part0007

T HE fur-wrapped figure sitting on the high ledge jutting from the cliff was as motionless as the rock formation behind him and the barren shelf upon which he sat. He had been in this position as the first gray of dawn had begun thrusting back the night and he had not moved as gradually the stars were extinguished and the sliver of moon paled in the brightening sky.

He had not turned to watch as the sun lifted free from the slightly rippled waters of vast Lake Huron, which stretched to the horizon behind and to the left of him, nor did he indicate any appreciation of the warmth of its rays, which dispelled the cold grip of night that had held him so long. Even when several hours more passed and the waters of the lake below had changed from black to gray and then to greenish and now to startling blue as the sun rose ever higher in a cloudless sky, he did not move, although great beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead.

He had taken this position late in the afternoon, two days and three nights ago. In the woods below he had divested himself of all clothing and with nothing but the beaver-skin robe and his medicine pouch he had climbed to this lofty perch. He sat cross-legged, with his hands in his lap and the robe pulled around him. He had remained motionless until now.

It was difficult at first, as it always was. First had come the discomfort of his stationary position, followed by the chill of the breeze blowing up off the lake. Then had come the thirst and the hunger in great engulfing waves, but he remained motionless and they passed. Several times during the first night and the day which followed, he dozed; but even during these brief sleeps his rigidly disciplined muscles held him in place and he did not sway, nor did his head nod. Another night and another day and another night had passed and yet he waited for the vision that he knew would come, just as such visions had come to him numerous times over these many years — just as they had come to him three times in the past on this very rock ledge.

He was an Indian, lean and muscular and tall, though hunched as he was beneath the fur robe, he seemed drawn down in size, dwarfed by the great rocky outcroppings. His unbraided hair was thick and black, falling unadorned to his shoulders. His features were angular, expressionless, reflecting the gray cragginess of the face of this cliff.

His tribe was Chippewa 1 and he had been born forty years before on this very island, as had his father and his grandfather and perhaps even fathers before them. Their bones remained here, as perhaps would his own someday, for this was a sacred island. It was the home of the Great Spirit, and as this deity was the Great Turtle, so the island was named after Him in the Chippewa language — Michilimackinac. 2

Although well known and respected in his own village, this Indian sitting silently on the ledge was not markedly outstanding in the tribe. He was a minor village chief, a relatively ordinary individual, the head of his own large family but not from a line of tribal chiefs nor inclined to such leadership. He was satisfied with his lot.

His name was Wawatam.

The life he led was an essentially simple one. Below him on the level ground about a half-mile away, his family was at this moment engaged in caring for the newly sprouting crops — the corn, turnips and squash that were the vegetable mainstays of the village, along with the peas and watermelons which came from seeds gotten in trade from the French, although the melons never seemed to amount to much. The family would be finished by the time Wawatam returned and then he would lead them, as he always did, to the great rapids to the north, which the Frenchmen called the Sault Sainte Marie, and here they would spend the summer catching and drying, for trade and their own winter use, great numbers of the large whitefish which traveled in incredible abundance through the frothy, thundering strait from spring to fall.

When they finished there, they would return here and remain for a few weeks to do their trading and harvest their crops, after which he would lead them to the winter hunting grounds far to the south and inland from the eastern shore of Lake Michigan. In the following spring or early summer they would return here to trade their winter catch of furs and plant their crops and begin the whole cycle anew.

But first Wawatam must have his guiding vision, for which purpose he had come to this place. Perhaps this vision would show him that the fishing at the Sault this year would be better than ever before in his memory, or that the following winter's hunt would be as incredibly successful as that winter hunt of eighty-eight years ago that his father had told him about — when, during that single winter, a small band of Chippewas hunting on Manitoulin Island had slain twenty-four hundred moose in their snares! 3 Perhaps the vision would tell him that his three daughters would bear him many fine grandchildren or that his two sons would become great hunters and fishermen, excelled by none, and that they would become heads of their own large families. After all, one already had taken a wife and with her his son had sired a daughter who was now eight summers old.

