Timecachers (37 page)

The times of violent resistance were long past. The efforts of the charismatic war chief Tsiyu Gunsini, known as Dragging Canoe, who relentlessly led the Chickamauga against those who would invade the Cherokee homelands, had accomplished little but a delay of the inevitable. Dragging Canoe, now dead for nearly fifty years, had predicted that the insatiable greed of the whites would eventually drive them to claim all Cherokee land. The homeland was essential to the Cherokee; it was part of their soul, and nearly all of it had been taken away. They had capitulated many times, and still it was not enough. The whites would not be happy until they had it all. Benjamin and Catherine had no need to speak of this to each other again; it no longer served any purpose. All they could do was wait and hope for an unlikely miracle.

Immediately upon reaching the house, Catherine and Alice began preparations for the evening meal. Benjamin headed back out to the fields, wanting to tend to a few chores that could be addressed with the supplies he brought from town. Catherine made use of her time alone with Alice to offer a few comforting words as Benjamin had suggested. From Alice’s reaction, Catherine determined that it was not comforting words that she needed, it was retribution. Alice made it clear that she was angrier about having to hold her tongue than she was about the childish behavior of the men. That impressed Catherine; Alice was even stronger than Benjamin believed her to be.

When Billy arrived at the house, he retrieved a four foot long wooden stick that was hanging above the door, and grabbed a pouch from a hook on the wall beneath it.

“Are we going bird hunting now, Billy?” Sally asked.

“We can go as soon as you are ready,” he answered.

“I’m ready,” she replied excitedly. “Alice, won’t you come with us?”

“Yes, please come along,” said Billy. “We will show you how to hunt for birds.”

“I’d love to, honey,” said Alice, “but I think I should stay and help with the meal.”

“You should go,” said Catherine. “I will take care of the meal, and Silvey will be along soon to help. It will help put your unfortunate experience out of your mind, and will do you good to have some fun. Go with them.”

“Okay, I think I would like to go,” Alice said. “Won’t you need a gun? What’s that long pole for?”

“Come on; we’ll show you,” said Billy. “We have everything we need.”

Alice and the two youngsters trotted off toward the woods beyond the edge of the cotton fields. As they walked, Billy explained his bird hunting technique.

“This tube is a piece of river cane. There’s plenty of it growing around here along the creeks and rivers. The Cherokee have used it to make blowguns as long as anyone can remember. A
tugawesti
is a great way to hunt small animals, especially birds, and almost every young Cherokee has one. It takes a while to get the hang of shooting a dart, but it works really well. It’s very quiet too; so if you miss, you often can take a second shot.”

He handed the blowgun to Alice for her to examine. It was straight and hollow all the way through, and the outside had been decorated with painted bands and symbols. There was soft jute wrapped around one end to make a mouthpiece.

“When you first cut it you have to ream out a couple of places to make it hollow all the way through,” he told her. “Then you can decorate it anyway you like.

“In this bag I have my darts,” he said, removing one of the eight-inch long sticks from his bag. To Alice, the darts looked a lot like the pointy wooden skewers she used to make kabobs on the grill, only each one had a bit of fluff tied onto the end.

“We make the darts from the wood of locust trees because it is very hard and I can make an extra sharp point on it. I tie a piece of cotton on the end for fletching because we have plenty of cotton, but you can use thistle down, too. That’s what they used in the old days.”

“So you just put one of those darts in the tube and blow it at a bird?” Alice asked.

“That’s about it,” Billy said. “Like I said, it takes a little practice, but it’s pretty easy. Sally is getting pretty good at it, so I’m going to help her make her own blowgun and darts. We’ll show you how it works before we go after the birds.”

“Don’t you have to dip the darts in poison or something?” Alice asked.

“No, not usually. Some people boil tobacco leaves to coat the darts, but I just use plain darts.”

He pointed to a birch tree about twenty-five feet away at the edge of the woods, and said, “I’ll put a target on that tree and we can practice.”

