The Half-Breed Scrip Commission.
The adjustment with the half-breeds depended, of course, upon
a successful treaty with the Indians, and, this having been
concluded, the latter at once, upon receipt of their payments,
left for their forests and fisheries, leaving the half-breeds
in full possession of the field.
It was estimated that over a hundred families were encamped around
us, some in tepees, some in tents, and some in the open air, the
willow copses to the north affording shelter, as well, to a few
doubtful members of Slave Lake society, and to at least a thousand
dogs. The "scrip tent," as it was called, a large marquee fitted
up as an office, had been pitched with the other tents when the
camp was made, and in this the half-breeds held a crowded meeting
to talk over the terms, and to collate their own opinions as to
the form of scrip issue they most desired. In this they were
singularly unanimous, and, in spite of advice to the contrary
urged upon them in the strongest manner by Father Lacombe, they
agreed upon "the bird in the hand"--viz., upon cash scrip or
nothing. This could be readily turned into money, for in the
train of traders, etc., who followed up the treaty payments,
there were also buyers from Winnipeg and Edmonton, well supplied
with cash, to purchase all the scrip that offered, at a great
reduction, of course, from face value. Whether the half-breeds
were wise or foolish it is needless to say. One thing was plain,
they had made up their minds. Under the circumstances it was
impossible to gainsay their assertion that they were the best
judges of their own needs. All preliminaries having at last been
settled, the taking of declarations and evidence began on the
23rd of June, and, shortly afterwards, the issue of convertible
scrip certificates, or scrip certificates for land as required,
took place to the parties who had proved their title.
This was a slow process, involving in every case a careful search
of the five elephant folios containing the records of the bygone
issues of scrip in Manitoba and the organized Territories.
It was necessary in order to prevent the issue of scrip to parties
who had already received it elsewhere. But to the credit of the
Lesser Slave Lake community, few efforts were made to "come in"
again, not one in fact which was a clear attempt at fraud, or
which could not be accounted for by false agency. Indeed, a high
tribute might well be paid here to the honesty, not only of this
but of all the communities, both Indian and half-breed, throughout
these remote territories. We found valuable property exposed,
everywhere, evidently without fear of theft. There was a looser
feeling regarding debts to traders, which we were told were sometimes
ignored, partly, perhaps, owing to the traders' heavy profits, but
mainly through failure in the hunt and a lack of means. But theft
such as white men practice was a puzzle to these people, amongst
whom it was unknown.
The most noticeable feature of the scrip issue was the never-ending
stream of applicants, a surprising evidence of the growth of
population in this remote wilderness. Its most interesting
feature lay in the peculiarities and manners of the people
themselves. They were unquestionably half-breeds, and had
received Christian names, and most of them had houses of their
own, and, though hunters, fishermen and trippers, their families
lived comparatively settled lives. Yet the glorious instinct
of the Indian haunted them. As a rule they had been born on the
"pitching-track," in the forest, or on the prairies--in all
sorts of places, they could not say exactly where--and when
they were born was often a matter of doubt as well. [With reference
to these nondescript birthplaces, the wonderful ease of parturition
among Indian women may be referred to here. This is common, probably,
to all primitive races, but is perhaps more marked amongst Indian
mothers than any other. The event may happen in a canoe, on the
trail, at any place, or at any moment, without hindering the ordinary
progress of a travelling party, which is generally overtaken by the
mother in a few hours. But nothing I heard here equalled in grotesque
circumstances occurrences, whose truth I can vouch for, many years
ago on the Saskatchewan River. In 1874, if I remember aright, a great
spring freshet in the North Branch was accompanied by a tremendous
ice-jam, which backed the water up, and flooded the river bank so
suddenly that many Indians were drowned. On an island below Prince
Albert, a woman, to save her life, had to climb a neighbouring tree,
and gave birth to a child amongst the branches. The jam broke, and,
wonderful to say, both mother and child got down to firm ground
alive. Another case, even more gruesome, happened on the Lower
Saskatchewan not so many years ago. A woman and her husband were
hastening on snowshoes from their winter camp to the river, in order
to share in the usual Christmas bounty and festivities at the
Hudson's Bay Company's post. The woman was seized with incipient
labour, and darting from her husband, with whom she had been
quarrelling on the way, pushed on, and, in a frozen marsh, amongst
bulrushes, on a bitterly cold night, was delivered of a child.
Grumous as she was, she picked herself up, and, with incredible
nerve, walked ten miles to the Pas, carrying her live infant with
her, wrapped in a rabbit-skin robe.] It was not in February, but in
_Meeksuo pésim_, "The month when the eagles return"; not in August,
but in Oghpáho pésim, "The month when birds begin to fly." When
called upon they could give their Christian names and answer to
William or Magloire, to Mary or Madaline, but, in spite of priest or
parson, their home name was a Cree one. In many cases the white
forefather's name had been dropped or forgotten, and a Cree surname
had taken its place, as, for example, in the name Louis Maskegósis,
or Madeline Noóskeyah. Some of the Cree names were in their meaning
simply grotesque. Mishoóstiquan meant "The man who stands with the
red hair"; Waupunékapow, "He who stands till morning." One of the
applicants was Kanawatchaguáyo, or "The ghost-keeper."
