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Oowikapun: How the Gospel Reached the Nelson River Indians, a novel by Egerton Ryerson Young |
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Chapter 10. A Mortal Wound |
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_ CHAPTER TEN. A MORTAL WOUND The summer following the visit of Oowikapun, Kistayimoowin had taken his wife and his niece and gone out to an island in one of the large lakes to hunt and fish. Theirs was the only wigwam on that island that summer. While out in a small canoe on the lake one day shooting ducks, his gun, which was an old flintlock, unfortunately burst, and, not only severely wounded him, but caused him to upset the canoe while out about half a mile from the shore. His wife and Astumastao heard his wild whoop of danger, and quickly realised the sad position he was in. Unfortunately they had no other canoe and no friendly helper was within range of their voices. Astumastao, however, like all Indian girls, could swim like a duck; and so without hesitancy she sprang into the lake and as rapidly as possible swam out to the rescue of her wounded uncle, who sorely needed her assistance. The explosion of the gun had nearly blown off one of his hands, and some pieces of the barrel had entered into his body. The result was that he was very helpless and weak from the loss of blood. Astumastao reached him as soon as possible, and finding it impossible to right the canoe, she succeeded in tying a deerskin thong around the wounded wrist, and then resolved to try to swim with him to the shore. It was a desperate undertaking, but she knew just what to do to succeed, if it were possible. The wounded man could do nothing to help himself, so she placed him so that he could put his unwounded hand upon her back, and thus keep afloat, then she bravely struck out for the distant shore. Only those who have tried to rescue a helpless person in the water can have any correct idea of the fearful task she had to perform; but buoyed up by hope and her naturally brave, true heart, she persevered, and, although at times almost exhausted, she succeeded in reaching the shallow water, out into which her feeble aunt had ventured to come to assist her. As well as they could, they helped or carried the almost exhausted man to the wigwam, and immediately made use of every means at their disposal to stop the wounds from which his life's blood seemed to be ebbing away. The poor man was no sooner laid on his bed, weak and exhausted, than he turned his eyes toward Astumastao and startled her, although he spoke in a voice that was little above a whisper. What he said was, "Nikumootah!" ("Sing!") Astumastao hesitated not; but choking back her emotions she began in sweet and soothing notes the song we have already heard her sing:
Not much was it that was remembered through all the long years that had passed away since Astumastao had received her last Sabbath school lesson, but she called up all she could, and in that which still clung to her memory was the matchless verse: "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." The sick man was thrilled and startled, and said, "Say it again and again!" So over and over again she repeated it. "Can you remember anything more?" he whispered. "Not much," she replied, "only I remember that I was taught that this Jesus, the Son of the Great Spirit, said something like this: 'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.'" "Did they say," said the dying man, "that that included the Indian? May he, too, go in the white man's way?" "O yes," she answered; "I remember about that very well. The missionary was constantly telling us that the Great Spirit and his Son loved everybody--Indians as well as whites--and that we were all welcome to come to him. Indeed it must be so, for there are the words I have learned about it out of his great book: 'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.'" "Sing again to me," he said. And so she sang:
"Jesus," she sobbed. "Lift up my head," he said to his weeping wife. "Take hold of my hand, my niece," he said. "It is getting so dark I cannot see the trail. I have no guide. What did you say was his name?" "Jesus," again she sobbed. And with that name on his lips he was gone. Call not this picture overdrawn. Hundreds of these Indians have long lost faith in paganism, and in their hours of peril, or in the presence of death even, many of them who have learned but little about Christianity cling to those who have some knowledge of the great salvation and strive to grope into the way. The two women were alone on the island with their dead, and with no canoe by which they could return to the distant mainland. But Indian women are quick at devising plans to meet emergencies, and so Astumastao speedily resolved on a plan to bring help to them. What she did was this. She cut a long pole from a clump of tall, slender trees which grew near their wigwam, and then securely fastening her shawl to it, she hoisted it up as a signal on