The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby (40 page)

Blue Coat stopped to look into the eyes of the Mattaponi elders. The nods of their heads emboldened him to continue with more difficult words

“The white men’s ships arrive everyday. More and more of the white eyes pour onto our shores and demand land to build their homes, grow their crops, graze their herds, and raise new generations who will demand the same. In the wet season, a man called Carry came to Passaunkack to speak with Blue Coat. He said that the white eyes wish to build a town at Mattaponi because the water at our shores is deep and will allow many ships to unload more people and goods. These ships they will fill with our trees and hides and tobacco and corn and return to their homelands without paying for what they have taken from us. He wanted Blue Coat to make his mark on paper giving our lands to the white eyes. I refused. When he insisted that he would take our land with or without my mark, my braves entered the council lodge with their bows and hatchets. Carry and his men left Passaunkack shaking their fists at Blue Coat and screaming that they would return with many men and their thunder sticks.

“In the growing time, more white eyes arrived with a paper that said I must go to Middle Plantation to speak with their chief, Edward Nott. The Mattaponi council advised Blue Coat not to go. They fear that Chief Nott is setting a trap to keep Blue Coat away from Passaunkack. Without their chief, the white eyes would take our lands without a fight.”

Chief Blue Coat paused to look at the elders seated around the council fire. If his words had not spoken the truth, it was their time to speak. They stared stoically at Blue Coat. Not one of them made a sound.

Blue Coat told Tyoga, “That Chief Nott has summoned me to his council fire is a good thing. It means that he will hear Blue Coat’s words. This is a sign that he is a just and honest man. If he can stop the white eyes from taking our land, then I must go to Middle Plantation as he has asked. If I do not go, then he will sign our land over to this Carry and the others. There will be war and much killing. We will not allow the white eyes to take our land without a fight.”

“How can I help the Mattaponi, Chief Blue Coat? What would you have me do?” Tyoga asked.

“Go with Chief Blue Coat to Middle Plantation. Speak for the Mattaponi. Tell Edward Nott that we will not give away our ancestral home and that we will fight to keep what is ours. Chief Blue Coat does not speak the white eye’s tongue. If there is no one there to tell me what this man, Nott, is saying, how can I trust that his words are true? How will I know what is in his heart? You must go with Blue Coat to this place.”

At this, the conversation ceased.

Tyoga stared into the fire for a long time. He had not been in a city or town for many years. He had not moved within the white world and he wasn’t even sure what that really meant anymore.

What will I see? How will I react?

He was frightened at what he might discover, not only about the world beyond the Appalachians, but about the world within himself.

After many minutes passed without a response from Tyoga, Chief Blue Coat added, “Wahaya-Wacon, if you do this for your Mattaponi brothers, the land two days walk in every direction from your Twin Oaks will be yours to live on in peace, forevermore.”

Tyoga said, “Chief Blue Coat, I will go with you to Middle Plantation to speak with this Mr. Nott. But I do not go for the gift of the land. I go to stop a war and preserve the way of life for the Mattaponi. The land is yours. No one should be allowed to take it away.”

Chapter 48

Turnabout

T
The following day, Tyoga and Trinity waved goodbye to their friends and pushed their canoe into the cold clear waters of the Mattaponi River. It was an hour after sunrise, and a ghostly mist still hovered just above the shiny glass surface of the river. Their home nestled between the twin oak trees was an easy trip from the village so Trinity, in the front of the canoe, did not need to help Tyoga paddle. They drifted lazily along with the morning breeze at their backs and the rising sun in their eyes.

“How was your visit with your sister?” Tyoga asked.

“Wonderful, Ty. She said that I can stay with her as long as I want to.”

A wry smile creased Tyoga’s face when he used her Indian name. “Yutsa, why did you not stay with Grows Strong? Why are you sitting in the bow of my canoe, woman?”

Trinity was looking straight ahead so that Tyoga could not see her face. He could tell that she was smiling broadly when she answered, “Because I want to go home.”