He walked to the tree, found a two foot-square piece of the smooth, white bark that the tree had shed, stood it against the base of the tree, and then returned to where the two girls were standing. He put one of the darts into the blowgun until the fluffy white stopper was just past the mouthpiece. He inflated his cheeks with a deep breath, placed the blowgun against his lips, and blew a quick, sharp puff of air into the end of the tube. The dart stuck firmly, going about halfway through the center of the piece of bark.

“Let me try,” said Sally.

She took the blowgun, put in a dart, aimed, and puffed into the end. The dart struck the bark just a few inches from Billy’s shot.

“Your turn,” Sally said, handing the blowgun to Alice.

“Oh, dear. I’ll try,” Alice said tentatively. She took the blowgun and a dart from Billy, placing it into the tube as she was shown. Aiming carefully at the bark, she blew into the tube, only to watch the dart drop from the end not more than two feet away.

“Oh, my,” she said, laughing. “I guess I’m not going to be much of a hunter!”

“When you blow through the tube,” Billy instructed, “be sure to take a deep breath and use lots of air. When you blow, puff sharply to give the dart a good push.” He demonstrated making a sharp puffing action with his mouth, without the blowgun. He retrieved the dart and replaced it into the blowgun for her, and said, “Try again.”

This time Alice inhaled a deep lungful of air and took aim. She sent the dart through the tube with a tremendous puff. The dart struck the bark and continued on, sailing completely through it.

“Good!” said Billy and Sally in unison.

“That was quite a shot,” said Billy. “You must have powerful lungs.”

“Probably from arguing with Sal so much,” she laughed.

They each took a few more shots. Once they were all hitting the target consistently, Billy said they were ready to go hunting. “Enough practice. Now let’s get some birds for our dinner.” They gathered up the darts and headed into the woods. “I know a spot where we will have good cover and usually has many birds,” said Billy.

He led them to a clump of bushes, crawled inside, and used his hunting knife to hack out an area for them to sit. He situated Alice and Sally where they would be well camouflaged, then crouched into a position where he would have a good view of a small clearing in front of the bushes. The low-growing shrubs had been overtaken by wild grape vines, and the huge grape leaves formed a natural hunter’s blind, concealing them from view of any game that might enter the clearing. The corkscrew grapevines hung around them like bouncy green springs, and Alice could smell the moist sweetness of damp earth beneath the dripping vines. Even though it had not rained, the immense leaves collected moisture from the air, keeping their supporting bushes well watered.

“You have to be very still and quiet,” he instructed them.

The three hunters waited silently behind the foliage. Within minutes they heard the distinctive bobwhite call of the quail. Sally grinned and nodded at Alice. She pointed in the direction of the sound and whispered “
guque
,” which earned her a stern frown from Billy, placing his finger to his lips. Billy returned his attention to the clearing, not seeing Sally scrunch up her face and stick out her tongue in response to the reprimand. Alice gave Sally a wink, turning her frown into a cheerful grin.

They heard the sound of rustling leaves as the quail foraged just beyond the edge of the clearing. The hunters sat stock still, waiting patiently for the birds to enter the clearing. Billy slowly raised the blowgun, pointing its lethal end through the bushes in the direction of the rustling.

Oblivious of the hunters, the covey of quail entered the clearing, pecking at the ground as they foraged. Billy waited, letting the birds become at ease with their exposed position. Alice noticed his lips silently moving as he selected his target, as if he was saying a prayer. He filled his cheeks with air and placed the end of the blowgun into his mouth. He aimed carefully, puffed sharply into the tube, and sent a dart flying toward his target. The dart struck the bird in the center of its chest. Immediately the silence was broken as the quail’s legs collapsed and the bird flapped wildly about, slapping at the ground and raising a cloud of dust. The deafening flutter of wings added to the din as the other birds took flight in a panic.

“You got it!” Sally cried, as the three crashed out of their cover and ran to the clearing.

