Memories of Contact
A Discussion of the Earliest Recorded Memories of Contact Among the Ojibwe and
the Cree
Theresa M. Schenck
European tales of first encounters with the aboriginal people of this continent
are numerous. They tell of wonderment and awe, gratitude and respect, of joyous
welcoming and great generosity.
Most of us are familiar with Nicholas Perrot’s account of his reception among
the Potawatomi at Green Bay in the mid-17th century. He was, according to his
own description, regarded as a god, carried upon their shoulders, so revered
that they could not even look at him. The next year the Mascoutens farther south
honored him with a pipe ceremony, blowing smoke in his face, seating him on
the finest buffalo skin, and rubbing his head, back and legs with their hands,
all mysterious ways of welcoming him. Similar descriptions of reverential welcome
were given by Pierre Radisson, Jacques Marquette, and Louis Hennepin. All believed
they were honored as gods, treated as superior beings. But how are these gestures
to be understood? Were they evidence of worshipful ignorance, or genuine marks
of honor intended for the visitors and for the goods they brought: the iron,
flint, guns, kettles, and beads, objects the natives had already begun to acquire
through trade? And to what extent are the ethnocentric interpretations given
by the Europeans even to be trusted?
More than a century earlier Europeans were given a different reception. Verrazzano
writes in 1524 that the natives on the coast of Maine would not allow his men
to go ashore, preferring to trade their goods by means of a rope. “We found
no courtesy in them,” he wrote, “ and when we had nothing more to exchange,
and left them, the men made all the signs of scorn and shame that any brute
creature would make.” In an age-old gesture, they mooned them! Similarly, there
is evidence that other coastal people had had unsatisfactory experiences with
the traders: in 1534 when Jacques Cartier approached the Micmacs of eastern
Canada, the natives took care to hide their women before they invited the strangers
to approach to trade. It took longer for this resistance to be recorded here
in the upper Great Lakes region, but even the Jesuit Claude Allouez had to acknowledge
that the Odawa and Ojibwe who accompanied him to Lake Superior in 1665 had tried
to abandon him on the way, and refused to give him any help, even forcing him
to paddle the canoe like a commoner.
But what of the aboriginal people themselves? What stories do they tell? What
are their memories?
Native stories of contact have been passed down orally for countless generations.
Some were written as early as 1634, others only recently, or never. All reflect
the culture of the narrator, and usually explain something of the cultural change
effected by the encounter. In the most common narrative of contact someone,
usually an important personage, sees a mysterious object approaching the shore.
Is it a fish? A monster? No! A floating island with trees (masts), clouds (sails),
and living creatures, often bears.
The earliest account of the sighting of a ship was in 1633 by a young Montagnais
man whose grandmother had herself witnessed the event. The astonished people
believed at first it was a moving island; then they saw the sails, and men on
the deck. The women immediately began to prepare to receive them, and the men
went out in canoes to board the ship. There is no doubt that the natives were
both curious and welcoming. The French gave them a barrel of biscuits, probably
the hard tack which was the common fare of sailors. The Montagnais tried it,
found it tasteless, and threw it into the water. So much for French bread!
And as for wine, the Micmacs in the early 18th century remembered being offered
red wine as they visited the newcomers aboard their ship. They refused to taste
it, convinced that it was blood, and that these strangers were cruel and inhuman.
Similar stories abound among coastal peoples, from the Chinook at the mouth
of the Columbia River to the Algonquians of Manhattan Island. Surprisingly,
even the Ho Chunk recounted such a story to Paul Radin in the early 20th century.
A mysterious object, a ship, appeared on the lake near Green Bay. The people
went to the water’s edge with tobacco and white deerskins to greet the newcomers.
The French in turn fired their guns, which were immediately seen as thunderbirds.
They went ashore extending their hands in the common gesture for a handshake,
but the Ho-Chunk put tobacco into them. The French, they said, had no knowledge
of what to do with tobacco. To the Ho-Chunk they brought tools and guns and
taught them how to use them. While it is a story which serves as a vehicle to
explain culture change, the acquisition of new items of value, it also allows
for the superiority of native knowledge. What we learn about the aboriginal
society is not their mistaking strangers for gods or spirits, but their customs
of welcoming strangers, and their wonder at the power of some of the objects
they brought.