Tyoga grinned and did not answer. He paddled the canoe out into the middle of the Mattaponi River and let the current glide them along. Securing the paddle to the stern with his left hand, he allowed it to sink only paddle-deep into the water and used it as a rudder to steer the canoe.

After a while, Trinity said, “Grows Strong told me some stories about the legend of Tyoga Weathersby that I had not heard before.”

Tyoga did not reply.

“Sunlei was a beautiful, gifted woman,” Trinity added without any prompting.

“Yes, she is,” Tyoga replied using the present tense.

Trinity noticed and the smile left her face. She beamed again when Tyoga offered, “She is a lot like you.”

The two floated quietly down the river. Their heads turned gently from side to side to gaze at the wonders of the cool Virginia morn. Deer by the dozens stood statue-like at the river’s edge. The does hovered over their playful fawns. The willows, birch, and elm trees were filled with song birds incessantly chirping to proclaim their ground. A fox and her cubs scurried back into the cover of the reeds as they rounded a bend, and hawks, searching the river for fingerling fry, soared overhead.

Warmed by the rising sun they reveled in the joys of being—both of them thankful not to be alone.

On the sandy east bank of the Mattaponi, their modest shelter haloed in the morning sun came into view. Like a castle’s sturdy parapets, the tall twin oaks stood powerful and strong, welcoming them home.

The canoe crunched ashore on the sandy bank. Trinity sprang from the canoe, lifted the bow, and pulled it out of the water so that it was secured on the shore.

Tyoga was climbing out of the canoe when the terrifying scream made him jump with fright. Trinity was crumpled on the ground clutching her right calf.

He was by her side in two steps. “T.J., Trinity Jane, what’s the matter, what’s wrong?” He barely finished the words when the second snake struck the hand she was holding protectively over the first bite.

“No!” He grabbed the snake behind its head and snapped it in two. “Water moccasins!” he cried out.

Trinity did not have to ask what that meant. Growing up in the tidewater of Virginia, she knew. With eyes wild with fear and pain, she asked him, “Ty. Ty, what are we going to do?”

Without saying a word, Tyoga scooped her up into his arms and ran to the shelter. He knew exactly what to do.

Davey was racing through his mind. He had watched his mother tend to his little brother when he was bitten by the snake. He was well aware of the consequences of not acting fast. His mother had gotten to his brother too late to save him. He wasn’t going to allow that to happen now.

He lay Trinity on the buffalo mattress and felt her forehead. The poison was traveling fast through her system because her panic caused her heart to race and spread the vile toxin more rapidly. She was perspiring and having difficultly sitting up.

“T.J.,” Tyoga said sternly. “T.J., keep your eyes open. Don’t close your eyes. Keep looking at me.”

He searched frantically for a particular basket that held a straight razor given to him by the Mattaponi. When he saw the basket, he kicked it over and the straight razor fell out onto the ground.

“Lie down, T.J.” He pushed her gently onto her back. He grabbed a corner of a deer hide and placed it in her hand. “Bite down on this, Little One.” He didn’t notice that he had used the term of endearment previously reserved only for Sunlei. “Scream as loud as you want—nobody is gonna hear.”

He knelt down by her calf, picked her leg up off of the ground, and turned his back to her. “This is gonna hurt, T.J. I’m sorry.”

Working quickly, he opened the straight razor and wiped the fang punctures with the cuff of his sleeve. He hesitated when he remembered that his mother had always placed her instruments directly into a flame, or dipped them into his papa’s peach brandy before lancing or cutting. He had neither.

Time was the determining factor. He went straight to work.

Placing the front edge of the razor over the first fang mark, he cleaved Trinity’s skin with a single deft stroke.

As the clean red line opened and bled, he placed the edge of the razor into the cut and pushed harder to open the calf muscle where the poison had been deposited.

He turned to look at Trinity Jane. Tears were streaming down the sides of her face, but she made no sound at all.

He opened the second fang puncture in same manner, lifted her leg to his mouth, and sucked hard over both cut marks. His mouth filled with blood, serum and residual venom. He spit it out through the front opening of the shelter. Three more times, he sucked and spit. After the final time he filled his mouth with water, swished, and spit.

