Mystic War II

            Two more tribes shouted their name to the woods before my tribe came to Ben the Warrior. Rachel continued to hold my hand but seemed a little less apprehensive now that she was almost within reach of the campfire glow. Dancing flames cast eerie shadows about her face and the faces of the other campers. At the head of the tribe were Angelo, one of the oldest campers in attendance this year with a very outgoing personality, and Mark, the only other counselor in the tribe at the moment since everyone else was involved with the campfire.

            “What is the name of your tribe?” inquired Ben.

            “We’re the one tribe you haven’t let into the campfire yet. Who do you think we are?” said Angelo. Nervous giggling emitted from nearby campers. Even I couldn’t help myself but to smile.

            “We’re-the-only-tribe-you-haven’t-let-into-the-camp-fire-yet-who-do-you-think-we-are? I have never met your tribe before. Such a strange name!” said Ben. One of the other warriors, Nathan I assume, spoke up.

            “That is quite a long name! I do not think the chief will want this tribe in his campfire!”

            “Our tribe name is Samoset!” said a ten year old boy, Matt. All through-out the camp he could be seen following Angelo and his friends. It was very obvious that he admired them.

            “Ah, Samoset! I see. Shout your tribe name three times and the wood shall decide if you may join the campfire or not.”

            Three times we all yelled out into the darkness; “Samoset! Samoset! Samoset!” Silence hung in the air for a moment.

            “I do not believe the wood has heard your request,” said Ben. “Call out your tribe name three more times, but much louder!” We all yelled at the top of out lungs again, and this time I could hear Rachel.

            “Samoset! Samoset! Samoset!”

            The name seemed to echo slightly through the foliage. Ben nodded.

            “The wood has heard your requests and bids you to join the campfire.” With Mark and Angelo in the lead we walked into the campfire circle and sat in the only section of benches left to us.

            I showed Rachel a seat in the first row of logs so that she would have a good view of the campfire and then went to the last row to sit next to Mark. A nervous hush had fallen upon the campers for all that they could see was the campfire and it was not that big.

            Ben came walking down the path and came to stand beside the dim fire. All eyes were upon him while I knew that Chris, another counselor, was standing behind the ‘throne’ where the chief always sat. I had helped him earlier in the day to place a small, highly flammable wire that would very quickly conduct a flame from where Chris would strike a match behind a tree, to the fire, causing it to roar back into life. But the campers only saw Ben as he surveyed the campfire circle.

            “The chief has called you hear tonight. It is custom that every tribe who comes to this great valley of Middle Bay must pay tribute to the chief in the form of either a skit, a story, a joke, a talent, a song, or any other gifts you feel the chief would like.

            “But before the chief comes I must tell you the sacred rules of the campfire. Number one: the council circle should be unbroken. Number two: the word of honor is sacred. Three: silence is observed while another is speaking. Four: No light but the great light shall enter the council circle. Five: when wishing to speak, the brave must stand up, say ‘O Chief’ twice, and announce which of the four tribes they are from. Then they must wait to be recognized by the chief to speak. These are the rules of the campfire.”

            Campers silently looked at one another. I turned to Mark and whispered, “What do you think the chances are that Chris will get this thing lit the first time?” Mark grinned. “None.” Ben continued on in his speech.

            “Before the chief can enter the council circle the campfire must be properly lit. To do this we must all do the rain dance.” Ben began to walk around the dying fire. “First, you must tap your fingers to your palms like this,” and he demonstrated the motion for the campers to see. “Then you rub your hands together,” he proceeded to rub his hands. “Third, you must clap your hands,” and he clapped his hands, still walking around the campfire. “Next you shall stomp your feet on the ground,” and he began to stomp his feet. “Once that has happened, the sacred spirits of the woods will bring fire to the campfire and the chief will come. Now follow my directions. Tap your fingers!”

            The whole camp began to tap their fingers on their palms. The collective sounds sounded like the gentle sprinkle that came before the storm. Ben walked once around the campfire.

            “Now rub your hands!” Each camper began to rub his or her hands together, which increased the sound slightly from the taping. Ben finished another orbit around the campfire.

            “Clap your hands!” he commanded the campers. Everyone began to clap their hands, giving the effect of heavier rain falling upon the council circle.

            “Stomp your feet!” shouted Ben. The noise from the stomping of the feet was the loudest yet and the noise sounded like large raindrops falling on the hood of a car. The camp continued to do so, but still no fire came. Chris was having trouble. When no fire appeared Ben shouted, “Louder!” and everyone began to pound their feet faster and harder. At that moment the Chris finally got the wire lit and as quick as lightening the flame rushed down the wire and the near smoldering campfire burst into full life! The campers began to clap once they got used to the sudden flood of light.

            At that moment from behind the rock that served as the chief’s throne, Jon stepped out and took my breath away.