04 - The Last of the Mohawks : Captured
Story index at the bottom
By David
Wednesday, July 12th 2006 - 11:08:48 AM
The Last of the Mohawks
(We fought our Indian wars in the same summer we began having wars on the Lemon Fair with Lone Wolf's group, and in the following summer, in 1953 and 1954 when André, Mario, and I were thirteen and fourteen. I remember vividly all of the individual images and events in this story, but I'm sure that some of them happened in several different games, which I can no longer sort out. I have put them together into the story of our first war, which I remember as being the most interesting. The dialog contains a number of phrases that have stuck in my mind, and the rest is a reconstruction of what we might have said.)
Part 1: Captured by the Mohawks
While we were building our canoe, André, Mario, and I developed an interest in the Indians of the northeast, and we read everything we could about them. Along with building our canoe, we turned our talents to making Indian outfits. Genuine buckskin was way out of our price range, so we used brown chino pants and long sleeved shirts that had the color of buckskin, and we decorated them with fringes, beads, and dyed porcupine quills.
We got our ideas from a number of sources: Straight Arrow Injun-Uity Cards from Shredded Wheat boxes, a book from the library titled "Living Like Indians," and Seaton's "Two little savages" to name a few. Emulating the woodland Indians, we opted for a headband and a feather or two instead of a gaudy war bonnet. In lieu of moccasins we wore low cut sneakers without socks.
André salvaged an old wool blanket that his mother was going to throw out and we cut breechclouts to wear with our buckskins. Following the instructions in "Living Like Indians" we made them 1/3 as wide as our waist measurements, and as long as our height at the shoulders. And of course we decorated our faces with war paint. Mario discovered the secret of making war paint out of food coloring and Crisco. If you put a lump of Crisco in a teacup, added a few drops of food coloring, and than started working it with a spoon, the food coloring would soon mix with the Crisco and you had a paint you could smear on with a finger and wipe off with a cloth.
We became Abenakis, a tribe who once dominated our area, and we set up our camp in a remote spot on Ethan's Hill beyond the Lemon Fair. For a shelter we built a small woodlands Indian wigwam with a frame of saplings. The Abenaki would have covered it with bark, but we used an old canvas hay tarp we had found in the town dump. That was long before transfer stations and landfills, and we were avid dump pickers. We found the greatest stuff.
We usually wore our bathing suits and t-shirts when we paddled our canoe on the Lemon Fair, especially on hot days. But in cooler weather we sometimes wore our Indian regalia. One morning a few weeks after we had defeated the pirates and won uncontested use of the river, we three braves met up with Larry and Greg near the cove where we had fought them.
"Great outfits," Greg said to me as their canoe drifted alongside ours. "You look just like Apaches."
"Apaches rode horses," I said, "and they lived out west somewhere. We're Abenaki."
I saw Larry's eyes narrow as he stared at our outfits. He had the kind of look a cat in a cartoon has when it sees a mouse. "Abenaki. They were Iroquois weren't they?"
"Heck no." I said. "The Abenaki hated the Iroquois, especially the Mohawk. They were deadly enemies."
"Yeah," Mario said. "The Mohawk were always fighting anyone that wasn't Iroquois, and they were really cruel to their captives. We're peaceful Indians. Hunters and gatherers."
"That looks like war paint on your faces," Larry said.
Mario was taken a little aback, then said, "We wear it to scare the other Indians away so we won't have to fight them."
"But it's mainly for fun," I added. "Call it peace paint if you want."
"We built a wigwam up on Ethan's hill," André said. "You ought to see it."
Greg's eyes lit up at that. "Maybe I will. You go up there often?"
"Oh yea. Sometimes we even spend the night there," I replied. "And we live just like Indians as much as we can."
We talked with Larry and Greg for some time about Indian tribes, and how they lived and what they did. Larry seemed to be a lot more interested in the Mohawk than the Abenaki. Then we went our separate ways. "Good hunting," Greg called back to us as we parted.
A couple of weeks after that, the three of us hiked to our wigwam up on Ethan's Hill for an overnight stay. André, Mario, and I searched through woods and abandoned pastures for wild greens to add to the stewpot. We were going to make an Indian stew and cook it the Indian way by putting everything in a pot and dropping hot stones into it. We already had a woodchuck that André had shot a couple of days ago. He had cleaned it immediately, then skinned and quartered it and kept it in the refrigerator. We had it in the longhouse packed in ice.