The Menominee recounted a similar story to Walter Hoffman in 1890. According
to their account, at the time of contact they were living on the shores of Lake
Michigan, not far from their present-day location. Looking across the water
one day, they saw some large vessels approaching, and they were startled by
a sudden explosion like thunder. On the ships were light skinned men with hair
on their faces, and they carried shiny metal sticks. So strange were these men,
their leader must be a manido, not a god, but a being beyond the ordinary. They
came ashore, and the Menominee chief greeted him by rubbing tobacco on his forehead.
As a mark of friendship, they all sat around and smoked. The French - for so
they were - then brought from the ship containers of a liquid which they offered
their hosts. The Menominee, afraid of such an unknown and strong-smelling drink,
feared it might kill them, so they selected four useless old men to drink it
first. What wondrous results! The silent and gloomy men became almost garrulous.
After a while, they began to walk dizzily around, and finally collapsed, unconscious.
Although they later arose and told their friends how good and happy it made
them, they did not succeed in convincing them to try it. Thus do the Menominee
explain how Europeans first gave them liquor with the intent to make them crazy.
Other gifts were given by the visitors, and their use explained to the Indians:
flour from which they could make biscuits, guns and kettles. The kettles, however,
were too big and heavy to carry about with them, so they asked for cups instead,
and waited for them to grow into kettles.
For inland people it was generally a dream or a vision which led to contact,
and thus it was the native people who discovered the European. For Indians,
power most often comes in a dream, and so it was natural that a dream should
lead them to the European and the goods they brought. One of the earliest accounts
is by the Sauk chief, Blackhawk in 1834. According to him, his great-grandfather
Na-na-ma-kee was inspired by the Great Spirit with the belief that, at the end
of four years, he would meet a white man who would become as a father to him.
In response to the power of the vision, he blackened his face, and began to
fast, eating only once a day for four years. Eventually the Great Spirit told
him that the time was near, and he should start on his journey East, accompanied
by his two brothers. After five days he sent them ahead to listen. When they
finally heard a noise, they were to tie grass to a pole, and point it in the
direction of the sound. Na-na-ma-kee would go alone to the place of the sound.
There he found a tent in which was a white man, the son of the King of France,
who came out to welcome him. The remainder of the story is mixed with parts
of traditional myths and offers a rationale for Blackhawk’s chieftainship, by
tracing it back to French royalty. The powerful stranger remained there for
four days, giving gifts of clothing, beads and cooking utensils, and also spears,
lances, powder and lead which he taught him how to use. He gave medals to each
of the brothers, making Na-na-ma-kee head chief, and his brothers civil chiefs,
and explained to them their duties (Jackson, 41-44). The practice of making
chiefs by the bestowal of medals was a practice much criticized by traditional
chief in the 19th century.
The Ojibwe also have a very strong tradition of discovery of the white man through
a vision. One prophet described “men of strange appearance, skins white as snow,
on their faces long hair. They travelled in wonderfully large canoes with wings
like those of a giant bird. The man have long and sharp knives, long black tubes
which they point at men and animals. The tubes make a smoke that rises into
the ait like the smoke from our pipes. From them come fire and terrific noise.”
William Warren in 1853 tells of a Mide priest from La Pointe who dreamed that
spirits in the form of white skinned men approached him smiling, heads covered,
their hands extended. Determined to go in search of them, he prepared for his
journey during one entire year. When he was finally ready, he left with his
wife and followed the same route to the East which the Ojibwe had taken on their
migration west. Coming to a widening of the river he found an abandoned hut
made of logs which had been finely cut with an instrument sharper than any his
people knew. He continued down the river, and came upon another dwelling which
was occupied by the white spirits. They welcomed him with a handshake, and made
him presents of scarlet cloth, beads, a knife and an axe which he brought back
to his people at La Pointe. The next year more Ojibwe went down to Montreal
carrying beaver skins, and returned with guns and firewater (Warren 118-120).
