The feast—Charley makes his first speech in public, and meets with an
old friend—An evening in the grass.
Savages, not less than civilized men, are fond of a good dinner. In
saying this, we do not expect our reader to be overwhelmed with
astonishment. He might have guessed as much; but when we state that
savages, upon particular occasions, eat six dinners in one, and make it
a point of honour to do so, we apprehend that we have thrown a slightly
new light on an old subject. Doubtless there are men in civilised
society who would do likewise if they could; but they cannot,
fortunately, as great gastronomic powers are dependent on severe,
healthful, and prolonged physical exertion. Therefore it is that in
England we find men capable only of eating about two dinners at once,
and suffering a good deal for it afterwards; while in the backwoods we
see men consume a week’s dinners in one, without any evil consequences
following the act.
The feast which was given by the Knisteneux in honour of the visit of
our two friends was provided on a more moderate scale than usual, in
order to accommodate the capacities of the “white men;” three days’
allowance being cooked for each man. (Women are never admitted to the
public feasts.) On the day preceding the ceremony, Charley and Jacques
had received cards of invitation from the principal chief in the shape
of two quills; similar invites being issued at the same time to all the
braves. Jacques being accustomed to the doings of the Indians, and
aware of the fact that whatever was provided for each man _must_ be
eaten before he quitted the scene of operations, advised Charley to eat
no breakfast, and to take a good walk as a preparative. Charley had
strong faith, however, in his digestive powers, and felt much inclined,
when morning came, to satisfy the cravings of his appetite as usual;
but Jacques drew such a graphic picture of the work that lay before
him, that he forbore to urge the matter, and went off to walk with a
light step, and an uncomfortable feeling of vacuity about the region of
the stomach.
About noon, the chiefs and braves assembled in an open enclosure
situated in an exposed place on the banks of the river, where the
proceedings were watched by the women, children, and dogs. The oldest
chief sat himself down on the turf at one end of the enclosure, with
Jacques Caradoc on his right hand, and next to him Charley Kennedy, who
had ornamented himself with a blue stripe painted down the middle of
his nose, and a red bar across his chin. Charley’s propensity for fun
had led him thus to decorate his face, in spite of his companion’s
remonstrances,—urging, by way of excuse, that worthy’s former argument,
“that it was well to fall in with the ways o’ the people a man happened
to be among, so long as these ways and customs were not contrary to
what was right.” Now Charley was sure there was nothing wrong in his
painting his nose sky blue, if he thought fit.
Jacques thought it was absurd, and entertained the opinion that it
would be more dignified to leave his face “its nat’ral colour.”
Charley didn’t agree with him at all. He thought it would be paying the
Indians a high compliment to follow their customs as far as possible,
and said that, after all, his blue nose would not be very conspicuous,
as he (Jacques) had told him that he would “look blue” at any rate when
he saw the quantity of deer’s meat he should have to devour.
Jacques laughed at this, but suggested that the bar across his chin was
_red_. Whereupon Charley said that he could easily neutralise that by
putting a green star under each eye; and then uttered a fervent wish
that his friend Harry Somerville could only see him in that guise.
Finding him incorrigible, Jacques, who, notwithstanding his
remonstrances, was more than half imbued with Charley’s spirit, gave
in, and accompanied him to the feast, himself decorated with the
additional ornament of a red night-cap, to whose crown was attached a
tuft of white feathers.
A fire burned in the centre of the enclosure, round which the Indians
seated themselves according to seniority, and with deep solemnity; for
it is a trait in the Indian’s character that all his ceremonies are
performed with extreme gravity. Each man brought a dish or platter, and
a wooden spoon.
The old chief, whose hair was very gray, and his face covered with old
wounds and scars, received either in war or in hunting, having seated
himself, allowed a few minutes to elapse in silence, during which the
company sat motionless, gazing at their plates as if they half expected
them to become converted into beefsteaks. While they were seated thus,
another party of Indians, who had been absent on a hunting expedition,
strode rapidly but noiselessly into the enclosure, and seated
themselves in the circle. One of these passed close to Charley, and in
doing so stooped, took his hand, and pressed it. Charley looked up in
surprise, and beheld the face of his old friend Redfeather, gazing at
him with an expression in which were mingled affection, surprise, and
amusement at the peculiar alteration in his visage.
