On a warm fall afternoon, the Northwest gun rested beside a fine fox squirrel. For traditional woodsmen, not every historical scenario centers on wild turkeys or white-tailed deer. Most hunters start with small game, and for some folks, the passion never ebbs. The hired trading post hunter is no different… Old Northwest Territory, one ridge east of the River Raisin, in the Year of our Lord, 1794.
Shadows moved. A fox squirrel crept in the midst of downed branches beneath a large red oak. Grape vines spiraled up that tree, weaving back and forth over each other. The tip of a bushy tail twitched and flicked as it searched behind the largest limb and wandered away from the oak’s trunk.
The fox squirrel bounded into the open and stopped near a modest-sized sassafras tree that curved to the north. It paused, stared at the ground, picked up an acorn, clenched the prize between its front paws and turned it as it nibbled. The squirrel dropped the nut and began pawing at the earth with frantic abandon. Leaves and dirt flew. This forest tenant sat upright with a start, then bounded south with relaxed hops.
Sun streaks sliced through the thinning canopy, then vanished as a fluffy cloud drifted eastward. The air smelled damp, but humid. A second fox squirrel, plumper than the first, appeared seven or eight oaks distant. It, too, bounded south, then paused in a sunlit patch. About this time, the first squirrel circled back, edging closer to the Northwest gun. The smoothbore remained at rest; the fox squirrels were a last resort for an evening meal. A plump wild turkey was the favored choice…
A number of posts on this site deal with accommodating modern hunting regulations. Most often these missives cite “measured compromise” as the appropriate mental tool needed to minimize the intrusion of ethical game-management rules.
In essence, the principle of measured compromise assesses the importance of a given intrusion, weighs the gravity of a circumstance’s impact on the traditional black powder hunting scenario as a whole and applies a suitable solution that minimizes that impact.
With careful planning, constants, such as game regulations, meld themselves into most historical simulations. On-the-spot happenstances, like the appearance of a trespasser or some other imminent or unexpected danger, require the nurturing of a mental attitude that deals with the circumstance in a safe manner, then moves on with the scenario with a minimum of disruption. The goal, as always is to “not break character.”
There is little doubt that taking account of the given state’s game rules change, or perhaps said better, modify the period-correct complexion of any simple pursuit.
That late September afternoon, in the Year of our Lord, 1796, the trading post hunter sat in the forest taking note of the game at hand. Death bees awaited release in the breech of “Old Turkey Feathers.” The clothing chosen for that wild turkey hunt did not include any hunter orange outer garments; none were required in the game rules.
However, as is usually the case, a hunter orange silk scarf, rumpled up and tucked away inside the linen hunting shirt, was available. By choice, the post hunter could have donned the scarf in compliance with Michigan’s rules for hunting small game and legally shot the first fox squirrel. But such an action was not consistent with the scenario for that particular traditional hunt.
Of late, my research has jumped from source to source as I move forward with differentiating each of the three characters that I portray: the trading post hunter, Msko-waagosh, the returned white captive from 1794, and Mi-ki-naak, also a returned captive but from 1763.
Not long ago, I spent an evening or two reviewing John Sayer’s Snake River Journal, 1804 – 05: A Fur Trade Diary from East Central Minnesota. The purpose of that reading was to look further into the details of Sayer’s hired hunter, “Outarde,” translated as “goose” by the journal’s editor, Douglas A. Birk. (Birk, 38) I should note that I do not find this translation in any of my Ojibwe to English guides, but the possibility exists the name comes from a band other than the Anishinabe people.
“Tuesday 2nd [October 1804]: …this forenoon, the Outarde brot me a Small Deer. [I] gave him 1 Gal: HWines and engaged him as my Hunter for the Winter, he being accounted the best of all the Indian [hunter]s of this Department…” (Ibid, 36)
Throughout his journal, Sayer notes trading with the Indians for a variety of food stuffs, including game. A week later, Tuesday 9th, Sayer states his men continued clearing a spot to build the winter quarters (started on Thursday 4th):
“Thursday 11th: …my Hunter [the Outarde] brot: the Meat of 2 deers & 60 fine fat ducks.”
