Oowikapun was bewildered at the marvellous contrast between what he had
been accustomed to witness in the wretched wigwams and lives of his own
people and what he here saw in this bright little tent of Memotas. It
was all so new and strange to him. Everybody seemed so happy. There
were no rude words said by the boy to his mother and no tyrannising over
his sister. With equal affection Memotas treated Meyookesik and
Sagastao, and great indeed was his kindness and attention to his wife.
At first Oowikapun's old prejudices and defective education as regards
women almost made him believe that Memotas was lacking in brave, manly
qualities to allow his wife and daughter to be on such loving terms of
equality with himself and his son. But when he became better acquainted
with him, he found that this was not the case.
Oowikapun could not then solve this question, neither did he until in
after years he became a Christian.
There was one custom observed in the wigwam of Memotas that gave
Oowikapun more surprise than any of these to which we have referred, for
it was something which he had never heard of nor seen before. It was
that in the morning and evening Memotas would take out of a bag a little
book printed in strange characters, and read from it while his wife and
children reverently and quietly sat around him and listened to the
strange words. Then they would sing in a manner so different from the
wild, droning, monotonous songs of the conjurers, that Oowikapun was
filled with a strange feeling of awe, which was much increased when they
all knelt down reverently on the ground and Memotas seemed to talk with
the Great Spirit and call him his Father. Then he thanked him for all
their blessings, and asked his forgiveness for everything they had done
that was wrong, and he asked his blessing upon his family and everybody
else, even upon his enemies, if he had any. Then he besought the Great
Spirit to bless Oowikapun, and not only heal his wounds, but take the
darkness from his mind and make him his child. He always ended his
prayers by asking the Great Spirit to do all these things for the sake
of his Son Jesus.
All this was very strange and even startling to Oowikapun. He had lived
all his life in a land dark with superstition and paganism. The Gospel
had as yet never been proclaimed there. The name of Jesus had never
been heard in that wild north-land, and so as none of the blessedness of
religion had entered into the hearts of the people, so none of its
sweet, losing, elevating influences had begun to ennoble and bless their
lives and improve their habits. So he pondered over what he witnessed
and heard, and was thankful when the day's hunting was over, and Memotas
would talk to him as they sat there on their robes around the fire,
often for hours at a time. From him he learned how it was that they had
so changed in many of their ways. Memotas told him of the coming to
Norway House of the first missionary, the Reverend James Evans, with the
book of heaven, the words of the Good Spirit to his children. He told
him many of the wonderful things it speaks about, and that it showed how
man was to love and worship God, and thus secure his blessing and
favour. The little book which Memotas had was composed of the four
gospels only. These Mr Evans had had printed at the village in Indian
letters, which he had invented and called "syllabic characters." They
are so easily learned by the Indians, that in a few weeks those who were
diligent in their studies were able to read fluently those portions of
the word of God already translated for them, as well as a number of
beautiful hymns. Oowikapun had never heard of such things, and was so
amazed and confounded that he could hardly believe that he was in his
right mind, especially when Memotas, to try and give him some idea of
the syllabic characters in which his little book was printed, made
little sentences with a piece of coal on birch bark, and then handed
them to his wife and children, who easily read out what had been
written. That birch bark could talk, as he expressed it, was a mystery
indeed.
When the time came for Oowikapun to return to his home Memotas went with
him quite a distance. He had become very much interested in him, and
being a happy Christian himself, he was anxious that this man, who had
come to him and been benefited physically, should hear about his soul's
need, and the great Physician who could heal all its diseases. Lovingly
and faithfully he talked to him and urged him to accept of this great
salvation. Then he asked him to kneel down with him, and there, alone
with him and God, Memotas prayed earnestly that this dark pagan brother
might yet come into the light of the blessed Gospel. Then he kissed
him, and they parted, not to meet again for years.
Happy would it have been for Oowikapun if he had responded to Memotas's
entreaties and become a Christian, but the heart is hard and blinded as
well as deceitful, and the devil is cunning. So long, sad years passed
by ere Oowikapun, after trying, as we shall see, other ways to find
peace and soul comfort, humbled himself at the cross, and found peace in
believing on the Lord Jesus Christ.