“Redfeather!” exclaimed Charlie, in delight, half rising, but the
Indian pressed him down.
“You must not rise,” he whispered, and giving his hand another squeeze,
passed round the circle, and took his place directly opposite.
Having continued motionless for five minutes with becoming gravity, the
company began operations by proceeding to smoke out of the sacred
stem—a ceremony which precedes—all occasions of importance, and is
conducted as follows:—The sacred stem is placed on two forked sticks to
prevent its touching the ground, as that would be considered a great
evil. A stone pipe is then filled with tobacco, by an attendant
specially appointed to that office, and affixed to the stem, which is
presented to the principal chief. That individual, with a gravity and
_hauteur_ that is unsurpassed in the annals of pomposity, receives the
pipe in both hands, blows a puff to the east (probably in consequence
of its being the quarter whence the sun rises), and thereafter pays a
similar mark of attention to the other three points. He then raises the
pipe above his head, points and balances it in various directions (for
what reason and with what end in view is best known to himself), and
replaces it again on the forks. The company meanwhile observe his
proceedings with sedate interest, evidently imbued with the idea that
they are deriving from the ceremony a vast amount of edification—an
idea which is helped out, doubtless, by the appearance of the women and
children, who surround the enclosure, and gaze at the proceedings with
looks of awe-struck seriousness that is quite solemnizing to behold.
The chief then makes a speech relative to the circumstance which has
called them together; and which is always more or less interlarded with
boastful reference to his own deeds, past, present, and prospective,
eulogistic remarks on those of his forefathers, and a general
condemnation of all other Indian tribes whatever. These speeches are
usually delivered with great animation, and contain much poetic
allusion to the objects of nature that surround the homes of the
savage. The speech being finished, the chief sits down amid a universal
“Ho!” uttered by the company with an emphatic prolongation of the last
letter—this syllable being the Indian substitute, we presume, for
“rapturous applause.”
The chief who officiated on the present occasion, having accomplished
the opening ceremonies thus far, sat down; while the pipe-bearer
presented the sacred stem to the members of the company in succession,
each of whom drew a few whiffs and mumbled a few words.
“Do as you see the red-skins, Mr. Charles,” whispered Jacques, while
the pipe was going round.
“That’s impossible,” replied Charley, in a tone that could not be heard
except by his friend. “I couldn’t make a face of hideous solemnity like
that black thief opposite if I was to try ever so hard.”
“Don’t let them think you’re laughing at them,” returned the hunter;
“they would be ill-pleased if they thought so.”
“I’ll try,” said Charley, “but it is hard work, Jacques, to keep from
laughing; I feel like a high-pressure steam-engine already. There’s a
woman standing out there with a little brown baby on her back; she has
quite fascinated me; I can’t keep my eyes off her, and if she goes on
contorting her visage much longer, I feel that I shall give way.”
“Hush!”
At this moment the pipe was presented to Charley, who put it to his
lips, drew three whiffs, and returned it with a bland smile to the
bearer.
The smile was a very sweet one, for that was a peculiar trait in the
native urbanity of Charley’s disposition, and it would have gone far in
civilized society to prepossess strangers in his favour; but it lowered
him considerably in the estimation of his red friends, who entertained
a wholesome feeling of contempt for any appearance of levity on high
occasions. But Charley’s face was of that agreeable stamp that, though
gentle and bland when lighted up with a smile, is particularly
masculine and manly in expression when in repose, and the frown that
knit his brows when he observed the bad impression he had given almost
reinstated him in their esteem. But his popularity became great, and
the admiration of his swarthy friends greater, when he rose and made an
eloquent speech in English, which Jacques translated into the Indian
language.
He told them, in reply to the chief’s oration (wherein that warrior had
complimented his pale-faced brothers on their numerous good qualities),
that he was delighted and proud to meet with his Indian friends; that
the object of his mission was to acquaint them with the fact that a new
trading-fort was established not far off, by himself and his comrades,
for their special benefit and behoof; that the stores were full of
goods which he hoped they would soon obtain possession of, in exchange
for furs; that he had travelled a great distance on purpose to see
their land and ascertain its capabilities in the way of fur-bearing
animals and game; that he had not been disappointed in his
expectations, as he had found the animals to be as numerous as bees,
the fish plentiful in the rivers and lakes, and the country at large a
perfect paradise. He proceeded to tell them further that he expected
they would justify the report he had heard of them, that they were a
brave nation and good hunters, by bringing in large quantities of furs.
