The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Narrative of the Captivity and Adventures of John Tanner (U.S. Interpreter at the Saut de Ste. Marie), by John Tanner, Edited by Edwin James

JOHN TANNER

SHAW-SHAW-WA BE-NA-SE—The Falcon

New York, Published by G. & C. H. Carvill 1830

CAPTIVITY OF JOHN TANNER

This book is set in ten point Times Roman type, and printed in an edition of two thousand copies. This is copy

Nº 1308

A NARRATIVE OF
THE CAPTIVITY AND ADVENTURES
OF
JOHN TANNER
(U. S. INTERPRETER AT THE SAUT DE STE. MARIE)

DURING
THIRTY YEARS RESIDENCE AMONG
THE INDIANS
IN THE
INTERIOR OF NORTH AMERICA

PREPARED FOR THE PRESS

BY EDWIN JAMES, M.D.
Editor of an Account of Major Long’s Expedition from Pittsburgh
to the Rocky Mountains

Ross & Haines, Inc.
Minneapolis, Minnesota
1956

INTRODUCTION

The story of John Tanner is the tragic and age-old story of a man who had no country, no people, no one who understood him, no place to lay his head.

His Narrative, which is the story of his thirty years’ captivity among the Ojibways, was written a few years after he settled once more among the civilized whites. The material was written down and edited by Doctor Edwin James, and James’s foreword gives a hint of the almost insurmountable difficulties that surrounded Tanner’s attempt to establish himself among the whites. However, the real story of John Tanner’s long and tragic life unraveled after the book was printed in 1830, for Tanner spent sixteen more years trying to find a place for himself in white society.

Here was a man who had lived as a white boy only nine years, had then been captured and had spent thirty years among the Indians, had married an Indian woman and produced half-breed children, had in every way—physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually—lived as an Indian for so long that he forgot his own name and could no longer speak the English language, but still was impelled by some ancient hunger to try to find his own people, to be a member of the society that had borne him.

He found it—as so many other Indian captives have found it—impossible. Though he rejected his Indian foster people and settled among the whites, educated his halfbreed children in white schools, still he was too much Indian to change environment. His Indian characteristics made him “different.” He was distrusted by the whites. He was not prepared or equipped to make a living according to the white standard. Confused and bewildered, his white heritage constantly fighting with his acquired Indian environmental factors, in his later years he was lonely and “bitter.” He is said to have threatened violence against those who opposed him, but to his credit it must be said that no major act of violence has ever been proved against him; the charges have been founded entirely on supposition, and it is obvious that a factor in those charges was his “difference.”

What follows here is largely the story of Tanner’s life after the publication of the Narrative, during the years of struggle when, not understanding and not understood, he tried desperately to be a “white” once more.

Henry R. Schoolcraft, who firmly believed Tanner had killed his brother, said: “ ... now a grey-headed, hard-featured old man, at war with everyone. Suspicious, revengeful, bad-tempered.”

Elizabeth T. Baird said he was cruel and no religion could be discussed before him.

Mrs. Angie Bingham Gilbert, who had known him as an old man when she was a young child, said he had a strange and terrible personality, a violent and uncontrolled temper, but was very religious and almost noble-looking. It rather looks as if Mrs. Gilbert, having spoken her mind, wanted to soften her remembrance of him.

On the opposite hand, William H. Keating, journalist for Major Long, said he never drank or smoked, was honorable, was attached to his children, and had great affection for his Indian foster mother and her family. The latter two items are quite apparent even in his matter-of-fact telling of the Narrative.

The truth probably lies in a combination of these points of view. Keating knew Tanner in 1823, before Tanner had a chance to become disillusioned as to his place in society. Even before Tanner left the Indians he learned to drink, but rather conservatively, it would seem on the whole. The other commentators knew him later, after he had fought his personal battle with civilization and had lost; when he had found at last that he could not live in an Indian hut, under Indian conditions of sanitation, follow Indian customs in treatment of his family, and still be accepted as a white. Here then, it might seem, was a man who, battling with his own inner turmoil of ideas and evaluations, unaccountably found himself in desperate conflict with the mores of his native race. He fought back, it would seem, with considerable restraint, considering his background, and in the end, lonely, friendless, his oldest daughter separated from him by legislative edict, the people of his adopted town holding him in alternate contempt and awe, even his friends beginning to fear violence from him, he disappeared under a cloud.

That summer of 1846 in Sault Ste. Marie was known as the Tanner Summer; everything bad that happened was accredited to John Tanner. He was hunted by soldiers and bloodhounds, accused specifically of the murder of James Schoolcraft, but he was never found. He disappeared completely, and the time and manner of his death are yet a mystery; the last resting place of his bones is yet unknown to man.

Years later a skeleton was found in a swamp near Sault Ste. Marie and was thought to be his, but there were some doubters. Years after that an ex-army officer confessed the killing of James Schoolcraft, but it was too late to help John Tanner. To the people of Sault Ste. Marie he was still known as Old Tanner, or the White Indian, or the Old Liar.

The book itself has been both praised and condemned. The charge is made that he gives himself the benefit of all doubts, but this, remember, means doubts from the “civilized” point of view. It rather seems that from the Indian point of view he was quite honest. He did not equivocate over the fact that he had been spending his nights in Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa’s teepee before he married her, nor is he in any manner boastful. He seems honest enough about his drinking; for a long time he did not drink at all, but later on he took it up to a certain extent. Likewise he tells in Indian fashion—the usual word is “stoical”—about sending a little slave girl into the cold without a blanket because she had allowed his tent to burn down. Actually stoicism implies the control of feelings, but it was not that with Tanner. He had no feeling about the matter; the girl had caused them suffering; therefore she was sent away. The element of punishment was not as large as the element of self-protection—which was why Tanner took the girl’s blanket from her: he and the surviving boy would need it to keep warm. In a country where all one’s resources are called on to maintain existence, there is not, biologically speaking, much encouragement to sentiment.

The Narrative has the full ring of truth and sincerity if one remembers that this was, to all effect, an Indian speaking. His viewpoint was Indian, his philosophy was Indian, and the Narrative is not to be judged from “civilized” point of view, either as of 1830 or as of 1956. And if anyone doubts Tanner’s innate decency, he has only to read Tanner’s matter-of-fact relation of homosexuality among the Ojibways to realize that here was a man truly sophisticated (in that he pointed no finger of reprehension) but also truly conventional, for while he did not cast aspersions on those who practiced it, neither did he want anything to do with it himself.

From various accounts of his life it is possible to reconstruct a tentative time-table of John Tanner’s career.

He was born about 1780, and captured by Shawnees in 1789. He was married in 1800, and returned home to Kentucky about 1817. About 1818 he must have gone back to his Indian family; in 1819 his brother found him in Canada. In 1820 he left Selkirk Settlement, with his wife and three children, for Kentucky again; another child was born enroute, and his wife stayed at Mackinac, Michigan, while he went on to Kentucky, where one daughter, Mary, died. In 1823 he returned to the Red River to get his wife and two other daughters. On this occasion he apparently was not successful, for his wife hired an Indian to shoot him, and she then ran off with the Indian, while his daughters disappeared.

Sometime in the next few years, however, he must have effected a reconciliation, for his wife lived with him several years and produced two more children. In 1828 he moved from Mackinac to Sault Ste. Marie. In 1830 Martha, his daughter, was taken from him. In 1832 the mother left Mackinac for good.

These are the facts as deduced from his various biographers. Perhaps, however, they did not trouble to read the Narrative, for still other facts appear:

He mentions a child who died of measles (this could have been Mary); he confirms that one son was thoroughly Indian and chose to remain with the Ojibways; he mentions a child who died in 1821, 80 miles from Grand Prairie (this might have been Mary); he tells us that (probably about 1810) he had left his first wife and had taken another, by whom he had three children; this second wife was the one who would not go to Mackinac, it would seem. He also reveals the great trouble caused by his second mother-in-law, for she was often on the scene, and his wife deserted him in company with his mother-in-law; his wife returned a year later (sometime before 1814), and he says she “laughed” as she resumed her place in his household.

It is worth noting that no bitterness or resentment appears in the Narrative against either his wife, his mother-in-law, or the medicine man who seems to have had much undue influence in his domestic troubles. It is significant too that during the winter when his wife was gone, he took care of his children, hunting meat by day, repairing their clothing by night, and he says casually that during that winter he slept very short hours because of his many duties.

Probably in the early 1840’s, in a last desperate attempt to secure acceptance as a white, he married a white woman of Detroit. She bore him one child, but left him because of what to her were squalor and brutality; eventually she was granted a divorce by the legislature. In 1846, perhaps not too long after his wife left him, he disappeared about the time of James Schoolcraft’s murder. There never has been a word from him since, and, as far as known, no human eye ever again saw him as a living man.

He was dis-enamored of his first wife before he married her, and his life after he returned to civilization with his second wife was most unhappy, she wanting to return to her people, he determined to remain with his. She wanted him to marry her in Mackinac according to white customs, she being a Roman Catholic by that time, but his Indian upbringing asserted itself and he refused. Presumably she went back to Red River and was swallowed up in the anonymity of Indian records, which except for unusual happenings were kept only as long as they could be heard from the mouth of one living; three generations were the usual extent.

The third wife was variously described as a poor but respectable member of the Baptist church, and by another writer as a chambermaid in Ben Woodworth’s hotel (an obviously slurring reference; again the writers’ personal sympathies and antipathies color their writings). There seems little doubt, however, that she could not endure conditions in the Tanner menage, which must have been very Indian-like, and asked men in Sault Ste. Marie to advise her. The advice was not given, but a purse was made up to help her “escape.”

There is likewise some confusion as to his children. Quite likely Martha was the oldest, having been born about 1808, and she lived a long and useful life as a teacher. Mary may have been the second, born in 1809, and it was she who died in 1820. Lucy, the baby born in 1820, was drowned in a shipwreck on Lake Michigan. She had been given up for adoption by Tanner before she was a year old, and, Indian-like, he never more had anything to do with her.

Since there were two other children with him in 1820, James and John must have been on the scene. One report mentions two Johns; another says one brother was an Indian chief, and another says John was killed at the Battle of Bull Run. James became a minister; he was not too well spoken of, and died in a fall from a wagon about the time of the Riel Rebellion. Of the two children born after 1820, nothing appears—nor of the one born to his wife from Detroit.

The killing of James Schoolcraft requires some elaboration, for it is that crime that put Tanner under a cloud. True, he was unsocial and often violent and had been locked up in jail to recover from his fits of temper, but he had not committed a felony. He had threatened Doctor James for writing things that made people ridicule him, but no printed record appears that he ever tried to implement the threat, though Thomas W. Field flatly says Tanner tried to kill Doctor James (this seems to be on the authority of Henry Schoolcraft, who does not say that; he says Tanner “threatened” to kill the doctor). Field’s is a strong statement, especially so since in the same sentence Field says Tanner “actually murdered” James Schoolcraft. A murder, of course, is a legal conviction, and it does not seem reasonable that Tanner was ever tried in court, for he was never found. Further, the army officer, Lieutenant Tilden, is said by two writers to have confessed years later to the killing of Schoolcraft, and even the people of Sault Ste. Marie seem to have lost their strong conviction of Tanner’s guilt in this matter after a few years.

James Schoolcraft was a “gay, handsome” man, and Tanner was supposed to have killed him for having improper relations with Tanner’s daughter. This would imply a young daughter, for among Indians the value of chastity was realistically appraised; it was common practice among many tribes to put a higher value on a girl, for purposes of marriage, if she was a virgin. Bear in mind that a husband invariably paid the parents for a girl he married, and her marriage value decreased as her sexual experience increased. In this respect the Indians were quite civilized.

But none of Tanner’s children had lived with him for years; all accounts agree on that. Therefore it appears that the last two children born to his second wife must have returned with her to her people, and likely the small child of his third wife must have been taken with her; this last child, at any rate, would have been too young for any normal relationship with James Schoolcraft—and nothing else is even implied. Therefore there was only Martha who may have been in Sault Ste. Marie (Lucy and Mary both having died), and Martha was probably 38 years old, and far beyond the age where an Indian would feel impelled to kill to preserve her value, or a white parent to protect her honor. In other words, she had reached the age of discretion. For the record, however, no hint is ever given that Martha was involved, and all accounts say that she lived a good and useful life.

Who, then, did kill Schoolcraft? One account offers this answer: Schoolcraft and Lieutenant Tilden were rivals for the attention of a woman. Likewise, there were other bits of evidence that seemed to indicate Tilden, while the main thing against Tanner was his unsocial attitude. For those who consider character in the nature of evidence, it is interesting to know that Lieutenant Tilden was later court-martialed in Mexico. The two reports of Tilden’s confession must be considered, and likewise the fact that the body found years later was presumed to be Tanner’s. If it was, how did he die?

On the whole, John Tanner is representative of a class of persons not uncommon on the old frontier: repatriated captives. A great many of them had a hard life, and the reasons were several: they acquired Indian mores during their captivity, and it was never easy for them to reconcile their Indian ways with the new—to them—ways of the whites. Second, anything connected with Indians was looked on with deep suspicion by whites on the frontier; John Tanner was not only feared but also mistrusted. It would seem the public attitude toward him softened a great deal in retrospect, for in after years the citizens of Sault Ste. Marie refused to give Tilden a clean bill of health over the Schoolcraft killing.

It is, however, inescapable that Tanner’s attempt to live among the people of his blood was a tragic experience. He was not only a man without a country but a man without a race.

Here, then, is John Tanner’s Narrative, as it was first printed a hundred and twenty-six years ago. It is not a flowery and sensational tale of adventure, as were most Indian captivity stories of that time; it is rather a study of Indian life and customs, and would be much better known if it had been more readily available. But the book never appeared in more than the first edition, and is classed as quite rare. It was printed in New York in 1830 by G. & C. & H. Carvill; in London also in 1830; in Paris (French translation) in 1835 without the vocabularies; in Leipzig (German translation) in 1840 without the vocabularies. A partial mimeographed edition was produced in this country in 1940, but otherwise this work, which in all respects is deserving of the term “classic,” has been almost inaccessible to most persons. It would seem, therefore, that the present edition is a real service to students of the frontier.

Noel M. Loomis.

Minneapolis, Minn., Aug. 25, 1956.

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER

John Tanner, whose life and adventures are detailed in the following pages, is now about fifty years of age. His person is erect and rather robust, indicating great hardiness, activity, and strength, which, however, his numerous exposures and sufferings have deeply impaired. His face, which was originally rather handsome, bears now numerous traces of thought and passion, as well as of age; his quick and piercing blue eyes, bespeak the stern, the violent, and unconquerable spirit, which rendered him an object of fear to many of the Indians while he remained among them, and which still, in some measure, disqualifies him for that submissive and compliant manner which his dependent situation among the whites renders necessary. Carefully instructed in early youth, in all those principles and maxims which constitute the moral code of the unsophisticated and uncorrupted Indians, his ideas of right and wrong, of honourable and dishonourable, differ, of course, very essentially from those of white men. His isolated and friendless situation, in the midst of a community where the right of private warfare is recognized as almost the only defence of individual possessions, the only barrier between man and man, was certainly in the highest degree unfavourable to the formation of that enduring and patient submissiveness, which, in civilized societies, surrenders so great a share of individual rights to the strong guardianship of the law. Accordingly, to a correct sense of natural justice, he unites a full share of that indomitable and untiring spirit of revenge, so prominent in the Indian character. The circumstances into which he has been thrown, among a wild and lawless race, have taught him to consider himself, in all situations, the avenger of his own quarrel; and if, in the better regulated community into which he has been recently drawn, he has, by the consciousness of aggravated insult, or intolerable oppression, been driven to seek redress, or to propose it to himself, we cannot be surprised that he should have recurred to the method, which long habit, and the paramount influence of established custom, have taught him to consider the only honourable and proper one. He returns to the pale of civilization too late in life to acquire the mental habits which befit his new situation. It is to be regretted that he should ever meet among us with those so destitute of generosity as to be willing to take advantage of his unavoidable ignorance of the usages of civilized society. He has ever been found just and generous, until injuries or insults have aroused the spirit of hatred and revenge; his gratitude has always been as ardent and persevering as his resentment. But it would be superfluous to dwell on the features of his character, which are best displayed in his narrative of those events and scenes, to which he might, with so much propriety, apply the hackneyed motto,

quae que ipse miserrima vidi,

Et quorum pars magna fui.

The preceding remarks would not, perhaps, have been hazarded, had not some harsh imputations been made to rest on the character of our narrator, in the district where he has for some time past resided, in consequence of differences growing, as appears to us, entirely out of the circumstance of the Indian character, with many of its prominent peculiarities being indelibly impressed upon him. However such a character may, under any circumstances, excite our disapprobation or dislike, some indulgence is due where, as in this case, the solitary savage, with his own habits and opinions, is brought into contact with the artificial manners and complicated institutions of civilized men.

In an attempt to aid this unfortunate individual in addressing his countrymen, it seemed desirable to give his narrative, as nearly as possible, in his own words, and with his own manner. The narrator himself is not without a share of that kind of eloquence which we meet with among the Indians; but as this consists more in action, emphasis, and the expression of the countenance, than in words and sentences, he has been followed in the style of the humblest narration. This plainness, it is hoped, will render the history little less acceptable to the general reader, while the philosophic inquirer will undoubtedly prefer to trace, in the simplest possible guise, the operations of a mind subjected for so long a time to the influence of all the circumstances peculiar to savage life. It ought to be distinctly understood, that his whole story was given as it stands, without hints, suggestions, leading questions, or advice of any kind, other than “to conceal nothing.” The sentiments expressed in relation to the character and conduct of individuals on the frontiers, or in the Indian country, or on other subjects connected with the condition of the Indians, are exclusively his own. One liberty it has been found necessary to take, namely, to retrench or altogether to omit many details of hunting adventures, of travelling, and other events, which in the simple lives of the Indians have only a moderate share of importance, but on which, in the lack of other matter, they learn to dwell very much at length in those long narrative conversations with which it is their habit to amuse each other. It is probable the narrator might have proved more acceptable to many of his readers had this retrenchment been carried to a greater extent; but it is to be remembered that the life of the savage, like that of the civilized man, is made up of a succession of little occurrences, each unimportant by itself, but which require to be estimated in making up an opinion of the character of either.

Some particulars in Mr. Tanner’s narrative will doubtless excite a degree of incredulity among such as have never attended particularly to the history and condition of the Indian tribes. Many will find their confidence in him much impaired, when he tells of prophetic dreams, and of the fulfilment of indications, and promises, necessarily implying the interference of invisible and spiritual beings. He will appear to some, weakly credulous—to others, stupidly dishonest;—so would any one among us, who should gravely relate tales, which the advance of education, and the general intelligence have, within two centuries, converted from established doctrines to “old wives fables.” To enforce this remark, we need not refer to the examples of Cotton Mather, and others of his times, not less renowned for human learning than for exemplary piety. The history of the human mind in all ages, and among all nations, affords abundant examples of credulity; closely resembling that which we feel disposed to ridicule or to pity in the savage. It may be of some importance toward a clear comprehension of the Indian character, to be assured that the powerful mind of our narrator, was at all times strongly influenced by a belief in the ubiquity, and frequent interpositions in the affairs of men, of an overruling Providence. His may have been a purer and more consistent Theism than that of many of his untaught companions, but in many important particulars his belief was the same as theirs. If he was less entirely than his Indian associates the dupe of those crafty prophets, who are constantly springing up among them; yet it will be found he had not, at all times, entire confidence in the decisions of his own mind, which taught him to despise their knavery, and to ridicule their pretensions. In all times of severe distress, or of urgent danger, the Indians, like other men, are accustomed to supplicate aid from superior beings, and they are often confident that a gracious answer has been granted to their petitions. This belief need not shock the pious; as it certainly will not appear in any respect remarkable to those who have accustomed themselves to close observance of the workings of the human mind, under all variations of circumstances. We believe there is nothing inconsistent with true religion, or sound reason, in supposing that the same Lord over all, is gracious unto all who worship him in sincerity. It will be manifest also that this inherent principle of religious feeling is made the instrument by which superior minds govern and influence the weaker. Among the Indians, as among all other races, from the times of the philosophic leader of the Retreat of the Ten Thousand, to the present day, religion has been an engine in the hands of the few, who in virtue of intellectual or accidental superiority, assume the right to govern the many.

Doubtless many of the representations in the following narrative are somewhat influenced by peculiarities in the mental constitution, and the accidental circumstances of the narrator; yet making all admissible allowances, they present but a gloomy picture of the condition of uncivilized men. Having acquired some idea of those things considered most reprehensible among us, it would be surprising if he should not have felt some reluctance to giving an explicit detail of all his adventures, in a community whose modes of thinking are on many subjects so different from ours. Traits, which must in our estimation constitute great blemishes, he has freely confessed; whether other or greater faults remain undivulged is unknown; but it should not be forgotten, that actions considered among us not only reprehensible, but highly criminal, are among them accounted shining virtues. In no part of his narrative will he probably appear in a more unfavourable light than when he details his severity to an unfortunate captive girl, through whose negligence his lodge, and all his little property, was consumed by fire in the midst of winter. This kind of cruelty, as well as the abandonment of the sick, the aged, and the dying, practised so extensively by the Chippewyans, and other northern Indians, and more or less by all the tribes, remind us how much even in what seem spontaneous and natural courtesies, we owe to the influence of civilization. The conduct of the Indians in all these cases, however we may see fit to call it, is certainly not unnatural, being in strict and implicit obedience to that impulse of nature which prompts so irresistibly to self-preservation. How admirable is that complicated machinery which in so many instances avails to overcome and control this impulse—which postpones the interest, the happiness, or the life of the individual to the good of the associated whole!

The sketch which the following narrative exhibits of the evils and miseries of savage life, is probably free from exaggeration or distortion. Few will read it without some sentiments of compassion for a race so destitute, so debased, and hopeless; gladly would we believe it may have a tendency to call the attention of an enlightened and benevolent community to the wants of those who are sitting in darkness. In vain do we attempt to deceive ourselves, or others, into the belief that in whatever “relates to their moral condition and prospects, the Indians have been gainers by their intercourse with Europeans.”[1] Who can believe that the introduction of ardent spirits among them, “has added no new item to the catalogue of their crimes, nor substracted one from the list of their cardinal virtues?” Few, comparatively, have the opportunity, fewer have the inclination, to visit and observe the Indians in their remote haunts, or even on our immediate frontiers; all who have done so must be convinced that wherever, and for whatever purpose, the Indian and the white man come in contact, the former, in all that relates to his moral condition, is sure to become severely and irretrievably a sufferer. Every unbiased inquirer who will avail himself of the abundant means of information before the public will be convinced that during more than two hundred years, in despite of all the benevolent exertions of individuals, of humane associations, and of governments, the direct tendency of the intercourse between the two races has been the uniform and rapid depression and deterioration of the Indians.

Among the most active of the extraneous causes which have produced this conspicuous and deplorable change must be reckoned the trade for peltries which has been pushed among them from the earliest occupation of the country by the whites. The ensuing narrative will afford some views of the fur trade, such as it formerly existed in the northwest, such as it now exists throughout the territories claimed by the United States. These views are certainly neither those of a statesman, or a political economist, but they may be relied on as exhibiting a fair exposition of the influence of the trade upon the aborigines. Recently, the Indians in all that wide portion of North America occupied by the Hudson’s Bay Fur Company, have been, by the consolidation of two rival associations, relieved alike from the evils, and deprived of the advantages accruing from an active competition in the trade. Among other advantageous results supposed to be attained by this exclusion of competition one, and probably the most important, is the effectual check it interposes to the introduction of spirits into the Indian country. Even the clerks and agents stationed at the remote interior posts are forbidden to introduce the smallest quantity of spirit or wine among their private stores. This one measure, incalculably of more value than all that has been effected in times remote or recent, by the interference of governments or the exertions of benevolent associations, has originated in the prudent foresight, and well instructed love of gain of an association of merchants; and while it makes us fully acquainted with the views of those best informed in relation to the effect of the introduction of whiskey among the Indians, it shows the possibility of remedying this great evil.

In former times, when the whole of the northwest of our continent was open to the competition of rival traders, all the evils and all the advantages of the system at present existing in the United States territories were felt to the remotest and least accessible of those dreary regions. The Indian could probably in all instances realize a higher price for his peltries than he can hope to do at present. The means of intoxicating himself and his family were always to be had at some rate, and the produce of his hunt was artfully divided and disposed of in the manner which seemed to promise him the greatest share of this deadly indulgence. During the times of active competition, it was found accordingly that the fur bearing animals, and the race of native hunters, were hastening with equal and rapid strides towards utter extinction. The effect of a competitionary trade, managed as it will always be, in districts for the most part or wholly without the jurisdiction of the governments of civilized countries, upon the animals whose skins constitute the sole object of the visits of the traders, must be obvious. The vagrant and migratory habits of the Indians would render it impossible for any individual, or any association of men, to interrupt or even to check the destruction of animals, wherever they could be found. The rival trader was ever at hand to take advantage of any forbearance a prudent foresight might dictate. Thus it will appear that districts where game had existed in the greatest abundance, were in the course of a few years so stripped that the inhabitants could avoid starvation only by migrating to some less exhausted region. Wherever the Indians went, the traders were sure to follow as the wolves and buzzards follow the buffalo. But in the state of things at present existing in the north, the traders are represented to have entire control of the motions of the Indians. The most valuable part of the territories of the Hudson’s Bay Company is the forest country. With the Indians of the plains, who subsist almost entirely by hunting the buffalo, they concern themselves no further than to purchase such robes or other peltries as they may, on their visit to a post, offer for ready pay. The people of the plains having few possessions beside their horses, their bows and arrows, and their garments of skins, are so independent, and the animals they hunt of so little value to the traders, that they are left to pursue whatever course their own inclination may point out, and at present they never receive credits. With the forest Indians the case is quite different. Such is their urgent necessity for ammunition and guns, for traps, axes, woollen blankets, and other articles of foreign manufacture, that at the approach of winter, their situation is almost hopeless if they are deprived of the supplies they have so long been accustomed to receive. A consciousness of this dependance sufficed, even in times of competition, to some extent, but far more at present, to render them honest, and punctual in discharging the debts they had incurred. The practice of the traders now is, whenever they find the animals in any district becoming scarce, to withdraw their trading establishment, and by removing to some other part, make it necessary for the Indians to follow. Regions thus left at rest, are found to become, in a few years, in a great measure replenished with the fur-bearing animals. The two regulations by which the clerks and agents are forbid to purchase the skins of certain animals if killed before they have attained their full growth, and by which the use of traps, which destroy indiscriminately old and young, is interdicted, doubtless contribute essentially to the attainment of this important result. It cannot be otherwise, than that the moral condition of the hunter population in the north must be somewhat improved by the severe discipline which convenience and interest will equally prompt the Company possessing the monopoly to introduce and maintain; but whether this advantage will, in the event, counterbalance the effect of the rigid exactions to which the Indians may be compelled to submit, must be for time to determine.

It is manifest that plans of government adopted and enforced to subserve the purposes of the fur traders, will be framed with the design of keeping the Indians in a state of efficiency as hunters, and must thus in the end be directly opposed to all efforts to give them those settled habits that attachment to the soil, and that efficient industry, which must constitute the first step in their advance towards civilization. Such are the climate and soil of a great part of the country northward of the great lakes, as to render it extremely improbable that any other than a rude race of hunters will ever be found there; and for them, it would probably be in vain to hope for a milder government than such a kind of despotism as can be swayed by a company of traders. But within the country belonging to the United States are many rude tribes distributed at intervals through boundless forests, or along smiling and fertile plains, where it would seem that industry and civilization might be introduced. Here it is not probable that the fur trade can ever become a protected and exclusive monopoly; and since, while conducted as it is, and as it must continue to be, it is the most prolific sources of evil to the Indians, it may be allowed us, to look forward to the time when many among the remnants of the native tribes shall escape from its influence by becoming independent of the means of subsistence it offers them.

Some change may reasonably be supposed to have taken place in the course of two centuries in the sentiments of the European intruders towards their barbarous neighbours. In relative situation they have changed places. Those who are now powerful were then weak; those who now profess to offer protection, then looked with anxiety and trembling upon the superior strength of the race which has so soon perished from before them. In the early periods of our colonial history, the zeal of religious proselytism, and the less questionable spirit of true philanthropy, seem not to have availed, generally, to overcome the strong hatred of the savage race, produced by causes inseparable from the feeble and dependant condition of the colonies, and from the necessity which compelled our forefathers to become intruders upon the rightful possessions of the Indians. In the writings of the early historians, particularly of the Puritanical divines of New England, we find these people commonly described as a brutal and devil-driven race, wild beasts, bloodhounds, heathen demons; no epithet was considered too opprobrious, no execration too dire, to be pronounced against them.[2] It may be supposed, that in losing the power which made them formidable, they became less obnoxious to the hatred of the whites. Accordingly, we find that it was long since the fashion to profess much good will and compassion towards this ill-starred race. Some efforts have been made, and many more have been talked of for their civilization and for their conversion to the true religion. Here and there, a Penn has appeared among our statesmen; an Elliot or a Brainerd among our religionists—some have been incited by motives of pure benevolence, or by a love of natural justice, to labour perseveringly and faithfully in the work of reclaiming and benefiting the Indians. Could we trust implicitly to the statements of many who in our day write and speak on this subject, we might infer that the only sentiment influencing us, as a people, in our intercourse with our Indian neighbours, is an ardent desire for the promotion of their best interests. But if we estimate public sentiment by the surer criterion of public measures, we must admit that the present generation are seeking, with no less zeal and earnestness than their forefathers, the utter extermination of these bloody and idolatrous canaanites. The truth is, it has been, and still is, convenient to consider this a devil driven race, doomed by inscrutable destiny to sudden and entire destruction. This opinion accords well with the convenient dogma of the moral philosopher, who teaches that such as will make the best use of the soil, should drive out and dispossess those who, from ignorance or indolence, suffer it to remain uncultivated. It is of little importance to cavil at the injustice of such a course. The rule of vis major seems to be with almost equal force obligatory on both parties, and it would perhaps be now as impossible for us to avoid displacing the Indians, and occupying their country, as for them to prevent us.

The long agitated subject, of the “melioration of the condition of the Indians,” appears therefore to present two questions of primary importance: 1st. Can any thing be effected by our interference? 2d. Have we in our collective character, as a people, any disposition to interpose the least check to the downward career of the Indians? The last inquiry will be unhesitatingly answered in the negative by all who are acquainted with the established policy of our government in our intercourse with them. The determination evinced by a great part of the people, and their representatives, to extinguish the Indian title to all lands on this side the Mississippi—to push the remnants of these tribes into regions already filled to the utmost extent their means of subsistence will allow—manifests, more clearly than volumes of idle and empty professions, our intentions toward them. The vain mockery of treaties, in which it is understood, that the negotiation, and the reciprocity, and the benefits, are all on one side; the feeble and misdirected efforts we make for their civilization and instruction, should not, and do not, deceive us into the belief that we have either a regard for their rights, where they happen to come in competition with our interests, or a sincere desire to promote the cause of moral instruction among them. The efforts of charitable associations, originating as they do in motives of the most unquestionable purity, may seem entitled to more respectful notice; but we deem these efforts, as far as the Indians are concerned, equally misapplied, whether they be directed, as in the south, to drawing out from among them a few of their children, and giving them a smattering of “astronomy, moral philosophy, surveying, geography, history, and the use of globes,”[3] or as in the north, in educating the half breed children of fur traders and vagabond Canadians, in erecting workshops and employing mechanics in our frontier villages, or building vessels for the transportation of freight on the upper lakes. These measures may be well in themselves, and are doubtless useful; but let us not flatter ourselves that in doing these things we confer any essential benefit on the Indians. The Chocktaws and Chickasaws will not long retain such a knowledge of astronomy and surveying, as would be useful to guide their wanderings, or mete out their possessions in those scorched and sterile wastes to which it is our fixed intention to drive them. The giving to a few individuals of a tribe an education which, as far as it has any influence, tends directly to unfit them for the course of life they are destined to lead, with whatever intention it may be undertaken, is certainly far from being an act of kindness. If, while we give the rudiments of an education to a portion of their children, our selfish policy is thrusting back into a state of more complete barbarism the whole mass of the people, among whom we pretend to qualify them for usefulness, of what avail are our exertions, or our professions in their favour? We cannot be ignorant that in depriving the Indians of the means of comfortable subsistence, we take from them equally the power and the inclination to cultivate any of the branches of learning commonly taught them at our schools. Will the Indian youth who returns from the Mission school, after ten or fifteen years of instruction, be likely to become a better hunter, or a braver warrior, than those who have remained at home and been educated in the discipline of his tribe? Will he not rather find himself encumbered with a mass of learning necessarily as uncurrent, and as little valued among his rude companions, as would be a parcel of lottery tickets or bank notes? On this subject, as on many others, the Indians are qualified to make, and often do make, extremely just reflections. To say that they consider the learning of the whites of no value, would be to misrepresent them. On the contrary, they speak in terms of the highest admiration of some branches, particularly writing and reading, which, they say, enables us to know what is done at a distance, to recall with the greatest accuracy all that we or others have said in past times. But of these things they say, as of the religion of the whites, “they are not designed for us.” “The Great Spirit has given to you, as well as to us, things suited to our several conditions; He may have been more bountiful to you than to us; but we are not disposed to complain of our allotment.”

