Legends of the Chiefs: The True Legends Passed Down by Native Americans

9781483518930

Prologue

By

Blackhawk Walters

As a young boy, my grandfather and grandmother took me on a journey to learn of my heritage. We traveled to Oklahoma where I met many relatives and heard stories of my people. At this time my whole destiny and purpose began.

Aware that Geronimo was my hero, Grandfather took me to his grave. Only one who has been on a pilgrimage can understand how, to me, Geronimo was a god like figure. Only the true story helps understand what pain and misery he withstood. The power and connection as a medicine man, with Father Sky and Mother Earth, made him what he was. I knelt down at the site of his grave, vowing to Geronimo, in my heart, that one day I would be a great warrior. I promised I would learn the stories of our great warriors and I wouldn’t let them die.

I was forty-eight years old before I achieved my other life goals: winning four World Title Kickboxing Championships, becoming a published author, movie maker and performer. It’s now time I kept my other promise to Geronimo by putting into print the legends of my people.

My dear friend, Beth Shumway Moore, who is a successful author, suggested we do a book together.

All the history and stories have been written by the other side. My stories come from the myth keepers, Native Americans like myself, who pass along oral history. No apologies offered to any who find faults with these stories and legends. My coauthor, Beth, and I spent hours checking facts. If there was a contradiction we took my legends as they are closer to the truth.

In many tribes sex didn’t matter because an Indian had to earn his position of authority by skills shown in daily life and in battle. There were medicine men, medicine women, and elders who held councils on tribal affairs. Often a vote was made to choose a peace chief to negotiate terms with another tribe. If, in council, war was decided, a war chief was chosen due to his proven leadership skills, or sometimes because he was wronged, or lost his decision to fight or not.

After a council and everyone had their opinion voiced, a warrior could choose the path he thought correct.

Many misconceptions still exist because our culture wasn’t respected. Respect for, and gaining information, is essential to understanding. We continue to pass on the ceremonies and rituals of our people but many of our young do not make the effort to learn our history and legends. Many have never been written down, and they slowly die out with each generation. There are many sources---history records, missionary records, rare journals---that document one side of some legends. But they are told at our Council Fires from a different view point. As you read our stories, imagine an invasion of aliens from another planet. Then it is possible to understand.

An Indian acquaintance of mine commented that only the Lakota and Cheyenne, who defeated Custer were real warriors. The other Indians were Hold the Horse Indians. This friend had been convinced that they were the only Indians who engaged the white culture.

He, like most Americans, was totally ignorant of the facts. His 3.000 Cheyenne warriors had defeated Custer’s 239 men. They won the battle, but lost the war. From that point on, all Cheyenne warriors were defeated and put on reservations within three years.

The Eastern Indians, specifically my tribal heritage, Creek and Choctaw, had been fighting European encroachment from the 1500s. Our people fought invasions with such cunning it took European invaders 300 years to put us on reservations from 1830-1839. It took less than 50 years to defeat the western tribes. Yet they were remembered as the great warriors.

Why don’t people know the truth? First, American Indians were considered to be Red Savages. Not until the white man had conquered everything east of the Mississippi, and built their cities, were the Americans interested in Indian culture. The white man now owned our land and reasoned that this was their home and their country. Secure and settled, interest turned to changing the Red Savages into the The Noble R ed Savage, but still the misnomer of savage.

Another misnomer is that only in the later stages of the Indian wars was the word massacre replaced with the word battle. In early history massacre was used only when large numbers of Americans were killed, or when the Indians won.

The second reason is, no Native American, at least none with success, has ever published our side of the story. History books basically tell the battles won by Americans neglecting the great battles won by the Indians.

The third reason is, Americans want to believe the story that makes the good guys wearing the white hat.

When I hear people say this country was founded on Christian principles I don’t believe these principles involve lying, cheating, conquering and destroying.

The words of the first ordained priest in the New World describes the treatment Spanish soldiers gave to the American Indians written more than 500 years ago.

Overrunning cities and villages, where they spared no sex, nor age, neither would their cruelty protect women with children, whose bellies they would rip up, taking out infants to hew into pieces. They would lay wagers who could, with the most dexterity, either cleave or cut a man in the middle, or at one blow cut off this head. The children they would take by the feet and dash their innocent heads against the rocks. And when they were fallen into the water, with strange and cruel derision, they would call upon them to swim. Sometimes they would run a sword through a pregnant woman, killing both mother and infant. They erected gallows that were so broad but so low, that the tormented creatures might touch the ground with their feet, upon which they would hang thirteen persons, blaspheming, affirming that they did it honor of our redeemer and his apostles, and then putting fire under them. They burnt the poor wretches alive.