Two years later at l’Ance Peter Jones told a similar story to German ethnographer
Johann Georg Kohl. His ancestor, also a medicine man, was the first to travel
to Montreal to meet the newcomers. Having seen them arrive in a dream, he made
preparations to go meet them. He made sweats, did penance, fasted, and, after
discussing his dream with other leaders of the people, he set out for the East
with a deputation of several canoes. They travelled through areas where no one
yet knew of the arrival of the white man. When they reached the lower regions
of the river, and found areas where the trees had been cleanly cut, like no
native person could cut them, they were filled with terror and awe. Finding
wood shavings, most unusual to them, they took them to be powerful evidence,
and wore them in their hair and on their ears. Pieces of cloth left behind were
also admired, and fastened around their heads. At length they came upon the
French who appeared just as they had been described in their leader’s vision,
and who welcomed them with presents of cloth. When they returned to l’Ance they
tore the cloth into small pieces and fastened them onto long poles, with the
wood chips, to send around to all their friends, as evidence of these wondrous
strangers (Kohl, 244-247).
In all cases of contact as the result of a dream, a long period of preparation
is indicated, precisely because of its relationship to a dream. All mention
the outstretched hand, the handshake, because it was not an aboriginal practice.
And finally, the gifts. They are given by the newcomers, not by the natives,
for relations of reciprocity are not yet established. The gifts, however, serve
as explanations and validation for the cultural change which ensues.
The James Bay Cree remember contact through a story which contains both the
floating island and the dream. And although this story has been told orally
for over 300 years, it was only written down for the first time last year, as
it was told by Cree storyteller Louis Bird. It is especially interesting in
that it combines certain elements from other stories, yet it profoundly reflects
beliefs and practices still alive among the Cree of James Bay.
Cha-ka-pesh was a powerful shaman who lived inland with his sister, a wise woman
who seems to have been his caretaker. One evening after hunting all day he decided
to go way out over the water, and to travel there instantly with his shamanistic
power. Suddenly he was by the shore of the big bay, enjoying the sunset, when
he heard voices, he-hee, ho-hee. He was curious, but he decided it was getting
late, so he should return home. This he did as he had come, in an instant. Once
home, he told his sister what he had heard. She was worried that he might someday
travel too far, or into a far distant time, past or future, and this could be
very dangerous. That night she had a dream that explained all. Her brother had
traveled into the future, and had heard the men on a ship hauling up the sails,
yelling “Heave ho, Heave ho!” In the morning she made him promise not to go
there again. But by the next evening his curiosity got the better of him. After
hunting all day he saw a seagull, shot it down, entered its body, and again
took off for the bay. Following the voice he had heard before, he saw a strange
little island with a cloud over it. He landed atop the clouds, on the mast,
and began to watch the sailors. One of them was eating a strange thing that
looked like a mushroom. He dropped it, and the seagull swooped down to pick
it up. He flew to the shore, jumped out of the seagull’s body, and became -
Cha-ka-pesh. Putting the object in his hunting bag, he returned home.
When his sister opened the bag and found the strange object, she broke off a
piece and tasted it. Something very strange! Once again the biscuit, or hard
tack, enters the story. And once again his sister becomes very angry and tells
her brother how he could have been killed as a seagull. This, says the narrator,
is the end of the story, and the beginning of what would be a life change on
James Bay.
Stories of contact are memories that have lived through generations of aboriginal
people. They explain in native terms - visions and dreams - the profound changes
which would transform many aspects of their lives, often condensing what might
have been decades of encounters into a single event. These stories, as we have
seen, are charged with traditional beliefs and values, and hence stand in stark
opposition to European tales of first encounters. And unlike those European
accounts, they show us a welcoming people exhibiting yes, respect for the wonders
of European technology, but also a certain scorn for their hairy bodies, their
ignorance of basic human relations, their lack of respect for the spirits, their
inability to cope with the environment, and their excessive love of things material.
We are all ethnocentric.
Theresa M. Schenck, Asst. Professor,
American Indian Studies and Life Sciences Communication
University of Wisconsin–Madison