In relation to the other branch of this part of our subject, namely, the practicability of benefiting the Indians by our instructions, a few words may suffice. More than two hundred years have passed, during all which time it has been believed that systematic and thorough exertions were making to promote the civilization and conversion of the Indians. The entire failure of all these attempts ought to convince us, not that the Indians are irreclaimable, but that we ourselves, while we have built up with one hand, have pulled down with the other. Our professions have been loud, our philanthropic exertions may have been great, but our selfish regard to our own interest and convenience has been greater, and to this we ought to attribute the steady decline, the rapid deterioration of the Indians. We may be told of their constitutional indolence, their Asiatic temperament, destining them to be forever stationary, or retrogradent; but while remaining monuments and vestiges, as well as historical records of unquestionable authority, assure us that a few centuries ago they were, though rude, still a great, a prosperous, and a happy people; we ought not to forget that injustice and oppression have been most active among the causes which have brought them down to their present deplorable state. Their reckless indolence, their shameless profligacy, their total self-abandonment, have been the necessary consequences of the degradation and hopelessness of their condition.[4]

That there exists, in the moral or physical constitution of the Indians any insuperable obstacle to their civilization, no one will now seriously assert. That they will ever be generally civilized, those who know them intimately, and who have observed the prevailing tone of feeling of both races towards each other, will consider so extremely improbable that they will deem it scarce worth while to inquire what system of measures would be best calculated to effect this desirable object. Of what advantage could any degree of civilization have been to those unfortunate Seminoles, who were a few years since removed from their beautiful and fertile lands in Florida, to those deep and almost impassable swamps in the rear of Tampa Bay, where it has been found not only necessary to confine them by a military force, but to subsist them, from day to day, and from year to year, by regular issues of provisions? Need we give them education that they may be the better able to estimate our munificence and generosity in suffering them to roam at large, in cypress swamps, in sandy deserts, or wherever else we may think the soil of no value to us?

The project of congregating the Indians, from the extended portions of the United States, in some place not only west of the Mississippi, but westward of the arable lands of Missouri and Arkansaw, in those burning deserts which skirt the eastern base of the Rocky Mountains, is, perhaps, more pregnant with injustice and cruelty to these people than any other. Such is the inveterate and interminable hostility existing, time out of mind, between the people of different stocks, portions of which are already in too near vicinity, such as the Dahcotah and the Ojibbeways, the Osages and Cherokees, that nothing but mutual destruction could be the consequence of crowding them together into a region already more than filled with warlike and jealous hunters. The region to which Mr. McKoy, in his pamphlet, proposes to remove the Indians, would, such is its naked and inhospitable character, soon reduce civilized men who should be confined to it, to be barbarism; nothing but inevitable destruction could there await a congregation of fierce, subtle, and mutually hostile savages.

Of all plans hitherto devised to benefit the Indians, by far the best, though doubtless attended with great difficulty in the execution is, to let them alone. Were it possible to leave to them the small remnant they still hold of their former possessions, to remove from them all the poisoning influences of the fur trade and the military posts, and the agencies auxiliary to it, necessity might again make them industrious. Industry thoroughly re-established would bring in its train prosperity, virtue, and happiness. But since we cannot reasonably hope that this plan will ever be adopted, the friends of humanity must continue to wish that some middle course may be devised, which may, in a measure, palliate the misery which cannot be removed, and retard the destruction which cannot be prevented. The first labour of the philanthropist, who would exert himself in this cause, should be to allay or suppress that exterminating spirit so common among us which, kept alive by the exertions of unprincipled land jobbers, and worthless squatters, is now incessantly calling for the removal of the Indians west of the Mississippi. Many, and doubtless some of those who legislate, may consider the region west of the Mississippi as a kind of fairy land where men can feed on moonbeams, or, at all events, that the Indians, when thoroughly swept into that land of salt mountains and horned frogs, will be too remote to give us any more trouble. But suppose those who now so pertinaciously urge this measure completely successful, let every Indian be removed beyond the Mississippi, how soon will the phrase be changed, to west of the Rocky Mountains? We may send them into the sandy wastes, but cannot persuade them to remain there; they will soon become not less troublesome to the settlers in the countries of Red River, White River, and the Lower Arkansaw, than they are now to the people of Georgia, Alabama, Missouri, and Illinois. Is it absolutely necessary that while we invite to our shores, and to a participation in all the advantages of our boasted institutions, the dissatisfied and the needy of all foreign countries, not stopping to inquire whether their own crimes, or the influence of an oppressive government, may have made the change desirable for them, we should, at the same time, persist in the determination to root out the last remnants of a race who were the original proprietors of the soil, many of whom are better qualified to become useful citizens of our republic than those foreigners we are so eager to naturalize? It is certainly by no means desirable that any of the aboriginal tribes who have retained, or acquired, or who shall acquire so much of civilization as to be able to increase in numbers, and to gain strength, surrounded by the whites, should be suffered to establish independent governments, which may, in time, acquire such strength as to be highly troublesome to their neighbours. Could the project of colonization be carried into complete effect, the measure, leaving out of consideration its daring and flagrant injustice, would be of as questionable policy as our unavailing attempt to restore to Africa the descendants of her enslaved children. It is believed by many that national as well as individual crimes, are sure to be visited, sooner or later, by just and merited punishments. Is it not probable that despite the efforts of the Colonization Society, the African race, now so deeply rooted and so widely spread among us, must inevitably grow to such a magnitude as to requite, fourfold, to our descendants, our own and our forefathers crimes against the aborigines?

The past history and the present condition of the Indians make it abundantly manifest that, if anything is intended on the part of the United States, except their speedy and utter extinction, an immediate change of measures is loudly called for. The most important particulars of the course to be pursued should be the prevention, as far as possible, of the evils resulting from competition; the introduction of whiskey, and other existing abuses in the fur trade; the encouragement of agriculture and domestic industry which may at length render them independent of that trade. Donations of horses, cattle, tools, and farming utensils, handsome clothes, neat and tasteful ornaments, bestowed as marks of honourable distinction, and rewards for successful and persevering industry, may by degrees, overcome the habitual indolence and contempt of labour, so generally met with among the Indians. With the efforts for the promotion of industry, the cultivation of the mind, not in one out of ten thousand, as at present, but in the whole mass of the children; and the introduction of the English language should keep equal pace. No effort should be spared to advance either. We deem it important that they should not only learn the English language, but, at the same time, lay aside and forget their own, and with it their entire system of traditional feelings and opinions on all subjects. Could all this be effected; could, furthermore, the rights and privileges of citizenship be held out as a reward for a prescribed course of conduct, or attach as a right to the possession of a certain amount of property, the effect would doubtless be a great and rapid elevation of the Indian character. By a system of measures of this kind, a portion of the remnants of these people might probably be preserved by becoming embodied with the whites. As separate and independent tribes, retaining their own languages, manners, and opinions, it is probable they cannot long continue in existence.

TANNER’S NARRATIVE.

CHAPTER I.

Recollections of early life—capture—journey from the mouth of the Miami to Sa-gui-na—ceremonies of adoption into the family of my foster parents—harsh treatment—transferred by purchase to the family of Net-no-kwa—removal to Lake Michigan.

The earliest event of my life, which I distinctly remember, is the death of my mother. This happened when I was two years old, and many of the attending circumstances made so deep an impression, that they are still fresh in my memory. I cannot recollect the name of the settlement at which we lived, but I have since learned it was on the Kentucky River, at a considerable distance from the Ohio.

My father, whose name was John Tanner, was an emigrant from Virginia, and had been a clergyman. He lived long after I was taken by the Indians, having died only three months after the great earthquake, which destroyed a part of New Madrid, and was felt throughout the country on the Ohio, (1811.)

Soon after my mother’s death, my father removed to a place called Elk Horn. At this place was a cavern—I used to visit it with my brother. We took two candles; one we lighted on entering, and went on till it was burned down; we then lighted the other, and began to return, and we would reach the mouth of the cavern before it was quite burned out.

This settlement at Elk Horn was occasionally visited by hostile parties of Shawneese Indians, who killed some white people, and sometimes killed or drove away cattle and horses. In one instance, my uncle, my father’s brother, went with a few men at night, and fired upon a camp of these Indians; he killed one, whose scalp he brought home; all the rest jumped into the river and escaped.

In the course of our residence at this place, an event occurred, to the influence of which I attributed many of the disasters of my subsequent life. My father, when about to start one morning to a village at some distance, gave, as it appeared, a strict charge to my sisters, Agatha and Lucy, to send me to school; but this they neglected to do until afternoon, and then, as the weather was rainy and unpleasant, I insisted on remaining at home. When my father returned at night, and found that I had been at home all day, he sent me for a parcel of small canes, and flogged me much more severely than I could suppose the offence merited. I was displeased with my sisters for attributing all the blame to me, when they had neglected even to tell me to go to school in the forenoon. From that time, my father’s house was less like home to me, and I often thought and said, “I wish I could go and live among the Indians.”

I cannot tell how long we remained at Elk Horn; when we moved, we travelled two days with horses and wagons, and came to the Ohio, where my father bought three flat boats; the sides of these boats had bullet holes in them, and there was blood on them, which I understood was that of people who had been killed by the Indians. In one of these boats we put the horses and cattle—in another, beds, furniture, and other property, and in the third were some negroes. The cattle boat and the family boat were lashed together; the third, with the negroes, followed behind. We descended the Ohio, and in two or three days came to Cincinnati; here the cattle boat sunk in the middle of the river. When my father saw it sinking, he jumped on board, and cut loose all the cattle, and they swam ashore on the Kentucky side, and were saved. The people from Cincinnati came out in boats to assist us, but father told them the cattle were all safe.

In one day we went from Cincinnati to the mouth of the Big Miami, opposite which we were to settle. Here was some cleared land, and one or two log cabins, but they had been deserted on account of the Indians. My father rebuilt the cabins, and enclosed them with a strong picket. It was early in the spring when we arrived at the mouth of the Big Miami, and we were soon engaged in preparing a field to plant corn. I think it was not more than ten days after our arrival, when my father told us in the morning, that from the actions of the horses, he perceived there were Indians lurking about in the woods, and he said to me, “John, you must not go out of the house to day.” After giving strict charge to my step mother to let none of the little children go out, he went to the field, with the negroes, and my elder brother, to drop corn.

Three little children, beside myself, were left in the house with my step mother. To prevent me from going out, my step mother required me to take care of the little child, then not more than a few months old; but as I soon became impatient of confinement, I began to pinch my little brother, to make him cry. My mother perceiving this uneasiness, told me to take him in my arms and walk about the house; I did so, but continued to pinch him. My mother at length took him from me to give him suck. I watched my opportunity, and escaped into the yard; thence through a small door in the large gate of the wall into the open field. There was a walnut tree at some distance from the house, and near the side of the field, where I had been in the habit of finding some of the last year’s nuts. To gain this tree without being seen by my father, and those in the field, I had to use some precaution. I remember perfectly well having seen my father, as I skulked towards the tree; he stood in the middle of the field, with his gun in his hand, to watch for Indians, while the others were dropping corn. As I came near the tree, I thought to myself, “I wish I could see these Indians.” I had partly filled with nuts a straw hat which I wore, when I heard a crackling noise behind me; I looked round, and saw the Indians; almost at the same instant, I was seized by both hands, and dragged off betwixt two. One of them took my straw hat, emptied the nuts on the ground, and put it on my head. The Indians who seized me were an old man and a young one; these were, as I learned subsequently, Manito-o-geezhik, and his son Kish-kau-ko[5]. Since I returned from Red River, I have been at Detroit while Kish-kau-ko was in prison there; I have also been in Kentucky, and have learned several particulars relative to my capture, which were unknown to me at the time. It appears that the wife of Manito-o-geezhik had recently lost by death her youngest son—that she had complained to her husband, that unless he should bring back her son, she could not live. This was an intimation to bring her a captive whom she might adopt in the place of the son she had lost. Manito-o-geezhik, associating with him his son, and two other men of his band, living at Lake Huron, had proceeded eastward with this sole design. On the upper part of Lake Erie, they had been joined by three other young men, the relations of Manito-o-geezhik, and had proceeded on, now several in number, to the settlements on the Ohio. They had arrived the night previous to my capture at the mouth of the Big Miami, had crossed the Ohio, and concealed themselves within sight of my father’s house. Several times in the course of the morning, old Manito-o-geezhik had been compelled to repress the ardour of his young men, who becoming impatient at seeing no opportunity to steal a boy, were anxious to fire upon the people dropping corn in the field. It must have been about noon when they saw me coming from the house to the walnut tree, which was probably very near the place where one or more of them were concealed.

It was but a few minutes after I left the house, when my father, coming from the field, perceived my absence. My step mother had not yet noticed that I had gone out. My elder brother ran immediately to the walnut tree, which he knew I was fond of visiting, and seeing the nuts which the Indian had emptied out of my hat, he immediately understood that I had been made captive. Search was instantly made for me, but to no purpose. My father’s distress, when he found I was indeed taken away by the Indians, was, I am told, very great.

After I saw myself firmly seized by both wrists by the two Indians, I was not conscious of any thing that passed for a considerable time. I must have fainted, as I did not cry out, and I can remember nothing that happened to me, until they threw me over a large log, which must have been at a considerable distance from the house. The old man I did not now see; I was dragged along between Kish-kau-ko and a very short thick man. I had probably made some resistance, or done something to irritate this last, for he took me a little to one side, and drawing his tomahawk, motioned to me to look up. This I plainly understood, from the expression of his face, and his manner, to be a direction for me to look up for the last time, as he was about to kill me. I did as he directed, but Kish-kau-ko caught his hand as the tomahawk was descending, and prevented him from burying it in my brains. Loud talking ensued between the two. Kish-kau-ko presently raised a yell; the old man and the four others answered it by a similar yell, and came running up. I have since understood that Kish-kau-ko complained to his father, that the short man had made an attempt to kill his little brother, as he called me. The old chief, after reproving him, took me by one hand, and Kish-kau-ko by the other, and dragged me betwixt them; the man who had threatened to kill me, and who was now an object of terror, being kept at some distance. I could perceive, as I retarded them somewhat in their retreat, that they were apprehensive of being overtaken; some of them were always at some distance from us.

It was about one mile from my father’s house to the place where they threw me into a hickory bark canoe, which was concealed under the bushes, on the bank of the river. Into this they all seven jumped, and immediately crossed the Ohio, landing at the mouth of the Big Miami, and on the south side of that river. Here they abandoned their canoe, and stuck their paddles in the ground, so that they could be seen from the river. At a little distance in the woods they had some blankets and provisions concealed; they offered me some dry venison and bear’s grease, but I could not eat. My father’s house was plainly to be seen from the place where we stood; they pointed at it, looked at me, and laughed, but I have never known what they said.

After they had eaten a little, they began to ascend the Miami, dragging me along as before. The shoes I had on when at home, they took off, as they seemed to think I could run better without them. Although I perceived I was closely watched, all hope of escape did not immediately forsake me. As they hurried me along, I endeavored, without their knowledge, to take notice of such objects as would serve as landmarks on my way back. I tried also, where I passed long grass, or soft ground, to leave my tracks. I hoped to be able to escape after they should have fallen asleep at night. When night came, they lay down, placing me between the old man and Kish-kau-ko, so close together, that the same blanket covered all three. I was so fatigued that I fell asleep immediately, and did not wake until sunrise next morning, when the Indians were up and ready to proceed on their journey. Thus we journeyed for about four days, the Indians hurrying me on, and I continuing to hope that I might escape but still every night completely overpowered by sleep. As my feet were bare, they were often wounded, and at length much swollen. The old man perceiving my situation, examined my feet one day, and after removing a great many thorns and splinters from them, gave me a pair of moccasins, which afforded me some relief. Most commonly, I travelled between the old man and Kish-kau-ko, and they often made me run until my strength was quite exhausted. For several days I could eat little or nothing. It was, I think, four days after we left the Ohio that we came to a considerable river, running, as I suppose, into the Miami. This river was wide, and so deep that I could not wade across it; the old man took me on his shoulders and carried me over; the water was nearly up to his arm pits. As he carried me across, I thought I should never be able to pass this river alone, and gave over all hope of immediate escape. When he put me down on the other side, I immediately ran up the bank, and a short distance into the woods, when a turkey flew up a few steps before me. The nest she had left contained a number of eggs; these I put in the bosom of my shirt, and returned towards the river. When the Indians saw me they laughed, and immediately took the eggs from me, and kindling a fire, put them in a small kettle to boil. I was then very hungry, and as I sat watching the kettle, I saw the old man come running from the direction of the ford where we had crossed; he immediately caught up the kettle, threw the eggs and the water on the fire, at the same time saying something in a hurried and low tone to the young men. I inferred we were pursued, and have since understood that such was the case; it is probable some of my friends were at that time on the opposite side of the river searching for me. The Indians hastily gathered up the eggs and dispersed themselves in the woods, two of them still urging me forward to the utmost of my strength.

It was a day or two after this that we met a party of twenty or thirty Indians, on their way towards the settlements. Old Manito-o-geezhik had much to say to them; subsequently I learned that they were a war party of Shawneese; that they received information from our party of the whites who were in pursuit of us about the forks of the Miami; that they went in pursuit of them, and that a severe skirmish happened between them, in which numbers were killed on both sides.

Our journey through the woods was tedious and painful: it might have been ten days after we met the war party when we arrived at the Maumee River. As soon as we came near the river, the Indians were suddenly scattered about the woods examining the trees, yelling and answering each other. They soon selected a hickory tree, which was cut down, and the bark stripped off, to make a canoe. In this canoe we all embarked, and descended till we came to a large Shawnee village, at the mouth of a river which enters the Maumee. As we were landing in this village, great numbers of the Indians came about us, and one young woman came crying directly towards me, and struck me on the head. Some of her friends had been killed by the whites. Many of these Shawneese showed a disposition to kill me, but Kish-kau-ko and the old man interposed and prevented them. I could perceive that I was often the subject of conversation, but could not as yet understand what was said. Old Manito-o-geezhik could speak a few words of English, which he used occasionally to direct me to bring water, make a fire, or perform other tasks, which he now began to require of me. We remained two days at the Shawnee village, and then proceeded on our journey in the canoe. It was not very far from the village that we came to a trading house, where were three or four men who could speak English; they talked much with me, and said they wished to have purchased me from the Indians, that I might return to my friends; but as the old man would not consent to part with me, the traders told me I must be content to go with the Indians, and to become the old man’s son in place of one he had lost, promising at the same time that after ten days they would come to the village and release me. They treated me kindly while we stayed, and gave me plenty to eat, which the Indians had neglected to do. When I found I was compelled to leave this house with the Indians, I began to cry for the first time since I had been taken. I consoled myself, however, with their promise that in ten days they would come for me. Soon after leaving this trading house, we came to the lake; we did not stop at night to encamp, but soon after dark the Indians raised a yell, which was answered from some lights on shore, and presently a canoe came off to us in which three of our party left us. I have little recollection of any thing that passed from this time until we arrived at Detroit. At first we paddled up in the middle of the river until we came opposite the center of the town; then we ran in near the shore where I saw a white woman with whom the Indians held a little conversation, but I could not understand what was said. I also saw several white men standing and walking on shore, and heard them talk, but could not understand them; it is likely they spoke French. After talking a few minutes with the woman, the Indians pushed off and ran up a good distance above the town.

It was about the middle of the day when we landed in the woods and drew up the canoe. They presently found a large hollow log, open at one end, into which they put their blankets, their little kettle, and some other articles; they then made me crawl into it, after which they closed up the end at which I had entered. I heard them for a few minutes on the outside, then all was still, and remained so for a long time. If I had not long since relinquished all hope of making my escape, I soon found it would be in vain for me to attempt to release myself from my confinement. After remaining many hours in this situation, I heard them removing the logs with which they had fastened me in, and on coming out, although it was very late in the night, or probably near morning, I could perceive that they had brought three horses. One of these was a large iron-gray mare, the others were two small bay horses. On one of these they placed me, on the others their baggage, and sometimes one, sometimes another of the Indians riding, we travelled rapidly, and in about three days reached Sau-ge-nong,[6] the village to which old Manito-o-geezhik belonged. This village or settlement consisted of several scattered houses. Two of the Indians left us soon after we entered it; Kish-kau-ko and his father only remained, and instead of proceeding immediately home, they left their horses and borrowed a canoe, in which we at last arrived at the old man’s house. This was a hut or cabin built of logs like some of those in Kentucky. As soon as we landed, the old woman came down to us to the shore, and after Manito-o-geezhik had said a few words to her, she commenced crying, at the same time hugging and kissing me, and thus she led me to the house. Next day they took me to the place where the old woman’s son had been buried. The grave was enclosed with pickets, in the manner of the Indians, and on each side of it was a smooth open place. Here they all took their seats; the family and friends of Manito-o-geezhik on the one side, and strangers on the other. The friends of the family had come provided with presents; mukkuks of sugar, sacks of corn, beads, strouding, tobacco, and the like. They had not been long assembled, when my party began to dance, dragging me with them about the grave. Their dance was lively and cheerful, after the manner of the scalp dance. From time to time as they danced, they presented me something of the articles they had brought, but as I came round in the dancing to the party on the opposite side of the grave, whatever they had given me was snatched from me: thus they continued great part of the day, until the presents were exhausted, when they returned home.

It must have been early in the spring when we arrived at Sau-ge-nong, for I can remember that at this time the leaves were small, and the Indians were about planting their corn. They managed to make me assist at their labours, partly by signs, and partly by the few words of English old Manito-o-geezhik could speak. After planting, they all left the village, and went out to hunt and dry meat. When they came to their hunting grounds, they chose a place where many deer resorted, and here they began to build a long screen like a fence; this they made of green boughs and small trees. When they had built a part of it, they showed me how to remove the leaves and dry brush from that side of it to which the Indians were to come to shoot the deer. In this labour I was sometimes assisted by the squaws and children, but at other times I was left alone. It now began to be warm weather, and it happened one day that having been left alone, as I was tired and thirsty, I fell asleep. I cannot tell how long I slept, but when I began to awake, I thought I heard some one crying a great way off. Then I tried to raise up my head, but could not. Being now more awake, I saw my Indian mother and sister standing by me, and perceived that my face and head were wet. The old woman and her daughter were crying bitterly, but it was some time before I perceived that my head was badly cut and bruised. It appears that after I had fallen asleep, Manito-o-geezhik, passing that way, had perceived me, had tomahawked me, and thrown me in the bushes; and that when he came to his camp he had said to his wife, “old woman, the boy I brought you is good for nothing; I have killed him, and you will find him in such a place.” The old woman and her daughter having found me, discovered still some signs of life, and had stood over me a long time, crying, and pouring cold water on my head, when I waked. In a few days I recovered in some measure from this hurt, and was again set to work at the screen, but I was more careful not to fall asleep; I endeavoured to assist them at their labours, and to comply in all instances with their directions, but I was notwithstanding treated with great harshness, particularly by the old man, and his two sons She-mung and Kwo-tash-e. While we remained at the hunting camp, one of them put a bridle in my hand, and pointing in a certain direction, motioned me to go. I went accordingly, supposing he wished me to bring a horse; I went and caught the first I could find, and in this way I learned to discharge such services as they required of me.

When we returned from hunting, I carried on my back a large pack of dried meat all the way to the village, but though I was almost starved, I dared not touch a morsel of it. My Indian mother, who seemed to have some compassion for me, would sometimes steal a little food, and hide it for me until the old man was gone away, and then give it to me. After we returned to the village the young men, whenever the weather was pleasant, were engaged in spearing fish, and they used to take me to steer the canoe. As I did not know how to do this very well, they commonly turned upon me, beat me, and often knocked me down with the pole of the spear. By one or the other of them I was beaten almost every day. Other Indians, not of our family, would sometimes seem to pity me, and when they could without being observed by the old man, they would sometimes give me food, and take notice of me.

After the corn was gathered in the fall, and disposed of in the Sun-je-gwun-nun, or Ca-ches, where they hide it for the winter, they went to hunt on the Sau-ge-nong River. I was here, as I had always been when among them, much distressed with hunger. As I was often with them in the woods, I saw them eating something, and I endeavoured to discover what it was, but they carefully concealed it from me. It was some time before I accidentally found some beach-nuts, and though I knew not what they were, I was tempted to taste them, and finding them very good, I showed them to the Indians, when they laughed, and let me know these were what they had all along been eating. After the snow had fallen, I was compelled to follow the hunters, and oftentimes to drag home to the lodge a whole deer, though it was with the greatest difficulty I could do so.

At night I had always to lie between the fire and the door of the lodge, and when any one passed out or came in, they commonly gave me a kick; and whenever they went to drink, they made a practice to throw some water on me. The old man constantly treated me with much cruelty, but his ill humor showed itself more on some occasions than others. One morning, he got up, put on his moccasins, and went out; but presently returning, he caught me by the hair of my head, dragged me out, rubbed my face for a long time in a mass of recent excrement, as one would do the nose of a cat, then tossed me by the hair into a snow bank. After this I was afraid to go into the lodge; but at length my mother came out and gave me some water to wash. We were now about to move our camp, and I was as usual made to carry a large pack; but as I had not been able to wash my face clean, when I came among other Indians they perceived the smell, and asked me the cause. By the aid of signs, and some few words I could now speak, I made them comprehend how I had been treated. Some of them appeared to pity me, assisted me to wash myself, and gave me something to eat.[7]

Often when the old man would begin to beat me, my mother, who generally treated me with kindness, would throw her arms about me, and he would beat us both together. Towards the end of winter, we moved again to the sugar grounds. At this time, Kish-kau-ko, who was a young man of about twenty years of age, joined with him four other young men and went on a war-party. The old man also, as soon as the sugar was finished, returned to the village, collected a few men, and made his preparations to start. I had now been a year among them, and could understand a little of their language. The old man, when about to start, said to me, “now I am going to kill your father and your brother, and all your relations.” Kish-kau-ko returned first, but was badly wounded. He said he had been with his party to the Ohio River; that they had, after watching for some time, fired upon a small boat that was going down, and killed one man, the rest jumping into the water. He (Kish-kau-ko) had wounded himself in his thigh with his own spear, as he was pursuing them. They brought home the scalp of the man they had killed.

Old Manito-o-geezhik returned a few days afterwards, bringing an old white hat, which I knew, from a mark in the crown, to be that of my brother. He said he had killed all my father’s family, the negroes, and the horses, and had brought me my brother’s hat, that I might see he spoke the truth. I now believed that my friends had all been cut off, and was, on that account, the less anxious to return. This, it appears, had been precisely the object the old man wished to accomplish, by telling me the story of which but a small part was true. When I came to see Kish-kau-ko, after I returned from Red River, I asked him immediately, “Is it true, that your father has killed all my relations?” He told me it was not; that Manito-o-geezhik, the year after I was taken, at the same season of the year, returned to the same field where he had found me; that, as on the preceding year, he had watched my father and his people planting corn, from morning till noon; that then they all went into the house, except my brother, who was then nineteen years of age: he remained ploughing with a span of horses, having the lines about his neck, when the Indians rushed upon him; the horses started to run; my brother was entangled in the lines, and thrown down, when the Indians caught him. The horses they killed with their bows and arrows, and took my brother away into the woods. They crossed the Ohio before night, and had proceeded a good distance in their way up the Miami. At night they left my brother securely bound, as they thought, to a tree. His hands and arms were tied behind him, and there were cords around his breast and neck; but having bitten off some of the cords, he was able to get a pen-knife that was in his pocket, with which he cut himself loose, and immediately ran towards the Ohio, at which he arrived, and which he crossed by swimming, and reached his father’s house about sunrise in the morning. The Indians were roused by the noise he made, and pursued him into the woods; but as the night was very dark, they were not able to overtake him. His hat had been left at the camp, and this they brought to make me believe they had killed him. Thus I remained for two years in this family, and gradually came to have less and less hope of escape, though I did not forget what the English traders on the Maumee had said, and I wished they might remember and come for me. The men were often drunk, and whenever they were so, they sought to kill me. In these cases, I learned to run and hide myself in the woods, and I dared not return before their drunken frolic was over. During the two years that I remained at Sau-ge-nong, I was constantly suffering from hunger; and though strangers, or those not belonging to the family, sometimes fed me, I had never enough to eat. The old woman they called Ne-keek-wos-ke-cheeme-kwa—“the Otter woman,” the otter being her totem—treated me with kindness, as did her daughters, as well as Kish-kau-ko and Be-nais-sa, the bird, the youngest son, of about my own age. Kish-kau-ko and his father, and the two brothers, Kwo-ta-she and She-mung, were blood-thirsty and cruel, and those who remain of this family, continue, to this time, troublesome to the whites. Be-nais-sa, who came to see me when I was at Detroit, and who always treated me kindly, was a better man, but he is since dead. While I remained with them at Sau-ge-nong, I saw white men but once. Then a small boat passed, and the Indians took me out to it in a canoe, rightly supposing that my wretched appearance would excite the compassion of the traders, or whatever white men they were. These gave me bread, apples, and other presents, all which, except one apple, the Indians took from me. By this family I was named Shaw-shaw-wa ne-ba-se, (the Falcon,) which name I retained while I remained among the Indians.

I had been about two years at Sau-ge-nong, when a great council was called by the British agents at Mackinac. This council was attended by the Sioux, the Winnebagoes, the Menomonees, and many remote tribes, as well as by the Ojibbeways, Ottawwaws, etc. When old Manito-o-geezhik returned from this council, I soon learned that he had met there his kinswoman, Net-no-kwa, who, notwithstanding her sex, was then regarded as principal chief of the Ottawwaws. This woman had lost her son, of about my age, by death; and having heard of me, she wished to purchase me to supply his place. My old Indian mother, the Otter woman, when she heard of this, protested vehemently against it. I heard her say, “My son has been dead once, and has been restored to me; I cannot lose him again.” But these remonstrances had little influence, when Net-no-kwa arrived with considerable whiskey, and other presents. She brought to the lodge first a ten gallon keg of whiskey, blankets, tobacco, and other articles of great value. She was perfectly acquainted with the dispositions of those with whom she had to negotiate. Objections were made to the exchange until the contents of the keg had circulated for some time; then an additional keg, and a few more presents completed the bargain, and I was transferred to Net-no-kwa. This woman, who was then advanced in years, was of a more pleasing aspect than my former mother. She took me by the hand after she had completed the negotiation with my former possessors, and led me to her own lodge which stood near. Here I soon found I was to be treated more indulgently than I had been. She gave me plenty of food, put good clothes upon me, and told me to go and play with her own sons. We remained but a short time at Sau-ge-nong. She would not stop with me at Mackinac, which we passed in the night, but ran along to Point St. Ignace, where she hired some Indians to take care of me while she returned to Mackinac by herself, or with one or two of her young men. After finishing her business at Mackinac, she returned, and continuing on our journey, we arrived in a few days at Shab-a-wy-wy-a-gun. The corn was ripe when we reached that place, and after stopping a little while, we went three days up the river to the place where they intended to pass the winter. We then left our canoes and travelling over land, camped three times before we came to the place where we set up our lodges for the winter. The husband of Net-no-kwa was an Ojibbeway, of Red River, called Taw-ga-we-ninne, the hunter. He was seventeen years younger than Net-no-kwa, and had turned off a former wife on being married to her. Taw-ga-we-ninne was always indulgent and kind to me, treating me like an equal, rather than as a dependant. When speaking to me, he always called me his son. Indeed, he himself was but of secondary importance in the family, as every thing belonged to Net-no-kwa, and she had the direction in all affairs of any moment. She imposed on me, for the first year, some tasks. She made me cut wood, bring home game, bring water, and perform other services not commonly required of the boys of my age; but she treated me invariably with so much kindness that I was far more happy and content than I had been in the family of Manito-o-geezhik. She sometimes whipped me, as she did her own children; but I was not so severely and frequently beaten as I had been before.