a point where it was visible from the shore. Soon it was observed, and help came speedily. There was a good deal of genuine sorrow expressed by the Indians in their own quiet way. After many questions had been asked and answered, they wrapped up the body in birch bark, and conveyed it across to the mainland, and there buried it with their usual Indian pagan rites, much to the regret of Astumastao. Left alone with her aunt, who was quite feeble, upon Astumastao fell the chief work of supplying food for both. Bravely did she apply herself to the task; and such was her skill and industry that a good degree of success crowned her efforts, and very seldom indeed was it that their wigwam was destitute of food. Often had she some to spare for the old and feeble ones who, according to the heartless custom of some of the tribes, when they reach the time of life when they can neither snare rabbits nor catch fish, are either thrown out of the wigwams in the bitter cold, and left to freeze to death, or they are deserted in the forests, and left to be devoured by the wild beasts. Astumastao, when a poor orphan child, had been rescued and kindly cared for, and she never forgot those early days and kindly deeds performed for her happiness, and so now we see her ever striving to comfort or help others. During the remaining part of the summer which followed the sad death of her uncle, she succeeded in killing a number of reindeer, which are at times very plentiful in those high latitudes. Annoyed by the numerous flies, these reindeer frequently rush into the great lakes and rivers; and as the Indians can paddle their light canoe much faster than these animals can swim, they easily overtake and kill them. Astumastao, with a couple of other Indian girls, succeeded in killing quite a number of them. Their plan was to lash a sharp knife to the end of a pole, and then when they had paddled near enough they stabbed the deer and dragged it ashore. All the deer do not give up without a struggle. This Astumastao found to her cost one day. She and a couple of young maidens about her own age had hurried out to try and kill a famous deer whose many-pronged antlers told that he was one of the great monarchs of the forest. When they tried to get near enough to stab him, he suddenly attacked the canoe with such fury that, although Astumastao succeeded in mortally wounding him, yet he so smashed the canoe that it was rendered useless, and the girls had to spring out and swim to the shore, which was a long way off. However, they reached it in safety, amid the laughter of the people, who had observed their discomfiture. Nothing daunted, however, the plucky girls quickly secured another canoe and paddled out and brought in their splendid deer. When the long, cold winter set in again, Astumastao applied herself very diligently to the work of trapping and snaring rabbits and some of the smaller fur-bearing animals. In her hunting excursions she followed her plans of the preceding winters, and often plunged farther into the dense forest to set her traps and snares beyond those of any other woman hunter. Here, in the solitude of nature, she could sing to her heart's content while deftly weaving her snares or setting her traps. On one of these trips she caught a glimpse of a black fox, and suspecting him to be the thief who had been robbing her snares of some rabbits during the last few days, she resolved if possible to capture the valuable animal. His rich and costly fur would buy her and her aunt some valuable blankets and other things much required for their comfort. Returning quickly back to her wigwam, she succeeded in borrowing a fox trap from a friendly hunter, and then making all preparations she started very early the next morning for the spot where she intended to set her trap. The distance was so great that she had to tramp along for several hours on her snow-shoes ere she reached the place. But the air was clear and bracing, and hoping for success in her undertaking she felt but little fatigue. Skillfully she set the trap, and then walking backward, and with a heavy balsam brush carefully brushing out her tracks, she retraced her steps to the ordinary trail, and began collecting her rabbits and partridges from the snares. Although the fox had robbed her of several, yet she was more than ordinarily successful and gathered sufficient to make a heavy load. At one place the path led her through a dense, gloomy part of, the forest, where the great branches of the trees seemed to interlock above her head, and shut out the greater part of the light and sunshine. But she was a brave Indian maiden who knew no such thing as fear, and so, throwing her heavy load over her shoulder, and supporting it with the carrying strap from her forehead, she cheerily moved along, thinking how happy she would be if she captured that fox to-morrow, when suddenly the shriek of a wild beast rang in her ears, and she was hurled down on her face to the ground. _ |
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