A narrative of the captivity and adventures of John Tanner

CHAPTER II First attempt to hunt. – Measles. – Trapping martins. – Emigration to Red River. – Death of my foster father and brother. – Arrival at Lake Winnipek.

Early in the spring, Net-no-kwa and her husband, with their family, started to go to Mackinac. They left me, as they had done before, at Point St. Ignace, as they would not run the risk of losing me by suffering me to be seen at Mackinac. On our return, after we had gone twenty-five or thirty miles from Point St. Ignace, we were detained by contrary winds at a place called Me-nau-ko-king, a point running out into the lake. Here we encamped with some other Indians and a party of traders. Pigeons were very numerous in the woods and the boys of my age, and the traders, were busy shooting them. I had never killed any game and, indeed, had never in my life discharged a gun. My mother had purchased at Mackinac a keg of powder, which, as they thought it a little damp, was here spread out to dry. Taw-ga-we-ninne had a large horseman’s pistol; and finding myself somewhat emboldened by his indulgent manner toward me, I requested permission to go and try to kill some pigeons with the pistol. My request was seconded by Net-no-kwa, who said, “It is time for our son to begin to learn to be a hunter.” Accordingly, my father, as I called Taw-ga-we-ninne, loaded the pistol and gave it to me, saying, “Go, my son, and if you kill any thing with this, you shall immediately have a gun, and learn to hunt.” Since I have been a man, I have been placed in difficult situations; but my anxiety for success was never greater than in this, my first essay as a hunter. I had not gone far from the camp, before I met with pigeons, and some of them alighted in the bushes very near me. I cocked my pistol, and raised it to my face, bringing the breech almost in contact with my nose. Having brought the sight to bear upon the pigeons, I pulled trigger, and was in the next instant sensible of a humming noise, like that of a stone sent swiftly through the air. I found the pistol at the distance of some paces behind me, and the pigeon under the tree on which he had been sitting. My face was much bruised, and covered with blood. I ran home, carrying my pigeon in triumph. My face was speedily bound up; my pistol exchanged for a fowling-piece; I was accoutred with a powder horn, and furnished with shot, and allowed to go out after birds. One of the young Indians went with me, to observe my manner of shooting. I killed three more pigeons in the course of the afternoon, and did not discharge my gun once without killing. Henceforth I began to be treated with more consideration, and was allowed to hunt often that I might become expert.

Great part of the summer and autumn passed before we returned to Shab-a-wy-wy-a-gun. When we arrived we found the Indians suffering very severely from the measles; and as Net-no-kwa was acquainted with the contagious nature of this disease, she was unwilling to expose her family, but passed immediately through the village and encamped on the river above. But, notwithstanding her precaution, we soon began to fall sick. Of ten persons belonging to our family, including two young wives of Taw-ga-we-ninne, only Net-no-kwa and myself escaped an attack of this complaint. Several of them were very sick, and the old woman and myself found it as much as we could do to take care of them. In the village, numbers died, but all of our family escaped. As the winter approached, they began to get better and went, at length, to our wintering ground, at the same place where we had spent the former winter. Here I was set to make martin traps as the other hunters did. The first day I went out early, and spent the whole day, returning late at night, having made only three traps; whereas, in the same time, a good hunter would have made twenty-five or thirty. On the morning following, I visited my traps, and found but one martin. Thus I continued to do for some days, but my want of success, and my awkwardness, exposed me to the ridicule of the young men. At length, my father began to pity me, and he said, “My son, I must go and help you to make traps.”

So he went out and spent a day in making a large number of traps, which he gave me, and then I was able to take as many martins as the others. The young men, however, did not forget to tell me, on all occasions, of the assistance I had received from my father. This winter was passed like the preceding; but as I became more and more expert and successful in hunting and trapping, I was no longer required to do the work of the women about the lodge.