Billy knelt by the quail, and Alice saw that he once again mumbled a few words before picking up the still twitching bird and gave its head a sharp twist, ending its movements with finality. He dropped the bird, dart and all, into the bag he was carrying.

“That’s one,” he said. “We’ll do better if we move to a different place for the next one. I know of lots of good hunting spots for birds.”

“Billy,” said Alice, “I couldn’t help but notice… It looked like you said something to the quail before you picked it up. And before you shot.”

“Yes, of course,” he answered. “As my father taught me, I say a hunter’s prayer to guide my dart before shooting, and then of course I must apologize to the quail for killing it.”

“You apologize to the quail?”

“Yes, certainly. And I thank him for giving up his life. It is necessary for us to have food, so I explain that to him so he will understand.”

Alice didn’t think the quail was very likely to understand being shot, and would most likely prefer to be left alive. She could tell from Billy’s fervent look that the killing of game was not something he took lightly, and that he considered the prayer to be an important part of his hunting ritual. Her previous hunting experiences had been all about the sport, the challenge of tracking and shooting. Billy’s outlook was more spiritual, and reflective of a culture more closely tied to the earth, one that still remembered to be thankful for the bounty nature provided. It was a realistic attitude toward the harsh actions necessary for all living things to survive.

“Let’s go,” said Sally impatiently. “I want to get my bird next.”

“Remember what I told you about hunting,” said Billy, “and how it is important to be patient. But we do need to get to our next spot and get under cover.”

The trio spent the next few hours hunting. Sally and Billy both bagged a pair of quail, and they insisted that Alice give it a try. After several attempts, she was finally able to accurately place a deadly shot, to score a kill of her own. She was not averse to killing a bird; she had been hunting for both large and small game before.

The uniqueness of the blowgun gave her some difficulty; it took some effort to hit a live, moving target instead of a stationary piece of bark. Once she discovered that aiming took more “feel” than sight she could place the dart accurately. The youngsters applauded her achievement, praising her skill and learning as quickly as she did.

They each bagged an additional quail and now that they had plenty of birds for everyone’s dinner Billy declared that it was time to head for home. Alice was so intensely involved in the hunting she nearly forgot she hadn’t eaten since New Echota. She was looking forward to a meal of wild bobwhite quail and whatever else Catherine was making to go along with them. Catherine had been right to suggest she go hunting; she enjoyed the afternoon with Billy and Sally. Her fury at the encounter with the offensive riffraff in New Echota was beginning to fade.

Once they were back to the farmhouse, Billy handed the bagful of quail to Silvey who made quick work of cleaning them. Alice was still uncomfortable with the idea that this family could accept slavery so readily, but she thought that having a servant, a paid one, would be something she could get used to quite easily. She enjoyed hunting, and loved to prepare meals with wild game, but cleaning dead animals was not a chore she looked forward to. It amused her to imagine herself as the Lady of the Manor—she’d love to be able to go hunting, hand the game to a servant, and have it served to her at a great long table on silver trays. “I’ve been watching too many BBC classics,” she chuckled to herself.

The quail became the main dish of the evening meal, having been roasted on a great spit in the hearth and stuffed with a mixture of cornbread and herbs. As usual, there were also plenty of side dishes of vegetables and other cold meats that Catherine and Silvey had prepared. Benjamin lavished the hunters with praise for their successful outing, promising Billy that he would take him soon for deer or possibly a spring turkey.

As per tradition, they finished up their evening chores and settled down for storytelling. Benjamin said that he would honor the hunters with a special hunting story.

“This story,” Benjamin began, “starts with the bears. Long ago, when men were first starting to invent things like blowguns and bows and arrows, the bears all got together to complain. They didn’t like the fact that the men were inventing these things. ‘They make it too easy for them to kill us,’ they complained to their chief, the great white bear. After some discussion, the bears decided they would learn to use weapons themselves, and one of them made a bow and arrow that they could use to defend themselves against the men.