Hudson Bay

by R. M. Ballantyne

It was in the spring of 18 hundred and something that Mr Carles stood in the Indian Hall of one of the far-distant posts in Athabasca, conversing with a party of Chipewyan Indians, who had just arrived with furs from their winter hunting-grounds. The large fires of wood, sparkling and blazing cheerfully up the wide chimney, cast a bright light round the room, and shone upon the dusky countenances of the Chipewyans, as they sat gravely on the floor, smoking their spwagans in silence. A dark shade lowered upon every face, as if thoughts of an unpleasant nature disturbed their minds; and so it was. A deed of the most revolting description had been perpetrated by an Indian of the Cree tribe, and they were about to relate the story to Mr Carles.

After a short silence, an old Indian removed his pipe, and, looking round upon the others, as if to ask their consent to his becoming spokesman, related the particulars of the story, the substance of which I now give.

Towards the middle of winter, Wisagun, a Cree Indian, removed his encampment to another part of the country, as game was scarce in the place where he had been residing. His family consisted of a wife, a son of eight or nine years of age, and two or three children, besides several of his relations; in all, ten souls, including himself. In a few days they arrived at their new encamping ground, after having suffered a great deal of misery by the way from starvation. They were all much exhausted and worn out, but hoped, having heard of buffaloes in the vicinity, that their sufferings would soon be relieved.

Here they remained several days without finding any game, and were reduced to the necessity of devouring their moccasins and leathern coats, rendered eatable by being singed over the fire. Soon this wretched resource was also gone, and they were reduced to the greatest extremity, when a herd of buffaloes was descried far away in the prairie, on the edge of which they were encamped. All were instantly on the qui vive. Guns were loaded, snow-shoes put on, and in ten minutes the males of the hungry party set off after the herd, leaving Wisagun’s wife and children with another girl in the tent. It was not long, however, before the famished party began to grow tired. Some of the weakest dropped behind; while Wisagun, with his son Natappe, gave up the chase, and returned to the encampment. They soon arrived at it, and Wisagun, peeping in between the chinks of the tent to see what the women were doing, saw his wife engaged in cutting up one of her own children, preparatory to cooking it. In a transport of passion, the Indian rushed forward and stabbed her, and also the other woman; and then, fearing the wrath of the other Indians, he fled to the woods. It may be conceived what were the feelings of the remainder of the party when they returned and found their relatives murdered. They were so much exhausted, however, by previous suffering, that they could only sit down and gaze on the mutilated bodies in despair. During the night, Wisagun and Natappe returned stealthily to the tent, and, under cover of the darkness, murdered the whole party as they lay asleep. Soon after this the two Indians were met by another party of savages, in good condition, although, from the scarcity of game, the others were starving. The former accounted for this, however, by saying that they had fallen in with a deer not long ago; but that, before this had happened, all the rest of the family had died of starvation.

It was the party who had met the two Indians wandering in the plains that now sat round the fire relating the story to Mr Carles.

The tale was still telling when the hall door slowly opened, and Wisagun, gaunt and cadaverous, the very impersonation of famine, slunk into the room, along with Natappe, and seated himself in a corner near the fire. Mr Carles soon obtained from his own lips confirmation of the horrible deed, which he excused by saying that most of his relations had died before he ate them.

In a few days after this, the party of Indians took their departure from the house, to proceed to their village in the forest; and shortly after Wisagun and Natappe also left, to rejoin their tribe. The news of their deeds, however, had preceded them, so they were received very coldly; and soon after Wisagun pitched his tent, the other Indians removed, with one accord, to another place, as though it were impossible to live happily under the shadow of the same trees. This exasperated Wisagun so much that he packed up his tent and goods, launched his canoe, and then, before starting, went up to the village, and told them it was true he had killed all his relatives; and that he was a conjurer, and had both power and inclination to conjure them to death too. He then strode down to the banks of the river, and, embarking with his son, shot out into the stream. The unhappy man had acted rashly in his wrath. There is nothing more dangerous than to threaten to kill a savage, as he will certainly endeavour to kill the person who threatens him, in order to render the execution of his purpose impossible. Wisagun and his son had no sooner departed than two men coolly took up their guns, entered a canoe, and followed them. Upon arriving at a secluded spot, one of them raised his gun and fired at Wisagun, who fell over the side of the canoe, and sank to rise no more. With the rapidity of thought, Natappe seized his father’s gun, sprang ashore, and bounded up the bank; a shot was fired which went through the fleshy part of his arm, and the next moment he was behind a tree. Here he called out to the Indians, who were reloading their guns, not to kill him, and he would tell them all. After a little consideration, they agreed to spare him; he embarked with them, and was taken afterwards to the fort, where he remained many years in the Company’s service.

Although instances of cannibalism are not unusual among the Indian tribes, they do not resort to it from choice, but only when urged by the irrepressible cravings of hunger.

All the Indian tribes are fond of spirits; and in former times, when the distribution of rum to the natives was found necessary to compete with other companies, the use of the “fire-water” was carried to a fearful extent. Since Sir George Simpson became governor, however, the distribution of spirits has been almost entirely given up; and this has proved a most beneficial measure for the poor Indians.

Tobacco also is consumed by them in great quantities; indeed, the pipe is seldom out of the Indian’s mouth. If he is not hunting, sleeping, or eating, he is sure to be smoking. A peculiar kind of shrub is much used by them, mixed with tobacco—partly for the purpose of making it go far, and partly because they can smoke more of it at a time with impunity.