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OWINDIA:

_A TRUE TALE OF THE MACKENZIE RIVER INDIANS_,

NORTH-WEST AMERICA.


By Charlotte Selina Bompas




THE STORY OF OWINDIA.



A pretty open spot on the bank of the Great Mackenzie River was the
place where Owindia first saw light. One of the universal pine
forests formed the back ground, while low shrubs and willows, with a
pleasant, green carpet of mossy grass, were the immediate
surroundings of the camp.

The banks of the Mackenzie often rise to a height of sixty feet
above the river. This was the case in the spot where Michel the
Hunter had pitched his tent, or "lodge" as it is called. A number of
other Indians were camped near, led thither by the fish which is so
abundant in our Northern rivers, and which proves a seldom failing
resource when the moose or reindeer go off their usual track. The
woods also skirting the river furnish large supplies of rabbits,
which even the Indian children are taught to snare. Beavers too are
most numerous in this district, and are excellent food, while their
furs 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 the
camps will be busy making "sirop" from the birch trees, and dressing
the skins of moose or deer which their husbands have killed in the
chase. There are also the canoes to be made or repaired for use
whenever the eight months' fetters of ice shall give way.

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

Michel, the Indian, was a well-skilled, practised hunter. Given a
windy day, a good depth of snow, and one or two moose tracks on its
fair surface, and there was not much chance of the noble beast's
escape from Michel's swift tread and steady aim. Such is the
excitement of moose-hunting; and such the intense acuteness of the
moose-deer's sense of smell and hearing, that an Indian hunter will
often strip himself of every bit of clothing, and creep stealthily
along on his snow-shoes, lest by the slightest sound he should betray
his presence, and allow his prey to escape. And Michel was as skilled
a trapper as he was hunter; from the plump little musk-rat which he
caught by the river brink to the valuable marten, sable, beaver,
otter, skunk, &c., &c., he knew the ways and habits of each one; he
would set his steel trap with as true an intuition as if he had
received notice of the coming of his prey. Many a silver fox had
found himself outdone in sharpness and cunning by Michel; many a lynx
or wild cat had fought for dear life, and may-be, made _one_
escape from Michel's snares, leaving perhaps one of its paws in token
of its fierce struggle, yet had perished after all, being allured in
some opposite direction by tempting bait, or irresistible scent laid
by the same skilful hand. In bear hunting also Michel was an adept,
and he lacked not opportunity for this sport on the banks of the
Mackenzie. Many a time would he and, perhaps, one other Indian glide
down the river in his swift canoe, and suddenly the keen observant
eyes would detect a bear walking stealthily along by the side of the
stream! In an instant the two men would exchange signals, paddles
would be lifted, and, every movement stilled, the men slowly and
'cannily' would make for shore. In spite of all, however, Bruin has
heard them, he slakes his thirst no longer in the swift-running river
nor feasts luxuriously on the berries growing by the shore. The woods
are 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 his
match for stealth and swiftness, and when one sense fails, another is
summoned to his assistance. The eye can no longer see the prey, but
the ear can yet detect here and there a broken twig revealing the
exact track it has taken. With gun carried low, and treading on in
breathless silence and attention, the hunters follow, and soon a shot
is heard, succeeded by another, and then a shout which proclaims poor
Bruin's death. Alas, that gun which has done such good service for
his family, which was purchased by many a month's labour, and
carefully chosen with an Indian's observant eye: what misery and
crime was it not to effect even in that very spot where now the
little group of Indians dwelt happy and peaceful, little dreaming of
the deed of violence which would soon drive them panic-stricken from
their 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 impulse
of this, at all events for its development, it were perhaps better
not to inquire. The schoolboy is often first taught jealousy by the
undisguised partiality for his more attractive or highly gifted
companion, evinced by his teachers; the Indians are at present in
most respects but children, and they are keenly sensitive to the
treatment they receive from those, who, in spite of many benefits
bestowed, they cannot but look upon as invaders of their soil, and
intruders upon some of their prerogatives. In our Mission work we
find this passion of jealousy often coming into play. It is most
difficult to persuade the parents to trust us with their children,
not because they doubt our care of them, but for fear of their
children's affections being alienated from their own people. It is
sometimes hard for the same reason to get the parents to bring their
children to Holy Baptism: "You will give my boy another name, and he
will not be 'like mine' any more."

And Michel the Hunter was but an average type of the Indian
character; of a fiery, ardent nature, and unschooled affections, he
never forgot a wrong done him in early youth by a white man. His
sweetheart was taken from him, cruelly, heartlessly, mercilessly,
during his absence, without note or sign or warning, while he was
working with all energy to make a home for the little black-eyed
maiden, who had promised to be his bride. If Michel could but once
have 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, if
this was his Christian faith, his boasted white man's creed! To have
asked if in those thousand miles he had traversed to reach the red
man's home, there were no girls suited to his mind, save only the one
betrothed to Indian Michel! He would have asked, too, if it were not
enough to invade his country, build houses, plant his barley and
potatoes, and lay claim to his moose-deer and bear, his furs and
peltries, but he must needs touch, with profane hands, his home
treasures, and meddle with that which "even an Indian" holds sacred?
It might, perchance, have been better for Michel if he could have
spoken out and unburdened himself of his deep sense of wrong and
injury, which from henceforth lay like a hot iron in his heart. The
Italian proverb says, "It is better to swear than to brood;" and
whether this be true or not, it is certain that having to swallow his
resentment, and endure his agony in silence, embittered Michel's
spirit, and made him the jealous, sensitive, taciturn man he
afterwards became. And among many other consequences of his youth's
tragedy 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, so
long as he need not look upon him. He would send even his wife (for
Michel took unto him a wife after some years) to Fort Simpson with
his furs to trade, rather than trust himself in the neighbourhood of
the "Tene Manula" (white man). Once, it was said, that Michel had
even so far overcome his repugnance as to pitch his camp in the
neighbourhood of Fort Simpson. He was a husband and a father then,
and there were a number of Indians encamped in the same locality. It
might be hoped that under these circumstances the past would be
forgotten, and that the man would bury his resentment, and extend a
friendly hand to those, not a few, among the white men who wished him
well; but jealousy is the "rage of a man." In the middle of the night
Michel roused his wife and little ones, declaring that the white man
was coming to do them some mischief. Bearing his canoe upon his head
he soon launched