Part 6

Having piled the winter’s firing at a convenient distance from the house to prevent accidents, we prepared the nets for fishing. The ice was three feet thick, and the snow very deep; this we were obliged to clear away, before we could cut holes in which to put our nets. For the space of two months we had uncommon success, having caught about eighteen thousand weight of fish, which we hung up by the tails across sticks to freeze, and then laid them up for store. This was to us an important acquisition, as fishing in the middle of winter is precarious, and the return of the Indians to supply the wants of the traders very uncertain.

In summer the fishers go up the lakes, as well as rivers, and are generally most successful at the foot of a deep stream, or the mouth of a creek. In the beginning of winter they cut a large opening, and set nets. In the depth of winter they make a small hole, in which they angle; and sometimes they cut two holes in a right line through the ice, and pass a line at the end of a stick from hole to hole, by which they haul the net under the ice, frequently with good success. In winter, fishing is the daily employ of half the men, though in very severe weather it is a fatiguing service.

In the beginning of January, 1778, our provisions run short, having nothing left but some spawn of fish, which we beat up with {58} warm water and lived upon. The intense severity of the weather would not allow us to look after the nets; and although thus distressed for want of better food, we were obliged to stay at home, keeping a large fire, and lying almost continually on our blankets, which weakened us exceedingly. Having remained in this inactive state for some time, and hunger pressing hard, I roused myself, and proposed to my men to make marten traps, which they went about with the utmost cheerfulness. When they had finished a sufficient number, they set them in the woods, at the distance of about two miles from the house. While they were employed in this service, I was left alone, it being necessary for some one to remain, in case of the arrival of Savages. The first day my men were successful, and returned with two racoons, three hares, and four musquashes; on these we feasted the next day; and though we were not satisfied, they proved a seasonable relief, and enabled us to pursue the business we were engaged in with greater spirits, fondly expecting more prosperous days.

In a little time we were again destitute, and the men became disheartened; this induced me to propose a journey to Lake Manontoye, where we knew Mr. Shaw,[57] a brother trader, had wintered, to endeavour to procure some wild rice, which the Indians told me grew in the swamps at that place. The Canadians approved of the plan, and said they hoped they should be able to provide for their subsistence till my return. Previous to my departure, we were compelled to kill a favourite dog, belonging to Joseph Boneau, one of my people, which most sensibly affected us, because, independent of the attachment we had towards him, he was a very useful animal. The next morning I put on my snow shoes, and persuaded an Indian and his wife, who were with {59} me occasionally, and had accidentally come in from the hunt with six hares, to accompany me, promising them payment in rum at my return: they agreed to go, and it was very fortunate they did, as I could not have found the way without a guide.

We set off with the six hares, and travelled four days without killing any thing; this was a disappointment, but with the little stock we carried with us, we subsisted tolerably well. About an hour before sunset on the fourth day, we stopped at a small creek, which was too deep to be forded, and whilst the Indian was assisting me in making a raft to cross over, rather than swim through in such cold weather, against a strong current, I looked round, and missed his wife: I was rather displeased, as the sun was near setting, and I was anxious to gain the opposite shore, to encamp before dark. I asked the Indian where she was gone; he smiled, and told me, he supposed into the woods to set a collar for a partridge. In about an hour she returned with a newborn infant in her arms, and coming up to me, said in Chippeway, “_Oway Saggonash Payshik Shomagonish_,” or, “Here, Englishman, is a young warrior.” It is said that the Indian women bring forth children with very little pain, but I believe it is merely an opinion. It is true they are strong and hardy, and will support fatigue to the moment of their delivery; but this does not prove they are exempt from the common feelings of the sex on such trying occasions. A young woman of the Rat Nation has been known to be in labour a day and a night, without a groan. The force of example acting upon their pride, will not allow these poor creatures to betray a weakness, or express the pain they feel, probably lest the husband should think her unworthy of his future attention, and despise both mother and child: at any rate, he would tell her the infant, {60} if a boy, would never be a warrior; and if a girl, would have a dastardly spirit, and of course neither of them be fit for a Savage life.

