IN THE VILLAGES OF THE CREES.
What happened after that was of little interest to me. I have brief,
fitful memories of things that occurred at intervals, for as I later
learned from Ruth, my hurts were very sore indeed, and more than once
they had given me up for dead. But for The Keeper and for Radisson
himself, who searched through the woods for healing simples and herbs
at each camping-place, I had been in sorry plight.
I mind me of many days of travel, during no small part of which I was
lashed tightly enough to the canoe. At times Ruth's face would be
above me, her fingers sweeping my brow, and at times Radisson's
kindly white beard would bend over me and his fingers, for all their
sinewy strength, were as tender as those of Ruth.
That was a dour and terrible journey. Even now, as I sit writing and
gazing over the moors that roll upland beyond Ayrby, I can feel the
throbs of pain across my ribs, and the hurt of the thwart against my
back. And in the damp weather the feeling is no mere imagination,
either.
I remember, after many days of flickering lights and shadows, there
came one time when Ruth's tears fell on my cheeks and irritated me
strangely. Perhaps the lass did not know I was conscious, for I
could speak no word. I heard Radisson attempt to cheer her, and it
seemed that he, too, had lost his heartiness. Then they died away
into blackness once more, and the next memory is of the Crees.
Queer men they were, queer people, moving like the veriest devils
through my half-sensed dreams, although they were our firmest
friends. Radisson to them was a deity, and the two Mohawks were
little less. They were great hunters and fighters, however, and when
my mind came back to me somewhat I never lacked for meat and broth,
while skins of the richest were ours in plenty.
When I came to learn of the journey, after I had been injured, it was
a tale of hardship and suffering--incurred for the most part on my
account. To move a helpless man across the wilderness is a task for
the mightiest, and our little party had been sore put to it ere a
party of the Crees found us and aided us to their villages.
I came to my clear senses one day, at last, to find a great weight
lying upon me, and all dark around. I put up my hand to remove the
weight and found that it was the skin of some beast, yet I could not
so much as lift it. By this I knew I must be very sick and weak, and
for a space the knowledge frighted me oddly.
Suddenly light appeared to one side, and I saw I was lying in a
conical shelter, like a tent, and that Ruth stood in the doorway. I
called to her weakly enough.
"Eh, lassie! Come and help me."
She gave a little cry and dropped on her knees at my side. But she
would not take the fur away, whereat I wondered. Nor would she let
me talk, but told me of the journey and of where we now were.
To my utter amazement I found that I had been sick, not for days, but
for long weeks. It was a good month and more that I had lain in this
shelter, in the Cree village, and near two months since we had met
the moose. The first snow had come upon the land, and the days and
nights were bitter cold.
In the lodge next to mine dwelt Ruth, and beyond that Radisson and
the Mohawks. There was a tale to be told of great wonders, of things
and beasts and men such as we had never dreamed of in the old days at
Ayrby farm. I listened half-believing, and before she had finished
dropped into a deep, pleasant sleep.
Through the days that followed I began to adjust myself somewhat to
the new life about me. The Crees--dark, dirty men who wore
skins--were kind enough and treated me with not only respect but even
deference. For some time I was at a loss to account for this. I
presently came to understand that I was looked upon as a great man,
greater even than the two Mohawks, which surprised me and troubled me
no little. It is not right and just that a man should be so treated
by his fellows unless he has proved himself greater than they, and
the worship of these poor heathen creatures worried me mightily.
Radisson spent long hours with me, talking and explaining the things
all around. Our fusils he had carefully oiled and laid aside, for it
seemed that the Crees had never heard the sound of a gun, and the
time might come when an appeal to their superstition would do wonders.
"But is that right?" I asked doubtfully. "Methinks it would be more
Christian in us to help the poor creatures to understand, than to try
and shock them into thinking us men of another world."