CHAPTER II.

First attempt to hunt—measles—trapping martins—emigration to Red River—death of my foster father and brother—arrival at Lake Winnipek.

Early in the spring, Net-no-kwa and her husband, with their family, started to go to Mackinac. They left me, as they had done before, at Point St. Ignace, as they would not run the risk of losing me by suffering me to be seen at Mackinac. On our return, after we had gone twenty-five or thirty miles from Point St. Ignace, we were detained by contrary winds at a place called Me-nau-ko-king, a point running out into the lake. Here we encamped with some other Indians and a party of traders. Pigeons were very numerous in the woods and the boys of my age, and the traders, were busy shooting them. I had never killed any game and, indeed, had never in my life discharged a gun. My mother had purchased at Mackinac a keg of powder, which, as they thought it a little damp, was here spread out to dry. Taw-ga-we-ninne had a large horse-man’s pistol; and finding myself somewhat emboldened by his indulgent manner toward me, I requested permission to go and try to kill some pigeons with the pistol. My request was seconded by Net-no-kwa, who said, “It is time for our son to begin to learn to be a hunter.” Accordingly, my father, as I called Taw-ga-we-ninne, loaded the pistol and gave it to me, saying, “Go, my son, and if you kill any thing with this, you shall immediately have a gun, and learn to hunt.” Since I have been a man, I have been placed in difficult situations; but my anxiety for success was never greater than in this, my first essay as a hunter. I had not gone far from the camp, before I met with pigeons, and some of them alighted in the bushes very near me. I cocked my pistol, and raised it to my face, bringing the breech almost in contact with my nose. Having brought the sight to bear upon the pigeons, I pulled trigger, and was in the next instant sensible of a humming noise, like that of a stone sent swiftly through the air. I found the pistol at the distance of some paces behind me, and the pigeon under the tree on which he had been sitting. My face was much bruised, and covered with blood. I ran home, carrying my pigeon in triumph. My face was speedily bound up; my pistol exchanged for a fowling-piece; I was accoutred with a powder horn, and furnished with shot, and allowed to go out after birds. One of the young Indians went with me, to observe my manner of shooting. I killed three more pigeons in the course of the afternoon, and did not discharge my gun once without killing. Henceforth I began to be treated with more consideration, and was allowed to hunt often that I might become expert.

Great part of the summer and autumn passed before we returned to Shab-a-wy-wy-a-gun. When we arrived we found the Indians suffering very severely from the measles; and as Net-no-kwa was acquainted with the contagious nature of this disease, she was unwilling to expose her family, but passed immediately through the village and encamped on the river above. But, notwithstanding her precaution, we soon began to fall sick. Of ten persons belonging to our family, including two young wives of Taw-ga-we-ninne, only Net-no-kwa and myself escaped an attack of this complaint. Several of them were very sick, and the old woman and myself found it as much as we could do to take care of them. In the village, numbers died, but all of our family escaped. As the winter approached, they began to get better and went, at length, to our wintering ground, at the same place where we had spent the former winter. Here I was set to make martin traps as the other hunters did. The first day I went out early, and spent the whole day, returning late at night, having made only three traps; whereas, in the same time, a good hunter would have made twenty-five or thirty. On the morning following, I visited my traps, and found but one martin. Thus I continued to do for some days, but my want of success, and my awkwardness, exposed me to the ridicule of the young men. At length, my father began to pity me, and he said, “My son, I must go and help you to make traps.” So he went out and spent a day in making a large number of traps, which he gave me, and then I was able to take as many martins as the others. The young men, however, did not forget to tell me, on all occasions, of the assistance I had received from my father. This winter was passed like the preceding; but as I became more and more expert and successful in hunting and trapping, I was no longer required to do the work of the women about the lodge.

In the following spring, Net-no-kwa, as usual, went to Mackinac. She always carried a flag in her canoe, and I was told, that whenever she came to Mackinac she was saluted by a gun from the fort. I was now thirteen years old, or in my thirteenth year. Before we left the village, I heard Net-no-kwa talk of going to Red River, to the relations of her husband. Many of the Ottawwaws, when they heard this, determined to go with her. Among others, was Wah-ka-zee, a chief of the village at War-gun-uk-ke-zee,[8] or L’Arbre Croche, and others; in all, six canoes. Instead of leaving me, in this instance, at Point St. Ignace, they landed with me in the night among the cedars, not far from the village of Mackinac; and the old woman then took me into the town, to the house of a French trader, (Shabboyer,) with whom she had sufficient influence to secure my confinement for several days in the cellar. Here I remained, not being allowed to go out at all, but was otherwise well treated. This confinement seemed to be unnecessary, as subsequently, when we were ready to go on our journey, we were detained by head winds, at the point now occupied by the missionaries, when I was suffered to run at large. While we remained here, the Indians began to be drunk. My father, who was drunk, but still able to walk about, spoke to two young men who were walking together, and taking hold of the shirt sleeve of one of them, he, without intending to do so, tore it. This young man, whose name was Sug-gut-taw-gun, (Spunkwood,) was irritated, and giving my father a rough push, he fell on his back. Sug-gut-taw-gun then took up a large stone, and threw it at him, hitting him in the forehead. When I saw this, I became alarmed for my own safety; and, as I knew that Me-to-saw-gea, an Ojibbeway chief, was then on the island, with a party going against the whites; and, as I had understood they had sought opportunities to kill me, I thought my situation unsafe. I accordingly made my escape to the woods, where I hid myself for the remainder of the day and the night. On the following day, being pressed by hunger, I returned and secreted myself for some time in the low cedars near our lodge in order to observe what was passing, and to ascertain if I might return. At length, I discovered my mother calling me, and looking for me through the bushes. I went up to her, and she told me to go in and see my father who was killed. When I went in, my father said to me, “I am killed.” He made me sit down with the other children, and talked much to us. He said, “Now, my children, I have to leave you. I am sorry that I must leave you so poor.” He said nothing to us about killing the Indian who had struck him with the stone, as some would have done. He was too good a man to wish to involve his family in the troubles which such a course would have brought upon them. The young man who had wounded him, remained with us, notwithstanding that Net-no-kwa told him it would not be safe for him to go to Red River where her husband’s relatives were numberous and powerful, and disposed to take revenge.

When we came to the Saut of St. Marie, we put all our baggage on board the trader’s vessel, which was about to sail to the upper end of Lake Superior, and went on ourselves in our canoes. The winds were light, which enabled us to run faster than the vessel, and we arrived ten days before it at the Portage. When she at last came and anchored out at a little distance from the shore, my father and his two sons Wa-me-gon-a-biew, (he who puts on feathers,) the eldest, and Ke-wa-tin, (the north wind,) went out in a canoe to get the baggage. In jumping down into the hold of the vessel, the younger of these young men fell with his knee upon a knot of the rope tied around a bundle of goods, and received an injury from which he never recovered. The same night his knee was badly swollen, and on the next day he was not able to go out of the lodge. After about eight or ten days, we commenced crossing the Grand Portage: we carried him on our shoulders by fastening a blanket to two poles; but he was so sick that we had to stop often, which made us long in passing. We left our canoes at the trading-house, and when we came to the other side of the Portage, were detained some days to make small canoes. When these were nearly finished, my father sent me, with one of his wives, back to the trading-house to bring something which had been forgotten. On our return, we met the two boys at some distance, coming to tell me to hasten home, for my father was dying, and he wished to see me before he died. When I came into the lodge, I found that he was indeed dying, and though he could see, he was not able to speak to me. In a few minutes he ceased to breathe. Beside him lay the gun which he had taken in his hand a few minutes before to shoot the young man who had wounded him at Mackinac. In the morning, when I left him to go to the Portage, he was apparently well; my mother told me it was not until afternoon he began to complain; he then came into the lodge, saying, “I am now dying; but since I have to go, this young man, who has killed me, must go with me. I hoped to have lived till I had raised you all to be men; but now I must die, and leave you poor, and without any one to provide for you.” So saying, he stepped out, with the gun in his hand, to shoot the young man, who was at that time sitting by the door of his own lodge. Ke-wa-tin, hearing this, began to cry, and, addressing his father, said, “My father, if I was well I could help you to kill this man, and could protect my young brothers from the vengeance of his friends after he is dead; but you see my situation, and that I am about to die. My brothers are young and weak, and we shall all be murdered if you kill this man.” My father replied, “My son, I love you too well to refuse you any thing you request.” So saying, he returned, laid down his gun, and, after having said a very few words, inquired for me, and directed them to send for me, he expired. The old woman procured a coffin from the traders, and they brought my father’s body in a wagon to the trading-house on this side the Grand Portage, where they buried him in the burying ground of the whites. His two sons, as well as the young man who killed him, accompanied his body to the Portage. This last was near being killed by one of my brothers; but the other prevented him, as he was about to strike.

It was but a very short time after my father died that we started on our journey to Red River. My brother Ke-wa-tin we carried on a litter, as we had done before, whenever it was necessary to take him out of the canoe. We had passed two carrying places, when he said to us, “I must die here; I cannot go farther.” So Net-no-kwa determined to stop here, and the remainder of the party went on. A part of our own family chose to continue on with those going to Red River. So that, after they had started, there remained only the old woman and one of the younger wives of Taw-ga-we-ninne, Wa-me-gon-a-biew, the elder brother, Ke-wa-tin, the second, and myself; the youngest. It was about the middle of summer, for the small berries were ripe, when we stopped here on the borders of Moose Lake, which is of cool and clear water, like Lake Superior. It is small and round, and a canoe can be very plainly seen across the widest part of it. We were only two of us able to do any thing; and being myself very young, and without any experience as a hunter, we had apprehension that, being left thus alone, we might soon be in want. We had brought with us one of the nets used about Mackinac, and setting this, the first night, caught about eighty trout and white fish. After remaining here sometime, we found beavers, of which we killed six; also some otters and muskrats. We had brought with us some corn and grease so that, with the fish we caught, and the game we killed, we lived comfortably. But at the approach of winter, the old woman told us she could not venture to remain there by herself as the winter would be long and cold, and no people, either whites or Indians near us. Ke-wa-tin was now so sick and weak, that in going back to the Portage, we were compelled to move slowly; and when we arrived, the waters were beginning to freeze. He lived but a month or two after we arrived. It must have been in the early part, or before the middle of winter, that he died. The old woman buried him by the side of her husband, and hung up one of her flags at his grave.

We now, as the weather became severe, began to grow poor, Wa-me-gon-a-biew and myself being unable to kill as much game as we wanted. He was seventeen years of age, and I thirteen, and game was not plentiful. As the weather became more and more cold, we removed from the trading house and set up our lodge in the woods that we might get wood easier. Here my brother and myself had to exert ourselves to the utmost to avoid starving. We used to hunt two or three days’ distance from home, and often returned with but little meat. We had, on one of our hunting paths, a camp built of cedar boughs in which we had kindled fire so often, that at length it became very dry and at last caught fire as we were lying in it. The cedar had become so dry that it flashed up like powder but fortunately we escaped with little injury. As we were returning, and still a great distance from home, we attempted to cross a river which was so rapid as never to freeze very sound. Though the weather was so cold that the trees were constantly cracking with the frost, we broke in, I first, and afterwards my brother; and he, in attempting to throw himself down upon the ice, wet himself nearly all over, while I had at first only feet and legs wet. Owing to our hands being benumbed with the cold, it was long before we could extricate ourselves from our snow shoes, and we were no sooner out of the water than our moccasins and clothes were frozen so stiff that we could not travel. I began also to think that we must die. But I was not like my Indian brother, willing to sit down and wait patiently for death to come. I kept moving about to the best of my power, while he lay in a dry place by the side of the bank where the wind had blown away the snow. I at length found some very dry rotten wood which I used as a substitute for spunk, and was so happy as to raise a fire. We then applied ourselves to thaw and dry our moccasins, and when partly dry we put them on, and went to collect fuel for a larger fire than we had before been able to make. At length, when night came on, we had a comfortable fire and dry clothes, and though we had nothing to eat, we did not regard this, after the more severe suffering from cold. At the earliest dawn we left our camp, and proceeded towards home; but at no great distance met our mother, bringing dry clothes and a little food. She knew that we ought to have been home on the preceding day by sunset, and was also aware of the difficult river we had to cross. Soon after dark, being convinced that we must have fallen through the ice, she started, and walking all night, met us not far from the place where the accident happened.

Thus we lived for some time in a suffering and almost starving condition, when a Muskegoe, or Swamp Indian, called the Smoker,[9] came to the trading house, and learning that we were very poor, invited us home with him to his own country, saying he could hunt for us, and would bring us back in the spring. We went two long days journey towards the west, and came to a place called We-sau-ko-ta See-bee, Burnt Wood River, where we found his lodge. He took us into his own lodge, and while we remained with him, we wanted for nothing. Such is still the custom of the Indians, remote from the whites; but the Ottawwaws, and those near the settlements, have learned to be like the whites, and to give only to those who can pay. If any one, who had at that time been of the family of Net-no-kwa, were now, after so many years, to meet one of the family of Pe-twaw-we-ninne, he would call him “brother,” and treat him as such.

We had been but a few days at the Portage when another man of the same band of Muskegoes, invited us to go with him to a large island in Lake Superior, where, he said, were plenty of Caribou and Sturgeon, and where, he had no doubt, he could provide all that would be necessary for our support. We went with him accordingly; and starting at the earliest appearance of dawn, we reached the island somewhat before night, though there was a light wind ahead. In the low rocky points about this island, we found more gull’s eggs than we were able to take away. We also took, with spears, two or three sturgeons immediately on our arrival; so that our want of food was supplied. On the next day, Wa-ge-mah-wub, whom we called our brother-in-law, and who was, in some remote degree, related to Net-no-gua, went to hunt, and returned at evening, having killed two caribou. On this island is a large lake, which it took us about a day to reach from the shore; and into this lake runs a small river. Here we found beaver, otter, and other game; and as long as we remained in the island, we had an abundant supply of provisions. We met here the relations of Wa-ge-mah-wub in eight canoes; with whom we at length started to return to the Portage. We were ten canoes in all, and we started, as we had done in coming, at the earliest dawn of the morning. The night had been calm, and the water, when we left the island, was perfectly smooth. We had proceeded about two hundred yards into the lake, when the canoes all stopped together, and the chief, in a very loud voice, addressed a prayer to the Great Spirit, entreating him to give us a good look to cross the lake. “You,” said he, “have made this lake, and you have made us, your children; you can now cause that the water shall remain smooth, while we pass over in safety.” In this manner, he continued praying for five or ten minutes; he then threw into the lake a small quantity of tobacco, in which each of the canoes followed his example. They then all started together, and the old chief commenced his song, which was a religious one; but I cannot remember exactly the meaning of what he sang. I had now forgotten my mother tongue, and retained few, if any, ideas of the religion of the whites. I can remember that this address of the chief to the Great Spirit appeared to me impressive and solemn, and the Indians seemed all somewhat impressed by it, or perhaps by their situation, being exposed on the broad lake in their frail bark canoes they could not but feel their dependance upon that Power which controls the winds and the waves. They rowed and paddled, silently and diligently, and long before night arrived in safety at the Grand Portage; the lake having remained perfectly calm. At this time I was suffered to go entirely at large, being subjected to no manner of restraint, and might, at almost any time, have made my escape from the Indians; but I believed my father and all my friends had been murdered, and I remembered the laborious and confined manner in which I must live if I returned among the whites; where, having no friends, and being destitute of money or property, I must, of necessity, be exposed to all the ills of extreme poverty. Among the Indians, I saw that those who were too young, or too weak to hunt for themselves, were sure to find some one to provide for them. I was also rising in the estimation of the Indians, and becoming as one of them. I therefore chose, for the present, to remain with them, but always intended, at some future time, to return and live among the whites.

We were now again at the Portage, whence we had been twice removed by the friendly hospitality of the Muskegoes; and were left to consult about the course we would pursue. When our mother had at length made up her mind to continue on to Red River, according to her original plan, she heard, by one of the traders, that her son-in-law, the husband of one of her daughters, who had continued on from Moose Lake, at the time we had been compelled to stop with Ke-wa-tin, had been killed by an old man in a drunken frolic. The traders had brought the widow as far as Rainy Lake whence she had sent word to her mother that she wished her to come and join her. This was an additional inducement to us to go to Red River, and we determined to proceed without delay.

Our canoe had been lent to the traders, and was sent on the route towards Red River to bring packs. As they were about to despatch more canoes, Net-no-kwa requested they would distribute us about, one or two to each canoe, so that we might go on until we should meet our own canoe. After a day or two, we met the Frenchmen with our canoe; but as they refused to give it up, the old woman took it from them without their consent, put it in the water, and put our baggage on board. The Frenchmen dared not make any resistance. I have never met with an Indian, either man or woman, who had so much authority as Net-no-kwa. She could accomplish whatever she pleased, either with the traders or the Indians; probably, in some measure, because she never attempted to do any thing which was not right and just.

At Rainy Lake, we found the old woman’s daughter in the care of some Indians, but very poor. Net-no-kwa conferred long with her on our situation; she talked of all our misfortunes and losses, and the death of her husband and son. She knew, she said, that her two little sons who remained, were young, but were they not becoming able to do something; and that, since she had come so far, for the purpose of going to Red River to hunt beaver, she was not willing to turn back. My brother and myself, although deeply interested in these consultations, were not allowed to have any voice.

It being determined that we should go to Red River, we continued on to the Lake of the Woods. This lake is called by the Indians Pub-be-kwaw-waung-gaw Sau-gi-e-gun, “the Lake of the Sand Hills.” Why it is called “Lake of the Woods” by the whites, I cannot tell, as there is not much wood about it. Here we were much endangered by high winds, the waves dashing into our canoe so fast that I was scarcely able, with a large kettle, to throw out the water as fast as it came in.

In the fall of the year, we arrived at the Lake of Dirty Water, called by the whites Lake Winnepeg.[10] Here old Net-no-kwa, being much cast down with grief, in consequence of all the misfortunes and losses she had encountered since she left her own country, began to drink, which was unusual with her, and soon became drunk. We, being foolish, and unaccustomed to direct our own motions, seeing that the wind rose fair, determined to place the old woman in the canoe, and cross to the other side of the lake. The traders advised us not to attempt it in the present state of the wind, but we would not listen to them, and accordingly pushed off and raised our sail. As the wind blew directly off the shore, the waves did not there run high; but we had only been out a short time, when they began to dash with great violence into the canoe. We now found it would be more dangerous to attempt to turn about, and regain the shore we had left, than to continue on directly before the wind. At this time the sun went down, and the wind began to blow more violently. We looked upon ourselves as lost, and began to cry. At this time, the old woman began to wake from her drunken fit, and presently becoming conscious of our situation, she sprang up, and first addressing a loud and earnest prayer to the Great Spirit, she applied herself, with surprising activity, to the use of her paddle, at the same time encouraging us, and directing Wa-me-gon-a-biew how to steer the canoe. But at length, as we came near the shore, and she began to recognize the spot we were approaching, she also began to manifest much alarm; and said to us, “my children, it appears to me we must all perish, for this shore before us is full of large rocks lying in the water, and our canoe must be dashed in pieces: nevertheless, we can do nothing but to run directly on, and though we cannot see where the rocks are, we may possibly pass between them.” And it so happened, our canoe being thrown high upon a spot of smooth sand beach, where it first struck. We immediately sprang out, and soon dragged it up beyond the reach of the waves. We encamped, and had no sooner kindled a fire, than we began to laugh at the old woman for being drunk, and for the apprehension she had manifested after she waked. In the morning, we perceived that the shore was such as she had described, and that in utter darkness, we had landed, where, with such a wind, the boldest Indian would not venture by day light. We remained at this camp a great part of the next day, which happened to be calm and fair, to dry our baggage, and towards evening, embarked, and ran for the mouth of Red River. We did not enter the mouth of the river until late at night, and perceiving a lodge, we landed, and laid down without kindling a fire, or making any noise to disturb the people, as we did not know who they were. In the morning they came and waked us, and we found them to be the family of one of the brothers of Taw-ga-we-ninne, and the very people we had come to seek.

CHAPTER III.

Friendly reception among the Indians on the Assinneboin—Prairie Portage—Net-no-kwa’s dream, and its fulfillment—meet with Pe-shau-ba, a distinguished warrior of the Ottawwaws—journey to Kau-wau-koning, and residence there—return towards Lake Superior—war-party against the Minnetauks—mouth of Assinneboin river.

After a few days, we started to go up the Red River, and in two days came to the mouth of the Assinneboin where we found great numbers of Ojibbeways and Ottawwaws encamped. As soon as we arrived the chiefs met to take our case into consideration, and to agree on some method of providing for us. “These, our relations,” said one of the chiefs, “have come to us from a distant country. These two little boys are not able to provide for them, and we must not suffer them to be in want among us.” Then one man after another offered to hunt for us; and they agreed, also, since we had started to come for the purpose of hunting beaver, and as our hunters had died on the way, that each should give us some part of what they should kill. We then all started together to go up the Assinneboin river, and the first night we camped among the buffalo. In the morning, I was allowed to go out with some Indians who went to hunt buffaloes. We killed one of four bulls which we found. We continued to ascend the Assinneboin about ten days, killing many bears as we travelled along. The Assinneboin is broad, shallow, and crooked, and the water, like that of the Red River, is turbid; but the bottom is sandy, while that of Red River is commonly muddy. The place to which we went on the Assinneboin is seventy miles distant by land from the mouth; but the distance by water is greater. The banks of the river on both sides, are covered with poplar and white oak, and some other trees which grow to considerable size. The prairies, however, are not far distant, and sometimes come into the immediate bank of the river. We stopped at a place called Prairie Portage where the Indians directed the trader who was with them to build his house and remain during the winter. We left all our canoes and went up into the country to hunt for beaver among the small streams. The Indians gave Wa-me-gon-a-biew and myself a little creek where were plenty of beaver and on which they said none but ourselves should hunt. My mother gave me three traps, and instructed me how to set them by the aid of a string tied around the spring, as I was not yet able to set them with my hands as the Indians did. I set my three traps, and on the following morning found beavers in two of them. Being unable to take them out myself, I carried home the beavers and traps, one at a time, on my back, and had the old woman to assist me. She was, as usual, highly gratified and delighted at my success. She had always been kind to me, often taking my side when the Indians would attempt to ridicule or annoy me. We remained in this place about three months, in which time we were as well provided for as any of the band; for if our own game was not sufficient, we were sure to be supplied by some of our friends as long as any thing could be killed. The people that remained to spend the winter with us were two lodges, our own making three; but we were at length joined by four lodges of Crees. These people are the relations of the Ojibbeways and Ottawwaws, but their language is somewhat different, so as not to be readily understood. Their country borders upon that of the Assinneboins, or Stone Roasters; and though they are not relations, nor natural allies, they are sometimes at peace, and are more or less intermixed with each other.

After we had remained about three months in this place, game began to be scarce and we all suffered from hunger. The chief man of our band was called As-sin-ne-boi-nainse, (the Little Assinneboin,) and he now proposed to us all to move as the country where we were was exhausted. The day on which we were to commence our removal was fixed upon, but before it arrived our necessities became extreme. The evening before the day on which we intended to move, my mother talked much of all our misfortunes and losses, as well as of the urgent distress under which we were then labouring. At the usual hour I went to sleep, as did all the younger part of the family; but I was wakened again by the loud praying and singing of the old woman, who continued her devotions through great part of the night. Very early on the following morning she called us all to get up, and put on our moccasins and be ready to move. She then called Wa-me-gon-a-biew to her, and said to him, in rather a low voice, “My son, last night I sung and prayed to the Great Spirit, and when I slept, there came to me one like a man, and said to me, ‘Net-no-kwa, to-morrow you shall eat a bear. There is, at a distance from the path you are to travel to-morrow, and in such a direction, (which she described to him,) a small round meadow, with something like a path leading from it; in that path there is a bear.’ Now, my son, I wish you to go to that place, without mentioning to any one what I have said, and you will certainly find the bear, as I have described to you.” But the young man, who was not particularly dutiful, or apt to regard what his mother said, going out of the lodge, spoke sneeringly to the other Indians of the dream. “The old woman,” said he, “tells me we are to eat a bear to-day; but I do not know who is to kill it.” The old woman, hearing him, called him in, and reproved him; but she could not prevail upon him to go to hunt. The Indians, accordingly, all moved off towards the place where they were to encamp that night. The men went first by themselves, each carrying some article of baggage; and when they arrived where the camp was to be placed, they threw down their loads and went to hunt. Some of the boys, and I among them, who accompanied the men, remained with this baggage until the women should come up. I had my gun with me, and I continued to think of the conversation I had heard between my mother and Wa-me-gon-a-biew, respecting her dream. At length, I resolved to go in search of the place she had spoken of, and without mentioning to any one my design, I loaded my gun as for a bear and set off on our back track. I soon met a woman belonging to one of the brothers of Taw-ga-we-ninne, and of course my aunt. This woman had shown little friendship for us, considering us as a burthen upon her husband, who sometimes gave something for our support; she had also often ridiculed me. She asked me immediately what I was doing on the path, and whether I expected to kill Indians, that I came there with my gun. I made her no answer; and thinking I must be not far from the place where my mother had told Wa-me-gon-a-biew to leave the path, I turned off, continuing carefully to regard all the directions she had given. At length, I found what appeared at some former time to have been a pond. It was a small, round, open place in the woods, now grown up with grass and some small bushes. This I thought must be the meadow my mother had spoken of; and examining it around, I came to an open place in the bushes, where, it is probable, a small brook ran from the meadow; but the snow was now so deep that I could see nothing of it. My mother had mentioned that when she saw the bear in her dream she had, at the same time, seen a smoke rising from the ground. I was confident this was the place she had indicated, and I watched long, expecting to see the smoke; but wearied at length with waiting, I walked a few paces into the open place, resembling a path, when I unexpectedly fell up to my middle into the snow. I extricated myself without difficulty, and walked on; but remembering that I had heard the Indians speak of killing bears in their holes, it occurred to me that it might be a bear’s hole into which I had fallen, and looking down into it, I saw the head of a bear lying close to the bottom of the hole. I placed the muzzle of my gun nearly between his eyes, and discharged it. As soon as the smoke cleared away, I took a piece of a stick and thrust it into the eyes and into the wound in the head of the bear, and being satisfied that he was dead, I endeavoured to lift him out of the hole; but being unable to do this, I returned home, following the track I had made in coming out. As I came near the camp, where the squaws had, by this time, set up the lodges, I met the same woman I had seen in going out, and she immediately began again to ridicule me. “Have you killed a bear, that you come back so soon, and walk so fast?” I thought to myself, “how does she know that I have killed a bear?” But I passed by her without saying anything, and went into my mother’s lodge. After a few minutes, the old woman said, “My son, look in that kettle, and you will find a mouthful of beaver meat, which a man gave me since you left us in the morning. You must leave half of it for Wa-me-gon-a-biew, who has not yet returned from hunting, and has eaten nothing to-day.” I accordingly ate the beaver meat, and when I had finished it, observing an opportunity when she stood by herself, I stepped up to her and whispered in her ear, “My mother, I have killed a bear.” “What do you say, my son?” said she. “I have killed a bear.” “Are you sure you have killed him?” “Yes.” “Is he quite dead?” “Yes.” She watched my face for a moment, and then caught me in her arms, hugging and kissing me with great earnestness, and for a long time. I then told her what my aunt had said to me, both going and returning, and this being told to her husband when he returned, he not only reproved her for it, but gave her a severe flogging. The bear was sent for, and, as being the first I had killed, was cooked all together, and the hunters of the whole band invited to feast with us, according to the custom of the Indians. The same day, one of the Crees killed a bear and a moose, and gave a large share of the meat to my mother. For some time we had plenty of game in our new residence. Here Wa-me-gon-a-biew killed his first buffalo, on which occasion my mother gave another feast to all the band. Soon afterwards the Crees left us to go to their own country. They were friendly and hospitable people, and we were sorry to part with them; but we soon afterwards went down to the place where we had left the trader, and arrived there on the last day of December, as I remember the following was new year’s day.

Near this trading-house we remained for sometime by ourselves; at length, we received a message from the trader, and on going up found there Pe-shau-ba, a celebrated war-chief of the Ottawwaws, who had come from Lake Huron several years before. He, it appeared, heard in his own country of an old Ottawwaw woman, who, with a family of two women, two boys, and three little children, having lost their men by death, were on the Assinneboin, and suffering from poverty. He had come, with his three companions, (which were what the Indians commonly call his young men, though one of them was, perhaps, older than himself.) These were, Waus-so, (the lightning,) Sag-git-to, (he that scares all men,) and Sa-ning-wub, (he that stretches his wings.) The old man, Waus-so, who was himself distinguished as a warrior, had fallen sick, and had been left at some distance behind. Pe-shau-ba had traced us from place to place, by the reports of the Indians, and at last found us at Prairie Portage. He was a large and very handsome old man, and when we were called in, he immediately recognized Net-no-kwa as a relative. But looking round upon us, he said, “Who are these?” She answered, “They are my sons.” He looked at me very closely, and said, “Come here, my brother.” Then raising his blanket, he showed me the mark of a deep and dangerous wound on the chest. “Do you remember, my young brother, when we were playing together, with guns and spears, and you gave me this wound?” Seeing my embarrassment, he continued to amuse himself for some time, by describing the circumstances attending the wound, at the time he received it. He at last relieved me from some suspense and anxiety, by saying, it was not myself who had wounded him, but one of my brothers, at a place which he mentioned. He spoke of Ke-wa-tin, who would have been of about my age, if he had lived, and inquired particularly to the time and the circumstances of my capture, which had happened after he left Lake Huron.

This was about new year’s day, and soon after we started together for the country of Pe-shau-ba, which was at a great distance. The snow was deep, and our route lying, for the most part, through open prairies, we were not able to travel when the wind was high. When we commenced our journey, we were hungry and in want of provisions; but soon found plenty of buffalo, which were very fat and good. Notwithstanding the snow was deep, and the weather severe, the buffalo could still feed by pushing aside the snow with their heads, and thus coming at the grass below. We had thrown away our mats of Puk-kwi,[11] the journey being too long to admit of carrying them. In bad weather we used to make a little lodge, and cover it with three or four fresh buffalo hides, and these being soon frozen, made a strong shelter from wind and snow. In calm weather, we commonly encamped with no other covering than our blankets. In all this journey, Pe-shau-ba and Sa-nin-kwuh carried each one of our sister’s little children on their backs. Thus we travelled on as diligently as the weather would permit for about two months and a half. In the middle of our journey, we passed the trading-house and fort at Mouse River. The general direction of our route was a little north of west till we arrived, at last, at a place called Kau-wau-ko-mig Sah-kie-gun, Clear Water Lake, from which runs a small stream, called Sas-kaw-ja-wun, (Swift Water;) but this is not the source or a part of the great river Saskawjawun, (Saskutchawin,) which is farther towards the north. Clear Water Lake is not, however, the principal source of the Little Saskawjawun, the head of that river lying far to the north. On the bank of this lake was the small log hut of Pe-shau-ba, where he had lived, with the three men I have mentioned, for some years. He had left his wife at Lake Huron; and the other men, if they had ever been married, had no women with them. Immediately on his arrival, he opened his sun-je-gwun, and took out large quantities of beaver skins, dried meat, dressed skins, etc. etc. all of which he delivered to the women, saying, “We have long been our own squaws, but we must be so no longer. It must now be your business to dress our skins, dry our meat, make our moccasins, etc.” The old woman herself took charge particularly of the property of Pe-shau-ba, whom she called her son, and treated as such. The daughter, and the daughter-in-law, made it their business to look after the other three men. Wa-me-gon-a-biew and myself were, as heretofore, under the particular care of our mother. In hunting, I was the companion of Pe-shau-ba, who was always kind to me, and seemed to take pleasure in teaching me how to become a great hunter. It must have been late in winter when we arrived at Clear Water Lake; but the weather was still so cold that water, when carried out of our lodge, would freeze immediately. When going to hunt, we started long before the sun rose, and returned long after it set. At noon, the sun would scarce rise to the tops of the trees, though they are very low there.

