CHAPTER TWO

Jeaga Child

Like all mothers in the Calusa realm, Bright Moon would simply call her son “little one” or “baby boy” until some deed or trait evoked a specific name that would endure for the rest of his childhood. The son of Calus got his first name at age four after watching older boys trying to spear mullet and snook on the sandy shore where the River of Turtles met the Jeaga Inlet. He begged his mother to give him a spear like the big boys. After he had resorted to sulking and whining he was soon surprised when his uncle Deerstalker handed him a large sharpened stick about as tall as the boy's height. “Now go fish,” he said turning on his heel. “And don't put your eye out.”

Minutes later Deerstalker was walking the shoreline on his way to another chore when something made him stop. The son of Bright Moon had separated himself from the other boys and stood motionless with his child's spear perched above his shoulder. “How long can an inpatient, wiggly, child stay quiet and concentrated like that?” Deerstalker wondered to himself.

After two or three minutes he saw the boy throw his stick into the water and squeal. He'd speared a fish, but lacked the strength to gaff it. Now spear and fish wobbled away in the water with the tearful lad wading after them.

Deerstalker followed quickly and scooped his nephew in his arms before he got in over his head. “Don't worry, I'll make you another spear,” he exclaimed. “But tell me, how did you catch the fish?”

“The boys said to look for the vee in the water and throw ahead of it. So I did.”

“You did exactly right,” said Deerstalker. “But even a heron doesn't catch a fish every time he hunts. You did it on the first try! So from now on I am going to call you Little Heron.”

His mother was only too happy to hear about the episode and would repeat it often. She also accepted the clan leader's choice of a name, if only because she was tired of calling him “my little one.”

And Little Heron himself could tell that something had changed. He felt a sense of pride, that he had suddenly grown—enough so that he now began to pester his mother about going into the woods with her on her frequent gatherings. He had already had a taste of it when Bright Moon would bundle him on her back for short walks. The wonder of things in all directions! Big trees. Shrubby trees. Bright flowers. Birds chirping and flying. Things that wiggled on the ground! His mother had names for all of them—more than he could ever remember. With all his might he wanted to jump down, touch and smell all of them. But all of his wiggling had only produced threats to leave him in the hut unless he stopped.

Well now, Bright Moon thought to herself, perhaps the time has come to begin the education of Little Heron and at the same time train a helper to ease her burdens. Lurking in the back of her head was another reason: having the boy along in her walks afforded a symbol of protection against the id