Owindia | Page 3

his furs to trade, rather
than trust himself in the neighbourhood of the "Tene Manula" (white
man). Once, it was said, that Michel had even so far overcome his
repugnance as to pitch his camp in the neighbourhood of Fort Simpson.
He was a husband and a father then, and there were a number of
Indians encamped in the same locality. It might be hoped that under
these circumstances the past would be forgotten, and that the man
would bury his resentment, and extend a friendly hand to those, not a
few, among the white men who wished him well; but jealousy is the
"rage of a man." In the middle of the night Michel roused his wife and
little ones, declaring that the white man was coming to do them some
mischief. Bearing his canoe upon his head he soon launched it off, and
in his mad haste to be away he even left a number of his chattels
behind.
Only once more did Michel appear at the Fort, and that on a memorable
occasion which neither he nor any who then beheld him will be likely
to forget.
It was on a dark, cold night in the winter of 1880, that a dog- sleigh,
laden with furs for the Company, appeared at Fort Simpson, and having

discharged his load at the fur store, the sleigh-driver, who was none
other than Accomba, the wife of Indian Michel, proceeded to the small
"Indian house," as it is called, to spend the rest of the night among her
own people. She was a pleasing-looking young woman, with bright
expressive eyes, and a rather melancholy cast of countenance. She was
completely enveloped in a large green blanket, from the folds of which
peeped over her shoulder an infant of a few months old, warm and
comfortable in its moss-bag. A blessed institution is that of the
moss-bag to the Indian infant; and scarcely less so to the mother herself.
Yet, indeed, it requires no small amount of patience, skill, and labour
before this Northern luxury can be made ready for its tiny occupant.
Through a good part of the long winter nights has the mother worked at
the fine bead-work which must adorn the whole front of the moss-bag.
By a strange intuitive skill she has traced the flowers and leaves and
delicate little tendrils, the whole presenting a marvellously artistic
appearance, both in form and in well-combined colours. Then must the
moss be fetched to completely line the bag, and to form both bed and
wrapping for the little one. For miles into the woods will the Indian
women hike to pick the soft moss which is only to be met with in
certain localities. They will hang it out on bush and shrub to dry for
weeks before it is wanted, and then trudge back again to bring it home,
in cloths or blankets swung on their often already-burdened shoulders.
Then comes the picking and cleaning process, and thawing the now
frozen moss before their camp fires. Every leaf and twig must be
removed, that nothing may hurt the little baby limbs. And now all is
prepared; the sweet downy substance is spread out as pillow for the
baby head, and both couch and covering for the rest of the body. Then
the bag is laced up tight, making its small tenant as warm and cozy as
possible; only the little face appears--the bonnie, saucy Indian baby
face, singularly fair for the first few months of life, with the black
bead-like eyes, and soft silken hair, thick even in babyhood.
Accomba threw off her blanket, and swinging round her baby, she
seated herself on the floor by the side of the roaring fire, on which the
friendly Indians heaped billet after billet of fine dry wood, till the
whole room was lighted up by the bright and cheerful blaze. It was not
long before a number of other Indians entered,--most unceremoniously,
as Indians are wont to do, and seated themselves in all parts of the

room, for they had heard the sound of sleigh bells, and were at once
curious to know the business of the new arrival. A universal
hand-shaking took place, for all were friendly, being mostly of the
same tribe, and more or less closely all connected. Pipes were then
lighted alike by men and women, and a kettle of tea was soon singing
on the fire. Accomba draws out from the recesses of her dog sleigh one
or two huge ribs of dried meat, black and unsavoury to look at, but
forming very good food for all that.
This is portioned out among the assembled company; a bladder of
grease is added, and seized with avidity by one of the party; a portion
of this was then melted