Native American Writing

[Fazzy]

At school we had to do a piece of writing about a native american in social studies and i just turned it in. Please rate this:




“Manorea!â€Â￾ the chief called. I looked up, having heard my name called. “Yes, what is it?â€Â￾ I asked the chief. “Look at those men on the beach!â€Â￾ he said. “They just landed here a short while ago. I’ve been watching them closely and they seem very strange.â€Â￾

I pulled back a tree branch that had been blocking my view and gasped at what I saw. There, on the beach, were at least 50 white men. My grandfather had told me about another group of white men that came about 35 years before now. Grandfather said that their leader’s name was “Crisofer Cumbusâ€Â￾. He said I was only a baby when it happened.

I stopped daydreaming and returned my focus to the men on shore. They were all white, and all of them were dressed in red and white, with long gray sticks attached to their clothing. The chief started telling other members of the tribe about this curious spectacle, and many gathered around me.

My friend Rolaseo jumped out and walked over to a white man. “Hello. What is your business here?â€Â￾ he asked the white man. In return the white man raised the gray stick that was at his side, and a loud noise sounded across the beach. Rolaseo fell, blood spurting from his chest.

A great rage swept through me, so I grabbed my spear and was going to charge at the white men, but the chief held me back. “No, Manoreaâ€Â￾ he said “They are too dangerousâ€Â￾. I knew he was right, but right there I didn’t care. I felt I could do anything, I was so mad.

That night we left our camp. We journeyed to another tribe, a few miles away, and told them about what we had seen. They listened attentively, then their expressions changed to horror when we told them about Rolaseo. They offered us shelter, and we accepted.

The next day the chief and a group of men, I among them, ventured back to our camp to see what had happened. I was glad to see that the white men had not inhabited our village, preferring instead to stay on their ship. There was a long pole with a flag in the center of our village, but we ignored it.

I saw a white man come out of the ship, followed by more white men. We walked up to them, and greeted them in a kind manner. They made no reply to this. Suddenly I couldn’t take it anymore. I just had to. “Why did you ever come here?!â€Â￾ I shouted, “Now Rolaseo is dead! It’s all your fault!â€Â￾ The white men looked taken aback, and I was glad. They had no right to be here, they were intruders to our land.

Our chief calmed me down and spoke to what seemed like the white men’s leader. He made gestures pointing back to where the white men came from, and told them to leave. They made no response. We trudged back to camp, bringing Rolaseo’s body with us so we could give him a proper burial. That night I slept restlessly, not knowing what would happen next.
“Manorea!â€Â￾ the chief called. I looked up, having heard my name called. “Yes, what is it?â€Â￾ I asked the chief. “Look at those men on the beach!â€Â￾ he said. “They just landed here a short while ago. I’ve been watching them closely and they seem very strange.â€Â￾

I pulled back a tree branch that had been blocking my view and gasped at what I saw. There, on the beach, were at least 50 white men. My grandfather had told me about another group of white men that came about 35 years before now. Grandfather said that their leader’s name was “Crisofer Cumbusâ€Â￾. He said I was only a baby when it happened.

I stopped daydreaming and returned my focus to the men on shore. They were all white, and all of them were dressed in red and white, with long gray sticks attached to their clothing. The chief started telling other members of the tribe about this curious spectacle, and many gathered around me.

My friend Rolaseo jumped out and walked over to a white man. “Hello. What is your business here?â€Â￾ he asked the white man. In return the white man raised the gray stick that was at his side, and a loud noise sounded across the beach. Rolaseo fell, blood spurting from his chest.

A great rage swept through me, so I grabbed my spear and was going to charge at the white men, but the chief held me back. “No, Manoreaâ€Â￾ he said “They are too dangerousâ€Â￾. I knew he was right, but right there I didn’t care. I felt I could do anything, I was so mad.

That night we left our camp. We journeyed to another tribe, a few miles away, and told them about what we had seen. They listened attentively, then their expressions changed to horror when we told them about Rolaseo. They offered us shelter, and we accepted.

The next day the chief and a group of men, I among them, ventured back to our camp to see what had happened. I was glad to see that the white men had not inhabited our village, preferring instead to stay on their ship. There was a long pole with a flag in the center of our village, but we ignored it.

I saw a white man come out of the ship, followed by more white men. We walked up to them, and greeted them in a kind manner. They made no reply to this. Suddenly I couldn’t take it anymore. I just had to. “Why did you ever come here?!â€Â￾ I shouted, “Now Rolaseo is dead! It’s all your fault!â€Â￾ The white men looked taken aback, and I was glad. They had no right to be here, they were intruders to our land.

Our chief calmed me down and spoke to what seemed like the white men’s leader. He made gestures pointing back to where the white men came from, and told them to leave. They made no response. We trudged back to camp, bringing Rolaseo’s body with us so we could give him a proper burial. That night I slept restlessly, not knowing what would happen next.