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Updated: May 3, 2025
When "Fire-Flint" Larocque said good-bye to his parents, up in the Red River Valley, and started forth for his first term in an Eastern college, he knew that the next few years would be a fight to the very teeth.
All his young life he had been accustomed to hear his parents and himself referred to as "half-breeds," until one day, when the Governor-General of all Canada paid a visit to the Indian school, and the principal, with an air of pride, presented "Fire-Flint" to His Excellency, with "This is our head pupil, the most diligent boy in the school. He is Trapper Larocque's son." "Oh?
His Excellency's voice ceased, but his thin, pale, aristocratic fingers still rested on the boy's shoulders, his eyes still shone with that peculiar brotherly light. "I shall remember, sir," replied Fire-Flint, while his homeless young heart was fast creating for itself the foothold amongst the great nations of the earth.
It was probable that the dead man had told a part of the truth, and that he was a sailor left on the upper coast by some whaler. He shivered as he began going through his pockets. Each moment added to his disappointment. He found a few things a knife, two keys, several coins, a fire-flint, and other articles but there was no letter or writing of any kind, and that was what he had hoped to find.
Then, once again addressing Fire-Flint, he asked, "I suppose all the traders use this term in speaking of your parents and of you?" "Of my parents, yes, sir," replied the boy. "And you?" questioned His Excellency, kindly. "They call me the 'Shagganappi," replied Fire-Flint. "I am afraid that is beyond me, my boy," smiled His Excellency. "Won't you tell me what it means?"
His voice was chilly and his eyes a little cold as he looked rather haughtily at the principal. "I do not like the word 'breed' applied to human beings. It is a term for cattle and not men," he continued. Then, addressing "Fire-Flint," he asked, "Who are your parents, my boy?"
I'm in bully training, but I'm a cow compared to 'Shag." "What a rum name!" said Locke, still a little resentful. "Found out all about that, too," went on Cop. "Seems he has a whole string of names to choose from. Heard him tell the Head that his first name is 'Fire-Flint, and his last name is 'Larocque. Seemed to kind of take the Head where he is weakest.
But that day proved the beginning of a new life for Fire-Flint; Lord Mortimer had called him Shagganappi in a half playful way, had said the name meant good and great things.
What tribe does he belong to?" asked the Governor, as he clasped the boy's hand genially. "Oh, Fire-Flint belongs to no tribe; he is a half-breed," explained the principal. "What an odd term!" said the Governor, with a perplexed wrinkle across his brows; then, "I imagine you mean a half-blood, not breed."
Boy, try and remember that as you come of Red Indian blood, dashed with that of the first great soldiers, settlers and pioneers in this vast Dominion, that you have one of the proudest places and heritages in the world; you are a Canadian in the greatest sense of that great word. When you go out into the world will you remember that, Fire-Flint?"
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