I have been too long on the other side of the river; I must return to
our Canadian shore, where indeed, I now reside, under the hospitable
roof of our missionary. Mrs. MacMurray's overflowing good-nature,
cleverness, and liveliness, are as delightful in their way as the more
pensive intelligence of her sister.
I have had some interesting talk with Mr. MacMurray on the subject of
his mission and the character of the people consigned to his care and
spiritual guidance. He arrived here in 1832, and married Charlotte
Johnston (O,ge,bu,no,qua) the following year. During the five years
which have elapsed since the establishment of the mission, there have
been one hundred and forty-five baptisms, seven burials, and thirteen
marriages; and the present number of communicants is sixty-six.
He is satisfied with his success, and seems to have gained the good-will
and attachment of the Indians around; he owes much, he says, to his
sweet wife, whose perfect knowledge of the language and habits of her
people have aided him in his task. She is a warm enthusiast in the cause
of conversion, and the labour and fatigue of interpreting the prayers
and sermons, and teaching the Indians to sing, at one time seriously
affected her health. She has a good voice and correct ear, and has
succeeded in teaching several of the women and children to sing some of
our church hymns very pleasingly. She says all the Indians are
passionately fond of music, and that it is a very effective means of
interesting and fixing their attention. Mr. MacMurray says, they take
the most eager delight in the parables, and his explanations of
them--frequently melting into tears. When he collected them together and
addressed them, on his first arrival, several of those present were
intoxicated, he therefore took the opportunity of declaiming against
their besetting vice in strong terms. After waiting till he had
finished, one of their chief men arose and replied gravely: "My father,
before the white men came, we could hunt and fish, and raise corn enough
for our families; we knew nothing of your fire-water. If it is so very
bad, why did the white men bring it here? _we_ did not desire it!"
They were in a degraded state of poverty, recklessness, and misery:
there is now at least _some_ improvement; about thirty children attend
Mrs. MacMurray's school; many of them are decently clothed, and they
have gardens in which they have raised crops of potatoes and Indian
corn. The difficulty is to keep them together for any time sufficient to
make a permanent impression: their wild, restless habits prevail: and
even their necessities interfere against the efforts of their teachers;
they go off to their winter hunting-grounds for weeks together, and when
they return, the task of instruction has to begin again.
One of their chiefs from the north came to Mr. MacMurray, and expressed
a wish to become a Christian; unfortunately, he had three wives, and, as
a necessary preliminary, he was informed that he must confine himself to
one. He had no objection to keep the youngest, to whom he was lately
married, and put away the two others, but this was not admissible. The
one he had first taken to wife was to be the permitted wife, and no
other. He expostulated; Mr. MacMurray insisted; in the end, the old man
went off in high dudgeon. Next morning there was no sign of his wigwam,
and he never applied again to be "made a Christian," the terms
apparently being too hard to digest. "The Roman Catholic priests," said
Mr. MacMurray, "are not so strict on this point as we are; they insist
on the convert retaining only one wife, but they leave him the choice
among those who bear that title."
They have a story among themselves of a converted Indian, who, after
death, applied for admittance to the paradise of the white men, and was
refused; he then went to the paradise of the Red-skins, but _there_ too
he was rejected: and after wandering about for some time disconsolate,
he returned to life (like Gitchee Gausinee), to warn his companions by
his experience in the other world.
Mr. MacMurray reckons among his most zealous converts several great
medicine-men and conjurors. I was surprised at first at the comparative
number of these, and the readiness with which they become Christians;
but it may be accounted for in two ways: they are in general the most
intelligent men in the tribe, and they are more sensible than any others
of the false and delusive nature of their own tricks and superstitious
observances. When a sorcerer is converted, he, in the first place,
surrenders his _meta,wa,aun_, or medicine-sack, containing his manitos.
Mr. MacMurray showed me several; an owl-skin, a wild cat-skin, an
otter-skin; and he gave me two, with the implements of sorcery; one of
birch-bark, containing the skin of a black adder; the other, an
embroidered mink-skin, contains the skin of an enormous rattle-snake
(four feet long), a feather died crimson, a cowrie shell, and some
magical pebbles, wrapped up in bark--the spells and charms of this
Indian Archimago, whose name was, I think, Matabash. He also gave me a
drum, formed of a skin stretched over a hoop, and filled with pebbles,
and a most portentous looking rattle formed of about a hundred bears'
claws, strung together by a thong, and suspended to a carved stick, both
being used in their medicine dances.
The chief of this Chippewa village is a very extraordinary character.
His name is Shinguaconse, _the Little Pine_, but he chooses to drop the
adjunct, and calls himself the Pine. He is not an hereditary chief, but
an elective or war-chief, and owes his dignity to his bravery and to his
eloquence; among these people, a man who unites both is sure to obtain
power. Without letters, without laws, without any arbitrary distinctions
of rank or wealth, and with a code of morality so simple, that upon
_that_ point they are pretty much on a par, it is superior natural
gifts, strength, and intelligence, that raise an Indian to distinction
and influence. He has not the less to fish for his own dinner, and build
his own canoe.
