Whether or not Okematan was as thorough a rascal as Fergus McKay thought
him will be best shown by harking back, and setting down a little of
what was said by some of the Cree braves at the time that Fergus and Dan
were eavesdropping.
Standing in a dignified attitude worthy of an ancient Roman, with his
blanket thrown toga-fashion over one shoulder, one of the braves looked
round on the warrior band with a dark scowl before he began. His
comrades were evidently impressed by his looks. Whether owing to a
freak of fancy, a spice of eccentricity, or simple vanity, we know not,
but this brave had, among other ornamental touches to his visage,
painted his nose bright red. The effect on his brother braves was
solemnising. It was not so impressive to his white observers, as it
suggested to them the civilised toper.
"The great white chief," began Rednose, with a slow deliberation that
was meant to convey a settled and unalterable conviction, "is a fool!"
"Waugh!" exclaimed the audience with emphasis, for the language was
strong, and uttered with intense vigour, and that quite accorded with
their tastes, so they agreed with the sentiment without regard to its
signification. This species of rhetoric, and its effects, are sometimes
observed in connection with civilised gatherings.
The great white chief thus irreverently referred to, we regret to say,
was Lord Selkirk.
"The great white chief," continued Rednose, availing himself of the
force of emphatic repetition, "is a fool! He is a child! He knows
nothing! He comes across the great salt lake from the rising sun, with
the air and aspect of an owl, thinking to teach us--the great Cree
nation--wisdom!"
"Waugh!" from the audience, one of whom, having a cold in his head,
sneezed inadvertently, and was scowled at by the orator for full two
minutes in absolute silence. If that Cree warrior--he was on his first
war-path--possessed anything akin to the feelings of the Paleface he
must have suffered martyrdom.
"Every one knows," continued the orator, resuming, "that the Crees are
wise. They can tell a fox from a buffalo. They understand the
difference between fire and water. No Paleface sage needs to come from
the rising sun to tell them to eat when they are hungry--to drink when
they are dry. But this Paleface chief comes with the eyes of the great
northern owl, and says he comes to do us good. And how does he begin to
do us good?"
Here there was a very decided "Waugh!" as though to say, "Ay, that's the
question," and then a solemn pause for more--during which the man with
the cold drew the reins very tight.
"How does he begin to do us good?" proceeded the orator. "By entering
into an agreement with _us_ for the use of _our_ lands--and asking our
enemies the Saulteaux to take part in that agreement!"
The sounds of indignation and ferocity that followed this statement are
not translatable. After a gaze of unutterable meaning round the circle
Rednose went on--
"This, _this_ is the way in which the owl-eyed chief of the Palefaces
begins to do us good! If this is the way he begins, in what way will he
continue, and,"--here his voice deepened to a whisper--"_how will he
end_?"
The ideas suggested by his question were so appalling that for some
minutes the orator appeared unable to find words to go on, and his
audience glared at him in dread anticipation, as though they expected
him to explode like a bomb-shell, but were prepared to sit it out and
take the consequences. And he did explode, after a fashion, for he
suddenly raised his voice to a shout that startled even the sentinel on
the distant knoll, and said--
"I counsel war to the knife! The great white chief--the owl-eyed
fool!--will not blot from our agreement the names of the Saulteaux
chiefs--chiefs! there are no Saulteaux chiefs. All their braves are
cowards, on the same dead level of stupidity, and their women are--are
nothing, fit for nothing, can do nothing, and must soon come to nothing!
What then? The duty of Cree warriors lies before us. We will drive
the Saulteaux into Lake Winnipeg and the Palefaces off the face of the
earth altogether! Waugh!"
Having thus given vent to the opinions and feelings that consumed him,
Rednose sat down, his audience breathed freely, the distant sentinel
recovered his composure, and the young novitiate brave with the cold in
his head sneezed with impunity.
It would be tedious to recount all that was said at that council of war.
