The Amish Princess

Wings on the Wind

Chapter Two

Wings on the WindA young boy stood on the shore of the great river and watched the gray-green waves rush in and out between the stone sentinels, ceaselessly, tirelessly as they had since before the time his people came to Lenapehoking. The strap of his basket chafed his brown shoulder as he stepped from one wave-washed stone to another, looking for the mussels that clung to the rocks, hidden among the matted seaweed. He was far out from the sandy shoreline, wending his way among the pools that lay exposed at low tide. He hated this task. He longed for the day when he would be allowed to go on hunts with the warriors and join the elders at the council fire to plan raids on their enemies.

He heard a splashing sound from a pool in front of him and crept slowly to its edge. A large fish, stranded by the rapidly receding tide, lay thrashing in the shallow water. The boy waded into the pool and scooped the gasping creature onto the rocks. His mother would be pleased at this prize. Now his basket was full, and he could return to the village.

The cries of the gulls filled the air as he made his way back to the shore. They, too, were hunting the mussels that covered the rocks like black stone knives set on edge. White wings flashed in the morning sun, and the haunting sound of the birds troubled the boy and filled his heart with a strange premonition.

“Wingenund, Wingenund,” the gulls seemed to be crying, “all is going away.” He paused to look up at the great flock circling above the rich fishing grounds. As he looked, his gaze was drawn out over the swells to the middle of the great river. A large two-masted boat with white sails full of the morning wind was beating its way slowly against the current toward the settlement at Philadelphia. It was another of the white man’s ships from Gamenowinenk, on the other side of the great sea.

More and more of the strangers had been coming to Lenapehoking and what land they could not buy from the chiefs of his tribe, they had taken outright. The hunting grounds of the tribe had been slowly shrinking, and there was much anger among the people of the Wolf Clan toward the settlers. As he stood watching, he saw someone on the deck waving to him. He did not respond but stood for a long while watching the ship move away. The unfamiliar foreboding gripped him again, and his heart was dark as he found the trail leading back to his village and began the long walk home.

When Wingenund returned to his village, he could sense something was amiss. There was much agitation among the people. When he went into his wigwam, he found his mother crying.

“Why do you weep, Mother?”

His mother lifted her head. “We must leave our village.”

“But why?” This is our home.”

His mother rose slowly and looked around at the articles inside the tent she would need to pack.

“I asked you why, Mother.”

“The Swannuken have come and told us that they have found an old treaty between William Penn and the Lenape. They say the Lenape gave them the land between the two rivers as far west as a man could walk in a day and a half. Then they sent men who traveled twice as far as our sachem understood the treaty to mean. Now we must leave the Land of the Dawn.”

Wingenund threw down the basket. “Are the salt-water people to rob us again? Will not the Iroquois join with us and challenge them?”

His mother shook her head. “The Iroquois are angry that our tribe signed a treaty without their permission. They have always feared us, and they are happy to see us go. They will not join with us, so we must leave the land.”

“But where will we go? This is Lenapehoking, the land of the Lenape. We have lived here since the Lenape came from the far west to find the Land of the Dawn. What man has the right to take it from us?”

Wingenund’s mother laid her hand on her son’s shoulder. “We will travel toward the setting sun, into the great forest on the other side of Blue Mountain. Many of our people live there already, and we will join them in the great village of Kithanink. We will have new lands and better. We will forget these cheaters and liars and live among the true people.”

Wingenund grabbed up his father’s tomahawk and sank it into the ground at his mother’s feet. “I will never forget. From this day, I declare war on all the white men. They will come to fear the name of Wingenund.”

A shadow darkened the doorway of the tent. Wingenund turned to find his father, Buckongahelas, frowning at him. Buckongahelas strode forward, pulled the tomahawk out of the ground and held it in front of Wingenund. “And who are you to declare war when you have not even gone on vision quest? I am the war chief of this clan. Only when I am gone will you become chief. And only when you are chief will you have the power to say when the Wolf Clan goes to war.”