I believe it will not be disputed that the Indian women love their children with as much affection as parents in the most civilized states can boast; many proofs might be adduced to support this assertion. A mother suckles her child till it attains the age of four or five years, and sometimes till it is six or seven. From their infant state they endeavour to promote an independent spirit; they are never known either to beat or scold them, lest the martial disposition which is to adorn their future life and character, should be weakened: on all occasions they avoid every thing compulsive, that the freedom with which they wish them to think and act may not be controuled. If they die, they lament their death with unfeigned tears, and even for months after their decease will weep at the graves of their departed children. The nation of Savages called Biscatonges, or by the French, Pleureurs, are said to weep more bitterly at the birth of a child, than at its decease; because they look upon death only as a journey from whence he will return, but with regard to his birth, they consider it as an entrance into a life of perils and misfortunes.[58]

As soon as a child is born, if in summer, the mother goes into the water, and immerses the infant; as soon as this is done, it is wrapped up in a small blanket, and tied to a flat board, covered with dry moss, in the form of the bottom of a coffin, with a hoop over the top, where the head lies, to preserve it from injury. In winter it is clad in skins as well as blankets. In the heat of summer gauze is thrown over the young Savage, to keep off the musquitoes, which are very troublesome {61} in the woods. The board, on which the child is placed, is slung to the mother’s forehead with a broad worsted belt, and rests against her back.

When the French took possession of Canada, the women had neither linen, nor swaddling cloaths; all their childbed furniture consisted of a kind of trough, filled with dry rotten wood dust, which is as soft as the finest down, and well calculated to imbibe the moisture of the infant; on this the child was placed, covered with rich furs, and tied down with strong leather strings. The dust was changed as often as necessary, till the child was weaned.[59]

Among the Indians who are in any degree civilized, the women feed their children with pap made of Indian corn and milk, if it can be obtained; but in the parts more northern, and remote from Europeans, wild rice and oats are substituted, which being cleansed from the husk, and pounded between two stones, are boiled in water with maple sugar: this food is reckoned very nourishing, and with broth made from the flesh of animals and fish, which they are frequently able to procure, cannot fail of supporting and strengthening the infant. Among several of the tribes of Indians, pap is made of sagavite, from a root they call toquo, of the bramble kind; this is washed and dried, afterwards ground, or pounded, and made into a paste, which being baked is pleasant to the taste, but of a very astringent quality. It is their common bread.

On our arrival at Lac Eturgeon, as the weather was bad, we encamped three days, which gave me an opportunity of making some observations {62} on this Lake, which I could not do when I passed it in my way to Lac la Mort.

This Lake, by the Indian accounts, is about five days journey by water: the width in some parts is about thirty miles. There are a number of small islands on it which abound with hares, partridges, and wild fowl. The Indians who frequent it are the Hawoyzask or Musquash, who speak the Chippeway language. They are usually more stationary than the generality of the Chippeways; they seldom leave the inlands, and are excellent hunters. Mr. Carver, in his chart, points out a village leading to Riviére St. Croix, which he says belongs to the roving Chippeways; but I believe all the nation, with very few exceptions, may be called rovers in the strictest sense of the word.[60]

The first day of our encampment we killed a hare, made fish-hooks of the thigh bones, and baited them with the flesh. The lines were made of the bark of the willow tree cut into slips, and twisted hard together. Success crowned our endeavours, for we not only caught sufficient for present use, but enough for the remainder of the journey to Lake Manontoye.

The day before our arrival we killed two otters, which I intended as a present to Mr. Shaw, not doubting but any animal food would be acceptable from the severity of the season, concluding that his situation was as bad as our own, except in the article of wild oats. When arrived within about six miles of the lake, we met a small party of Indians, who alarmed us by an account of a dreadful confusion among their tribe, occasioned by the Hudson’s Bay Savages having killed three of their {63} band; and they said they believed Mr. Shaw had fallen a sacrifice to their fury, as they had heard them consult together to plunder the trader. They lamented exceedingly their inability to assist him, not being even strong enough to resent their own personal injury; however, they promised to accompany me on the way, as near to Mr. Shaw’s house as their safety would admit.

Having taken refreshment, we pursued our journey till within two miles of the house, when they thought it prudent to leave me, and wishing me success, retired into the woods, out of the track, to avoid being seen, where they promised to stay till my return. My Indian and his wife did not choose to proceed any farther, being also afraid of the Hudson’s Bay Savages. I confess my situation was very unpleasant, and I debated in my mind what steps to take to attempt the relief of a brother trader, and at the same time avoid injury myself. Relying on my usual success in suppressing these kind of tumults occasioned by intoxication, and conscious that I knew as well as any man the nature of the Indians when under its pernicious influence, I did not doubt, however unsuccessful my endeavours might prove as to rescuing Mr. Shaw from his perilous situation, but that I should certainly be able to effect an escape myself in case of an attack; and as one favourable suggestion frequently gives birth to another, and establishes by degrees a confidence in the mind, I anticipated Mr. Shaw’s delivery to my entire satisfaction. Fortified by these flattering hopes, I determined to exert my best and speediest endeavours in his behalf, and pursued my journey without delay. When I arrived within a quarter of a mile of the scene of discord, I heard the war-hoop in a manner very loud and clamorous; and though I had been accustomed {64} to such sounds, I was very much alarmed, and felt my resolution rather staggered; sensible that the rage of drunken Indians, when it has risen to a certain pitch, knows no bounds, and of the extreme difficulty of reconciling them to any person to whom they had unfortunately taken a dislike. Animated, however, with the idea of behaving like a warrior, and recurring to the time when I was adopted at Pays Plat, I conceived it unmanly to shrink from danger, and pushing through the woods, had soon a full view of the infernal spirits, for I could give them no better name.

