THE BLACKFEET MEET A WARM RECEPTION--AND RETREAT--A WOUNDED INDIAN--
PROVES TO BE PONOKO, WHO TELLS OF A WHITE MAN IN THE INDIAN CAMP--A
FRIENDLY CONFERENCE.
The moment the war-whoop of the Blackfeet had ceased Uncle Donald's
voice was heard, ordering us to fire.
We obeyed with right good will, and must have greatly astonished the
savages, who, not aware of the increased number of our garrison, had
probably expected to gain quite an easy victory. Many of them had
muskets, but the larger number could only have been armed with bows and
arrows. After they had shot five or six showers of arrows and fired
their guns--fortunately, without hitting any of us, though we could hear
their missiles pinging against the thick palisades--they suddenly
ceased, and began to retreat, when Uncle Donald shouted to them in their
own language, inquiring why they had attacked people who had done them
no harm, but were anxious to benefit them.
No reply came. Our men uttered a shout of triumph. Uncle Donald
stopped them.
"The Blackfeet have retired, but I know their cunning ways, and I deem
it more than likely that they will be down upon us again when they think
to catch us off our guard or maybe they have devised some treacherous
plot to entrap us."
We waited, but, as far as we could judge by the sounds which reached our
ears, the savages had really retreated, and did not intend to attack us
again that night. That they would give up their object was not to be
expected, and my father proposed, should we find they had gone to a
distance, that, rather than cause more bloodshed, we should abandon the
station and retreat to one of the company's forts to the northward, "We
have sleighs sufficient to convey the women and children," he added;
"and when the anger of the misguided people has subsided, I will return
by myself, and endeavour to win them over by gentle means, for such only
should be employed to spread the Gospel among the heathen."
"You are very right in that respect, but though we may get to some
distance, when the Blackfeet find that we have gone, they will to a
certainty follow on our trail and quickly overtake us," answered Uncle
Donald. "I cannot consent to such a plan; we must show them that we are
able to defend ourselves, and let their blood be upon their own heads if
they persist in attacking us. We will, however, try how negotiation
will succeed. I used to be well-known among them, and I propose
to-morrow, should they not again attack the fort, to go singly into
their camp and invite them to smoke the calumet of peace. Should I be
detained, you must promise to hold out to the last, and not any account
trust to what they may say. We will, in the meantime, send a messenger
to Rocky Mountain House, entreating for assistance. I feel sure that
the officer in charge will send as many men and horses as he can spare
to enable you to escape, or defend the fort, if necessary."
My father and mother entreated Uncle Donald not thus to risk his life;
but he was firm in his resolution. My father then proposed going with
him, but to this Uncle Donald would not consent.
A considerable portion of the night was consumed in these discussions.
A vigilant watch was of course kept, but no one could be seen stirring
outside the fort. Having taken a brief nap, just before dawn I returned
to my post on the ramparts. As daylight increased I fancied that I saw
the body of a man lying under a bush some distance from the fort. Yes,
I was certain of it. I pointed him out to Hugh, and we both fancied
that we saw an arm move.
"He is one of the savages who was shot in the attack last night, and,
unperceived by his companions, he must have fallen where we see him,"
observed Hugh.
While we were speaking, some of the Indians we had brought with us--who,
though faithful servants, were still heathens--caught sight of the body.
Lowering themselves down without asking leave, they were rushing, with
their scalping knives in their hands, towards the hapless being.
Uncle Donald at that instant coming up on the ramparts saw them, and
guessed their object. "Come back, you rascals!" he shouted. "Whether
that man be alive or dead, don't touch a hair of his head!"
As they did not stop he fired his rifle, the bullet passing just in
front of the leading Indian, who now thought it time to come to a
standstill.
"Archie and Hugh, you go and look after that poor fellow, and make our
people bring him in," continued Uncle Donald.
