OWINDIA:

_A TRUE TALE OF THE MACKENZIE RIVER INDIANS_, NORTH-WEST AMERICA. 

THE STORY OF OWINDIA. 

A pretty open spot on the bank of the Great Mackenzie River was theplace where Owindia first saw light. One of the universal pineforests formed the back ground, while low shrubs and willows, with apleasant, green carpet of mossy grass, were the immediatesurroundings of the camp. 

The banks of the Mackenzie often rise to a height of sixty feetabove the river. This was the case in the spot where Michel theHunter had pitched his tent, or "lodge" as it is called. A number ofother Indians were camped near, led thither by the fish which is soabundant in our Northern rivers, and which proves a seldom failingresource when the moose or reindeer go off their usual track. Thewoods also skirting the river furnish large supplies of rabbits, which even the Indian children are taught to snare. Beavers too aremost numerous in this district, and are excellent food, while theirfurs are an important article of trade with the Hudson Bay Company;bringing to the poor Indian his much prized luxury of tea or tobacco, a warm blanket or ammunition. As the Spring comes on the women of thecamps will be busy making "sirop" from the birch trees, and dressingthe skins of moose or deer which their husbands have killed in thechase. There are also the canoes to be made or repaired for usewhenever the eight months' fetters of ice shall give way. 

Thus we see the Indian camps offer a pleasant spectacle of acontented and busy people; and if they lack the refinement andluxuries of more civilized communities, they have at all events thisadvantage, --they have never learnt to need them. 

Michel, the Indian, was a well-skilled, practised hunter. Given awindy day, a good depth of snow, and one or two moose tracks on itsfair surface, and there was not much chance of the noble beast'sescape from Michel's swift tread and steady aim. Such is theexcitement of moose-hunting; and such the intense acuteness of themoose-deer's sense of smell and hearing, that an Indian hunter willoften strip himself of every bit of clothing, and creep stealthilyalong on his snow-shoes, lest by the slightest sound he should betrayhis presence, and allow his prey to escape. And Michel was as skilleda trapper as he was hunter; from the plump little musk-rat which hecaught by the river brink to the valuable marten, sable, beaver, otter, skunk, &c. , &c. , he knew the ways and habits of each one; hewould set his steel trap with as true an intuition as if he hadreceived notice of the coming of his prey. Many a silver fox hadfound himself outdone in sharpness and cunning by Michel; many a lynxor wild cat had fought for dear life, and may-be, made _one_escape from Michel's snares, leaving perhaps one of its paws in tokenof its fierce struggle, yet had perished after all, being allured insome opposite direction by tempting bait, or irresistible scent laidby the same skilful hand. In bear hunting also Michel was an adept, and he lacked not opportunity for this sport on the banks of theMackenzie. Many a time would he and, perhaps, one other Indian glidedown the river in his swift canoe, and suddenly the keen observanteyes would detect a bear walking stealthily along by the side of thestream! In an instant the two men would exchange signals, paddleswould be lifted, and, every movement stilled, the men slowly and'cannily' would make for shore. In spite of all, however, Bruin hasheard them, he slakes his thirst no longer in the swift-running rivernor feasts luxuriously on the berries growing by the shore. The woodsare close at hand, and with a couple of huge strides he reaches them, and is making with increasing speed for his lair; but Michel is hismatch for stealth and swiftness, and when one sense fails, another issummoned to his assistance. The eye can no longer see the prey, butthe ear can yet detect here and there a broken twig revealing theexact track it has taken. With gun carried low, and treading on inbreathless silence and attention, the hunters follow, and soon a shotis heard, succeeded by another, and then a shout which proclaims poorBruin's death. Alas, that gun which has done such good service forhis family, which was purchased by many a month's labour, andcarefully chosen with an Indian's observant eye: what misery andcrime was it not to effect even in that very spot where now thelittle group of Indians dwelt happy and peaceful, little dreaming ofthe deed of violence which would soon drive them panic-stricken fromtheir homes!

A very marked feature in the character of the Indian is jealousy. How far the white man may be answerable, if not for the first impulseof this, at all events for its development, it were perhaps betternot to inquire. The schoolboy is often first taught jealousy by theundisguised partiality for his more attractive or highly giftedcompanion, evinced by his teachers; the Indians are at present inmost respects but children, and they are keenly sensitive to thetreatment they receive from those, who, in spite of many benefitsbestowed, they cannot but look upon as invaders of their soil, andintruders upon some of their prerogatives. In our Mission work wefind this passion of jealousy often coming into play. It is mostdifficult to persuade the parents to trust us with their children, not because they doubt our care of them, but for fear of theirchildren's affections being alienated from their own people. It issometimes hard for the same reason to get the parents to bring theirchildren to Holy Baptism: "You will give my boy another name, and hewill not be 'like mine' any more. "

And Michel the Hunter was but an average type of the Indiancharacter; of a fiery, ardent nature, and unschooled affections, henever forgot a wrong done him in early youth by a white man. Hissweetheart was taken from him, cruelly, heartlessly, mercilessly, during his absence, without note or sign or warning, while he wasworking with all energy to make a home for the little black-eyedmaiden, who had promised to be his bride. If Michel could but oncehave seen the betrayer to have given vent to his feelings of scorn, rage, and indignation! To have asked him, as he longed to ask him, ifthis was his Christian faith, his boasted white man's creed! To haveasked if in those thousand miles he had traversed to reach the redman's home, there were no girls suited to his mind, save only the onebetrothed to Indian Michel! He would have asked, too, if it were notenough to invade his country, build houses, plant his barley andpotatoes, and lay claim to his moose-deer and bear, his furs andpeltries, but he must needs touch, with profane hands, his hometreasures, and meddle with that which "even an Indian" holds sacred?It might, perchance, have been better for Michel if he could havespoken out and unburdened himself of his deep sense of wrong andinjury, which from henceforth lay like a hot iron in his heart. TheItalian proverb says, "It is better to swear than to brood;" andwhether this be true or not, it is certain that having to swallow hisresentment, and endure his agony in silence, embittered Michel'sspirit, and made him the jealous, sensitive, taciturn man heafterwards became. And among many other consequences of his youth'stragedy was an unconquerable horror of the white man; not but that, after a time, he would work for a white man, and trade with him, solong as he need not look upon him. He would send even his wife (forMichel took unto him a wife after some years) to Fort Simpson withhis furs to trade, rather than trust himself in the neighbourhood ofthe "Tene Manula" (white man). Once, it was said, that Michel hadeven so far overcome his repugnance as to pitch his camp in theneighbourhood of Fort Simpson. He was a husband and a father then, and there were a number of Indians encamped in the same locality. Itmight be hoped that under these circumstances the past would beforgotten, and that the man would bury his resentment, and extend afriendly hand to those, not a few, among the white men who wished himwell; but jealousy is the "rage of a man. " In the middle of the nightMichel roused his wife and little ones, declaring that the white manwas coming to do them some mischief. Bearing his canoe upon his headhe soon launched it off, and in his mad haste to be away he even lefta number of his chattels behind. 

