In the time of this story, many blamed her for the Europeans. “Running Deer,” she trilled in an attempt to lighten her mood.
He strode from the mound, no pack for the journey. “I cannot let you go. People are angry. I fear you will be harmed, and I won’t be able to protect you. We must think of our family first.”
“I must go. Our people need my message. I’ve the honor of carrying forward our practices and customs. I ask you: Who are we if we are not true to ourselves, our traditions of welcoming?”
He slammed his empty game stick into the ground. “That was before the robes came and convinced you and others to follow their god, not those we’ve trusted, gods of Wind and Rain, Sun and Earth.” Running Deer faced her, accusing. “These gods brought us rich harvests, abundant game. Now, all gone. We’re hungry and tired of being so poor in spirit.”
“A long speech. You really believe it’s the will of the gods?” Now nearly a man and already the father of two, Running Deer grew up in days of green fields and full rivers. Today he saw only the missing and found willing sentiment among naysayers of change.
ANGELINA, when little more than a girl, the change had begun. The principal chief designated her as mound keeper because she could interpret among the Spanish priests, “the robes,” as well as French hunters, trappers and explorers and her Caddo. Her role grew, taking up her mother’s. Angelina offered food, shelter, furs and skins for those who washed up, gaunt and near threadbare, on the riverbank.
“Angelina,” those first weary sailors called her. In gratitude, they named the river “Angelina.”
She welcomed them to her family’s lean-to. When too many arrived or when bad weather intruded, she invited them into the community mound. As mound keeper for her village, Angelina parceled out food, exchanged skins and cloth for each other as well as strangers, and continued to speak and interpret. In those earlier days, hunts, fishing and harvests bore plenty.
In this time, though, it did look bleak. She just did not fault this new god learned about from her vision visit with the “Lady in Blue,” and the “Robes” who taught her stories, especially about the one called Jesus.
So, she said to Running Deer: “People in pain blame. It’s their nature. But we must not. We will make do. Water and sun will come again; the furry creatures will return.” As if for emphasis, she snuggled into her capote, sewn from the fur and skin of small black bears that once thumped through this thicket.
“Caddos must be helpful,” she said. “These Europeans carry great power in their spirit and with their weapons. The Spanish flared-barrel, smoking guns, carve a wide span of death. Although our men are more accurate shooters, excellent hunters, the Caddo’s’ bow and arrows are no match.”
Running Deer shook his head and shouldered his game stick that he strung with dried rabbit, squirrel and skunk. A scowl creased his brow.
If Angelina couldn’t convince him, how could she hope to persuade tribal chiefs. “We’ll talk more on the way. At Council.” As if to say “enough,” she shouldered her pack for the many days journey north and the meeting, one certain to roil with anger and hatred. “We’ve a long trip. I need to be there and I need you.”
“Coming.” Running Deer kissed his wife and the eyelids of his daughter good-bye. He hefted his bow then picked up his son and blew into his belly until the infant laughed.
Angelina’s laughter rang with the sound of tinkling bells in the frosty night. “Few are laughing today,” she said and set out, her feet finding the deer trail toward the major chief’s village. The farther north they trod, her moccasins rustled more. Not so long ago, this wild grass would have waved and nodded, tipping its green seed hats. A string of fish would have floated in the placid rivers where they camped each night, rivers now little more than creeks.
War and drought…a mighty toll.
The Robes taught her Christianity as they called it. The story of the baby boy, Jesus, wrenched at her heart. Born with no room in the inn, born in a stable in a faraway land called Bethlehem and long distant in time. The story and the vision visit by the “Lady in Blue” drew Angelina, yet she had not quite abandoned the Caddo tradition of praising gods of moon and stars, earth and fire and water.
Day after day she and Running Deer traveled. Upon arrival near the main village, not far from what Spaniards called “Nacogdoches,” Angelina set down her sack of pumpkin seeds and corn, watermelon seeds and slips of sweet potatoes to find root in the village soil, her offering for the tomorrow garden where all would share, next year. For the trip, she had packed bread and dried rabbit and squirrel, now almost gone. She hoped Running Deer would bring down a doe or two to be shared and to give them food for the return and for her riverbank people. The path grew drier, the game scarcer. Angelina’s hope dimmed.
“Running Deer.” She must speak with him of her plan before they arrived. “I need for you to take the chief’s eldest, gather a few of the most skilled young hunters and search for dear and bear to feed our peoples.” That would pull off the young, usually the ones who clamored loudest for war and revenge.
When they arrived in the main village, the chief opened wide his arms. “Tayshas, welcome, my daughter. We have much to discuss, I’m sure you know.”