Being strongly urged by Jacques to compliment them, on their various
good qualities, Charley launched out into an extravagantly poetic vein,
said that he had heard (but he hoped to have many opportunities of
seeing it proved) that there was no nation under the sun equal to them
in bravery, activity, and perseverance; that he had heard of men in
olden times who made it their profession to fight with wild bulls for
the amusement of their friends, but he had no doubt whatever their
courage would be made conspicuous in the way of fighting wild bears and
buffaloes, not for the amusement but the benefit of their wives and
children (he might have added of the Hudson’s Bay Company, but he
didn’t, supposing that that was self-evident, probably). He
complimented them on the way in which they had conducted themselves in
war in times past, comparing their stealthy approach to enemies’ camps
to the insidious snake that glides among the bushes, and darts
unexpectedly on its prey; said that their eyes were sharp to follow the
war-trail through the forest or over the dry sward of the prairie;
their aim with gun or bow true and sure as the flight of the goose when
it leaves the lands of the sun, and points its beak to the icy regions
of the north; their war-whoops loud as the thunders of the cataract;
and their sudden onset like the lightning flash that darts from the sky
and scatters the stout oak in splinters on the plain.
At this point Jacques expressed his satisfaction at the style in which
his young friend was progressing.
“That’s your sort, Mr. Charles. Don’t spare the butter; lay it on
thick. You’ve not said too much yet, for they are a brave race, that’s
a fact, as I’ve good reason to know.”
Jacques, however, did not feel quite so well satisfied when Charley
went on to tell them that although bravery in war was an admirable
thing, war itself was a thing not at all to be desired, and should only
be undertaken in case of necessity. He especially pointed out that
there was not much glory to be earned in fighting against the
Chipewyans, who, everybody knew, were a poor, timid set of people, whom
they ought rather to pity than to destroy; and recommended them to
devote themselves more to the chase than they had done in times past,
and less to the prosecution of war in time to come.
All this, and a great deal more, did Charley say, in a manner, and with
a rapidity of utterance, that surprised himself, when he considered the
fact that he had never adventured into the field of public speaking
before. All this, and a great deal more—a very great deal more—did
Jacques Caradoc interpret to the admiring Indians, who listened with
the utmost gravity and profound attention, greeting the close with a
very emphatic “Ho!”
Jacques’s translation was by no means perfect. Many of the flights into
which Charley ventured, especially in regard to the manners and customs
of the savages of ancient Greece and Rome, were quite incomprehensible
to the worthy backwoodsman; but he invariably proceeded when Charley
halted, giving a flight of his own when at a loss, varying and
modifying when he thought it advisable, and altering, adding, or
cutting off as he pleased.
Several other chiefs addressed the assembly, and then dinner, if we may
so call it, was served. In Charley’s case it was breakfast; to the
Indians it was breakfast, dinner, and supper in one. It consisted of a
large platter of dried meat, reindeer tongues (considered a great
delicacy), and marrow-bones.
Notwithstanding the graphic power with which Jacques had prepared his
young companion for this meal, Charley’s heart sank when he beheld the
mountain of boiled meat that was placed before him. He was ravenously
hungry, it is true, but it was patent to his perception at a glance
that no powers of gormandizing of which he was capable could enable him
to consume the mass in the course of one day.
Jacques observed his consternation, and was not a little entertained by
it, although his face wore an expression of profound gravity while he
proceeded to attack his own dish, which was equal to that of his
friend.
Before commencing, a small portion of meat was thrown into the fire as
a sacrifice to the Great Master of Life.
“How they do eat, to be sure!” whispered Charley to Jacques, after he
had glanced in wonder at the circle of men who were devouring their
food with the most extraordinary rapidity.
“Why, you must know,” replied Jacques, “that it’s considered a point of
honour to get it over soon, and the man that is done first gets most
credit. But it’s hard work” (he sighed, and paused a little to
breathe), “and I’ve not got half through yet.”
“It’s quite plain that I must lose credit with them, then, if it
depends on my eating that. Tell me, Jacques, is there no way of escape?
Must I sit here till it is all consumed?”
