Sir George Head, elder brother of the great South American explorer and Colonial Governor, was a sort of Ralegh on a small scale, inasmuch as he figured in the various rÔles of sailor, soldier, traveller, and courtier. The greater part of his time from 1814 to 1830 was spent in and about Nova Scotia, Quebec, and Ungava, his military duties at Halifax, as chief of the commissariat, giving him plenty of opportunity for combining pleasure with business in long journeys northward.

Late in the autumn of 1828 he set out on a tour north-westwards from Halifax, intending to devote his six months’ furlough to hunting among the Cree Indians of New Brunswick and Eastern Quebec. It was not a journey that would commend itself to people who love the sun and the fireside, for though the district for which he was making is in the same latitude as Cornwall, the average winter temperature may be put down as 19° F. A coach took him and his servant across country as far as the Annapolis Basin, whence it was only a sixty-mile run by steam packet to St. John; and here there was no difficulty in 80 obtaining a large canoe with three Delaware Indians to paddle it and act as guides.

Of the St. John River, up which quite big steamers travel over two hundred miles nowadays, comparatively little was then known, except its lower reaches, and its source, which lies north-westwards in the State of Maine; and even the Indian guides would not undertake to go many miles beyond Fredericton.

“What do you mean by ‘many miles beyond’?” asked Major Head, when, on passing that town some days later, the Indians reminded him of their contract.

“Ten miles, or perhaps fifteen. We are strangers beyond that, and, though the Cree Indians are akin to us, they do not love us.” This was perfectly true, for the Crees, Blackfeet, and other of the less civilised Algonquin redskins despised the Delaware Indians as mere cockneys.

In the end, the guides promised that they would go as far as the next town, which was twenty miles farther, admitting that they might possibly have business there. The nature of that business soon leaked out, for suddenly the Indian in the bow dropped his paddle, snatched up a spear from a small bundle of those implements that lay to hand, leant over the side, and brought up a salmon nearly three feet long. The other canoemen at once abandoned their paddling and stood expectant, spear in hand. The Major had never caught salmon in any other way than with rod and line, and he, too, took up a spear, determined to distinguish himself; but, though they waited patiently for another hour, not a second fish was seen, 81 and at length the Indians picked up their paddles again and moved on.

“We may get some to-night,” said one of them; “though it is almost too late in the year. Nearly all of them have reached the sea by this time, but it was worth our while to come so far on speculation. Between Fredericton and the sea there is little chance of catching anything, for the timber rafters frighten all the fish, so that they seldom rise.”

At evening they landed to make their camp for the night; but, soon after supper, instead of lying down as usual, the Delawares announced that they were going fishing. By way of a preliminary, each lighted a substantial brand of pitch-pine, and, taking up their spears, got into the boat again, Head following them. And this time there appeared to be considerably more chance for the fishermen; the silence and darkness and loneliness of the spot were, of course, in their favour, but of even more importance were the torches, which would appeal to the curiosity of any salmon that might be about. Even in daylight the Indian fishermen more often than not regard a flame of some sort as a necessary adjunct to their work.

Sport opened briskly and brilliantly. Long before the Englishman’s eyes had accustomed themselves to looking down into the water by this constantly moving artificial light, the Indians had caught over a dozen fish; and still the silly creatures came peeping to the surface or hovering a few feet below it.

With the “beginner’s luck” that is proverbial, the first salmon that came within his reach fell an easy prey to the Major’s spear, so easy, in fact, that the 82 redskins smiled broadly at his triumphant satisfaction, for they knew that it was the one happy chance in a million. He began to think so, too, when, time after time, he darted the spear into the water without making a second catch. His eye and hand were well trained to every kind of sport; and, of course, he knew that hitting an object in water and out of water are two very different things. Over and over again he would have taken an oath that his spear had struck its mark, and yet it came up empty. He grew more and more impatient and venturesome, and, in the end, naturally met with the reward that he might have expected: lost his balance and went heels over head into the water.

He was a bold and strong man who had faced danger and death in many forms, but the icy chill of that water almost prompted him to scream out; and, as it gurgled and bubbled over his ears, he decided that his chance of ever getting out of it alive was but small, for he was wearing top-boots, thick leather breeches, a seal-skin jacket, and a heavy overcoat. Nevertheless, he struck out desperately and reached the surface again. If he could only keep himself up for a few seconds he was safe. At once catching sight of him, one of the Indians uttered a shout, leant forward with his paddle, and held it towards the drowning man. A couple of laboured strokes brought him near enough to clutch the blade of it, and he was speedily drawn to the stern of the boat.

“Hold there,” cried the Indian. “No, don’t do that,” for Head was trying might and main to draw himself up. As every swimmer knows, it is not the 83 easiest thing in the world to get into a light boat from the water, even when one has no clothes on and is not numbed to the very marrow with cold.