Running Deer waved his bow at a fellow hunter and loped off to the center of camp.
Angelina waved him good-bye and turned back to the chief. “I see the slim produce, the game that’s not here.”
“And that is why we must council.”
After the communal pot, gathered around the blazing fire, the Caddo’s supreme leader summoned chieftains of the Nation tribes, and Angelina, to gather around for both warming from weather and warming toward each other. Angelina invited wives and mothers accustomed to taking part in tribal decisions. She must tap into their mother’s love as well as the feared Caddo tradition that when a wife faced her husband and cried, he would fall in battle.
“Are they necessary?” the chief asked.
“Oh, yes, Great Father. I urge you to listen to me, to your wives and mothers. We will be the ones to carry on alone if you are killed.” She stood and swept her gaze around the circle, pausing chest high on each chief. When she returned to the principal chief, she continued. “As I fear you will be.”
He pulled on his pipe, shaking his head. “You will need to convince a great many, my daughter. I have always honored your gifts. Today, they bring trouble.”
“I know you believe that.”
Angelina sat by him while each chieftain rose and spoke of the troubles in their lands, tribes from the long Red River, the twisting Sabine where they were now, and her own people further south, on what the strangers dubbed, “Angelina River.”
She did not interrupt. She knew their wives and for some, their mothers, were friends with her mother. We’re family.
When the last spoke and sat, the ceremonial pipe circled the gathering, returning to the chief, she rose, her hands reached out in welcoming.
“Tayshas,” she said, calling out the ancient greeting.
“Let me tell you a story from the Europeans whose history is as ancient as the Caddo.”
A Babe was Born
“A babe was born in a manger in this far away land many, many, many years ago. His parents, a young Mary and Joseph, had traveled to a city, Bethlehem, for the birth of their child. When they arrived, an innkeeper—not a welcoming one like us Caddo—said: ‘there’s no room here. You can sleep with the donkeys and chickens out back. No room,’ he repeated. That baby was born in a manger, a stall, in the cold, among the creatures, not his kin.”
Angelina noted the women rocked in rhythm with the wind. “Little children need care and comfort as I’m sure their mother and father provided, but they also need shelter. They need to be warm.” She shuddered when a cold blast hit. “How could this child be warm? More importantly, how could he know he was loved by a greater family?” Her voice broke. She struggled for composure for this is what brought her to believe Jesus was a strong god to overcome such a barren beginning.
“We in the Caddo provide not just a mother and father but a tribal family, a nation. We bring children into the world to play and be loved first.” The women moaned their assent. “Years later, they will grow into sturdy braves and wise women. Without this playground of love and support, what would happen to them?
Despite Jesus’ Poor Beginning
“Yet, the child Jesus…” she lifted her eyes following the flecks of fire rising above the timbers while she spoke and said again, “Yet, the child Jesus, despite his poor beginning, grew strong and wise and powered by miracles. Yet, he continued to experience struggles and torture. Yet, the child Jesus brought forth a community that spans nation boundaries, rivers and seas and all the peoples.”
Women shouldered each other and murmured. They knew what a baby needed and without that, one would struggle, perhaps be weak. But he was strong, so Angelina continued: “That is why I have joined these Christians in worshipping their one God who has dominion over all.” While she spoke, her conviction grew, doubts slipped away, as if being fed by the spirit.
Some bristled, including the Principal Chief, but Angelina continued. Time now to appeal to the danger while the women were with her. “If you war with these Europeans, I have seen the horror of their weapons. Our men will be killed.” Great numbers of women wept, a custom when their men went off to war, signaling that the loved one of the weeping woman would be killed.
Angelina stamped her feet, almost a dance as bone amulets tinkled in the silent night. Her voice rose to carry above the swelling clamor. “It does not have to end like that. We must continue to be Caddo, continue to welcome strangers to our midst, continue to not look upon them as strangers but as brothers and sisters of a larger family. We Caddo must never be the ones to usher a pregnant mother to a stable, to shut a newborn out of the cabin or mound or village.”
“We must be Caddo. The Robes have taught: `Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.’ If we welcome, as our tradition also commands, we will find wisdom to help with our plight.”
Angelina, the mound keeper sat. The Principal Chief passed her the pipe of peace.
THE END
For more stories about Texas History, particularly her heroines, check out these books…
Texas Dames: Sassy and Savvy History Throughout Lone Star History and
Texas Ranch Women: Three Centuries of Mettle and Moxie
More stories, just in time for holiday gift books, signed, autographed and shipped!