"Why, so we are," smiled Radisson. "You see, Davie, we are like to
be safe for the present, until the deep snows come. Then we can look
for trouble. I have sent out runners to the east and south, for it
seems to me that the English around the Bay will not rest until they
get news of me. The Chippewa nation is always warring against the
Crees, and like enough The Pike will lead them. Our friend is a
subtle, crafty fellow and will halt at nothing.
"As for your fears in the matter of religion, Davie, you had best
forget them. We can live down to their standard, as does The Pike,
or up to our standard, as I have ever done. I have no great wish to
preach to them, for their faith is good enough, but do you suit
yourself in that regard. It may be that God has not brought us here
for nothing, and it is far from my thought to thwart His will."
As the time went by I grew stronger, walking about the village on the
arm of Ruth and coming to understand more and more the people among
whom we were. Having little else to do, I took to learning their
tongue from a chief named Uchichak, or The Crane. He was a fine,
upright, silent man of good parts, and as I came to speak the
language a little, I told him of the true God. But at this he would
ever fall silent, gazing into the fire and saying no word, so that I
deemed my talk but wasted.
The Keeper and The Arrow were but indifferent Christians, having been
converted years before by the French, and their faith was a mixture
of heathenism and religion which was strange to see. Once I
protested with The Keeper about taking scalps, whereat he silenced me
deftly and firmly.
"Brave Eyes"--for such was the name I now bore--"does not know of
what he speaks. Here the nations do not war as our nation wars. The
Great Spirit has whispered to me that it is right for the white men
to do some things, and wrong for the red men to do some things. He
has whispered to Uchichak that it is not right for the Crees to take
scalps, and they do not. He has whispered to The Keeper that it is
right, and so The Keeper does. He has whispered to the white men
that they shall drink of the water of fire. He has whispered to The
Keeper not to drink. The Keeper has seen his brothers disobey, and
drink, until their minds were stolen from their bodies. The Keeper
does not disobey the Great Spirit. Let my brother listen to the
Great Spirit, unless he thinks himself greater. Does my brother know
more than the Great Spirit?"
It was the longest speech I ever heard from The Keeper, and his quiet
sarcasm at the close taught me a lesson that I sorely needed. I had
considered myself above these poor heathen people, and in time I came
to know that in many ways I was below them. We did not worship
alike, yet we all worshiped. There was much that they could and did
teach me, and Uchichak came to be a very good friend to me.
The two Mohawks came to rather disregard me and Ruth, centering
themselves on Radisson alone, quietly but insistently. They hunted
and fished with him, or alone, and left me to Uchichak, who proved an
able teacher. Those were happy weeks for me, as I slowly came back
to strength and health, and I believe that never in her life had Ruth
been so filled with the joy of youth as she was here. And it was
well, for there were dark days to come.
As to our future, that was unsettled. Radisson was filled with a
great dream of going on into the sunset and searching out the country
there, of finding lands where no white man had ever trod. His age
was as nothing to him, and I verily believe that except for Ruth he
had departed long since. But the love of the little maid restrained
him, and his great vision waited on her will.
With the snows, I set forth on the heels of Uchichak, learning to
hunt and fish and trap as did the Crees. Our fusils and little store
of powder were jealously guarded away, so that perforce I had to
learn the bow and spear. I learned that moose and elk and bison were
no creatures from the nether world, but animals of flesh and blood,
and one day I proposed to The Crane that we should seek out the moose
who had attacked us, and who had so nearly killed me. At the
suggestion a strange expression swept across the chief's dark,
handsome face, and he glanced at me with a worried look.
"Is my brother so anxious to meet the Great Spirit? Has he not
escaped the horns of the Mighty One by a miracle?"
"Nonsense!" I retorted. "The Great Spirit did not give me the heart
of a coward, Uchichak. He saved me from the moose, and if it be His
will, I shall some day meet and slay the animal. Why do you call him
the Mighty One?"
It seemed to me that The Crane fell to trembling, almost. Certainly
his face quivered, and he glanced around uneasily. We stood alone,
our snowshoes leaving a faint trail across a bare rise of snow,
carrying a small deer between us. The chief set down his end of the
pole and faced me.