The next brave that rose to "address the house" very much resembled the
first speaker, both in sentiment and personal appearance, except that he
had chosen sky-blue for his nose instead of red. The only additional
matter that he contributed worth noting was the advice that they should
begin their bloody work by an immediate attack, in the dead of night, on
the camp of the buffalo runners.
This advice was hailed with a good many "Waughs," as well as approving
nods and looks, and it seemed as if the plan were about to be carried
into action without delay, when, as we have seen, Okematan arose to
address the assemblage.
Okematan was a great chief--much greater in the estimation of his tribe
than the whites with whom he had been associating in Red River were
aware of. He had purposely reserved his address till near the
conclusion.
"The Cree warriors," he said, with an air of quiet dignity that was far
more effective than the more energetic tones and gestures of the
previous speakers, "know very well that the Cree nation considers itself
the wisest in creation. Far be it from Okematan to say otherwise, for
he does not know. Okematan is a child! His eyes are only beginning to
open!"
He paused at this point, and looked round with solemn dignity; and the
braves, unaccustomed to such self-depreciative modes of address, gazed
at him with equal solemnity, not unmingled with surprise, though the
latter feeling was carefully concealed.
"When the last great palaver of the Cree braves was held on the
Blue-Pine Ridge," continued Okematan, "the chiefs chose me to go to Red
River, and learn all that I could find out about the Palefaces and their
intentions. I went, as you know. I attached myself to a family named
Daa-veed-sin, and I have found out--found out much about the Palefaces--
much more that I did not know before, though I _am_ a chief of the Cree
nation."
Okematan looked pointedly at Rednose as he said this. After a brief
pause he continued--
"The great white chief," (meaning Lord Selkirk), "is _not_ a fool. It
is true that he is not a god; he is a man and a Paleface, subject to the
follies and weaknesses of the Palefaces, and not quite so wise as it is
possible to be, but he is a good man, and wishes well to the Indian. I
have found weaknesses among the Palefaces. One of them is that their
chiefs plan--sometimes wisely, sometimes foolishly--but they leave the
carrying out of their plans to other men, and sometimes these other men
care for nobody but themselves. They tell lies, they mislead the great
white chief, and tell him to do what is wrong.
"So it was when our agreement came to be made. The great white chief
found, when he came to Red River, a few families of Saulteaux whom we
had permitted to hunt on our lands. He thought the land belonged to the
Saulteaux as well as to the Crees. He was mistaken, ignorant; he knew
no better, and the Palefaces who did know, did not put light into him;
so the names of Saulteaux chiefs were put in the writing. Then the
great white chief went away across the great salt lake to the lands of
the rising sun, leaving his small chiefs to carry out his plans. Some
of these are _very_ small chiefs, unfit to carry out any plans. Others
are bad small chiefs, that will carry out only such plans as are sure to
benefit themselves. It is these men with whom we have to deal. It is
these who deserve to be swept off the face of the earth."
A number of emphatic nods and "waughs" at this point showed that
Okematan had at last touched a key-note with which his braves could
shout in harmony.
"But," resumed the chief impressively, "we cannot sweep them off the
earth; we cannot even sweep them off the banks of Red River. We might
easily sweep the Saulteaux into Lake Winnipeg if we thought it worth
while to try, but the Palefaces--never! Okematan has travelled far to
the south and seen the Palefaces there. They cannot be counted. They
swarm like our locusts; they darken the earth as our buffaloes darken
the plains. They live in stone wigwams. I have seen one of their
wigwams that was big enough to hold all the Crees' wigwams bundled
together. If we killed or scalped all the Palefaces in Red River the
great white chief would come over the great salt lake with an army that
would swallow us up as the buffalo swallows up a tuft of grass.
"Besides," continued Okematan, with a slight touch of pathos in his
tone, "there are good and bad men among the Palefaces, just as there are
good and bad among ourselves. I have dwelt for many moons with a tribe
called Scosh-min. Okematan loves the Scosh-min. They speak a wonderful
language, and some of them are too fond of fire-water; but their braves
fear nothing, and their squaws are pretty and work hard--almost as hard
as our squaws--though they are not quite as good-looking as ours. They
are too white--their faces are like buffalo fat!"