The country where we were was mostly prairie, with some low cedar and pine trees; but there are plenty of beavers and other game. It is not very far distant from the country of the Mandans, on the Missouri. From Mouse River a man may walk to the Mandan villages in four days. Just before the leaves began to appear in the spring, we started with all our peltries, and large quantities of dried meat, and dried beaver tails, to come down to the trading-house, on Mouse River. In that country there is no birch or cedar fit for making canoes, so that we were compelled to make one for our journey of green moose skins, which, being sewed together with great care, and stretched over a proper frame, then suffered to dry, make a very strong and good canoe; but in warm weather it will not last long. In a canoe of this kind, which would carry nearly half as much as a common Mackinac boat, (perhaps five tons,) we all embarked with whatever belonged to us, the intention of Net-no-kwa and Pe-shau-ba being to return to Lake Huron.

We descended the Little Saskawjawun for several days. On this river we found a village of Assinneboins, with whom we stopped a short time. None of us could understand them except Waus-so, who had somewhere learned to speak their language. When we came from the Little Saskawjawun into the Assinneboin river, we came to the rapids, where was a village of one hundred and fifty lodges of Assinneboins, and some Crees. We now began to feel the want of fresh provisions, and determined to stop a day or two to kill sturgeons at this place, where we found a plenty of them. We went and stood near the Assinneboins, and saw an old man, when a sturgeon had just been drawn out of the water, cut off the pendant part of his mouth, and eat it without cooking, or any kind of condiment. These people generally appeared to us filthy and brutal. Something of our dislike may perhaps be attributed to the habitually unfriendly feeling which exists among the Ojibbeways for the Abbwoi-nug.[12] In two days from these rapids we came to Monk River, where both the Northwest and the Hudson’s Bay Company have trading-houses. Here Pe-shau-ba and his friends began to drink, and in a short time expended all the peltries they had made in their long and successful hunt. We sold one hundred beaver skins in one day for liquor. The price was then six beaver skins for a quarter of rum, but they put a great deal of water with it. After drinking here for some time, we began to make birch canoes, still intending to continue on our journey. But at this time the Assinneboins,[13] and Crees, and all the Indians of this part of the country, with whom the Mandans had made peace, were invited by the Mandans to come to their country, and join in a war against the people called by the Ojibbeways A-gutch-a-ninne,[14] who live two days distant from the Mandans. Waus-so, hearing of this, determined to join the war-party, then assembling at Mouse River. “I will not,” said he, “return to my country before I get scarred once more. I will see the people who have killed my brothers.” Pe-shau-ba and Net-no-kwa endeavoured to dissuade him, but he would not listen, and Pe-shau-ba himself presently began to show evidence of excitement at witnessing the enthusiasm of his companion. After deliberating a day or two, he said to the old woman, “I cannot consent to return to the country of the Ottawwaws without Waus-so. Sa-ning-wub and Sag-git-to also wish to go with him to visit the neighbors of the Mandans. I will go also, and I wish you to wait for me at Lake Winnipeg, where I shall be in the fall, and you will not fail to have a keg of rum in readiness, as I shall be very thirsty when I return.” They left the canoes unfinished, and all went off together with the war-party. Wa-me-gon-a-biew also accompanied them, leaving me only with the three women and three children. But this expedition, for which the Mandans had called assistance from such remote regions, failed for the want of concert and agreement between the different bands. Some of these being the hereditary enemies of the rest, quarrels were sure to arise, and the project was thus disconcerted, the A-gutch-a-ninne being left at peace in their own village.

After they had gone, I started with Net-no-kwa and the remainder of the family for Lake Winnipeg. We were compelled still to use the old moose-skin canoe, as none of the birch ones were finished, and we did not wish to remain any longer at Mouse River. We had left the trading-house but a short time, when we discovered a sturgeon, which, by some accident, had got into such shoal water, on a sand-bar, that considerable part of his back was to be seen above the surface. I jumped out of the canoe, and killed him with little difficulty; and as this was the first sturgeon I had ever taken, the old woman thought it necessary to celebrate the feat of Oskenetahgawin, or first fruits, though, as we were quite alone, we had no guests to assist us.

The mouth of the Assinneboin is a place much frequented by the Sioux war-parties, where they lie concealed and fire upon such as are passing. We did not approach this place until dark, intending to pass through late at night; it was, accordingly, after midnight, when carefully avoiding either shore, we floated silently out into Red River. The night was dark, and we could not discern distinctly any object on shore; but we had scarce entered Red River when the silence was broken by the hooting of an owl on the left bank of the Assinneboin. This was quickly answered by another on the right bank, and presently by a third on the side of Red River, opposite the mouth. Net-no-kwa said, in a whisper scarce audible, “We are discovered,” and directed to put the canoe about, with the utmost silence. In obedience to her direction, we ascended with the utmost caution, endeavouring to keep near the middle of Red River. I was in the bow of the canoe, and keeping my head as low as I could I was carefully watching the surface of the water before us, hoping to be able to see and avoid any canoe, or other object, which might approach, when I saw a little ripple on the surface of the river, following a low, black object, which I took to be the head of a man, swimming cautiously across before us. I pointed this out to the women, and it was immediately agreed that we should pursue, and, if possible, kill the man in the water. For this purpose, a strong sturgeon-spear was put into my hand, and we commenced the pursuit; but the goose, (for it was one, with a brood of young ones,) soon became alarmed, and flew. When we perceived our mistake, we retraced our way up the river, with somewhat less of fear; but could by no means venture to turn about, and go on our way. I was, I remember, vexed at what I thought the groundless fears of the women; but I do not know, to this day, whether a war-party of Sioux, or three owls, frightened us back. We returned several miles, and expecting, in about ten days, that the traders would be on their way down, we determined to wait for them. Here we caught great numbers of young geese, swans, and ducks; and I killed an elk, which, as it was my first, must be celebrated by a feast, though there were none but our own family to partake of it.

With the traders who came, according to our expectation, we went down to the house at Lake Winnipeg, where we remained two months. When they were about to return to the Assinneboin, we purchased a bark canoe, and accompanied them. We had a good many beaver skins, and Net-no-kwa bought a keg of rum with some of them for Pe-shau-ba. The keg held about five or six gallons, and we gave six beaver skins for a quart. Many of these beavers I had taken myself. I have killed as many as one hundred in a course of a month, but then I did not know the value of them.

CHAPTER IV.

Elk hunting—beaver and buffalo hunting—endangered in killing a buffalo cow—Fall Indians—return to Rainy Lake—Swamp River and Portage—the Begwionusko River and Lake—honesty and good faith in the intercourse of the Indians—hospitality—sufferings from hunger—Red River—loss of packs—supposed dishonesty of traders—rapacity of the traders of the N. W. company—disasters following the loss of our peltries.

In the Assinneboin river, at one or two days above the Prairie Portage, is a place called Ke-new-kau-neshe way-boant, (where they throw down the gray eagle,) at which the Indians frequently stop. Here we saw, as we were passing, some little stakes in the ground, with pieces of birch bark attached to them, and on two of these the figure of a bear, and on the others, those of other animals. Net-no-kwa immediately recognized the totems of Pe-shau-ba, Waus-so, and their companions. These had been left to inform us that Pe-shau-ba had been at this place, and as directions to enable us to find them. We therefore left the traders, and taking the course indicated by the marks which Pe-shau-ba had caused to be made, we found him and his party at the distance of two days from the river. They had returned from the abortive war expedition, to the trading house on Mouse River, finished the canoes which they had left incomplete, and descended along to Ke-new-kau-neshe way-boant, where, knowing there were good hunting grounds, they had determined on remaining. We found at their camp plenty of game; they had killed, also, a great number of beavers. About this place elks were numberous, and it was now the rutting season. I remember one day, Pe-shau-ba sent me with the two young women, to bring some meat from an elk he had killed at some distance. The women, finding that the elk was large and fat, determined on remaining to dry the meat before they carried it home. I took a load of meat, and started for home by myself. I had my gun with me, and perceiving there were plenty of elk, I loaded it, and concealing myself in a small thicket of bushes, began to imitate the call of the female elk; presently a large buck came bounding so directly towards the spot where I was, and with such violence, that becoming alarmed for my own safety, I dropped my load and fled; he seeing me, turned and ran in an opposite direction. Remembering that the Indians would ridicule me for such conduct, I determined to make another attempt, and not suffer any apprehension for my own safety to be the cause of another failure. So hiding myself again, in a somewhat more carefully chosen place, I repeated my call from time to time, till at length another buck came up, and him I killed. In this manner, great part of the day had been consumed, and I now perceived it was time to hasten home with my load.

The old woman becoming uneasy at my long absence, sent Wa-me-gon-a-biew to look for me. He discovered me as I was coming out of a piece of woods into a large prairie. He had on a black capot, which, when he saw me, he turned over his head in such a manner as to make himself resemble a bear. At first I took it to be a common black bear, and sought a chance to shoot him; but it so happened that he was in such a situation as enabled him to see me, and I knew he would certainly have turned and fled from me had it been a black bear. As he continued to advance directly towards me, I concluded it must be a grizly bear, so I turned and began to run from him; the more swiftly I ran, the more closely he seemed to follow. Though much frightened, I remembered Pe-shau-ba’s advice, never to fire upon one of these animals unless trees were near into which I could escape; also, in case of being pursued by one, never to fire until he came very close to me. Three times I turned, and raised my piece to fire, but thinking him still too far off, turned and ran again. Fear must have blinded my eyes, or I should have seen that it was not a bear. At length, getting between him and the lodge, I ran with such speed as to outstrip him, when I heard a voice behind me, which I knew to be that of Wa-me-gon-a-biew. I looked in vain for the bear, and he soon convinced me that I owed all my terror to the disguise which he had effected, with the aid only of an old black coat. This affair being related to the old people when we came home, they reproved Wa-me-gon-a-biew; his mother telling him, that if I had shot him in that disguise, I should have done right, and according to the custom of the Indians she could have found no fault with me for so doing. We continued here hunting beaver, and killing great numbers until the ice became too thick; we then went to the prairies in pursuit of buffaloes. When the snow began to have a crust upon it, the men said they must leave me with the women, as they were about to go to Clear Water Lake to make canoes, and to hunt beaver on their way down. But previous to their going, they said they would kill something for us to live on while they were gone. Waus-so, who was a great hunter, went out by himself, and killed one buffalo; but in the night the weather became very cold and stormy, and the buffalo came in to take shelter in the woods where we had our camp. Early in the morning, Net-no-kwa called us up, saying, there was a large herd close by the lodge. Pe-shau-ba and Waus-so, with Wa-me-gon-a-biew, Sa-ning-wub, and Sag-git-to crept out, and took stations so as nearly to surround the herd. Me they would not suffer to go out, and they laughed at me when they saw me putting my gun in readiness; but old Net-no-kwa, who was ever ready to befriend me, after they were gone, led me to a stand not far from the lodge, near which, her sagacity taught her, the herd would probably run. The Indians fired, but all failed to kill; the herd came past my stand, and I had the good fortune to kill a large cow, which was my first, much to the satisfaction of my mother. Shortly afterwards, having killed a considerable number of buffaloes, the Indians left us; myself, the old woman, one of the young women, and three children, six in all, with no one to provide for them but myself, and I was then very young. We dried considerable of the meat the Indians had killed, and this lasted us for some time; but I soon found that I was able to kill buffaloes, and for a long time we had no want of food. In one instance, an old cow which I had wounded, though she had no calf, ran at me, and I was barely able to escape from her by climbing into a tree. She was enraged, not so much by the wound I had given her, as by the dogs; and it is, I believe, very rare that a cow runs at a man, unless she has been worried by dogs. We made sugar this spring, ten miles above Mouse River Fort. About this time I was much endangered by the breaking of the ice. The weather had become mild, and the beavers began to come up through the holes on to the ice, and sometimes to go on shore. It was my practice to watch these holes, and shoot them as soon as they came up: once, having killed one, I ran hastily up on the ice to get him, and broke in; my snow shoes became entangled with some brush on the bottom, and had nearly dragged me under, but by great exertion I at length escaped. Buffaloes were so numerous about this place, that I often killed them with a bow and arrow, though I hunted them on foot, and with no other aid than that of dogs well trained and accustomed to hunt.

When the leaves began to appear upon the trees, Pe-shau-ba and the men returned in birch canoes, bringing many beaver skins and other valuable peltries. Old Net-no-kwa was now anxious to return to Lake Huron, as was Pe-shau-ba; but Waus-so and Sa-ning-wub would not return, and Pe-shau-ba was unwilling to part with them. Sag-git-to had for some time been very sick, having a large ulcer or abscess near his navel. After having drank for some days, he had a violent pain in his belly, which at length swelled and broke. Pe-shau-ba said to the old woman, “it is not good that Sag-git-to should die here, at a distance from all his friends; and since we see he cannot live much longer, I think it best for you to take him and the little children, and return to Lake Huron. You may be able to reach the rapids, (Saut de St. Marie,) before Sag-git-to dies.” Conformably to this advice, our family was divided. Pe-shau-ba, Waus-so, and Sa-ning-wub remained; Net-no-kwa, and the two other women, with Sag-git-to, Wa-me-gon-a-biew, and myself, with a little girl the old woman had bought, and three little children, started to return to Lake Huron. The little girl was brought from the country of the Bahwetego-weninnewug, the Fall Indians, by a war party of Ojibbeways from whom Net-no-kwa had bought her. The Fall Indians live near the Rocky Mountains, and wander much with the Black Feet; their language being unlike that of both the Sioux and the Ojibbeways. These last, and the Crees, are more friendly with the Black Feet than they are with the Fall Indians. The little Bahwetig girl that Net-no-kwa had bought, was now ten years of age, but having been some time among the Ojibbeways, had learned their language.

When we came to Rainy Lake, we had ten packs of beaver of forty skins each. Net-no-kwa sold some other peltries for rum, and was drunk for a day or two. We here met some of the trader’s canoes on their way to Red River; and Wa-me-gon-a-biew, who was now eighteen years old, being unwilling to return to Lake Huron, determined to go back to the north with the trader’s people. The old woman said much to dissuade him, but he jumped into one of the canoes as they were about to start off, and although, at the request of the old woman, they endeavoured to drive him out, he would not leave the canoe. Net-no-kwa was much distressed, but could not make up her mind to lose her only son; she determined on returning with him.

The packs of beaver she would not leave with the traders, not having sufficient confidence in their honesty. We therefore took them to a remote place in the woods, where we made a sunjegwun, or deposite, in the usual manner. We then returned to the Lake of the Woods. From this lake the Indians have a road to go to Red River which the white men never follow; this is by the way of the Muskeek, or swamp carrying place. We went up a river which the Indians call Muskeego-ne-gum-me-we-see-bee, or Swamp River, for several days; we then dragged our canoes across a swamp for one day. This swamp is only of moss and some small bushes on the top of the water, so that it quakes to a great distance as people walk over it. Then we put our canoes into a small stream, which they called Begwionusk, from the begwionusk, or cow parsley, which grows upon it: this we descended into a small Sahgiegun,[15] called by the same name. This pond has no more than two or three feet of water, and great part of it is not one foot deep; but at this time its surface was covered with ducks, geese, swans, and other birds. Here we remained a long time, and made four packs of beaver skins. When the leaves began to fall, Sag-git-to died. We were now quite alone, no Indians or white men being within four or five days’ journey from us. Here we had packs to deposit, as we were about to leave the country; and the ground being too swampy to admit of burying them in the usual manner, we made a sunjegwun of logs, so tight that a mouse could not enter it, in which we left all our packs and other property which we could not carry. If any of the Indians of this distant region had found it in our absence, they would not have broken it up; and we did not fear that the traders would penetrate to so poor and solitary a place. Indians who live remote from the whites have not learned to value their peltries so highly that they will be guilty of stealing them from each other, and at the time of which I speak, and in the country were I was, I have often known a hunter leave his traps for many days in the woods without visiting them or feeling any anxiety about their safety. It would often happen, that one man having finished his hunt, and left his traps behind him, another would say to him, “I am going to hunt in such a direction, where are your traps?” When he has used them, another, and sometimes four or five, take them in succession; but in the end, they are sure to return to the right owner.

When the snow had fallen, and the weather began to be cold, so that we could no longer kill beaver, we began to suffer from hunger. Wa-me-gon-a-biew was now our principal dependance, and he exerted himself greatly to supply our wants. In one of his remote excursions in pursuit of game, he met with a lodge of Ojibbeways, who, though they had plenty of meat, and knew that he and his friends were in distress, gave him nothing except what he wanted to eat at night. He remained with them all night, and in the morning started for home. On his way he killed a young Moose, which was extremely poor. When this small supply was exhausted, we were compelled to go and encamp with the inhospitable people whom Wa-me-gon-a-biew had seen. We found them well supplied with meat, but whatever we procured from them was in exchange for our ornaments of silver or other articles of value. I mentioned the niggardliness and inhospitality of these people because I had not before met with such an instance among the Indians. They are commonly ready to divide what provisions they have with any who come to them in need. We had been about three days with these Indians when they killed two Moose. They called Wa-me-gon-a-biew and me to go after meat, but only gave us the poorest part of one leg. We bought some fat meat from them, giving them our silver ornaments. The patience of old Net-no-kwa was at length exhausted, and she forbade us all to purchase any thing more from them. During all the time we remained with these people, we were suffering almost the extremity of hunger. One morning Net-no-kwa rose very early, and tying on her blanket, took her hatchet and went out. She did not return that night; but the next day, towards evening, as we were all lying down inside the lodge, she came in, and shaking Wa-me-gon-a-biew by the shoulder, said to him, “get up, my son, you are a great runner, and now let us see with what speed you will go and bring the meat which the Great Spirit gave me last night. Nearly all night I prayed and sung, and when I fell asleep near morning, the Spirit came to me, and gave me a bear to feed my hungry children. You will find him in that little copse of bushes in the prairie. Go immediately, the bear will not run from you, even should he see you coming up.”

“No, my mother,” said Wa-me-gon-a-biew, “it is now near evening: the sun will soon set, and it will not be easy to find the track in the snow. In the morning Shaw-shaw-wa-ne-ba-se shall take a blanket, and a small kettle, and in the course of the day I may overtake the bear and kill him, and my little brother will come up with my blanket, and we can spend the night where I shall kill him.”

The old woman did not yield to the opinion of the hunter. Altercation and loud words followed; for Wa-me-gon-a-biew had little reverence for his mother, and as scarce any other Indian would have done, he ridiculed her pretensions to an intercourse with the Great Spirit, and particularly, for having said that the bear would not run if he saw hunters coming. The old woman was offended; and after reproaching her son, she went out of the lodge, and told the other Indians her dream, and directed them to the place where she said the bear would certainly be found. They agreed with Wa-me-gon-a-biew, that it was too late to go that night; but as they had confidence in the prayers of the old woman, they lost no time in following her direction at the earliest appearance of light in the morning. They found the bear at the place she had indicated, and killed it without difficulty. He was large and fat, but Wa-me-gon-a-biew, who accompanied them, received only a small piece for the portion of our family. The old woman was angry, and not without just cause; for although she pretended that the bear had been given her by the Great Spirit, and the place where he lay pointed out to her in a dream, the truth was, she had tracked him into the little thicket, and then circled it, to see that he had not gone out. Artifices of this kind, to make her people believe she had intercourse with the Great Spirit, were, I think, repeatedly assayed by her.

Our suffering from hunger now compelled us to move; and after we had eaten our small portion of the bear, we started on snow shoes to go to Red River, hoping either to meet some Indians or to find some game on the way. I had now become acquainted with the method of taking rabbits in snares, and when we arrived at our first camp, I ran forward on the route I knew we should take on the following day, and placed several snares, intending to look at them, and take them up as we went on our journey. After we had supped, for when we were in want of provisions we commonly ate only at evening, all the food we had remaining was a quart or more of bear’s grease in a kettle. It was now frozen hard, and the kettle had a piece of skin tied over it as a cover. In the morning, this, among other articles, was put on my sled, and I went forward to look at my snares. Finding one rabbit, I thought I would surprise my mother to make a laugh; so I took the rabbit, and put him alive under the cover of the kettle of bear’s grease. At night, after we had encamped, I watched her when she went to open the kettle to get us something to eat, expecting the rabbit would jump out; but was much disappointed to find, that notwithstanding the extreme cold weather, the grease was dissolved, and the little animal nearly drowned. The old woman scolded me very severely at the time; but for many years afterwards, she used to talk and laugh of this rabbit, and his appearance when she opened the kettle. She continued also to talk, as long as she lived, of the niggardly conduct of the Indians we had then seen. After travelling some days, we discovered traces of hunters, and were at length so fortunate as to find the head of a buffalo which they had left. This relieved us from the distress of hunger, and we followed on in their trail, until we came to the encampment of some of our friends on Red River.

This was a considerable band of Crees, under a chief called Assin-ne-boi-nainse, (the Little Assinneboin,) and his son-in-law, Sin-a-peg-a-gun. They received us in a very cordial and friendly manner, gave us plenty to eat, and supplied all our urgent wants. After we had remained with them about two months, buffalo and other game became scarce, and the whole encampment was suffering from hunger. Wa-me-gon-a-biew and myself started to cross the prairie, one day’s journey, to a stream called Pond River. We found an old bull, so poor and old that hair would not grow upon him; we could eat only the tongue. We had travelled very far, in the course of the day, and were much overcome with fatigue. The wind was high, and the snow driving violently. In a vast extent of the plain, which we overlooked, we could see no wood, but some small oak bushes, scarce as high as a man’s shoulders; but in this poor cover we were compelled to encamp. The small and green stalks of the oaks were, with the utmost difficulty, kindled, and made but a poor fire. When the fire had remained some time in one place, and the ground under it become dry, we removed the brands and coals, and lay down upon the warm ashes. We spent the night without sleep, and the next morning, though the weather had become more severe, the wind having risen, we started to return home. It was a hard day’s walk, and as we were weak through hunger and cold, it was late when we reached the lodge. As we approached home, Wa-me-gon-a-biew was more able to walk fast than I was, and as he turned back to look at me, we perceived, at the same time, that each of our faces were frozen. When we came nearly in sight of home, as I was not able to walk much farther, he left me, and went to the lodge, and sent some of the women to help me to get home. Our hands and faces were much frozen; but as we had good moccasins, our feet were not at all injured. As hunger continued in the camp, we found it necessary to separate, and go in different directions. Net-no-kwa determined to go with her family to the trading-house of Mr. Henry, who was since drowned in the Columbia River by the upsetting of a boat. This place is near that where a settlement has since been made, called Pembina. With the people of the fur-traders, we hunted all the remainder of the winter. In the spring we returned, in company with these lodges of Indians, to the lake where we had left our canoes. We found all our property safe, and having got all together from our sunjegwuns, and all that we had brought from Red River, we had now eleven packs of beaver, of forty skins each, and ten packs of other skins. It was now our intention to return to Lake Huron, and to dispose of our peltries at Mackinac. We had still the large sunjegwun at Rainy Lake, the contents of which, added to all we now had, would have been sufficient to make us wealthy. It will be recollected, that in a former season, Net-no-kwa had made a deposit of valuable furs near the trader’s house on Rainy Lake, not having confidence enough in the honesty of the trader to leave them in his care. When we returned to this spot, we found the sunjegwun had been broken up and not a pack or a skin left in it. We saw a pack in the trader’s house, which we believed to be one of our own; but we could never ascertain whether they or some Indians had taken them. The old woman was much irritated, and did not hesitate to ascribe the theft to the trader.

When we reached the small house at the other side of the Grand Portage to Lake Superior, the people belonging to the traders urged us to put our packs in the wagons and have them carried across. But the old woman knowing if they were once in the hands of the traders it would be difficult, if not impossible, for her to get them again, refused to comply with this request. It took us several days to carry all our packs across, as the old woman would not suffer them to be carried in the trader’s road. Notwithstanding all this caution, when we came to this side the portage, Mr. McGilveray and Mr. Shabboyea, by treating her with much attention, and giving her some wine, induced her to place all her packs in a room, which they gave her to occupy. At first, they endeavoured, by friendly solicitation, to induce her to sell her furs; but finding she was determined not to part with them, they threatened her; and at length, a young man, the son of Mr. Shabboyea, attempted to take them by force; but the old man interfered, and ordering his son to desist, reproved him for his violence. Thus Net-no-kwa was enabled, for the present, to keep possession of her property, and might have done so, perhaps, until we should have reached Mackinac had it not been for the obstinacy of one of her own family. We had not been many days at the Portage, before there arrived a man called Bit-te-gish-sho, (the crooked lightning,) who lived at Middle Lake,[16] accompanied by his small band. With these people Wa-me-gon-a-biew became intimate, and though none of us, at that time, knew it, he formed an attachment for one of the daughters of the Crooked Lightning. When we had made all our preparations to start for the Saut of St. Marie, and the baggage was in the canoe, Wa-me-gon-a-biew was not to be found. We sought in every direction for him and it was not until after some days that we heard by a Frenchman that he was on the other side of the Portage with the family of Bit-te-gish-sho. I was sent for him but could by no means induce him to return with me. Knowing his obstinacy, the old woman began to cry. “If I had but two children,” said she, “I could be willing to lose this one; but as I have no other, I must go with him.” She gave to the widow, her sister’s daughter, but who had lived with her from a child, five packs of beaver, one of which was for her own use; the remaining four packs, together with sixty otter skins, she told her to take to Mackinac, and deliver them according to her direction. She came down in the trader’s canoe, and delivered them to Mr. Lapomboise, of the North West Company, and took his due bill, as she was told it was, for the amount. But this paper was subsequently lost by the burning of our lodge, and from that day to this, Net-no-kwa, or any of her family, have not received the value of a cent for those skins. The old woman, being much dissatisfied at the misconduct of her son, the disappointment of her hopes of returning to Lake Huron, and other misfortunes, began to drink. In the course of a single day, she sold one hundred and twenty beaver skins, with a large quantity of buffalo robes, dressed and smoked skins, and other articles, for rum. It was her habit, whenever she drank, to make drunk all the Indians about her, at least as far as her means would extend. Of all our large load of peltries, the produce of so many days of toil, of so many long and difficult journeys, one blanket, and three kegs of rum only remained, beside the poor and almost worn-out clothing on our bodies. I did not, on this or any other occasion, witness the needless and wanton waste of our peltries and other property with that indifference which the Indians seemed always to feel.

Our return being determined on, we started with Bit-te-gish-sho and some other Indians for the Lake of the Woods. They assisted us in making a canoe, crossing portages, etc. At the Lake of the Woods we were overtaken by cold weather, and Net-no-kwa determined to remain, though most of the others went on. Here it was found that the attachment of Wa-me-gon-a-biew to the daughter of Bit-te-gish-sho, was not too strong to be broken; and, indeed, it is somewhat doubtful whether the anxiety of the traders at the Grand Portage, to possess themselves of our packs, had not as much to do in occasioning our return, as any thing on the part of this young man.

After these people had left us, we found our condition too desolate and hopeless to remain by ourselves, illy provided as we were for the coming winter. So we repaired to Rainy Lake trading-house, where we obtained a credit to the amount of one hundred and twenty beaver skins, and thus furnished ourselves with some blankets, clothing, and other things necessary for the winter. Here a man joined us, called Waw-be-be-nais-sa, who proposed to hunt for us, and assist us through the winter. We acceded cheerfully to his proposal; but soon found he was but a poor hunter, as I was always able to kill more than he did.

CHAPTER V.

Medicine hunting—indolence of an Indian hunter, and consequent suffering of his family—relief from humane traders—a hunter amputates his own arm—moose chase—hospitality of Sah-muk, and residence at Rainy Lake—carcase of a buffalo cow watched by a bull—severe suffering from cold—my lodge, and most of my property, destroyed by fire.

With the deep snow and thick ice, came poverty and hunger. We were no longer able to take beaver in traps, or by the ordinary methods, or kill moose, though there were some in the country. It was not until our sufferings from hunger began to be extreme, that the old woman had recourse to the expedient of spending a night in prayer and singing. In the morning she said to her son and Waw-be-be-nais-sa, “Go and hunt, for the Great Spirit has given me some meat.” But Wa-me-gon-a-biew objected, as he said the weather was too cold and calm, and no moose could be approached so near as to shoot him. “I can make a wind,” answered Net-no-kwa, “and though it is now still and cold, the warm wind shall come before night. Go, my sons, you cannot fail to kill something, for in my dream I saw Wa-me-gon-a-biew coming into the lodge with a beaver and a large load of meat on his back.” At length they started, having suspended at their heads and on their shot pouches the little sacks of medicine which the old woman had provided for them with the assurance that, having them, they could not possibly fail of success. They had not been a long time absent, when the wind rose from the south, and soon blew high, the weather, at the same time, becoming warmer. At night, they returned, loaded with the flesh of a fat moose, and Wa-me-gon-a-biew with a beaver on his back, as the old woman had seen him in her dream. As the moose was very large and fat, we moved our lodge to it, and made preparations for drying the meat. This supply of our wants was, however, only temporary, though we found a few beaver, and succeeded in killing some. After about ten days we were again in want of food. As I was one day hunting for beavers at some distance from our lodge, I found the tracks of four moose. I broke off the top of a bush, on which they had been browsing, and carried it home. On entering the lodge, I threw it down before Waw-be-be-nais-sa, who was lying by the fire, in his usual indolent manner, saying, “Look at this, good hunter, and go and kill us some moose.” He took up the branch, and looking at it a moment, he said, “How many are there?” I answered, “four.” He replied, “I must kill them.” Early in the morning he started on my road, and killed three of the moose. He was a good hunter when he could rouse himself to exertion; but most of the time he was so lazy that he chose to starve rather than go far to find game, or to run after it when it was found. We had now a short season of plenty, but soon became hungry again. It often happened, that for two or three days we had nothing to eat; then a rabbit or two, or a bird, would afford us a prospect of protracting the suffering of hunger for a few days longer. We said much to Waw-be-be-nais-sa to try to rouse him to greater exertion, as we knew he could kill game where any thing was to be found; but he commonly replied that he was too poor and sick. Wa-me-gon-a-biew and myself, thinking that something might be found in more distant excursions than we had been used to make, started very early one morning, and travelled hard all day; and when it was near night we killed a young beaver, and Wa-me-gon-a-biew said to me, “My brother, you must now make a camp, and cook a little of the beaver, while I go farther on and try to kill something.” I did so, and about sunset he returned, bringing plenty of meat, having killed two caribou. Next day we started very early to drag the two caribous through all the long distance between us and our camp. I could not reach home with my load, but Wa-me-gon-a-biew having arrived, sent out the young woman to help me, so that I arrived before midnight. We now saw it would not be safe for us to remain longer by ourselves, and this small supply enabling us to move, we determined to go in quest of some people. The nearest trading-house was that at Clear Water Lake, distant about four or five days’ journey. We left our lodge, and taking only our blankets, a kettle or two, and such articles as were necessary for our journey, started for the trading-house. The country we had to pass was full of lakes and islands, swamps and marshes; but they were all frozen, so that we endeavoured to take a direct route.