He then turned his attention to the bite on her forearm.

This bite was far more serious than the bite on her leg. The snake was larger, and wasn’t surprised by Trinity’s presence. He saw her, and aimed his strike carefully before lunging for her arm. He had latched on and delivered a full bolus of his venom.

Her swollen forearm was turning a deep purple and red.

Tyoga slashed open the puncture marks with the straight razor and extracted as much poison as he possibly could with his mouth. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that he had not tended to this bite in time.

He remembered that his mother had cared for his baby brother by placing hot cloths over the incisions to force the cuts to bleed. He ran to the fire pit, dropped to his knees and blew the ash off of the two day old coals. Placing dry pine needles directly on the red hot coals, he coaxed a flame to life with three gently breaths. The pit was ablaze in a matter of minutes. He filled a clay pot with water, placed it directly on the flames, and ran back to Trinity's side.

Her lustrous auburn hair was plastered to her head and her clothing was soaked with sweat. She was beginning to shiver.

He cradled her head and shoulders in his arms, shook her lightly, and said, “T.J. T.J., can you open your eyes?” When she did not respond, he held her close to his chest and rocked her gently. There was little else he could do.

As the hours passed, Tyoga kept the hot compresses over the wounds. He placed a cool cloth on her brow, neck and upper chest, and blotted away the sweat that pooled in her eyes.

Wiping her face and cradling her body against his chest, he looked closely at the soft young woman lying in his arms. She was beautiful in a way that was oddly foreign, yet hauntingly familiar.

He had never held a white woman in his arms before. Her skin was velvet soft and creamy white. Her lips were thin and smooth. When she swallowed, the dimples in her cheeks puckered to give her an oddly impish aire even while asleep. Her neck was long and supple.

Brushing her hair from the right side of her face, he saw the scar that ran the length of her jaw, from in front of her ear lobe to her chin. The laceration had been deep and jagged. It was easy to imagine how the Shawnee brave who had held the knife in his hand thought that he had slit her throat. That the war party left her for dead was no surprise.

Tyoga gently touched the scar with the tips of his thick fingers and shook his head in disbelief that she had endured such an injury and survived. His hand slid from her cheek to her soft shoulders. He lingered there for a moment and rubbed her gently.

He picked up her limp left arm in his muscular, calloused hand. She felt so frail, so light, almost as if she wasn’t there at all. He placed her tiny hand in his and smiled when he brought it close to his face. The long delicate fingers had worked hard. Very hard.

The lot of a white girl brought into an Indian tribe at a young age was often difficult. Days were filled with work from sun up to sun down. Fetching water, scraping hides, planting and harvesting crops, milling grain, butchering game, cooking and caring for the needs of the young and old.

Those who survived the harsh realities of servitude and debasement were accepted as full members of the tribe. Their strength, courage, and stamina were unquestioned.

Just as Trinity had done for him, Tyoga did not leave her side for twenty-four hours.

On the morning of the second day, he awakened to his clotheswringing with sweat from Trinity lying against him through the night.

She was mumbling and shivering with fever. Remembering that this is exactly what had happened to his little brother, he threw back the blankets covering her lower leg, and beheld the sight that he hoped not to see. Her leg was so swollen that he could not discern her ankle or knee. If he didn’t do something soon, her skin would tear like an old linen sheet.

Gently he laid her on her back, removed all the covers and lifted her blouse over her head. He stripped her doeskin skirt up over her head so as not to disturb her swollen leg.

For the briefest moment, he felt a catch in his chest at seeing a naked white woman for the first time in his life.

Scooping blankets and sheets up in his arms, he ran to the river. He stumbled into the river until he was knee deep and submerged the bedding in the cold water. With the wet sheets and blankets slapping at his arms and legs, he ran back to the shelter. When he fell to the ground, he crawled the final ten feet into the shelter.

He covered Trinity first with the soaking linen sheet and then with a cotton blanket. Startled at the sudden cold, she shuddered and moaned, but did not awaken enough to protest. He placed a separate sopping wet, cold compress directly over her calf. He did the same for her forearm.