Only once more did Michel appear at the Fort, and that on amemorable occasion which neither he nor any who then beheld him willbe likely to forget. 

It was on a dark, cold night in the winter of 1880, that a dog-sleigh, laden with furs for the Company, appeared at Fort Simpson, and having discharged his load at the fur store, the sleigh-driver, who was none other than Accomba, the wife of Indian Michel, proceededto the small "Indian house, " as it is called, to spend the rest ofthe night among her own people. She was a pleasing-looking youngwoman, with bright expressive eyes, and a rather melancholy cast ofcountenance. She was completely enveloped in a large green blanket, from the folds of which peeped over her shoulder an infant of a fewmonths old, warm and comfortable in its moss-bag. A blessedinstitution is that of the moss-bag to the Indian infant; andscarcely less so to the mother herself. Yet, indeed, it requires nosmall amount of patience, skill, and labour before this Northernluxury can be made ready for its tiny occupant. Through a good partof the long winter nights has the mother worked at the fine bead-workwhich must adorn the whole front of the moss-bag. By a strangeintuitive skill she has traced the flowers and leaves and delicatelittle tendrils, the whole presenting a marvellously artisticappearance, both in form and in well-combined colours. Then must themoss be fetched to completely line the bag, and to form both bed andwrapping for the little one. For miles into the woods will the Indianwomen hike to pick the soft moss which is only to be met with incertain localities. They will hang it out on bush and shrub to dryfor weeks before it is wanted, and then trudge back again to bring ithome, in cloths or blankets swung on their often already-burdenedshoulders. Then comes the picking and cleaning process, and thawingthe now frozen moss before their camp fires. Every leaf and twig mustbe removed, that nothing may hurt the little baby limbs. And now allis prepared; the sweet downy substance is spread out as pillow forthe baby head, and both couch and covering for the rest of the body. Then the bag is laced up tight, making its small tenant as warm andcozy as possible; only the little face appears--the bonnie, saucyIndian baby face, singularly fair for the first few months of life, with the black bead-like eyes, and soft silken hair, thick even inbabyhood. 

Accomba threw off her blanket, and swinging round her baby, sheseated herself on the floor by the side of the roaring fire, on whichthe friendly Indians heaped billet after billet of fine dry wood, till the whole room was lighted up by the bright and cheerful blaze. It was not long before a number of other Indians entered, --mostunceremoniously, as Indians are wont to do, and seated themselves inall parts of the room, for they had heard the sound of sleigh bells, and were at once curious to know the business of the new arrival. Auniversal hand-shaking took place, for all were friendly, beingmostly of the same tribe, and more or less closely all connected. Pipes were then lighted alike by men and women, and a kettle of teawas soon singing on the fire. Accomba draws out from the recesses ofher dog sleigh one or two huge ribs of dried meat, black andunsavoury to look at, but forming very good food for all that. 

This is portioned out among the assembled company; a bladder ofgrease is added, and seized with avidity by one of the party; aportion of this was then melted down and eaten with the dried meat;while the steaming tea, sipped out of small tin cups, and takenwithout sugar or milk, was the "loving cup" of that dark-visagedcompany. And far into the morning hours they sat sipping theirfavourite beverage, and discussing the last tidings from the woods. Every item of news is interesting, whether from hunter's camp, ortrapper's wigwam. There are births, marriages, and deaths, to bepondered over and commented upon; the Indian has his chief, to whomhe owes deference and vows allegiance; he has his party badge, bothin religion and politics; what wonder then that even the long winternight of the North, seemed far too short for all the important knottypoints which had to be discussed and settled!

"You have had good times at the little Lake, " said Peter, a brotherof Michel's, who was deliberately chewing a piece of dried meat heldtight between his teeth, while with his pocketknife he severed itsconnection with the piece in his hand, to the imminent peril of hisnose. 

"I wish I were a freedman: I should soon be off to the Lake myself!I am sick of working for the Company. I did not mind it when they setme to haul meat from the hunters, or to trap furs for them, but nowthey make me saw wood, or help the blacksmith at his dirty forge:what has a 'Tene Jua' to do with such things as these?"

"And I am sick of starving!" said another. "This is the third winterthat _something_ has failed us, --first the rabbits, then thefish ran short; and now we hear that the deer are gone into a newtrack, and there is not a sign of one for ten miles round the Fort. And the meat is so low" added the last speaker, "that the 'bigMaster' says he has but fifty pounds of dried meat in the store, andif Indians don't come in by Sunday, we are to be sent off to hunt forourselves and the wives and children are to go to Little Lake wherethey may live on fish. "

"We have plenty of fish, it is true, " said Accomba; "we dried a goodnumber last Fall, besides having one net in the lake all the winter;but I would not leave the Company, Peter, if I were you, --you arebetter off here, man, in spite of your 'starving times!' You _do_ getyour game every day, come what may, and a taste of flour every week, anda little barley and potatoes. I call that living like a 'big master. '"

