In Canada West I Saw A Race Differing In
Appearance From The Mohawks And Mic-Macs, And Retaining To A Certain
Extent Their Ancient Customs.
Among these tribes I entered a wigwam, and
was received in sullen silence.
I seated myself on the floor with about
eight Indians; still not a word was spoken. A short pipe was then lighted
and offered to me. I took, as previously directed, a few whiffs of the
fragrant weed, and then the pipe was passed round the circle, after which
the oldest man present began to speak. [Footnote: "Why has our white
sister visited the wigwams of her red brethren?" was the salutation with
which they broke silence - a question rather difficult to answer.] This
pipe is the celebrated calumet, or pipe of peace, and it is considered
even among the fiercest tribes as a sacred obligation. A week before I
left Prince Edward Island I went for a tour of five days in the north-west
of the island with Mr. and Miss Kenjins. This was a delightful change, an
uninterrupted stream of novelty and enjoyment. It was a relief from
Charlotte Town, with its gossiping morning calls, its malicious stories,
its political puerilities, its endless discussions on servants, turnips,
and plovers; it was a bound into a region of genuine kindness and
primitive hospitality.
We left Charlotte Town early on a brilliant morning, in a light waggon,
suitably attired for "roughing it in the bush." Our wardrobes, a draught-
board, and a number of books (which we never read), were packed into a
carpetbag of most diminutive proportions.
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