Iootash!

I went to the library today to pick up a book on the Corte-Real's and their early exploration of North America, when I discovered that the library was closed on Saturdays. I had three of the kids with me, and they wanted to do something special, so we took a drive to the Royal Wampanoag Cemetery. I had driven past it before, but never stopped to visit.

We stopped the car and got out. It's a nice area, with a lakeside view. I knew that some of the headstones would bear no engravings, but did not realize that none of them had any markings. In fact, most of them were just stones, anywhere from six inches around to the size of a basketball. A few were more european, upright headstones, but still there was no mark upon them.

You might not realize that it was a cemetery at all, save for the sign by the roadside and the signs that others came here to keep the place sacred. Around each marker, whatever the size, were placed small white stones, pinecones, handmade items of a significance that was lost on me, and feathers. My children are part Wampanoag, or so the family history goes, so I explained the meaning of the place and they decided to pay their respects with pinecones. It made them happy, and it made me happy, and we were respectful of the place.

I try to keep them aware of their tie to the Wampanoag culture. Last Thanksgiving we went to Plymouth in the morning to find something to do before dinner. It was raining off and on, but when we got there the weather wasn't too bad. The Wampanoags had a tent setup to celebrate the signing of the first peace treaty (as opposed to celebrating Thanksgiving, a dubious holiday at best, in their eyes) with the Europeans. It was also meant to educate people as to their culture and their stance on Thanksgiving. We walked over and were welcomed warmly. As we walked through the tent some of the kids told me they were thirsty, and a squaw overheard and invited us all to have cranberry juice together. It was very kind, and the kids really enjoyed the whole experience.

So, later this afternoon we took another ride. This time we went over to Anawan Rock. It's on the side of Rte 44 in Rehoboth. It marks the location where Chief Anawan, the presiding Chief of the Wampanoags after Philip's death in the war of 1676, was finally captured by Benjamin Church and his men. It consists of a large, sedimentary conglomerate stone hill with a cliff on one side. Anawan had built his camp under the shelter of the cliff. Church and his men snuck up the hill and looked down the small drop on Anawan's camp and what remained of the Wampanoag warriors. The surrender was quick and sorrowful. Almost all of the tribe that were left were taken and either killed or sold into slavery, although some "praying Indians" remained in reservation areas. The war took a huge toll on the early settlers of New England, but it ultimately all but wiped out the Wampanoag tribe.

Today, legend states that visitors to the area may witness wisps of smoke rising up from the swamp, representing the long extinguished fires of Anawan's braves. Moreover, it is said that you may hear cries of "Iootash!" in the distance, which is the Wampanoag phrase for "stand and fight!". We neither saw the smoke nor heard the cries, this time, though it was not for lack of trying. If you have an interest in hearing the language, which is all but forgotten now, visit the online American Philosophical Library. There is a recording of a Wampanoag version of The Lord's Prayer, spoken by Chief Wild Horse at Betty's Neck in 1961. It is a dialect of Algonquin, and the recording is both interesting and beautiful to hear. Still, I would have rather heard an "Iootash!".