when they have to be, and they have proven it by this journey here. Let’s hope the hunt will be as successful as the trip here was,” said Minowez-I.
We arrived at the campsite by noon and soon settled in. The people erected lean-tos for the men and some wàginogàns for the women. The temporary village was huge with over six hundred warriors, women, and young boys. After eating, we convened a council and our scouts pointed out the herd was about a day from here, and they had not been disturbed. They were roaming toward the river and grazing. The warriors who had preceded us had almost finished constructing the corridor where we would drive the animals down. There were close to a thousand buffalo. It would take about two more days to finish the trap, and then we could start driving them into it.
After the council, the family heads called our people together. We had decided we needed another twenty or more canoes for the trip home. The women and boys agreed to the assignment of making them, plus travois to carry the meat. Much work had to be finished before we could start the hunt.
After two days the trap and corridor was finished. The place where we were planning to drive the herd was a small valley with a large bluff that the animals would not be able to scale. Along the sides of the final enclosure the men had angled sharpened poles propped up on logs and weighted down with rocks. This would prevent the buffalo escaping by pushing against our barriers.
That night we danced, drummed, told stories of past hunts, and prayed to Kitchi Manitou to watch over us and to make our lances and arrows fly true to the mark.
From what the scouts had told us, these animals were huge. The warriors would have to take care and not fall under their hooves, because it would mean certain death. Leaving that next morning to start the hunt, we had to make sure that we stayed downwind as long as we could so that the animals would go in the direction we needed them to pass through. The warriors then lined up on both sides of the corridor to keep the animals on course, waving robes and yelling. The chiefs selected one of the warriors to be the caller, trying to lure the great beasts to the open end of the path we wanted them to travel. One of the Wàbanaki elders had an old buffalo robe for the caller to wear and, using this ruse, he imitated a calf in order to draw the herd toward the corridor.
After sunrise, the warriors ate and were keen to start the hunt. The women and young boys stayed on the top of the bluff until we had the herd in the corrals, and then they would come and help with the butchering. Including the Wàbanaki warriors, we had over two hundred men for the hunt.
Wàgosh, a few other warriors, and I had volunteered to bring the dogs and Ishkodewan. We would let them loose once the caller had the herd moving, and they would then chase the buffalo toward the corridor. With beasts as large as these, it would be a challenge to direct them to where we wanted them to go.
“Mahingan, do you think the buffalo are as big as the scouts say they are?”
“The scouts say they are bigger than the moose and elk that we have hunted since our fathers. I have only heard of one other time that Kitchi Manitou has sent these animals to our lands and when those stories are told it is said that they were huge.”
We walked for most of the morning until one of the scouts met our small group and told us that the herd was ahead. We had to veer off to the north to stay downwind from them. By midday, we had found them. It was now time to organize all the warriors to where we wanted the herd to be driven. The buffalo were grazing in a meadow and had not caught wind of us. The chiefs directed the men to their spots. The hunt would commence at sunrise; we did not have enough time left in the day to start.
Wàgosh and I stood on the high escarpment that we had camped on and watched the herd.
“Wàgosh, fill your mind with this sight. We will never see anything like this again. The buffalo does not call the land of ours home. They are here by mistake, and we will never get the opportunity again in our lifetime to hunt them.”
“Mahingan, they are huge!”
During the time we watched them we could see huge bulls fighting for the breeding rights of cows. Most of the time the fight ended after a few charges and head butts, but there were times when a bull gored another and drew blood. The bulls continually were bellowing and sending chills up my back. What a magnificent beast; they would certainly challenge all our people’s skills tomorrow.
With the rising of the sun, we hurriedly ate and readied our weapons. The time had come. Even the dogs were restless; they knew something was about to happen that was to include them. I called my wolf over and stroked his head.
“Ishkodewan,” I said, “Today you will hunt a giant. Good luck, my friend.”
The herd started to move toward where we needed them to travel. The caller was doing his job. We then took the dogs to the rear of the herd and let them loose. There they started their frenzied barking, and with the warriors shouting and waving, the beasts broke into a run. They funnelled toward our corridor and all along both sides warriors yelled and waved. Once the animals passed them, the men joined in the chase. The cows were leading the panic, with the bulls running behind them and the younger buffalo bringing up the rear.
By mid morning we had them in the corridor where we had made our barriers. In a very short time they were in the corral and the killing began.
Just before reaching the bluff, one of the Wàbanaki warriors came too close to a bull. By the time anyone realized what had occurred, the bull had gored the man and the rest of the wildly running animals trampled him. After the herd had passed, his broken body laid on the trampled ground — a sacrifice to what was about to happen.
Now that we had the buffalo corralled, the slaughter began. The sounds and sights of the buffalo frothing and bellowing, the warriors yelling, and the dogs barking were deafening and terrifying all at the same time. There was so much dust and mayhem that you feared for your life at all times.
Wàgosh and I stayed together and fired our arrows into the lungs and hearts of the beasts. When an animal went down, they let out a huge gasp of air and blood flew out of their mouths and nostrils. Once I looked around and saw Mònz with his spear driving it into a cow. The animal dropped to its knees and Mònz drove another spear into its lungs. By this time he was covered with blood and yelling his lungs out.
Wàgosh turned to me and said, “Mahingan the stench of death is overpowering here today. I have never experienced anything like this in my life before. It is overwhelming!”
“Yes, Wàgosh, but it also is the sweet smell of life for our people this winter. Our women and children will have lots to eat and our elders will not suffer the pangs of hunger and die because of their weaknesses. This animal is giving us a chance to make our children stronger through his life-sustaining meat. Sometimes the stench of death means a new life for something else.”
The killing took place for most of the afternoon. When the family heads had decided we had enough for all, the rest of the animals were set free. I called for Ishkodewan and he and the small dog came on the trot, both of them covered in blood. He had learned about the hunt today and the dogs would eat well for the next few days.
I looked up to the top of the bluff and saw all the women, young boys, and elders cheering and waving. Soon they were running down to the killing area.
We would all have to work hard now, butchering and getting all this meat back to our camp on the upper Kitcisìpi Sìbì. There would be travois to pull, and then there were the extra canoes that we would have to carry out to the river where Mitigomij waited for us.
It was several more days before we started for home, as we wanted to take as
