For more than an hour the drive was rapid, the country being less
undulating and the road smoother. Still the way was always through the
woods. Tall pines everywhere stretched skyward, while on the lowlands,
ashes and elms spread out their grey branches, in vivid contrast to the
evergreen above. Scrub oaks on the hillocks still carried the dead red
leaves of the past year; while here and there a beech or a maple added
its varied beauty to the winter landscape.
Although the road lay for miles along the banks of the Shebenacadie, its
waters could only occasionally be seen. Now and then a wider vista
opened, and a bit of the dashing river, rendered free here and there by
a more rapid current, added picturesqueness to the view. At other places
the bed of the stream was covered with ice, save for an occasional
rollway, where the lumberer had piled his sawlogs upon its broken
surface.
The drivers had covered more than half the distance to the proposed camp
when they reached the top of a long ridge stretching out on either side.
At the foot of the incline, a stranger sight than they had yet seen
attracted their attention. It was a circle of Indian wigwams, in the
lowest part of the valley, no doubt placed there to protect them from
the winds that prevailed in the uplands. One of the lodges was taller
and broader than the rest, but in other respects they were alike, and of
the usual cone form.
In the centre of the circle was a huge log fire, around which stood a
promiscuous lot of Indians, squaws and papooses, watching the
approaching sleighs.
"Are these Indians always friendly?" the Chaplain asked of Bateese, as
they gradually neared the little Indian village.
"Oui, Monsieur, yees," was the answer. "Dey be Micmacs, and Micmacs goot
Indians. Not like de Hurons, who scalp all de tam. But let white man
cheat a Micmac, or run away wid heem squaw; den by Gar he have revanche.
He follow dat man till he kill him wid his hatchet, den put him in de
ground; and no wan ever hear of him no more."
"Whew!" exclaimed Helen, with a little shiver. "They must be very good
Indians, indeed, if they kill a man for cheating."
"Ah, madame! so dey be. Just treat Micmac square, he treat you square
too."
"How do they build their wigwams?" the Chaplain asked. "They are very
substantial looking."
"Vell, I tell you. I been in dem manys de time. Dey juss as warm as
Madame's boudoir wid lettle stove in it. Dey make 'em of cedar poles,
tight in groun' and fastened togeder tight at top. Den dey bind dem
roun' all ovare wid strong green bark put on like shingles, and so close
dat water can't get in. Dey make 'em in summare so it dry by wintare.
Nex dey put on straight spruce branches all over de outside and spruce
green branches all over de inside--till it is like de man from de
contree--green all de way tru."
"Bateese, I didn't know you were so witty," exclaimed the Chaplain.
"Vell, by Gar, ef a man drive all de tam, day after day all wintare
long, most tam wid no wan to spoke to, an' ees femme or ees fille a
t'ousand miles away, ef ee can't jess tink of somet'ing funny he die."
By this time the chief with a number of his tribe were out on the road,
and on the approach of Sir George's sleigh he threw up his right arm and
shouted:
"Kwa."
"Yer honor, the spalpeen means how do yees do," said Pat, Sir George's
driver, in a low voice.
"I'm very well, thank you," replied the Colonel, extending his hand. But
the Indian ignored the proffered cordiality.
"Be jabers, he can talk English, too, for I've heerd him," muttered Pat
in a still lower key.
"Kwa wenin," next said the Indian, looking straight into the eyes of
Sir George.
Pat this time remembered more fully, so he turned and spoke aloud: "He
means, who are you? Tell him your name, Sir George, and he'll answer
yees in English."
"Sir George Head, Colonel of the Soldiers of the Great Father."
"It is well. White Bear--Chief Micmacum tribum. Always everything two
ways me speakum," replied the Indian in a dignified manner; while this
time he accepted the hand of the Colonel, retaining it firmly in his own
for some moments. The Micmacs, in their association with the whites, had
made a strange jumble of the language. Still, White Bear's English being
intelligible, a few minutes' conversation followed.
The chief had seen the scouts already, who, after telling him that Sir
George and his soldiers were coming, had gone ahead to prepare for the
night's camp.
Evidently from the way the chief and his braves strutted around, they
had put on their best costumes in order to meet the representative of
the Great Father.
White Bear was only armed with a tomahawk, but he was dressed in full
Indian costume, with leggings, moccasins, hunting shirt and wampum belt;
while his head dress, though of mink, was made in civilized style. The
men who stood a few feet in his rear were dressed in more nondescript
fashion. Two or three had muskets, and more than one hatchet and long
knife could be seen beneath the blankets they wore. Further back, but
outside the wigwams, the squaws were huddled together, and beyond them
the children.
"Great Father send braves, Yankees you fightum?" said the Indian,
feeling proud of his English.
"Not this time," said Sir George. "The Great Father sends his men to
trade with the Indians up the Ottawa and on the great lakes toward the
setting sun."
"Takum squaws too?" was the next question, with a side glance at Helen
and the women in the next sleigh.
"Not many squaws," replied Sir George, gravely. "Just enough to make the
men behave themselves. More will come by-and-bye."
"When White Bear make bargain squaw nevel speakum," said the Indian,
sententiously.
"Do you hear that, Mrs. Manning?" cried the Colonel to Helen, who was
near enough to hear the words of the conversation. "But we must drive
on. I am glad to have met you, Chief."
Again they shook hands; White Bear once more raised his right hand above
his head as before; and, simultaneously, the band of Indians joined in
the parting salutation, "Kwa."
The tone was so fierce and loud that the women started. It sounded more
like a war-whoop than an expression of good-will; and they were glad to
commence their journey again. But the Indians remained where they were
until the last of the sleighs had passed. Then Sir George raised his
helmet in salute, and in answer to his courtesy, White Bear pulled off
his mink skin and once more yelled "Kwa." Whereupon the sleighs
quickened their speed to make up for lost time, while the Indians
returned to their lodges.