It had been many weeks since the Seneca hunting party had seen the
friendly smoke of their own village and as they lay among the pines,
resting now, they were thinking of how it would be in their village when
they returned the following day to speak of their success on the hunt.
Their catch was large and there would be much dancing and celebration
when they did return.
Black Cloud, leader of the hunting party, lay stretched out beneath the
boughs of a large pine and gazed up through the branches at the clear
sky lighted this evening by a bright full moon. The heavens were filled
with stars, and this would mean a good clear day for travel when dawn
finally broke upon the forest.
The party had traveled far in search of food but their labors were not
in vain for they were returning loaded down with good fresh meat for
their tribe.
The trip had been an exciting one from the standpoint of the hunt, but
now the excitement was over and the warriors were tired. A half day’s
journey lay between them and their homes, and they were eager to start
the next morning.
The canoes had been pulled up the side of the lake and rigged for
shelter in case of rain but all the party were sleeping in the open. As
Black Cloud lay gazing at the stars he remembered back to his days as a
boy when he had made his first hunting trip with his father.
“Come, father, hurry, we must get started!” Little Black Cloud had
called as he waited at the beach for his father to join him. His father
finally arrived and, approving of the canoe which his son had chosen, he
turned it upright and pushed it into the lake. They loaded their packs
and hunting weapons and soon Black Cloud was seated in the middle of the
canoe as his father pushed from shore.
“Where are we going to hunt, father?” asked Little Black Cloud.
“Well, my son, I thought that we would try Bear Lake; for many of our
warriors have reported fine deer around Bear Lake, and you saw the two
beauties that were brought to the camp last week.”
“Yes, father, they were beautiful bucks, and I hope we are as
fortunate.”
“We have a hard long journey ahead, my son, and so pull hard upon the
paddle; for we must reach the upper end of the lake before nightfall.
There we will make camp and tomorrow we shall carry our canoe to the
upper lake known as Bear Lake. It is quite a distance and though it may
seem close it will take us some time to reach our destination.”
Father and son pulled upon the paddles, and soon the canoe was moving
steadily forward toward the upper end of the lake. As the craft skimmed
through the water, Little Black Cloud’s father pointed out the many
signs of wild game that could be seen along the shore.
Here was evidence of where brother beaver had been at work cutting logs
or here was a grey muddy hole near the lake’s edge to which the forest
animals came to drink. Always the canoe was kept near the shoreline, for
this made the trip more interesting since there was much to see.
As noon approached, Little Black Cloud’s father directed the canoe in to
the shore and beached it in a small cove. Father and son stepped ashore
and pulled the canoe up after them. Near by there were some fine berry
bushes and, walking inland a short way, they came upon a clear swift
flowing stream. They picked some berries and, seating themselves near
the stream, they made a meal of some fried venison they had brought with
them, berries, and water. After eating they relaxed for a few moments
and then the two walked back to the lake edge and climbing aboard their
canoe once again were soon continuing their journey up the lake shore.
It was near dark when they reached the top of the lake. Little Black
Cloud’s father guided the canoe into a small stream leading from the
lake and, calling to his son to stop paddling, he guided the canoe
softly against the shore of the stream. The two Indians stepped from
their canoe and then, lifting the canoe from the water, set it upon the
shore.
“We shall make camp here for the night, my son. You will gather some
wood and I will see if I can catch us some fish for our supper. I shall
not be gone long and there will still be plenty of daylight.” Saying
this, Little Black Cloud’s father took up his fishing line and bone hook
and a bright spinner and started back through the woods for the lake
shore.
Little Black Cloud meanwhile started busily preparing camp and gathering
wood for a fire. In an hour his father was back carrying a fine fish and
soon they were having fresh fish steaks broiled on green sticks. These
they flavored with some sugar, which they always carried, and washed it
down with fresh water.
“And now, my son, we must sleep, for in the morning we have a long walk
ahead to reach the Bear Lake.”
Father and son rolled into their blankets and the night noises around
them provided a lullaby.
When dawn broke, Little Black Cloud found that his father had been up
for some time and that breakfast was ready and waiting.
