Owindia | Page 2

glide
down the river in his swift canoe, and suddenly the keen observant eyes
would detect a bear walking stealthily along by the side of the stream!
In an instant the two men would exchange signals, paddles would be
lifted, and, every movement stilled, the men slowly and 'cannily' would
make for shore. In spite of all, however, Bruin has heard them, he
slakes his thirst no longer in the swift-running river nor feasts
luxuriously on the berries growing by the shore. The woods are close at
hand, and with a couple of huge strides he reaches them, and is making
with increasing speed for his lair; but Michel is his match for stealth

and swiftness, and when one sense fails, another is summoned to his
assistance. The eye can no longer see the prey, but the ear can yet
detect here and there a broken twig revealing the exact track it has
taken. With gun carried low, and treading on in breathless silence and
attention, the hunters follow, and soon a shot is heard, succeeded by
another, and then a shout which proclaims poor Bruin's death. Alas,
that gun which has done such good service for his family, which was
purchased by many a month's labour, and carefully chosen with an
Indian's observant eye: what misery and crime was it not to effect even
in that very spot where now the little group of Indians dwelt happy and
peaceful, little dreaming of the deed of violence which would soon
drive them panic-stricken from their homes!
A very marked feature in the character of the Indian is jealousy. How
far the white man may be answerable, if not for the first impulse of this,
at all events for its development, it were perhaps better not to inquire.
The schoolboy is often first taught jealousy by the undisguised
partiality for his more attractive or highly gifted companion, evinced by
his teachers; the Indians are at present in most respects but children,
and they are keenly sensitive to the treatment they receive from those,
who, in spite of many benefits bestowed, they cannot but look upon as
invaders of their soil, and intruders upon some of their prerogatives. In
our Mission work we find this passion of jealousy often coming into
play. It is most difficult to persuade the parents to trust us with their
children, not because they doubt our care of them, but for fear of their
children's affections being alienated from their own people. It is
sometimes hard for the same reason to get the parents to bring their
children to Holy Baptism: "You will give my boy another name, and he
will not be 'like mine' any more."
And Michel the Hunter was but an average type of the Indian character;
of a fiery, ardent nature, and unschooled affections, he never forgot a
wrong done him in early youth by a white man. His sweetheart was
taken from him, cruelly, heartlessly, mercilessly, during his absence,
without note or sign or warning, while he was working with all energy
to make a home for the little black-eyed maiden, who had promised to
be his bride. If Michel could but once have seen the betrayer to have
given vent to his feelings of scorn, rage, and indignation! To have
asked him, as he longed to ask him, if this was his Christian faith, his

boasted white man's creed! To have asked if in those thousand miles he
had traversed to reach the red man's home, there were no girls suited to
his mind, save only the one betrothed to Indian Michel! He would have
asked, too, if it were not enough to invade his country, build houses,
plant his barley and potatoes, and lay claim to his moose-deer and bear,
his furs and peltries, but he must needs touch, with profane hands, his
home treasures, and meddle with that which "even an Indian" holds
sacred? It might, perchance, have been better for Michel if he could
have spoken out and unburdened himself of his deep sense of wrong
and injury, which from henceforth lay like a hot iron in his heart. The
Italian proverb says, "It is better to swear than to brood;" and whether
this be true or not, it is certain that having to swallow his resentment,
and endure his agony in silence, embittered Michel's spirit, and made
him the jealous, sensitive, taciturn man he afterwards became. And
among many other consequences of his youth's tragedy was an
unconquerable horror of the white man; not but that, after a time, he
would work for a white man, and trade with him, so long as he need not
look upon him. He would send even his wife (for Michel took unto him
a wife after some years) to Fort Simpson with