"I had rather be a free man and hunt for myself, " put in anotherspeaker; "the meat does not taste half so good when another hand thanyour own has killed it; and as for flour and barley and potatoes, well, our forefathers got on well enough without them before thewhite man came into our country, I suppose we should learn to dowithout them again? For my part, I like a roe cake as well as anywhite man's bread. "

"But the times are harder than they used to be for the Tene Jua(Indian men) in the woods, " said Accomba with a sigh; "the deer andthe moose go off the track more than they used to do; it is only atFort Rae, on the Big Lake, that meat never seems to fail; for us poorMackenzie River people there is hardly a winter that we are far fromstarvation. "

"But you can always pick up something at the Forts:" replied aformer speaker; "the masters are not such bad men if we are reallystarving, and then there is the Mission: we are not often turned awayfrom the Mission without a taste of something. "

"All very good for you, " said Michel's wife; "who like the white manand know how to take him, but my man will have nothing to say to him. The very sight of a pale face makes him feel bad, and sends him intoone of his fits of rage and madness. Oh, it has been dreadful, dreadful, " continued the poor woman, while her voice melted into atruly Indian wail, "for my children I kept alive, or else I wouldhave thrown myself into the river many a time last year. "

"Bah, " said Peter, who being the brother of Michel, would, with trueIndian pertinacity, take part with him whatever were his offences;and, moreover, looking with his native instinct upon woman as the"creature" of society, whose duty it was to endure uncomplaining, whatever her masters laid upon her. "Bah; you women are alwaysgrumbling and bewailing yourselves; for my part, if I have to starvea little, Kulu (the meat) is all the sweeter when it comes. I supposeMichel has killed enough to give you many a merry night, seated roundthe camp fire with some good fat ribs or a moose nose, and a finekettle of tea; then you wrap yourself in your blanket, or light yourpipe and feel like a 'big master. '"

Peter's picture of comfort and enjoyment pleased the Indians, andthey laughed heartily and testified their approval, all but poorAccomba. She hung her head, and sadly fondled the baby at her breast. "You may laugh, boys, " she said at length, "and you know whatstarving is as well as I do, though you are pretty well off now; itis not for myself I speak, I can bear that kind of thing as well asother women, but it comes hard for the children. Before Se Tene, myman, killed his last moose, we were starving for nearly two moons; alittle dried fish and a rat or two, and now and then a rabbit, was wegot: even the fish failed for some time, and there was hardly a duckor partridge to be seen. We had to eat two of the dogs at last, but, poor things, they had little flesh on their bones. "

"Eh! eh! e--h!" exclaimed the Indians, who however undemonstrativeunder ordinary circumstances, can be full of sympathy where they canrealize the affecting points of a story. 

"And the children, " asked one of the party, "I suppose theneighbours helped you a little with them?"

"One of my cousins took little Tetsi for a while, " replied the poorwoman, "and did what she could for him, but they were all short ofgame as we were, only their men went off after the deer, and plenty, of them got to the lakes for duck; but Michel, --"

"Well, what did he do? I suppose he was off with his gun the firstof any of them?" said Peter. "I'll venture there shall not be a mooseor deer within twenty miles, but Michel the Hunter shall smell himout. "

"Yes, he went at last, " sighed Accomba; "but my man has had one ofhis ugly fits upon him for all the winter; he would not hunt anywherenear the Fort, for fear of meeting a white face; and he vowed I wasmaking friends with them, and bidding them welcome to the camp, andso he was afraid to leave it; and then at last, when I begged him togo and get food for his children, he swore at me and called me a badname, and took up his gun to shoot me. "

"Oh, I suppose he only said that in sport, " said another of theparty; and yet it was plain that Accomba's story had produced a greatsensation among her auditors. 

"_In sport!_" exclaimed Accomba, now fairly roused to excitement by theapparent incredulity of her listeners; "_In sport_, say you? No, no, Michel knows well what he _says_, though sometimes I think he is hardlyresponsible for his actions; but look you, boys, my husband vowed toshoot me once, and I stayed his arm and fell on my knees and tried torouse him to pity; but I will do so no more, and if he threatens meagain I will let him accomplish his fell purpose, and not a cry or soundshall ever escape my lips. But you, Tetsi, " continued the poor woman, who was now fairly sobbing, "you are his brother, you might speak to himand try to bring him to reason; and if I die, you must take care of mypoor children, --promise me that, Tetsi and Antoine, they are your ownflesh and blood, do not let them starve. 'Niotsi Cho, ' the Great Spiritwill give it you back again. "

There was a great silence among the Indians when Accomba hadfinished speaking. An Indian has great discernment, and not only cansoon discover where the pathos of a story lies, but he will read asby intuition how much of it is true or false. Moreover, Michel'scharacter was well known among them all, and his eccentricities hadoften excited their wonder and sometimes their censure. The poorwoman's story appealed to each one of them: most of all did it appealto the heart of Sarcelle her brother, who was another occupant of theroom that evening. 

"It is shocking, it is monstrous. " exclaimed he at full length. "Mysister, you shall come with me. I will work for you, I will hunt foryou and your children. Michel shall not threaten you again, he is a'Nakani' man; he does not know what he says or what he does, he is abad 'Nakani. '"

"I think some one has made medicine on him, " said another; "he ispossessed, and will get worse till the spell is off him. "

This medicine making among the Northern Indians is one of the mostfirmly rooted of all their superstitions. The term is by no meanswell chosen or descriptive of the strange ungodly rite; it is inreality a charm or spell which one man is supposed to lay uponanother. It is employed for various purposes and by different meansof operations. You will hear of one man 'making medicine' toascertain what time the Company's boats may be expected, or whencertain sledges of meat may come to the Fort. Another man is sick andthe medicine-man is summoned, and a drum is beaten during the nightwith solemn monotonous 'tum, tum, tum', and certain confidentialcommunications take place between the Doctor and his patient, duringwhich the sick man is supposed to divulge every secret he maypossess, and on the perfect sincerity of his revelation must dependhis recovery. 

