CHAPTER XI.
IN THE VILLAGES OF THE CREES.
What happened after that was of little interest to me. I have brief, fitful memories of things that occurred at intervals, for as I later learned from Ruth, my hurts were very sore indeed, and more than once they had given me up for dead. But for The Keeper and for Radisson himself, who searched through the woods for healing simples and herbs at each camping-place, I had been in sorry plight.
I mind me of many days of travel, during no small part of which I was lashed tightly enough to the canoe. At times Ruth's face would be above me, her fingers sweeping my brow, and at times Radisson's kindly white beard would bend over me and his fingers, for all their sinewy strength, were as tender as those of Ruth.
That was a dour and terrible journey. Even now, as I sit writing and gazing over the moors that roll upland beyond Ayrby, I can feel the throbs of pain across my ribs, and the hurt of the thwart against my back. And in the damp weather the feeling is no mere imagination, either.
I remember, after many days of flickering lights and shadows, there came one time when Ruth's tears fell on my cheeks and irritated me strangely. Perhaps the lass did not know I was conscious, for I could speak no word. I heard Radisson attempt to cheer her, and it seemed that he, too, had lost his heartiness. Then they died away into blackness once more, and the next memory is of the Crees.
Queer men they were, queer people, moving like the veriest devils through my half-sensed dreams, although they were our firmest friends. Radisson to them was a deity, and the two Mohawks were little less. They were great hunters and fighters, however, and when my mind came back to me somewhat I never lacked for meat and broth, while skins of the richest were ours in plenty.
When I came to learn of the journey, after I had been injured, it was a tale of hardship and suffering—incurred for the most part on my account. To move a helpless man across the wilderness is a task for the mightiest, and our little party had been sore put to it ere a party of the Crees found us and aided us to their villages.
I came to my clear senses one day, at last, to find a great weight lying upon me, and all dark around. I put up my hand to remove the weight and found that it was the skin of some beast, yet I could not so much as lift it. By this I knew I must be very sick and weak, and for a space the knowledge frighted me oddly.
Suddenly light appeared to one side, and I saw I was lying in a conical shelter, like a tent, and that Ruth stood in the doorway. I called to her weakly enough.
"Eh, lassie! Come and help me."
She gave a little cry and dropped on her knees at my side. But she would not take the fur away, whereat I wondered. Nor would she let me talk, but told me of the journey and of where we now were.
To my utter amazement I found that I had been sick, not for days, but for long weeks. It was a good month and more that I had lain in this shelter, in the Cree village, and near two months since we had met the moose. The first snow had come upon the land, and the days and nights were bitter cold.
In the lodge next to mine dwelt Ruth, and beyond that Radisson and the Mohawks. There was a tale to be told of great wonders, of things and beasts and men such as we had never dreamed of in the old days at Ayrby farm. I listened half-believing, and before she had finished dropped into a deep, pleasant sleep.
Through the days that followed I began to adjust myself somewhat to the new life about me. The Crees—dark, dirty men who wore skins—were kind enough and treated me with not only respect but even deference. For some time I was at a loss to account for this. I presently came to understand that I was looked upon as a great man, greater even than the two Mohawks, which surprised me and troubled me no little. It is not right and just that a man should be so treated by his fellows unless he has proved himself greater than they, and the worship of these poor heathen creatures worried me mightily.
Radisson spent long hours with me, talking and explaining the things all around. Our fusils he had carefully oiled and laid aside, for it seemed that the Crees had never heard the sound of a gun, and the time might come when an appeal to their superstition would do wonders.
"But is that right?" I asked doubtfully. "Methinks it would be more Christian in us to help the poor creatures to understand, than to try and shock them into thinking us men of another world."
"Why, so we are," smiled Radisson. "You see, Davie, we are like to be safe for the present, until the deep snows come. Then we can look for trouble. I have sent out runners to the east and south, for it seems to me that the English around the Bay will not rest until they get news of me. The Chippewa nation is always warring against the Crees, and like enough The Pike will lead them. Our friend is a subtle, crafty fellow and will halt at nothing.
"As for your fears in the matter of religion, Davie, you had best forget them. We can live down to their standard, as does The Pike, or up to our standard, as I have ever done. I have no great wish to preach to them, for their faith is good enough, but do you suit yourself in that regard. It may be that God has not brought us here for nothing, and it is far from my thought to thwart His will."
As the time went by I grew stronger, walking about the village on the arm of Ruth and coming to understand more and more the people among whom we were. Having little else to do, I took to learning their tongue from a chief named Uchichak, or The Crane. He was a fine, upright, silent man of good parts, and as I came to speak the language a little, I told him of the true God. But at this he would ever fall silent, gazing into the fire and saying no word, so that I deemed my talk but wasted.
The Keeper and The Arrow were but indifferent Christians, having been converted years before by the French, and their faith was a mixture of heathenism and religion which was strange to see. Once I protested with The Keeper about taking scalps, whereat he silenced me deftly and firmly.
"Brave Eyes"—for such was the name I now bore—"does not know of what he speaks. Here the nations do not war as our nation wars. The Great Spirit has whispered to me that it is right for the white men to do some things, and wrong for the red men to do some things. He has whispered to Uchichak that it is not right for the Crees to take scalps, and they do not. He has whispered to The Keeper that it is right, and so The Keeper does. He has whispered to the white men that they shall drink of the water of fire. He has whispered to The Keeper not to drink. The Keeper has seen his brothers disobey, and drink, until their minds were stolen from their bodies. The Keeper does not disobey the Great Spirit. Let my brother listen to the Great Spirit, unless he thinks himself greater. Does my brother know more than the Great Spirit?"
