The Arctic Prairies | Page 5

This was the first time I had used a gun in many years, and was the

only time on the trip. I felt rather guilty, but the carcass was a godsend
to two old Indians who were sickening on a long diet of salt pork, and
that Lynx furnished them tender meat for three days afterward; while
its skin and skull went to the American Museum.
On the night of May 20, we camped just above Grand Rapids--Preble
and I alone, for the first time, under canvas, and glad indeed to get
away from the noisy rabble of the boatmen, though now they were but
a quarter mile off. At first I had found them amusing and picturesque,
but their many unpleasant habits, their distinct aversion to strangers,
their greediness to get all they could out of one, and do nothing in
return, combined finally with their habit of gambling all night to the
loud beating of a tin pan, made me thankful to quit their company for a
time.
At Grand Rapids the scows were unloaded, the goods shipped over a
quarter-mile hand tramway, on an island, the scows taken down a side
channel, one by one, and reloaded. This meant a delay of three or four
days, during which we camped on the island and gathered specimens.
Being the organizer, equipper, geographer, artist, head, and tail of the
expedition, I was, perforce, also its doctor. Equipped with a "pill-kit,"
an abundance of blisters and bandages and some "potent purgatives," I
had prepared myself to render first and last aid to the hurt in my own
party. In taking instructions from our family physician, I had learned
the value of a profound air of great gravity, a noble reticence, and a
total absence of doubt, when I did speak. I compressed his creed into a
single phrase: "In case of doubt, look wise and work on his 'bowels.'"
This simple equipment soon gave me a surprisingly high standing
among the men. I was a medicine man of repute, and soon had a larger
practice than I desired, as it was entirely gratuitous.
The various boatmen, Indians and half-breeds, came with their troubles,
and, thanks chiefly to their faith, were cured. But one day John
MacDonald, the chief pilot and a mighty man on the river, came to my
tent on Grand Island. John complained that he couldn't hold anything
on his stomach; he was a total peristaltic wreck indeed (my words; his
were more simple and more vivid, but less sonorous and professional).
He said he had been going down hill for two weeks, and was so bad
now that he was "no better than a couple of ordinary men."
"Exactly so," I said. "Now you take these pills and you'll be all right in

the morning." Next morning John was back, and complained that my
pills had no effect; he wanted to feel something take hold of him.
Hadn't 1 any pepper-juice or brandy?
I do not take liquor on an expedition, but at the last moment a
Winnipeg friend had given me a pint flask of pure brandy--"for
emergencies." An emergency had come.
"John! you shall have some extra fine brandy, nicely thinned with
pepper-juice." I poured half an inch of brandy into a tin cup, then added
half an inch of "pain-killer."
"Here, take this, and if you don't feel it, it means your insides are dead,
and you may as well order your coffin."
John took it at a gulp. His insides were not dead; but I might have been,
had I been one of his boatmen.
He doubled up, rolled around, and danced for five minutes. He did not
squeal--John never squeals--but he suffered some, and an hour later
announced that he was about cured.
Next day he came to say he was all right, and would soon again be as
good as half a dozen men.
At this same camp in Grand Rapids another cure on a much larger scale
was added to my list. An Indian had "the bones of his foot broken,"
crushed by a heavy weight, and was badly crippled. He came leaning
on a friend's shoulder. His foot was blackened and much swollen, but I
soon satisfied myself that no bones were broken, because he could
wriggle all the toes and move the foot in any direction.
"You'll be better in three days and all right in a week," I said, with calm
assurance. Then I began with massage. It seemed necessary in the
Indian environment to hum some tune, and I found that the
"Koochy-Koochy" lent itself best to the motion, so it became my
medicine song.
With many "Koochy-Koochy"-ings and much ice-cold water he was
nearly cured in three days, and sound again in a week. But in the