“No doubt of it. Every bit that has been cooked must be crammed down
our throats somehow or other.” Charley heaved a deep sigh, and made
another desperate attack on a large steak, while the Indians around him
made considerable progress in reducing their respective mountains.
Several times Charley and Redfeather exchanged glances as they paused
in their labours.
“I say, Jacques,” said Charley, pulling up once more, “how do you get
on? Pretty well stuffed by this time, I should imagine?”
“Oh no! I’ve a good deal o’ room yet.”
“I give in. Credit or disgrace, it’s all one. I’ll not make a pig of
myself for any red-skin in the land.”
Jacques smiled.
“See,” continued Charley, “there’s a fellow opposite who has devoured
as much as would have served me for three days. I don’t know whether
it’s imagination or not, but I do verily believe that he’s _blacker_ in
the face than when we sat down!”
“Very likely,” replied Jacques, wiping his lips, “Now I’ve done.”
“Done! you have left at least a third of your supply.”
“True, and I may as well tell you for your comfort that there is one
way of escape open to you. It is a custom among these fellows, that
when any one cannot gulp his share o’ the prog, he may get help from
any of his friends that can cram it down their throats; and as there
are always such fellows among these Injins, they seldom have any
difficulty.”
“A most convenient practice,” replied Charley, “I’ll adopt it at once.”
Charley turned to his next neighbour with the intent to beg of him to
eat his remnant of the feast.
“Bless my heart, Jacques, I’ve no chance with the fellow on my left
hand; he’s stuffed quite full already, and is not quite done with his
own share.”
“Never fear,” replied his friend, looking at the individual in
question, who was languidly lifting a marrowbone to his lips; “he’ll do
it easy. I knows the gauge o’ them chaps, and for all his sleepy looks
just now he’s game for a lot more.”
“Impossible,” replied Charley, looking in despair at his unfinished
viands and then at the Indian. A glance round the circle seemed further
to convince him that if he did not eat it himself there were none of
the party likely to do so.
“You’ll have to give him a good lump o’ tobacco to do it, though; he
won’t undertake so much for a trifle, I can tell you.” Jacques chuckled
as he said this, and handed his own portion over to another Indian, who
readily undertook to finish it for him.
“He’ll burst; I feel certain of that,” said Charley, with a deep sigh,
as he surveyed his friend on the left.
At last he took courage to propose the thing to him, and just as the
man finished the last morsel of his own repast, Charley placed his own
plate before him, with a look that seemed to say, “Eat it, my friend,
_if you can._”
The Indian, much to his surprise, immediately commenced to it, and in
less than half-an-hour the whole was disposed of.
During this scene of gluttony, one of the chiefs entertained the
assembly with a wild and most unmusical chant, to which he beat time on
a sort of tambourine, while the women outside the enclosure beat a
similar accompaniment.
“I say, master,” whispered Jacques, “it seems to my observation that
the fellow you call Redfeather eats less than any Injin I ever saw. He
has got a comrade to eat more than half his share; now that’s strange.”
“It won’t appear strange, Jacques, when I tell you that Redfeather has
lived much more among white men than Indians during the last ten years;
and although voyageurs eat an enormous quantity of food, they don’t
make it a point of honour, as these fellows seem to do, to eat much
more than enough. Besides, Redfeather is a very different man from
those around him; he has been partially educated by the missionaries on
Playgreen Lake, and I think has a strong leaning towards them.”
While they were thus conversing in whispers, Redfeather rose, and
holding forth his hand, delivered himself of the following oration:—
“The time has come for Redfeather to speak. He has kept silence for
many moons now, but his heart has been full of words. It is too full;
he must speak now. Redfeather has fought with his tribe, and has been
accounted a brave, and one who loves his people. This is true. He
_does_ love, even more than they can understand. His friends know that
he has never feared to face danger and death in their defence, and
that, if it were necessary, he would do so still. But Redfeather is
going to leave his people now. His heart is heavy at the thought.
Perhaps many moons will come and go, many snows may fall and melt away,
before he sees his people again; and it is this that makes him full of
sorrow, it is this that makes his head to droop like the branches of
the weeping willow.”