The accompaniments of this strange scene vary according tocircumstances. In some cases a basin of blood of some animal is madeuse of; in most instances a knife or dagger plays an important part. I have seen one of these, which, by-the-by, is most difficult toobtain, and can only be seen by special favour. It is made of bone orivory, beautifully carved and notched at the edges, with various dotsor devices upon it, and all, both dots and notches, arranged ingroups of sevens! After some hours the spell may be supposed to work, the sick man feels better, the excitement of the medicine-manincreases, all looks promising; yet at this moment should a whiteface enter the house or tent, still more, should he venture to toucheither doctor or patient, the spell would be instantly broken, andthe whole process must be commenced anew. 

The spell has been wrought upon a poor Cree Woman at Ile la C. Sheis perfectly convinced as to who did her the injury, and also that itwas her hands which it was intended should suffer. Accordingly eachSpring, for some years past, her hands are rendered powerless by afoul-looking, scaly eruption, which comes over them. Indians havebeen known to climb an almost inaccessible rock, and strippingthemselves of every vestige of clothing, to lie there without food ordrink, singing and invoking the wonder-worker until the revelation ofsome secret root was made known, by which their design for good orevil might be accomplished!

A Cree Indian, a man of sound education, related once the followingstory:--"I was suffering in the year 18----from great distress ofbody, and after seeing a doctor and feeling no better, I began tothink I must be the victim of some medicine-man. I thought over myadventures of the last year or two, to discover if there were any whohad reason to wish me evil. Yes, there was one man, a Swampy Indian. I had quarrelled with him, and then we had had words; and I spoke, well, I spoke bitterly (which I ought not to have done, for he wasthe injured man) and he vowed to revenge himself upon me. This wassome years since, however, and I had never given him a thought sincethe time of our quarrel, but now I was certain a spell was over me, and he must have wrought it, --I knew of no other enemy, and I wasdetermined to overcome it or die. So I saddled my horse and rodeacross country for thirty miles till I reached the dwelling of theSwampy. The man was outside, and started when he saw me, whichconvinced me more than ever that I was on the right scent. I put upmy horse and followed my man into the house whither he had retreated;and wasting no time, came to the point at once. Drawing my revolverand pointing it to his heart, 'Villain, ' I exclaimed, 'you have mademedicine on me: tell me your secret or I shall shoot you dead. ' Inever saw a more cowed and more wretched-looking being than my manbecame. I expected at least some resistance to my command; but heoffered none; for without attempting to stir or even look me in theface, he smiled a ghastly smile, and muttered, 'It has done its workthen--well, I am glad! Look in your horse-saddle, and never provokeme more. ' I hesitated for a moment whether to loosen my hold upon theman, and to believe so improbable a story; but on the whole I deemedit better to do so. He had fulfilled his threat of revenge, and hadcaused me months of suffering in body and mind; he knew me wellenough to be sure that I was in earnest when I told him that his lifewould be forfeited if the spell were not removed. So I released myhold and quitted the house. On cutting open my saddle I discoveredthat the whole original lining had been removed and replaced by animmense number of baneful roots and herbs, which I burnt on the spot. How this evil deed had been effected I could not even surmise, but soit was, and from that hour I was a different man--my mind recoveredits equilibrium, I was no longer affected by pain and distress ofbody, or haunted by nightly visions. Those who smile at the medicine-man, and are sceptical as to his power, may keep to their ownopinions; I believe that the Almighty has imbued many of Hiscreatures, both animate and inanimate, with a subtle power for goodor evil, and that it is given to some men to evoke that power and tobring about results which it is impossible for the uninitiated toforesee or to avert!"

But we have wandered too far from Accomba and her sad history. Wemust now transport the reader to that portion of the shores of theMackenzie which was described at the opening of our story. The sceneindeed should be laid a few miles lower down the river than that atfirst described, but the aspect and condition of things is but littlealtered. A number of camps are there, pitched within some ten, twenty, and thirty yards of each other. The dark brown, smoke-tintedleather tents or lodges, have a certain air of comfort andpeacefulness about them, which is in no wise diminished, by the smokecurling up from the aperture at the top, or the voices of childrenrunning in and out from the tent door. These are the tents ofMackenzie River Indians, speaking the Slave tongue, and mostly knownby name to the Company's officers at the neighbouring forts ortrading posts, known also to the Bishop and Clergy at the Missionstations, who have often visited these Indians and held services forthem at their camps, or at the little English churches at FortSimpson, Fort Norman, etc. Etc. , and those little dark-eyed childrenare, with but few exceptions, baptized Christians. Many of them haveattended the Mission Schools for the few weeks in Spring or Fall, when their parents congregate round the forts; they can con overportions of their Syllabic Prayer-books, and find their place in thelittle Hymn books, for "O come, all ye faithful, " "Alleluia! sing toJesus;" and "Glory to thee, my God, this night, " while such anthemsas "I will arise, " and others are as familiar to the Slave Indians asto our English children. Yes, it is a Christian community we arelooking at; and yet, sad to say, it is in one of those homes that thedark deed was committed which left five little ones motherless, andspread terror and confusion among the whole camp. 

It was a lovely morning in May, 1880. The ice upon the MackenzieRiver had but lately given way, having broken up with one tremendouscrash. Huge blocks were first hurled some distance down the river, then piled up one above another until they reached the summit of thebank fifty or sixty feet high, and being deposited there in hugeunsightly masses, were left to thaw away drop by drop, a processwhich it would take some five or six weeks to accomplish. Some of themen had lately returned from a bear hunt, being, however, disappointed of their prey--a matter of less consideration thanusual, for Bruin, being but lately roused from his long winter sleep, was in a less prime condition than he would be a few weeks later. Michel, the hunter, had one of his "ugly fits" upon him;--this wasknown throughout the camps. The women only shrugged their shoulders, and kept clear of his lodge. The men paid him but little attention, even when he skulked in for awhile after dark to smoke his pipe bytheir camp fire. But on this morning neither Michel nor his wife hadbeen seen outside their camp; only one or two of the children hadturned out at a late hour and looked wistfully about, as if longingfor someone to give them food and other attention. 

