Summer Thunder bowed his head against the cold wind that blew onto the Cape and pulled his headpiece down to his ears. He wore a cloak made completely out of bearskin, including the entire bear’s head that sat on top of his own. 

He knew he was a fearsome sight in this outfit; the immensity of the cloak alone was enough to intimidate even the bravest warrior, and if that wasn’t enough, the sharp teeth and menacing eyes of the bear’s head would do it.  That was his hope, at least.  This was a time when he would need to use all the resources he could muster, including, for the moment, intimidation.

          Four years had past since the last English boat had come to the Cape and brought with it the deaths of nearly three-quarters of the Wampanoag Nation, including his wife and parents.  As devastating a time it had been, he considered himself lucky because he still had all three of his children, including Tala, his youngest daughter who hadn’t even been alive for one moon when her mother died.  Still, even though he knew the Great Spirit, Manitou, looked favorably upon him, as chief of the Mashpee tribe, he had the responsibility of protecting his people from the threat of the arrival of a second English boat.

            He turned his head toward the ocean, squinting against the snow that blew into his eyes.  From where he walked, he could only barely see the boat that was anchored far out in the sea.  Although the ship appeared small, it had to be the size of four wetus in order to accommodate the vast number of people he knew were on the ship.  Two-hundred, at least, he figured. 

They were here for trade.  That was why all ships came from across the ocean.  The Wampanoag would give the men with pale faces deer and bear skins.  The Palefaces brought copper pots and metal knives, practical tools that would help his people with their everyday chores.

  They also had brightly colored wool blankets and glass beads that the women would sew onto their dresses and moccasins.  That was what his wife had wanted; blue and purple beads to put on a baby dress she had made for their new daughter.  Summer Thunder had traded his largest deer hide for a small sac of the beads and an intricately woven coverlet.  He didn’t know it at the time, but it had been the blanket that brought the deadly fever back to the village.  

            The memory of his wife made him sad.  He saw her every day in his three children.  His oldest, Nadie, had her smile and laugh.  His son, Kitchi, was spirited and boastful in the same playful way his mother had been.  And Tala had the same passion for story-telling that her mother had.  He smiled briefly to himself as he realized how lucky he really was to still have his children.  But the happy moment quickly turned into anger as he remembered how much had been taken from him and his people.  There had not been one single family that hadn’t been affected by the fever.

            It was the Patuxet tribe that had been affected the most.  Their entire village had been wiped out except for a handful of people who survived and were forced to join surrounding tribes.  It was the land of the former Patuxets that he walked along now, making his way to a council with the two other chiefs in the Wampanoag Nation to discuss how to handle the arrival of the new ship.  It was nearly a day’s journey by foot from his village to the coast, not something he particularly wanted to do unless it was absolutely necessary, and as far as he was concerned, this meeting was of the utmost importance to the survival of his people.

***

            The other chiefs were already gathered around the fire as Summer Thunder pushed back the straw mat covering the entranceway of the abandoned wetu overlooking the ocean. Like Summer Thunder, the other two men were dressed from head to toe in bearskin cloaks. He secretly wished that some of the English men could be there to witness this meeting; he was sure that the sight of them would scare them away from the land for good.

            “Kwey,” Matunaaga greeted, standing up from a log bench and gesturing for Summer Thunder to join them around the fire.  Though Summer Thunder was a large man himself, Matunaaga towered over him as he approached the fire.

            “Kwey,” Summer Thunder responded, nodding at each man in turn.

            “I trust you had a safe journey here,” the other chief, Chogan, said.  His face was as black as the night sky on a new moon and the whites of his eyes glistened in contrast.  At times, the hardness of his face intimidated Summer Thunder and as he looked at his friend, he wished again, that someone from the boat was here to witness this event.  Anything that could be done to rid the Cape of these unwelcome traders with as little effort as possible was something that he would consider, even if it was only a fantasy.

            “I did, thank you,” Summer Thunder replied solemnly, dropping his gaze.

            Matunaaga reached into a small woven basket that sat at his feet and removed a pipe made from the claw of a lobster.  He stuffed the bowl with tobacco, lit it, and offered it to Chogan.  Summer Thunder fixed his gaze on Chogan and watched him intently as he closed his eyes and sucked the smoke out of the pipe.  It was a familiar gesture, one that opened all the councils between chiefs.  Summer Thunder knew the importance of always honoring the Great Spirit before important issues were discussed.  His mother-in-law, Alawa, had taught him that.  Without the protection and aid of the spirits, they had no chance, and he knew it.

            “Nibah-Nahbeezik,” Chogan began, lifting his head and exhaling the smoke with his eyes closed. “Great Spirit of the Waters, I offer you a gift of wampum.”  He reached into his pouch and pulled out a handful of purple and white Quahog shells.  Looking down at the wampum, he rubbed the smooth shells between his fingers and threw them into the fire.  Red-hot embers escaped from the flames and landed on the log.  He bowed his head and passed the pipe to Summer Thunder.

            Summer Thunder took his turn, inhaling the smoke, then sending it far up into the heavens where the Spirits waited to receive it.  “Nibah-Nahbeezik,” he said.  “Great Spirit of the Waters, I have brought you a gift of sweet tobacco, which was harvested this fall.”  He opened his cape, removed a bronze-colored pouch made from deerskin, opened it, and inspected the dried tobacco, double checking that he had brought the best tobacco he had.  Then he closed the pouch back up, tied it tightly shut, and threw the entire package into the fire.  The flames ignited and his eyes followed the cloud of black smoke as it rose up to the ceiling and out the hole in the roof of the wetu.  Summer Thunder was well aware that tobacco was the Spirit’s favorite gift and he had intentionally brought it hoping that if the three chiefs ran into a disagreement, the Spirits would be on his side.

            Matunaaga made his offering last.  He took the pipe from Summer Thunder and sucked on it long and hard, making sure he smoked every last bit of tobacco in the bowl.  Summer Thunder scoffed at this; he had always thought of Matunaaga as a greedy man.  He watched as the chief exhaled swiftly and a seemingly never-ending stream of smoke flowed freely from his mouth. 

“Nibah-Nahbeezik, I have called this meeting with my fellow chiefs in your name.  We ask for your presence and guidance as we decide how we are going to deal with this white menace that is in our waters and soon will invade our land.  I am offering you this gift of woven blankets that you may do us this favor in return.”