We instantly obeyed, for although the height was considerable we could
manage to drop to the bottom without injuring ourselves. We then ran as
fast as our legs could carry us to overtake our Indians. Having
delivered Uncle Donald's orders, we then hurried on to where the Indian
lay. At a glance I saw that he was desperately wounded from the blood
which flowed from both his legs, while another shot had rendered his
right arm powerless. His eyes still wore a defiant expression, and he
appeared to fancy that we were about to kill him. By signs and such
words of his language as we could speak, we endeavoured to make him
understand that we had come to carry him into the fort to try and save
his life.
As there was not a moment to be lost, we first bound up his wounds, and
then ordering our people to assist us we lifted him from the ground and
hurried towards the fort, meeting on our way Uncle Donald, who had the
gate open to admit us. Without stopping we carried the wounded man into
the house, where my father, who had risen, was ready with bandages and
salves to attend to him. My mother, meantime, was preparing some strong
broth, which our prisoner eagerly swallowed. It had an almost
instantaneous effect in reviving him. Uncle Donald, who had in the
meantime been going round the fort to ascertain if more wounded had been
left in its neighbourhood, now entered the room, and as his eye fell on
the countenance of our captive, he exclaimed, "Ponoko! Do you remember
your white friend?"
The Indian made a sign that he was the person supposed, though he was
too weak to speak.
Uncle Donald then told him that although he had come as an enemy he
should be well cared for.
In a short time the judicious treatment he was receiving enabled him to
utter a few words. He seemed grateful for the care taken of him, and
his eyes brightened when my young sisters and Rose brought him the soup,
which he received almost every hour. He especially noticed Rose, and
when Uncle Donald came to see him, inquired, in a tone of evident
interest, who she was.
"You are right if you think you remember her, for she is the little girl
you saved when your people attacked the village in the territory of the
Long-knives some years ago," answered Uncle Donald.
"Will you now let me take her back?" asked Ponoko.
"Do you think it likely that I should consent?" said Uncle Donald. "Her
ways are not the ways of your people. She would pine and die were she
to be treated as your women are treated."
"But there is one who has long lived with us whose heart would be
rejoiced to see her," said Ponoko. "You may remember when I parted from
you I promised to try and save the lives of any of our pale-faced
prisoners. I succeeded in saving that of one man just as he was about
to be tortured and killed, but it was on condition that he would swear
to remain with us, and never betray us to our enemies. He was a great
hunter, and brave as the bravest among us. He also, we found, was not
one of the Long-knives, but was a subject of the Queen of the
Pale-faces. He has kept his promise, though he might often have made
his escape. He had been many months with us, before I found how sorely
his heart yearned to get away, and I would have set him free, but the
other chiefs would not consent. He looked upon me as his friend. He
told me that his child and all his household had died by the hands of
our people, except his wife, who was away in one of the big cities in
the east at the time we attacked the place. I was thus led to tell him
of the little girl I had saved and given over to you, and he has ever
since been hoping that she might prove to be one of his children. He
has hoped and hoped until he has persuaded himself that such she is.
Thus I know how it would rejoice his heart to see her."
"I have strong doubts about that," answered Uncle Donald. "He would
rejoice to see her, but not to have her among your people, from whom she
differs so greatly. The only way truly to benefit him would be to set
him at liberty and allow him to return among the Pale-faces to whom he
belongs."
"But how can that be while I am sick and a prisoner with you?" asked
Ponoko.
"You'll recover, I hope, ere long, and as you have fulfilled your
promise on one occasion, I feel confident that you will not disappoint
us if we set you at liberty on your undertaking to restore this white
stranger to his people."
"Ponoko always keeps his word," answered the Indian in a proud tone.
"But should the Blackfeet, in the meantime, attack us, we may be
destroyed, and they may take you away with them," observed Uncle Donald.
"If my people come, you shall carry me out on a litter; I will tell them
how well the Pale-faces have treated me, and will urge them, instead of
fighting, to make a lasting peace with my white father and his friends,"
said Ponoko.
"I will trust you, my brother," said Uncle Donald, pressing Ponoko's
hand. "I pray that you may soon be restored to health, and that you
will teach your people that it is to their true interests to be at peace
with the white men, and to trade honestly with them."