Abundant evidence that in many another Indian breast
dwelt the heart of Saltatha, Warburton Pike's famous guide, who
when the good priest had told him of the beauties of heaven said,
"My Father, you have spoken well. You have told me that heaven is
beautiful. Tell me now one thing more. Is it more beautiful than
the land of the musk ox in summer, when sometimes the mist blows
over the lakes, and sometimes the waters are blue, and the loons
call very often? This is beautiful, my Father. If heaven is more
beautiful I shall be content to rest there till I am very old."
The camp consisted of two large wigwams, the covers of which were
of dressed deer-skins sewed together and drawn tight over the
poles, while across the doorway bung an old piece of sacking. The
covers were now worn and old and dirty-grey in colour save round
the opening at the top, where they were blackened by the smoke from
the fire in the centre of the wigwam.
Here the younger women and the children were waiting, and some of
them had donned their best attire for the occasion of the
strangers' visit. Their dresses were of cotton and woollen goods.
Few wore skin clothes, and those who did had on a rather long skin
shirt with hood attached, but under the shirt were numerous cloth
garments. Only the old men and little children were dressed
altogether in skins. One young woman appeared in a gorgeous purple
dress, and on her head the black and red _tuque_ with beaded band
worn by most of the Montagnais women, and I wondered if she had
come to the Nascaupee camp the bride of one of its braves. There
was about her an air of conscious difference from the others, but
this was unrecognised by them. The faces here were not bright and
happy looking as at the Montagnais camp. Nearly all were sad and
wistful. The old women seemed the brightest of all and were
apparently important people in the camp. Even the little
children's faces were sad and old in expression as if they too
realised something of the cares of wilderness life.
At first they stood about rather shyly watching me, with evident
interest, but making no move to greet or welcome me. I did not
know how best to approach them. Then seeing a young mother with
her babe in her arms standing among the group, near one of the
wigwams, I stepped towards her, and touching the little bundle I
spoke to her of her child and she held it so that I might see its
face. It was a very young baby, born only the day before, I
learned later, and the mother herself looked little more than a
child. Her face was pale, and she looked weak and sick.
