by Ann Birch
Anna put the mixture into her mouth while Sam handed her a handkerchief to wipe away the surplus that dripped down her chin. “What is in it?”
“Indian corn and lard, part of the government food allotment for their five-day stay. But Jacob will give you the recipe.”
“Fill a big tin kettle with water for ten men, put in one quart corn per man and big helping of pork fat. Boil all night in campfire. Daylight comes. Porridge now so thick, stick stands upright in the kettle. Add a pinch of salt. Very good, Mrs. Jameson. Now try it with black bass.” He scooped the fish out of a frying pan with a spoon, set it on a leaf, and handed it to Anna.
“All a man can ask for,” Sam said, “so I’m told.”
“Indeed.” Anna smiled at the Indian woman who was pushing another spoonful of porridge towards her. “But now, please tell your friends, Jacob, that I have had enough.”
A din of voices drowned out her words. Hundreds of Indians were running towards the shore. “I think they’ve just announced the canoe race,” Sam said. “I scheduled one for this morning and asked the Indian agent, Major Anderson, to supervise.”
“Oh, do let us go and see it,” Anna said, clapping. So down to the starting place on the shore of the lake they proceeded, through the throngs of men, women and children that jostled about them.
“For women only,” Anderson shouted through his trumpet of birchbark. “With prizes. Twenty-four pair of silver earrings.”
Thirty canoes were filling up, each containing twelve women to paddle and one woman to steer. “They are to go round the small island in the centre of the bay,” Sam told Anna, “and the first canoe that touches the shore at the starting point is the winner.”
Anna ran back and forth along the shoreline to get a better view of things. As she hiked up her skirts to avoid tripping, Sam, who was coming behind her, noticed her slender ankles and her small feet shod in a fine pair of beaded moccasins. He remembered those feet climbing up into the sleigh the day of their trip to the sugar bush. Only then, they had been covered in enough stockings for an expedition to the Arctic.
A hundred Indian men ran with her, urging their wives and sisters on with loud cries, leaps into the air and clapping of hands. For a few seconds he lost sight of her.
“What is that wild white woman doing?” Anderson yelled at Sam. Anna was attempting to get into one of the canoes that seemed to be short one Indian paddler. “Get her out of there, damn it!”
“Anna, Anna!” Sam ran up to the side of the canoe. “You mustn’t go with them. You’ll only slow them down. Please, please get out.”
But it was too late. The Indian women had handed her a paddle, and she waved it in the air at Sam as they pushed off into the water. There was a rifle shot, and all paddles dipped together with a burst of speed.
He watched the progress of the canoes until they disappeared around the far side of the island. Anderson stood beside him, cursing. “An almighty nerve that woman has, Jarvis. Why didn’t you stop her?”
“Shut up, man. It’s all about good fun, isn’t it? And it wasn’t as if the Indian women didn’t want her. In fact, they encouraged her.”
As the canoes came into view again, Sam could see that Anna was paddling as hard as the others in her craft. “By god,” he said to Jacob, who stood beside him, “she’s got the hang of it.”
“Look, Nehkik! Canoe pulls ahead. Mrs. Jameson wins.”
By now the Indians were milling about, yelling “Ny’a! Ny’a!” Anna’s canoe splashed up to the landing place, and the men ran into the water to carry the winners out in their arms. Sam moved towards Anna, but the show-off Indian who had trounced him at lacrosse back at Penetanguishene was there first. He grasped her around the waist, threw her over his shoulder like a bearskin blanket, and sloshed through the water to dry land. The pinewoods rang with the shrieks of the onlookers and victors, and Anna was shouting as loudly as any of the Indians crowded around her.
Anderson handed out twelve pairs of earrings to each of the paddlers in the winning canoe and twelve to the second-place winners. As Sam noticed Anna giving hers away to the steerswoman, he recognized, belatedly, that they should have provided one more pair of earrings for each canoe. Big white chief can’t count would be the assessment in every wigwam that night.
“You are not angry with me, Sam?” Anna asked as he walked with her through the crowds.