André and Mario were off in the woods, and I was by myself on my knees in the grass of an old pasture, searching for edible greens or mushrooms, when a shadow fell over me. Startled, I turned and saw a Mohawk warrior glaring down at me. Actually, it was Larry dressed as a Mohawk warrior. He wore brown chino pants with fringes down the sides of the legs from hip to ankles. He was not wearing sneakers like me, but real leather moccasins. A red cotton breechclout hung from his belt, and he had a hunting knife in a sheath on his right side. He did not wear a shirt, and his chest and abdomen were covered with swirling patterns done in blood red war paint. But he had painted his face in black and white, which made him look fearsome when he scowled. Around his brow he wore a leather headband with two feathers hanging down behind his right ear. In his right hand he brandished a tomahawk.
"Don't move, Abenaki," he said. "What are you doing in Mohawk hunting grounds?"
I quickly recovered from my initial shock, and saw that the tomahawk was just one of those rubber ones from the five and dime store. "Hi, Larry," I said. "Boy, did you give me a start. Great outfit."
"My name is Lone Wolf," he said. "And you did not answer my question. Why are you here?"
"Oh, I'm just hunting for mushrooms and things for the stew pot tonight. I'm finding some good stuff. Look at this." I started to get up, but while my knees were still bent he pushed my shoulder hard, sending me sprawling on my back onto the ground.
"Hey! Why did you do that?" I yelled.
"If you want to forage on Mohawk land, you must first ask for permission."
"Since when is this Mohawk land?"
"Since the Mohawks conquered it."
I started to get to my feet again, and Lone Wolf brandished his tomahawk threateningly.
"Oh, get off it," I said. "I know its just rubber." Nevertheless I backed away as I stood up.
"Don't try to go anywhere. I'm taking you prisoner."
"Oh yeah? You and who else?" I held my head up defiantly and turned to walk away. Unfortunately, I found myself facing three more warriors, Greg, Mark, and Steve, all costumed like Lone Wolf and painted for war.
Instantly I ducked to my right and darted as fast as I could towards the woods. I got about fifteen feet before Greg tackled me.
"Take him prisoner," I heard Lone Wolf say, "And tie him up good."
All three grabbed me and held me tight. I screamed as loudly as I could. "André! Mario! Watch out! They caught me! Four of..."
Greg clamped a hand over my mouth and cut my words short.
"Who's got something to gag him with?" Lone Wolf asked.
The three warriors looked at each other, and then Steve said "Greg's got that bandana around his head."
"No way!" Greg shouted. "It's my best one, and I'm not letting him chew on it and get his slobber all over it."
Lone Wolf sauntered up to me, and grabbed the front of my shirt. "OK, Abenaki dog. I'll make a deal with you. If you promise not to shout any more warnings to your pack, we won't gag you. But if you shout again, I'll tear up your shirt and gag you with the pieces. Deal?"
I nodded, because I was sure I had already warned my friends. I had a powerful set of lungs, and had heard my warning shouts echoing back from the cliffs above us on the heights of Ethan's hill.
As soon as my mouth was free, I said, "I'm not a dog. My name is Graylock."
Lone Wolf nodded. "I am Lone Wolf as you know, and I am chief of the Mohawk." He pointed to Greg, "This is Running Deer, because he is so fast. I think you just found that out." Then he nodded to Mark. "That's Shadow Warrior because he can sneak through the woods better than anyone. And then there's Tangle Foot, because he trips over every root in the trail."
Tangle Foot grinned, and shrugged. He may not have been very agile, but he was a happy-go-lucky kid and had a good disposition.
"Now that we know each other's names, we will respect each other as warriors," Lone wolf said. "I will not call you a dog again. Now, Graylock, take off your shirt."
With four Mohawk braves surrounding me, I knew it was useless to try to resist. I also knew that if I were a cooperative prisoner they might get careless after a while.
"You aren't going to tear it up, are you?" I asked as I started to unbutton the sleeves.
"Only if we have to gag you. But you have to take your shirt off because you're a prisoner. You've read the books. The Indians always stripped their prisoners naked."
"Whoa!" I said. "Back up, there. Are you talking naked like in nude? Because if you are, then you can..."
Lone Wolf cut me off with a laugh. "Don't worry. We'll settle on half naked, like in stripped to the waist. Now get that shirt off."
I breathed a sigh of relief and removed my shirt. Lone Wolf took it, and then ordered me to cross my wrists behind my back. Running deer bound them tightly with a rope and cinched my hands firmly against the small of my back by tying the rest of the rope in three tight turns around my waist. "That way," Lone Wolf said and pointed to an old wood road that ran out of the clearing.