The European invaders wanted to wipe out all Indian people. The Spanish records in Mexico indicate the American Indian population at 15,000,000. By 1650 the number was reduced to 2,000,000. More than 13,000,000 had died by Spanish estimates.

Florida was once populated by American Indians. Within 150 years the Spanish had totally annihilated the complete Indian population.

They even had special words for their slavery in the name of God. Encomiendas and repartimientos meant the master race would save the savages with their Christian religion. In return the Indian would serve as slaves in the gold mines and raising crops on plantations. Native Americans would have none of this. Women would kill their own children rather than have them suffer torture and slavery.

It took the American Indians less than one hundred years to learn that you meet cruelty with cruelty. If they kill your women and children, then you kill their women and children.

Although I have told these stories orally for many years, the time has come to pass the stories on so they don’t die. My people say someone lives as long as somebody remembers them. Let the memory of my people and our great chiefs live on forever.

Chapter 1

OPECANCANOUGH

Powhatan

1544-1644

If I had captured you, I would not have displayed you as a wounded dog to my people. I would have let you die as a warrior.

The most feared war chief, Opecancanough, was captured. His black eyes, filled with hatred, stared at the soldiers as they tied and bound him with ropes. The ropes, bound unnecessarily tight, scraped his thin skin, bringing blood. He had been carried into battle on a stretcher; now, no longer able to stand, the Chief tried to hold his body erect as the soldiers roughly placed him on a litter to be carried and displayed through the streets of Jamestown, Virginia. The settlers lined up to watch, rejoicing in the capture of this fierce enemy. They hissed, threw rocks, and spit on him. This frail old chief, almost a hundred years old, showed his contempt for them by totally ignoring their existence. He no longer looked at them in hatred. Rather than acknowledging his enemy, a people beyond redemption because of their cruelty, greed, and self-righteousness, he stared straight ahead. Legend says that most of the time, the Chief closed his eyes and saved his strength. He knew he would die, and he would die on his own terms, like a warrior.

Opecancanough was taken into a building and put under heavy guard, still feared though he was alone and old. The soldiers surrounded him.

The mob outside pushed open the doors and smashed the windows. They ranted and raved, calling for the Chief’s death as they tried to push aside the guards. Finally, one of the soldiers shot the Chief at point blank range. Opecancanough staggered and fell back, appearing dead from the musket wound. Seeing the chief sprawled on the floor, the bloodthirsty crowd immediately began to holler and cheer to show their approval.

All of a sudden, the crowd fell silent as the ancient warrior struggled to his feet. The aged Chief used all of his remaining strength to make one last stand. Even though most of his followers rotted on the battlefield, he was determined to die as a warrior. Stunned into silence, the onlookers watched the century-old chief struggle to his feet, unable to believe he still lived. The soldiers pointed their muskets at him, frightened by the determination of the warrior chief who stood in front of them. His voice still held strength as he demanded to see their governor. Then the Chief slowly lowered himself to the floor, crossed his legs, and started singing. Unbeknownst to the soldiers, he was singing his death song.

When Governor Berkley arrived, Opecancanough struggled to his feet. Using his waning strength, he stood erect and stared at his enemy. The old warrior pointed his wavering finger at the governor and said, If I had captured you, I would not have displayed you as a wounded dog to my people. I would have let you die a warrior.

The Chief had saved his strength for this one last superhuman performance, to show his captor that although he had been beaten in battle, nobody could ever steal his heart and soul.

The crowd was totally mesmerized by this old warrior whose presence, despite everything, was terrifying. When Opecancanough saw that he could still put terror into the English commander, he smiled and, for one brief moment, appeared content. With the knowledge that he still had the power to turn put into the hearts and souls of his enemy, he fell to the floor dead.

The story of Opecancanough has never been told to the white culture. In fact, very few Indians know of his existence. But four hundred years ago his name filled the hearts of the first Americans with fear like no other Indian before or since. Many know the story of Chief Powhatan, and even more know of his daughter, Pocahontas. She became a legend in her own right because she helped heal many wounds between the white newcomers and her people. But few know the story of her uncle, Opecancanough. Most Americans are unaware that as early as 1622, many Indians could see white people encroaching on their territory and wanted to put a stop to it. However, no Indian had as intense a desire as that which filled Opecancanough. This fascinating man had the foresight to predict the extinction of the Indian people centuries before most had realized what was coming to pass. For this reason, his desire was to eliminate the threat to his people by running the white invaders back across the ocean to the place from whence they came. He had good cause to hate the strange group of men who invaded his lands.

