CHAPTER II
First attempt to hunt. – Measles. – Trapping martins. – Emigration to Red River. – Death of my foster father and brother. – Arrival at Lake Winnipek.
Early in the spring, Net-no-kwa and her husband, with their family, started to go to Mackinac. They left me, as they had done before, at Point St. Ignace, as they would not run the risk of losing me by suffering me to be seen at Mackinac. On our return, after we had gone twenty-five or thirty miles from Point St. Ignace, we were detained by contrary winds at a place called Me-nau-ko-king, a point running out into the lake. Here we encamped with some other Indians and a party of traders. Pigeons were very numerous in the woods and the boys of my age, and the traders, were busy shooting them. I had never killed any game and, indeed, had never in my life discharged a gun. My mother had purchased at Mackinac a keg of powder, which, as they thought it a little damp, was here spread out to dry. Taw-ga-we-ninne had a large horseman’s pistol; and finding myself somewhat emboldened by his indulgent manner toward me, I requested permission to go and try to kill some pigeons with the pistol. My request was seconded by Net-no-kwa, who said, “It is time for our son to begin to learn to be a hunter.” Accordingly, my father, as I called Taw-ga-we-ninne, loaded the pistol and gave it to me, saying, “Go, my son, and if you kill any thing with this, you shall immediately have a gun, and learn to hunt.” Since I have been a man, I have been placed in difficult situations; but my anxiety for success was never greater than in this, my first essay as a hunter. I had not gone far from the camp, before I met with pigeons, and some of them alighted in the bushes very near me. I cocked my pistol, and raised it to my face, bringing the breech almost in contact with my nose. Having brought the sight to bear upon the pigeons, I pulled trigger, and was in the next instant sensible of a humming noise, like that of a stone sent swiftly through the air. I found the pistol at the distance of some paces behind me, and the pigeon under the tree on which he had been sitting. My face was much bruised, and covered with blood. I ran home, carrying my pigeon in triumph. My face was speedily bound up; my pistol exchanged for a fowling-piece; I was accoutred with a powder horn, and furnished with shot, and allowed to go out after birds. One of the young Indians went with me, to observe my manner of shooting. I killed three more pigeons in the course of the afternoon, and did not discharge my gun once without killing. Henceforth I began to be treated with more consideration, and was allowed to hunt often that I might become expert.
Great part of the summer and autumn passed before we returned to Shab-a-wy-wy-a-gun. When we arrived we found the Indians suffering very severely from the measles; and as Net-no-kwa was acquainted with the contagious nature of this disease, she was unwilling to expose her family, but passed immediately through the village and encamped on the river above. But, notwithstanding her precaution, we soon began to fall sick. Of ten persons belonging to our family, including two young wives of Taw-ga-we-ninne, only Net-no-kwa and myself escaped an attack of this complaint. Several of them were very sick, and the old woman and myself found it as much as we could do to take care of them. In the village, numbers died, but all of our family escaped. As the winter approached, they began to get better and went, at length, to our wintering ground, at the same place where we had spent the former winter. Here I was set to make martin traps as the other hunters did. The first day I went out early, and spent the whole day, returning late at night, having made only three traps; whereas, in the same time, a good hunter would have made twenty-five or thirty. On the morning following, I visited my traps, and found but one martin. Thus I continued to do for some days, but my want of success, and my awkwardness, exposed me to the ridicule of the young men. At length, my father began to pity me, and he said, “My son, I must go and help you to make traps.”
So he went out and spent a day in making a large number of traps, which he gave me, and then I was able to take as many martins as the others. The young men, however, did not forget to tell me, on all occasions, of the assistance I had received from my father. This winter was passed like the preceding; but as I became more and more expert and successful in hunting and trapping, I was no longer required to do the work of the women about the lodge.
