ys!
To him it seems to possess life and instinct, he speaks of it as one
would of a high-mettled charger which will do anything if he be rightly
handled. It gives him his test of superiority, his proof of courage. To
shoot the Otter Falls or the Rapids of Barriere, to carry his canoe down
the whirling of Portage-de-l'Isle, to lift her from the rush of water at
the Seven Portages, or launch her by the edge of the whirlpool below the
Chute-a-Jocko, all this is to be a brave and a skilful Indian, for the
man who can do all this must possess a power in the sweep of his paddle,
a quickness of glance, and a quiet consciousness of skill, not to be
found except after generations of practice. For hundreds of years the
Indian has lived amidst these rapids, they have been the playthings of
his boyhood, the realities of his life, the instinctive habit of his old
age. What the horse is to the Arab, what the dog is to the Esquimaux,
what the camel is to those who journey across Arabian deserts, so is the
canoe to the Ojibbeway. Yonder wooded shore yields him from first to
last the materials he requires for its construction: cedar for the
slender ribs, birch bark to cover them, juniper to stitch together the
separate pieces, red pine to give resin for the seams and crevices. By
the lake or river shore, close to his wigwam, the boat is built;

"And the forest life is in it,--
All its mystery and its magic,
All the tightness of the birch-tree,
All the toughness of the cedar,
All the larch's supple sinews.
And it floated on the river
Like a yellow leaf in autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily."

It is not a boat, it is a house; it can be carried long distances
overland from lake to lake. It is frail beyond words, yet you can load
it down to the water's edge; it carries the Indian by day, it shelters
him by night; in it he will steer boldly out into a vast lake where land
is unseen, or paddle through mud and swamp or reedy shallows; sitting in
it, he gathers his harvest of wild rice, or catches his fish or shoots
his game; it will dash down a foaming rapid, brave a fiercely running
torrent, or lie like a sea bird on the placid water.

For six months the canoe is the home of the Ojibbeway. While the trees
are green, while the waters dance and sparkle, while the wild rice bends
its graceful head in the lake, and the wild duck dwells amidst the
rush-covered mere, the Ojibbeway's home is the birch-bark