“No. I think perhaps I was envious of the fun you were having. But who was that fellow who carried you out of the water? I noticed him before on the shore. Puts himself forward a bit too much for my liking.”
“He’s Camudwa, my steersman from the Sault.”
“The one who steered you down the rapids?”
“And covered me in glory. I will not forget him.”
“Well. I’m not your keeper. But I must warn you against giving the wrong impression to these people.”
“Don’t worry about me. It’s all good humour and fun. And no, you are not my keeper. If I had wanted constant surveillance and uncalled-for advice, I’d have stayed in Toronto with the Vice-Chancellor.” She turned her back on him to wave at the McMurrays. “And now I must see what my friends are doing.”
“You’d better watch that one,” Anderson said as he approached Sam. “Here we are, two white men in charge of almost four thousand savages. I don’t count those Catholic priests or that missionary friend of yours. They’d be useless if there was trouble. We don’t know anything about the sexual urges of these men.”
“They’ll keep their distance, surely.”
Anderson’s square-jawed face grew stern. “Didn’t you notice the getup of that one who pulled your friend from the water? Look at him.” He pointed to Camudwa. “This morning, when your friends landed, he was a plain Indian, dirty blanket coat and greasy hair. Now he’s got himself rigged out like some sort of stage savage in a bad European melodrama. Wants to be noticed, I’d say. And she seems crazy enough to be impressed.”
Sam had not fully taken in the details of the Indian’s costume. Now he took a second look. Yes, he was certainly splendid. Scarlet leggings, confined with bands of beads, strings and tassels. Moccasins worked in a rainbow of dyed porcupine quills. Beaver helmet stuck with silver pins and bits of dyed green and red moose hair that matched his chest, painted in red and green stripes, and his face, half red and half green.
“Maybe he just likes to get dressed up occasionally. Why don’t you get up to the storage shed and sort the gifts? We don’t have that much time.”
“Can’t do it all myself.” Anderson stalked off.
Sam broke into a run, catching up with Anna before she rejoined her friends. “I should keep my mouth shut,” he told her. “It’s got me into trouble many times in my life. But one thing I know: I do not want to quarrel with you. Forgive me.”
“For penance, you can take me to look at the gifts,” she said, smiling. “I’ve been wanting to see first hand the government munificence that draws all these people from the far-flung corners of this land.”
Anderson had brought the gifts by steamboat from the Sault, and he and Sam had arranged them in piles in the storehouse. As Sam and Anna entered the large log house, Anderson was standing, arms folded, looking at the gifts. “About time,” he said, when he saw Sam. “It’s no place for a woman,” he added, giving a perfunctory bow in Anna’s direction.
“But how on earth, Major Anderson, do you get the right goods parcelled out to each of the thousands of Indians in the encampment?”
Waving sheets of paper under her nose, he said, “We have made a list of the number of braves, squaws and children in each of the seventy-five tribes present. We count out the articles for each person accordingly, then the chief collects the whole kit and allots the booty to tribal members. So, if there are any complaints about shortages, we say, ‘look to your chief.’”
Sam was amused at the lady’s reply. “Brilliant organization, if I may say so.”
And even more amused at the instant effect of tho
se few words.
“Feel free, dear lady, to watch while we get the allotments out to each chief.” Anderson moved over to the far side of the storehouse to begin the work.
Sam put his hand on Anna’s sleeve. “It wasn’t all that easy. To be quite truthful, I had to ask Jacob the best way of sorting it. I’m pleased with myself about that. There was a time when I would not have admitted my ignorance to an Indian.”
Anna took out her notebook. “Now tell me exactly who gets what.”
“For each man: three and three-quarter yards of linen and blue cotton; one blanket; some thread and four strong needles; a comb, an awl, and a butcher’s knife, three pounds of tobacco; nine pounds of shot, three pounds of ball, four pounds of powder, and six flints.”
“How do you keep all that in your head?”
“Practice. After I sorted piles of twenty or so, I scarcely had to think. At night, when I can’t sleep, I usually count moose. But up here, it’s government packets, infinitely more sleep inducing than moose, I may say.”