I lay some minutes in ambush, listening with great attention, till I heard one of them cry out in the Chippeway language, “_Haguarmissey mornooch gunnisar Cushecance_;” or, “I do not mean to kill the _Cat_;” which was a name given to Mr. Shaw by the Indians, from his speaking in a feeble voice. This convinced me he was alive, though in imminent danger. I made all possible haste up to the house, and found the Savages, both men and women, completely drunk. The huts had been knocked down, the canoes adrift, and the whole formed the most dreadful scene of confusion I had ever beheld. There were also an old Indian and a woman, who I afterwards learned was his mother, lying dead upon the snow by the lake side. I made several efforts to get into the house, but was prevented by the Savages, who kept me back, kissing me, and telling me they loved me, but that I must not attempt to relieve the _Cat_. At last, with inconceivable difficulty, I persuaded them to attend to me, and felt the most extreme satisfaction in having succeeded, at least so far, in an attempt which would have been dangerous to any one to have undertaken who was not fully master of the language and character of the Savages, and {65} at the same time cool and dispassionate enough to hear their nonsense with patience and temper.

I then addressed myself to the most sober of the chiefs, and inquired of him the cause of the dispute; he told me Mr. Shaw was a _dog_ instead of a _cat_, for that he had refused them rum; and that though he and the rest of the tribe were happy to see me, because they had heard I always had a good heart towards the Savages, I should not go in to assist the trader, for they were the masters of the wigwaum, and not he, and that they were resolved to have all the rum in his possession before break of day.

Mr. Shaw’s house might very properly be styled a fort, being secured by high pickets, which made it difficult for the Indians to approach it, and he had taken the precaution to fasten the outer gate as well as the door. I told the chief it was not my intention to interfere, that I passed accidentally in my way to Lac le Rouge, and should only stay to refresh myself. This information pleased him exceedingly, as he knew Mr. Shaw had only one man in the house, the rest, with the interpreter, being out in search of provisions, so that at my departure there would not remain force sufficient to obstruct their proceedings. I perceived them so fully bent on accomplishing their purpose, that had I betrayed the least intention or inclination to relieve the unhappy man, I should most probably have been dispatched without much ceremony. The effects of the rum they had already drank, had so elevated their spirits, that nothing less than the full possession of the whole stock would satisfy them; and I am persuaded that if half of them had perished, the rest would without hesitation have risked their lives in the attempt. To avoid all suspicion, {66} which would probably have been fatal both to Mr. Shaw and myself, I left the chief, and watched an opportunity of returning undiscovered. Fortunately the Indians had not drank all the rum Mr. Shaw had given them, and the chief as soon as I had left him went back to his hut to increase his intoxication, and communicate the conversation which passed between us, the rest of the band having retired soon after the conference began.

Observing the coast clear, I walked unobserved to the fort, and spoke loud both in French and English: Mr. Shaw and his man heard me, and recollecting my voice, were transported beyond measure. The man, who was a Canadian, was most delighted, as his fears were very strong, it being the first year he had wintered among the Savages. On my approach, I heard him cry out with the greatest vehemence, “_Mon Dieu! que je suis content! Nôtre ami est arrivé, autrement nous serions foutu. Je conte assurément, que nous serons bientôt libre, mon cher bourgeois._” He instantly opened the gate; I entered precipitately, and congratulated him on the prospect of counteracting the designs of the Indians, being resolved to exert my best endeavours, and to live or die with them. Mr. Shaw thanked me for my professions of friendship, and immediately gave me a concise account of the disturbance. He said the Hudson’s Bay Indians had come to him with very little peltry, and after trading for it, he had given them more rum than they had any right to expect; that instead of being content with this, they insisted on more; that in a fit of intoxication they had killed an Indian and his mother; and had attempted to set fire to his house with punk wood, which they shot at it lighted, fixed to the points of arrows. Having heard his story, I encouraged him to keep up his spirits, and advised {67} him, when the Indians returned to execute their purpose, to appear indifferent to their menaces.

