After our battle at Crown Point in 2003, Gerry Cook came to the Rangers' camp with a couple of his warriors while I was cleaning my musket. Wade was there, as was Mac and a couple of other Rangers. Gerry asked where my people were, and I told him they were all cooling off after the battle. He wanted people to be there, as he was about to conduct a formal ceremony. He began speaking in that wonderful Native American sing-song style, and he said he was there to recognize me, Chauncey Goodrich, as a brave warrior. I don't honestly know exactly what he said, because once he got that far, I was so floored and overwhelmed that I didn't really hear his exactly words. Wade had to fill me in after Gerry left and tell me what he said. The purple wampum choker and a feather from his scalplock (stained by war paint) that Gerry Cook gave me to honor me as a warrior. It turns out, he was there to honor me as a warrior and as a person, and to present me with tokens of respect from himself and his people. He gave me a stunning purple wampum choker he had made himself with braintanned leather. And he gave me a turkey feather from his scalplock, which is even stained with red warpaint. He said as long as I carry the feather, his people would never kill me and they would protect me from being scalped if someone else killed me. Only a small handful of ther people have ever been given that feather of life — one such is Wade Stoner. I really was honored. And humbled. I know a lot of people wouldn't "get it" if they had heard him, and it wouldn't mean anything to them. But I do "get it", I'm proud to say, which made me very proud to receive such distinction, and to be considered by Gerry to be in the same league as Wade. Also, because my people were not there to hear his words for this ceremony, he wrote them down and gave them to Wade (who he has named Maji-okwes, Black Fox). This is what he said: Sago, skenna-gen? (Greetings, are you well?) I send this message to you as the Chief of the Seven Nations of the Canadas. I have asked the one my people call Maji-okwes, the Black Fox, to read these words to you. My warriors have named him so because of the way he hunts his enemy in the dark, with no fear. It is my wish that you all will die as old men in the comforts of your homes and families many years from now, telling your grandchildren about the many battles you fought in, and how bravely you fought. But I believe this will not be so. I have seen too many winters to know the words of the English king fall to the ground as quickly as he speaks them. I have seen too many brave warriors, both my people and yours, pass over into the next life because of these hollow words. I have fought too many battles to know that there are many among you who would wish to see me, and my people, dead at your feet. This will never change. I will not attempt to change it. We will fight in the next life, because of who we are. I have also fought against too many brave warriors who understand that it is foolish to die over words. Maji-okwes know this. Many times we have faced each other on the battlefield and made the sign that friends make to each other. He carries with him a feather that my people asked me to give to him as a sign of this friendship. He will never fear the guns of my warriors because of who he is. Know that there stands among you another who will never be struck by the weapons of my warriors. He is the one you call "Chon-see". I have watched him now for many battles. His bravery is not to be questioned on the field of battle. We have seen who will run, and more importantly, who will not. "Chon-see" does not become afraid in the face of the enemy, as do many soldiers, both English and French. My warriors will no longer stand before his musket and taunt him. We will honor him on the field of battle. And if he is to fall from another enemys' gun, my warriors will never dishonor him by taking his scalp. Know that we will stop any who try. Among my people, these are the actions that allow a warrior to become a War Captain. His bravery will not allow warriors to run like frightened rabbits in the face of the fox. His calm will keep younger warriors from striking too quickly and foolishly. His wisdom will teach warriors when to fight, and when to sit and smoke the pipe. I say these words to Maji-okwes that he may speak them back to you. I say them holding the Wampum Belt of my people's people in my hands, so that I may not use hollow words lest the air carry them away. My words are strong as are my people. Do not take these words as that of a child. I am Eso-Garyos, Many Kills, of the Seven Nations. I am done speaking. Onen (Go well). After that ceremony, the young Native named Sam came to find me, to tell say I was invited to have dinner with Gerry in the Indian camp. That was another honor indeed! I had a very good time there, watching their traditions and customs. I had not eaten with the Indians before, and so found the entire evening quite interesting. In fact, the entire day had turned out amazingly splendidly. I had made plans to reciprocate, by taking to him a special dinner at whatever event we both attended next, along with a borrowed beaver skin for him to sit on. But before that had happened, I heard he had died, at the tender age of 48. I wore the choker and feather to the Memorial Service for Gerry on November 1, 2003, in Shirley, MA. Members of the Seven Nations who were at the Memorial Service and saw these tokens, recognizing them and knowing Gerry and knowing me, said to me that Gerry would be really glad I was there. I was really glad I was there.