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.