In the following spring, Net-no-kwa, as usual, went to Mackinac. She always carried a flag in her canoe, and I was told, that whenever she came to Mackinac she was saluted by a gun from the fort. I was now thirteen years old, or in my thirteenth year. Before we left the village, I heard Net-no-kwa talk of going to Red River, to the relations of her husband. Many of the Ottawwaws, when they heard this, determined to go with her. Among others, was Wah-ka-zee, a chief of the village at War-gun-uk-ke-zee[*], or L’Arbre Croche, and others; in all, six canoes. Instead of leaving me, in this instance, at Point St. Ignace, they landed with me in the night among the cedars, not far from the village of Mackinac; and the old woman then took me into the town, to the house of a French trader, (Shabboyer,) with whom she had sufficient influence to secure my confinement for several days in the cellar. Here I remained, not being allowed to go out at all, but was otherwise well treated. This confinement seemed to be unnecessary, as subsequently, when we were ready to go on our journey, we were detained by head winds, at the point now occupied by the missionaries, when I was suffered to run at large. While we remained here, the Indians began to be drunk. My father, who was drunk, but still able to walk about, spoke to two young men who were walking together, and taking hold of the shirt sleeve of one of them, he, without intending to do so, tore it. This young man, whose name was Sug-gut-taw-gun, (Spunk-wood,) was irritated, and giving my father a rough push, he fell on his back. Sug-gut-taw-gun then took up a large stone, and threw it at him, hitting him in the forehead. When I saw this, I became alarmed for my own safety; and, as I knew that Me-to-saw-gea, an Ojibbeway chief, was then on the island, with a party going against the whites; and, as I had understood they had sought opportunities to kill me, I thought my situation unsafe. I accordingly made my escape to the woods, where I hid myself for the remainder of the day and the night. On the following day, being pressed by hunger, I returned and secreted myself for some time in the low cedars near our lodge in order to observe what was passing, and to ascertain if I might return. At length, I discovered my mother calling me, and looking for me through the bushes. I went up to her, and she told me to go in and see my father who was killed. When I went in, my father said to me, “I am killed.” He made me sit down with the other children, and talked much to us. He said, “Now, my children, I have to leave you. I am sorry that I must leave you so poor.” He said nothing to us about killing the Indian who had struck him with the stone, as some would have done. He was too good a man to wish to involve his family in the troubles which such a course would have brought upon them. The young man who had wounded him, remained with us, notwithstanding that Net-no-kwa told him it would not be safe for him to go to Red River where her husband’s relatives were numberous and powerful, and disposed to take revenge.

When we came to the Saut of St. Marie, we put all our baggage on board the trader’s vessel, which was about to sail to the upper end of Lake Superior, and went on ourselves in our canoes. The winds were light, which enabled us to run faster than the vessel, and we arrived ten days before it at the Portage. When she at last came and anchored out at a little distance from the shore, my father and his two sons Wa-me-gon-a-biew, (he who puts on feathers,) the eldest, and Ke-wa-tin, (the north wind,) went out in a canoe to get the baggage. In jumping down into the hold of the vessel, the younger of these young men fell with his knee upon a knot of the rope tied around a bundle of goods, and received an injury from which he never recovered. The same night his knee was badly swollen, and on the next day he was not able to go out of the lodge. After about eight or ten days, we commenced crossing the Grand Portage: we carried him on our shoulders by fastening a blanket to two poles; but he was so sick that we had to stop often, which made us long in passing. We left our canoes at the trading-house, and when we came to the other side of the Portage, were detained some days to make small canoes. When these were nearly finished, my father sent me, with one of his wives, back to the trading-house to bring something which had been forgotten. On our return, we met the two boys at some distance, coming to tell me to hasten home, for my father was dying, and he wished to see me before he died. When I came into the lodge, I found that he was indeed dying, and though he could see, he was not able to speak to me. In a few minutes he ceased to breathe. Beside him lay the gun which he had taken in his hand a few minutes before to shoot the young man who had wounded him at Mackinac. In the morning, when I left him to go to the Portage, he was apparently well; my mother told me it was not until afternoon he began to complain; he then came into the lodge, saying, “I am now dying; but since I have to go, this young man, who has killed me, must go with me. I hoped to have lived till I had raised you all to be men; but now I must die, and leave you poor, and without any one to provide for you.” So saying, he stepped out, with the gun in his hand, to shoot the young man, who was at that time sitting by the door of his own lodge. Ke-wa-tin, hearing this, began to cry, and, addressing his father, said, “My father, if I was well I could help you to kill this man, and could protect my young brothers from the vengeance of his friends after he is dead; but you see my situation, and that I am about to die. My brothers are young and weak, and we shall all be murdered if you kill this man.” My father replied, “My son, I love you too well to refuse you any thing you request.” So saying, he returned, laid down his gun, and, after having said a very few words, inquired for me, and directed them to send for me, he expired. The old woman procured a coffin from the traders, and they brought my father’s body in a wagon to the trading-house on this side the Grand Portage, where they buried him in the burying ground of the whites. His two sons, as well as the young man who killed him, accompanied his body to the Portage. This last was near being killed by one of my brothers; but the other prevented him, as he was about to strike.