“What on earth are you trying to do?” he spluttered, as the other two Delawares also took up their paddles. What they were about to do was soon clear enough; they meant to tow him ashore, for suddenly the paddles flashed through the water and, despite the weight behind it, the canoe moved rapidly towards the bank.

“Wait a minute, you precious fools,” gasped the Major wrathfully; but they never so much as turned their heads. True, he had never seen a canoe move so swiftly in all his life, yet those forty or fifty yards to the bank were like miles, and when, springing ashore, two of the Indians bent over to help him out of the water, he could scarcely use his feet to scramble up the low bank.

“Why ever didn’t you pull me out straight away, or keep still till I got into the boat?” he asked, as he stood and shivered before the fire while his man gave him a rub down with a blanket. The Delawares looked grave and wise.

“You are a tall and a heavy man. You might have upset the boat—and then we should have lost all our fish.”

Sir George does not record the answer that he made to these curmudgeonly rascals who preferred endangering a man’s life to the risk of losing a few salmon. But perhaps they were only having their revenge on him for having spoilt their night’s work by driving away all the fish.

The next afternoon, fishing and paddling by turns, they came to a town or village of some pretensions—the last on the river. Head again tried to persuade the Indians to agree to go farther, but fruitlessly; and their utmost concession was that, as one of their number was going into the town to buy some goods while the others sold their fish at the wharf, he would make inquiries about procuring new guides. The Major sent his man across with the luggage to the only decent inn of the place, and himself idled about the jetty, talking to the remaining Indians and their customers.

“He has found a guide for you,” said one of the Delawares at last, pointing to a strange figure that came stalking along the quay behind the third Indian.

The new arrival was a middle-aged man of such ferocious aspect that Head fancied he could foresee trouble before they had gone far together. He was one of the Crees, and his personal beauty—probably never at any time great—was not improved by the scars and tattoo marks that covered his face, arms, and chest. Cold though the weather was becoming, he was naked, but for his moccasins and a sort of kilt or petticoat made of feathers and deer-skin. His hair, also decorated with feathers, extended to his waist, and he wore a string of odds and ends round his neck: glass beads, teeth, bits of metal, coins, and buttons. He carried a broad-bladed spear nearly eight feet high in one hand, and an enormous club in the other, while from his neck or shoulders hung bow, quiver, tomahawk, and two knives.

Head, who spoke the Algonquin dialect perfectly 85 well, bade him give some account of himself, and he replied, in a voice whose mildness scarcely fitted his fierce and repulsive appearance, that he had ridden down from his camp near Presque Isle (in Maine) to guide a Yankee fur-trader across the New Brunswick boundary, and had now been waiting two days on the chance of a similar job for his return journey.

“Who did you suppose would be likely to be going up there from here?” asked the soldier suspiciously.

“There are many French people who come from here to buy our furs. Is it not true?” The new guide turned fiercely on the Delawares for confirmation, and they nodded, making little effort to disguise their fear of him. Hitherto they had generally shown themselves cool-headed enough, but in the presence of this forest savage they seemed afraid to say that their souls were their own.

Head reflected that he was becoming very tired of the river, and further, that it might now be frozen hard any day. Moreover, it was but a roundabout way of travelling compared to the forest, which, being only of pine and spruce, offered none of the obstructions of the creeper-clad woods farther south. Could he hire or buy horses? he asked of a negro working close at hand. Ay, any number of them; mustangs were being brought over the boundary every day by enterprising Americans, and could be bought for a couple of pounds a head.

“Very well, then.” The Major turned to the Cree again. “Call for me at the inn to-morrow morning at nine, and I shall be ready to start.”

Arrangements were soon made as to horses, and 86 Head, who had not slept without his clothes for a week, and might not see a Christian bed for weeks to come, went off to his room, resolved upon at least one night’s good rest. Coming down to his breakfast in the morning, he found that his man had put out, cleaned, and loaded a pair of pistols for him.

“Beg pardon, Major; most disreputable-looking party that guide, sir.”

“Well—yes; we don’t want to know too many of his sort. We’ll keep an eye on him in case he has some idea of leading us into an ambush; but don’t let him imagine that we suspect him.”

Head had finished his breakfast and was strolling into the yard at the back of the house to see if the horses were ready, when a violent uproar arose in the bar, which was at the other end of the passage: women screaming and running hither and thither, loafers shouting and laughing. Yielding to natural curiosity, he turned back along this passage and was just in time to see a stranger sight than he had ever witnessed in all his six-and-thirty years. There, gesticulating, stammering, and struggling, was the terrible Indian of the day before, and, behind him, one hand firmly grasping his long hair, the other buffeting him liberally over head and ears, was the landlady—a sturdy Irishwoman—who was “helping him into the street,” at the same time expressing her opinion of him with great volubility. In her wake followed two chamber-maids, each armed with a mop, and from one of them the traveller learned that the Indian had already been forbidden to enter the house on account of his drunken and riotous behaviour there two days earlier.

