Wow! What a good discussion we had going today! I feel very happy about some of the points that we've brought up. It really makes you think, ne? You can totally sympathize with the settlers - and I'm an Indian. Well, I have Indian blood in me.
Anywho, I think that we've brought up so many good points that I can't even really being to think of a place to start. I can totally see why the colonists would want to exploit the fact that women were taken hostage and held captive. It really does have the whole idea of rape to it: the rape of a culture or a way of life. The women who were taken captive were somehow "unflowered" or "raped" of their Puritan "innocence". It makes sense in that the Puritans called themselves Puritans... ne?
Anyhow, one of the things that we didn't really touch on - which is fine... we only have so much time! - is what the Indians thought of their captivors. Not to tick anyone off, but you can be sure that the Puritans didn't treat their prisoners as well as the Indians treated the settlers. While the Indians invited their captives to join in - to become part of their culture, shared food and clothing and whatnot - I'm sure the Puritans kept their Indian prisoners at arms' length, not letting them into their culture and way of life - not sharing or showing. I think that that's why so many settlers wanted to stay with the tribes.
Well, for the sake of treating both sides fairly, I'm going to write a narrative from an Indian captive's point of view. We read the one from the Puritan women, and I want to hear from an Indian woman. So, I'm going to write one. Is that ok? Good. (It might not be 100% true - after all, I want to capture what Mary went through - I want to see if I can get that same kind of emotion that she showed in her story. And, becuase I've never read what the Puritans did to their herd, I don't know what or how exactly they treated the Indians. Just a disclaimer...)
**
It was dark. That was the last I remembered. And then - jostling. And much of it.
I had taken to bed that night - what seems like so long ago - for rest. My sister had just given birth. We named him Achakaskook- he took right to his mother's bosom. Like his father, he will be a proud, fine warrior, for he is quite independent. It had been a trying, exciting day; we mixed the herbs and lit the sage to ward off the evil spirits that might come and invade the happy day. I still smelled of camphor and sage slightly. I laid my head upon my bundle, listening to the gentle whimpers of Achakaskook and the quiet cooing of Kanti - my sister.
The spirits were high in the sky shining the stars brightly when I first heard it - the sound of hooves and feet coming. The distant sound of crackling fire. The yancy were coming, though why I knew not. We had seperated from the war party to keep ourselves safe - the men had gone to the villages while we had kept ourselves near our own settlement to care for the sick and wounded. I did not want my sister's child to be subject to such violence.
In our tribe, secluded as we were in the mighty forest with the many spirits to protect us, we had done nothing to the yancy - to the bilagaana - the white man, the Englishman. They, though, they had pushed us from our tribe's land, taken it, destroyed some of the tree spirits to clear space for their pigs.
They were upon us before I could raise alarm. Beside Achakaskook, there were only one or two other wounded, dying men with us. They could not fight and were easily taken off. Kanti held Achakaskook close to her breast, tucking him away inside her sawl to hide the babe from the yancy.
"Matwau!" some women cried - "Evil!" Others wailed, "Pauwau!" Witch. The Pawwaw stomped at the grass, begging Nunaangeni - the land spirits - for protection and help. Our scant weapons were of no use again the fire-bangs the bilagaana used, deafening us from the rapport.
It was in front of my eyes that Kanti and her newly born son were taken by the yancy and hit with the back of the fire-bang. Kanti went down quickly, and Achkaskook begain to wail. The yancy stomped on him. He wailed no more. Kanti never moved throughout the ordeal. I could not tell if she was deeply under or dead.
Unlike some of our tribe, I did not understand the yancy speech. Their cries and shouts sounded like wind howling through the trees during bad winter sea storms. I was frightened by the sound, but my fear for Kanti and Achkaskook outweighed my fear of their noise. Without thought, I rushed from the tent and to where my sister and nephew lay motionless on the ground. Before I could get to them, however, one of the bilagaana took hold of my arm and pulled me back. I let out a cry - "Numees!" - for the sister I would never see again.
My last image was of the bloody body of my sister and nephew.
