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Page 38
The Sachems, or chiefs of the Algonquins, possess little or no
authority, but their advice is of some weight There are gradations of
rank in the chieftainship; the Kitchi Okima, or great chief, takes
precedence at the Council, and propounds the subject of discussion;
the inferior chiefs (Okimas) speak in turn, according to seniority;
every old man, however, whether chief or not, is allowed to give his
opinion, and the general voice of the assembly decides the question at
issue. It is seldom, however, that any question arises requiring much
deliberation in the present times of peace. When a party of strange
Indians arrives at the village, a council is called to ascertain the
means the community may possess of discharging properly the rites of
hospitality; each individual states the modicum he is willing to
contribute, in cash or in kind, and the proceeds, which are always
sufficient to entertain the guests sumptuously, according to Indian
ideas, while they remain, are placed at the disposal of the Kitchi
Okima.
Councils are held and harangues delivered when they receive their
annual presents from Government; these consist of blankets, cloth,
ammunition, and a variety of small articles, all of which in their
present impoverished state are highly valued by them. They profess an
attachment to the British Government; but, like certain more civilized
nations, they will fight for the cause that is likely to yield them
most advantage. Their loyalty to Britain, therefore, is less to be
depended on than their hatred to America. A general idea has gone
abroad regarding their taciturnity which does not accord with my
experience. Far from being averse to colloquial intercourse, they
delight in it; none more welcome to an Indian wigwam than one who can
talk freely. They pass the winter evenings in relating their
adventures, hunting being their usual theme, or in telling stories;
and often have I heard the woods resound with peals of laughter
excited by their wit, for they too are witty in their own way.
Their tradition of the flood (_kitchi a tesoka_, or "great tale,") is
somewhat remarkable. The world having been overflowed by water, all
mankind perished but one family, who embarked in a large canoe, taking
a variety of animals along with them. The canoe floated about for some
time, when a musk-rat, tired of its confinement, jumped overboard and
dived; it soon reappeared, with a mouthful of mud, which it deposited
on the surface of the water, and from this beginning the new world was
formed.
When the veracity of an Indian is doubted, he points to heaven with
his forefinger, and exclaims:--
"He to whom we belong knows that what I say is true."
No white man trusts more firmly in the validity of a solemn oath than
the Indian in this asseveration. Still it must be confessed that they
are prone to falsehood; but they seem to allow themselves a much
greater licence in this respect in their intercourse with the whites
than amongst themselves.
When an Indian is about to enter a wigwam, he utters the word or sound
"Quay" in a peculiar tone; the word repeated from within is considered
as an invitation to enter. Should he neglect to announce himself in
this way he is considered as ill-bred--an unmannerly boor. The
left-hand side of the wigwam as you enter is considered the place of
honour; here the father of the family and chief squaw take their
station, the young men on the opposite side, and the women next to the
door, or at the upper end of the fire-place, both ends being alike
plebeian. When a person of respectability enters, the father, moving
towards the door, resigns his place to his guest, places skins under
him, and otherwise pays every attention to his comfort. They are
extremely hospitable, and cheerfully share their last morsel with the
stranger who may be in want. Hospitality, however, is a virtue which
civilization rarely improves.
A good hunter always leaves his lodge by dawn of day, and seldom
tastes food till he returns late at night. Hunting beavers is a most
laborious occupation, and becomes more so in proportion to the
scarcity of these animals; for this reason, that when a great number
of beavers occupy a lake, their places of retreat are in closer
proximity to each other, and for the most part inhabited; if the
number be reduced, it is likely they will have the same places of
retreat, and the hunter must bore through the ice, before he can
ascertain whether they are inhabited or not.
The sagacity of their dogs is truly surprising. The beaver house being
first destroyed by the hunter, the dogs are urged by a peculiar call
to scent out their retreats, which they never fail to do, whatever may
be the thickness of the ice. They keep running about the borders of
the lake, their noses close to the ground, and the moment they
discover a retreat, begin to bark and jump on the ice; the hunter then
cuts a hole with his trench, and with a stick which he carries along
with him feels for the beaver; should he find one, he introduces his
bare arm into the hole, and seizing his prey by the tail, drags it out
on the ice, where it is dispatched with a spear. There is less danger
in this operation than one would imagine, for the beaver allows itself
to be seized without a struggle, but sometimes inflicts severe wounds
on his captor after he is taken out of the water.
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