A "Waugh," which might be translated "Hear, hear," greeted this
statement of opinion.
"Now," continued our chief, "if we swept away all the people of Red
River, we would sweep away the good Scosh-min, which would be foolish,
and we would gain nothing in the end, but would bring worse trouble on
our heads. My counsel, therefore, is for peace. I advise that we
should let the buffalo runners and the people of Red River alone; send a
message with our grievances to the great white chief; ask him to come
back over the great salt lake to put things right, and, in the meantime,
wait with patience; attend to our own business; hunt, fish, eat, drink,
sleep, and be happy."
Having delivered his harangue, Okematan sat down amid murmurs of mingled
applause and disapprobation. It was evident that he had created a
serious division of opinion in the camp, and it seemed as if on the
impression made by the next speaker would depend the great question of
peace or war.
Presently an old warrior arose, and a profound silence followed, for
they held him in great respect.
"My braves," said the old man sententiously, "I have lived long, and my
fighting days are nearly over. If wisdom has not accumulated on my head
it must be my own fault, for I have had great experience both of war and
peace--more of war, perhaps, than of peace. And the opinion that I have
come to after long and very deep consideration is this: if there is
something to fight for, fight--fight well; if there is nothing to fight
for, don't fight--don't fight at all."
The old man paused, and there were some "Waughs" of approval, for the
truth contained in his profound conclusion was obvious even to the
stupidest Red-skin of the band--supposing that a stupid brave among
Crees were possible!
"I have also lived to see," continued the old man, "that revenge is
nothing--nothing at all, and therefore not worth fighting for."
As this was flying straight in the face of the most cherished of
Red-skins' beliefs, it was received in dead though respectful silence.
"My young braves do not believe this. I know it. I have been young
myself, and I remember well how pleasant revenge was to me, but I soon
found that the pleasure of revenge did not last. It soon passed away,
yet the deed of revenge did not pass away, and sometimes the deed became
to my memory very bitter--insomuch that the pleasantness was entirely
swallowed up and forgotten in the bitterness. My young braves will not
believe this, I know. They go on feeling; they think on feeling; they
reason on feeling; they trust to feeling. It is foolish, for the brain
was given to enable man to think and judge and plan. You are as foolish
as if you were to try to smell with your mouth and eat with your nose.
But it is the way of youth. When experience teaches, then you will come
to know that revenge is not worth fighting for--its pleasantness will
pass away, but the bitter it leaves behind will never pass away.
"What is the meaning of revenge?" continued this analytical old savage.
"What is the use of it? Does it not mean that we give up all hope of
getting what we want, and wildly determine to get what pleasure is still
possible to us by killing those who have thwarted us? And when you have
killed and got all the pleasure there is, what does it come to? Your
enemy is dead, and scalped. What then? He does not know that he is
dead. He does not care that he is dead and scalped. You cannot keep
him alive for ever killing and scalping him. But you have made his wife
and children miserable. What of that? It was not his wife and children
who opposed you, therefore you have revenged yourself on the wrong
persons. He does not know that you have rendered his wife and children
miserable, and does not care; therefore, I ask, why are you pleased? If
your enemy was a good man, your revenge has only done him a kindness,
for it has sent him to the happy hunting grounds before his time, where
you will probably never meet him to have the pleasure of being revenged
on him there. If he was a bad man, you have sent him to the world of
Desolation, where he will be waiting to receive you when you get there,
and where revenge will be impossible, for men are not allowed to kill or
scalp there. At least if they are I never heard of it--and I am an old
man now.
"There is nothing, then, to fight for with the Palefaces of Red River,
and my counsel is, like that of Okematan, that we should decide on
peace--not war."
Whatever may have been the private opinion of the braves as to this new
and very unexpected style of address, the effect of it was pacific; for,
after a little more palaver, the peace-party carried the day--or, rather
the night--and, next morning, the Cree warriors went back to their tents
and hunting avocations, leaving Okematan to return to the camp of his
friends the buffalo runners.