FORT SMITH AND THE SOCIAL QUEEN
Several times during our river journey I heard reference to
an extraordinary woman in the lower country, one who gave herself
great airs, put on style, who was so stuck up, indeed, that she had
"two pots, one for tea, one for coffee." Such incredible pomposity
and arrogance naturally invited sarcastic comment from all the
world, and I was told I should doubtless see this remarkable person
at Fort Smith.
After the return from Buffalo hunt No. 2, and pending arrangements
for hunt No. 3, 1 saw more of Fort Smith than I wished for, but
endeavoured to turn the time to account by copying out interesting
chapters from the rough semi-illegible, perishable manuscript
accounts of northern life called "old-timers." The results of this
library research work appear under the chapter heads to which they
belong.
At each of these northern posts there were interesting experiences
in store for me, as one who had read all the books of northern travel
and dreamed for half a lifetime of the north; and that was--almost
daily meeting with famous men. I suppose it would be similar if
one of these men were to go to London or Washington and have some
one tell him: that gentle old man there is Lord Roberts, or that
meek, shy, retiring person is Speaker Cannon; this on the first
bench is Lloyd-George, or that with the piercing eyes is Aldrich,
the uncrowned King of America. So it was a frequent and delightful
experience to meet with men whose names have figured in books of
travel for a generation. This was Roderick MacFarlane, who founded
Fort Anderson, discovered the MacFarlane Rabbit, etc.; here was
John Schott, who guided Caspar Whitney; that was Hanbury's head
man; here was Murdo McKay, who travelled with Warburton Pike in
the Barrens and starved with him on Peace River; and so with many
more.
Very few of these men had any idea of the interest attaching
to their observations. Their notion of values centres chiefly on
things remote from their daily life. It was very surprising to see
how completely one may be outside of the country he lives in. Thus
I once met a man who had lived sixteen years in northern Ontario,
had had his chickens stolen every year by Foxes, and never in his
life had seen a Fox. I know many men who live in Wolf country, and
hear them at least every week, but have never seen one in twenty
years' experience. Quite recently I saw a score of folk who had
lived in the porcupiniest part of the Adirondacks for many summers
and yet never saw a Porcupine, and did not know what it was when
I brought one into their camp. So it was not surprising to me to
find that although living in a country that swarmed with Moose, in
a village which consumes at least a hundred Moose per annum, there
were at Fort Smith several of the Hudson's Bay men that had lived
on Moose meat all their lives and yet had never seen a live Moose.
It sounds like a New Yorker saying he had never seen a stray cat.
But I was simply dumfounded by a final development in the same line.
Quite the most abundant carpet in the forest here is the uva-ursi
or bear-berry. Its beautiful evergreen leaves and bright red berries
cover a quarter of the ground in dry woods and are found in great
acre beds. It furnishes a staple of food to all wild things, birds
and beasts, including Foxes, Martens, and Coyotes; it is one of the
most abundant of the forest products, and not one hundred yards from
the fort are solid patches as big as farms, and yet when I brought
in a spray to sketch it one day several of the Hudson's Bay officers
said: "Where in the world did you get that? It must be very rare,
for I never yet saw it in this country." A similar remark was made
about a phoebe-bird. "It was never before seen in the country"; and
yet there is a pair nesting every quarter of a mile from Athabaska
Landing to Great Slave Lake.
Fort Smith, being the place of my longest stay, was the scene of
my largest medical practice.
One of my distinguished patients here was Jacob McKay, a half-breed
born on Red River in 1840. He left there in 1859 to live 3 years
at Rat Portage. Then he went to Norway House, and after 3 years
moved to Athabaska in 1865. In 1887 he headed a special government
expedition into the Barren Grounds to get some baby Musk-ox skins.
He left Fort Rae, April 25, 1887, and, travelling due north with
Dogrib Indians some 65 miles, found Musk-ox on May 10, and later
saw many hundreds. They killed 16 calves for their pelts, but no
old ones. McKay had to use all his influence to keep the Indians
from slaughtering wholesale; indeed, it was to restrain them that
he was sent.
He now lives at Fort Resolution.
One morning the chief came and said he wanted me to doctor a sick
woman in his lodge. I thought sick women a good place for an amateur
to draw the line, but Squirrel did not. "Il faut venir; elle est
bien malade."
At length I took my pill-kit and followed him. Around his lodge
were a score of the huge sled dogs, valuable animals in winter,
but useless, sullen, starving, noisy nuisances all summer. If you
kick them out of your way, they respect you; if you pity them, they
bite you. They respected us.
We entered the lodge, and there sitting by the fire were two squaws
making moccasins. One was old and ugly as sin; the second, young
and pretty as a brown fawn. I looked from one to the other in doubt,
and said:
"Laquelle est la malade?"
Then the pretty one replied in perfect English: "You needn't talk
French here; I speak English,' which she certainly did. French is
mostly used, but the few that speak English are very proud of it
and are careful to let you know.
"Are you ill?" I asked.
"The chief thinks I am," was the somewhat impatient reply, and she
broke down in a coughing fit.
"How long have you had that?" I said gravely.