“And for each woman?” she pursued.
“A yard and a half of calico; two yards of woollen cloth; one blanket; some thread and four needles; one comb, one awl and one knife.” And forestalling her next question, he added, “For each child, bits of woollen cloth and calico.”
“A veritable treasure, indeed,” the lady said. “Well worth a week’s trip and a hide bloodied with mosquito sores. No wonder the Sault Indians were so keen to leave home.”
“What can I say, Anna? It is indeed a small return for so much travel. And yet the Indian Department decrees that no gifts will be given unless the people travel here to Manitoulin to receive them. In fairness to the Department, let me remind you that we give gifts even to those Indians who come here from American territory. Like the Chippewa bands from Mackinaw Island and the south side of the Ste. Marie River. But I will be telling the assembly this afternoon that we have to cut them off in the future unless they move to Canadian territory.”
Anna listened to all this and said with a frown, “So much ado about nothing.”
“The gifts are paltry, I agree, but it’s a wonderful place for a party, isn’t it? These people, as you yourself said a few minutes ago, are enjoying themselves.” Sam noticed Anderson sidling over from the far side of the room in order to join in their conversation. “Please say no more now.”
“You don’t want that wretched man to hear you criticize the government. Is that it?”
“I’m dependent on the government for my wages. And I don’t trust Anderson. He wanted my job, and he’s quite capable of repeating anything I say to Sir Francis. Think about my position for a minute. There’s no gift-giving ceremony for a debt-ridden white man like myself. I have to keep this job and the five hundred pounds annually that come with it.”
“I suppose it’s my turn to apologize.” But the tone of her voice contained no regret. She turned to the agent, who was now within earshot. “Major Anderson, I know that you and Mr. Jarvis must now give your full attention to your work. I shall keep out of the way.”
Sam heaved the bundles of gifts onto wooden trolleys, cursing inwardly. Two arguments in the space of fifteen minutes. His silly dream of a romantic idyll had flown away like a puff of wind through an open window. What could a free-spirited woman like Anna understand of his multiple responsibilities?
THIRTY-FIVE
Anna looked with pleasure at the tiny room and narrow bed that had been alloted to her in the government log house. It was hers alone, and she would have the luxury of reading by candlelight for as long as she wished. A maid had left a pitcher of cold water and a cake of soap on a pine table, and she unbuttoned her bodice in order to wash her neck and arms. A shadow obscured the sun that streamed through the little window, and she turned abruptly. Seven small brown faces peered through at her.
Smiling, she took a blanket from her bed and placed it over the glass. Really, there was no rudeness in their stares, only curiosity.
She remembered her dismay earlier in the summer when she’d found herself in a room with no lock on the door. She had told the innkeeper her concern; he had been grumpy but had put a nail lengthwise over the latch. Now, after these days of sleeping in tents and bateaux, it seemed almost normal to have company.
From the shore, she could hear shouts and drums beating. She finished her wash and took the blanket from her window. She threw up the sash and poked her head out. The children who had been at her window a few minutes before were now running down the slope. “What’s happening?” she called after them. No one stopped to answer.
There was a knock at her door, and Mrs. McMurray entered. “What’s happening, you ask? Several of your Chippewa fans plan a dance in your honour. They’ve sent me with the official invitation.”
“How exciting! I am honoured. What will it be like? What should I know about it?”
“I won’t tell you. Wait and see. Let me only recommend that you have a few minutes’ quiet rest before you come down to the shore. You will need it. But, please, do be down on the waterfront in half an hour.”
Anna lay down as suggested but could not sleep. In a short time, there was a loud banging on her door, and a host of small voices yelling, “Come, come, come!” She got up immediately, pulled on her moccasins, gave her hair a hasty pat, and along with the crowd of excited Indians, ran down the hill.
A row of fallen oak “sofas” had been arranged around a circular expanse of sand. Anna seated herself beside the McMurrays, the Catholic priests, and a number of Indian chiefs. Beyond the shore, the slope of land covered with wigwams rose high like a wall and formed a backdrop for the “stage”. Above was the sunshine of a cloudless summer’s day.