Early one morning on this journey, Waw-be-be-nais-sa, roused perhaps by excessive hunger, or by the exercise he was compelled to take to keep along with us, began to sing and pray for something to eat. At length he said, “to-day we shall see some caribou.” The old woman, whose temper was somewhat sharpened by our long continued privations, and who did not consider Waw-be-be-nais-sa a very enterprising hunter, said, “And if you should see caribou you will not be able to kill them. Some men would not have said, ‘we shall see game to-day,’ but ‘we shall eat it.’” After this conversation, we had gone but a little distance when we saw six caribous, coming directly towards us. We concealed ourselves in the bushes, on the point of a little island, and they came within shot. Wa-me-gon-a-biew flashed his piece, when he intended to fire, and the herd turned at the sound of the lock, to run off. Waw-be-be-nais-sa fired as they ran, and broke the shoulder of one of them; but though they pursued all day, they returned to camp at night without any meat. Our prospect was now so discouraging that we concluded to lighten ourselves by leaving some baggage, in order to make the greater expedition. We also killed our last dog, who was getting too weak to keep up with us; but the flesh of this animal, for some reason, the old woman would not eat. After several days we were bewildered, not knowing what route to pursue and too weak to travel. In this emergency, the old woman, who, in the last extremity, seemed always more capable of making great exertions than any of us, fixed our camp as usual, brought us a large pile of wood to keep a fire in her absence, then tying her blanket about her, took her tomahawk, and went off, as we very well knew, to seek for some method by which to relieve us from our present distress. She came to us again on the following day, and resorting to her often-tried expedient to rouse us to great exertion, she said, “My children, I slept last night in a distant and solitary place, after having continued long in prayer. Then I dreamed, and I saw the road in which I had come, and the end of it where I had stopped at night, and at no great distance from this I saw the beginning of another road, that led directly to the trader’s house. In my dream I saw white men; let us, therefore, lose no time, for the Great Spirit is now willing to lead us to a good fire.” Being somewhat animated by the confidence and hope the old woman was in this way able to inspire, we departed immediately; but having at length come to the end of her path, and passed a considerable distance beyond it without discovering any traces of other human beings, we began to be incredulous, some reproaching and some ridiculing the old woman; but afterwards, to our great joy, we found a recent hunting path, which we knew must lead to the trader’s house; then redoubling our efforts, we arrived on the next night but one, after that in which the old woman had slept by herself. Here we found the same trader from whom we had a credit of one hundred and twenty beaver skins at Rainy Lake, and as he was willing to send out and bring the packs, we paid him his credit and had twenty beaver skins left. With these I bought four traps, for which I paid five skins each. They also gave the old woman three small kegs of rum. After remaining a few days, we started to return in the direction we came from. For some distance we followed the large hunting path of the people belonging to the trading-house. When we reached the point where we must leave this road, the old woman gave the three little kegs of rum to Waw-be-be-nais-sa, and told him to follow on the hunter’s path until he should find them; then sell the rum for meat, and come back to us. One of the little kegs he immediately opened, and drank about half of it before he went to sleep. Next morning, however, he was sober, and started to go as the old woman had directed, being in the first place informed where to find us again. Wa-me-gon-a-biew accompanied him. After they had started, I went on with the women to Skut-tah-waw-wo-ne-gun, (the dry carrying place,) where we had appointed to wait for him. We had been here one day when Wa-me-gon-a-biew arrived with a load of meat; but Waw-be-be-nais-sa did not come, though his little children had that day been compelled to eat their moccasins. We fed the woman and her children, and then sent her to join her husband. The hunters with whom Waw-be-be-nais-sa had remained, sent us an invitation by Wa-me-gon-a-biew to come and live with them, but it was necessary, in the first place, to go and get our lodge, and the property we had left there. As we were on our return we were stopped at the dry carrying place with extreme hunger. Having subsisted for some time almost entirely on the inner bark of trees, and particularly of a climbing vine found there, our strength was much reduced. Wa-me-gon-a-biew could not walk at all, and every one of the family had failed more than the old woman. She would fast five or six days, and seem to be little affected by it. It was only because she feared the other members of the family would perish in her absence that she now consented to let me go and try to get some assistance from the trading-house, which we believed to be nearer than the camp of the hunters. The former we knew was about two ordinary days’ journey; but, in my weak condition it was doubtful when I could reach it. I started very early in the morning. The weather was cold, and the wind high. I had a large lake to cross, and here, as the wind blew more violently, I suffered most. I gained the other side of it a little before sunset, and sat down to rest. As soon as I began to feel a little cold, I tried to get up, but found it so difficult that I judged it would not be prudent for me to rest again before I should reach the trading-house. The night was not dark, and as there was less wind than in the day time, I found the travelling more pleasant. I continued on all night, and arrived early next morning at the trader’s house. As soon as I opened the door they knew by my face that I was starving, and immediately inquired after my people. As soon as I had given the necessary information, they despatched a swift Frenchman with a load of provisions to the family. I had been in the trader’s house but a few hours, when I heard the voice of Net-no-kwa outside, asking, “is my son here?” And when I opened the door she expressed the utmost satisfaction at sight of me. She had not met the Frenchman, who had gone by a different route. The wind had become violent soon after I left our camp, and the old woman, thinking I could not cross the lake, started after me, and the drifting snow having obscured my track, she could not follow it, and came quite to the trading-house with the apprehension that I had perished by the way. After a day or two, Wa-me-gon-a-biew and the remainder of the family came in, having been relieved by the Frenchman. It appeared, also, that the Indians had sent Waw-be-be-nais-sa with a load of meat to look for us at the dry carrying place, as they knew we could not reach their encampment without a supply, which it was not probable we could procure. He had been very near the camp of our family after I left, but either through wilfulness, or from stupidity, failed to find them. He had camped almost within call of them, and eaten a hearty meal as they discovered by the traces he left. After remaining a few days at the trading house, we all went together to join the Indians. This party consisted of three lodges, the principal man being Wah-ge-kaut, (crooked legs.) Three of the best hunters were Ka-kaik, (the small hawk,) Meh-ke-nauk, (the turtle,) and Pa-ke-kun-ne-gah-bo, (he that stands in the smoke.) This last was, at the time I speak of, a very distinguished hunter. Some time afterwards he was accidentally wounded, receiving a whole charge of shot in his elbow, by which the joint and the bones of his arm were much shattered. As the wound did not show any tendency to heal, but, on the contrary, became worse and worse, he applied to many Indians, and to all white men he saw, to cut it off for him. As all refused to do so, or to assist him in amputating it himself, he chose a time when he happened to be left alone in his lodge, and taking two knives, the edge of one of which he had hacked into a sort of saw, he with his right hand and arm cut off his left, and threw it from him as far as he could. Soon after, as he related the story himself, he fell sleep, in which situation he was found by his friends, having lost a very great quantity of blood; but he soon afterwards recovered, and notwithstanding the loss of one arm, he became again a great hunter. After this accident, he was commonly called Kosh-kin-ne-kait, (the cut off arm.) With this band we lived some time, having always plenty to eat, though Waw-be-be-nais-sa killed nothing.

When the weather began to be a little warm, we left the Indians and went to hunt beaver near the trading house. Having lately suffered so much from hunger, we were afraid to go any distant place, relying on large game for support. Here we found early one morning, a moose track, not far from the trading house. There was now living with us, a man called Pa-bah-mew-in, (he that carries about,) who, together with Wa-me-gon-a-biew, started in pursuit. The dogs followed for an hour or two, and then returned; at this Pa-bah-mew-in was discouraged, and turned back; but Wa-me-gon-a-biew still kept on. This young man could run very swift, and for a long time he passed all the dogs, one or two of which continued on the track. It was after noon when he arrived at a lake which the moose had attempted to cross; but as in some parts the ice was quite smooth, which prevented him from running so fast as on land, Wa-me-gon-a-biew overtook him. When he came very near, the foremost dog, who had kept at no great distance from Wa-me-gon-a-biew, passed him, and got before the moose, which was now easily killed. We remained all this spring about one day from the trading house, taking considerable game. I killed by myself twenty otters, besides a good many beavers and other animals. As I was one day going to look at my traps, I found some ducks in a pond, and taking the ball out of my gun, I put in some shot, and began to creep up to them. As I was crawling cautiously through the bushes, a bear started up near me, and ran into a white pine tree almost over my head. I hastily threw a ball into my gun and fired; but the gun burst about midway of the barrel, and all the upper half of it was carried away. The bear was apparently untouched, but he ran up higher into the tree. I loaded what was left of my gun, and taking aim the second time, brought him to the ground.

While we lived here we made a number of packs and as it was inconvenient to keep these in our small lodge, we left them, from time to time, with the traders, for safe keeping. When the time came for them to come down to the Grand Portage, they took our packs without our consent, but the old woman followed after them to Rainy Lake, and retook every thing that belonged to us. But she was prevailed to sell them. From Rainy Lake we went to the Lake of the Woods, where Pa-bah-mew-in left us. Here, also, Waw-be-be-nais-sa rejoined us, wishing to return with us to Rainy Lake; but Net-no-kwa had heard of a murder committed there by some of his relations that would have been revenged on him, for which reason she would not suffer him to return there. At the invitation of a man called Sah-muk, an Ottawwaw chief, and a relative of Net-no-kwa, we returned to Rainy Lake to live with him. Wa-me-gon-a-biew, with the two women, and the children, went on to Red River. Sah-muk treated us with much kindness. He built and gave us a large bark canoe, intended for the use of the fur traders, and which we sold to them for the value of one hundred dollars, which was at that time the common price of such canoes in that part of the country. He also built us a small canoe for our own use.

The river which falls into Rainy Lake, is called Kocheche-se-bee, (Source River,) and in it is a considerable fall, not far distant from the lake. Here I used to take, with a hook and line, great numbers of the fish called by the French, dory. One day, as I was fishing here, a very large sturgeon come down the fall, and happening to get into shallow water, was unable to make his escape. I killed him with a stone, and as it was the first that had been killed here, Sah-muk made a feast on the occasion.

After some time we started from this place with a considerable band of Ojibbeways, to cross Rainy Lake. At the point where we were to separate from them, and they were to disperse in various directions, all stopped to drink. In the course of this drunken frolic, they stole from us all our corn and grease, leaving us quite destitute of provisions. This was the first instance in which I had ever joined the Indians in drinking, and when I recovered from it, the old woman reproved me very sharply and sensibly, though she herself had drank much more than I had.

As soon as I recovered my wits, and perceived into what a condition we had brought ourselves, I put the old woman in the canoe and went immediately to a place where I knew there was good fishing. The Ojibbeways had not left us a mouthful of food, but I soon caught three dories so that we did not suffer from hunger. Next morning I stopped for breakfast at a carrying place where these fish were very abundant, and while the old woman was making a fire and cooking one that I had just caught, I took nearly a hundred. Before we were ready to re-embark, some trader’s canoes came along, and the old woman, not having entirely recovered from her drunken frolic, sold my fish for rum. The traders continued to pass during the day, but I hid away from the old woman so many fish as enabled me to purchase a large sack of corn and grease. When Net-no-kwa became sober, she was much pleased that I had taken this course with her.

In the middle of the Lake of the Woods is a small, but high rocky island, almost without any trees or bushes. This was now covered with young gulls and cormorants, of which I killed great numbers, knocking them down with a stick. We selected one hundred and twenty of the fattest, and dried them in the smoke, packed them in sacks, and carried them along with us. Thence we went by way of the Muskeeg carrying place to Red River. As we were passing down this river, I shot a large bear on shore, near the brink of the river. He screamed out in a very unusual manner, then ran down into the water, and sank.

At this place, (since called Pembinah,) where the Nebininnah-ne-sebee enters Red River, had formerly been a trading house. We found no people, whites or Indians; and as we had not plenty of provisions, we went on all night, hoping soon to meet with some people. After sunrise next morning, we landed, and the old woman, while collecting wood to make a fire, discovered some buffaloes in the woods. Giving me notice of this, I ran up and killed a bull, but perceiving that he was very poor, I crept a little farther and shot a large fat cow. She ran some distance, and fell in an open prairie. A bull that followed her, no sooner saw me enter the open prairie, at the distance of three or four hundred yards from her, than he ran at me with so much fury that I thought it prudent to retire into the woods. We remained all day at this place, and I made several attempts to get at the cow, but she was so vigilantly watched by the same bull that I was at last compelled to leave her. In the rutting season, it is not unusual to see the bulls behave in this way.

Next day we met the traders coming up to Nebeninnah-ne-sebee,[17] and gave them a part of the meat we had taken from the bull. Without any other delay, we went on to the Prairie Portage of the Assinneboin River, where we found Wa-me-gon-a-biew and Waw-be-be-nais-sa, with the other members of our family from whom we had so long separated.

Waw-be-be-nais-sa, since they left us, had turned away his former wife, and married the daughter of Net-no-kwa’s sister, who had been brought up in our family, and whom the old woman had always treated as her own child. Net-no-kwa no sooner understood what had taken place, than she took up what few articles she could see in the lodge, belonging to Waw-be-be-nais-sa, and throwing them out, said to him, “I have been starved by you already, and I wish to have nothing more to do with you. Go, and provide for your own wants; it is more than so miserable a hunter as you are, is able to do, you shall not have my daughter.” So being turned out, he went off by himself for a few days, but as Net-no-kwa soon learned that his former wife was married to another man, and that he was destitute, she admitted him again into the lodge. It was probably from fear of the old woman that he now became a better hunter than he had been before.

That winter I hunted for a trader, called by the Indians Aneeb, which means an elm tree. As the winter advanced, and the weather became more and more cold, I found it difficult to procure as much game as I had been in the habit of supplying, and as was wanted by the trader. Early one morning, about midwinter, I started an elk. I pursued until night, and had almost overtaken him, but hope and strength failed me at the same time. What clothing I had on me, notwithstanding the extreme coldness of the weather, was drenched with sweat. It was not long after I turned towards home that I felt it stiffening about me. My leggins were of cloth, and were torn in pieces in running through the brush. I was conscious I was somewhat frozen, before I arrived at the place where I had left our lodge standing in the morning, and it was now midnight. I knew it had been the old woman’s intention to move, and I knew where she would go, but I had not been informed she would go on that day. As I followed on their path, I soon ceased to suffer from cold, and felt that sleepy sensation which I knew preceded the last stage of weakness in such as die of cold. I redoubled my efforts, but with an entire consciousness of the danger of my situation, it was with no small difficulty that I could prevent myself from lying down. At length I lost all consciousness for some time, how long I cannot tell, and awaking as from a dream, I found I had been walking round and round in a small circle, not more than twenty or twenty-five yards over. After the return of my senses, I looked about to try to discover my path, as I had missed it, but while I was looking, I discovered a light at a distance by which I directed my course. Once more, before I reached the lodge, I lost my senses, but I did not fall down. If I had, I should never have got up again, but I ran around and round in a circle as before. When I at last came into the lodge, I immediately fell down, but I did not lose myself as before. I can remember seeing the thick and sparkling coat of frost on the inside of the pukkwi lodge, and hearing my mother say that she had kept a large fire in expectation of my arrival, and that she had not thought I should have been so long gone in the morning, but that I should have known long before night of her having moved. It was a month before I was able to go out again, my face, hands, and legs, having been much frozen.

The weather was beginning to be a little warm, so that the snow sometimes melted, when I began to hunt again. Going one day with Waw-be-be-nais-sa a good distance up the Assinneboin, we found a large herd of probably 200 elk, in a little prairie which was almost surrounded by the river. In the gorge, which was no more than two hundred yards across, Waw-be-be-nais-sa and I stationed ourselves, and the frightened herd being unwilling to venture on the smooth ice in the river, began to run round and round the little prairie. It sometimes happened that one was pushed within the reach of our shot and in this way we killed two. In our eagerness to get nearer, we advanced so far towards the center of the prairie that the herd was divided, a part being driven on the ice, and a part escaping to the high grounds. Waw-be-be-nais-sa followed the latter, and I ran on to the ice. The elks on the river, slipping on the smooth ice, and being much frightened, crowded so close together that their great weight broke the ice, and as they waded towards the opposite shore, and endeavoured in a body to rise upon the ice, it continued to break before them. I ran hastily and thoughtlessly along the brink of the open place, and as the water was not so deep as to swim the elks, I thought I might get those I killed, and therefore continued shooting them as fast as I could. When my balls were all expended, I drew my knife and killed one or two with it, but all I killed in the water were in a few minutes swept under the ice, and I got not one of them. One only, which I struck after he rose upon the ice on the shore, I saved. This, in addition to the others we had killed on the shore made four, being all we were able to take out of a gang of not less than two hundred. Waw-be-be-nais-sa went immediately, under the pretence of notifying the traders, and sold the four elks as his own, though he killed but two of them.

At this time, Wa-me-gon-a-biew was unable to hunt, having, in a drunken frolic been so severely burned, that he was not able to stand. In a few days, I went again with Waw-be-be-nais-sa to hunt elks. We discovered some in the prairie, but crawling up behind a little inequality of surface which enabled us to conceal ourselves, we came within a short distance. There was a very large and fat buck which I wished to shoot, but Waw-be-be-nais-sa said, “not so, my brother, lest you should fail to kill him. As he is the best in the herd I will shoot him, and you may try to kill one of the smaller ones.” So I told him that I would shoot at one that was lying down. We fired both together, but he missed and I killed. The herd then ran off, and I pursued without waiting to butcher, or even to examine the one I had killed. I continued the chase all day, and before night had killed two more, as the elks were so much fatigued that I came up to them pretty easily. As it was now night, I made the best of my way home, and when I arrived, found that Waw-be-be-nais-sa had brought home meat, and had been amusing the family by describing the manner in which he said he had killed the elk. I said to them, “I am very glad he has killed an elk, for I have killed three, and to-morrow we shall have plenty of meat.” But as I had some suspicion of him, I took him outside, and asked him about the one he had killed, and easily made him acknowledge, that it was no other than the one I had shot, from which he brought in some of the meat. He was sent to the traders to call men to bring in the meat, and again sold all three as his own, when he had not helped to kill even one of them. The old woman, when she became acquainted with this conduct, persecuted him so much that he was induced to leave us. Wa-me-gon-a-biew, also, who had married an Ojibbeway woman in the fall, now went to live with his father-in-law, and there remained in our family only the old woman and myself, the Bowwetig girl, Ke-zhik-o-weninne, the son of Taw-ga-we-ninne, now something of a boy, and the two small children. I was now, for the first time, left to pass the winter by myself, with a family to provide for, and no one to assist me. Waw-be-be-nais-sa encamped about one day from us. I had, in the course of the fall, killed a good many beavers and other animals, and we had for some time enough to supply all our wants. We had also plenty of blankets and clothing. One very cold morning in the winter, as I was going out to hunt, I stripped off all my silver ornaments and hung them up in the lodge. The old woman asked me why I did so. I told her that they were not comfortable in such extreme cold weather, moreover, that in pursuing game I was liable to lose them. She remonstrated for some time, but I persisted, and went to hunt without them. At the same time I started to hunt, the old woman started for Waw-be-be-nais-sa’s lodge, intending to be absent two days. The lodge was left in the care of Skawah-shish, as the Bowwetig girl was called, and Ke-zhik-o-weninne. When I returned late at night, after a long and unsuccessful hunt, I found these two children standing, shivering and crying by the side of the ashes of our lodge, which, owing to their carelessness, had been burned down, and every thing we had consumed in it. My silver ornaments, one of my guns, several blankets, and much clothing, were lost. We had been rather wealthy among the Indians of that country; now we had nothing left but a medicine bag and a keg of rum. When I saw the keg of rum, I felt angry that only what was useless and hurtful to us was left, while every thing valuable had been destroyed, and taking it up, threw it to a distance. I then stripped the blanket from the Bowwetig girl, and sent her away to stay by herself in the snow, telling her that as her carelessness had stripped us of every thing, it was but right she should feel the cold more than I did. I then took the little boy, Ke-zhik-o-weninne, and we lay down together upon the warm ashes.

Very early the next morning I started out to hunt, and as I knew very well how the old woman would behave when she came to a knowledge of her misfortune. I did not wish to reach home until late at night. When approaching the place where our lodge had been, I heard the old woman scolding and beating the little girl. At length, when I went to the fire, she asked me why I had not killed her when I first came home and found the lodge burned down. “Since you did not,” said she, “I must now kill her.” “Oh my mother do not kill me, and I will pay you for all you have lost.” “What have you to give? how can you pay me?” said the old woman. “I will give you the Manito,” said the little girl, “the great Manito shall come down to reward you, if you do not kill me.” We were now destitute of provisions, and almost naked, but we determined to go to Aneeb’s trading-house, at Ke-new-kau-neshe way-boant, where we obtained credit for the amount of one pack of beaver skins, and with the blankets and cloth which we purchased in this way, we returned to We-ma-gon-a-biew’s lodge, whence he and his wife accompanied us to our own place.

We commenced to repair our loss by building a small grass lodge in which to shelter ourselves while we should prepare the pukkwi for a new wigwam.[18] The women were very industrious in making these, and none more active than Skwah-shish, the Bowwetig girl. At night, also, when it was too dark to hunt, Wa-me-gon-a-biew and myself assisted at this labour. In a few days our lodge was completed, and Wa-me-gon-a-biew, having killed three elks, left us for his own home.

After a little time, plenty and good humour were restored. One evening the old woman called to her the little Bowwetig girl, and asked her if she remembered what promise she had made to her when she was whipped for burning the lodge. Skwah-shish could make no answer, but the old woman took the opportunity to admonish her of the impropriety of using the name of the Deity in a light and irreverent manner.

CHAPTER VI.

Failure of an attempt to accompany a war-party to the Missouri—removal to Elk River—joined in my hunting grounds by some Naudoways, from Lower Canada—hospitality of the Crees—practice of medicine—dispute with a Naudoway—band of Tus-kwaw-go-nees—Brine Spring, on Elk River—I receive a severe injury by falling from my horse—involved in difficulty by my foster brother—habits of the moose-deer—range of the moose, the elk, and the reindeer.

At this place we remained until spring, when, at the commencement of the sugar season, we went to Ke-nu-kau-ne-she-way-boant. We applied to the Indians there to give us some trees to make sugar. They gave us a place where were a few small trees, but the old woman was dissatisfied, and refused to remain. We therefore travelled two days by ourselves, until we found a good place to make sugar, and in the same district were plenty of beavers, as well as birch for troughs. When we had been here long enough to have finished making sugar, Wa-me-gon-a-biew came to us in distress, with his father-in-law, and all his large family. We were able to give them something, but old Net-no-kwa did not present him ten of my largest and best beaver skins without remarking, “these, and many more, have all been killed by my little son, who is much weaker and less experienced than either yourself or Wa-me-gon-a-biew.” She was not very well pleased in giving, and the old man was a little ashamed to receive her present. After a few days they left us for the trading-house, and Waw-be-be-nais-sa joined us when we started in company to go to the Mouse River trading-house. Leaves were out on the trees, the bark peeled, and we were killing sturgeons in the rivers, when there came a snow more than knee deep, and the frost was so severe that the trees cracked as in the middle of winter. The river was frozen over, and many trees were killed.

At the Mouse River trading-house, the Assinneboins, Crees, and Ojibbeways, were again assembling to go to join the Mandans in making war upon the A-gutch-o-ninne-wug, the people I before mentioned. This time I wished to have accompanied them, and I said to the old woman, “I will go with my uncles, who are going to the Mandans.” She tried to dissuade me, but finding me obstinate, took away my gun and moccasins. This opposition rather increased my ardour, and I followed the Indians, barefoot and unarmed, trusting that some among them would supply me, but in this I was mistaken for they drove me back, and would by no means allow me to accompany them. I was irritated and dissatisfied, but I had no alternative but to return, and remain with the women and children. I did not ask the old woman for my gun again, but taking my traps, I went from home and did not return until I had caught beavers enough to purchase one. When I had done so, my anxiety to overtake the war-party had subsided. Many of the women they had left behind now began to be hungry, and it was not without great exertion on my part, and that of the very few young boys and old men who were left, that their wants could be supplied.

The war-party at length returned, having accomplished little or nothing. We then left them, and in company with one man, a relative of Net-no-kwa, called Wau-zhe-gaw-maish-kum, (he that walks along the shore), we started to go to Elk River. This man had two wives. The name of one was Me-sau-bis, (goslin’s down.) He was also accompanied by another distinguished hunter, called Kau-wa-be-nit-to, (he that starts them all.) Our course from Mouse River was very near due north, and as we had six horses, we travelled with considerable rapidity, but it was many days before we reached the head of Elk River. Here Wau-zhe-gaw-maish-kum left us to go to the Missouri on a war-party, but Kau-wa-be-nit-to remained, and gave us always the finest and best of the game he killed. He directed me also to a beaver dam and pond, at some distance, to which I went one day at evening, and having sat down I found a road which the beavers were then using to bring timber into the pond. By this road I sat down to watch, supposing I should soon see them pass one way or the other. I had scarce sat down when I heard, at no great distance, a sound which I knew was that made by a woman in dressing skins. I was a little alarmed, as I knew of no Indians in that quarter, and was apprehensive that some of an unfriendly tribe might have come to encamp there. But being determined not to return home ignorant who and what they were, I took my gun in my hands, in the position which would enable me to fire immediately, and proceeded cautiously along the path to examine. My eyes were commonly directed considerably ahead, but I had not walked far, when looking to one side, I saw in the bushes, close to my side, and not one step from the path, a naked and painted Indian, lying flat upon his belly, but, like myself, holding his gun in the attitude of firing. My eyes no sooner fell upon him, than simultaneously, and almost without knowing what I did, I sprang to the other side of the path, and pointed my gun directly at him. This movement he answered by a hearty laugh, which immediately removed my apprehensions, and he soon arose and addressed me in the Ojibbeway language. Like myself, he had supposed no other Indians than his own family were, at that time, in the country, and he had been walking from his own lodge, which stood very near to the beaver pond, when he was surprised to perceive a man approaching him through the bushes. He had first perceived me, and concealed himself, not knowing whether I was a friend or an enemy. After some conversation he returned home with me, and Net-no-kwa discovered that he was a relative of hers. The family of this man remained with us about ten days, and afterwards went to encamp by themselves, at a distance.

I was now left, for the second time, with the prospect of spending the winter alone, with the exception of those of our own family. But before the commencement of cold weather there came from Mo-ne-ong, (Montreal) seven Naudoway hunters, one of them a nephew of Net-no-kwa. They remained with us, and in the fall and early part of winter, we killed great numbers of beaver. Five of the Naudoways I surpassed in hunting, and though they had ten traps each, and I only six, I caught more beavers than they did. Two of the seven men could beat me at almost any thing. In the course of the winter, two more Naudoways came to our camp, who were in the interest and employ of the company called by the Indians Ojibbeway Way-met-e-goosh-she-wug, (The Chippeway Frenchmen.) After these had been some time with us, the game was exhausted, and we began to be hungry. We agreed all to go one day in search of buffaloes. At night, all had returned except a tall young man, and a very small old man, of the Naudoways. Next day the tall man came home, bringing a new buffalo robe, and having on a handsome pair of new moccasins. He said he had fallen in with seven lodges of Crees, that at first they had not known him, and it was with great difficulty he had made them understand him, but being received into one of the lodges, and fed, and treated with kindness, he had remained all night. In the morning, he folded up the buffalo robe they had given him to sleep on, and would have left it, but they told him they had given it to him, and observing, at the same time, that his moccasins were not very good, one of the women had given him a pair of new ones. This kind of hospitality is much practised among Indians who have had but little intercourse with the whites, and it is among the foremost of the virtues which the old men inculcate upon the minds of children in their evening conversations. The Naudoway had been little accustomed to such treatment in the country from which he came.

He had not been long at home before the old man arrived, who pretended that he had seen fifty lodges of Assinneboins, and had been kindly received by them, and although he had nothing to show in proof of his assertions, that they had plenty of meat, and were disposed to be very hospitable. He persuaded us that he had better go to join them. In the morning we were all ready to accompany him, but he said, “I cannot go yet, I have first to mend my moccasins.” One of the young men, that there might be no unnecessary delay, gave him a pair of new moccasins, but in the next place, he said he must cut off a piece of his blanket, and make himself some mittens. One of them, who had some pieces of blanket, assisted him to make some mittens, but he still invented excuses for delaying his departure, most of which resulted in the supplying, by some one of the party, some of his little wants. At length we began to suspect him of lying, and having sent some one to follow his trail, we ascertained that he had neither travelled far, seen Indians, nor eaten a mouthful since he left home.

Knowing it would be in vain to search for the fifty lodges of Assinneboins, we went in pursuit of the Crees, whom our Naudoway had seen, but we unexpectedly met with another band of the same tribe. These were strangers to us, but inquiring for their chief, we went into his lodge and sat down. The women immediately hung the kettle over the fire, and then took out of a sack a substance which was then new and unknown to all of us, and which excited in our party considerable curiosity. When the food was placed before us, we found it consisted of little fishes, scarce an inch long, and all of the same size. When put into the kettle, they were in large masses, frozen together. These little fishes, with the taking and eating of which we afterwards became familiar, are found in small holes which remain open in the shallow ponds, crowded together in such numbers that one may scoop up hundreds of them at once with the hands. After we had finished our meal, the woman who appeared to be the principal wife of the chief, examined our moccasins, and gave us each a new pair. These people were on a journey and soon left us. We now determined to make a sunjegwun, and deposit such of our property as would impede us in a long journey, and go to the plains in pursuit of buffalo. We accordingly followed the path of the Crees, and overtook them in the Prairie.

It was about the middle of winter when we arrived among them, and soon afterwards our tall Naudoway fell sick. His friends applied to an old medicine man of the Crees, called Muk-kwah, (the bear,) requesting him to do something for his relief. “Give me,” said the old man, “ten beaver skins, and I will use my art to relieve him.” As we had left our peltries behind, and killed but few beaver since we started, we could raise only nine, but we gave him a piece of cloth which was more than equal in value to one beaver, and he consented to begin. He prepared his lodge for the first days’ practice before the patient was admitted. He then being brought in, was seated on a mat near the fire. Old Muk-kwah, who was a ventriloquist of but indifferent powers, and a medicine man of no great fame, imitated, as well as he could, various sounds, and endeavoured to make those standing by believe they proceeded from the breast of the sick man. At length he said he heard the sound of bad fire in the breast of the Naudoway, and putting one hand to his breast, the other and his mouth to the back, he continued for some time blowing and rubbing, when he, as if by accident, dropped a little ball upon the ground. After again blowing and rubbing, alternately dropping the little ball, and rubbing it between his hands, he at length threw it into the fire, where it burned, with a little whizzing noise, like damp powder. This did not surprise me at all, as I saw he had taken the precaution to sprinkle a little powder on that part of the floor of the lodge where the ball fell. Perceiving, probably, that what he had now done was not likely to prove satisfactory to his employers, he pretended that there was a snake in the breast of the sick man which he could not remove till the following day, when with similar preparations, and similar mummeries, he seemed to draw out of the body of the sick man, a small snake. One of his hands he kept for some time on the place from which he pretended to have drawn the snake, as he said the hole could not close immediately. The snake he refused to destroy, but laid it carefully aside for preservation lest, as he said, it should get into somebody else. This ill-conducted imposition did not fail to excite the ridicule of the Naudoways, and had no perceptible effect upon the sick man. They soon learned to imitate his several noises, and made him a subject for sarcasm and ridicule. Some of the more sensible and respectable men among the Crees advised us to have nothing more to say to Muk-kwah, as he was esteemed but a fool among them.

It was about this time that I had some difficulty with a Naudoway Indian who was hunting for the Ojibbeway Way-me-ta-goo-she-wug. He had arrived since I had in the country, and his right to hunt in any part of it was certainly no better than mine. He had, in one or two instances, complained of me for hunting where he said I had no right to hunt. Having now found a gang of beavers, I set my traps for them, and, as usual, left them till the next day. On going next morning I found he had followed my trail, taken up all my traps, thrown them into snow, and set his own in place of them. He had caught but one beaver, which I did not hesitate to carry home as my own, and throwing all his traps in the snow, I set mine again as before. The affair soon became public, but all the band, even his own friends, the Naudoways, sided against him, and assured me they would support me in the course I had taken. In affairs of this kind, the customs of the tribe are as a law to the Indians, and any one who ventures to depart from them, can expect neither support nor countenance. It is rare that oppression or injustice in affairs of private right between man and man, take place among the Indians.

We stayed about one month in the prairie, then returned to the lodge where we had left the old woman, thence to our trading-house on Elk River. Here a lodge of Tus-kwaw-go-mees from Canada came into our neighbourhood. I had now separated from the Naudoways and was living by myself. When I first visited the Tus-kwaw-go-mees, and went into their lodge, I did not know who they were. The man presently went out, brought in my snow-shoes, and placed them by the fire to dry and finding they were a little out of repair, he directed an old man to mend them. He then proposed to go and hunt with me until they should be repaired. He killed, in the course of the day, several beavers, all of which he gave me. The kindness of this family of Tus-kwaw-go-mees continued as long as we remained near them. Their language is like that of the Ojibbeways, differing from it only as the Cree differs from that of the Mus-ke-goes.