Oowikapun returned to his little lodge, rekindled the fire, and tried to
enter upon his hunting life where he had left off when wounded by the
wolf. He stretched the furs already secured, and then early next
morning visited his traps and spent the rest of the day hunting for
deer. His success was not very great; the fact is, what he had heard
and witnessed during the days of his sojourn in the wigwam of Memotas
had given him so much food for thought that he was not concentrating his
mind on his work in a manner that would bring success. He would
sometimes get into a reverie so absorbing that he would stop in the
trail and strive to think over and over again what he had heard about
the good book and its teachings. Very suddenly one day was he roused
out of one of these reveries. He had gone out to visit some traps which
he had set in a place where he had noticed the tracks of wild cats.
While going along through a dense forest with his gun strapped on his
back he got so lost in thought that his naturally shrewd instincts as a
hunter, sharpened by practice, seemed to have deserted him, and he
nearly stumbled over a huge, old she bear and a couple of young cubs.
With a growl of rage at being thus disturbed the fierce brute rushed at
him, and quickly broke up his reverie and brought him back to a sense of
present danger. To unstrap his gun in time for its successful use was
impossible, but the ever-ready sharp pointed knife was available, and so
Oowikapun, accustomed to such battles, although never before taken so
unexpectedly, sprang back to the nearest tree, which fortunately for him
was close at hand. With a large tree at his back, and a good knife in
his hand, an experienced Indian has the advantage on his side and can
generally kill his savage antagonist without receiving a wound, but if
attacked by a black bear in the open plain, when armed with only a
knife, the hunter very rarely kills his enemy without receiving a
fearful hug or some dangerous wounds.
One of the first bits of advice which an old, experienced Indian hunter
gives to a young hunter, be he white or Indian, who goes out anxious to
kill a bear, or who may possibly while hunting for other game be
attacked by one, is to get his back up against a tree so large that if
the bear is not killed by the bullet of his gun, he may be in the best
possible position to fight him with his knife. It will be no child's
play, for a wounded, maddened bear is a fierce foe. The black bear's
method of trying to kill his human antagonist is quite different from
that of the grizzly bear of the Rocky Mountains. The grizzly strikes
out with his dreadful claws with such force that he can tear a man to
pieces and is able to crush down a horse under his powerful blows, but
the black bear tries to get the hunter in his long, strong, armlike fore
legs, and then crush him to death. The hug of a bear, as some hunters
know to their cost, is a warm, close embrace. Some who, by the quick,
skillful use of their knives, or by the prompt arrival of a rescue
party, have been rescued from the almost deathly hug, have told me how
their ribs have been broken and their breastbones almost crushed in by
the terrible embrace. I know of several who have been in such conflict,
and although they managed to escape death by driving their knives into
some vital spot, yet they had suffered so much from broken ribs and
other injuries received, that they were never as strong and vigorous
afterward. But with a good tree at his back, his trusty knife in his
hand, and his brain cool, the advantage is all on the side of the
hunter.
Among the many stories told of such conflicts, there is one by a
Canadian Indian which shows that even the women know how to successfully
conquer in these encounters. This hunter was out looking for game, and
had succeeded in killing a deer, which he left in the woods with his
wife, skinning it, while he returned to his wigwam for his sled on which
to drag it home, as it was a large one. It was in the spring of the
year and there was still snow on the ground. A great, hungry bear that
had just left his den after his long winter's sleep of months, while
prowling about looking for food, got on the scent of the blood of the
newly killed deer, and following it up soon reached the spot where the
Indian woman was skinning the animal. She had just time to spring up
with the knife in her hand and back up against a tree before the
half-famished brute sprang on the partly skinned animal and began
devouring it. Seeing the woman so close, he seemed to think it best to
get rid of her before eating his meat, so with a growl he rushed at her.
He raised himself up on his hind legs and tried to get his fore paws
around her, and thus crush her to death. She was a brave woman and knew
what to do. Holding the knife firmly in her hand, she waited until his
hot breath was in her face and he was trying to crowd his paws in
between her back and the tree against which she was pressing herself
with all her might, then with all her force she plunged the sharp
pointed knife into his body in the region of his heart and gave it a
quick, sharp turn. So thoroughly and well did she do her work that the
great, fierce brute could only throw up his paws and fall over dead.
The brave squaw had killed him without receiving a scratch herself, and
when her husband returned with his sled he found that, not only had his
wife skinned the deer, but also a big black bear.