Suddenly, from within the lodge a shot was heard, and a terriblemuffled sound, which none heard without a shudder. Then came theshrieks of the terrified children, who ran out of the lodge towardstheir neighbours. By this time all the Indians were aware thatsomething horrible had occurred in Michel's camp, and from everylodge, far and near, they hurried out with looks of dread andinquiry. The farthest lodge was not more than sixty yards from thatof Michel, and the nearest was hardly a dozen yards removed, althougha little further back from the edge of the bank. When the first manentered the lodge it could not have been more than a few secondsafter the firing of the fatal shot, for Michel was still standing, gun in hand, and his poor wife sighing forth the last fewbreathings of her sad and troubled life. She had kept her word, andmet her death without one cry or expostulation! It might have beenheard from far, that groan of horror and dismay which sprungspontaneous from the one first witnessing the ghastly scene, and thenfrom the whole of the assembled Indians. 

"Se tue! Se tue!" "My sister, my sister!" cried the women, as one byone they gazed upon the face of the departed; then kneeling down, they took hold of the poor still warm hand, or raised the head to seeif life were indeed extinct; then as they found that it was truly so, there arose within that lodge the loud, heart-piercing Indian wail, which, once heard, can never be forgotten. Far, far through thetangled wood it spread, and across the swift river; there is nothinglike that wail for pathos, for strange succession of unusual tones, for expression of deep need--of the heart-sorrow of sufferinghumanity!

In the meantime the chief actor in that sad tragedy had let theinstrument of his cruelty fall from his hand; it was immediatelyseized by one of the Indians and flung into the river. Michel made noresistance to this, albeit even at that moment it might have occurredto him that being deprived of his gun, he was shorn of well nigh hisonly means of subsistence. He turned to leave his tent, and with ascared, wild look, slowly raised the blanket which hung at itsentrance; but he was not suffered to escape so easily: the men of thesurrounding camps were gathered close outside, and as with oneconsent, they laid hold of the miserable culprit and pinned him tothe spot; then ensued a fierce Babel of tongues, each one urging hisown opinion as to the course of treatment befitting the occasion. Thedin of these many voices, mingled with the sad wail of the women inthe tent, made an uproar and confusion which it would be hard todescribe. It ended, however, by one of the Indians producing a longcoil of babiche, and to this another added some pieces of rope, andwith these they proceeded to bind their prisoner hand and foot, andthen again to bind him to one of the nearest trees. Having succeededin doing this effectually, but one thought seemed to seize the wholecommunity, --to flee from the spot. But one other duty remained to beperformed, and this they now prepared to carry out. 

The funeral rites of the North American Indian, it need hardly beremarked, are of the very simplest description; indeed, it is only oflate years, and since Christianity has spread among them, that theyhave been persuaded to adopt the rites and ceremonies of Christianburial. Formerly, in many instances, the body of the deceased wouldbe wrapped in its blanket, and then hoisted up on a wooden stageerected for the purpose; after which the friends of the departedwould make off with the utmost speed imaginable. Sometimes even thistribute to a lost friend would not be forthcoming; the Indian has anunspeakable dread of death, and of the dead; from the moment that theheart of his best beloved has ceased to beat, he turns from thelifeless form, nor cares to look upon it again. The new blanketwhich, perhaps, was only worn a day or two by the departed, will now, with scrupulous care, be wrapped around his dead body; for althoughhe were blanketless himself, no Indian could be persuaded to use thatwhich had once been a dead man's property. Then, it may be, thecorpse would be left lying in the leather lodge or tent, which wouldafterwards be closely fastened up; and it has sometimes devolved uponthe Missionaries to spend the night outside, watching the camp andkeeping a fire burning in order to ward off dogs or wolves, whichwould otherwise undoubtedly have broken into the tent and made shortwork of the lifeless body deserted by all its friends and neighboursand dearest connexions. 

In the case of the wife of Michel, however, there arose a feelingamong her people in the camp, which appeared to be unanimous, not toleave her poor mangled body deserted in the lodge, but at once tocommit it to the earth. Accordingly the women ceased their wailing, there was a call for action, and each one bestirred himself with asmuch earnestness and self-restraint as possible. Two or three of themen started off to dig the grave (a work of no small labour at thattime when, be it remembered, the frost was hardly out of the ground), others gathered round the women who were wrapping the deceased in herblanket, with her shawl and handkerchief, her beaded leggings, andmoccasins, which were hunted out, one by one, and put on her withloving, albeit trembling hands. Then the poor lifeless form waslifted out of the tent, and carried a few yards further back from theriver, to where the grave was being made ready. Here all was soonprepared; silently, reverently the body was lowered into its shallowresting place; the earth was thrown over it, then a young fir-treewas cut down, shorn of its bark, and driven upright in the ground, and a few streamers of coloured rag or ribbon, furnished by thewomen, tied on to the top of the pole. The task was ended, and theyoung mother of twenty-eight years, who awoke that morning in thefull bloom of health and vigour, was left to slumber on in that longsleep, which shall be broken only on the morning of the Resurrection!

And now, indeed, there was nothing more to be done, they must fleefrom that desecrated spot as soon as possible. With one accord, everytent and lodge was taken down, bundles were packed, canoes werelifted into the water, and in less than two hours from thecommencement of these operations, the whole work of packing anddislodging was effected, and six good-sized canoes, with three orfour smaller ones, were bearing their freight of men, women, andchildren, to the opposite bank of the river. 