It was but a very short time after my father died that we started on our journey to Red River. My brother Ke-wa-tin we carried on a litter, as we had done before, whenever it was necessary to take him out of the canoe. We had passed two carrying places, when he said to us, “I must die here; I cannot go farther.” So Net-no-kwa determined to stop here, and the remainder of the party went on. A part of our own family chose to continue on with those going to Red River. So that, after they had started, there remained only the old woman and one of the younger wives of Taw-ga-we-ninne, Wa-me-gon-a-biew, the elder brother, Ke-wa-tin, the second, and myself; the youngest. It was about the middle of summer, for the small berries were ripe, when we stopped here on the borders of Moose Lake, which is of cool and clear water, like Lake Superior. It is small and round, and a canoe can be very plainly seen across the widest part of it. We were only two of us able to do any thing; and being myself very young, and without any experience as a hunter, we had apprehension that, being left thus alone, we might soon be in want. We had brought with us one of the nets used about Mackinac, and setting this, the first night, caught about eighty trout and white fish. After remaining here sometime, we found beavers, of which we killed six; also some otters and muskrats. We had brought with us some corn and grease so that, with the fish we caught, and the game we killed, we lived comfortably. But at the approach of winter, the old woman told us she could not venture to remain there by herself as the winter would be long and cold, and no people, either whites or Indians near us. Ke-wa-tin was now so sick and weak, that in going back to the Portage, we were compelled to move slowly; and when we arrived, the waters were beginning to freeze. He lived but a month or two after we arrived. It must have been in the early part, or before the middle of winter, that he died. The old woman buried him by the side of her husband, and hung up one of her flags at his grave.

We now, as the weather became severe, began to growpoor, Wa-me-gon-a-biew and myself being unable to kill as much game as we wanted. He was seventeen years of age, and I thirteen, and game was not plentiful. As the weather became more and more cold, we removed from the trading house and set up our lodge in the woods that we might get wood easier. Here my brother and myself had to exert ourselves to the utmost to avoid starving. We used to hunt two or three days’ distance from home, and often returned with but little meat. We had, on one of our hunting paths, a camp built of cedar boughs in which we had kindled fire so often, that at length it became very dry and at last caught fire as we were lying in it. The cedar had become so dry that it flashed up like powder but fortunately we escaped with little injury. As we were returning, and still a great distance from home, we attempted to cross a river which was so rapid as never to freeze very sound.

Though the weather was so cold that the trees were constantly cracking with the frost, we broke in, I first, and afterwards my brother; and he, in attempting to throw himself down upon the ice, wet himself nearly all over, while I had at first only feet and legs wet. Owing to our hands being benumbed with the cold, it was long before we could extricate ourselves from our snow shoes, and we were no sooner out of the water than our moccasins and clothes were frozen so stiff that we could not travel. I began also to think that we must die. But I was not like my Indian brother, willing to sit down and wait patiently for death to come. I kept moving about to the best of my power, while he lay in a dry place by the side of the bank where the wind had blown away the snow. I at length found some very dry rotten wood which I used as a substitute for spunk, and was so happy as to raise a fire. We then applied ourselves to thaw and dry our moccasins, and when partly dry we put them on, and went to collect fuel for a larger fire than we had before been able to make. At length, when night came on, we had a comfortable fire and dry clothes, and though we had nothing to eat, we did not regard this, after the more severe suffering from cold. At the earliest dawn we left our camp, and proceeded towards home; but at no great distance met our mother, bringing dry clothes and a little food. She knew that we ought to have been home on the preceding day by sunset, and was also aware of the difficult river we had to cross. Soon after dark, being convinced that we must have fallen through the ice, she started, and walking all night, met us not far from the place where the accident happened.