Shinguaconse led a band of warriors in the war of 1812, was at Fort
Malden, and in the battle of the Moravian towns. Besides being eloquent
and brave he was a famous conjuror. He is now a Christian, with all his
family; and Mr. MacMurray finds him a most efficient auxiliary in
ameliorating the condition of his people. When the traders on the
opposite side endeavoured to seduce him back to his old habit of
drinking, he told them, "When I wanted it you would not give it to me;
now I do not want it you try to force it upon me; drink it yourselves!"
and turned his back.
The ease with which liquor is procured from the opposite shore, and the
bad example of many of the soldiers and traders are, however, a serious
obstacle to the missionary's success. Nor is the love of whisky confined
to the men. Mrs. MacMurray imitated with great humour the deportment of
a tipsy squaw, dragging her blanket after her, with one corner over her
shoulder, and singing, in most blissful independence and defiance of her
lordly husband, a song, of which the burden is,--
"The Englishman will give me some of his milk!
I will drink the Englishman's milk!"
Her own personal efforts have reclaimed many of these wretched
creatures.
Next to the passion for ardent spirits is the passion for gambling.
Their common game of chance is played with beans, or with small bones,
painted of different colours; and these beans have been as fatal as ever
were the dice in Christendom. They will gamble away even their blankets
and moccasins; and while the game lasts not only the players but the
lookers-on, are in a perfect ecstacy of suspense and agitation.
Mr. MacMurray says, that when the Indians are here during the fishing
season from the upper waters of the lake his rooms are crowded with
them. Wherever there is an open door they come in. "It is _impossible_
to escape from an Indian who chooses to inflict his society on you, or
wishes for yours. He comes at all hours, not having the remotest idea of
convenience or inconvenience, or of the possibility of intrusion. There
is absolutely no remedy but to sit still and endure. I have them in my
room sometimes without intermission, from sunrise to sunset." He added,
that they never took anything, nor did the least injury, except that
which necessarily resulted from their vile, dirty habits, and the smell
of their _kinnikinic_, which together, I should think, are quite
_enough_. Those few which are now here, and the women especially, are
always lounging in and out, coming to Mrs. MacMurray about every little
trifle, and very frequently about nothing at all.
Sir John Colborne took a strong interest in the conversion and
civilisation of the Indians, and though often discouraged did not
despair. He promised to found a village, and build log-houses for the
converts here as at Coldwater (on Lake Simcoe); but this promise has not
been fulfilled, nor is it likely to be so. I asked, very naturally,
"Why, if the Indians wish for log-huts, do they not build them? They are
on the verge of the forest, and the task is not difficult." I was told
it was impossible; that they neither _could_ nor _would_!--that this
sort of labour is absolutely inimical to their habits. It requires more
strength than the women possess; and for the men to fell wood and carry
logs were an unheard-of degradation. Mrs. MacMurray is very anxious that
these houses should be built because she thinks it will keep her
converts stationary. Whether their morality, cleanliness, health and
happiness, will be thereby improved, I doubt; and the present governor
seems to have very decidedly made up his mind on the matter. I should
like to see an Indian brought to prefer a house to a wigwam, and live in
a house of his own building; but what is gained by building houses for
them? The promise was made however, and the Indians have no
comprehension of a change of governors being a change of principles.
They consider themselves deceived and ill-treated. Shinguaconse has
lately (last January) addressed a letter or speech to Sir Francis Head
on the subject, which is a curious specimen of expostulation. "My
father," he says; "you have made promises to me and to my children. You
promised me houses, but as yet nothing has been performed, although five
years are past. I am now growing very old, and to judge by the way you
have used me, I am afraid I shall be laid in my grave before I see any
of your promises fulfilled. Many of your children address you, and tell
you they are poor, and they are much better off than I am in everything.
I can say, in sincerity, that I am poor. I am like the beast of the
forest that has no shelter. I lie down on the snow, and cover myself
with the boughs of the trees. If the promises had been made by a person
of no standing, I should not be astonished to see his promises fail. But
_you_, who are so great in riches and in power, I am astonished that I
do not see your promises fulfilled! I would have been better pleased if
you had never made such promises to me, than that you should have made
them and not performed them."
Then follows a stroke of Indian irony.
"But, my father, perhaps I do not see clearly; I am old, and perhaps I
have lost my eye-sight; and if you should come to visit us, you might
discover these promises already performed! I have heard that you have
visited all parts of the country around. This is the only place you have
not yet seen; if you will promise to come I will have my little fish
(_i. e._ the white-fish) ready drawn from the water, that you may taste
of the food which sustains me."
Shinguaconse then complains, that certain of the French Canadians had
cut down their timber to sell it to the Americans, by permission of a
British magistrate, residing at St. Joseph's. He says, "Is this right? I
have never heard that the British had purchased our land and timber from
us. But whenever I say a word, they say, 'Pay no attention to him, he
knows nothing.' This will not do!"
He concludes with infinite politeness;
"And now, my father, I shall take my seat, and look towards your place,
that I may hear the answer you will send me between this time and
spring.
"And now, my father, I have done! I have told you some things that were
on my mind. I take you by the hand, and wish you a happy new year,
trusting that we may be allowed to see one another again."
* * * * *