Redfeather paused at this point, but not a sound escaped from the
listening circle: the Indians were evidently taken by surprise at this
abrupt announcement. He proceeded:—
“When Redfeather travelled not long since with the white men, he met
with a pale-face who came from the other side of the Great Salt Lake
towards the rising sun. This man was called by some of the people a
missionary. He spoke wonderful things in the ear of Redfeather. He told
him of things about the Great Spirit which he did not know before, and
he asked Redfeather to go and help him to speak to the Indians about
these strange things. Redfeather would not go. He loved his people too
much, and he thought that the words of the missionary seemed
foolishness. But he has thought much about it since. He does not
understand the strange things that were told to him, and he has tried
to forget them, but he cannot. He can get no rest. He hears strange
sounds in the breeze that shakes the pine. He thinks that there are
voices in the waterfall; the rivers seem to speak, Redfeather’s spirit
is vexed. The Great Spirit, perhaps, is talking to him. He has resolved
to go to the dwelling of the missionary and stay with him.”
The Indian paused again, but still no sound escaped from his comrades.
Dropping his voice to a soft plaintive tone, he continued—
“But Redfeather loves his kindred. He desires very much that they
should hear the things that the missionary said. He spoke of the happy
hunting grounds to which the spirits of our fathers have gone, and said
that we required a _guide_ to lead us there; that there was but one
guide, whose name, he said, was Jesus. Redfeather would stay and hunt
with his people, but his spirit is troubled; he cannot rest; he must
go!”
Redfeather sat down, and a long silence ensued. His words had evidently
taken the whole party by surprise, although not a countenance there
showed the smallest symptom of astonishment, except that of Charley
Kennedy, whose intercourse with Indians had not yet been so great as to
have taught him to conceal his feelings.
At length the old chief rose, and after complimenting Redfeather on his
bravery in general, and admitting that he had shown much love to his
people on all occasions, went into the subject of his quitting them at
some length. He reminded him that there were evil spirits as well as
good; that it was not for him to say which kind had been troubling him,
but that he ought to consider well before he went to live altogether
with pale-faces. Several other speeches were made, some to the same
effect, and others applauding his resolve. These latter had, perhaps,
some idea that his bringing the pale-faced missionary among them would
gratify their taste for the marvellous—a taste that is pretty strong in
all uneducated minds.
One man, however, was particularly urgent in endeavouring to dissuade
him from his purpose. He was a tall, low-browed man; muscular and well
built, but possessed of a most villainous expression of countenance.
From a remark that fell from one of the company, Charley discovered
that his name was Misconna, and so learned, to his surprise, that he
was the very Indian mentioned by Redfeather as the man who had been his
rival for the hand of Wabisca, and who had so cruelly killed the wife
of the poor trapper the night on which the Chipewyan camp was attacked,
and the people slaughtered.
What reason Misconna had for objecting so strongly to Redfeather’s
leaving the community no one could tell, although some of those who
knew his unforgiving nature suspected that he still entertained the
hope of being able, some day or other, to weak his vengeance on his old
rival. But whatever was his object, he failed in moving Redfeather’s
resolution; and it was at last admitted by the whole party that
Redfeather was a “wise chief;” that he knew best what ought to be done
under the circumstances, and it was hoped that his promised visit, in
company with the missionary, would not be delayed many moons.
That night, in the deep shadow of the trees, by the brook that murmured
near the Indian camp, while the stars twinkled through the branches
overhead, Charley introduced Redfeather to his friend Jacques Caradoc,
and a friendship was struck up between the bold hunter and the red man
that grew and strengthened as each successive day made them acquainted
with their respective good qualities. In the same place, and with the
same stars looking down upon them, it was further agreed that
Redfeather should accompany his new friends, taking his wife along with
him in another canoe, as far as their several routes led them in the
same direction, which was about four or five days’ journey; and that
while the one party diverged towards the fort at Stoney Creek, the
other should pursue its course to the missionary station on the shores
of Lake Winnipeg.
But there was a snake in the grass there that they little suspected.
Misconna had crept through the bushes after them, with a degree of
caution that might have baffled their vigilance, even had they
suspected treason in a friendly camp. He lay listening intently to all
their plans, and when they returned to their camp, he rose out from
among the bushes, like a dark spirit of evil, clutched the handle of
his scalping-knife, and gave utterance to a malicious growl; then,
walking hastily after them, his dusky figure was soon concealed among
the trees.