"Our mother (who seems, by-the-bye, from the record of her son, to have
been a most excellent woman) boiled birch-bark for my sister and myself,
that we might not starve. On the seventh day some of us were so weak they
could not guard themselves, and others could not stand alone. They could
only crawl in and out of the wigwam. We parched beaver skins and old
mocassins for food. On the ninth day none of the men could go abroad except
my father and uncle. On the tenth day, still being without food, the only
ones able to walk about the wigwam were my father, my grandmother, my
sister, and myself. Oh, how distressing to see the starving Indians lying
about the wigwam with hungry and eager looks!--the children would cry for
something to eat! My poor mother would heave bitter sighs, of despair, the
tears falling profusely from her cheeks as she kissed us! Wood, though in
plenty, could not be obtained on account of the feebleness of our limbs. My
father would at times draw near the fire and rehearse some prayer to the
gods. It appeared to him that there was no way of escape; the men, women,
and children, dying; some of them were speechless, the wigwam was cold and
dark, and covered with snow!
"On the eleventh day, just before daylight, my father fell into a sleep; he
soon awoke, and said to me: 'My son, the good Spirit is about to bless us
this night; in my dream I saw a person coming from the east walking on
the tops of the trees; he told me we should obtain two beavers about nine
o'clock.
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