It was the longest speech I ever heard from The Keeper, and his quiet sarcasm at the close taught me a lesson that I sorely needed. I had considered myself above these poor heathen people, and in time I came to know that in many ways I was below them. We did not worship alike, yet we all worshiped. There was much that they could and did teach me, and Uchichak came to be a very good friend to me.
The two Mohawks came to rather disregard me and Ruth, centering themselves on Radisson alone, quietly but insistently. They hunted and fished with him, or alone, and left me to Uchichak, who proved an able teacher. Those were happy weeks for me, as I slowly came back to strength and health, and I believe that never in her life had Ruth been so filled with the joy of youth as she was here. And it was well, for there were dark days to come.
As to our future, that was unsettled. Radisson was filled with a great dream of going on into the sunset and searching out the country there, of finding lands where no white man had ever trod. His age was as nothing to him, and I verily believe that except for Ruth he had departed long since. But the love of the little maid restrained him, and his great vision waited on her will.
With the snows, I set forth on the heels of Uchichak, learning to hunt and fish and trap as did the Crees. Our fusils and little store of powder were jealously guarded away, so that perforce I had to learn the bow and spear. I learned that moose and elk and bison were no creatures from the nether world, but animals of flesh and blood, and one day I proposed to The Crane that we should seek out the moose who had attacked us, and who had so nearly killed me. At the suggestion a strange expression swept across the chief's dark, handsome face, and he glanced at me with a worried look.
"Is my brother so anxious to meet the Great Spirit? Has he not escaped the horns of the Mighty One by a miracle?"
"Nonsense!" I retorted. "The Great Spirit did not give me the heart of a coward, Uchichak. He saved me from the moose, and if it be His will, I shall some day meet and slay the animal. Why do you call him the Mighty One?"
It seemed to me that The Crane fell to trembling, almost. Certainly his face quivered, and he glanced around uneasily. We stood alone, our snowshoes leaving a faint trail across a bare rise of snow, carrying a small deer between us. The chief set down his end of the pole and faced me.
"You have said many things to me that I do not understand, my brother. You have told me of the Great Spirit whom you serve, and sometimes I have thought that He was our own Great Spirit also. You have told me how He came to your people and let men kill Him, which to me seemed very foolish, so that I knew He was not the same Great Spirit."
In that moment I saw the mistake I had made. I had told Uchichak the bare story of the Gospels, but had not explained that story. There, standing in the snow beside the stiff and frozen deer, with his intent gaze fixed on me, I spoke as best I might. Indeed, the words seemed to come to me as if placed in my mouth, and when I had made an end I knew not what I had said.
But Uchichak gazed at me silently, and I think that he had understood the greater part of my speech, for I had spoken mostly in his own tongue, haltingly but simply enough that a child might understand.
"You have spoken well, my brother," he returned slowly. "I have understood your words, although your speech is harsh, and it seemed to me that not you were speaking, but the Great Spirit whom you worship. Listen. It is well that my people should hear of this also. We are not like the Sioux or the Chippewas, blind to all things. We are eager to let our ears be open, and our old men are very wise. To-morrow night shall a Council be held, and before the Council you shall tell these things."
Without pausing for answer, he stooped and we picked up the deer. Our way home was silent enough, and I dared to dream that I had impressed The Crane with some knowledge of the true God. But this was far from the case, as I was to learn.
I have passed over lightly my days of striving, when I was learning to live this new life, for of late my fingers have grown somewhat stiff and the quill hard to hold, and I have that to tell of which must not be delayed. At this time the winter was well onward, and many of the men were away from the village, hunting in the Barren Places. Of Gib and his Chippewas we had heard nothing.
Grim, all this time, had remained close to me and Ruth. The Indian dogs, used for hauling sleds in winter, seemed idle, frivolous creatures to him, and he disdained to give them attention. The Crees were inclined to sneer at him as a "lodge-dog," good for nothing except to lie beside the fire, until one day two of their fighting brutes went for him. Grim, forced to the combat, made such short work of the wolf-like beasts that thereafter the others slunk past him in fear, while the Crees also gave him a wide berth.
Upon reaching the village that night, we found that Radisson and the Mohawks had left for a two-day elk hunt. A little dismayed at their absence, I sought out Ruth and told her of my conversation with the chief.
"We will face them together, Davie," she said softly, her deep eyes aglow. "A woman is not admitted to the council, yet Uchichak can persuade them easily enough. They are not stern, fierce people like the Mohawks, and they will listen to me."
Gladly enough I asked Uchichak. After a moment he nodded gravely.
"She may speak, and then go. It is not permitted that women should sit in the council."
This was the best I could get out of him, but it was enough. There was no sign of Radisson the next afternoon, and as the council-lodge was made ready I began to miss his support. Ruth and I knew that we would have no great ordeal before us, but it would be hard indeed to break through the stolidity of the Crees, to appeal to their finer feelings. That they or other Indians have such feelings has been denied; but I, who have lived and hunted with them, know that all men have souls alike—mayhap some deeper-buried than others beneath the crust of time and circumstance, yet all there for the finding.
Ruth and I ate our evening meal together, while Grim crunched a bone contentedly at our sides. Both of us, as our garments had given out, had replaced them with others of very soft skin, while in this cold winter weather we wore furs as did the Crees. When the meal was done we covered over the little fire in the center of the lodge, and stepped to the door.
Five minutes later we were in the lodge of council—a large structure, half skin and half brush. Around the fire were ranged the old men of the village, and the chiefs; and after a dignified silence the calumet was passed around from hand to hand, among the very old men only, for with these people tobacco was rather in the nature of a burnt-offering, and was never smoked for the pleasure therein. Another silence, then the oldest chief arose and very briefly directed Ruth to speak to them as she wished.