When the sugar season arrived, I went to Elk River and made my camp about two miles below the fort. The sugar trees, called by the Indians she-she-ge-ma-winzh, are of the same kind as are commonly found in the bottom lands on the Upper Mississippi, and are called by the whites “river maple.” They are large, but scattered and for this reason we made two camps, one on each side of the river. I remained by myself in one, and in the other were the old woman and the little children. While I was making sugar, I killed plenty of birds, ducks, geese, and beaver. There was near my camp a large brine spring, at which the traders used to make salt. The spring is about thirty feet in diameter, the water is blue, and, with the longest poles, no bottom can be found. It is near the bank of the Elk River, between the Assinneboin and Sas-kow-ja-wun, about twenty days’ journey from the trading-house at Lake Winnipeg. There are, in that part of the country, many brine springs and salt lakes, but I have seen no other as large as this.

At this trading post I met a gentleman who took much notice of me, and tried to persuade me to accompany him to England. I was apprehensive he might leave me there, and that I should not be able to reach my friends in the United States, even if any of them were living. I also felt attached to hunting as a business and an amusement; therefore I declined his invitation. Among other Indians who assembled at this trading-house in the spring, came our old companion and friend, Pe-shau-ba, and, as usual, they expended the products of their winter and spring hunts, their sugar, etc. for whiskey. After they had drank all they could purchase, old Net-no-kwa gave them an additional ten gallon keg, which she had hid the year before under the ashes back of the trader’s house. Their long debauch was attended by mischievous quarrels, and followed by hunger and poverty. Some one proposed, as a method of relieving the pressure of hunger, now becoming severe, that a hunting match should be made, to see who, of all those that were assembled, could take, in one day, the greatest number of rabbits. In this strife I surpassed Pe-shau-ba, who had been one of my first instructors in hunting, but he was yet far my superior in taking large animals.

From this trading-house we returned by the way of Swan River, and the Me-nau-ko-nos-keeg, towards Red River. About the Me-nau-ko-nos-keeg and Ais-sug-se-bee, or Clam River, whose head waters interlock, we stopped for some time to trap beaver, being assisted by a young man called Nau-ba-shish, who had joined us some time before, but at length falling in with a trace on which Indians had passed only two days before, I determined to try to see them. Leaving the old woman and the family with Nau-ba-shish, I mounted my best horse, and followed the path through the prairie. After a few hours I passed a place where had been a lodge the day before, and my horse was stepping over a log which lay across the path, when a prairie hen flew from under it. The horse being frightened, threw me, and I fell upon the log, afterwards upon the ground, but as I still held the bridle rein, the horse stepped with his fore foot upon my breast. For some hours I was not able to get on my horse. When I at last succeeded, I determined still to follow on after the Indians, as I believed myself nearer to them than to my own lodge. When I arrived among them I could not speak, but they perceived that I had been hurt, and treated me with kindness. From this hurt, which was very severe, I have never since recovered entirely.

A part of my object in visiting this band had been to try to hear something from Wa-me-gon-a-biew, but they had not met with him. I now determined to leave the old woman at Menaukonoskeeg and go to Red River by myself. I had four horses, one of which was a very fleet and beautiful one, being considered the best out of one hundred and eighty which a war-party of Crees, Assinneboins, and Ojibbeways, had recently brought from the Fall Indians. In this excursion they had been absent seven months. They had fallen upon and destroyed one village, and taken one hundred and fifty scalps, besides prisoners.

Ten days after I left Menaukonoskeeg on this horse, I arrived at the Mouse River trading-house. Here I learned that Wa-me-gon-a-biew was at Pembinah, on Red River. Mr. M’Kee sent a man to show me the road to the head of the Pembinah River, where I found Aneeb, a trader with whom I was well acquainted. One day’s journey from this house, I found the lodge of the father-in-law of Wa-me-gon-a-biew, but I saw nothing of my brother, and the old man did not receive me kindly. He was living with a party of about one hundred lodges of Crees. Perceiving that something was not as I could have wished, I went to spend the night with an old Cree whom I had seen before. In the morning, the old man said to me, “I am afraid they will kill your horse, go and see how they are abusing him.” I went as he directed, and found that a parcel of young men and boys had thrown my horse down upon the ground, and were beating him. When I came up, I found some were holding him by the head, while one man was standing on his body and beating him. To this man I said, “my friend,[19] you must come down;” he answered, “I won’t.” “I shall help you down,” said I, and pushing him down, I took the bridle from those who held him, and led him home, but he had received an injury from which he could never recover.

I now enquired the cause of this unexpected and very unfriendly treatment, and learned that it was on account of Wa-me-gon-a-biew, who had turned away his former wife, and quarrelled with his father-in-law. In this quarrel, the old man’s horse and dog had been killed, which injury his young friends were visiting upon my horse. The origin of this quarrel seemed to me to be such as to leave some appearance of right on the part of Wa-me-gon-a-biew. He had treated his wife as well as is usual among them, and only parted with her because her father refused to part with her, insisting that Wa-me-gon-a-biew should accompany him in all his movements. Rather than do this, he chose to leave his wife altogether, and had done so in a peaceable manner, when her relatives showed a disposition to offer him some molestation. As I was alone, I feared they might follow me, and try to do me some injury at my next encampment. But they did not, and on the following day I arrived at the place where Wa-me-gon-a-biew was now living with his new wife. The old man, his father-in-law, whom I had seen before, met me outside of the lodge, and was surprised to hear that I had come from Menaukonoskego, the distance being greater than they usually go by themselves in that country.

Here I remained four days, hunting with my friends. Then I started, accompanied by Wa-me-gon-a-biew and his wife, to return. We went to the village where they had tried to kill my horse, and though the old man had moved to some distance, he soon heard of us, and came in accompanied by his brothers. We slept at a lodge near the trader’s tent. I intended to have watched, as I was apprehensive that they would attempt either to rob or otherwise injure us, but through fatigue, I fell asleep. Late at night I was waked by Wa-me-gon-a-biew, who said the old man had been in, and taken his gun from over his head. He admitted that he was awake when the old man entered, and had watched him from under his blanket until he went out with the gun. I reproached him for pusillanimity, telling him he deserved to lose his gun if he would suffer an old man to take it away while his eyes were open. Nevertheless, I made an attempt, though an unsuccessful one, to recover the gun.

Before we reached Mouse River, my horse had become so poor and feeble that even the woman could not ride him. We rested two days, and then went on. We had suffered much from hunger, having for many days killed only one poor buffalo, when we met with a small band of Crees, under a chief called O-ge-mah-wah-shish, a Cree word, meaning chief’s son. Instead of relieving our wants, they treated us in an unfriendly manner, and I overheard them talking of killing us, on account of some old quarrel with a band of Ojibbeways. They would sell us nothing but a small badger, and we lost no time in escaping as far as we could from them. We were starved for two days more when we met an Ojibbeway, called Wawb-uche-chawk, (the white crane,) who had very lately killed a fat moose.

With this man we lived about a month, during all which time we had plenty of food, and slept in his lodge. He was moving in the same direction that we were. He did not leave us until we arrived at Rush Lake River. The old woman had gone from the trading house where I left her, to live with Indians, at the distance of four days. My three horses which, before starting, I had fettered and turned out that they might become accustomed to the place, had been neglected, and were now dead; notwithstanding I had given very particular charge to Net-no-kwa to take off the fetters at the commencement of winter. She had neglected it. My horse which I rode to Red River was also dead, and I had none left. Net-no-kwa having apparently relinquished her claim to me, and Wa-me-gon-a-biew now leaving me, I remained for some time entirely alone about the trading house. The trader, whose name was M’Glees, at length took notice of me, and invited me to live with him. He said so much to induce me to leave the Indians, that I felt sometimes inclined to follow his advice, but whenever I thought of remaining long at the trading house, I found an intolerable irksomeness attending it. I felt an inclination to spend all my time in hunting, and a strong dislike to the less exciting employments of the men about a trading house.

At the head of the Menaukonoskego river was a trading house which I started to visit, in company with five Frenchmen and one Ojibbeway woman sent by Mr. M’Glees. We were furnished only with enough meat for one meal, all of which we ate on the first night after we started. About the middle of the third day, we came to a small creek of salt water, and on the summit of a little hill by the side of it, we saw a man sitting. We went up to him, but he gave no answer to our questions. We then took hold and tried to rouse him by shaking, but we found him stiffened by the cold, and when we took our hands off him, he tumbled to the ground as if he had been frozen entirely stiff. His breath still came and went, but his limbs were no longer flexible, and he appeared in most respects like one dead. Beside him lay his small kettle, his bag, containing steel and flint, his moccasin awl, and one pair of moccasins. We tried all the means in our power to resuscitate him, but all in vain. Regarding him as one dead, I advised the Frenchmen to return with him to the trading house from which we came, that he might be properly buried. They did so, and I learned afterwards that he ceased breathing an hour or two after they started. It appeared that he had been sent away from the trading house at the head of the river, as too indolent to be suffered to remain. He had started almost destitute of provisions, and come some distance to Wa-me-gon-a-biew’s lodge. Wa-me-gon-a-biew had fed him, and offered him plenty of provisions to take with him, but he declined, saying he should not have occasion for it. He was then very much enfeebled, and had been about two days in coming the short distance to the place where we had found him. After they started with him, I went on with the Ojibbeway woman and soon arrived at Wa-me-gon-a-biew’s.

I had remained here about a month, hunting with my brother, when Net-no-kwa arrived, having come in search of me. Wa-me-gon-a-biew went by my direction, to a place on Clam River to hunt beaver, and I returned with Net-no-kwa to Menaukonoskeeg, where we made sugar. There were ten fires of us together and after the sugar making was over, we all went to hunt beavers in concert. In hunts of this kind, the proceeds are sometimes equally divided, but in this instance every man retained what he had killed. In three days I collected as many skins as I could carry. But in these distant and hasty hunts, little meat could be brought in, and the whole band was soon suffering of hunger. Many of the hunters, and I among others, for want of food, became extremely weak, and unable to hunt far from home. One day, when the ice in the ponds was covered midling deep with water, I reached a place about a mile distant from camp, and in a low swamp I discovered fresh moose signs. I followed up the animal, and killed it, and as it was the first, it was made a feast for the whole band, and all devoured in a single day.

Soon afterwards, all the Indians came down in two days’ journey to the mouth of the river, where we were joined by Wa-me-gon-a-biew, who had made a very successful hunt on Clam River. We stopped at the trading house one mile from the lake, and remained here drinking until our peltries were all sold. Then we started, accompanied only by Wa-me-gon-a-biew, to come down to the mouth of the river. The distance was so short that we did not take the dogs on board the canoes. As they ran along the shore, they started an elk, and drove him into the water in the lake, whence we chased him on shore with the canoe, and killed him on the beach.

About this time, we met with an old Ottawwaw chief, called Wa-ge-to-tah-gun, (he that has a bell,) more commonly called Wa-ge-toat. He was a relative of Net-no-kwa, and had with him at that time, three lodges and two wives. One of his sons had also two wives. With him we remained two months and almost every morning, as he was going out, he called me to accompany him to his hunt. Whenever he hunted with me, he gave me all, or the greater part of what he killed. He took much pains to teach me how to take moose and other animals which are difficult to kill. Wa-me-gon-a-biew, with his wife, left us here, and went to Red River.

There is an opinion prevalent among the Indians, that the moose, among the methods of self-preservation with which he seems better acquainted than almost any other animal, has the power of remaining for a long time under water. Two men of the band of Wa-ge-to-tah-gun, whom I knew perfectly well, and considered very good and credible Indians, after a long day’s absence on a hunt, came in, and stated that they had chased a moose into a small pond, that they had seen him go to the middle of it, and disappear, and then choosing positions, from which they could see every part of the circumference of the pond, smoked, and waited until near evening; during all which time, they could see no motion of the water, or other indication of the position of the moose. At length, being discouraged, they had abandoned all hope of taking him, and returned home. Not long afterwards came a solitary hunter loaded with meat. He related that having followed the track of a moose for some distance, he had traced it to the pond before mentioned, but having also discovered the tracks of two men, made at the same time as those of the moose, he concluded they must have killed it. Nevertheless, approaching cautiously to the margin of the pond, he sat down to rest. Presently he saw the moose rise slowly in the center of the pond, which was not very deep, and wade towards the shore where he was sitting. When he came sufficiently near, he shot him in the water. The Indians consider the moose shyer and more difficult to take than any other animal. He is more vigilant, and his senses more acute than those of the buffalo or caribou. He is fleeter than the elk, and more prudent and crafty than the antelope. In the most violent storm when the wind, and the thunder, and the falling timber are making the loudest and most incessant roar, if a man, either with his foot or his hand, breaks the smallest dry limb in the forest, the moose will hear it, and though he does not always run, he ceases eating, and rouses his attention to all sounds. If in the course of an hour, or thereabout, the man neither moves, nor makes the least noise, the animal may begin to feed again, but does not forget what he has heard, and is for many hours more vigilant than before.

Wa-ge-to-tah-gun, the chief with whom we were living, took every opportunity to instruct me as to the habits of the moose and other animals, and showed great pleasure when my exertions in the chase were crowned with success. As we were now about to part from him, he called out all the young hunters to accompany him for one day. Several young women went also. He killed a fat buck moose, which he gave to me.

The country between Lake Winnepeg and Hudson’s Bay is low and swampy, and is the region of the caribou. More to the west, towards the Assinneboin and Saskawjawun, is the prairie country, are found elks and buffalo. The caribou is not found among the elk, nor the latter among the former.

CHAPTER VII.

I receive a proposal from a chief to marry his daughter—theft and drunkenness—manner of pursuing the elk on foot—disease and great mortality among the beaver—second offer of marriage from an A-go-kwa—haunted encampment, called the “place of the two dead men”—Indian courtship—distressing sickness—insanity and attempt at suicide—gambling—several offers of young women in marriage—my courtship and marriage with Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa, (the red sky of the morning.)

The spring having now come, we returned by the way of our old sugar camp towards Menaukonoskego, but as I disliked to be with the Indians in their seasons of drunkenness, I dissuaded the old woman from accompanying them to the trading-house. I talked to her of the foolishness of wasting all our peltries in purchasing what was not only useless, but hurtful and poisonous to us, and was happy to find that I had influence enough with her to take her immediately to the place I had selected for my hunting camp. She went to see Wa-ge-tote, to take leave of him, but when she returned, I readily perceived by her manner that something unusual had passed. Presently she took me to one side, and began to say to me, “My son, you see that I am now become old; am scarce able to make you moccasins, to dress and preserve all your skins, and do all that is needful about your lodge. You are now about taking your place as a man and a hunter, and it is right you should have some one who is young and strong to look after your property and take care of your lodge. Wa-ge-tote, who is a good man, and one respected by all the Indians, will give you his daughter. You will thus gain a powerful friend and protector, who will be able to assist us in times of difficulty, and I shall be relieved from much anxiety and care for our family.” Much more she said, in the same strain, but I told her without hesitation that I would not comply with her request. I had as yet thought little of marriage among the Indians, still thinking I should return before I became old, to marry to the whites. At all events, I assured her I could not now marry the woman she proposed to me. She still insisted that I must take her, stating that the whole affair had been settled between Wa-ge-tote and herself, and that the young woman had said she was not disinclined to the match, and she pretended she could do no otherwise than bring her to the lodge. I told her if she did so I should not treat or consider her as my wife. The affair was in this situation the morning but one before we were to separate from Wa-ge-tote and all his band, and, without coming to any better understanding with the old woman, I took my gun early in the morning, and went to hunt elk. In the course of the day I killed a fat buck, and returning late in the evening, I hung up the meat I had brought before the lodge, and carefully reconnoitered the inside before I entered, intending, if the young woman was there, to go to some other lodge and sleep, but I could see nothing of her.

Next morning Wa-ge-tote came to my lodge to see me. He expressed all the interest in me which he had been in the habit of doing, and gave me much friendly advice, and many good wishes. After this Net-no-kwa returned again, urging me to marry the daughter, but I did not consent. These attempts were afterwards, from time to time, renewed, until the young woman found a husband in some other man.

After Wa-ge-tote and his band had left us, we went to the hunting ground I had chosen, where we spent a great part of the summer by ourselves, having always plenty to eat, as I killed great numbers of elks, beavers, and other animals. Late in the fall we went to the trading-house at Me-nau-ko-nos-keeg, where we met with Waw-zhe-kwaw-maish-koon, who had left us the year before, and with him we remained.

As the trader was coming to his wintering ground, the Indians, having assembled in considerable numbers, met him at the lake, at the distance of a few miles from his house. He had brought a large quantity of rum, and, as was usual, he encamped for several days that the Indians might buy and drink what they could before he went to his house, as they would give him less trouble at his camp. I had the presence of mind to purchase some of the most needful articles for the winter, such as blankets and ammunition, as soon as we met him. After we had completed our trade, the old woman took ten fine beaver skins, and presented them to the trader. In return for this accustomed present, she was in the habit of receiving every year a chief’s dress and ornaments, and a ten gallon keg of spirits, but when the trader sent for her to deliver his present, she was too drunk to stand. In this emergency, it was necessary for me to go and receive the articles. I had been drinking something, and was not entirely sober. I put on the chief’s coat and ornaments, and taking the keg on my shoulder, carried it home to our lodge, placed it on one end, and knocked out the head with an axe. “I am not,” said I, “one of those chiefs who draw liquor out of a small hole in a cask, let all those who are thirsty come and drink;” but I took the precaution to hide away a small keg full, and some in a kettle, probably in all three gallons. The old woman then came in with three kettles, and in about five minutes the keg was emptied. This was the second time that I had joined the Indians in drinking, and now I was guilty of much greater excess than before. I visited my hidden keg frequently, and remained intoxicated two days. I took what I had in the kettle, and went into the lodge to drink with Waw-zhe-kwaw-maish-koon, whom I called my brother, he being the son of Net-no-kwa’s sister. He was not yet drunk, but his wife, whose dress was profusely ornamented with silver, had been for some time drinking, and was now lying by the fire in a state of absolute insensibility. Waw-zhe-kwaw-maish-koon and myself took our little kettle and sat down to drink, and presently an Ojibbeway of our acquaintance, staggered in and fell down by the fire near the woman. It was late at night, but the noise of drunkenness was heard in every part of the camp, and I and my companion started out to go and drink wherever we could find any to give us liquor. As, however, we were not excessively drunk, we were careful to hide away the kettle which contained our whiskey in the back part of the lodge, covering it, as we thought, effectually from the view of any that might come in. After an excursion of some hours, we returned. The woman was still lying by the fire, insensible as before, but with her dress stripped of its profusion of silver ornaments, and when we went for our kettle of rum, it was not to be found. The Ojibbeway, who had been lying by the fire, had gone out, and some circumstances induced us to suspect him of the theft, and I soon understood that he had said I had given him something to drink. I went next morning to his lodge, and asked him for my little kettle, which he directed his squaw to bring to me. Having this fixed the theft upon him. Waw-zhe-kwaw-maish-koon went and recovered the ornaments of his wife’s dress. This Ojibbeway was a man of considerable pretensions, wishing to be reckoned a chief, but this unfortunate attempt at theft injured his standing in the estimation of the people. The affair was long remembered, and he was ever after mentioned with contempt.

About this time, old Net-no-kwa began to wake from her long continued drunkenness. She called me to her, and asked me whether I had received the chief’s dress, and the keg of rum. She was unwilling to believe that I had suffered all the contents of the keg to be expended without reserving some for her. When she came to be assured not only that this was the case, but that I had been drunk for two days, she reproached me severely, censuring me not only for ingratitude to her, but for being such a beast as to be drunk. The Indians hearing her, told her she had no right to complain of me for doing as she herself had taught me, and by way of pacifying her, they soon contributed rum enough to make her once more completely drunk.

As soon as their peltries were all disposed of, so that they were compelled to discontinue drinking, the Indians began to disperse to their hunting grounds. We went with the trader to his house, where we left our canoes, and thence to the woods with Waw-zhe-kawaw-maish-koon to hunt. We now constituted but one family, but his part of it was large, he having many young children. Cold weather had scarce commenced, and the snow was no more than a foot deep, when we began to be pinched with hunger. We found a herd of elks, and chasing them one day, overtook and killed four of them. When the Indians hunt elk in this manner, after starting the herd they follow them at such a gait as they think they can keep for many hours. The elks being frightened outstrip them at first by many miles, but the Indians, following at a steady pace along the path, at length come in sight of them. They then make another effort, and are no more seen for an hour or two, but the intervals at which the Indians have them in sight, grow more and more frequent, and longer and longer, until they cease to lose sight of them at all. The elks are now so much fatigued that they can only move in a slow trot, at last they can but walk, by which time the strength of the Indians is nearly exhausted. They are commonly able to come up and fire into the rear of the herd, but the discharge of a gun quickens the motions of the elks, and it is a very active and determined man that can in this way come near enough to do execution more than once or twice, unless when the snow is pretty deep. The elk, in running, does not lift his feet well from the ground, so that, in deep snow, he is easily taken. There are among the Indians some, but not many, men who can run down an elk on the smooth prairie, when there is neither snow nor ice. The moose and the buffalo surpass the elk in fleetness, and can rarely be taken by fair running by a man on foot.

The flesh of the four elks was dried, but by no means equally divided between us in proportion to the size and wants of our respective families. I made no complaint as I knew I was a poor hunter, and had aided but little in taking them. Afterwards, I directed my attention more to the hunting of beaver. I knew of more than twenty gangs of beaver in the country about my camp, and I now went and began to break up the lodges, but I was much surprised to find nearly all of them empty. At last I found that some kind of distemper was prevailing among these animals which destroyed them in vast numbers. I found them dead and dying in the water, on the ice, and on the land. Sometimes I found one that, having cut a tree half down, had died at its roots; sometimes one who had drawn a stick of timber half way to his lodge was lying dead by his burthen. Many of them which I opened, were red and bloody about the heart. Those in large rivers and running water suffered less. Almost all of those that lived in ponds and stagnant water, died. Since that year the beaver have never been so plentiful in the country of Red River and Hudson’s Bay, as they used formerly to be. Those animals which died of this sickness we were afraid to eat, but their skins were good.

It often happened while we lived with Waw-zhe-kwaw-maish-koon, that we were suffering from hunger. Once, after a day and night in which we had not tasted a mouthful, I went with him to hunt, and we found a herd of elks. We killed two and wounded a third, which we pursued until night, when we overtook it. We cut up the meat and covered it in the snow, but he took not a mouthful for our immediate use, though we were so far from home, and it was now so late that we did not think of moving towards home until the following day. I knew that he had fasted as long as I had, and though my suffering from hunger was extreme, I was ashamed to ask him for anything to eat, thinking I could endure it as long as he could. In the morning he gave me a little meat, but without stopping to cook any thing, we started for home. It was afternoon when we arrived, and Net-no-kwa seeing we had brought meat, said, “well, my son, I suppose you have eaten very heartily last night, after your long fast.” I told her I had as yet eaten nothing. She immediately cooked part of what he had given me, all of which lasted us no more than two days. I still knew of two gangs of beaver that had escaped the prevailing sickness, and I took my traps and went in pursuit of them. In a day or two I had taken eight, two of which I gave to Waw-zhe-kwaw-maish-koon.

Some time in the course of this winter, there came to our lodge one of the sons of the celebrated Ojibbeway chief, called Wesh-ko-bug, (the sweet,) who lived at Leech Lake. This man was one of those who make themselves women, and are called women by the Indians. There are several of this sort among most, if not all the Indian tribes. They are commonly called A-go-kwa, a word which is expressive of their condition. This creature, called Ozaw-wen-dib, (the yellow head,) was now near fifty years old, and had lived with many husbands. I do not know whether she had seen me, or only heard of me, but she soon let me know she had come a long distance to see me, and with the hope of living with me. She often offered herself to me, but not being discouraged with one refusal, she repeated her disgusting advances until I was almost driven from the lodge. Old Net-no-kwa was perfectly well acquainted with her character, and only laughed at the embarrassment and shame which I evinced whenever she addressed me. She seemed rather to countenance and encourage the Yellow Head in remaining at our lodge. The latter was very expert in the various employments of the women, to which all her time was given. At length, despairing of success in her addresses to me, or being too much pinched by hunger, which was commonly felt in our lodge, she disappeared, and was absent three or four days. I began to hope I should be no more troubled with her, when she came back loaded with dry meat. She stated that she had found the band of Wa-ge-to-tah-gun, and that that chief had sent by her an invitation for us to join him. He had heard of the niggardly conduct of Waw-zhe-kwaw-maish-koon towards us, and had sent the A-go-kwa to say to me, “my nephew, I do not wish you to stay there to look at the meat that another kills, but is too mean to give you. Come to me, and neither you nor my sister shall want any thing it is in my power to give you.” I was glad enough of this invitation, and started immediately. At the first encampment, as I was doing something by the fire, I heard the A-go-kwa at no great distance in the woods, whistling to call me. Approaching the place, I found she had her eyes on game of some kind, and presently I discovered a moose. I shot him twice in succession, and twice he fell at the report of the gun, but it is probable I shot too high, for at last he escaped. The old woman reproved me severely for this, telling me she feared I should never be a good hunter. But before night the next day, we arrived at Wa-ge-tote’s lodge, where we ate as much as we wished. Here, also, I found myself relieved from the persecutions of the A-go-kwa, which had become intolerable. Wa-go-tote, who had two wives, married her. This introduction of a new inmate into the family of Wa-ge-tote, occasioned some laughter, and produced some ludicrous incidents, but was attended with less uneasiness and quarreling than would have been the bringing in of a new wife of the female sex.

This band consisted of a large number of Indians, and the country about them was hunted poor, so that few even of the best hunters were able to kill game often. It so happened that myself and another man, who, like me, was reputed a poor hunter, killed more frequently than others. The Indians now collected for the solemn ceremony of the meta or mediance dance, in which Net-no-kwa always bore a very conspicuous part. I began to be dissatisfied at remaining with large bands of Indians, as it was usual for them, after having remained a short time in a place, to suffer from hunger. I therefore made a road for myself, and set my traps in a gang of beavers. When I signified to Wa-ge-tote my intention of leaving him, he said he was much afraid I should perish of hunger if I went far away by myself. I refused, however, to listen to his advice or persuasion to remain with him, and he then determined to accompany me to my traps, to see what place I had selected and judge whether I should be able to support my family. When we arrived, he found I had caught one large beaver. He advised and encouraged me, and after telling me where I should find his camp in case of being pressed by poverty, he returned.

My family had now been increased by the addition of a poor old Ojibbeway woman and two children, who being destitute of any men, had been taken up by Net-no-kwa. Notwithstanding this, I thought it was still best for us to live by ourselves. I hunted with considerable success, and remained by myself until the end of the season for making sugar, when Net-no-kwa determined to return to Menaukonoskeeg, while I should go to the trading house at Red River to purchase some necessary articles. I made a pack of beaver and started by myself in a small buffalo skin canoe, only large enough to carry me and my pack, and descended the Little Saskawjewun.

There is, on the bank of that river, a place which looks like one the Indians would always choose to encamp at. In a bend of the river is a beautiful landing place, behind it a little plain, a thick wood, and a small hill rising abruptly in the rear. But with that spot is connected a story of fratricide, a crime so uncommon that the spot where it happened is held in detestation, and regarded with terror. No Indian will land his canoe, much less encamp, at “The Place Of The Two Dead Men.”[20] They relate that many years ago the Indians were encamped here, when a quarrel arose between two brothers having she-she-gwi for totems. One drew his knife and slew the other, but those of the band who were present looked upon the crime as so horrid that without hesitation or delay, they killed the murderer and buried them together.

As I approached this spot, I thought much of the story of the two brothers who bore the same totem with myself, and were, as I supposed, related to my Indian mother. I had heard it said that if any man encamped near their graves, as some had done soon after they were buried, they would be seen to come out of the ground, and either react the quarrel and the murder, or in some other manner so annoy and disturb their visitors that they could not sleep. Curiosity was in part my motive, and I wished to be able to tell the Indians that I had not only stopped, but slept quietly at a place which they shunned with so much fear and caution. The sun was going down as I arrived. I pushed my little canoe in to the shore, kindled a fire, and after eating my supper, lay down and slept. Very soon, I saw the two dead men come and sit down by my fire, opposite me. Their eyes were intently fixed upon me, but they neither smiled, nor say any thing. I got up and sat opposite them by the fire, and in this situation I awoke. The night was dark and gusty, but I saw no men, or heard any other sounds than that of the wind in the trees. It is likely I fell asleep again, for I soon saw the same two men standing below the bank of the river, their heads just rising to the level of the ground I had made my fire on, and looking at me as before. After a few minutes they rose one after the other, and sat down opposite me; but now they were laughing, and pushing at me with sticks, and using various methods of annoyance. I endeavoured to speak to them, but my voice failed me. I tried to fly, but my feet refused to do their office. Throughout the whole night I was in a state of agitation and alarm. Among other things which they said to me, one of them told me to look at the top of the little hill which stood near. I did so, and saw a horse fettered, and standing looking at me. “There, my brother,” said the jebi, “is a horse which I give you to ride on your journey to-morrow, and as you pass here on your way home, you can call and leave the horse, and spend another night with us.”

At last came the morning, and I was in no small degree pleased to find that with the darkness of the night these terrifying visions vanished. But my long residence among the Indians, and the frequent instances in which I had known the intimations of dreams verified, occasioned me to think seriously of the horse the jebi had given me. Accordingly I went to the top of the hill, where I discovered tracks and other signs, and following a little distance, found a horse which I knew belonged to the trader I was going to see. As several miles travel might be saved by crossing from this point on the Little Saskawjewun to the Assinneboin, I left the canoe, and having caught the horse, and put my load upon him, led him towards the trading house where I arrived next day. In all subsequent journeys through this country, I carefully shunned “the place of the two dead,” and the account I gave of what I had seen and suffered there, confirmed the superstitious terrors of the Indians.

After I returned from trading at the Red River, I went to live at Naowawgunwudju, the hill of the buffalo chase, near the Saskawjewun. This is a high rocky hill, where mines may probably be found, as there are in the rocks many singular looking masses. Here we found sugar trees in plenty, and a good place for passing the spring. Game was so abundant, and the situation so desirable, that I concluded to remain instead of going with all the Indians to Clear Water Lake, where they assembled to have their usual drunken frolic. I had sent for Wa-me-gon-a-biew, and he now joined us here with one horse, making our whole number three. All these, all our dogs, and ourselves, were loaded with the meat of one moose, which I killed at this time, the largest and the fattest one I had ever seen.

Wa-me-gon-a-biew, after remaining with me four days, went to look for Wa-ge-tote, but without telling me any thing of his business. In a few days he returned, and told me that he had been to see Wa-ge-tote on account of his daughter that had been so often offered to me, and wished to know if I had any intention to marry her. I told him I had not, and that I was very willing to afford him any aid in my power in furtherance of his design. He wished me to return with him, probably that I might remove any impression the old people might have, that I would marry the girl, and accompany him in bringing her home. I assented without reflection, to this proposal and as we were about making our preparations to start, I perceived from Net-no-kwa’s countenance, though she said nothing, that the course we were taking displeased her. I then recollected that it was not the business of young men to bring home their wives, and I told Wa-me-gon-a-biew that we should be ridiculed by all the people if we persisted in our design. “Here,” said I, “is our mother, whose business it is to find wives for us when we want them, and she will bring them, and show them our places in the lodge whenever it is right she should do so.” The old woman was manifestly pleased with what I said, and expressed her willingness to go immediately and bring home the daughter of Wa-ge-tote. She went accordingly, and it so happened that when she returned bringing the girl, Wa-me-gon-a-biew and myself were sitting inside the lodge. It appeared that neither Wa-me-gon-a-biew, nor the old woman, had been at the pains to give her any very particular information, for when she came in, she was evidently at a loss to know which of the young men before her had chosen her for a wife. Net-no-kwa perceiving her embarrassment, told her to sit down near Wa-me-gon-a-biew, for him it was whom she was to consider her husband. After a few days, he took her home to his other wife, with whom she lived in harmony.