Thus we lived for some time in a suffering and almost starving condition, when a Muskegoe, or Swamp Indian, called the Smoker[*], came to the trading house, and learning that we were very poor, invited us home with him to his own country, saying he could hunt for us, and would bring us back in the spring. We went two long days journey towards the west, and came to a place called We-sau-ko-ta See-bee, Burnt Wood River, where we found his lodge. He took us into his own lodge, and while we remained with him, we wanted for nothing. Such is still the custom of the Indians, remote from the whites; but the Ottawwaws, and those near the settlements, have learned to be like the whites, and to give only to those who can pay. If any one, who had at that time been of the family of Net-no-kwa, were now, after so many years, to meet one of the family of Pe-twaw-we-ninne[*], he would call him “brother,” and treat him as such.

We had been but a few days at the Portage when another man of the same band of Muskegoes, invited us to go with him to a large island in Lake Superior, where, he said, were plenty of Caribou and Sturgeon, and where, he had no doubt, he could provide all that would be necessary for our support. We went with him accordingly; and starting at the earliest appearance of dawn, we reached the island somewhat before night, though there was a light wind ahead. In the low rocky points about this island, we found more gull’s eggs than we were able to take away. We also took, with spears, two or three sturgeons immediately on our arrival; so that our want of food was supplied. On the next day, Wa-ge-mah-wub, whom we called our brother-in-law, and who was, in some remote degree, related to Net-no-gua, went to hunt, and returned at evening, having killed two caribou. On this island is a large lake, which it took us about a day to reach from the shore; and into this lake runs a small river. Here we found beaver, otter, and other game; and as long as we remained in the island, we had an abundant supply of provisions. We met here the relations of Wa-ge-mah-wub in eight canoes; with whom we at length started to return to the Portage. We were ten canoes in all, and we started, as we had done in coming, at the earliest dawn of the morning. The night had been calm, and the water, when we left the island, was perfectly smooth. We had proceeded about two hundred yards into the lake, when the canoes all stopped together, and the chief, in a very loud voice, addressed a prayer to the Great Spirit, entreating him to give us a good look to cross the lake. “You,” said he, “have made this lake, and you have made us, your children; you can now cause that the water shall remain smooth, while we pass over in safety.” In this manner, he continued praying for five or ten minutes; he then threw into the lake a small quantity of tobacco, in which each of the canoes followed his example. They then all started together, and the old chief commenced his song, which was a religious one; but I cannot remember exactly the meaning of what he sang. I had now forgotten my mother tongue, and retained few, if any, ideas of the religion of the whites. I can remember that this address of the chief to the Great Spirit appeared to me impressive and solemn, and the Indians seemed all somewhat impressed by it, or perhaps by their situation, being exposed on the broad lake in their frail bark canoes they could not but feel their dependance upon that Power which controls the winds and the waves. They rowed and paddled, silently and diligently, and long before night arrived in safety at the Grand Portage; the lake having remained perfectly calm. At this time I was suffered to go entirely at large, being subjected to no manner of restraint, and might, at almost any time, have made my escape from the Indians; but I believed my father and all my friends had been murdered, and I remembered the laborious and confined manner in which I must live if I returned among the whites; where, having no friends, and being destitute of money or property, I must, of necessity, be exposed to all the ills of extreme poverty. Among the Indians, I saw that those who were too young, or too weak to hunt for themselves, were sure to find some one to provide for them. I was also rising in the estimation of the Indians, and becoming as one of them. I therefore chose, for the present, to remain with them, but always intended, at some future time, to return and live among the whites.

We were now again at the Portage, whence we had been twice removed by the friendly hospitality of the Muskegoes; and were left to consult about the course we would pursue. When our mother had at length made up her mind to continue on to Red River, according to her original plan, she heard, by one of the traders, that her son-in-law, the husband of one of her daughters, who had continued on from Moose Lake, at the time we had been compelled to stop with Ke-wa-tin, had been killed by an old man in a drunken frolic. The traders had brought the widow as far as Rainy Lake whence she had sent word to her mother that she wished her to come and join her. This was an additional inducement to us to go to Red River, and we determined to proceed without delay.

