“The Indians had given me the name of The Writer, which they are accustomed to do to all whom they observe writing. As soon as Mr. Kay had gone, I did not want for visits, his savagesse remaining in the tent with me. A great many Indians came in; among the number was Katawabida and Mongozid, who said to me, “Writer, give us rum!” I told them that I could not—that I was not master. They tormented me a long time. Mongozid threw to me a pair of metasses, which he had got on credit, and had not paid for, (for he was a poor paymaster,) demanding rum for them. I told him, no! He then talked with Mr. Kay’s woman, who was tired of them, as well as myself. She begged me to give them a little, after which they went out of the tent.
“Within an hour after Le Barrique Eau arrived, and told me that Mr. Harris and Mr. Pinot had actually arrived at the fish-dam. The Indians, one and all, set up a shout of joy, and ran to the beach to receive them. They did not however, meet with a very good reception, the flagon Mr. Kay had taken with him having intoxicated the whole party. They debarked, and while Mr. Harris was getting his tent pitched, Mr. Kay entered mine and took a glass in my presence. Mr. Harris was quite noisy. To complete the scene, the ferocity of Cul Blanc3 (an Indian unfriendly to Mr. K.) had returned. He had persuaded Le Cousin to stab Mr. Kay, in the course of the winter, saying to him, that he had not courage enough himself to do it. The other gloried in being equal to the commission of a crime, which he had promised to perpetrate when they came together.
“The Cul Blanc was sitting, with many others, on a hillock, before the fire, smoking, directly before Mr. Kay’s tent. Le Cousin got up and went towards the tent, at the entrance of which he met Mr. Kay. Mr. Kay’s bed was placed across, opposite the pole supporting the tail-piece of his tent. The barrel of rum was behind the bed, in the bottom of the tent. Mr. Kay saw him coming, as he was going to take a seat beside me on the bed. At this moment Le Cousin entered. He tendered his hand, and asked for rum. Mr. Kay, who did not like the man, answered, “No! You do not pay your credits! You shall have none! Go out, immediately!” With this, he took him by the arm, and conducted him out of the tent. On turning round to re-enter, the Indian, who was armed with a knife, which he had concealed under a mantelet de calmande, gave him a stab in the back of the neck. He then retired towards the camp fire, which was surrounded by a great many Indians and our men. I got up immediately, hearing the scream of his wife, whom I perceived in front of me. “Have you been stabbed?” I inquired of Mr. Kay. “Yes!” he replied, “but he shall pay for it.” So saying he put his hand in the mess-basket and drew out a large, pointed table knife, with which he sallied furiously from the tent, without my being able to stop him. The Indians seeing the knife in his hand, asked the cause of it. He said that Le Cousin had stabbed him, and that he was in search of him to kill him. But Le Cousin had taken refuge in his own lodge which was near our camp. Mr. Kay went towards the lodge. We ran after him to prevent some fatal accident. The tumult was, by this time, very great. Great numbers were collected from all sides, and all, both French and Indians, bereft of their reason, for it was in the midst of a general carouse. In a moment, every one seized his arms, and there was a motley display of knives, guns, axes, cudgels, war-clubs, lances, &c. I found myself greatly at a non-plus, for I had not before witnessed such a scene. I saw so many preparations that I judged we should have a serious time.
“Mr. Kay pursued Le Cousin, but before he could reach him, the passage to his lodge was blocked up by the crowd. Le Cousin’s mother asked him what he wanted. “Englishman!” said she, “do you come to kill me?” She made her way among the crowd, armed with a small knife, and reached the spot where Mr. Kay was standing, without any one’s observing the knife, for she came in an humble attitude imploring Mr. Kay for the life of her son. In a moment, Mr. Kay cried out, in a loud voice, “I am killed,” and he fell. We entered, and found that she had struck him in the side, making an incision of more than three inches. We now took him to his tent, bathed in his blood. We laid him on his bed, which in a moment, was soaking with his blood.
“At this moment his friend Le Petit Mort, (Jeebyains) who had been tipsey and gone to sleep, started up. He ran to Mr. Kay’s tent, where the first object he saw, was his friend pale and quivering. He went and embraced him amidst a flood of tears, saying, “My friend, you are dead, but I survive to revenge you.” In contemplating a calico night-gown which Mr. Kay had on when he was wounded, and which was all bloody, he could no longer restrain his anger. He took up the knife which Mr. Kay had, at the time he was wounded, and which had been brought back by his wife, who was present. He sallied out of the tent to seek revenge, not of Le Cousin,—who was the instrument, but not the author of the murder—but of Cul Blanc, who was sitting before the fire, smoking his pipe. He seized him by the scalp-lock, drew his body back with one hand, exclaiming, “Die, thou dog!” with the other hand, he plunged a knife into his breast, Cul Blanc begging all the while for mercy.
“This scene of carnage put a stop to the drinking. The women spilled out all the rum, of which there was still no small quantity in the different lodges. The stab Cul Blanc had received did not prove mortal, notwithstanding the ghastliness of the wound, the knife having passed out through the flesh without penetrating any vital part. But the blood issued copiously and disfigured his wife, who carried him off, trailing his blood through the camp.
“This tragedy being finished, Le Petit Mort re-entered the tent. He told his wife, who followed him, to go and search for certain roots, which he chewed and formed into a cataplasm for the wound, after having applied his mouth to it, and sucked out the extravasated blood, an operation that caused Mr. Kay great pain. He enjoyed a little ease during the remainder of the night and following day. Le Petit Mort passed the night opposite to his bed. The next day he took off the compress, and replaced it by another, after having once more sucked out the blood and cleaned the wound. The patient became so exhausted by this dressing, that for the space of half an hour he lost all recollection. When he regained his senses he felt easier, and asked for the Bras Casse, (the chief of the band,) who had not yet heard what had happened, for the Indians had been occupied in drinking, and he had been getting ready to depart, having only delayed a little, to give some game to the Frenchmen. He came to the field of these atrocities, entered Mr. Kay’s tent, and gave him his hand, saying, “My friend, your misfortune has given me much pain. If I had been here, it would not have taken place. One thing, however, consoles me. It is, that I had not gone off; you may depend on my best efforts to restore you.” Mr. Kay accepted his offer, having confidence in him, and in his skill in the medical art, in which he was very expert. He resolved to take him along with him on his route to Mackinac, to take care of him.
“On the third of May, the Bras Casse took him in hand, and began to apply his medicines, which were found to be efficacious. After letting him repose a little, he told him he would cure him, but in order to do this he must consent to bridle his appetites. He must abstain from the use of pepper and salt in his food; he must guard against drinking, de ne point toucher des femmes. The next day Mr. Kay was a little better. He sent for M. Harris and myself to come to his tent, to receive his orders. He said to us: “Gentlemen, you see my situation. I do not know whether God will spare my life or not. I have determined to leave you, and at all hazards to set out for Mackinac with seven men, accompanied by the Bras Casse and his wife, to take care of me on the road. Assort the remainder of the goods, and ascend to Leech Lake, and wait there for the return of the Pillagers, who are out on the prairies. In short, complete the inland trade. Mr. Pinot is too feeble an opponent to do you much injury. I confide in the capacity of you both.” A few moments afterwards Mr. Harris went out, when he said to me particularly, taking hold of my hands—“My dear friend, you understand the language of the Chippewas. Mr. Harris would go with me, but he must accompany you. He is a good trader, but he has, like myself and others, a strong passion for drinking, which takes away his judgment. On these occasions, advise him. I will myself speak to him before my departure. Prepare every thing to facilitate our passage over the portages and along the lake. I shall set out