Adventures Among the Red Indians. Sidney Harry Wright
honestly believed him to be; but, before the morning was out, their imagination had run away with them so far as to promote him to the rank of envoy extraordinary; in other words, they had exaggerated, as more civilised people sometimes will, for the sake of a little reflected greatness.
“Mr. Rocheblanc,” said the doctor, “if you will lend me a spare coat till I unpack to-night, I think I can sweeten that chief’s declining years.”
A coat was soon produced, and, to the wonderment of the Indians, Bigsby removed the old tunic which, with a grave bow, he begged the old chief to accept as a memento. So great, indeed, was the surprise of the redskins that the donor was in no danger of the contempt which they might otherwise have shown 60 for a broken idol—a daw despoiled of its peacock’s plumage. Such liberality was stupefying.
But the chief was not to be outdone in self-sacrifice. After a tremendous struggle with himself he stifled his vanity and desire for possession, and turning to the old parish priest, begged him to wear the garment, as being more worthy of the honour; nor was it till he was made to understand that, neither in nor out of church, would it be seemly for the staid old clergyman to go flaunting in a cavalry officer’s scarlet and gold, that the chief would consent to wear it. And then his appearance and his self-satisfaction were such that none of the white men dared look at him for long, lest they should hurt the dear old fellow’s feelings by a burst of laughter.
The gift led to an invitation to dinner from the chief, so persistent and impassioned that it was impossible for the visitors to refuse it, though the curé had a meal awaiting them at his presbytery. And now the doctor was to achieve even greater popularity, for the curé, who usually acted as village surgeon and herbalist, took the opportunity of asking his advice in the case of a baby of one of the parishioners that suffered from what seemed to be incurable fits. Bigsby at once went to examine the child and recommended the application of a little blistering lotion to the back of the neck; he sent to the boat for his medicine-case, gave the curé a small supply of the lotion, and instructed him how to make more. This was, of course, the signal for everyone in the village to require doctoring. Ailments were discovered or invented with astonishing rapidity, and the whole time, till dinner was ready, 61 was occupied in feeling pulses, drawing teeth, lancing abscesses, and salving sores. But if the surgeon had been a vain man, the reverence paid to his skill would have been ample reward.
At last the white men were conducted in state to the chief’s hut. The dinner was laid on the floor, and mats and cushions arranged round it in a circle; the two priests sat on the chief’s right, the doctor and Rocheblanc on his left, and his son opposite him, while the wife and the daughter-in-law brought in, helped, and handed round the various courses. The first of these was sowete, a really villainous concoction of bruised sunflower seeds, camash (a very insipid kind of truffle), and the gristly parts of some fish-heads, all boiled together to the consistency of porridge. Of this the guests ate sparingly, and of the next course not at all, though it looked and smelt so inviting that Bigsby and the fur-trader would have done full justice to it, had it not been for a warning look from Père Tabeau, and the ejaculation of the single word “Puppy!” which was lost upon the Indians, as they spoke only the Canadian patois and their own Iroquoian. The dish might have been a roasted hare; but Bigsby suddenly recalled, with a shudder, having seen a fresh dog-skin spread to dry on the outside wall of the hut. But the remaining courses were unexceptionable: various fish, a kind of grouse, venison, and a right good beefsteak to finish with.
The chief implored his guests to stay for at least one night, but the mission superior had an appointment early the following day; and, when he had inspected the parish books, all returned to the boat, 62 conducted by the red-habited chief. At the landing-stage the canoemen were busy stowing away presents which half the parish had brought down for the mighty medicine man: fruits of all kinds, small cheeses, carvings on horn, bone, and wood, and—to Bigsby’s great delight—several lumps of nickel and copper ore and some bits of gold quartz. These he knew were to be found in the vicinity, though he had not yet succeeded in discovering them; and here were valuable specimens which he might have spent weeks in trying to find.
As a good deal of time had been lost, no halt was made that night, each man sleeping in the boat, where and when and how he could; and, long before noon of the following day, the next stopping-place was reached. This was a small fur-trading centre where Rocheblanc also had affairs to transact; and he and Père Tabeau went about their respective business, agreeing to meet the doctor at the boat at three o’clock.
Bigsby, having nothing special to do, explored the tiny settlement and, strolling a mile inland, collected one or two geological specimens. This occupation attracted a knot of Indian idlers, who stood gaping at the childishness of a white man who could find nothing better to do than picking stones off the road, throwing them down again or putting them in his pocket, and varying these puerilities by producing a hammer and knocking chips off unoffending wayside boulders. Geologists and painters are too much accustomed to being stared at, as marvels or lunatics, to heed such curiosity; and it was not till he heard a strident voice 63 in French, ordering the Indians to go away, that he even troubled to turn his head.
“Sales chiens,” “salauds,” and “sacrés cochons” were the mildest terms that were being hurled at the simple redskins by an over-dressed and much-bejewelled being whose European toilette could not conceal the fact that he was a negro-Indian (or a Zambo, as he would have been termed farther south), with possibly a streak of white blood in him.
“Out of the way, reptiles, redskinned animals,” he shouted. “White gentlemen don’t want to be pestered by you,” and pushing his way roughly through the little crowd, he came and stood by the scientist, bestowing on him a most princely bow and a gracious smile.
Now as Bigsby had not sought this very loud young man’s acquaintance, and wouldn’t have had it at any price he could have offered him, he took no notice of him beyond a civil nod, and returned to his task of examining a chip of quartz with a pocket-lens. But the Zambo, having established the fact that he was “somebody” in these parts by driving away the shrinking natives, endeavoured to press on the doctor a card that bore a string of names beginning with César Auguste and ending with the historic surname of de Valois. Convinced that the man was not sober, and unwilling to be the centre of a disturbance, Bigsby turned away with a curt “good morning” and followed the retreating Indians.
At three o’clock he returned to the boat. The others were already in their places, and sitting next to Rocheblanc was a coloured person, resplendent in 64 white hat, fur-collared surtout, and an infinite number of waistcoats, pins, brooches, chains, and rings; Dr. Bigsby’s acquaintance of a few hours before.
“I took the liberty of inviting Mr. de Valois to join us as far as the next station, where he has business,” said Rocheblanc, who, like the Indians, seemed more or less in awe of the stranger. Bigsby concealed his annoyance and comforted himself with the reflection that the next station would be reached in less than three hours’ time. It turned out that the fellow was a millionaire fur-buyer, with whom Rocheblanc had often done business and wished to do more, and who, from his great size, his wealth, his powers of bullying, and his pretensions to white blood, was a terror to all the more civilised Indians. To the doctor, as a “king’s officer,” he condescended to be more friendly than was desired; but his manner towards the two Canadians was insufferably patronising, while a curse or a kick was the sole form of notice he could spare for the canoemen, and that only when they happened to splash him. Father Tabeau and the doctor pocketed their disgust as well as they could, and Rocheblanc endeavoured to hold his guest tightly down to business conversation. The worst of it was that the canoemen, though strong, able fellows, seemed fascinated by their fear of him, and had it not been still broad daylight, a serious accident might have happened to the boat. Even as it was, the men paddled nervously and irregularly, more than once getting her into a crosscurrent, and growing only more frightened and helpless as the half-breed became noisier and more abusive.
A Bully Well Served
The over-dressed Zambo, after