“We only keep one manservant, and he’s frightened of him, so Missis had to take him in hand,” explained the girl cheerfully.

The valiant brave made no second attempt to enter the inn, and stood meekly by his horse till the travellers were ready, and Head—with difficulty keeping a straight face—bade him lead on. They were soon riding at a good level pace along the forest track, which, by its narrowness and few signs of recent use, did not promise a meeting with many travelling companions. At first the Indian only answered curtly to the remarks addressed to him, but, little by little, he forgot the insult to his dignity and had become quite chatty by the time they stopped to rest the horses and eat the dinner which they had brought with them. He said they would pass no more inns—no more white habitations of any sort, in fact—till they came to the United States boundary, and but very few then; and no Indian camps that side of Presque Isle, which was still forty-five miles distant. From there the travellers could, if they chose, journey as far as the St. Lawrence with a party of Crees who would soon be starting away for the winter hunting, and who would show them where they could get a boat across the estuary.

They rode another twenty miles before sunset, and then halted for the night. While the Indian was making the fire he several times glanced round him to windward and sniffed the air suspiciously.

“There will be snow before morning,” he said; and indeed, during the past hour there had been well-nigh an Arctic chill in the air, though it still wanted a week or two of the beginning of winter. That snow 88 was coming was bad hearing; not that two men, who had often slept practically under water during the war in Spain, were likely to shirk one night in the snow; but because they had not troubled to bring many provisions, being unwilling to hamper themselves and relying on finding abundance of game in the forest.

If a heavy snow should come, the chances of killing anything fit to eat would be diminished tenfold, for hares, rabbits, and squirrels would stay at home; and further, the journey towards a district where they were safe to meet with plenty of animals (elk, caribou, etc., that had just migrated to the forest from farther north) would occupy thrice the time they had allowed for it.

“You and I must take watch and watch to-night,” said Head to his servant, not unmindful, in face of new dangers, of the likelihood of their guide’s playing them false. “We don’t want any of this good man’s ‘surprises’; if you turn in when you’ve had your supper, I’ll call you soon after midnight and we’ll change guard.”

Immediately after supper the Indian rolled himself in his blanket and Head was left to amuse himself. When his man roused him at six the next morning, he found the ground more than a foot deep in snow, and the Indian, who was just returning from filling the breakfast kettle from the stream hard by, greeted him with the news that the ice was several inches thick. But, he added, there would be no fear of famine; they would have sport enough before the day was out.

“What sport?”

“Wolves!” The Cree smacked his lips as if he were speaking of a Mansion House banquet.

“Ah! Then that is what I heard just as I was falling asleep.”

“Most likely; their track lies all round our camp; not close, for they feared our fire.”

“Is there more snow to come, do you think?” None was falling now.

“Not unless the wind gets up again. But we ought soon to be moving; it will be bad going for the horses.”

The hardy little mustangs seemed not a whit the worse for their snowy bed, and stepped out bravely as soon as they were mounted. But Head pulled a long face as he remembered how little corn he had brought with him; truly the cobbler’s wife was going the worst shod; he who had control of the entire military commissariat for that district had left the food for his men and horses to chance, on a journey of sixty miles, twenty-five of which had still to be covered! Of course, the pace they made was wretched, for the snow was fetlock-deep at the best; and, at the worst, it had risen to drifts of ten feet, which had to be dodged or skirted. Three miles an hour was the utmost that could be expected, making allowances for everything; and by the time the horses had gone twelve miles, it was clear that they must have a rest.

“So our next meal is to be wolf, eh?” said Head as he surveyed a lump of salt beef of which none would be left when three men with frost-sharpened appetites had eaten their fill. The Indian nodded.

“And they are not far away; I have heard them 90 for the last hour. The horses can smell them now; you will find that they will not touch their oats.” This was true; two of the tethered animals crouched shiveringly, disdaining their food, while the third strained at his halter as though he meditated flight.

“What does it matter?” said the Cree. “We have but thirteen miles to go; we shall be at our camp soon after dark, and my people will be as brothers to you. As for the wolves—” he laughed boastfully—“I will kill them by the dozen if need be.”

“Yes; we’ve seen something of your bravery before,” said the Major in English. He divided the one remaining loaf and the meat into three equal parts. “You two can do as you like; I shall only eat half my share now.”

The servant followed his example, but the Indian was resolved that the future should take care of itself. He had scarcely swallowed his last mouthful when he started up.