Although he had speculated on these things before arriving up here on the ledge, Wawatam really had no idea what the vision would be; only that whatever it was, it would be important and that he should — he must! — be guided by it in the future.

Since the dawn his unwavering gaze had been southwestward across the water toward the vaguely discernible shoreline marking the northeastern lip of the Straits of Mackinac. But now, with the sun approaching its meridian, the gaze in those dark eyes suddenly became amazingly vacant and the occasional automatic blinking ceased.

For a long while he stayed this way and then very fluidly, without conscious volition, he stood and the robe slid from him and lay unheeded in a pile at his heels. His arms came up and forward as if beseeching; and though his expression changed not at all, his entire naked body was wracked by a great convulsive trembling. Abruptly he fell backward stiffly, rapping his head smartly on the shelf. His hands slapped to his chest and the strong fingers dug into the flesh until his nails had gouged furrows from which the blood began welling. One hand had caught in the rawhide thong of the medicine bag hung from his neck and as his arms suddenly jerked spastically away, the thong snapped and the pouch described an arc through the air and disappeared, plummeting down into the trees and brush below.

As quickly as the spasm had come, it left. The trembling died away and he lay limply on his back, his body shiny with perspiration, his breath coming in great sucking gasps. A return of awareness to his surroundings was slower in coming and it was fully five minutes before he came to a sitting position and then stood. There was expression on his face now as he looked down at himself and then touched the lump on the back of his head and looked at his fingers tinged with blood seeping from that wound. There was expression, but of an indescribable nature, as he was swept with a sense of awe and gratification mingled with puzzlement and perhaps even a touch of fear. At length he reached down and picked up the beaver-skin robe and wadded it under his arm. Then he turned and began the treacherous descent, his mind going over what had come to him in his vision, marveling and wondering at it.

What a vision! Never before one so clear, so strong, yet so bewildering. He had seen a man. It was not the Great Turtle or a lesser deity, but simply a man. He was a young man, certainly no more than a score of summers in age; a man with extremely handsome features and dark hair; a man of medium height and medium build; a man whose appearance was now so sharply engraved in Wawatam's mind that even should twoscore summers pass, he would recognize him in an instant if he ever saw him; a man who was dressed in the clothing of an Englishman! With the vision had come a command:

This man will appear to you on a day to come. You will watch for him. You will rejoice in his arrival. You will clasp him to your heart and you will adopt him as your son, your brother, and your friend. This you will do.

How could this be? Wawatam's brow wrinkled as he continued down the cliff face. This was a land where only Frenchmen were tolerated by the Indians; where no Englishman dared set foot lest he be slain, if not by the Indians then by the French themselves, since the two were fighting a great war just now. The Frenchmen were here in numbers — soldiers at nearby Fort Michilimackinac on the south shore of this Strait, a smaller number of them garrisoning the little fort to the north at the Sault, and a great many more to the south in and around the fort at Detroit. Along with the soldiers there were many French traders who had established themselves in this land at the favor of the Indians.

Yes, the French and the English were at war, and many were the warriors from this region who had joined with their French brothers to fight the English. Often these warriors had returned with scalps and plunder taken from the Englishmen and over the lodge fires at night they told of how in all of the battles, whether fighting against Indians or French or both, the English had been severely defeated. How then would it be possible for an Englishman to come here?

Wawatam did not know the answer, but he knew that the Englishman would come. Never before had any vision been so strong, nor the will of the Great Turtle so manifest. Had not this Great Spirit ripped away Wawatam's medicine bag with such force that His fingers had scored Wawatam's breast? Had He not violently tapped the back of Wawatam's head with His finger to gain his attention? And had He not commanded him to accept this Englishman — adopt him! — not just as brother or friend or son, but as all three? Such a multiple adoption for one person was unheard of, and obviously it must be the most powerful bond of all — for Wawatam would have to care for this man as if he were his son, and love him as if he were his brother, and honor him as if he were his friend.