“It would have been well,” he replied, “had you gone long ago.” I waited there twenty days, receiving all the time the kindest treatment from Mr. Tace. He then brought me in his own canoe to Fort William, whence Dr. M’Laughlin sent me in one of his boats to the Saut De St. Marie, and thence Mr. Ermatinger brought me to Mackinac. All the people of the North West Company, whom I saw on this journey, treated me kindly, and no one mentioned a word of my connection with the Hudson’s Bay.
Major Puthuff, the United States Indian Agent at Mackinac gave me a birch bark canoe, some provisions, and a letter to Gov. Cass at Detroit. My canoe was lashed to the side of the schooner, on board which I sailed for Detroit under the care of a gentleman whose name I do not recollect, but who, as I thought, was sent by Major Puthuff expressly to take care of me on the way. In five days we arrived, and the gentleman telling me to wait until he could go on shore and return, he left me, and I heard no more of him. Next day I went on shore by myself, and walking up into the street I stood for some time gazing around me. At length, I saw an Indian, and going up to him, asked who he was, and where he belonged. He answered me, “An Ottawwaw, of Saw-ge-nong.” “Do you know Gish-kaw-ko?” said I. “He is my father.” “And where,” said I, “is Manito-o-geezhik, his father, and your grand-father?” “He died last fall.” I told him to go and call his father to come and see me. He called him, but the old man would not come.
Next day, as I was again standing in the street, and looking one way and the other, I saw an old Indian, and ran after him. When he heard me coming, he turned about, and after looking anxiously at me for a few moments, caught me in his arms. It was Gish-kaw-ko, but he looked very unlike the young man who had taken me prisoner so many years before. He asked me, in a hurried manner, many questions, inquired what had happened to me, and where I had been since I left him, and many such questions. I tried to induce him to take me to the house of Gov. Cass, but he appeared afraid to go. Finding I could not prevail upon him, I took Major Puthuff s letter in my hand, and having learned from the Indians in which house the governor lived, I went toward the gate, till a soldier, who was walking up and down before it, stopped me. I could not speak English so as to be at all understood, but seeing the governor sitting in his porch, I held up the letter towards him. He then told the soldier to let me pass in. As soon as he had opened the letter, he gave me his hand, and having sent for an interpreter, he talked a long time with me. Gish-kaw-ko having been sent for, confirmed my statement respecting the circumstances of my capture, and my two years residence with the Ottawwaws of Saw-ge-nong.
The governor gave me clothing to the amount of sixty or seventy dollars value, and sent me to remain, for the present, at the house of his interpreter more than a mile distant, where he told me I must wait till he should assemble many Indians and white men, to hold a council at St. Mary’s on the Miami, whence he would send me to my relatives on the Ohio.
I waited two months or more, and becoming extremely impatient to go on my way, I started with Be-nais-sa, the brother of Gish-kaw-ko, and eight other men who were going to the council. I went without the knowledge of Gov. Cass, and was therefore destitute of any supply of provisions. We suffered much from fatigue, and still more from hunger, particularly after we passed the rapids of the Miami where we left our canoe. The Indians among whom we passed oftentimes refused to give us any thing, though they had plenty. Sometimes we stopped to sleep near a white man’s corn field, and though the corn was now fit to roast, and we almost perishing with hunger, we dared not take any thing. One night, we stopped near a good looking house, where was a large and fine corn field. The Indians, being very hungry, said to me, “Shaw-shaw-was ne-ba-se, you have come very far to see your relations, now go in and see whether they will give you any thing to eat.” I went and stood in the door, but the people within, who were then eating, drove me away, and on my return the Indians laughed at me.
Some time after this, as we were sleeping one night in the road, some one came up on horseback, and asked us, in the Ottawwaw dialect, who we were. One of the Indians answered, “We are Ottawwaws and Ojibbeways, and have with us one Long Knife from Red River, who was taken prisoner many years ago by Gish-kaw-ko.” He told us, after he understood who we were, and where we were going, that his name was Ah-koo-nah-goo-zik. “If you are brisk travellers,” said he, “you may reach my house next day after to-morrow at noon, and then you will find plenty to eat. It is necessary that I should travel on all night, that I may reach home to-morrow.” And thus he left us. Next day, my strength failed so much that I was only able to keep up by being released from my load. One took my gun, another my blanket, and we reached that night the forks of the Miami, where was a settlement of Indians and a trading-house, as well as several families of whites. I applied to the trader, and stated my situation, and that of the Indians with me, but we could obtain no relief, and on the next day I was totally unable to travel. We were indebted to the Indians for what relief we obtained, which was sufficient to enable us the day after to reach the hospitable dwelling of Ah-ko-nah-goo-zik.
This man had two large kettles of corn and venison ready cooked, and awaiting our arrival. One he placed before me, with some wooden dishes, and spoons; the other before Be-nais-sa. After we had eaten, he told us we had better remain with him ten or fifteen days, and refresh ourselves from our long journey, as he had plenty of corn, and fat venison was abundant about him. I told him that for my own part I had for many years been wishing to make the journey I had now so nearly accomplished, and that I was extremely impatient to see whether or not any of my own relatives were still alive, but that I should be glad to rest with him two or three days, and afterwards to borrow one of his horses to ride as far as Kau-wis-se-no-ki-ug, or St. Mary’s. “I will tell you,” said he. After two or three days, as we were early one morning making up our loads to start, he came to me, leading a fine horse and putting the halter in my hand, he said, “I give you this for your journey.” I did not again tell him I would leave it at Kau-wis-se-no-ki-ug, as I had already told him this, and I knew that in such cases the Indians do not wish to hear much said. In two days I arrived at the place appointed for the council. As yet no Indians had assembled, but a man was stationed there to issue provisions to such as should come. I had been but a short time at this place when I was seized with fever and ague, which, though it did not confine me all the time, was yet extremely painful and distressing.
After about ten days, a young man of the Ottawwaws, whom Be-nais-sa had given me to cook for me and assist about me in my sickness, went across the creek to a camp of the Po-ta-wa-to-mies who had recently arrived and were drinking. At midnight he was brought into the lodge drunk, and one of the men who came with him, said to me, as he pushed him in, “Take care of your young man. He has been doing mischief.” I immediately called Be-nais-sa to kindle a fire, when we saw, by the light of it, the young man standing with his knife in his hand, and that, together with his arm and great part of his body covered with blood. The Indians could not make him lie down, but when I told him to, he obeyed immediately and I forbade them to make any inquiries about what he had done, or take any notice of his bloody knife. In the morning, having slept soundly, he was perfectly unconscious of all that had passed. He said he believed that he had been very drunk, and as he was now hungry, he must hurry and get ready something to eat. He was astonished and confounded when I told him he had killed a man. He remembered only that in his drunkenness he had began to cry for his father, who had been killed on that spot several years before by white men. He expressed much concern, and went immediately to see the man he had stabbed, who was not yet dead. We learned from the Po-ta-wa-to-mies that he had found the young man sleeping, or lying in a state of insensibility from intoxication, and had stabbed him without any words having been exchanged, and apparently without knowing who he was. The relations of the wounded man said nothing to him, but the interpreter of Gov. Cass reproved him very sharply.