“Mount! Quick! They are coming!”

“Then what’s the good of mounting, you infernal coward?” said the Major, snatching up his gun. “We can’t race wolves.”

The guide made no answer; but, slipping his horse’s halter, vaulted to his back, and might have ridden away but that Head turned his gun-barrel on him.

“You stay where you are.... Now, Sanders, we must keep them off the horses if we can. Fire the moment they show their noses, and trust to their eating up their brothers while we——Look out!”

A pack of over forty wolves came yelping through 91 the trees, with a strange, bouncing motion which showed that even they were seriously impeded by the snow.

“Fire; and keep one eye on the redskin,” muttered Head.

A wolf went down before the servant’s first barrel and, from the break in their ranks, several of the others appeared to be falling on the carcase. A second and third and fourth fell to the guns; but the wolves had smelt horse-flesh, and neither noise nor gunpowder nor dead comrades could keep them from following up the scent. The two white men reloaded, fired, and loaded again with the coolness habitual with soldiers; but it was plain enough that the pack would not be kept off much longer.

“I’m afraid we shall have to give up the horses after all,” said Head, as the foremost wolves bounded contemptuously past or over the last of their number that had been shot.

“Why do you not mount?” bawled the Indian in his ear. Head had forgotten his existence for the moment. “That is the only way to save your horse. You have had your play; let me show you what the red man can do.” As he finished speaking he methodically pulled his quiver forward and began to pour arrows into the howling pack more swiftly than the eye could follow them, every one of them carrying death to a wolf.

“Up, Sanders, and use your pistols! By Jingo, that fellow was right!” shouted Head as he leapt into his saddle.

“You see? It is quite easy,” remarked the Indian 92 with as much sang-froid as though he were at target-practice. “When I have emptied my quiver they will all be dead; if not, I have my lance. Don’t waste any more of your powder.” And all the while he went on shooting.

The soldiers could do little but stare at the man’s amazing coolness; he who had writhed and screamed when attacked by an irate Irishwoman, was now killing wolves at the rate of about twelve per minute, and the only time he broke off from his task was to draw his knife and stab that one of the wolves that was bold enough to venture a spring at his horse. It was plain enough that he had known what he was talking about when he counselled mounting the horses. Wolves that would tear an unridden horse to shreds would not dare touch one that was mounted, unless they were maddened by hunger; and so early in winter this could hardly be the case.

“Yah! Now run away, cowards, and tell your brethren to come,” shrieked the Cree, when, without waiting for his last few shots, the remaining dozen wolves turned tail and skulked away. Then Head stretched out his hand and patted the blanketed shoulder.

“Well done; I did wrong to call you coward. You shall have double payment when we reach your camp, and I will make you a present of these two horses.”

“We must have my arrows back, in case of further accident,” said the redskin, making neither much nor little of his achievement. In a few minutes he had cut all the barbs from the carcases, and proceeded 93 to skin the three primest wolves, cut away the fore and hind quarters, hung the three “saddles” on his horse’s withers, and remounted. The Cree Indians and the Eskimos will none of them refuse roast wolf, and the ribs are considered a special delicacy.

With a little coaxing from the guide the horses now ate their corn; and, not long after dark, that much misjudged individual led his employer proudly into the Indian camp. The chief, very much astonished at finding a white man able to speak his tongue with fluency, promised, in return for a ridiculously small sum of money, to allow the travellers to join his great hunting party which was to start northwards for elks, caribous, etc., in a few days’ time.

During those few days Major Head had an opportunity of noting various ceremonies peculiar to the northern Indians, which were quite new to him. One of these was a dance which signified a loving farewell between the hunters and the warriors who remained behind to guard the camp, and was precisely the same as that which Samuel Hearne saw farther north-west.[1] In this, the two parties formed into two single files, and, bow in the left hand and an arrow in the right, approached each other, walking backwards. When the lines were almost touching one another, both turned suddenly, each party starting back with feigned surprise at seeing the other; then, with astonishing quickness, transferred the bow to the right hand and the arrow to the left, in token that their intentions were strictly friendly.

The other ceremony was also a dance, the celebrated snow-shoe dance, which took place when all was ready for the departure northwards; and in this Head was especially interested, because he was himself an expert on “shoes.” Two or three spears, elaborately decorated with feathers or other trophies of the chase, were stuck upright in the snow, and to one of them a pair of snow-shoes was hung; and, after prayers and incantations by the old chief, ten mighty men of the tribe, each carrying his weapons, formed themselves in a ring round the spears. Waddling, sliding, dancing, or jumping, these passed round and round the consecrated shoes till all were satisfied that the Great Spirit’s aid had been enlisted, and that the ghosts of the animals or birds that they might kill would never return to vex the slayers.