Our canoe had been lent to the traders, and was sent on the route towards Red River to bring packs. As they were about to despatch more canoes, Net-no-kwa requested they would distribute us about, one or two to each canoe, so that we might go on until we should meet our own canoe. After a day or two, we met the Frenchmen with our canoe; but as they refused to give it up, the old woman took it from them without their consent, put it in the water, and put our baggage on board. The Frenchmen dared not make any resistance. I have never met with an Indian, either man or woman, who had so much authority as Net-no-kwa. She could accomplish whatever she pleased, either with the traders or the Indians; probably, in some measure, because she never attempted to do any thing which was not right and just.

At Rainy Lake, we found the old woman’s daughter in the care of some Indians, but very poor. Net-no-kwa conferred long with her on our situation; she talked of all our misfortunes and losses, and the death of her husband and son. She knew, she said, that her two little sons who remained, were young, but were they not becoming able to do something; and that, since she had come so far, for the purpose of going to Red River to hunt beaver, she was not willing to turn back. My brother and myself, although deeply interested in these consultations, were not allowed to have any voice.

It being determined that we should go to Red River, we continued on the the Lake of the Woods. This lake is called by the Indians Pub-be-kwaw-waung-gaw Sau-gi-e-gun, “the Lake of the Sand Hills.” Why it is called “Lake of the Woods” by the whites, I cannot tell, as there is not much wood about it. Here we were much endangered by high winds, the waves dashing into our canoe so fast that I was scarcely able, with a large kettle, to throw out the water as fast as it came in.

In the fall of the year, we arrived at the Lake of Dirty Water, called by the whites Lake Winnepeg[*]. Here old Net-no-kwa, being much cast down with grief, in consequence of all the misfortunes and losses she had encountered since she left her own country, began to drink, which was unusual with her, and soon became drunk. We, being foolish, and unaccustomed to direct our own motions, seeing that the wind rose fair, determined to place the old woman in the canoe, and cross to the other side of the lake. The traders advised us not to attempt it in the present state of the wind, but we would not listen to them, and accordingly pushed off and raised our sail. As the wind blew directly off the shore, the waves did not there run high; but we had only been out a short time, when they began to dash with great violence into the canoe. We now found it would be more dangerous to attempt to turn about, and regain the shore we had left, than to continue on directly before the wind. At this time the sun went down, and the wind began to blow more violently. We looked upon ourselves as lost, and began to cry. At this time, the old woman began to wake from her drunken fit, and presently becoming conscious of our situation, she sprang up, and first addressing a loud and earnest prayer to the Great Spirit, she applied herself, with surprising activity, to the use of her paddle, at the same time encouraging us, and directing Wa-me-gon-a-biew how to steer the canoe. But at length, as we came near the shore, and she began to recognize the spot we were approaching, she also began to manifest much alarm; and said to us, “my children, it appears to me we must all perish, for this shore before us is full of large rocks lying in the water, and our canoe must be dashed in pieces: nevertheless, we can do nothing but to run directly on, and though we cannot see where the rocks are, we may possibly pass between them.” And it so happened, our canoe being thrown high upon a spot of smooth sand beach, where it first struck. We immediately sprang out, and soon dragged it up beyond the reach of the waves. We encamped, and had no sooner kindled a fire, than we began to laugh at the old woman for being drunk, and for the apprehension she had manifested after she waked. In the morning, we perceived that the shore was such as she had described, and that in utter darkness, we had landed, where, with such a wind, the boldest Indian would not venture by day light. We remained at this camp a great part of the next day, which happened to be calm and fair, to dry our baggage, and towards evening, embarked, and ran for the mouth of Red River. We did not enter the mouth of the river until late at night, and perceiving a lodge, we landed, and laid down without kindling a fire, or making any noise to disturb the people, as we did not know who they were. In the morning they came and waked us, and we found them to be the family of one of the brothers of Taw-ga-we-ninne, and the very people we had come to seek.