In describing the events of that morning but little mention has beenmade of Michel's children; they were not, however, forgotten. As soonas the first shock of the discovery was over, and the women had alittle expended their feelings and emotions in the tears and wail ofsorrow, they began to turn their attention to the motherless littleones. And first they gave them food, which would be an Indian'spreliminary step under every emergency; then, they folded kindmotherly arms around them, and imprinted warm kisses on the terror-stricken faces; and by all such fond endearments they strove to makethem forget their sorrow: for an Indian, passive and undemonstrativeas he may be under ordinary circumstances, is full of love andtenderest offices of pity when real occasion calls them forth. It wasthus, then, that the children were taken and dispersed among thevarious families in the rapid flight from their recent campinggrounds. The canoes had started, and were being paddled at full speedacross the river, when suddenly, to the dismay and amazement of everyone, the figure of Michel was seen standing by the river brink! Had aspectre at that moment presented itself before them, they couldhardly have been more astonished; but the poor man's actions were atall times strange and unaccountable; and that he should have releasedhimself in so short an interval from his bonds, was only consistentwith the whole character of the man who had always proved himselfequal to every emergency, and defied any attempt to thwart hisdesigns. The language used by the miserable man on the presentoccasion was bitter and abusive; it related to his children, who hesaid were being taken away that they might be delivered to the whiteman; but his words fell idly upon the ears of the Indians, who onlyshuddered as they gazed upon his dark visage now distorted withpassion; and his whole figure, to which portions of the cords whichhad bound him were still clinging, presenting the appearance of a manpossessed, the veritable Nakani--(wild man of the woods, ) in whom theIndians believe, and whom they so greatly dread. 

It was not until the Indians had reached the other side of theriver, which at that part may be a mile and a quarter wide, that theycollected together and became aware that _one of the children wasmissing!_ That this should be so, and that in their terror andhaste to depart they had forgotten or overlooked the baby, still anursling, who must have been crawling about outside the camp duringthe fatal tragedy of that morning, may seem strange. More strangestill, that not one of that party should have thought of going backto seek her. But the female infant occupies an insignificant placeamong those uncivilized people: the birth of one of them is greetedwith but a small fraction of the honours with which a male childwould be welcomed. 

And into the causes of the death of not a few of these girl-babiesit would perhaps be painful to enquire; but many a poor Indian motherwill delude herself into the belief that she has done a merciful actwhen the little infant of a few hours' life is buried deep under thesnow, the mother's sin undiscovered, and "my baby saved fromstarvation. "

And so the poor Indians of our story troubled themselves but littleabout the missing babe, and there was certainly a bare possibilitythat the father might come upon it and succour it--for Michel hadalways been a kind father, that he might possibly find and carry thechild to one of the camps not far distant, where it would, for a timeat least, be cared for. The camps therefore were pitched in the newcamping ground; the men of the party were soon off, laying their fishnets; the women, gathering round their camp fires, renewed theirwailing and lamentations; the little ones slept, worn out withfatigue and sorrow, and ere nightfall every sound was stilled. Thestars shone out on those few clustered tents, --and on that solitarygrave the other side of the river. The Aurora spanned the northernsky, and played with bright and flickering light, now tremulous uponthe blue ether, then heaving and expanding, spreading itself out withindescribable grace and beauty. Then it would seem to gather itselftogether, folding its bright rays as an angel might fold its wings:for a time it is motionless, but this is but the prelude to morewondrous movements. Soon it commences to play anew, sending itsflaming streamers in new directions, and now contracting nowexpanding, filling the whole heavens with glory of an ever-changinghue. 

But there is yet another wonder connected with this, which of allthe phenomena of Nature, nearest approaches to the supernatural: ithas uttered a sound--that beautiful sheaf of many tinted flames!Once, twice, we have heard it, or if it were not _that_, it wasan angel's whisper! In that great solitude there is no fear of anyother sound intruding to deceive our ear. There, is such deep silenceover hill and dale that scarcely a leaf would dare to flutterunperceived, and the ear might start to catch the sighing of abreeze. But this faint sound, given on rare occasions by the Aurora, unlike any sound of earth, yet seems in perfect keeping with themarvellous and spiritual beauty of the phenomena, and but increasesand deepens the awe with which it must ever be beheld. 

But on this memorable night there was yet another sound, which fromtime to time broke upon the almost unearthly stillness: this was thecry of an infant, coming from the neighbourhood of Michel's camp. Thelittle one, of whom mention has already been made, had, it seemed, been, forgotten by all, or if once thought of, there was yet noeffort made to save it from the doom which, to all appearance, nowawaited it, --the Indians comforting themselves with the hope that thefather would look after it, and the father supposing, notunnaturally, that all his children were together taken off by theirindignant friends and relatives. And so the little one, who had beenbut a few hours previously nestling in her mother's arms, spent thatcold night of early spring unsheltered and alone on the high bank ofthe river whither she had crawled in the early morning hours. Onecould fancy its plaintive cry increasing in vehemence as the hourswore on, and cold and exhaustion overcame her, with a sense ofweariness and desolation unknown, unfelt, before. There must havebeen a sad feeling of wonder and perplexity at the unwonted silencewhich reigned around her, at the absence of all familiar sounds andvoices. True, her father's dogs were there, faithful watchers throughthe night, who had helped to keep the family in food and fuel throughthe long winter months, hauling the sleighs, laden with moose ordeer's meat; or with good-sized fir trees, morning by morning, fortheir camp fires. Strong, faithful creatures they were, patient andenduring, sharing all the hardships and privations of the Indian, with a fortitude and devotion to be met with nowhere else. It wouldhave been hard enough to tell when those four watchers of the littleone had had their last good meal; the scraps awarded to most dogsseldom could be spared for them, --the very bones, picked bare by thehungry masters, were grudged them, being carefully kept, and brokenand melted down for grease (that most necessary ingredient inNorthern diet. ) Sometimes indeed their famished nature would assertitself, and they would steal something, it might be a rabbit caughtin the snare near the camp (a most tempting bait for a hungry dog) orperchance a choice piece of dried fish hung high, yet not quite highenough to miss the spring of "Capri" or "Muskimo;" or a piece of soaplately purchased of the white man, or even a scrap of moose-skinreserved as shoe leather. All helped to assuage the pangs of hunger, yet these indulgences would be dearly purchased by the inevitablecuffs and blows which followed, till the poor brutes, scarred andbleeding, were fain to creep away and hide in some hole, until theimperative call or whistle made fresh claim for their services. 

