They always do this.
You are supposed to have run the Cascades successfully if you cross
them alive, but to have failed if you drown.. In this case all were
successful.
Below the Cascades I had a sample of Indian gratitude that set me
thinking. My success with John MacDonald and others had added the
whole community to my medical practice, for those who were not
sick thought they were. I cheerfully did my best for all, and was
supposed to be persona grata. Just below the Cascade Rapids was
a famous sucker pool, and after we had camped three Indians came,
saying that the pool was full of suckers - would I lend them my
canoe to get some?
Away they went, and from afar I was horrified to see them clubbing
the fish with my beautiful thin-bladed maple paddles. They returned
with a boat load of 3- and 4-pound Suckers (Catostomus) and 2
paddles broken. Each of their friends came and received one or two
fine fish, for there were plenty. I, presumably part owner of the
catch, since I owned the boat, selected one small one for myself,
whereupon the Indian insolently demanded 25 cents for it; and
these were the men I had been freely doctoring for two weeks! Not
to speak of the loaned canoe and broken paddles! Then did I say a
few things to all and sundry - stinging, biting things, ungainsayable
and forcible things - and took possession of all the fish that were
left, so the Indians slunk off in sullen silence.
Gratitude seems an unknown feeling among these folk; you may give
presents and help and feed them all you like, the moment you want
a slight favour of them they demand the uttermost cent. In attempting
to analyse this I was confronted by the fact that among themselves
they are kind and hospitable, and at length discovered that their
attitude toward us is founded on the ideas that all white men are
very rich, that the Indian has made them so by allowing them to
come into this country, that the Indian is very poor because he
never was properly compensated, and that therefore all he can get
out of said white man is much less than the white man owes him.
As we rounded a point one day a Lynx appeared statuesque on a stranded
cake of ice, a hundred yards off, and gazed at the approaching
boats. True to their religion, the half-breeds seized their rifles,
the bullets whistled harmlessly about the "Peeshoo" - whereupon he
turned and walked calmly up the slope, stopping to look at each
fresh volley, but finally waved his stumpy tail and walked unharmed
over the ridge.