"You have said many things to me that I do not understand, my
brother. You have told me of the Great Spirit whom you serve, and
sometimes I have thought that He was our own Great Spirit also. You
have told me how He came to your people and let men kill Him, which
to me seemed very foolish, so that I knew He was not the same Great
Spirit."
In that moment I saw the mistake I had made. I had told Uchichak the
bare story of the Gospels, but had not explained that story. There,
standing in the snow beside the stiff and frozen deer, with his
intent gaze fixed on me, I spoke as best I might. Indeed, the words
seemed to come to me as if placed in my mouth, and when I had made an
end I knew not what I had said.
But Uchichak gazed at me silently, and I think that he had understood
the greater part of my speech, for I had spoken mostly in his own
tongue, haltingly but simply enough that a child might understand.
"You have spoken well, my brother," he returned slowly. "I have
understood your words, although your speech is harsh, and it seemed
to me that not you were speaking, but the Great Spirit whom you
worship. Listen. It is well that my people should hear of this
also. We are not like the Sioux or the Chippewas, blind to all
things. We are eager to let our ears be open, and our old men are
very wise. To-morrow night shall a Council be held, and before the
Council you shall tell these things."
Without pausing for answer, he stooped and we picked up the deer.
Our way home was silent enough, and I dared to dream that I had
impressed The Crane with some knowledge of the true God. But this
was far from the case, as I was to learn.
I have passed over lightly my days of striving, when I was learning
to live this new life, for of late my fingers have grown somewhat
stiff and the quill hard to hold, and I have that to tell of which
must not be delayed. At this time the winter was well onward, and
many of the men were away from the village, hunting in the Barren
Places. Of Gib and his Chippewas we had heard nothing.
Grim, all this time, had remained close to me and Ruth. The Indian
dogs, used for hauling sleds in winter, seemed idle, frivolous
creatures to him, and he disdained to give them attention. The Crees
were inclined to sneer at him as a "lodge-dog," good for nothing
except to lie beside the fire, until one day two of their fighting
brutes went for him. Grim, forced to the combat, made such short
work of the wolf-like beasts that thereafter the others slunk past
him in fear, while the Crees also gave him a wide berth.
Upon reaching the village that night, we found that Radisson and the
Mohawks had left for a two-day elk hunt. A little dismayed at their
absence, I sought out Ruth and told her of my conversation with the
chief.
"We will face them together, Davie," she said softly, her deep eyes
aglow. "A woman is not admitted to the council, yet Uchichak can
persuade them easily enough. They are not stern, fierce people like
the Mohawks, and they will listen to me."
Gladly enough I asked Uchichak. After a moment he nodded gravely.
"She may speak, and then go. It is not permitted that women should
sit in the council."
This was the best I could get out of him, but it was enough. There
was no sign of Radisson the next afternoon, and as the council-lodge
was made ready I began to miss his support. Ruth and I knew that we
would have no great ordeal before us, but it would be hard indeed to
break through the stolidity of the Crees, to appeal to their finer
feelings. That they or other Indians have such feelings has been
denied; but I, who have lived and hunted with them, know that all men
have souls alike--mayhap some deeper-buried than others beneath the
crust of time and circumstance, yet all there for the finding.
Ruth and I ate our evening meal together, while Grim crunched a bone
contentedly at our sides. Both of us, as our garments had given out,
had replaced them with others of very soft skin, while in this cold
winter weather we wore furs as did the Crees. When the meal was done
we covered over the little fire in the center of the lodge, and
stepped to the door.
Five minutes later we were in the lodge of council--a large
structure, half skin and half brush. Around the fire were ranged the
old men of the village, and the chiefs; and after a dignified silence
the calumet was passed around from hand to hand, among the very old
men only, for with these people tobacco was rather in the nature of a
burnt-offering, and was never smoked for the pleasure therein.
Another silence, then the oldest chief arose and very briefly
directed Ruth to speak to them as she wished.