**On tomorrow's blog: The rest of the story! Will Magenatala be ok? Will she ever see her tribe again? Tune in tomorrow to find out!**
Anywho, I think that we've brought up so many good points that I can't even really being to think of a place to start. I can totally see why the colonists would want to exploit the fact that women were taken hostage and held captive. It really does have the whole idea of rape to it: the rape of a culture or a way of life. The women who were taken captive were somehow "unflowered" or "raped" of their Puritan "innocence". It makes sense in that the Puritans called themselves Puritans... ne?
Anyhow, one of the things that we didn't really touch on - which is fine... we only have so much time! - is what the Indians thought of their captivors. Not to tick anyone off, but you can be sure that the Puritans didn't treat their prisoners as well as the Indians treated the settlers. While the Indians invited their captives to join in - to become part of their culture, shared food and clothing and whatnot - I'm sure the Puritans kept their Indian prisoners at arms' length, not letting them into their culture and way of life - not sharing or showing. I think that that's why so many settlers wanted to stay with the tribes.
Well, for the sake of treating both sides fairly, I'm going to write a narrative from an Indian captive's point of view. We read the one from the Puritan women, and I want to hear from an Indian woman. So, I'm going to write one. Is that ok? Good. (It might not be 100% true - after all, I want to capture what Mary went through - I want to see if I can get that same kind of emotion that she showed in her story. And, becuase I've never read what the Puritans did to their herd, I don't know what or how exactly they treated the Indians. Just a disclaimer...)
**
It was dark. That was the last I remembered. And then - jostling. And much of it.
I had taken to bed that night - what seems like so long ago - for rest. My sister had just given birth. We named him Achakaskook- he took right to his mother's bosom. Like his father, he will be a proud, fine warrior, for he is quite independent. It had been a trying, exciting day; we mixed the herbs and lit the sage to ward off the evil spirits that might come and invade the happy day. I still smelled of camphor and sage slightly. I laid my head upon my bundle, listening to the gentle whimpers of Achakaskook and the quiet cooing of Kanti - my sister.
The spirits were high in the sky shining the stars brightly when I first heard it - the sound of hooves and feet coming. The distant sound of crackling fire. The yancy were coming, though why I knew not. We had seperated from the war party to keep ourselves safe - the men had gone to the villages while we had kept ourselves near our own settlement to care for the sick and wounded. I did not want my sister's child to be subject to such violence.
In our tribe, secluded as we were in the mighty forest with the many spirits to protect us, we had done nothing to the yancy - to the bilagaana - the white man, the Englishman. They, though, they had pushed us from our tribe's land, taken it, destroyed some of the tree spirits to clear space for their pigs.
They were upon us before I could raise alarm. Beside Achakaskook, there were only one or two other wounded, dying men with us. They could not fight and were easily taken off. Kanti held Achakaskook close to her breast, tucking him away inside her sawl to hide the babe from the yancy.
"Matwau!" some women cried - "Evil!" Others wailed, "Pauwau!" Witch. The Pawwaw stomped at the grass, begging Nunaangeni - the land spirits - for protection and help. Our scant weapons were of no use again the fire-bangs the bilagaana used, deafening us from the rapport.
It was in front of my eyes that Kanti and her newly born son were taken by the yancy and hit with the back of the fire-bang. Kanti went down quickly, and Achkaskook begain to wail. The yancy stomped on him. He wailed no more. Kanti never moved throughout the ordeal. I could not tell if she was deeply under or dead.
Unlike some of our tribe, I did not understand the yancy speech. Their cries and shouts sounded like wind howling through the trees during bad winter sea storms. I was frightened by the sound, but my fear for Kanti and Achkaskook outweighed my fear of their noise. Without thought, I rushed from the tent and to where my sister and nephew lay motionless on the ground. Before I could get to them, however, one of the bilagaana took hold of my arm and pulled me back. I let out a cry - "Numees!" - for the sister I would never see again.
My last image was of the bloody body of my sister and nephew.
**On tomorrow's blog: The rest of the story! Will Magenatala be ok? Will she ever see her tribe again? Tune in tomorrow to find out!**