Whilst we were in deep discourse, I discovered three chiefs at a small distance from the house, in very earnest conversation, and was convinced they were devising some scheme to effect their design. As they approached, I called to them, and desired them to come into the house: they immediately advanced, and walked in one by one, with looks of treachery, which the earnestness of the business to be executed would not allow them to conceal. I talked to them without the least reserve, and in apparent good temper: I asked them if they were sober; but before they could give me an answer, the rest of the band came to the door, but did not enter; the head chief then told me they were very sober, and expressed great concern for their conduct, but that now the strong water had lost its influence, they saw their folly, and were sure the bad spirit had left their hearts.

I told them the Master of Life was angry with them, and that they did not deserve success in hunting, for their bad behaviour to the trader, who had been a kind father to them, and supplied all their wants. I then presented them with some tobacco to smoke in council, which was well received, and looking earnestly at the chief, addressed the band to the following effect.

“_Keennerwind Ojemar woke, kee wabindan indenendum kee kee noneydone Kitchee Mannitoo, ojey candan opin weene aighter ojey petoone nowwetting guyack debarchemon kaygait nin oathty hapadgey nee woke keennerwind equoy kee janis goyer metach nogome gudderbarchemon_ {68} _hunjyta O, nishshishshin artawway winnin kaygait nee zargetoone artawway winnin metach kakaygo arwayyor Matchee Mannitoo, guyyack neennerwind oathty mornooch kee appay omar neegee_.”

“You chiefs, and others of the tribe whose eyes are open, I hope you will give ear to the words of my mouth. The Master of Life has opened my brain, and made my breath blow good words. My heart feels for you, your wives, and children; and what I now speak proceeds from the root of my friend’s sentiments, who owns this house, and who has told me that his heart was opened to you on your arrival; but notwithstanding his kindness, the bad spirit got possession of you, which made him very unhappy, though he hoped the Master of Life would change your dispositions, and make you good Indians, as you used to be.” To this speech one of the chiefs made answer:

“_Kaygait Amik, kee aighter annaboycassey omar hapadgey; O, nishshishshin kee debarchemon nogome neennerwind ojey stootewar cockinnor nee doskeennerwaymug kee debwoye neecarnis hapadgey sannegat neennerwind ha nishinnorbay kaygwotch annaboycassey ozome Scuttaywabo ojey minniquy neennerwind angaymer Amik, shashyyea suggermarsh cockinnor nogome mornooch toworch payshik muccuk Scuttaywabo ojey bockettynan Cushshecance warbunk keejayp neennerwind ojey boossin;—haw, haw, haw._”

“It is true, Beaver, you have strong sense, it sweetens your words to us, and we all understand you. We know, friend, your lips open with truth. It is very hard for us Indians, who have not the sense of the white people to know when we have had enough of the strong {69} fiery water; but we hope the _Cat_ will throw off the film from his heart, as ours are clear: we also hope he will open his heart once more, and give us a small keg of the strong water, to drink to the health of our brother and sister, whom we have sent to the far country, and to-morrow at break of day we will depart.”

Mr. Shaw, by my advice, promised to comply with their request, on condition of their being true to their engagements, and that they should forbear even tasting the rum while they remained on the ground. This determination I acquainted them with, and they retired to their huts, leaving us in quiet possession of the fort.

The Indians remained quiet all night, which induced me to hope that my promise of rum to them, on their departure, had accomplished the desired effect: but I flattered myself too much, as the storm was not yet even at the height. At break of day they assembled, and asked for the rum, which was immediately given them; and they got into their canoes, and went off without burying their dead. This being very uncustomary, alarmed me, as no people are more particular in paying the greatest respect to the remains of the deceased. Suspecting the bad spirit was still in them, and that they were only gone a short distance to drink the rum, we prepared for an attack, loading twenty eight northwest guns, and a brace of pistols, and sat down by the fire expecting their return to compleat the design my fortunate arrival had hitherto prevented. In about an hour they returned very much intoxicated, singing their dead war songs, and every warrior naked, painted black from head to foot: as they approached the house in Indian file, each one repeated the following words; “_Mornooch toworch gunnesar_ {70} _cushshecance neennerwind ojey dependan O wakaygan_:” or, “Nevertheless we do not mean to kill the Cat, we only own this fort, and all that is in it.”