I found him standing alone on a hilltop over looking the bay. He was silent and still. Beams
of light from the slowly setting sun set his body ablaze and shimmering in a golden glow. Looking
like a bronze god in the dusk of the day, he was dressed only in a loin cloth, with feathers and beads
in his hair, moccasins on his feet, and a bright necklace of shells upon his chest. He wore little paint
except that which symbolized him as the sachem of his tribe. Had I found Raseokan, the chief of the
peaceful Matinecock Indians? Once a great warrior chieftain against his Iroquois enemies to the
north, he now found that prudence was indeed the better part of valor as his tribe had been cut down
not by his enemies, but by a disease he believed was sent by an evil spirit. Was this the great
Algonquin chief who also kept the peace with his friend to the east, Wyandance, leader of the tribe
called Montauks. He stood before me as silent as a statue. I knew his instincts were keen and that
he was aware of my presence. Gingerly I approached and began to speak.
"Are you Raseokan of the Matinecocks? Are you the one who has been dealing with the
white men from Oyster Bay?"
"Yes, I am chief sagamore of the Matinecock tribe of the people of the Algonquin nation.
True, I and Heworkes, Muhama, Sylar, and other tribesmen placed our marks upon the paper of the
white men, Houlbrock, Williams, and Whitehead," said the impressive Indian.
I could see that he was
looking at my clothing.
"You appear different from other white men. Your hair is shorter and your clothes different.
Are you of a different tribe?"
"Not really. I come from the future, yours and mine. I live on this land, a bit inland from here
in a place now named, Huntington Station.
I have seen a village there. Is that where you live?"
“Yes, I live on the land you call Huntington Station. To me and the members of my tribe this
land is simply, Ketewomoke."
"The white men say the paper you marked– it is called a deed – gives them Ketewomoke.”
"What you say is wrong! The paper is wrong! I cannot give that which I do not own. The
white men say that we do not understand the concept of ownership. We do. This is my knife. This
is my tomahawk. These are my moccasins. They speak of owning the land. It is they who do not
understand the concept of dominion. You cannot own land. It belongs to the great spirit, Manitou,
the Great Creator. He alone allows us to use the land to live upon it to hunt, fish, and pick berries.
The white man gives my people many things: coats, kettles, knives, hatchets, and other items
including six fathom of wampum. All this for the use of the land."
"What is a fathom? How big is it? Is it the same as we measure the depth of water?"
"A fathom of wampum measures the span of outstretched arms [a unit of length equal to six
feet]. I find it amusing when dealing with the white man and trading wampum for hatchets and the
like, their arms differ in size depending on whether they are giving or getting. We value these belts
of beads because they are so difficult to make from the hard shells of the conch, the quahog clam,
and the whelk. We exchanged them as gifts and use wampum in ceremonies between our tribes. The
white man has created an acceptance of wampum, by trying to place it as equal value with the land.
They call it money. Of this I have no concept. I accept these as gifts from friend to friend. I will
allow the white men to live on the land, but it is not his nor mine to give. It belongs to, and comes
from, the munificence of the great spirit. They may use the land for a period of time we have yet to
decide upon. We Matinecocks are a peaceful people and these white men have come in peace. We
must teach them how to live on the land for with their meager knowledge they will surely die. There
is enough for all and we will share with them as they, I am sure, will share with us. Paper or no
paper, we will always be able to hunt and fish on Manitou's land."
"Great chief, your demeanor tells me that you are depressed. Do you find this trade you have
made with the white man troubling?"
"It is an emotion, a passion that I cannot explain. I believe that I have lost something, but
I know not what. Our dealings with the white man have always been peaceful, but yet the Great
Spirit speaks to me of sadness for my people. White men and their families have come here to live
and with our help they will flourish on this land. What has changed is that they now come with
papers to mark; a deed you say they call it? Why do they feel it necessary? You are from the future
so you must have the answers. What will become of my people? Surely there is enough for all on
this great land. Even tens of thousands of moons from now, the land will be as it is now. It has not
changed since the beginning of time. This great island has an abundance of all that we and the white
man will ever need. The brooks and streams are filled with clear sweet drinking water. The air is
healthy and the soil rich for planting. The forests are filled with deer and other animals for the hunt.”
“The seas abound with fish and shellfish of all kinds; all ours for the taking. The soil is fertile
for farming the food we need for the long winter. Surely the land will remain the same. People of
all nations will live together in harmony in a community; the community you call Huntington Station.
Several suns have come and gone since I and others have made our mark on the paper, and still the
Great Spirit will not give me peace within my soul. But, perhaps that is his sign. Days have gone by
since the marks were made and nothing has changed. My people still hunt and fish. The children
play. The paper has changed nothing! This is a time of happiness, for the harsh winter is behind us.
