We heard of their dying by companies from mere destitution, and lying stretched in the road to the Portage, whither they were striving to drag their exhausted frames. Soup made of the bark of the slippery elm, or stewed acorns, were the only food that many had subsisted on for weeks.
We had for a long time received our food by daily rations from the garrison, for things had got to such a pass that there was no possibility of obtaining a barrel of flour at a time. After our meals were finished, I always went into the pantry, and collecting carefully every remaining particle of food set it aside to be given to some of the wretched applicants by whom we were constantly thronged.
One day as I was thus employed, a face appeared at the window with which I had once been familiar. It was the pretty daughter of the elder Day-kau-ray. She had formerly visited us often, watching with great interest our employments—our sewing, or weeding and cultivating the garden, or our reading. Of the latter, I had many times endeavored to give her some idea, showing her the plates in the Family Bible, and doing my best to explain them to her, but of late I had quite lost sight of her. Now, how changed, how wan she looked! As I addressed her with my ordinary phrase, “Tshah-ko-zhah?” (What is it?) she gave a sigh that was almost a sob. She did not beg, but her countenance spoke volumes.
I took my dish and handed it to her, expecting to see her devour the contents eagerly, but no—she took it, and making signs that she would soon return, walked away. When she brought it back, I was almost sure she had not tasted a morsel herself.
The boats—the boats with the corn! Why did they not come? We both wrote and sent to hasten them, but alas! everything and everybody moved so slowly in those unenterprising times! We could only feel sure that they would come when they were ready, and not a moment before.
We were soon obliged to keep both doors and windows fast, to shut out the sight of misery we could not relieve. If a door was opened for the admission of a member of the family, some wretched mother would rush in, grasp the hand of my infant, and placing that of her famishing child within it, tell us pleadingly, that he was imploring “his little brother” for food. The stoutest-hearted man could not have beheld with dry eyes the heart-rending spectacle which often presented itself. It was in vain that we screened the lower portion of our windows with curtains. They would climb up on the outside, and tier upon tier of gaunt, wretched faces would peer in above, to watch us, and see if, indeed, we were as ill-provided as we represented ourselves.
The noble old Day-kau-ray came one day, from the Barribault, to apprise us of the state of his village. More than forty of his people, he said, had now been for many days without food, save bark and roots. My husband accompanied him to the commanding officer to tell his story, and ascertain ii any amount of food could be obtained from that quarter. The result was, the promise of a small allowance of flour, sufficient to alleviate the cravings of his own family.
When this was explained to the chief, he turned away. “No,” he said, “if his people could not be relieved, he and his family would starve with them!” And he refused, for those nearest and dearest to him, the proffered succor, until all could share alike.