Mrs. Johnston told me that when her children are absent from her, and
she looks for their return, she has a sensation, a merely physical
sensation, like that she experienced when she first laid them to her
bosom; this yearning amounts at times to absolute pain, almost as
intolerable as the pang of child-birth, and is so common that the
Indians have a word to express it. The maternal instinct, like all the
other natural instincts, is strong in these people to a degree we can no
more conceive than we can their quick senses. As a cat deprived of its
kittens will suckle an animal of a different species, so an Indian woman
who has lost her child _must_ have another. "Bring me my son! or see me
die!" exclaimed a bereaved mother to her husband, and she lay down on
her mat, covered her head with her blanket, and refused to eat. The man
went and kidnapped one of the enemy's children, and brought it to her.
She laid it in her bosom, and was consoled. Here is the animal woman.
The mortality among the children is great among the unreclaimed Indians,
from want of knowing how to treat infantine maladies, and from want of
cleanliness. When dysentery is brought on from this cause, the children
almost invariably perish. When kept clean, the bark-cradles are
excellent things for their mode of life, and effectually preserve the
head and limbs of the infant from external injury.
When a young Chippewa of St. Mary's sees a young girl who pleases him,
and whom he wishes to marry, he goes and catches a loach, boils it, and
cuts off the tail, of which he takes the flat bone, and sticks it in his
hair. He paints himself bewitchingly, takes a sort of rude flute or
pipe, with two or three stops, which seems to be only used on these
amatory occasions, and walks up and down his village, blowing on his
flute, and looking, I presume, as sentimental as an Indian _can_ look.
This is regarded as an indication of his intentions, and throws all the
lodges in which there are young marriageable girls into a flutter,
though probably the fair one who is his secret choice is pretty well
aware of it. The next step is to make presents to the parents and
relatives of the young woman; if these are accepted, and his suit
prospers, he makes presents to his intended; and all that now remains is
to bring her home to his lodge. He neither swears before God to love her
till death--an oath which it depends not on his own will to keep, even
if it be not perjury in the moment it is pronounced--nor to endow her
with _all_ his worldly goods and chattels, when even by the act of union
she loses all right of property; but apparently the arrangements answer
all purposes, to their mutual satisfaction.
The names of the women are almost always derived from some objects or
appearances in nature, generally of a pleasing kind; the usual
termination _qua_ or _quay_, immediately blending with their
signification the idea of womanhood. Thus, my Indian mother is "the
green prairie," (woman). Mrs. Schoolcraft's name,
Obah,bahm,wa,wa,ge,zhe,go,qua, signifies literally the "sound which the
stars make rushing through the sky," and which I translate into _the
music of the spheres_. Mrs. MacMurray is "the wild rose:" one of her
youngest sisters is Wah,bu,nung,o,qua, the morning star (woman): another
is Omis,ka,bu,go,qua, (the woman of) "the red leaf."
* * * * *
I went to-day to take leave of my uncle Wayish,ky, and found him
ill--poor fellow! he is fretting about his younger son. I learn with
pleasure that his daughter Zah,gah,see,ga,qua is likely to accompany me
to the Manitoolin Islands.
* * * * *
July 31.
This last evening of my sojourn at the Sault-Sainte-Marie, is very
melancholy--we have been all very sad. Mr. and Mrs. MacMurray are to
accompany me in my voyage down the lake to the Manitoolin Islands,
having some business to transact with the governor:--so you see
Providence _does_ take care of me! how I could have got there alone, I
cannot tell, but I must have tried. At first we had arranged to go in a
bark canoe; the very canoe which belonged to Captain Back, and which is
now lying in Mr. MacMurray's court-yard: but our party will be large,
and we shall be encumbered with much baggage and provisions--not having
yet learned to live on the portable maize and fat: our voyage is likely
to take three days and a half, even if the weather continues favourable,
and if it do not, why we shall be obliged to put into some creek or
harbour, and pitch our tent, gipsy fashion, for a day or two. There is
not a settlement nor a habitation on our route, nothing but lake and
forest. The distance is about one hundred and seventy miles, rather more
than less; Mr. MacMurray therefore advises a bateau, in which, if we do
not get on so quickly, we shall have more space and comfort,--and thus
it is to be.
I am sorry to leave these kind, excellent people, but most I regret Mrs.
Schoolcraft.[45]
[Footnote 45: This amiable and interesting creature died a few years
ago.]
* * * * *