Shosphone Warrior-Personal Narrative

It was a warm, breezy summer morning in Tennessee, 1838. Under the cool shade of the trees was a village of a tribe called the Cherokees. Their houses had wooden walls made of cut up logs, their roofs were made of wood bark. Chea Sequa. Chief of the Wolf Clan village, stood tall and strong with long hair as dark as the middle of a sunflower (where the seeds are held through the long summers). His eyes were brown like the rich brown earth (that was used for farming). Amadahy (the Chiefs’ wife) stood confident, she had hair as dark as the midnight sky, and she had the powerful eyes that belonged to a wife and a mother of a young daughter. Adsila the chiefs daughter who is now 8 summers (years) old stood confident like her mother, but had the

Imagine you wake up one morning being just a young twelve year old Indian girl that is suddenly captured by the enemies of your fellow tribe. Then when you become a teenager you are won by a 40 year old French Canadian that you are forced to marry and become pregnant with when you are only reaching the age of 15. This girl who journeyed 8,000 miles, with two unknown white men, is the courageous Sacagawea. (Daub).

My hand swung to my side, feeling the sharp stone puncture layers of skin and muscle. Wailing in agony as blood spurted out of the wound, I run towards nearby shelter. The shrill screams of dying men rip through the air, accompanied by the sounds of arrows whizzing through the air and the Indians whoop when they hit a target. Dizzy from pain and hunger, I lay in a more comfortable position, just hoping to survive this wretched attack. ”Why did I ever come here?” the thought pounded through my head. “Oh yeah, I remember why. Land. Money.” That irritating know-it-all voice answered. I hear feet pounding around me and realize that the Indians have gone inside the town. One enters the door and maliciously grins when he sees me. He runs toward me and my eyes widen with shock as the spear plunges down, and becomes closer and closer….

The morning of August 17, 1805, Lewis dispatched drewyer and the Indian down to the river as McNeal cooked meat for breakfast. Two hours later an Indian returned with news that “the white men were coming”. Everyone appeared to be really happy about this news including Lewis who seemed about as happy as the Indians. Not long after finding out, Clark appeared with the interpreter Charbono and Sacagawea who was the sister of the chief Cameahwait. The meeting was very affecting especially between Sacagawea and an Indian woman who had escaped and went back to her home after being prisoner. At noon the canoes arrived and they were very pleased at the fact that they were finally together but also because they could now acquire horses, which was more

It was an early fall morning. Lewis was chronicling our last encounter with the Native Americans in his journal while Clark came up the hill with the other men carrying fresh fish. I was wrapping my leg with a cloth when they both came to the front of the camp.

Last night was a wonderful night.I went to sleep with a huge smell on my face because.Red chief was missing I didn’t care WOOW.My leg was shaking bad I knew I had to use the bathroom.Bark Bark Bark what is wrong with my little poop poop.I said so I look out my craker window soon as I saw Red chief run over my trash can chashing my little poop poop around with an baseball bat soon as I.open my window Red cheif run over my trash can I said.Red cheif go home and go to sleep before I.call the police and make sure you don’t come back to bother us anymore. When I said that Red chief come back with some heat he threw.His baseball bat at my window and shatter it then said you go to sleep you old bagged yelled Red chief and run off soon.As Red chief

He pictured Kiowa’s face. They’d been close buddies, the tightest, and he remembered how last night they had huddled together under their ponchos, the rain cold and steady, the water rising to their knees, but how Kiowa had just laughed it off and said they should concentrate on better things. And so for a long while they’d talked about their families and hometowns. At one point, the boy remembered, he’d been showing Kiowa a picture of his girlfriend. He remembered switching on his flashlight. A stupid thing to do, but he did it anyway, and he remembered Kiowa leaning in for a look at the picture – “Hey, she’s cute,” he’d said – and then the field exploded all around them.