In the ensuing fall, when I was something more than twenty-one years of age, I moved, with Wa-me-gon-a-biew, and many other families of Indians, to the Wild Rice. While we were engaged in collecting and preparing the grain, many among us were seized with a violent sickness. It commenced with cough and hoarseness, and sometimes bleeding from the mouth or nose. In a short time many died, and none were able to hunt. Although I did not escape entirely, my attack appeared at first less violent than that of most others. There had been for several days no meat in the encampment. Some of the children had not been sick, and some of those who had been sick, now began to recover, and needed some food. There was but one man beside myself as capable of exertion as I was, and he, like myself, was recovering. We were wholly unable to walk, and could scarce mount our horses when they were brought to us by the children. Had we been able to walk, we coughed so loudly and so incessantly that we could never have approached near enough to any game to kill it by still hunting. In this emergency we rode into the plains, and were fortunate enough to overtake and kill a bear. Of the flesh of this animal we could not eat a mouthful, but we took it home and distributed to every lodge an equal portion. Still I continued to get better, and was among the first to regain my health, as I supposed. In a few days I went out to hunt elk, and in killing two of them in the space of two or three hours, I became somewhat excited and fatigued. I cut up the meat, and as is usual, took home a load on my back when I returned. I ate heartily of some which they cooked for me, then lay down and slept, but before the middle of the night, I was waked by a dreadful pain in my ears. It appeared to me that something was eating into my ears, and I called Wa-me-gon-a-biew to look, but he could see nothing. The pain became more and more excruciating for two days, at the end of which time I became insensible. When my consciousness returned, which was, as I learned afterwards, at the end of two days, I found myself sitting outside the lodge. I saw the Indians on all sides of me drinking, some trader having come among them. Some were quarrelling, particularly a group amongst which I distinguished Wa-me-gon-a-biew, and saw him stab a horse with his knife. Then I immediately became insensible and remained so probably for some days, as I was unconscious of every thing that passed until the band were nearly ready to move from the place where we had been living. My strength was not entirely gone, and when I came to my right mind, I could walk about. I reflected much on all that had passed since I had been among the Indians. I had in the main been contented since residing in the family of Net-no-kwa, but this sickness I looked upon as the commencement of misfortune which was to follow me through life. My hearing was gone for abscesses had formed and discharged in each ear, and I could now hear but very imperfectly. I sat down in the lodge, and could see the faces of men, and their lips moving, but knew not what they said. I took my gun and went to hunt, but the animals discovered me before I could see them, and if by accident I saw a moose or an elk, and endeavoured to get near him, I found that my cunning and my success had deserted me. I soon imagined that the very animals knew that I had become like an old and useless man.

Under the influence of these painful feelings, I resolved to destroy myself, as the only means of escaping the certain misery which I saw before me. When they were ready to move, Net-no-kwa had my horse brought to the door of the lodge, and asked me if I was able to get on and ride to the place where they intended to encamp. I told her I was, and requesting that my gun might be left with me, said I would follow the party at a little distance. I took the rein of my horse’s bridle in my hand, and sitting down, watched the people as group after group passed me and disappeared. When the last old woman, and her heavy load of pukkwi mats, sunk behind the little swell of the prairie that bounded my prospect, I felt much relieved. I cast loose the reins of the bridle, and suffered my horse to feed at large. I then cocked my gun, and resting the butt of it on the ground, I put the muzzle to my throat, and proceeded with the ramrod, which I had drawn for the purpose, to discharge it. I knew that the lock was in good order; also, that the piece had been well loaded but a day or two before; but I now found that the charge had been drawn. My powder horn and ball pouch always contained more or less ammunition, but on examination, I found them empty. My knife also, which I commonly carried appended to the strap of my shot pouch, was gone. Finding myself baffled in the attempt to take my own life, I seized my gun with both hands by the muzzle, and threw it from me with my utmost strength, then mounted my horse, who, contrary to his usual custom, and to what I had expected from him, had remained near me after being released. I soon overtook the party, for being probably aware of my intentions, Wa-me-gon-a-biew and Net-no-kwa had gone but far enough to conceal themselves from my view, and had then sat down to wait. It is probable that in my insane ravings, I had talked of my intention to destroy myself, and on this account they had been careful to deprive me of the most ordinary and direct means of effecting my purpose.

Suicide is not very unfrequent among the Indians, and is effected in various ways; shooting, hanging, drowning, poisoning, etc. The causes, also, which urge to desperate act, are various. Some years previous to the time I now speak of, I was with Net-no-kwa, at Mackinac, when I knew a very promising and highly respected young man of the Ottawwaws who shot himself in the Indian burying grounds. He had, for the first time, drank to intoxication, and in the alienation of mind produced by the liquor had torn off his own clothes, and behaved with so much violence that his two sisters, to prevent him from injuring himself or others, tied his hands and feet, and laid him down in the lodge. Next morning, he awoke sober, and being untied, went to his sister’s lodge, which was near the burying ground, borrowed a gun, under pretense of going to shoot pigeons, and went into the burying ground and shot himself. It is probable that when he awoke and found himself tied, he thought he had done something very improper in his drunkenness, and to relieve himself from the pressure of shame and mortification, had ended his days by violence. Misfortunes and losses of various kinds, sometimes the death of friends, and possibly, in some instances, disappointment in affairs of love, may be considered the causes which produce suicide among the Indians.

I reproached Wa-me-gon-a-biew for his conduct towards me in unloading my gun, and taking away my ammunition, though it was probably done by the old woman. After I recovered my health more perfectly, I began to feel ashamed of this attempt, but my friends were so considerate as never to mention it to me. Though my health soon became good, I did not recover my hearing, and it was several months before I could hunt as well as I had been able to do previous to my sickness, but I was not among those who suffered most severely by this terrible complaint. Of the Indians who survived, some were permanently deaf, others injured in their intellects, and some, in the fury occasioned by the disease, dashed themselves against trees and rocks, breaking their arms or otherwise maiming themselves. Most of those who survived had copious discharges from the ears, or in the earlier stages had bled profusely from the nose. This disease was entirely new to the Indians, and they attempted to use few or no remedies for it.

On going to Mouse River trading-house, I heard that some white people from the United States had been there to purchase some articles for the use of their party, then living at the Mandan village. I regretted that I had missed the opportunity of seeing them but as I had received the impression that they were to remain permanently there, I thought I would take some opportunity to visit them. I have since been informed that these white men were some of the party of Governor Clark and Captain Lewis, then on their way to the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific Ocean.

Late in the fall, we went to Ke-nu-kau-ne-she-way-bo-ant, where game was then plenty, and where we determined to spend the winter. Here, for the first time, I joined deeply with Wa-me-gon-a-biew and other Indians, in gambling, a vice scarce less hurtful to them than drunkenness. One of the games we used was that of the moccasin, which is played by any number of persons, but usually in small parties. Four moccasins are used, and in one of them some small object, such as a little stick, or a small piece of cloth, is hid by one of the betting parties. The moccasins are laid down beside each other, and one of the adverse party is then to touch two of the moccasins with his finger, or a stick. If the one he first touches has the hidden thing in it, the player loses eight to the opposite party; if it is not in the second he touches, but in one of the two passed over, he loses two. If it is not in the one he touches first, and is in the last, he wins eight. The Crees play this game differently, putting the hand successively into all the moccasins, endeavouring to come last to that which contains the article; but if the hand is thrust first into the one containing it, he loses eight. They fix the value of articles staked by agreement. For instance, they sometimes call a beaver skin, or a blanket, ten; sometimes a horse is one hundred. With strangers, they are apt to play high. In such cases a horse is sometimes valued at ten.

But it is the game called Bug-ga-sauk, or Beg-ga-sah, that they play with the most intense interest, and the most hurtful consequences. The beg-ga-sah-nuk are small pieces of wood, bone, or sometimes of brass made by cutting up an old kettle. One side they stain or colour black, the other they aim to have bright. These may vary in number, but can never be fewer than nine. They are put together into a large wooden bowl, or tray, kept for the purpose. The two parties, sometimes twenty or thirty, sit down opposite each other, or in a circle. The play consists in striking the edge of the bowl in such a manner as to throw all the beg-ga-sah-nuk into the air, and on the manner in which they fall into the tray depends his gain or loss. If his stroke has been to a certain extent fortunate, the player strikes again, and again, as in the game of billiards, until he misses, when it passes to the next. The parties soon become much excited, and a frequent cause of quarrelling is that one often snatches the tray from his neighbour before the latter is satisfied that the throw has been against him.

Old and sensible people among them are much opposed to this game, and it was never until this winter that Net-no-kwa suffered me to join in it. In the beginning, our party had some success, but we returned to it again and again, until we were stripped of every thing. When we had nothing more to lose, the band which had played against us removed and camped at a distance, and, as is usual, boasted much of their success. When I heard of this, I called together the men of our party, and proposed to them that by way of making an effort to regain our lost property, and put an end to their insolent boasting, we would go and shoot at a mark with them. We accordingly raised some property among our friends, and went in a body to visit them. Seeing that we had brought something, they consented to play with us. So we set down to Beg-ga-sah, and in the course of the evening re-took as much of our lost property as enabled us to offer, next morning, a very handsome bet on the result of a trial of shooting the mark. We staked every thing we could command. They were loath to engage us, but could not decently decline. We fixed a mark at the distance of one hundred yards, and I shot first, placing my ball nearly in the center. Not one of either party came near me; of course I won, and we thus regained the greater part of what we had lost during the winter.

Late in the spring, when we were nearly ready to leave Ke-nu-kau-ne-she-way-bo-ant, an old man, called O-zhusk-koo-koon, (the muskrat’s liver,) a chief of the Me-tai, came to my lodge, bringing a young woman, his grand-daughter, together with the girl’s parents. This was a handsome young girl, not more than fifteen years old, but Net-no-kwa did not think favourably of her. She said to me, “My son, these people will not cease to trouble you if you remain here, and as the girl is by no means fit to become your wife, I advise you to take your gun and go away. Make a hunting camp at some distance, and do not return till they have time to see that you are decidedly disinclined to the match.” I did so, and O-zhusk-koo-koon apparently relinquished the hope of marrying me to his grand-daughter.

Soon after I returned, I was standing by our lodge one evening, when I saw a good looking young woman walking about and smoking. She noticed me from time to time, and at last came up and asked me to smoke with her. I answered that I never smoked. “You do not wish to touch my pipe, for that reason you will not smoke with me.” I took her pipe and smoked a little, though I had not been in the habit of smoking before. She remained some time, and talked with me, and I began to be pleased with her. After this we saw each other often, and I became gradually attached to her.

I mention this because it was to this woman that I was afterwards married, and because the commencement of our acquaintance was not after the usual manner of the Indians. Among them it most commonly happens, even when a young man marries a woman of his own band, he has previously had no personal acquaintance with her. They have seen each other in the village. He has perhaps looked at her in passing, but it is probable they have never spoken together. The match is agreed on by the old people, and when their intention is made known to the young couple, they commonly find, in themselves, no objection to the arrangement, as they know, should it prove disagreeable mutually, or to either party, it can at any time be broken off.

My conversations with Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa, (the red sky of the morning,) for such was the name of the woman who offered me her pipe, was soon noised about the village. Hearing it, and inferring, probably, that like other young men of my age I was thinking of taking a wife, old O-zhusk-koo-koon came one day to our lodge, leading by the hand another of his numerous grand-daughters. “This,” said he, to Net-no-kwa, “is the handsomest and the best of all my descendants. I come to offer her to your son.” So saying, he left her in the lodge and went away. This young woman was one Net-no-kwa had always treated with unusual kindness, and she was considered one of the most desirable in the band. The old woman was now somewhat embarrassed, but at length she found an opportunity to say to me, “My son, this girl which O-zhusk-koo-koon offers you is handsome, and she is good, but you must not marry her for she has that about her which will, in less than a year, bring her to her grave. It is necessary that you should have a woman who is strong and free of any disease. Let us, therefore, make this young woman a handsome present, for she deserves well at our hands, and send her back to her father.” She accordingly gave her goods to considerable amount, and she went home. Less than a year afterwards, according to the old woman’s prediction, she died.

In the mean time, Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa and myself were becoming more and more intimate. It is probable Net-no-kwa did not disapprove of the course I was now about to take, as, though I said nothing to her on the subject, she could not have been ignorant of what I was doing. That she was not I found, when after spending, for the first time, a considerable part of the night with my mistress, I crept into the lodge at a late hour and went to sleep. A smart rapping on my naked feet waked me at the first appearance of dawn on the following morning. “Up,” said the old woman, who stood by me with a stick in her hand, “up, young man, you who are about to take yourself a wife, up, and start after game. It will raise you more in the estimation of the woman you would marry to see you bring home a load of meat early in the morning than to see you dressed ever so gaily, standing about the village after the hunters are all gone out.” I could make her no answer, but putting on my moccasins, took my gun and went out. Returning before noon, with as heavy a load of fat moose meat as I could carry, I threw it down before Net-no-kwa, and with a harsh tone of voice said to her, “Here, old woman, is what you called for in the morning.” She was much pleased, and commended me for my exertion. I now became satisfied that she was not displeased on account of my affair with Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa, and it gave me no small pleasure to think that my conduct met her approbation. There are many of the Indians who throw away and neglect their old people, but though Net-no-kwa was now decrepit and infirm, I felt the strongest regard for her, and continued to do so while she lived.

I now redoubled my diligence in hunting, and commonly came home with meat in the early part of the day, at least before night. I then dressed myself as handsomely as I could, and walked about the village, sometimes blowing the Pe-be-gwun, or flute. For some time Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa pretended she was not willing to marry me, and it was not, perhaps, until she perceived some abatement of ardour on my part, that she laid this affected coyness entirely aside. For my own part, I found that my anxiety to take a wife home to my lodge was rapidly becoming less and less. I made several efforts to break off the intercourse, and visit her no more, but a lingering inclination was too strong for me. When she perceived my growing indifference, she sometimes reproached me, and sometimes sought to move me by tears and entreaties, but I said nothing to the old woman about bringing her home, and became daily more and more unwilling to acknowledge her publicly as my wife.

About this time I had occasion to go to the trading-house on Red River, and I started in company with a half breed belonging to that establishment, who was mounted on a fleet horse. The distance we had to travel has since been called, by the English settlers, seventy miles. We rode and went on foot by turns, and the one who was on foot kept hold of the horse’s tail and ran. We passed over the whole distance in one day. In returning, I was by myself and without a horse, and I made an effort, intending, if possible, to accomplish the same journey in one day; but darkness, and excessive fatigue, compelled me to stop when I was within about ten miles of home.

When I arrived at our lodge, on the following day, I saw Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa sitting in my place. As I stopped at the door of the lodge, and hesitated to enter, she hung down her head, but Net-no-kwa greeted me in a tone somewhat harsher than was common for her to use to me. “Will you turn back from the door of the lodge, and put this young woman to shame, who is in all respects better than you are. This affair has been of your seeking, and not of mine or hers. You have followed her about the village heretofore; now you would turn from her, and make her appear like one who has attempted to thrust herself in your way.” I was, in part, conscious of the justness of Net-no-kwa’s reproaches, and in part prompted by inclination. I went in and sat down by the side of Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa, and thus we became man and wife. Old Net-no-kwa had, while I was absent at Red River, without my knowledge or consent, made her bargain with the parents of the young woman and brought her home, rightly supposing that it would be no difficult matter to reconcile me to the measure. In most of the marriages which happen between young persons, the parties most interested have less to do than in this case. The amount of presents which the parents of a woman expect to receive in exchange for her, diminishes in proportion to the number of husbands she may have had.

CHAPTER VIII.

Preparation for a war excursion—herds of buffalo heard at a great distance—terrible conflicts among the bulls—observances of the young warriors—Ko-zau-bun-ziche-e-gun, or divination to discover the situation of an enemy—Jeebi-ug, or memorials of deceased friends to be thrown away on the field of battle; and the design of the custom—war-party broken up by the interference of a rival chief—stupidity of the porcupine—I save the life of my foster brother—Albino bears—Waw-be-no—marriage of Pi-che-to and Skwa-shish—attack of a Sioux war-party, and pursuit to the village at Chief Mountain, and the head of the St. Peters, etc.

Four days after I returned from Red River, we moved to the woods, Wa-me-gon-a-biew with his two wives and his family; Waw-be-be-nais-sa, with one wife and several children; myself and wife, and the family of Net-no-kwa. We directed our course towards the Craneberry River, (Pembinah,) as we wished to select near that place a favourable spot where our women and children might remain encamped, it being our intention to join a war-party then preparing to go against the Sioux. When we had chosen a suitable place, we applied ourselves diligently to hunting, that we might leave dry meat enough to supply the wants of our families in our absence. It happened one morning that I went to hunt with only three balls in my pouch, and finding a large buck moose, I fired at him rather hastily, and missed him twice in succession. The third time I hit but did not kill him, only wounding him in the shoulder. I pursued, and at length overtook him, but having no balls, I took the screws out of my gun, tying the lock on with a string, and it was not till after I had shot three of them into him that he fell.

We had killed a considerable quantity of meat, and the women were engaged in drying it when, feeling curious to know the state of forwardness of the war-party at Pembinah, and how soon they would start, we took our horses and rode down, leaving Waw-be-be-nais-sa with the women. When we arrived we found forty men of the Muskegoes ready to depart on the following morning, and though we had come without our moccasins, or any of the usual preparations, we determined to accompany them. Great numbers of Ojibbeways and Crees had assembled, but they seemed, in general, unwilling to accompany the Muskegoes, as this band is not in very high repute among them. Wa-me-gon-a-biew was willing to dissuade me from going, urging that we had better put it off and go with the Ojibbeways in the fall. But I assured him I would by no means lose the present opportunity inasmuch as we could both go now and in the fall also.

By the end of the second day after we left Pembinah, we had not a mouthful to eat, and were beginning to be hungry. When we laid down in our camp at night, and put our ears close to the ground, we could hear the tramp of buffaloes, but when we sat up we could hear nothing, and on the following morning nothing could be seen of them, though we could command a very extensive view of the prairie. As we knew they must not be far off in the direction of the sounds we had heard, eight men of whom I was one, were selected and despatched to kill some, and bring the meat to a point where it was agreed the party should stop next night. The noise we could still hear in the morning by applying our ears to the ground, and it seemed about as far distant, and in the same direction as before. We started early and rode some hours before we could begin to see them, and when we first discovered the margin of the herd, it must have been at least ten miles distant. It was like a black line drawn along the edge of the sky, or a low shore seen across a lake. The distance of the herd from the place where we first heard them, could not have been less than twenty miles. But it was now the rutting season, and various parts of the herd were all the time kept in rapid motion by the severe fights of the bulls. To the noise produced by the knocking together of the two divisions of the hoof, when they raised their feet from the ground, and of their incessant tramping, was added the loud and furious roar of the bulls, engaged as they all were in their terrific and appalling conflicts. We were conscious that our approach to the herd would not occasion the alarm now that it would have done at any other time, and we rode directly towards them. As we came near we killed a wounded bull which scarce made an effort to escape from us. He had wounds in his flanks into which I could put my whole hand. As we knew that the flesh of the bulls was not now good to eat, we did not wish to kill them, though we might easily have shot any number. Dismounting, we put our horses in the care of some of our number, who were willing to stay back for that purpose, and then crept into the herd to try to kill some cows. I had separated from the others, and advancing, got entangled among the bulls. Before I found an opportunity to shoot a cow, the bulls began to fight very near me. In their fury they were totally unconscious of my presence, and came rushing towards me with such violence, that in some alarm for my safety, I took refuge in one of those holes which are so frequent where these animals abound, and which they themselves dig to wallow in. Here I found that they were pressing directly upon me, and I was compelled to fire to disperse them, in which I did not succeed until I had killed four of them. By this firing the cows were so frightened that I perceived I should not be able to kill any in this quarter, so regaining my horse, I rode to a distant part of the herd, where the Indians had succeeded in killing a fat cow. But from this cow, as is usual in similar cases, the herd had all moved off, except one bull, who, when I came up, still kept the Indians at bay. “You are warriors,” said I, as I rode up, “going far from your own country, to seek an enemy, but you cannot take his wife from that old bull who has nothing in his hands.” So saying I passed them directly towards the bull, then standing something more than two hundred yards distant. He no sooner saw me approach than he came plunging towards me with such impetuosity, that knowing the danger to my horse and myself, I turned and fled. The Indians laughed heartily at my repulse, but they did not give over their attempts to get at the cow. By dividing the attention of the bull, and creeping up to him on different sides, they at length shot him down. While we were cutting up the cow, the herd were at no great distance, and an old cow, which the Indians supposed to be the mother of the one we had killed, taking the scent of the blood, came running with great violence directly towards us. The Indians were alarmed and fled, many of them not having their guns in their hands, but I had carefully re-loaded mine, and had it ready for use. Throwing myself down close to the body of the cow, and behind it, I waited till the other came up within a few yards of the carcass, when I fired upon her. She turned, gave one or two jumps, and fell dead. We had now the meat of two fat cows which was as much as we wanted. We repaired without delay to the appointed place where we found our party, whose hunger was already somewhat allayed by a deer one of them had killed.

I now began to attend to some of the ceremonies of what may be called the initiation of warriors, this being the first time I had been on a war-party. For the three first times that a man accompanies a war-party, the customs of the Indians require some peculiar and painful observances from which old warriors may, if they choose, be exempted. The young warrior must constantly paint his face black; must wear a cap, or head dress of some kind; must never precede the older warriors, but follow them, stepping in their tracks. He must never scratch his head, or any other part of his body, with his fingers, but if he is compelled to scratch, he must use a small stick; the vessel he eats or drinks out of, or the knife he uses, must be touched by no other person. In the two last mentioned particulars, the observances of the young warriors are like those the females in some bands use during their earliest periods of menstruation. The young warrior, however long and fatiguing the march, must neither eat, nor drink, nor sit down by day. If he halts for a moment, he must turn his face towards his own country, that the Great Spirit may see that it is his wish to return home again.

At night they observe a certain order in their encampments. If there are bushes where they halt, the camp is enclosed by these stuck into the ground, so as to include a square, or oblong space, with a passage, or door, in one end, which is always that towards the enemy’s country. If there are not bushes, they mark the ground in the same manner, with small sticks, or the stalks of the weeds which grow in the prairie. Near the gate, or entrance to this camp, is the principal chief and the old warriors; next follow in order, according to age and reputation, the younger men. And last of all, in the extreme end of the camp, those with blacked faces, who are making their first excursion. All the warriors, both old and young, sleep with their faces towards their own country, and, on no consideration, however uneasy their position, or however great their fatigue, must make any change of attitude, nor must any two lie upon, or be covered by the same blanket. In their marches, the warriors, if they ever sit down, must not sit upon the naked ground, but must at least have some grass or bushes under them. They must, if possible, avoid wetting their feet, but if they are ever compelled to wade through a swamp, or to cross a stream, they must keep their clothes dry, and whip their legs with bushes or grass when they come out of the water. They must never walk in a beaten path if they can avoid it, but if they cannot at all times, then they must put medicine on their legs, which they carry for that purpose. Any article belonging to any of the party, such as his gun, his blanket, tomahawk, knife, or war club, must not be stepped over by any other person, neither must the legs, hands, or body of any one who is sitting or lying on the ground. Should this rule be inadvertently violated, it is the duty of the one to whom the article stepped over may belong, to seize the other and throw him on the ground, and the latter must suffer himself to be thrown down, even should he be much stronger than the other. The vessels which they carry to eat out of, are commonly small bowls of wood, or of birch bark. They are marked across the middle and the Indians have some mark by which they distinguish the two sides. In going out from home they drink invariably out of one side, and in returning, from the other. When on their way home, and within one day of the village, they suspend all these bowls on trees, or throw them away in the prairie.

I should have mentioned that in their encampments at night, the chief who conducts the party sends some of his young men a little distance in advance to prepare what is called Pushkwaw-gumme-genahgun, the piece of cleared ground where the kozau-bun-zichegun, or divination by which the position of the enemy is to be discovered, is to be performed. This spot of cleared ground is prepared by removing the turf from a considerable surface, in form of a parallelogram, and with the hands breaking up the soil, to make it fine and soft, and which is so inclosed with poles that none can step on it. The chief, when he is informed that the place is ready, goes and sits down at the end opposite that of the enemy’s country. Then, after singing and praying, he places before him on the margin of the piece of ground, which may be compared to a bed in a garden, two small roundish stones. After the chief has remained here by himself for some time, entreating the Great Spirit to show him the path in which he ought to lead his young men, a crier goes to him from the camp, and then returning part way, he calls by name some of the principal men, saying, “come smoke.” Others also, if they wish it, who are not called, repair to the chief, and they then examine, by striking a light, the result of the kozau-bun-zichegun. The two stones which the chief placed on the margin of the bed have moved across to the opposite end, and it is from the appearance of the path they have left in passing over the soft ground, that they infer the course they are to pursue.

At this place of divination, the offerings of cloth, beads, and whatever other articles the chief and each man may carry for sacrifice, are exposed during the night on a pole; also, their je-bi-ug, or memorials of their dead friends, which are to be thrown away on the field of battle, or if, possible, thrust into the ripped up bowels of their enemies who may fall in the fight. If a warrior has lost, by death, a favourite child, he carries, if possible, some article of dress, or perhaps some toy, which belonged to the child, or more commonly a lock of his hair which they seek to throw away on the field of battle. The scouts who precede a war party into an enemy’s country, if they happen, in lurking about their lodges, or in their old encampments, to discover any of the toys that have been dropped by the children, such as little bows, or even a piece of a broken arrow, pick it up, and carefully preserve it until they return to the party. Then, if they know of a man who has lost his child, they throw it to him, saying, “your little son is in that place, we saw him playing with the children of our enemies. Will you go and see him?” The bereaved father commonly takes it up, and having looked upon it awhile, falls to crying, and is then ready and eager to go against the enemy. An Indian chief, when he leads out his war party, has no other means of control over the individuals composing it than his personal influence gives him. It is therefore necessary they should have some method of rousing and stimulating themselves to exertion.

A-gus-ko-gaut, the Muskego chief whom we accompanied on this occasion, called himself a prophet of the Great Spirit, like the one who appeared some years since among the Shawanees. He had, some time before, lost his son, and on this party he carried the jebi, with the determination of leaving it in a bloody field; but this design was frustrated by the interference of Ta-bush-shah,[21] (he that dodges down,) who now overtook us with twenty men. This restless and ambitious Ojibbeway was unwilling that any but himself should lead a party against the Sioux; more particularly, that any of his own daring actions should be eclipsed by the prowess of so despised a people as the Muskegoes. But on first joining us, his professions manifested nothing unfriendly to our undertaking; on the contrary, he pretended he had come to aid his brethren, the Muskegoes. A-gus-ko-gaut could scarce have been ignorant of the feelings and intentions of Ta-bush-shah, but nevertheless he received him with the utmost apparent cordiality and pleasure.

We journeyed on in company for some days, when in crossing some of the wide prairies, our thirst became so excessive that we were compelled to violate some of the rules of the war party. The principal men were acquainted with the general features of the country we had to pass, and knew that water could be found within a few miles of us, but most of the older warriors being on foot, were exhausted with fatigue and thirst. In this emergency, it became necessary that such of the party as had horses, among whom were Wa-me-gon-a-biew and myself, should go forward and search for water, and when it was found, make such a signal as would inform the main body what course to pursue. I was among the first to discover a place where water could be had, but before all the men could come up to it, the suffering of some of them had become excessive. Those who had arrived at the spring continued to discharge their guns during the night, and the stragglers dropped in from different directions, some vomiting blood, and some in a state of madness.

As we rested at this spring, an old man called Ah-tek-oons (the Little Caribou,) made a Kozau-bun-zichegun, or divination, and announced afterwards that in a particular direction which he pointed out, was a large band of Sioux warriors coming directly towards us; that if we could turn to the right or to the left, and avoid meeting them, we might proceed unmolested to their country, and be able to do some mischief to the women in their villages; but that if we suffered them to come upon us, and attack us, we should be cut off, to a man. Ta-bush-shah affected to place the most implicit reliance on this prediction, but the Muskegoe chief, and the Muskegoes generally, would not listen to it.

There was now an incipient murmur of discontent, and some few openly talked of abandoning A-gus-ko-gaut, and returning to their own country. For some days nothing occurred except the discovery by some of our spies, of a single Indian at a distance who fled immediately on being seen, and was from that circumstance supposed to be one of a Sioux war party. One morning we came to a herd of buffalo, and being without any food, several of the young men were dispersed about to kill some. We had now, since the discovery of the Sioux, been travelling only by night, keeping ourselves concealed in the day time. But the unguarded manner in which the Muskegoes suffered their young men to pursue the buffalo, riding about in open day, and discharging their guns, afforded Ta-bush-shah an opportunity to effect what was probably the sole design of his journey, a disunion of the party, and eventually the frustration of all the designs of A-gus-ko-gaut.

Our camp being profusely supplied with meat, we had something like a general feast. The party was regularly and compactly arranged, and after they had eaten, Ta-bush-shah arose and harangued them in a loud voice. “You, Muskegoes,” said he, “are not warriors, though you have come very far from your own country, as you say, to find the Sioux. But though hundreds of your enemies may be, and probably are, immediately about us, you can never find one of them unless they fall upon you to kill you.” In the close of his address, he expressed his determination to abandon the cause of a party so badly conducted, and return to his own country with his twenty men.

When he had spoken, Pe-zhew-o-ste-gwon, (the wild cat’s head,) the orator of A-gus-ko-gaut, replied to him. “Now,” said he, “we see plainly why our brothers, the Ojibbeways and Crees were not willing to come with us from Red River. You are near your own country, and it is of little importance to you whether you see the Sioux now, or in the fall. But we have come a very great distance. We bear with us, as we have long borne, those that were our friends and children, but we cannot lay them down, except we come into the camp of our enemies. You know well that in a party like this, large as it even now is, if only one turns back, another and another will follow, until none are left. And it is for this reason that you have joined us; that you may draw off our young men, and thus compel us to return without having done any thing.” After he had spoken, Ta-bush-shah, without making any answer, rose, and turning his face towards his own country, departed with his twenty men. A-gus-ko-gaut, and the principal men of the Muskegoes sat silently together, and saw one after another of their own young men get up and follow the Ojibbeways. In the first moments, this defection of Ta-bush-shah seemed to arouse some indignation in the breasts of some of the young Muskegoes, for they imprudently fired upon the rear of the retiring Ojibbeways; but though some of the latter turned to resent this treatment, their prudent leader repressed their ardour, and by so doing, gained the good will of those who might so readily have been rendered dangerous enemies. For the greater part of the day did A-gus-ko-gaut, and the few that remained firm to him, continue sitting upon the ground, in the same spot where he had listened to the speech of Ta-bush-shah; and when at last he saw his band diminished from sixty to five, the old man could not refrain from tears.

Wa-me-gon-a-biew had joined the deserting party, and at that time I had removed to a place a few rods distant from the chief, where I remained during the whole time. I now rejoined the chief and told him if he was willing to go on himself, I would accompany him, if no other would. The other three men who remained, being his personal friends, were willing to have gone on if he had wished it, but he said he feared we could do very little, being so few in number, and if the Sioux should discover us, we could not fail to be cut off. So the excursion was abandoned, and every man sought to return home by the most convenient and expeditious way, no longer paying the least regard to any thing except his own safety and comfort. I soon overtook Wa-me-gon-a-biew, and with three other men, we formed a party to return together. We chose, in our return, a route different from that taken by most of the party. Game was plenty, and we did not suffer from hunger. Early one morning, I was lying wrapped in my blanket by a deep buffalo path, which came down through a prairie to the little creek where we were encamped. It was now late in the fall, and the thick and heavy grasses of these prairies, having long before been killed by the frosts, had become perfectly dry. To avoid burning the grass, we had kindled our little fire in the bottom of the deep path, where it passed through the corner of the bank. Some of the Indians had got up, and were sitting part on one and part on the other side of the path, preparing something for breakfast, when our attention was called to some unusual sound, and we saw a porcupine come walking slowly and slouchingly down the path. I had heard much of the stupidity of this animal, but never had an opportunity to witness it till now. On he came, without giving any attention to surrounding objects, until his nose was actually in the fire. Then bracing stiffly back with his fore feet, he stood so near that the flame, when driven towards him by the wind, still singed the hairs on his face, for some minutes, stupidly opening and shutting his eyes. At length one of the Indians, tired of looking at him, hit him a blow in the face with a piece of moose meat he had on a little stick to roast. One of them then killed him with a tomahawk, and we ate some of the meat, which was very good. The Indians then, in conversation respecting the habits of this animal, related to me what I have since seen, namely: that as a porcupine is feeding in the night, along the bank of a river, a man may sometimes take up some of his food on the blade of a paddle and holding it to his nose, he will eat it without ever perceiving the presence of the man. When taken, they can neither bite nor scratch, having no protection or defence except what is yielded them by their barbed and dangerous spines. Dogs can rarely, if ever, be urged to attack them. When they do, severe injury and suffering, if not death, is the certain consequence.