It is spring and the weather is warm, but still a cold wind blows within my heart. Assure me, friend,
that the paper cannot change the land. I feel that I can trust the white man, although this feeling tells
me that I am powerless to stop the changes that will come. How and from where I do not know, but
my heart tells me that the land will survive as I know it and as I see it now."
He stood immobile and a contentment came into his heart; softening his features. Raising his
arm, he pointed to the sea and swept his hand around the horizon turning slowly until he was once
again where he had begun. The great chieftain knew I had not left him. He spoke without looking
at me; seemingly speaking not only to me, but to all who would live on this land.
"Life is a circle and if the land must change, so be it. In time the land will be once again as
it is now, for the land like tomorrow ... is forever."
My thoughts turned inward and I wondered. Did we do well? Did we treat the land with as
much respect as he did?
Raseokan sensed my uneasiness.
"Tell me my feelings are not wrong. Tell me the land willsurvive as I see it now."
"There will be changes," I said hesitantly. "Man's progress toward an unknown future is
determined by his ability to master that unknown. New ways, new methods, and new ideas will lead
the way to inventions, progress, and a general upward movement for mankind."
"And the land? Do not tell me that this progress you speak of will be at the expense of the
land! Must I remind you that we are like the animals. Without our natural environment, the land, the
water, the air, all as you see it now, mankind will wither and die. How can the land change? You
come from the future. Take me there and show me these changes you speak of?"
"Yes, I can take you there now, but first I will show you how the white man developed the
land and grew. How he made it a flourishing community."
We stood on the Railroad crossing over New York Avenue just as a train roared into the
station. I saw Raseokan set his jaw as his hand moved to the knife at his belt. He had not flinched
or moved away from the sight which to him was a frightening apparition from some forgotten
childhood dream.
"Have no fear, my friend. Nothing can harm you. We cannot be seen. There are many
strange sights that I have to show you. This is the year 1953. Three hundred years after you made
your mark on the white man's paper. We are looking toward the veritable heart of Huntington
Station; its shopping district. The white man did flourish as you predicted and they have a fine
community. As you can see the Indian trails have become roads. Horses are now used only for sport.
Men travel by cars and trains like the one you saw, and there ... look in the sky. We call that a plane.
It would take too long to explain how this all came about, but we are here to see the people and how
they live. This is the very place were your village once stood. Let me take you to a typical street
here in Huntington Station. You will see, and I am sure that you will be pleased that the
people still live in harmony on this great land."
I took him to one of the many streets where the people lived in unity,friendship, and
kindliness. He saw healthy children playing, much the same as the Indian children played here
three hundred years ago. We walked together down an old Indian trail now widened and called New
York Avenue. He was gladdened as he saw store after store of merchants selling their wares and
services. All harmoniously working together. He was pleased.
"The people still use the land wisely as a community of good will. Friendly, happy children
are at play. Their parents appear content. But, where are my people? Where are the Indians?"
"There are still many Indians. This country is vast and the Indians, now numbering many
more than when you walked this land, live in different parts of the country. I am sorry to say some
tribes no longer exist, but others flourish in this great nation."
"I am pleased. Is there more of this future that you can show me?"
"Yes, we now go to the present year, 1996."
We stood at the same spot over looking New York Avenue. Raseokan glanced around him.
All he could see was parking lots and roadways. He turned to me and his pleasant demeanor had
changed to one of shock, for the once flourishing shopping center of Huntington Station was gone.
"Only 43 years since the last I looked and now all I see is massive change. The land is
covered with asphalt and concrete. You force an ever dwindling number of trees to grow through
holes in the stone. Where is the village and the community? Where are the shops and stores, the area
you called the veritable heart of Huntington Station. Where do the people live? I sense that all the
deer and other wildlife have gone from this place. The beautiful streams and brooks are dried and
gone. Your air and water are fouled. What destruction will come in the next 43 years? When will
the circle of life return the land to the people? Please take me into the future. Let me see the full
circle."
I attempted to dissuade and divert his inner fears. "I can show you other areas, some far
north and west of here and in other states, where the air is still clear and the water pure. The land
relatively untouched and ...."
"No! This was my home. I lived here,"
A tear coursed its way down his cheek and he was silent. I reached for his shoulder and he
moved away; almost fearful of my touch. I could feel and sympathize with his sadness.
“I understand..."
"You do not understand. I have seen enough. Take me back. Leave me with my fears, but
without memory of this abomination of what your future has done to the land!"
I took him back
and, as promised, left him without memory of our trip into the future which I then knew was caused
by each and every one of us, by our complacency, insufficiency of insight, or lack of action. I left
him content with the land he knew and loved. Had we advanced this far too quickly? Did we forget
the value of the land and how much we depend upon it? Was what happened to one beautiful
community destined for all of America? Is it too late for the intelligent application of knowledge and
too late to learn from the wisdom of an old Indian? |
