The Missasagua (_i. e._ the river with two mouths) gives its name to a
tribe of the Chippewa nation, once numerous and powerful, now scattered
and degraded. This is the river called by Henry the _Missasaki_, where
he found a horde of Indians who had never seen a white man before, and
who, in the excess of their hospitality, crammed him with "a porridge of
sturgeons' roe," which I apprehend, from his description, would be
likely to prove "caviare to the general." There is a remnant of these
Indians here still. We found a log-hut with a half-breed family, in the
service of the fur company; and two or three bark wigwams. The rest of
the village (dwellings and inhabitants together) had gone down to the
Manitoolin. A number of little Red-skins were running about, half, or
rather indeed wholly, naked--happy, healthy, active, dirty little
urchins, resembling, except in colour, those you may see swarming in an
Irish cabin. Poor Ireland! The worst Indian wigwam is not worse than
some of her dwellings; and the most miserable of these Indians would
spurn the destiny of an Irish _poor-slave_--for he is at least Lord o'er
himself. As the river is still famous for sturgeon, we endeavoured to
procure some for supper, and had just prepared a large piece to roast,
(suspended by a cord to three sticks,) when one of those horrid curs so
rife about the Indian dwellings ran off with it. We were asked to take
up our night's lodging in the log-hut, but it was so abominably dirty
and close, we all preferred the shore. While they pitched the marquee, I
stood for some time looking at a little Indian boy, who, in a canoe
about eight feet in length, was playing the most extraordinary gambols
in the water; the buoyant thing seemed alive beneath him, and to obey
every movement of his paddle. He shot backwards and forwards, described
circles, whirled himself round and round, made pirouettes, exhibited, in
short, as many tricks as I have seen played by a spirited English boy on
a thorough-bred pony.