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Updated: May 21, 2025
She was cousin to poor Accomba, and spent whole nights in wailing and lamenting, saying, "My sister! my sister! why might I not die instead of you? Oh, my sister, who shall mother your little ones? Who shall work for them?
Accomba threw off her blanket, and swinging round her baby, she seated herself on the floor by the side of the roaring fire, on which the friendly Indians heaped billet after billet of fine dry wood, till the whole room was lighted up by the bright and cheerful blaze.
Pipes were then lighted alike by men and women, and a kettle of tea was soon singing on the fire. Accomba draws out from the recesses of her dog sleigh one or two huge ribs of dried meat, black and unsavoury to look at, but forming very good food for all that.
There was a great silence among the Indians when Accomba had finished speaking. An Indian has great discernment, and not only can soon discover where the pathos of a story lies, but he will read as by intuition how much of it is true or false. Moreover, Michel's character was well known among them all, and his eccentricities had often excited their wonder and sometimes their censure.
I suppose Michel has killed enough to give you many a merry night, seated round the camp fire with some good fat ribs or a moose nose, and a fine kettle of tea; then you wrap yourself in your blanket, or light your pipe and feel like a 'big master." Peter's picture of comfort and enjoyment pleased the Indians, and they laughed heartily and testified their approval, all but poor Accomba.
"Oh, I suppose he only said that in sport," said another of the party; and yet it was plain that Accomba's story had produced a great sensation among her auditors. "In sport!" exclaimed Accomba, now fairly roused to excitement by the apparent incredulity of her listeners; "In sport, say you?
It was on a dark, cold night in the winter of 1880, that a dog- sleigh, laden with furs for the Company, appeared at Fort Simpson, and having discharged his load at the fur store, the sleigh-driver, who was none other than Accomba, the wife of Indian Michel, proceeded to the small "Indian house," as it is called, to spend the rest of the night among her own people.
"We have plenty of fish, it is true," said Accomba; "we dried a good number last Fall, besides having one net in the lake all the winter; but I would not leave the Company, Peter, if I were you, you are better off here, man, in spite of your 'starving times! You do get your game every day, come what may, and a taste of flour every week, and a little barley and potatoes.
"Yes, he went at last," sighed Accomba; "but my man has had one of his ugly fits upon him for all the winter; he would not hunt anywhere near the Fort, for fear of meeting a white face; and he vowed I was making friends with them, and bidding them welcome to the camp, and so he was afraid to leave it; and then at last, when I begged him to go and get food for his children, he swore at me and called me a bad name, and took up his gun to shoot me."
The baby looks pitiful it looks pitiful: it stretches out its hands for its mother's breast; it longs to taste the sweet draughts of milk. Ah! Accomba, my sister, my partner, why did cruel Michel come and take you from my side?" Another cry of sorrow was heard from Sarcelle, the brother of Accomba, that same night, and on the day following.
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