How little do we know for whom we are pleading, when, morning bymorning, we beseech our dear Lord to "comfort and succour all themwho in this transitory life are in trouble, sorrow, need, sickness, or any other adversity!" And still less able are we to realize thecountless answers to our feeble prayers already winging their way toevery portion of the inhabited globe; o'er moor and fen, o'er lakeand sea and prairie, in the crowded town and in the vast wilderness. Was it in blessed England, where the sun has long past the meridian;while here in the far North-West, there are but the first faint tintsof early dawn:--was it in England, or in some far distant isle of thesea, or on some outward bound ship--where the sailor finds time butfor a few hurried words of daily prayer--that that heartfeltpetition went up, offered in the Blessed Name, which won for thehelpless infant on the river-bank the succour brought her?

A small birch-bark canoe was wending its way up the river on themorning following that on which Michel's wife had met her death. Itcame from Fort Little Rapids, and was proceeding to Fort Simpson, some 500 miles up the rivet. There were three men in the canoe, aCree, or Swampy Indian, in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, and two Slaves or Etcha-Ottine of Mackenzie River. They were paddlingrapidly, having lately been ashore for breakfast, and being anxiousto reach Fort Simpson as soon as possible. La V. 's custom was to takethe left bank of the river going up stream; but on this occasion, forno particular reason which he could give, he agreed with his men totake the right side. They had not long past the region of the smokybanks [Footnote: "The region of the smoky banks. " These fires, called"Boucanes" by the Canadians, occur in several parts of the Mackenzieand Athabasca district. In the neighbourhood of Lake la Biche, andalso along the miry bank, a number of jets of hot steam find ventthrough the mud, and make the waters of the river bubble. Above FortNorman, on the Mackenzie, in several spots the banks give out smokeand occasionally flames. These fires have existed for ages, and areregarded with the greatest awe and superstition by the Indians. Alittle higher up the river there are hot springs and a smallSolfaferra, like the larger one near Naples. ], when a sound was heardwhich caused the three men simultaneously to stop their paddling andlisten. It occurred again and yet again, at long intervals; one manpronounced it a dog, but La V. Shook his head, and declared it tobe the cry of an infant, and that he would put ashore and ascertainif it were not so. Very faint was that cry, and waxing, even as theylistened, still more feeble; were it dog or infant, the cry wasevidently from one in the very last stage of exhaustion. Soon, asthey drew closer to the bank, the fir poles of the lately forsakencamp suggested the probability of the spot from whence the moansproceeded. The men drew to shore, and hauled up the canoe, while LaV. , whose curiosity was much excited, sprang out and proceeded toclimb the bank. On the summit of the bank close to the edge lay fourdogs; or rather they had lain there, but they all started up, andlooked defiance, as soon as steps were heard approaching theircharge. Close within the circle they had formed around her, lay alittle bundle of rags, wrapping the now nearly lifeless form of athirteen months old child. Apparently, the moans which had met theears of the men in the canoe were her last, for on lifting her up inhis arms, La V. Could detect no signs of life. For how many hours hadshe lain there, without food or warmth, excepting that afforded bythe dogs, who lay closely round her? But there was no time tospeculate. Without a moment's delay the men cut down three or fouryoung fir trees, and proceeded to make a fire; and La V. , folding thelittle one in his "capot"--sat down and tried to bring back life andwarmth into her. In a short, time, a kettle was boiling on the fire;tea was made, and, with womanly tenderness, a few drops wereadministered. After a little time the men had the comfort of seeing afavourable result of their efforts. A little natural warmth returnedto the poor body, some action at the heart was perceptible, and thedark eyes opened and sought--the Mother!

That evening the three men and their small burden reached FortSimpson, where the news of Michel's crime and the dispersion of theIndians was already known. There was no doubt now as to whose therescued child might be, and it was touching to see how one andanother of the Indian mothers came forward and offered to adopt it asher own. Yet it is no light charge for an Indian to undertake to reara child not her own, at so tender an age; and it is especially hardin a country where milk is not to be procured, and where fish orrabbit soup is the only substitute for an infant's natural food. Minneha tried it, however, for a few weeks. She was cousin to poorAccomba, and spent whole nights in wailing and lamenting, saying, "Mysister! my sister! why might I not die instead of you? Oh, my sister, who shall mother your little ones? Who shall work for them? Who shallhunt for them, and bring them the young sayoni skin (sheep skin) fromthe mountains? Who shall bring them meat when they are hungry--thefine fat ribs, the moose nose, or beaver tail, and the fine bladdersof grease, which we cook with the flour from the white man's country?You were proud of your 'tezone' my sister. She had your eyes, dark asthe berries of the sassiketoum, and they flashed fire like the auroraof winter nights. Your laugh was pleasant. Oh, my sister! like thewaters dancing over the stones, it fell: it was good to listen toyour words when we were partners in the days of our childhood. Ourmothers dwelt together; they loved each other with sisters' love;they dwelt together among their own people. Etcha-Ottine were they, the finest of all Tinne-Zua (Indian men)! You laughed and sang, mysister, when we played in the woods together; when we cut the birchtrees to make sirop in the spring time; when we sewed the rogans ofthe birch bark, or plaited the quills of the porcupine into belts, and made our father's gun-cases, or our own leather dresses for theFall. Many a time we went out in the canoe together; we paddled amongthe islands when the berries were ripe; we spent the night ingathering the sweet ripe fruit--moose-berry and moss-berry, thelittle eye-berry, and the sassiketoum. In the summer we went to theForts, and pitched our camps near the white man's house. We sold ourfurs to the 'big master, ' and he gave us blankets and dress pieces, and beads to make us fine leggings; and tobacco, and tea, and shot, and ammunition. Then we went to the Praying man's house, and he keptschool for us every day, and made us read in the big books; and toldus of Niotsi N Dethe (Great God), and the poor, silly wife wholistened to the bad Spirit, and stole the big berry, which God toldher not to steal; and of the blessed Saviour, who was so good andcame down from Heaven to save us, because He saw we were so helpless;and He loved the poor Indian as well as the white man, and, told thepraying men to come and seek after us, and pour water on us, and saygood words for us. Those were good days, my sister! Why did they notlast? Why did bad Michel come and take you away in his canoe? So manywanted you; they wanted you much, and they would have been kind andgood to you. Tene Sla asked the big master for you, and I think hewould have got you, but for your mother, who said he was not a goodhunter; and Nagaja wanted you, and Jemmy, the Loucheux boy; but yourfather was dead, and your mother said you must take a man who wouldhunt for her, and bring her meat; and so bad Michel came and took youaway to the Praying man and to Yazete Koa (the church), and youbecame his wife. For a time he was kind and good to you, my sister, and be loved his children, and was a fine hunter. Many bears did hetrack in the woods: he had a hunter's eye, and could see them fromfar, and a hunter's ear to catch the faintest sound of their feet. Hewould bring you deer's meat, killed by the first shot. No one couldsay that Michel gave his children meat that had run long, and washeated and bad for food. He would bring rats in the spring time. Whenthe water spread upon the ice, by the water side, he would trackthem: fleet-footed are they, and glide swiftly into their hole; butMichel was swifter than they. When Michel sank hooks in the lake, thefish came, fine trout from Bear Lake you have eaten; it was hard foryou to lift it, my sister; its head was a meal for the little ones;the best for your tezone, the best for your tezone. But, ah! mysister, you have left it now. Oh! cruel Michel has made his childrenmotherless! The baby looks pitiful--it looks pitiful: it stretchesout its hands for its mother's breast; it longs to taste the sweetdraughts of milk. Ah! Accomba, my sister, my partner, why did cruelMichel come and take you from my side?"