In the Middle Ages all knights had to follow a code of chivalry. Knights, were like royal guards that served and protected their king as well as their god . The excerpt Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, translated by Burton Raffel, demonstrates chivalry through the actions of Sir Gawain in an effort to reflect the culture.

Quite a daunting read, The Warrior Ethos by retired Marine Steven Pressfield, is a short, non-fiction book based off of the Warrior Ethos of the Ancient Spartan People. Although it is not probable that there will be another organization that comes remotely close to comparing to the Spartans, this book does serve as a good leadership tool for men and women who serve, but also for non-military members who are looking to upheld a set of values to enhance the purpose they're fighting for.

After a long portage, we arrived at the great falls of the Missouri. The falls were approximately 300 feet wide and about 80-100 feet high. We weren’t able to bring along the barge on the crossing of the falls. We decided to leave the barge for the return trip but we decided to bring some pirogues which were considerably smaller, but would do the job when we get to the continuation of the river after the mountains.

4 hours later he had stopped walking and decided to rest for a while. Muraco and Cherokee rested near the the foot of Mount Shasta. They spent a day there. Muraco and Cherokee traveled and traveled. Muraco raised Cherokee for years and when she was 4 he decided that he couldn't do it anymore. So he abandoned her. He didn't want to but he had no other choice because he was growing old and he had trouble take care of Cherokee. Cherokee was left alone near the Tuolumne River. She didn't know what to do and she didn't know what was going on. She had no mother and her father left her. She had to do everything for herself. She had to find food, water, and shelter. The same day her father left her she saw a snake. The snake was slithering slowly towards her. Cherokee was not frightened. She was happy to see the snake because she was lost and didn't know what to do. The snake was energetic and lively. His name was Awanyu. Awanyu was a friendly snake but he didn't have any friends or family. He always traveled around for adventure. He said to Cherokee "Hello, are you lost?". "Yes. I don't know where my father is." Cherokee

Stories never told. Songs never sung. Dances never performed. Such was the crippling reality N. Scott Momaday faced with his grandmother’s death. Her culture, her customs, her traditions, were gone and lost to the world. Yet the memories were still alive. In The Way to Rainy Mountain, Momaday writes about his grandmother’s past, the Kiowa tribe and his experience with its tradition, and his journey to the Rainy Mountain. Through the use of strong sensory detail, figurative language, and unique word choice, Momaday both displays the nuances of the Kiowa tribe and culture, and reconnects back to his ancestry.

It was a warm Summer night in July, when i finally laid my head on my pillow after a relaxing day. I had began to get used to my days being this peaceful. Usually i would be all wound up, worrying about the damage my next door neighbors son is causing. The little boy’s name is Red Chief, or should i say little monster because that’s what he acts like. As i laid in bed i thought that maybe i should mow my grass in the morning. I had just bought a new riding lawn mower, and i wanted to test it out. I would be able to do that now without Red Chief being in my way. So the next morning, i got up just as the sun rose to start my day. I continued my way to my garage where my new mower was so that i could mow the grass. As i approached the doors i

Once the men were ready, they all went walking towards the “whites village,” chanting our tribes incantation:''Tous des sauvages, des sauvages!" The whole tribe was chanting back and forth. While the tribe was marching their way over there, I tagged along but hiding behind them. In order for my father not to see me because although he is my father when it comes to choosing to be a commander and a father he will choose to be a commander instead. Then realized John was not with his people. He ended up finding me and explained to me what had happened, that his father was informed from one of his informers that John had fallen in love with a Native American and his dad then became furious. I explained what I told my dad and how I felt, after we united we decided to try to talk to our fathers while they were at

Change is inevitable. Whether it be positive or negative, change is constantly happening. More than often change can take you from the known world and spit you into the unknown, where you return a changed person. While embarking on the journeys provoked by change, you are on a hero’s journeys. The hero’s journey was popularized by Joseph Campbell. When describing what prompts hero’s journeys, Joseph Campbell said,