[It may be mentioned here that this half-breed's "inner" name, so to
speak, meant "The Ghost-Keeper," for the name he gave, following
an Indian usage, was not the real one. Kanawatchaguáyo was the one
given by the interpreter, but accompanied by the translation of
the inner name, to wit, "The Ghost-Keeper." This curious custom is
more fully referred to in a forthcoming work on Indian folk-lore,
traditions, legends, usages, methods and manner of life, etc., by
Mrs. F. H. Paget, of Ottawa. This lady is an expert Cree scholar,
and her work, which I have had the pleasure of hearing her read, is
the result of diligent research and of ample knowledge of Indian
life and character.]
But others were strikingly poetical, particularly the female
names. Payúcko geesigo, "One in the Skies"; Pesawakoona kapesisk,
"The silent snow in falling forming signs or symbols"; Matyatse
wunoguayo, or rather, for this is a doubtful name, Powástia ka
nunaghquánetungh, "Listener to the unseen rapids"; Kese koo
ápeoo, "She sits in heaven," were all the names of applicants
for scrips, and many others could be added of like tenor. In a
word, the Christian or baptismal names have not displaced the
native ones, as they did in Wales and elsewhere, and amongst
some of our far Eastern Indians. But there were terrifying and
repulsive names as well, such as Sese kenápik kaow apeoo, "She
sits like a rattle-snake"; and one individual rejoiced in the
appalling surname of "Grand Bastard." These instances serve
to illustrate the tendency of half-breed nomenclature at the
lake towards the mother's side. Here, too, there was no reserve
in giving the family name; it was given at once when asked for,
and there was no shyness otherwise in demeanour. There was a
readiness, for example, to be photographed which was quite
distinctive. In this connection it may interest the reader
to recall some of the names of girls given by the same race
thousands of miles away in the East. Take those recorded by
Mrs. Jameson ["Winter Studies and Summer Rambles," 1835.]
during her visit to Mrs. McMurray and the Schoolcrafts, on the
Island of Mackinac, over seventy years ago: Oba baumwawa geezegoquay,
"The Sounds which the stars make rushing through the skies"; Zaga
see goquay, "Sunbeams breaking through a cloud"; Wah́sagewanoquay,
"Woman of the bright foam." The people so far apart, yet their home
names so similarly figurative! The education of the Red Indian
lies in his intimate contact with nature in all her phases--a good
education truly, which serves him well. But, awe-struck always by
the mysterious beauty of the world around him, his mind reflects it
instinctively in his Nature-worship and his system of names.
In speaking of the "Lakers" I refer, of course, to the primitive
people of the region, and not to half-breed incomers from Manitoba or
elsewhere. There were a few patriarchal families into which all the
others seemed to dovetail in some shape or form. The Noóskeyah family
was one of these, also the Gladu, the Cowitoreille, [A corruption,
no doubt, of "Courtoreille."] and the Calahaisen. The collateral
branches of these families constituted the main portion of the native
population, and yet inbreeding did not seem to have deteriorated the
stock, for a healthier-looking lot of young men, women and children
it would be hard to find, or one more free from scrofula. There
were instances, too, among these people, of extreme old age; one
in particular which from confirmatory evidence, particularly the
declarations of descendants, seemed quite authentic. This was a woman
called Catherine Bisson--the daughter of Baptiste Bisson and an
Indian woman called Iskwao--who was born on New Year's Day, 1793, at
Lesser Slave Lake, and had spent all her life there since. She had a
numerous progeny which she bore to Kisiśkakápo, "The man who stands
still." She was now blind, and was partly led, partly carried into
our tent--a small, thin, wizened woman, with keen features and a
tongue as keen, which cackled and joked at a great rate with the
crowd around her. It was almost awesome to look at this weird piece
of antiquity, who was born in the Reign of Terror, and was a young
woman before the war of 1812. She was quite lively yet, so far as her
wits went, and seemed likely to go on living. [This very old woman
died, I believe, at Lesser Slave Lake only last spring (1908). The
date of her birth was correct, and we had good reason to believe it,
she must have been far over 100 years old when she died.]
There were many good points in the disposition of the "Lakers"
generally, both young and old. Their kindness and courtesy to
strangers and to each other was marked, and profanity was unknown.
Indeed, if one heard bad language at all it was from the lips of
some Yankee or Canadian teamster, airing his superior knowledge
of the world amongst the natives.