In the following spring, Net-no-kwa, as usual, went to Mackinac. She always carried a flag in her canoe, and I was told, that whenever she came to Mackinac she was saluted by a gun from the fort. I was now thirteen years old, or in my thirteenth year. Before we left the village, I heard Net-no-kwa talk of going to Red River, to the relations of her husband. Many of the Ottawwaws, when they heard this, determined to go with her. Among others, was Wah-ka-zee, a chief of the village at War-gun-uk-ke-zee[*], or L’Arbre Croche, and others; in all, six canoes. Instead of leaving me, in this instance, at Point St. Ignace, they landed with me in the night among the cedars, not far from the village of Mackinac; and the old woman then took me into the town, to the house of a French trader, (Shabboyer,) with whom she had sufficient influence to secure my confinement for several days in the cellar. Here I remained, not being allowed to go out at all, but was otherwise well treated. This confinement seemed to be unnecessary, as subsequently, when we were ready to go on our journey, we were detained by head winds, at the point now occupied by the missionaries, when I was suffered to run at large. While we remained here, the Indians began to be drunk. My father, who was drunk, but still able to walk about, spoke to two young men who were walking together, and taking hold of the shirt sleeve of one of them, he, without intending to do so, tore it. This young man, whose name was Sug-gut-taw-gun, (Spunk-wood,) was irritated, and giving my father a rough push, he fell on his back. Sug-gut-taw-gun then took up a large stone, and threw it at him, hitting him in the forehead. When I saw this, I became alarmed for my own safety; and, as I knew that Me-to-saw-gea, an Ojibbeway chief, was then on the island, with a party going against the whites; and, as I had understood they had sought opportunities to kill me, I thought my situation unsafe. I accordingly made my escape to the woods, where I hid myself for the remainder of the day and the night. On the following day, being pressed by hunger, I returned and secreted myself for some time in the low cedars near our lodge in order to observe what was passing, and to ascertain if I might return. At length, I discovered my mother calling me, and looking for me through the bushes. I went up to her, and she told me to go in and see my father who was killed. When I went in, my father said to me, “I am killed.” He made me sit down with the other children, and talked much to us. He said, “Now, my children, I have to leave you. I am sorry that I must leave you so poor.” He said nothing to us about killing the Indian who had struck him with the stone, as some would have done. He was too good a man to wish to involve his family in the troubles which such a course would have brought upon them. The young man who had wounded him, remained with us, notwithstanding that Net-no-kwa told him it would not be safe for him to go to Red River where her husband’s relatives were numberous and powerful, and disposed to take revenge.
When we came to the Saut of St. Marie, we put all our baggage on board the trader’s vessel, which was about to sail to the upper end of Lake Superior, and went on ourselves in our canoes. The winds were light, which enabled us to run faster than the vessel, and we arrived ten days before it at the Portage. When she at last came and anchored out at a little distance from the shore, my father and his two sons Wa-me-gon-a-biew, (he who puts on feathers,) the eldest, and Ke-wa-tin, (the north wind,) went out in a canoe to get the baggage. In jumping down into the hold of the vessel, the younger of these young men fell with his knee upon a knot of the rope tied around a bundle of goods, and received an injury from which he never recovered. The same night his knee was badly swollen, and on the next day he was not able to go out of the lodge. After about eight or ten days, we commenced crossing the Grand Portage: we carried him on our shoulders by fastening a blanket to two poles; but he was so sick that we had to stop often, which made us long in passing. We left our canoes at the trading-house, and when we came to the other side of the Portage, were detained some days to make small canoes. When these were nearly finished, my father sent me, with one of his wives, back to the trading-house to bring something which had been forgotten. On our return, we met the two boys at some distance, coming to tell me to hasten home, for my father was dying, and he wished to see me before he died. When I came into the lodge, I found that he was indeed dying, and though he could see, he was not able to speak to me. In a few minutes he ceased to breathe. Beside him lay the gun which he had taken in his hand a few minutes before to shoot the young man who had wounded him at Mackinac. In the morning, when I left him to go to the Portage, he was apparently well; my mother told me it was not until afternoon he began to complain; he then came into the lodge, saying, “I am now dying; but since I have to go, this young man, who has killed me, must go with me. I hoped to have lived till I had raised you all to be men; but now I must die, and leave you poor, and without any one to provide for you.” So saying, he stepped out, with the gun in his hand, to shoot the young man, who was at that time sitting by the door of his own lodge. Ke-wa-tin, hearing this, began to cry, and, addressing his father, said, “My father, if I was well I could help you to kill this man, and could protect my young brothers from the vengeance of his friends after he is dead; but you see my situation, and that I am about to die. My brothers are young and weak, and we shall all be murdered if you kill this man.” My father replied, “My son, I love you too well to refuse you any thing you request.” So saying, he returned, laid down his gun, and, after having said a very few words, inquired for me, and directed them to send for me, he expired. The old woman procured a coffin from the traders, and they brought my father’s body in a wagon to the trading-house on this side the Grand Portage, where they buried him in the burying ground of the whites. His two sons, as well as the young man who killed him, accompanied his body to the Portage. This last was near being killed by one of my brothers; but the other prevented him, as he was about to strike.
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