“He who remembers”
As Diah Munson and two hundred more—
and then two thousand more—arrived to settle
with their families in Wyoming Valley,
most Lenape had already left
for Wyalusing and Ohio, though
from time to time they made their way downriver,
exchanging bear and beaver pelts for tools,
textiles, blankets, guns and alcohol,
weighing Yankee-Pennymite enmity,
eventually siding with the latter.
One Sunday afternoon in ’77,
John Phillips—son of Frank—his wife and children,
while foraging in the fields and open woodlands
for morels, wild strawberries and chicory,
met up with hunters of the Munsee tribe
who’d likely traveled downstream from Tioga
to barter at the Wilkesbarre trading post.
Mary pulled the children close, while John,
who sensed no danger, cautiously approached
the obvious leader of the group, and smiled.
Meschatamen—a tall, tattooed young man
with penetrating eyes, who knew enough
of English to get by—held out a haunch
of venison, a turkey and a buckskin,
in exchange for Scout, the quarter horse,
John’s linen shirt and Mary’s cap and bonnet.
John hoped the trade, though disproportionate,
perhaps had gained their trust and amity.
Meschatamen and John would meet again
one summer night, within a year or so.
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