He first became aware of the strange visitors around 1560 when he was 16 years old. He and several companions were spending the day, as they often did, fishing along the Virginia coastline. To their amazement a big ship came sailing up the river toward them. These natives had never seen such a big ship before, and to the Indians, it looked like a big canoe with large white clouds above it. Opecancanough and his companions were the first to see this unfamiliar sight. Opecancanough was only an adolescent at the time, but his curiosity and courage were beyond question. The boys hid in the high grass along the shore of the river. They watched these men with their white complexions and hair covering much of their faces. The pale men paddled a peculiar looking canoe toward the shore. Then they quietly pulled their canoe onto the sandy beach.

Opecancanough and his friends, still hidden, watched as these men made strange talk in a language the boys had never heard before. The men brought out a blanket and laid it on the beach. Then they pulled many shiny trinkets from the bag, held them in the air, and shouted strange words. As time passed, the blanket was full of shiny ornaments. Opecancanough and his friends whispered amongst themselves, trying to decide what to do.

These men must be here to trade. This is the same manner in which our elders traded with the distant tribes, said one of the boys.

What if we become the first of our people to trade with these white strangers? We could gain much notoriety and impress the young women with our courage and trading goods, said another.

Slowly, the young warriors walked into the clearing toward the newcomers. Two of them had their bows and arrows with them, but they kept their arrows in their quivers, not wanting to show aggression. One carried his war club at his side, holding it in the middle. Opecancanough had his stone tomahawk wedged in his belt. The white trader leader waved the Indians toward him. He spoke his language softly, spreading his empty hands to show that he held no weapons, a sign of friendship.

Opecancanough, a natural leader, stepped close. He answered in his native tongue, slowly and softly. The Spaniard kneeled down and picked up a beautiful, multicolored necklace. He motioned for Opecancanough to reach out and take it. Slowly and carefully, he did. Then he very cautiously put it around his neck. He turned to his followers to show off the necklace. They smiled and nodded. He turned back to face the stranger, who gestured with his hands that Opecancanough should take another necklace and give it to one of his friends.

One of the Indians noticed the white men were slowly circling around them. He whispered to Opecancanough, Be careful. These men cannot be trusted. They are setting a trap.

Caught up in the excitement of the strangers and their fancy ornaments, Opecancanough answered, Don’t be a coward. They just want to trade.

He took the other necklace, and then turned to give it to his friend, but the three boys turned and ran away. Before Opecancanough could react, he was knocked unconscious.

When Opecancanough regained consciousness, he discovered he was chained to a wooden post inside the belly of the strangers’ large canoe. How bitterly he regretted his curiosity, and that he had not listened to his friend. Accustomed to the freedom of the forest and being surrounded with friends and family, time went slowly for the young boy; it seemed like an eternity that he was chained inside the canoe. Every day, the words his friends had whispered to him played over and over in his mind, These white men cannot be trusted. He would never forget those words for the rest of his life.

Throughout the entire voyage, he never saw the light of day, and his movements were restricted by chains. Every day, all that was given to him was a bowl of rotten food and a cup of water. The Spaniards would shout in loud voices and slash a whip at him when they came near to refill his bowl and cup.

It’s strange, Opecancanough thought, but these men act frightened of me. Many of the men intentionally hit Opecancanough with the whip, drawing blood and bringing up welts on the boy’s body. Each day, his hatred grew for the white race.

After many days, the ship came to harbor. Six men came down the hole to bring Opecancanough from his prison out to this strange foreign place. The men not only kept his legs chained, but they bound his hands in chains and put a rope around his neck. At any resistance, they would jerk the rope, throwing him off balance. He became bruised and sore from his many falls, and the rope began to choke his throat so tightly he could hardly breathe or swallow.

Opecancanough had trouble seeing, as his eyes had trouble adjusting to the bright sun after so many days and nights spent in darkness. When he was able, he used his chained hands to quickly grab the rope around his neck, pulling it away from his throat so he could breathe. As the men led him like a prized cow down the streets of the Spanish-Mexican seaport, the Spanish soldiers yelled and screamed with delight