and urged her on, one even willing to shoulder her sack. The old woman would not yield.
Camp was made early, and a lodge erected specially for the old woman. The women cooked her dinner, and then sat with her all night telling stories of past exploits in which she had figured. Anne was touched by their solicitousness, thinking it reflected well on them. In the morning they stored the food from the night before, along with dried meat, pemmican, nuts, and gourds of water, in the lodge, along with a supply of firewood. They exited, packed up, and readied to resume the trek.
Anne was stricken, realizing they meant to leave the old woman behind. The previous night’s kindness had been a leave-taking. The cruelty stung her, more so because it had been done to one of their own. Anne crawled into the tent with the woman.
“Come, I will help you walk.”
The woman would not meet Anne’s eyes.
“Go, daughter.”
“Then I will stay.”
“I am going to the beyond country. It is not your time.”
Anne stood outside, bawling, when a young warrior came up behind and gave her a hard kick. Her reactions shamed not only the family but the whole tribe. Her tears were judgment. This private necessity of survival was accepted by both the old woman and the family, by everyone except a stranger.
* * *
AS WAS THEIR CUSTOM, the chiefs met in council and decided to solve the problem of scarcity by going to war against the adjoining Crow tribe and taking over the hunting lands they possessed. The territory had been ceded in a battle against the Sioux so long ago that only the eldest of the tribe could recall its legend from their childhoods. The area was so vast it could not be ridden across from sunrise to sunset, and the game on it was enough to again make the tribe fat.
The village operated at a feverish pace for days in celebratory preparation: warriors cleaned and sharpened their weapons; women prepared food to carry in case of a prolonged battle; horses and warriors were painted for strong medicine and bravery. The tribe was a warrior society, and this activity gave it life. In spite of herself, Anne was drawn into the excitement. The yearning for greatness among the young men matched that of young men back home. The warriors wheeled fearlessly around on their horses.
As was always the danger, the delay for preparation allowed the enemy to learn of the coming attack and take the offensive.
* * *
SHE WOKE TO the high-pitched war cries of enemy Crow riding through their village and shooting guns. Warriors quickly sprang to action and overcame the invading force. A half-dozen enemy fighters were killed; the survivors fled to regroup with a party waiting in the hills. While the women packed to retreat, the warriors prepared to counterattack.
Anne watched one old grandfather hurriedly paint his face. With difficulty he dressed himself in skins and needed help to climb onto his horse’s back.
“He is too old,” she said to Neha.
Neha shrugged. “In the old days, when the men became weak they would go to war. It is not so necessary now, but some still choose battle. They do not want to burden their families.”
The grandfather did not return, and there was great mourning over his bravery after his passing.
The Cheyenne warriors followed the Crow back to the main enemy camp. Thinking themselves safe, the Crow had lodged along a river to repair from the rout they had suffered. When warriors appeared on the bluffs, crouching along the necks of their horses and draping themselves in buffalo robes, the disguise worked so well that a dozen Crow jumped on their horses for this easy target. The Crow were halfway to their enemy when they realized their mistake, and by then it was too late. The fight would go down in legend, proving the cunning of the Cheyenne.
Back in the village, warriors went about torturing the enemy Crow prisoners left behind. The attack had breached the rules of warfare: why had they not simply counted coup instead of killing? Instead they had intended carnage, fighting as the white man, with as little mercy. The Crow had learned bad ways.
Anne was horrified by the hilarity and carnival atmosphere with which they went about the punishment. While one prisoner was still alive, they made a puncture in his abdomen and pulled out his intestines, unspooling them to wrap him around a small sapling tree. As he fainted they set brush and logs around his feet then roasted him alive. Unfortunately for him, he revived in time to understand his fate. His cries most certainly haunted his friends in the hills.
When the victorious warriors rejoined the tribe, they were proud and yelled in triumph at their victory over the Crow, yet it was clear that their numbers were diminished. As each family learned of its loss, anguished cries rose up. Anne was astonished at the severity of their mourning given how they cherished warfare. Women cut off their hair in rough chunks. Both men and women made ritual gashes on their bodies to express their grief. Many painted their faces black, which combined with their bloodied bodies rendered the scene into a hellish vision.
Runs Swiftly, the brother of Snake Man, lost a grown son. He slashed his own arms and legs so severely he almost died from loss of blood. When warriors returned to him the bones of his son, he put up a special tent and set the bones inside it. Each day he had his wife bring a clay bowl filled with all the dishes prepared that day. He set the bowl outside the tent flap. Runs Swiftly spent each day sitting beside it, explaining to passersby that his son was sleeping inside, recovering from his wounds.
“When he wakes he must eat to gain his strength.”
As Anne passed by, he stopped her.
“Child, my son needs fresh water.”
Anne was confused, but the old man seemed so sorrowful she went along with his wishes. She brought a container of fresh water from the river and placed it by the food.
“Sit with me,” Runs Swiftly said.
So she sat, enjoying the small respite from her duties. She flinched when one of her chief’s wives spotted her, afraid she would be beaten, but they dared not anger him.
At the end of the night when Runs Swiftly fell asleep by the campfire, exhausted by his vigil, Anne devoured the food and drank down the water.
The next morning, the grieving father seemed comforted by this evidence that his dreams were true. He demanded his wife bring another filled bowl. The woman suspected what was going on but did not dare upset her deranged husband.
No one begrudged Anne the food because it was clearly cursed, and she would suffer for it. At least she would suffer fat, she reasoned.
One night Runs Swiftly awoke as she was finishing the food. He stared into the fire without comment. Anne was unsure how much he understood of what had happened to his son and did not dare apologize.
“My son is a very brave warrior.”
“I have heard.”
“It was enough in the old days to be brave. I do not think it is enough any longer.”
“No.”
“He knows you are hungry and shares his food.”
There was no reply that Anne could make to that.
She recalled the terrible days after the loss of her own family. Such self-torture as the Indians practiced might have been a relief, matching her turmoil inside. Or perhaps it would have been better to live in delusion as Runs Swiftly. Her only relief then had been to repeat her prayers, yet how bloodless and pallid a mourning that seemed by comparison.