“But the whites always cheat us, Father.”

Buckongahelas put an arm around his son’s shoulder and pointed to the doorway. “Come, walk with me, my son.”

The two went out into the chill of the evening. Around them, women were preparing meals on open fires. Children ran, playing among the lodges. From deep in the woods came the sound of a courting flute as one of the young warriors of the village serenaded his intended bride. Above them the sky was rapidly shading toward dusk, the clouds marked with golden edges that were slowly fading to rose and then to purple. A flock of geese crossed the sky, their honking dim in the distance.

Wingenund walked beside Buckongahelas who was silent for a long time. Finally, his father spoke. “It is true that the white men cheat us. When the Dutchmen first came to our shores, they asked for a piece of land to grow vegetables and raise herbs. They said they needed only as much land as the hide of a bull would cover. They spread a bull hide on the ground before the Lenape to show its size. Thinking this was a reasonable request, the Lenape agreed. Immediately a Dutchman took a knife and, beginning at one place on the hide, cut it into a rope no thicker than the finger of a child. When he was done, there was a long rope. The Dutchman drew this rope out to a long distance and then brought the two ends around so that they would meet. He then claimed all the land inside the rope. The Lenape were surprised at the intelligence of the Dutchman, but since they had far more land than they needed, they granted his request.”

Wingenund started to speak, but his father continued.

“We should have recognized the deceitfulness of the white man then. The Dutchman did not plant seeds on the land he took from us; he planted great guns instead, and drove the Lenape away. Then when Penn came to Lenapehoking; he tried to be honest with us. He offered us money for land that he said had been given to him by the king of Gamenowinenk.”

Wingenund looked up at his father. “But how could that king give Penn land that did not belong to him?”

“That is the way of the Swannuken, my son. The land where they come from is divided into kingdoms, and a king rules each. The men who left there to come here have a burning desire to set up their own kingdoms and be a king here. They consider themselves to be superior to all men, and so they do not recognize that we are people also. They do not see that we have our land and our ways, and though we may be different from them, we are not less than them.”

“But cannot we fight them, Father? We are strong; we could drive them away.”

Buckongahelas put his arm around his son’s shoulders. “The way of war is simple. Any child can make war. But wisdom is greater than war. When you are chief you will need wisdom more than you will need a warrior’s skill. The lives of your people will be in your hands, and you must make decisions for all of them, not just for yourself. Consider the white man’s way of war. The Indian who goes to war against another Indian fights with honor. They meet, they have one battle, and the outcome decides the quarrel. But the white man is not defeated by one battle. Instead, he sends more men and fights again. He keeps coming even when the Indian goes to his winter camp and is caring for his people. He will always keep coming. So we may win one battle now, but the white man will come back again and again until we can fight no more.”

“But is there not a time when we say they will take our land no more?”

“Yes, my son, but this is not the time. We will go over the mountain to a new home. The British have promised that no white man will come there. We will see if they are telling the truth. If they are not, then we will fight. I have seen it in my dreams. The path of war is before us, but we must find a safer place for our women and children. When you have a vision, my son, then perhaps you, too, will know what lies before us.”

Suddenly, Wingenund remembered the cries of the gulls. “But I did have a vision, Father. Today when I was hunting for mussels I heard the gulls. They were crying to me. I heard their voices on the wind. ‘Wingenund, Wingenund, all is going away, all is going away.’ I did not know what it meant, but my heart became cold. Now I know and I hate the white men for stealing our land.”

Wingenund saw his father looking at him intently. Then Buckongahelas spoke. “My son, you are destined to be a great chief. I am the war chief of the Wolf Clan, and you will follow after me. Already I see strength and wisdom in you. But do not stain your life with bitterness and hatred. We must do what the sachem tells us. Tanteque marks our trails before we are even born. So it is useless to push against our path. We go to the west. Make yourself ready.”

Wingenund dropped his eyes and remained silent. But inside him his heart was crying out.

I will take vengeance upon these lying whites. They will not escape my wrath.