A few days after this, I was painting a beautiful little snow-bird,
that our man had shot out of a large flock that alighted near the
door. I was so intent upon my task, to which I was putting the
finishing strokes, that I did not observe the stealthy entrance (for
they all walk like cats) of a stern-looking red man, till a slender,
dark hand was extended over my paper to grasp the dead bird from
which I was copying, and which as rapidly transferred it to the side
of the painted one, accompanying the act with the deep guttural note
of approbation, the unmusical, savage "Owgh."
My guest then seated himself with the utmost gravity in a
rocking-chair, directly fronting me, and made the modest demand that
I should paint a likeness of him, after the following quaint
fashion: -
"Moodie's squaw know much - make Peter Nogan toder day on
papare - make Jacob to-day - Jacob young - great hunter - give much
duck - venison - to squaw."
Although I felt rather afraid of my fierce-looking visitor, I could
scarcely keep my gravity; there was such an air of pompous
self-approbation about the Indian, such a sublime look of conceit
in his grave vanity.
"Moodie's squaw cannot do everything; she cannot paint young men,"
said I, rising, and putting away my drawing-materials, upon which he
kept his eye intently fixed, with a hungry, avaricious expression. I
thought it best to place the coveted objects beyond his reach. After
sitting for some time, and watching all my movements, he withdrew,
with a sullen, disappointed air.
This man was handsome, but his expression was vile. Though he often
came to the house, I never could reconcile myself to his
countenance.
Late one very dark, stormy night, three Indians begged to be allowed
to sleep by the kitchen stove. The maid was frightened out of her
wits at the sight of these strangers, who were Mohawks from the
Indian woods upon the Bay of Quinte, and they brought along with
them a horse and cutter. The night was so stormy, that, after
consulting our man - Jacob Faithful, as we usually called him - I
consented to grant their petition, although they were quite
strangers, and taller and fiercer-looking than our friends the
Missasaguas.
I was putting my children to bed, when the girl came rushing in,
out of breath. "The Lord preserve us, madam, if one of these wild
men has not pulled off his trousers, and is a-sitting, mending
them behind the stove! and what shall I do?"
"Do? - why, stay with me, and leave the poor fellow to finish his
work."
The simple girl had never once thought of this plan of pacifying her
outraged sense of propriety.
Their sense of hearing is so acute that they can distinguish sounds
at an incredible distance, which cannot be detected by a European at
all. I myself witnessed a singular exemplification of this fact. It
was mid-winter; the Indians had pitched their tent, or wigwam, as
usual, in our swamp. All the males were absent on a hunting
expedition up the country, and had left two women behind to take
care of the camp and its contents, Mrs. Tom Nogan and her children,
and Susan Moore, a young girl of fifteen, and the only truly
beautiful squaw I ever saw. There was something interesting about
this girl's history, as well as her appearance. Her father had been
drowned during a sudden hurricane, which swamped his canoe on Stony
Lake; and the mother, who witnessed the accident from the shore, and
was near her confinement with this child, boldly swam out to his
assistance. She reached the spot where he sank, and even succeeded
in recovering the body; but it was too late; the man was dead.
The soul of an Indian that has been drowned is reckoned accursed,
and he is never permitted to join his tribe on the happy
hunting-grounds, but his spirit haunts the lake or river in which he
lost his life. His body is buried on some lonely island, which the
Indians never pass without leaving a small portion of food, tobacco,
ammunition, to supply his wants; but he is never interred with the
rest of his people.
His children are considered unlucky, and few willingly unite
themselves to the females of the family, lest a portion of the
father's curse should be visited on them.
The orphan Indian girl generally kept aloof from the rest, and
seemed so lonely and companionless, that she soon attracted my
attention and sympathy, and a hearty feeling of good-will sprang
up between us. Her features were small and regular, her face oval,
and her large, dark, loving eyes were full of tenderness and
sensibility, but as bright and shy as those of the deer. A rich
vermilion glow burnt upon her olive cheek and lips, and set off the
dazzling whiteness of her even and pearly teeth. She was small of
stature, with delicate little hands and feet, and her figure was
elastic and graceful. She was a beautiful child of nature, and her
Indian name signified "the voice of angry waters." Poor girl, she
had been a child of grief and tears from her birth! Her mother was
a Mohawk, from whom she, in all probability, derived her superior
personal attractions; for they are very far before the Missasaguas
in this respect.
My friend and neighbour, Emilia S - -, the wife of a naval officer,
who lived about a mile distant from me, through the bush, had come
to spend the day with me; and hearing that the Indians were in the
swamp, and the men away, we determined to take a few trifles to the
camp, in the way of presents, and spend an hour in chatting with the
squaws.
