YO THEOUGH THE MACKENZIE BASIN 



not say exactly where — and when they were born was often 

 a matter of doubt as well.* It was not in February, but in 

 Meeksuo pesim, " The month when the eagles return " ; not in 

 August, but in Oghpaho pesim, " The month when birds begin 

 to fly." When called upon they could give their Christian 

 names and answer to William or Magloire, to Mary or Mada- 

 line, but, in spite of priest or parson, their home name was 

 a Cree one. In many cases the white forefather's name had 

 been dropped or forgotten, and a Cree surname had taken 

 its place, as, for example, 'in the name Louis Maskegosis, or 

 Madeline Nooskeyah. Some of the Cree names were in their 

 meaning simply grotesque. Mishoostiquan meant " The 

 man who stands with the red hair " ; Waupunekapow, " He 



*With reference to these nondescript birthplaces, the wonderful 

 ease of parturition among Indian women may be referred to here. 

 This is common, probably, to all primitive races, but is perhaps 

 more marked amongst Indian mothers than any other. The event 

 may happen in a canoe, on the trail, at any place, or at any moment, 

 without hindering the ordinary progress of a travelling party, which 

 is generally overtaken by the mother in a few hours. But nothing 

 I heard here equalled in grotesque circumstances occurrences, whose 

 truth I can vouch for, many years ago on the Saskatchewan River. 

 In 1874, if I remember aright, a great spring freshet in the North 

 Branch was accompanied by a tremendous ice-jam, which backed 

 the water up, and flooded the river bank so suddenly that many 

 Indians were drowned. On an island below Prince Albert, a woman, 

 to save her life, had to climb a neighbouring tree, and gave birth to 

 a child amongst the branches. The jam broke, and, wonderful to 

 say, both mother and child got down to firm ground alive. Another 

 case, even more gruesome, happened on the Lower Saskatchewan 

 not so many years ago. A woman and her husband were hastening 

 on snowshoes from their winter camp to the river, in order to share 

 in the usual Christmas bounty and festivities at the Hudson's Bay 

 Company's post. The woman was seized with incipient labour, and, 

 darting from her husband, with whom she had been quarrelling on 

 the way, pushed on, and, in a frozen marsh, amongst bulrushes, on 

 a bitterly cold night, was delivered of a child. Grumous as she was, 

 she picked herself up, and, with incredible nerve, walked ten miles 

 to the Pas, carrying her live infant with her, wrapped in a rabbit- 

 skin robe. 