Another cry of sorrow was heard from Sarcelle, the brother ofAccomba, that same night, and on the day following. The poor fellowwas half distracted at the loss of his sister, more especially as sheseemed to have anticipated her fate, and to have prepared her friendsfor it. Sarcelle's first impulse was to seize his gun and launch hiscanoe, and to sally forth in pursuit of Michel; but he was aChristian Indian, having been baptized at the little English Churchat Fort Simpson, and further instructed at the Mission School. Theconflict going on in his own mind between the desire to avenge hissister's death, and the higher impulses which his Christian faithsuggested, were very touching. It ended in his throwing down his gun, and bowing his head on his hands while he sobbed aloud, "My sister, my sister, I would fight for you; I would avenge your cruel death, but the Praying man says we must forgive as God forgives us. I throwdown my gun; I listen to the Good Spirit speaking to my heart; butoh, it is hard, it is hard, my sister, I can see no light in this; Ifeel unmanly to let _him_ go free, who shot my sister to theheart, who made her shed tears, and did not comfort her; who made herthe mother of his children, and left them all so pitiful, with thelittle one lying helpless upon the river side, and only the dogs toguard her. I feel unmanly, unworthy of a 'Tene Jua, ' but 'Niotsi NDethe' make it plain to me; oh, make me see how I can be a _trueman_, and yet forgive!"

 * * * * *

It was but a few weeks after Minneha had received the rescuedinfant, and promised to be a mother to it, that she discovered thatshe had undertaken more than she was able to fulfil. It required novery searching eye to perceive that the little one was not thriving;in truth, she was dwindling away day by day, and those who were inthe habit of visiting the Camp gazed sadly at the little pinched faceand shrivelled limbs, and foreboded that it would not be long beforeMichel's child rejoined its mother in the 'silent land. ' "Owindia"was the name given by the Indians to their deceased sister's child;and in truth, Owindia, "weeping one, " was well suited to the frailcreature who since that terrible night was continually uttering afeeble moan unlike an ordinary infant's cry, but which appealed toall hearts by its thrilling tones. 

One day a little bundle was brought to the English Mission House atFort Simpson, by Sinclia, daughter of Minneha. The following messageaccompanied the bundle, which was none other than the poor littleOwindia, smaller and more fragile-looking than ever: "I am sick; Icannot work for the child; _you_ take her. " And so it happened, that after all his horror of the white man, and his shrinking fromintercourse with any of his kind, Michel should be destined by hisown act, to have his child received into the white man's house, andto find there in all loving care and tender offices the home of whichhe had deprived her. 

Owindia still lives, and is become a strong and active child, fullof spirit and intelligence, with all the marvellous powers ofobservation which mark the Indian. She was baptized by the Bishop"Lucy May, " but her name "Owindia" still clings to her, a fittingmemorial of the sad episode in her infant life, and of those longseventeen hours [Footnote: The Indians have a wonderful knack ofmeasuring time by the sun and moon--"In two moons and when the sun is_there_" (indicating a certain point in the heavens), would bean Indian's version of "two months hence at three o'clock p. M. "]when, forsaken by all her earthly friends, God sent His blessedangels to keep watch and ward around her, to guard her from perishingfrom the cold and hunger, from the attack of wild beasts, fromfalling down the steep river bank, or any other danger whichthreatened the little fragile life. Surely by His Providence was thetimely succour brought out of its wonted course, and the reliefadministered which one half-hour later would in all probability havecome too late!

Of the unhappy father of Owindia but little remains to be told. Hewandered about the woods for some time after his merciless deed;having neither gun, nor ax, nor fish-net, he was utterly unable toprovide himself food. When reduced to the very last extremity ofweakness and starvation, he yet contrived to fasten a few boardstogether and make himself a raft: on this he paddled across theMackenzie, and appeared one morning at Fort Simpson, such a miserableobject that some of the Indians fled at the sight of him. He was putunder arrest by the Hudson's Bay Company's officer in charge, who isalso a magistrate; and an indictment was made out against him. He wascommitted for trial and sent out by the Hudson's Bay Company's furboat in the course of the summer to Prince Albert, some 1800 milesdistant, where the nearest Courts of Justice are held. 

But the whole business of Michel's committal was a farce. TheIndians are as yet too ignorant and uncivilized to understand thenature of an oath, and even if they did so, there is not one manamong them now living who could be brought to bear witness againstone of his own race and tribe. When last Michel was heard of, he wasunder nominal restraint, but conducting himself with propriety, andprofessing utter unconsciousness of the wild acts of his past life. 

C. S. B.