We had walked the road for about a third of a mile when we passed a thicket of young hemlocks where Lone Wolf ordered a halt. He attached the end of a long rope to my wrists and handed the rest of the coil to Tangle Foot. "Take him into camp and tie him to a stake. Then come back here. We might need you." He tossed my shirt to Tangle Foot, who grabbed at it and fumbled the catch.
Tangle Foot picked my shirt up from the ground, tugged at the rope to my bound wrists and headed down the road. In my helpless situation I had to go along. We soon cut off to our right, striking into trackless woods. Shortly we came to the grass carpeted glade where the Mohawk had set up camp.
They had built a stone fire ring there, and some distance beyond the fire ring they had set up two canvas pup tents. Three stakes had been fixed in the ground to the left of the fire ring. The stakes had been cut from straight ash logs, four or five inches in diameter and they rose over six feet tall. They stood about a yard from each other, and about the same distance from the fire ring. The bark had been peeled from them, and each one had a different symbol painted at the top. I couldn't make any sense out of the symbols, and I wondered why Lone Wolf didn't just monogram them with the letters A, D, and M.
To the right of the fire ring they had set two more posts in the ground, but these were six feet apart and two stout poles had been lashed horizontally between them. The first pole was a few inches above the ground, and the second was close to six feet high. At first it puzzled me, then I remembered something I had read and realized what it was. My captors were Mohawk, part of the Iroquois nation, and this was an Iroquois torture frame.
Tangle Foot led me over to the stakes, "Which one do you want me to tie you to?" he asked.
I looked back over my shoulder. "Stakes are so boring. I think I'd like to be tied to that torture frame over there."
He stared at the torture frame with squinting eyes as though he were picturing me hanging from it. In order bind me spread eagle to the frame he would first have to untie my hands, and that was all I needed. If I could just dash into the woods I could escape easily, for the clumsy Tangle Foot would probably fall flat on his face within a hundred feet.
"OK," he said. "That might be fun."
I couldn't believe my luck and his naivety as he led me over to the frame. He tossed the rope from my wrists over the upper pole, pulled it snug, dragging my bound wrists up as far as the rope around my waist would allow. Then he tied the free end back to my wrists so I stood tightly leashed to the top pole at the center of the frame.
"I'll be right back," he said. "Don't go anywhere." I don't think he was trying to make a joke. He just didn't realize what he had said. He went to one of the pup tents and came back with several short pieces of rope. Kneeling behind me, he pulled my right foot out to the side and lashed it firmly to the lower pole and tied the end of the rope off to the stake on my right so I could not slide my foot along the pole back towards me. Then he did the same to my left. I stood with my feet spread and completely immobilized. That ruined my plan for running away.
Next he started to untie my hands. I felt him working at the ropes much more than would be necessary just to untie me, and I noticed that sometimes one rope would seem to come off a wrist while another would go back on at the same time.
At last my right wrist broke free from my body, but my left one was still cinched to my waist. When I tried to bring my free arm around front I felt it tugged out to my side and up. I looked and saw that a rope still bound my wrist and Tangle Foot had thrown the end over the upper pole. I tried to pull back, but he put his weight against the rope and drew my wrist up to the bar so my arm stretched out at a 45-degree angle. He then tied my wrist to the pole and tied the end of the rope out to the stake on the right. He tied my left hand the same way, and then removed the long rope from my waist. I was completely helpless, tied spread eagle to the torture frame as I had asked to be.
After he had checked all the knots and bonds, he stood in front of me with his arms crossed and grinned. "I'm not as dumb as you thought I was, am I?"
I looked up at the ropes that held my wrists to the ash pole above me. "I guess not. I mean, I never really thought you were. You got me tied up good, and I never had a chance to escape. Not that I ever thought about it of course."
"Yeah, right. Well, I've got to go now. We'll see what Larr..., what Lone Wolf wants to do with you when we get back." He picked up the long rope that had bound me earlier and coiled it. "We might need this. I hate to leave you alone all tied up like that, but don't worry, we'll be back soon." He waved the rope at me.
"Hey, maybe we'll even bring you some company."
{Parts 2 and 3 to follow)
David
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David's stories
- 01 - The Battle of the Lemon Fair : Mario is taken hostage (m+/m)
- 02 - The Battle of the Lemon Fair : The best laid plans of mice and men (m+/mm)
- 03 - The Battle of the Lemon Fair : Into the enemy camp (m+/m+)
- 04 - The Last of the Mohawks : Captured (m+/m)
- 05 - The Last of the Mohawks : The wind changes (m+/mm, m/m)
- 06 - The Last of the Mohawks : Traitor (m+/mmm)
- 07 - Pestered by Mario (m/m)
Index of all stories in the "Archive for Everyone" section
