The men riding atop the huge boat were very pale, almost shiny, Timpoochee thought. They wore colorless garb which covered most of their bodies.
“Why do these white men wear so much clothing on a such a warm day,” he asked Yufala.
He got no response. His father watched the scene intently.
Other men rowed the giant craft; black men, like wood after it has been burned by the fire.
“Look,” said one of the elders standing near Yufala. “The men rowing, the men like the bear. They are working, not the white ones. Remember what runners from the north have said about white men making others do their work for them.”
Yufala said nothing, absorbed in the vision of the large ship, a vision he’d seen before, a ship such as this coming up Long Man to their community.
Timpoochee spotted another man standing near the bow of the ship, one more familiar to him. Timpoochee recognized the man as being of the Muscogee people.
“Enhesse!” shouted the man, suddenly. “Friend!”
Yufala smiled. He recognized the tongue.
Although different from his own people, Muscogee spoke a similar language. They could understand each other. They could easily talk.
Timpoochee stuck close to Yufala as a crew from the ship worked calmly to unfasten a smaller boat from the side of the ship and lower it into the water. Others climbed down and onto the smaller boat. They rowed toward the town landing.
“I am Chekilli,” shouted the Muscogee man as the party made its way closer to the shore.
“I bring white traders from the land of Britain. They have come a great distance to talk to you. They want to trade.”
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