In four days after we started to return, we reached Large Wood River, which heads in a mountain, and running a long distance through the prairie, and ten miles under ground, empties into Red River. Below the place where it disappears under the prairie, it is called by another name, but it is no doubt the same river. Here we killed one of the common red deer, like those of Kentucky, though this kind is not often seen in the north.

When I returned to my family I had but seven balls left, but as there was no trader near, I could not at present get any more. With those seven I killed twenty moose and elk. Often times, in shooting an elk or a moose, the ball does not pass quite through, and may be used again.

Late in the fall I went to the Mouse River trading house to get some goods, and there Wa-me-gon-a-biew determined to go and live by himself, but Net-no-kwa preferred to live with me. Before Wa-me-gon-a-biew left me, we met at the Mouse River trading house some of the members of a family that in times long past had quarrelled with the predecessors of Wa-me-gon-a-biew. They were part of a considerable band, strangers to us, and in themselves were far too powerful for us. We heard of their intention to kill Wa-me-gon-a-biew, and as we could not avoid being thrown more or less into their power, we thought best to conciliate their good will, or at least purchase their forbearance by a present. We had two kegs of whiskey, which we gave to the band, presenting one particularly to the head of the family who had threatened us. When they began to drink, I noticed one man, who, with great show of cordiality invited Wa-me-gon-a-biew to drink, and pretended to drink with him. The more effectually to throw my brother off his guard, this man, in due time, began to act like a drunken man, though I could perceive he was perfectly sober, and knew that he had drank very little, if any thing, since we had been together. I had no difficulty to comprehend his intentions, and determined, if possible, to protect Wa-me-gon-a-biew from the mischief intended him. We had, with the hope of securing the friendship of the family of Crees, made our fire very near theirs, and as I found Wa-me-gon-a-biew becoming too drunk to have much discretion, I withdrew him to our camp. Here I had scarce laid him down and thrown his blanket over him, when I found myself surrounded by the hostile family, with their guns and knives in their hands, and I heard them speak openly of killing my brother. Fortunately our present of spirits had nearly overcome the senses of all except the man I have before mentioned, and I regarded him as the most formidable among them. As two of them approached, apparently intending to stab Wa-me-gon-a-biew, I stepped between and prevented them. They then seized me by the arms, which I allowed them to hold without any resistance on my part, knowing that when about to stab me, they must let go at least with one hand each, and intending then to make an effort to escape from them. I grasped firmly in my right hand, and at the same time kept hid in the corner of my blanket, a large and strong knife on which I placed great reliance. Very soon after they had seized me, the Indian on my left, still holding my left hand by his, raised his knife in his right to strike me in the ribs. His companion, who was somewhat drunk, having felt his belt for his own knife, found he had dropped it, and calling out to his companion to wait until he could find his knife that he might help to kill me, quitted my right hand and went towards the fire searching for it. This was my opportunity, and with a sudden spring I disengaged myself from the one who still held my left hand, and at the same time showing him a glimpse of my knife. I was now free and might have secured my own safety by flight but was determined not to abandon Wa-me-gon-a-biew in a situation where I knew for me to leave him, would be certain death. The Indians seemed for a moment astonished at my sudden resistance and escape, and not less so, when they saw me catch up the body of my drunken companion, and at two or three leaps, place him in a canoe on the beach. I lost no time in passing over the small distance between their camp and the trading house. Why they did not fire upon me before I was out of the light of their camp fire, I cannot tell. Perhaps they were somewhat intimidated at seeing me so well armed, so active, and so entirely sober, which last circumstance gave me an evident advantage over most of them.

Shortly after this Wa-me-gon-a-biew left me according to his previous determination, and I went to live by myself at a place on the Assinneboin River. I had been here but a few days when A-ke-wah-zains, a brother of Net-no-kwa, came to stay at our lodge. He had not been long with us when we one day discovered a very old man, in a small wooden canoe, coming up the river. A-ke-wah-zains immediately knew him to be the father of the men from whom I had so lately rescued Wa-me-gon-a-biew. The old man came promptly to the shore when called, but it soon appeared that he was ignorant of what had passed between his children and us. A-ke-wah-zains, as he related these affairs to him, became excessively enraged, and it was not without difficulty I prevented him from murdering the helpless old man on the spot. I was content to suffer him to take part of the rum the old man had brought, and I assisted the latter to escape immediately, as I knew it would be unsafe for him to remain among us after his liquor had begun to have its effect.

The same evening A-ke-wah-zains asked me for my gun, which was a long, heavy, and very excellent one, in exchange for his, which was short and light. I was unwilling to exchange, though I did not as yet know how great was the disparity between the two pieces, and though Net-no-kwa was unwilling I should exchange, I did not know how to refuse the man’s request, such a thing being almost unknown among the Indians of this country.

Shortly after this, I killed an old she bear which was perfectly white. She had four cubs, one white, with red eyes, and red nails, like herself; one red, (brown?) and two black. In size, and other respect, she was the same as the common black bear, but she had nothing black about her except the skin of the lips. The fur of this kind is very fine, but not so highly valued by the traders as the red. The old one was very tame, and I killed her without difficulty. Two of the young I shot in the hole, and two escaped into a tree. I had but just shot them when there came along three men, attracted, probably, by the sound of my gun. As these men were very hungry, I took them home with me, fed them, and gave each of them a piece of meat to carry home. Next day I chased another bear into a low poplar tree, when I became convinced of the worthlessness of the gun I had from A-ke-wah-zains, for I shot fifteen times without killing the bear, and was compelled, at last, to climb into the tree and put the muzzle of my gun close to his head, before I could kill him. A few days afterwards, as I was hunting, I started at the same moment an elk and three young bears, and two of them fell. As I thought one or both of them must be only wounded, I sprang immediately towards the root of the tree, but had scarce reached it, when I saw the old she bear come jumping in an opposite direction. She caught up the cub which had fallen nearest her, and raising it with her paws, while she stood on her hind feet, holding it as a woman holds her child. She looked at it for a moment, smelled the ball hole which was in its belly, and perceiving it was dead, dashed it down, and came directly towards me, gnashing her teeth and walking so erect that her head stood as high as mine. All this was so sudden that I had scarce re-loaded my gun, having only time to raise it when she came within reach of the muzzle. I was now made to feel the necessity of a lesson the Indians had taught me, and which I very rarely neglected, namely, after discharging my gun, to think of nothing else before loading it again.

In about a month that I remained here, I killed, notwithstanding the poorness of my gun, twenty-four bears and about ten moose. Having now a great deal of bear’s fat which we could not eat, I visited the sunjegwun I had made, where I killed the twenty moose with seven balls, and put the fat into it. At length, when provisions became very scarce, I returned with my family to this place, expecting to live until spring on the meat I had saved, but I found that Wa-me-gon-a-biew, with his own family and several others, had been there, broken it open, and taken away every pound of meat. Being thus reduced to the apprehension of immediate starvation, I was compelled to go in pursuit of buffalo. Fortunately the severity of the winter now drove these animals in towards the woods, and in a very few days I killed plenty of them. I was now joined by Wa-me-gon-a-biew and other Indians. We were encamped at a little grove of trees in the prairie. It happened one night that the old woman, as well as several others of our family, dreamed of a bear close to our lodge. Next morning I searched for him, and found him in his hole. I shot him, and waiting a moment for the smoke to clear away, as I saw him lying at the bottom, I went down head foremost to draw him out. As my body partly filled the hole, and excluded the light, I did not perceive that he was alive until I laid my hand on him. He then turned and sprang upon me. I retreated as fast as I could, but all the way he was snapping his teeth so near me that I felt his breath warm on my face. He might have seized me at any moment, but did not. I caught my gun as I leaped from the mouth of the den, the bear pursuing me very closely. As soon as I thought I had gained a little distance, I fired behind me, and broke his jaw, and soon killed him. Afterwards I became more cautious about going down into bear’s holes before I had ascertained that the animals were dead. Late in winter the buffalo were so plenty about us that we killed them with bows, and caught some of the younger ones with nooses of leather.

As the sugar season came on we went to Pe-kau-kau-ne Sah-ki-e-gun, (Buffalo Hump Lake,) two days’ journey from the head of Pembinah River, to hunt beavers. We took our wives to the hunting grounds, but left old Net-no-kwa with the children to make sugar. It was now our object to kill beaver enough to enable us to purchase each a good horse, intending to accompany the war-party against the Sioux the ensuing summer. In ten days I killed forty-two large and fine beavers, and Wa-me-gon-a-biew about as many. With these we repaired to the Mouse River trading-house to buy horses. Mr. M’Kie had promised to sell me a very large and beautiful horse of his, which I had before seen, and I was much dissatisfied when I found the horse had been sold to the North West Company. I told him, since the horse had gone to the north west, the beavers might go there also. So crossing to the other side, I bought a large gray mare for thirty beaver skins. This was, in some respects, as good a horse as the other, but it did not please me as well. Wa-me-gon-a-biew also bought a horse from the Indians, and then we returned to Great Wood River to look for old Net-no-kwa, but she had gone to Red River, whither we followed her.

As we remained for some time at the mouth of the Assinneboin, many Indians gathered around us, and among others, several of my wife’s relatives, whom I had not before seen. Among these was an uncle who was a cripple, and had not for years been able to walk. As he had only heard that I was a white man, he supposed that I could not hunt. When he saw my wife, he said to her, “Well, my daughter, I hear you are married. Does your husband ever kill any game?” “Yes,” said she, “if a moose or an elk has lost his road, or wants to die, and comes and stands in his path, he will some times kill him.” “He has gone to hunt to-day, has he not? If he kills any thing I shall go and bring it in, and you will give me the skin to make some moccasins.” This he said in derision, but I gave him the skin of the elk I killed that day to make his moccasins, and continuing to be successful, I gave game to all my wife’s relatives, and soon heard no more of their ridicule. After some time, the game was exhausted, and we found it necessary to disperse in various directions. I went about ten miles up the Assinneboin, where we found two lodges under a man called Po-ko-taw-ga-maw, (the little pond.) These people were relatives of my wife. When we first arrived, the wife of Po-ko-taw-ga-maw happened to be cooking a moose’s tongue for her husband, who had not yet returned from hunting. This she gave us immediately, and would, perhaps, have farther relieved our distress had not the man then arrived. After this, they gave us nothing, though our little children were crying for hunger, and they had plenty of meat about their lodge. It was now too late, and I too much fatigued to go a hunting that evening, nevertheless I would not suffer the women to buy meat from them, as they wished to do. At the earliest appearance at dawn on the ensuing morning, I took my gun, and standing at the door of my lodge, I said purposely in a loud voice, “Can none but Po-ko-taw-ga-maw kill elks?” My wife came out of my lodge, and handed me a piece of dried meat, about as large as my hand, which she said her sister had stolen to give to her. By this time, many of the people had come out of the lodges, and I threw the piece of meat from me, among the dogs, saying, “Shall such food as this be offered to my children, when there are plenty of elks in the woods?” Before noon I had killed two fat elks, and returned to my lodge with a heavy load of meat. I soon killed great numbers of buffaloes, and we dispersed ourselves about to make dry meat, preparatory to leaving our families to go on the proposed war-party. We then returned to the woods to select some good elk and moose skins for moccasins. The skins of animals living in the open prairies are tender, and do not make good leather.

As we were one day travelling through the prairie, we looked back and saw at a distance a man loaded with baggage, and having two of the large Ta-wa-e-gun-num, or drums used in the ceremonies of the Waw-be-no. We looked to our young women for an explanation, as we soon recognized the approaching traveller to be no other than Pich-e-to, one of the band of inhospitable relatives we had lately left. The face of Skwaw-shish, the Bow-we-tig girl, betrayed the consciousness of some knowledge respecting the motives of Pich-e-to.

At this time, the Waw-be-no was fashionable among the Ojibbeways, but it has ever been considered by the older and more respectable men as a false and dangerous religion. The ceremonies of the Waw-be-no differ very essentially from those of the Metai, and are usually accompanied by much licentiousness and irregularity. The Ta-wa-e-gun used for a drum in this dance, differs from the Woin Ah-keek, or Me-ti-kwaw-keek, used in the Me-tai, it being made of a hoop of bent wood like a soldier’s drum, while the latter is a portion of the trunk of a tree, hollowed by fire, and having the skin tied over it. The She-zhe-gwun, or rattle, differs also in its construction from that used in the Metai. In the Waw-be-no, men and women dance and sing together, and there is much juggling and playing with fire. The initiated take coals of fire, and red hot stones in their hands, and sometimes in their mouths. Sometimes they put powder on the insides of their hands, first moistening them, to make it stick; then by rubbing them on coals, or a red hot stone, they make the powder burn. Sometimes one of the principal performers at a Waw-be-no, has a kettle brought and set down before him, which is taken boiling from the fire, and before it has time to cool, he plunges his hands to the bottom, and brings up the head of the dog, or whatever other animal it may be which had been purposely put there. He then, while it remains hot, tears off the flesh with his teeth, at the same singing and dancing madly about. After devouring the meat, he dashes down the bone, still dancing and capering as before. They are able to withstand the effects of fire and of heated substances by what they would persuade the ignorant to be a supernatural power, but this is nothing else than a certain preparation, effected by the application of herbs, which make the parts to which they are applied insensible to fire. The plants they use are the Wa-be-no-wusk, and Pe-zhe-ke-wusk. The former grows in abundance on the island of Mackinac, and is called yarrow by the people of the United States. The other grows only in the prairies. These they mix and bruise, or chew together, and rub over their hands and arms. The Waw-be-no-wusk, or yarrow, in the form of a poultice, is an excellent remedy for burns, and is much used by the Indians, but the two when mixed together seem to give to the skin, even of the lips and tongue, an astonishing power of resisting the effects of fire.

Pich-e-to, with his two Ta-wa-e-guns, at length came up and stopped with us. Old Net-no-kwa was not backward about inquiring his business, and when she found that his designs extended no farther than to the Bow-we-tig girl, she gave her consent to the match, and married them immediately. Next morning, Waw-be-be-nais-sa, who, as well as Wa-me-gon-a-biew had come with me from the mouth of the Assinneboin, killed a buck elk, and I a moose. I now made a change in my manner of hunting which contributed much towards the skill I finally acquired. I resolved that I would, whenever it was possible, even at the expense of the greatest exertions, get every animal I should kill at. When I came to look upon it as necessary that I should kill every animal I shot at, I became more cautious in my approaches, and more careful never to fire until my prospect of being able to kill was good. I made this resolution in the spring, and hunted much, and killed many animals during the summer. I missed only two that I fired at. It requires much skill, and great caution, to be able to kill moose at all, particularly in summer. As I began to be considered a good hunter, Waw-be-be-nais-sa became envious of my success, and often when I was absent, he went slily into my lodge, and bent my gun, or borrowed it under pretence of his own being out of repair, and returned it to me bent, or otherwise injured.

Very early in the spring, we had much severe thunder and lightning. One night, Pich-e-to becoming much alarmed at the violence of the storm, got up and offered some tobacco to the thunder, intreating it to stop. The Ojibbeways and Ottawwaws believe that thunder is the voice of living beings, which they call An-nim-me-keeg.[22] Some considering them to be like men, while others say they have more resemblance to birds. It is doubtful whether they are aware of any necessary connection between the thunder and the lightning which precedes it. They think the lightning is fire, and many of them will assert, that by searching in the ground at the root of the tree that has been struck, immediately after the flash a ball of fire may be found. I have myself many times sought for this ball, but could never find it. I have traced the path of the lightning along the wood, almost to the end of some large root, but where it disappeared I was never able to find any thing more in the soil than what belonged there. After the storm which I first mentioned, we found in the morning an elm tree still burning, which had been set on fire by the lightning. The Indians have a superstitious dread of this fire, and none of them would go to bring some of it, to replace ours which had been extinguished by the rain. I at last went and brought some of it, though not without apprehension. I had fewer fears than the Indians, but I was not entirely free from the same unfounded apprehensions which so constantly pursue them.

After we had killed and dried large quantities of meat, we erected a sunjegwun, or a scaffold, where we deposited as much as we thought would supply the wants of our women in our absence. Before we had entirely finished the preparations for our journey, we were fallen upon by a war-party of about two hundred Sioux, and some of our people killed. A small party of Assinneboins and Crees had already gone out towards the Sioux country, and falling by accident on the trace of this war-party of two hundred, had dogged them for some time, coming repeatedly near enough to see the crane’s head, used by their chief instead of stones, in the Ko-sau-bun-zitch-e-gun, or nightly divination, to discover the position of the enemy. This little band of Crees and Assinneboins had not courage enough to fall upon the Sioux, but they sent messengers to the Ojibbeways by a circuitous route. These came to the lodge of the principal chief of the Ojibbeways, who was hunting in advance of his people, but this man scorned to betray fear. By retreating immediately to the trader’s fort, he might have escaped the threatening danger. He made his preparations to move, but his old wife, being jealous of the younger one, which was now in higher favour than herself, reproached him, and complained that he had given more to the young woman than to her. He said to her, “You have for a long time annoyed me with your jealousy, and your complaints, but I shall hear no more of it. The Sioux are near, and I shall wait for them.” He accordingly remained, and continued hunting. Early one morning, he went up into an oak tree that stood near his lodge, to look out over the prairie for buffalo, and in descending he was shot from below by two young men of the Sioux that had been concealed there great part of the night. It is probable they would have fallen upon him sooner but for fear. Now the trampling of horses was heard, and the men who were with the chief had scarce time to run out of the lodge when the two hundred Sioux, on their horses, were at the door. One of the two runners who had come forward, and had been concealed in the hazel bushes, was an uncle of Wah-ne-taw,[23] at present a well known chief of the Yanktongs, and the party was led by his father. Wah-ne-taw himself was of the party, but was then less distinguished than he has since become. The fight continued during the day. All the Ojibbeways, about twenty in number, being killed, except Ais-ainse, (the little clam,) a brother of the chief, two women, and one child.

Mr. H., the trader at Pembinah gave the Ojibbeways a ten gallon keg of powder, and one hundred pounds of balls, to pursue after the party that had killed the chief, his father-in-law. Of the four hundred men that started, one hundred were Assinneboins, the remaining three hundred Crees and Ojibbeways, with some Muskegoes. In the course of the first day after we left Pembinah, about one hundred Ojibbeways deserted and went back. In the following night, the Assinneboins left in considerable numbers, having stolen many horses, and, among others, four belonging to me and Wa-me-gon-a-biew. I had taken but seven pairs of moccasins, having intended to make the whole journey on horse back, and it was now a great misfortune for me to lose my horses. I went to Pe-shau-ba, who was chief of the band of Ottawwaws, to which I belonged, and told him that I wished to make reprisals from the few Assinneboins still belonging to our party, but he would not consent, saying very justly, that the dissension growing out of such a measure, on my part, might lead to quarrels, which would entirely interrupt and frustrate the designs of the whole party. His advice, though I knew it to be good as far as the interest of the whole was concerned, did nothing to remove my private grievances, and I went from one to another of the Ottawwaws, and those whom I considered my friends among the Ojibbeways, and endeavoured to persuade them to join me in taking horses from the Assinneboins. None would consent, but a young man called Gish-kau-ko, a relative of him by whom I was taken prisoner. He agreed to watch with me the thirteen Assinneboins remaining with our party, and, if an opportunity offered, to assist in taking horses from them. Soon after, I saw eight of these men lingering in the encampment one morning, and I believed it was their intention to turn back. I called Gish-kau-ko to watch them with me, and when most of the Ojibbeways had left camp, we saw them get on their horses, and turn their faces towards home. We followed after them, though they were well armed. As we knew we could not take their horses by violence, we threw down our arms in our camp and followed them with nothing in our hands. One of them stopped some distance in the rear of the retiring party, and dismounted to hold a parley with us, but they were too wary and cautious to give us any opportunity of taking their horses. We tried entreaties, and at last, as I saw there was no hope, I told them their five companions that were left in our camp would not be safe among us, but this, instead of having any good effect, only induced them to send a messenger on their swiftest horse to warn those men to beware of me.

We returned to the main party on foot, and took the first opportunity to visit the camp of the five remaining Assinneboins, but they were notified of our approach, and fled with their horses. At a lake near Red River, we found hanging on a tree in the woods, the body of a young Sioux, called the Red Thunder. We were now on the path of the retiring war-party which had killed our chief, and to which this young man had belonged. The Ojibbeways threw down the body, beat, kicked, and scalped it. Pe-shau-ba forbade me and the other young men of his party to join the Ojibbeways in these unmanly outrages. Not far from this place we found a prisoner’s pole, where they had danced some prisoners, which first convinced us that some of our friends had been taken alive. The trail of the party was still recent, and we thought ourselves but two or three days behind them.

At Lake Traverse, our number had diminished to one hundred and twenty. Of these, three men were half breed Assinneboins, about twenty Crees and as many Ottawwaws, the rest Ojibbeways. Many of the party had been discouraged by unfavourable divinations, among others one by Pe-shau-ba, the Ottawwaw chief, made on the first night after we left Pembinah. He told us that in his dream he saw the eyes of the Sioux, like the sun. They saw every where, and always discovered the Ojibbeways before the latter came near enough to strike them. Also that he had seen all our party returning, unharmed, and without scalps. But he said that on the left hand side of Lake Traverse, opposite our road, he saw two lodges of Sioux by themselves, which he intended to visit on his return.

Due west from Lake Traverse, and at the distance of two days’ travel, is a mountain called O-ge-mah-wud-ju, (chief mountain,) and near this is the village to which the party we were pursuing belonged. As we approached this mountain, we moved in a more cautious and guarded manner, most commonly lying hid in the woods during the day, and travelling at night. When at last we were within a few miles, we halted in the middle of the night, and waited for the approach of the earliest dawn, the time the Indians commonly choose for an attack. Late in the night, a warrior of high reputation called the Black Duck, took the reins of his horse’s bridle in his hand, and walked on towards the village, allowing me to accompany him. We arrived at early dawn at the little hill which sheltered our approach from the village. Raising his head cautiously, the Black Duck saw two men walking at some distance before him. He then descended the hill a little, and tossing his blanket in a peculiar manner, made a signal to the Ojibbeways to rush on. Then followed tearing off of leggins, stripping off of blankets, and in an instant the whole band leaped naked to the feet of the Black Duck. And now they moved silently, but swiftly, over the crest of the hill, and stood upon the site of the village. The two men when they discovered the war-party, instead of flying, came deliberately towards them, and presently stood before the leaders—two of the young men of their own band. They had left the party when they halted, and, without giving notice of their intention, gone forward to reconnoitre what they supposed to be the position of the enemy. They found the camp had been deserted many hours before, and when the party came up they were walking about, and scaring away the wolves from among the rubbish. The Sas-sah-kwi, or war whoop, was raised by the whole band as they rushed up. This loud and piercing shout intimidates and overcomes the weak, or those who are surprised without arms in their hands, while it rouses the spirit of such as are prepared for battle. It has also, as I have seen in many instances, a surprising effect upon animals. I have seen a buffalo so frightened by it as to fall down in his steps, being able neither to run, nor to make resistance. And a bear at hearing it, is sometimes so terror-stricken as to quit his hold, and fall from the tree in utter helplessness. The chiefs whom we followed were not willing to relinquish the objects of the journey, and we still followed, from day to day, along the recent trail of the Sioux. We found, at each of their encampments, the place of their ko-sau-bun-zitch-e-gun, from the appearance of which we were able to infer that they knew accurately our position from day to day. There was now manifest among the young men of our party a prevailing disposition to desert. This the chiefs laboured to prevent by appointing certain persons whom they could trust to act as sentinels, both in the encampments and during the marches. But this measure, though often tried, is always so far from being effectual, that it seems greatly to increase the number of desertions, perhaps because the young men despise the idea of restraint of any kind. They, on this occasion became more and more restless and troublesome after we had crossed over to the head of the river St. Peters in pursuit of the Sioux. The traders have a fort somewhere on the upper part of this river, to which the Sioux had fled. When we arrived within a day’s march of this place, fear and hesitancy became manifest nearly throughout the band. The chiefs talked of sending young men forward to examine the position of the enemy, but no young men offered themselves for the undertaking.

We remained some time stationary, and the opportunity was taken to supply the wants of some who were deficient in moccasins or other important articles. Any man who is on a war party, and whose supply of moccasins, or of powder and ball, or any other common and necessary article, has failed, takes a little of what he stands in need, and if it be moccasins, he takes a single moccasin in his hand, and walks about the encampment, pausing a moment before such of his companions as he hopes will supply his demand. He has no occasion to say any thing, as those who happen to have plenty of the article he wants, are commonly ready to furnish him. Should this method fail, the chief of the party goes from one man to another, and from those who have the greatest quantity, he takes as much as may be necessary of the article required. He is, on these occasions, dressed as for battle, and accompanied by two or three young warriors.

After a delay of two days on that part of our path nearest the Sioux trader’s fort, we all turned back, but not entirely relinquishing the object of our journey, we returned to the vicinity of the village at the Chief Mountain, hoping we might find some of our enemies there. We had many horses, and the young men rode so recklessly and noisily about, that there was no chance of coming near them. After leaving Chief Mountain, and proceeding some distance into the plain in our way towards home, we found we were followed by a party of about one hundred Sioux.

At the Gaunenoway, a considerable river which heads in the Chief Mountain and runs into Red River several days’ journey from Lake Traverse, Pe-shau-ba quarrelled with an Ojibbeway called Ma-me-no-guaw-sink, on account of a horse I had taken from some Crees who were the friends of the Assinneboins, by whom I had long before been robbed of mine. This man having killed a Cree, was now anxious to do something to gain friends among that people. It happened that Pe-shau-ba and myself were travelling together at a little distance from the main body, and I was leading the horse I had taken when Ma-me-no-guaw-sink came up to us, accompanied by a few friends, and demanded the horse. Pe-shau-ba, cocking his gun, placed the muzzle of it to his heart, and so intimidated him by threats and reproaches, that he desisted. The Ottawwaws, to the number of ten, now stopped, Pe-shau-ba remaining at their head, and fell in the rear of the main body in order to avoid farther trouble on account of this horse, all of them being apparently unwilling that I should relinquish it.

There were four men of this war party who walked, in six days, from the Chief Mountain to Pembinah, but our band, though many of us had horses, took ten days to travel the same distance. One of the four was an old man, an Ottawwaw, of Wau-gun-uk-kezze, or L’Arbre Croche. When I arrived at Pembinah, I found my family had gone down to the mouth of the Assinneboin. After the separation of our party, most of my particular friends having left my route at Pembinah, my horse was stolen from me at night. I knew who had taken him, and as the man was encamped at no great distance, I took my arms in my hands, and went in the morning to retake him. On my way I met Pe-shau-ba, who, without a word of enquiry, comprehended my purpose, and peremptorily forbade me to proceed. Pe-shau-ba was a good man, and had great influence with the people of his band. I might have gone on to take my horse, contrary to his positive injunction, but I did not choose to do so, and therefore returned with him on my way. I had now no moccasins, and felt so much irritated on account of the loss of my horse, that I could not eat. When I arrived at home, in two day’s walk from Pembinah, I found I was worn out with fatigue, my feet swollen and raw, and I found my family starving. Three months I had been absent, my time having been occupied in long and toilsome marches, all resulting in nothing.

It was necessary for me to go to hunt immediately, although the condition of my feet was such that I could not stand without great pain. I had the good fortune to kill a moose the first time I went out, on the morning after my return. The same day snow fell about two feet deep, which enabled me to kill game in great plenty.

CHAPTER IX.

Visit to several Assinneboin villages, in pursuit of stolen horses—peculiar customs—I seize a horse belonging to an Assinneboin—war excursion to Turtle Mountain—battle at a village of the Mandans—doctrines of the Shawnese prophet—drunkenness, and its effects.

I had been at home but a short time when I heard that the Assinneboins had boasted of taking my horse. As I was preparing to go in pursuit of them, an Ojibbeway who had often tried to dissuade me from my attempt to recover him, gave me a horse on condition that I would not attempt to retake my own, accordingly, for some time, I said no more about it.

Having spent the winter at the mouth of the Assinneboin, I went to make sugar at Great Wood River, but here it was told me that the Assinneboins were still boasting of having taken my horse from me, and I, with some persuasion, prevailed upon Wa-me-gon-a-biew to accompany me in an attempt to recover him. At the end of four days’ journey, we came to the first Assinneboin village, ten miles from the Mouse River trading house. This village consisted of about thirty leather lodges. We were discovered before we came to the village, as the Assinneboins, being a revolted band of the Sioux, and in alliance with the Ojibbeways, are in constant apprehension of attacks from the former, and therefore always station some persons to watch for the approach of strangers. The quarrel which resulted in the separation of this band of the Bwoir-nug, or “roasters,” as the Ojibbeways call the Sioux, originated in a dispute concerning a woman, and happened, as we are informed, not many years ago. So many Ojibbeways and Crees now live among them that they are most commonly able to understand something of the Ojibbeway language, though their own dialect is very unlike it, resembling closely that of the Sioux.

One of the men who came out to meet us was Ma-me-no-kwaw-sink, with whom Pe-shau-ba had quarrelled some time before on my account. When he came up to us, he asked whither we were going. I told him, “I am come for our horses which the Assinneboins stole.” “You had better,” said he, “return as you came, for if you go to the village they will take your life.” To these threats I paid no attention, but enquired for Ba-gis-kun-nung, the men of whose family had taken our horses. They replied they could not tell; that Ba-gis-kun-nung and his sons had, soon after the return of the war party, gone to the Mandans, and had not yet come back; that when they came among the Mandans, the former owner of my mare, recognizing the animal, had taken her from the son of Ba-gis-kun-nung; but that the latter contrived to remunerate himself by stealing a fine black horse, with which he escaped, and had not been heard of since. Wa-me-gon-a-biew being discouraged, and perhaps intimidated by the reception we met in this village, endeavoured to dissuade me from going farther, and when he found he could not prevail, he left me to pursue my horse by myself, and returned home. I would not be discouraged, but determined to visit every village and camp of the Assinneboins rather than return without my horse. I went to the Mouse River trading house, and having explained the object of my journey, they gave me two pounds of powder and thirty balls, with some knives and small articles, and directions to enable me to find the next village. As I was pursuing my journey by myself, I had occasion to cross a very wide prairie, in which I discovered at a distance, something lying on the ground, resembling a log of wood. As I knew there could be no wood in such a place unless it were dropped by some person, I thought it was most probably some article of dress, or perhaps the body of a man, who might have perished on a journey, or when out hunting. I made my approach cautiously, and at length discovered it was a man, lying on his belly with his gun in his hands, and waiting for wild geese to fly over. His attention was fixed in the direction opposite that on which I approached, and I came very near him without being discovered, when he rose and discharged his gun at a flock of geese. I now sprang upon him. The noise of hawk bells and the silver ornaments of my dress, notified him of my approach, but I caught him in my arms before he had time to make any resistance, his gun being unloaded. When he saw himself captured, he cried out “Assinneboin,” and I answered, “Ojibbeway.” We were both glad to find that we could treat each other as friends, and though we could not converse on account of the dissimilarity of our dialects, I motioned to him to sit down upon the ground beside me, with which request he immediately complied. I gave him a goose I had killed not long before, and after resting for a few moments, signified to him that I would accompany him to his lodge. A walk of about two hours, brought us in sight of his village, and when we entered it, I followed him immediately to his lodge. As I entered after him, I saw the old man and woman cover their heads with their blankets, and my companion immediately entered a small lodge, merely large enough to admit one, and to conceal him from the remainder of the family. Here he remained, his food being handed to him by his wife, but though secluded from sight, he maintained, by conversation, some intercourse with those without. When he wished to pass out of the lodge, his wife gave notice to her parents, and they concealed their heads, and again, in the same manner, when he came in.