Beyond Common Sense

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Here’s another clip from the book to tickle your taste buds for adventure:

1740 — Lycoming Creek, Susquehannock Tribe

Ahanu touched the dried blood upon the rock and swallowed hot tears, anger fighting against resignation. He belonged to the Susquehannock tribe, and blood sacrifices were a part of their religion. But Ahanu knew this was more about his submission to tradition than his worship of any god.

 He bent down and touched the dark spot, wondering how long before the rains would wash it away, and his mind replayed the first time he had seen Sucki, the abandoned bear cub.

 He had been gathering wood with his friend, Togquos, when they came across the nearly lifeless form. The cub was emaciated and barely breathing, its thick black fur matted and caked with mud.

Or maybe you’re looking for romance:

For the first time in two years, Ahanu looked down at his clothing.  They were nearly rags hanging on his overgrown body.  His grandmother had sewn his clothes for him just weeks before he had left his village, but that was two years ago—two years of living in the wild. He had thought to do something about his needs this summer, but the thought of being with people, even his own, kept him from the task.  Now he wished he had made it a priority!

The sound of Savanukah’s voice speaking his name pulled Ahanu from his reverie.

“This is Ahanu, grandson of Hassun, chief of the Susquehannock.” Both young men saw Siskia’s face darken at the mention of one of their warring enemies. “But his village was destroyed by the white man’s disease.” Siskia’s face softened, and Savanukah continued. “None of his people are left,” he added for emphasis.

Siskia had scarcely taken notice of the stranger and now determined not to stare at his rags. She trained her eyes on his, holding his gaze for what felt like an eternity, but Ahanu just stared back, trying not to betray his discomfort.

“Welcome to our village,” Siskia spoke like the chief’s daughter she had become in this place. As she stared, something within her stirred, but she pushed it down. There was something about his haunting eyes that reminded her of Pontiac, and it made her angry.

Ahanu nodded, thankful when her attention moved to Degataga and Kanatase; however, he noticed that they were as bewitched and uncomfortable as he was. What was it about this woman?

Or, perhaps you would like to know more about missionary David Brainerd:

David Brainerd marveled at the pristine waters and massive forests along the Susquehanna River. Yes, it reminded him of the beauty of the Delaware River, where most of his work had been done thus far, but here there were few settlers, just remote towns scattered along the banks of the river, like Shaumoking, where he had gathered his supplies for this trip.  But Shaumoking had been the last white man’s town that he would see. From here on, it would only be Indian villages.

The Susquehanna Indians he had met so far had been a mix of attitudes: some seemed receptive, others aloof, while still others openly showed their disdain. He was certain it had something to do with their interaction with the white man, but David prayed the Holy Spirit would bless this journey and that he would be able to break Satan’s centuries of bondage.

His body was weak from the ravages of tuberculosis, but that didn’t weigh him down like the heavy burden of his great work, impossible work if it were attempted without the strong arm of the Almighty. How many times must I sink down and forget Thy blessed fountain full of grace?

It was a fifty-mile journey up the Susquehanna towards the Great Island. He had hoped to get further the first day, but by mid-afternoon, he knew he needed to stop. Their guide, Logan, found a suitable place for camp, and David gladly rested while the others constructed a lean-to for the night. He was glad to have the son of Chief Shikellimy with them.  The chief was a believer and a great help with negotiations between the Indians of the area and the colonists. The young man had learned much from his father and from his travels between the Five Nations to the north and Shaumoking.

But sleep eluded the young missionary. Fever had set in, and he sweated throughout the night and into the morning light. His interpreter looked in on him and shook his head.  How this man kept going was beyond him. But since his own conversion, he started to understand the man’s passion. Moses Tunda Tatamy had been lost, and he knew how that felt.

“Sir, it is time for us to move on,” Moses said quietly.

David rolled over to face his faithful companion. His whole body ached, and he prayed silently for strength. “Thank you, Moses. Our Lord knew how much I would need someone of perseverance as well as compassion, so He called you to my cause.” David smiled faintly. “Just give me a minute to gather my thoughts and talk to our Father.”

Moses nodded and backed out of the lean-to. He would brew some tea for his friend and warm the bread.