Just as the fun was about to begin, Sam Jarvis came running from the storehouse, and Anna squeezed over to make room for him on her log.
Two drums, two rattles and a chorus of male and female voices formed the accompaniment for the dancers: two dozen braves fantastically adorned and painted in a manner to which they had evidently taken much thought and attention.
They had thrown aside their leggings and blankets to display their painted bodies to full advantage. They all had slender, agile figures, with shapely legs and small feet, but no two men were alike in their accessories. One had the feathers of a crane on his head; its long beak stuck out from his forehead. Another had the shell of a large turtle suspended from a cord around his neck. Yet another wore the skin of a bear, paws intact, draped over his chest.
Camudwa was most picturesque of all. On his chest was an expertly drawn white hand. (“Some symbolism in that?” Sam asked Anna.) He had added red bars to his right leg and green lines to the left. Over his skull he had fitted the head of a cougar so that his own face was scarcely visible behind the ears and the fiendish teeth of the creature. He pranced up so close to Anna that she could not avoid seeing his muscled chest and forearms, his shapely legs, and the bulge of his genitals.
A year before, she had been seated in a box at the opera, spellbound as she watched Carlotta Grisi and Perrot flying through the galop in Benyowksy. The juxtaposition of that memory with this reality seemed unreal, but simple as this dance was, it was equally entrancing. It consisted of the alternate raising of one foot, then the other, while the performers swung their bodies back and forth and flourished their clubs, tomahawks, and javelins. There was an intensity in their movements that was hypnotic. Anna felt herself pulled into the frenzy of the dance.
“Why are you laughing?” Sam said. “Because it’s so grotesque?”
“No, no. In fact...I didn’t realize I was laughing.”
“Well, they’ve taken it as an expression of your enjoyment. Look at them.”
The drums now beat louder and faster, and the dancers quickened their steps to a frenzy. Camudwa pranced closer and closer until Anna could see the sweat smearing the white hand on his chest and smell the stink of stale tobacco. He swept off his cougar headpiece and smiled broadly, while a series of grunts emerged fr
om the back of his throat.
“Sounds like a rutting moose,” was Sam’s comment.
“Please, oh please, Sam, let me just live in this moment. All too soon—for both of us, surely—the wonderful dress and wild dance will metamorphose into trousers and the waltz.”
“You are enjoying it, then?”
“It’s like a plague of fiends breaking into paradise! But there is something so compelling...”
The dance wound down. At the end, Anna clapped her hands as loudly as any of the Indians and shouted “Hah, hah!” with the rest of the crowd. Then she went up to Camudwa, pressed her hands around his, and congratulated him, saying “Minno, minno!” over and over. He spoke to her in Chippewa, then pointed towards his wigwam, but at this point Mr. McMurray intervened, saying something in the dialect that stopped the flow of the Indian’s speech. He bowed in European fashion and went off with the rest of the dancers.
“I think his intent was clear,” Sam said to Mr. McMurray. “Most Indians have an unwritten law that keeps them from overstepping the boundaries of proper decorum. Not that one, it appears.”
“I suppose I must thank you for stepping in, but it really wasn’t necessary. I am not a member of the weaker sex,” Anna said, adding, “and now, if you will excuse me, I shall go back to my room and get ready for the awards ceremony.”
“And I’ll come along with you, if you don’t mind,” Mrs. McMurray said.
In Anna’s room, they combed their hair and washed their faces with the cold water in the pitcher. “Come and sit with me, my dear.” Mrs. McMurray patted the side of the bed. “And let us call each other by our Christian names. Surely we have become friends and can take this liberty.”
“Dear Charlotte.” Anna took her friend’s hand in hers.
“I apologize for Mac’s intrusion. He meant well. And you restrained yourself from saying, ‘please, oh please, let me run my own life’.” Charlotte gave an embarrassed laugh. “I suppose you understood what Camudwa was suggesting?”