The place, in fact, surprised one--no end of buggies, buckboards and
saddles, and brightly dressed women, after a not altogether antique
fashion; the men, too, orderly, civil, and obliging. Infants were
generally tucked into the comfortable moss-bag, but boys three or
four years old were seen tugging at their mothers' breasts, and all
fat and generally good-looking. The whole community seemed well fed,
and were certainly well clad--some girls extravagantly so, the love
of finery being the ruling trait here as elsewhere. One lost, indeed,
all sense of remoteness, there was such a well-to-do, familiar air
about the scene, and such a bustle of clean-looking people. How all
this could be supported by fur it was difficult to see, but it must
have been so, for there was, as yet, little or no farming amongst the
old "Lakers." It was, of course, a great fur country, and though
the fur-bearing animals were sensibly diminishing, yet the prices
of peltries had risen by competition, whilst supplies had been
correspondingly cheapened. It was a good marten country, and, as this
fur was the fad of fashion, and brought an extravagant price, the
animal, like the beaver, was threatened with extinction, the more so
as the rabbits were then in their period of scarcity.
There were other aspects of Lake life which there is neither
space nor inclination to describe. If some features of "advanced
civilization" had been anticipated there, it was simply another
proof that extremes meet.
Whatever else was hidden, however, there was one thing omnipresent,
namely, the mongrel dog. It was hopeless to explore the origin of an
animal which seemed to draw from all sources, including the wolf and
fox, and whose appetite stopped at nothing, but attacked old shirts,
trousers, dunnage-bags, fry-pans, and even the outfit of a geologist,
to appease the sacred rage of hunger.
It was believed that over a thousand of these dogs, mainly used
in winter to haul fish, surrounded our tent, and when it is said
that an ordinary half-breed family harboured from fifteen to twenty
of the tribe, there is no exaggeration in the estimate. They were
of all shapes, sizes and colours, and, though very civil to man,
from whom they got nothing but kicks and stones, they kept up a
constant row amongst themselves.
To see a scrimmage of fifty or sixty of them on land or in the
water, where they went daily to fish, was a scene to be remembered.
They did not bark, but loped through the woods, which were the camp's
latrines, as scavengers by day, and howled in unison at regular
intervals by night; for there was a sort of horrible harmony in
the performance, and when the tom-toms of the gamblers accompanied
it on all sides, and the pounding of dancers' feet--for in this
enchanted land nobody ever seemed to go to bed--the saturnalia
was complete.
It was indeed a gala time for the happy-go-lucky Lakers, and the
effects of the issue and sale of scrip certificates were soon
manifest in our neighbourhood. The traders' booths were thronged
with purchasers, also the refreshment tents where cigars and ginger
ale were sold; and, in tepees improvised from aspen saplings, the
sporting element passed the night at some interesting but easy
way of losing money, illuminating their game with guttering
candles, minus candlesticks, and presenting a picture worthy
of an impressionist's pencil.
But the two dancing floors were the chief attraction. These also
had been walled and roofed with leafy saplings, their fronts open
to the air, and, thronged as they generally were, well repaid a
visit. Here the comely brunettes, in moccasins or slippers, their
luxuriant hair falling in a braided queue behind their backs,
served not only as tireless partners, but as foils to the young
men, who were one and all consummate masters of step-dancing, an
art which, I am glad to say, was still in vogue in these remote
parts. "French-fours" and the immortal "Red River Jig" were
repeated again and again, and, though a tall and handsome young
half-breed, who had learned in Edmonton, probably, the airs and
graces of the polite world, introduced cotillions and gave "the
calls" with vigorous precision, yet his efforts were not thoroughly
successful. Snarls arose, and knots and confusion, which he did
his best to undo. But it was evident that the hearts of the dancers
were not in it. No sooner was the fiddler heard lowering his
strings for the time-honoured "Jig" than eyes brightened, and
feet began to beat the floor, including, of course, those of
the fiddler himself, who put his whole soul into that weird and
wonderful melody, whose fantastic glee is so strangely blended
with an indescribable master-note of sadness. The dance itself
is nothing; it might as well be called a Rigadoon or a Sailor's
Hornpipe, so far as the steps go. The tune is everything; it is
amongst the immortals. Who composed it? Did it come from Normandy,
the ancestral home of so many French Canadians and of French
Canadian song? Or did some lonely but inspired voyageur, on the
banks of Red River, sighing for Detroit or Trois Rivières--for
the joys and sorrows of home--give birth to its mingled chords in
the far, wild past?
As I looked on, many memories recurred to me of scenes like this in
which I had myself taken part in bygone days--_Eheu! fugaces_--in
old Red River and the Saskatchewan; and, with these in my heart,
I retired to my tent, and gradually fell asleep to the monotonous
sound of the familiar yet inexplicable air.