"What?"
I tapped my chest for reply.
"Oh! since last spring."
"And you had it the spring before, too, didn't you?"
"Why, yes! (a pause). But that isn't what bothers me."
"Isn't your husband kind to you?"
"Yes--sometimes."
"Is this your husband?"
"No! F----- B----- is; I am K-----."
Again she was interrupted by coughing.
"Would you like something to ease that cough?" I asked.
"No! It isn't the body that's sick; it's the heart."
"Do you wish to tell me about it?"
"I lost my babies."
"'When?"
"Two years ago. I had two little ones, and both died in one month.
I am left much alone; my husband is away on the transport; our
lodge is nearby. The chief has all these dogs; they bark at every
little thing and disturb me, so I lie awake all night and think
about my babies. But that isn't the hardest thing."
"What is it?"
She hesitated, then burst out: "The tongues of the women. You don't
know what a hell of a place this is to live in. The women here don't
mind their work; they sit all day watching for a chance to lie about
their neighbours. If I am seen talking to you now, a story will be
made of it. If I walk to the store for a pound of tea, a story is
made of that. If I turn my head, another story; and everything is
carried to my husband to make mischief. It is nothing but lies,
lies, lies, all day, all night, all year. Women don't do that way
in your country, do they?"
"No," I replied emphatically. "If any woman in my country were
to tell a lie to make another woman unhappy, she would be thought
very, very wicked."
"I am sure of it," she said. "I wish I could go to your country
and be at rest." She turned to her work and began talking to the
others in Chipewyan.
Now another woman entered. She was dressed in semi-white style,
and looked, not on the ground, as does an Indian woman, on seeing
a strange man, but straight at me.
"Bon jour, madame," I said.
"I speak Ingliss," she replied with emphasis.
"Indeed! And what is your name?"
"I am Madame X-------."
And now I knew I was in the presence of the stuckup social queen.
After some conversation she said: "I have some things at home you
like to see."
"Where is your lodge?" I asked.
"Lodge," she replied indignantly; "I have no lodge. I know ze Indian
way. I know ze half-breed way. I know ze white man's way. I go ze
white man's way. I live in a house--and my door is painted blue."
I went to her house, a 10 by 12 log cabin; but the door certainly
was painted blue, a gorgeous sky blue, the only touch of paint in
sight. Inside was all one room, with a mud fireplace at one end
and some piles of rags in the corners for beds, a table, a chair,
and some pots. On the walls snow-shoes, fishing-lines, dried fish
in smellable bunches, a portrait of the Okapi from Outing, and a
musical clock that played with painful persistence the first three
bars of "God Save the King." Everywhere else were rags, mud, and
dirt. "You see, I am joost like a white woman," said the swarthy
queen. "I wear boots (she drew her bare brown feet and legs under
her) and corsets. Zey are la," and she pointed to the wall, where,
in very truth, tied up with a bundle of dried fish, were the articles
in question. Not simply boots and corsets, but high-heeled Louis
Quinze slippers and French corsets. I learned afterward how they
were worn. When she went shopping to the H. B. Co. store she had
to cross the "parade" ground, the great open space; she crowded her
brown broad feet into the slippers, then taking a final good long
breath she strapped on the fearfully tight corsets outside of all.
Now she hobbled painfully across the open, proudly conscious that
the eyes of the world were upon her. Once in the store she would
unhook the corsets and breathe comfortably till the agonized
triumphant return parade was in order.
This, however, is aside; we are still in the home of the queen. She
continued to adduce new evidences. "I am just like a white woman.
I call my daughter darrr-leeng." Then turning to a fat, black-looking
squaw by the fire, she said: "Darrr-leeng, go fetch a pail of
vaw-taire."
But darling, if familiar with that form of address, must have been
slumbering, for she never turned or moved a hair's-breadth or gave
a symptom of intelligence. Now, at length it transpired that the
social leader wished to see me professionally.
"It is ze nairves," she explained. "Zere is too much going on in
this village. I am fatigue, very tired. I wish I could go away to
some quiet place for a long rest."
It was difficult to think of a place, short of the silent tomb,
that would be obviously quieter than Fort Smith. So I looked wise,
worked on her faith with a pill, assured her that she would soon
feel much better, and closed the blue door behind me.
With Chief Squirrel, who had been close by in most of this, I now
walked back to my tent. He told me of many sick folk and sad lodges
that needed me.
It seems that very few of these people are well. In spite of their
healthy forest lives they are far less sound than an average white
community. They have their own troubles, with the white man's maladies
thrown in. I saw numberless other cases of dreadful, hopeless,
devastating diseases, mostly of the white man's importation. It is
heart-rending to see so much human misery and be able to do nothing
at all for it, not even bring a gleam of hope. It made me feel like
a murderer to tell one after another, who came to me covered with
cankerous bone-eating sores, "I can do nothing"; and I was deeply
touched by the simple statement of the Chief Pierre Squirrel, after
a round of visits: "You see how unhappy we are, how miserable and
sick. When I made this treaty with your government, I stipulated
that we should have here a policeman and a doctor; instead of that
you have sent nothing but missionaries."