Following a hearty breakfast, Little Black Cloud picked up his pack. His
father strapped his own pack upon his back and, balancing the light
birch bark canoe upon his head, led the way through the forest toward
the lake. The woodland Indians often had to make portages like this in
order to reach their final destination.
After traveling for some time in this manner, Little Black Cloud noticed
a clear space among the trees ahead. His father seemed to sense what he
was thinking, for he called to his son, “That is Bear Lake just ahead.
It was given that name many moons ago by our people, for it used to be
the home of many bears who lived and thrived here, but when our people
discovered that many fine fish lived in these waters they had to drive
the bears off in order to make the fishing grounds safe for our people.
“Since the disappearance of the bears the deer have flocked to the
shores of this fine lake, and now whenever fresh meat is needed a small
party of us come to the lake and in a short time we have enough meat for
the needs of our people.”
Soon the two had reached the shores of Bear Lake and, looking out upon
the calm waters, Little Black Cloud said, “My, how peaceful the waters
look, father. It seems as though nothing or no one had ever visited
these shores before.”
Then a short distance down the shore there was a rustling in the brush
and a splash, and soon the head of a doe would be seen bending to drink,
and then another and another; and then the eight-pointed head of a buck
could be seen a short distance beyond the does.
“Look, father, look. How many deer are there?” Little Black Cloud was
very excited, for never before had he seen such a large number of deer
in one place at the same time.
“Come, my son, we must leave our gear here and go in pursuit of the fine
deer. They abide all along these shores and back away from the lakes in
the shaded glens and the open meadows. It may not be as easy to catch
them as it is to see them.”
Once again the canoe was placed in the water, and father and son set off
to hunt the deer. They moved quietly down the shore, but no sooner had
they reached a spot near enough to fire an arrow when the deer would
turn and disappear into the woodlands. For several hours they paddled
the shore but try as they might to approach the deer quietly the animals
would turn as if warned and, with a flick of their tails, were deep in
the woods by the time the canoe was within striking distance.
Soon dusk was drawing nigh, and the two turned their canoe to return to
where they had left their gear.
“Come,” said Little Black Cloud’s father, “we will have some supper and
when it is dark we shall hunt again.”
“But, father, how can you hunt when it is dark? You cannot see the
deer.”
“I will show you, my son. First we must gather some pine knots.”
And so the supper was prepared and two very hungry Indians feasted and
then sat back to allow the food to settle. Finally the father rose and
taking his boy by the hand they wandered into the woods to gather pine
knots. Finally they had gathered about ten pine knots and these they
placed in the bottom of the canoe.
Then Little Black Cloud’s father made an attachment on the front of the
canoe which would hold a burning pine knot. It was getting dark faster
now, and so the two Indians loaded their weapons into the canoe and then
strapping a piece of birch bark to the bow of the canoe to act as a
reflector they pushed away from shore after lighting a pine knot and
placing it in the holder which contained sand so the fire would not burn
the canoe. It was then that Little Black Cloud was able to see why his
father wanted the pine knots.
As they skimmed along the shore, the deer would see the light and be
attracted by it to the shore. This would then make them easy targets,
for their bodies would then be outlined on the shore.
Slowly the canoe moved along the shore until Little Black Cloud’s father
motioned for him to stop paddling. Placing his paddle in the bottom of
the canoe, Little Black Cloud took his bow and arrow and stood waiting.
Soon the flash of a pair of eyes was seen and then Little Black Cloud
fired.
There was a splash and all was still. They steered the canoe toward the
place they had seen the deer and there lay a small buck. This was placed
in the canoe and they moved on.
Little Black Cloud shot another deer that night, and then father and son
returned to camp to skin and dress the two deer.
The following day they returned to the lake where they had started and
were soon paddling down the lake shore for home. Little Black Cloud’s
father decided not to stop that evening and so continued paddling
swiftly until the friendly fires of the village were in sight. He
beached the canoe, and a proud father and a very tired young Indian boy
entered the village that night with two fine specimens of deer.
Black Cloud sighed as he lay under the pine. Yes, these were fond
memories he had of the days when he was a youth.
But soon he would be doing the same thing his father had done twelve
summers ago for when he returned to the village the next day, he did not
know that his wife would be waiting for him with a new-born baby son, a
boy who would some day paddle swiftly along the lake shore with his
father.