“Friday 12th: …the Court Oreille & my Hunter are off for 2 days…”
“Saturday 13th: …Pierro gave me 30 Large Ducks.”
“Sunday 14th: …Men Employ’d at [building] the Shop & Store…my Hunters [the Outarde and Court Oreille] brot me 1 ½ Deer [for which I] gave them 1 Gallon H[igh] W[ine]. they requested more but I refused & they were Sulky.”
“Monday 15th: …Men finishd [building] the Store & put all the provisions & Goods under Lock & Key…”
“Tuesday 16th: …Men [are] hard at Work Covering the Houses…my Hunter [the Outarde] & Pierro gave me 30 large Ducks.” (Ibid, 37)
According to the entries in Sayer’s journal, for the entire month of October, 1804, the Outarde supplied 6 1/2 deer, 169 ducks and 4 geese. He notes other hunters (primarily Pierro) supplied 143 ducks and 6 geese. Sayers also records the purchase of 54 bags of wild rice of which 10 “were Spoiled not eatable.” (Ibid)
Over the weeks and months that follow, Outarde and the other hunters supply a variety of meat to Sayer for the trading post. Sayer’s journal does not always mention payment in return, but most often he notes Rum or High Wines. He does mention supplying “ammunition” a couple of times, which with that quantity of game would be of great concern and no small expense. In 1794, a prime beaver pelt bought two handfuls of gunpowder, or a handful of shot or 30 round balls ( three prime beaver pelts for gunpowder, shot and round ball).
After the snow arrives, Sayers mentions “the Hunter’s camp” and says that either Outarde requested men be sent to his camp to fetch meat or Sayers took it upon himself to send the men to bring back meat. At any rate, the accumulation of snow seems to be the point at which Outarde remains at a hunting camp.
By taking these journal entries in context and following them day to day, a traditional hunter can put together a reasonable idea of a post hunter’s existence, including the volume of game taken and the effort needed to fulfill a hired post hunter’s commitment.
Often living historians rely on one journal entry to justify either an accoutrement or a practice. Sometimes that choice is safe and at other times it is not. We all do it, but I believe in recent years this cherry picking of passages has become more prevalent. I question if we, as seekers of a past lifestyle, aren’t fooling ourselves when it comes to authenticity.
Of late, I have taken a few steps back while trying to move forward. The foundation of any traditional hunt is solid documentation, followed by careful emulation of what the old journals say, or don’t say. Regardless of historical occupation, hunter and non-hunter alike, an 18th-century time traveler must review the journals and narratives as a whole, paying closer attention to the sum of the activities listed in the guiding words of our heroes of yesteryear.
More to come on this subject…
Give traditional black powder hunting a try, be safe and may God bless you.
A wild turkey investigated the soft clucks of the wing-bone call on a pleasant November morning. The sharp English flint rose to attention. The tarnished brass butt plate settled against the sleeveless waistcoat’s worn wool. The turtle sight followed the bird’s keen eye… Old Northwest Territory, in the Year of our Lord, 1794…
The first cluck, a single note dragged soft and low in tone, drifted out over the nasty thicket. Msko-waagosh, the returned white captive who spent his youth learning to hunt among the Ojibwe, hoped to start a conversation with a wild turkey, a discourse that might entice the bird to join the backcountry woodsman for supper… Old Northwest Territory, two ridges east of the River Raisin, in the Year of our Lord, 1796…
“He came from the south,” the trading post hunter said. “The bird followed the mid-hill trail. It was a warm November afternoon in 1794…” Old Northwest Territory, three ridges east of the River Raisin
Summer, 1763: Pontiac’s siege of Fort Detroit began Saturday, May 7, 1763.
Mi-ki-naak’s hunting exploits commence in the fall of that year. For the most part, this new alter ego’s journal pages are blank, containing the scrawled details of only a handful of deer hunts and wild turkey chases. “Snapping Turtle’s” outward appearance is incomplete; his physical substance is a mere skeleton lacking the time-traveling flesh necessary to claim a viable 18th-century existence. Mi-ki-naak represents an empty living history vessel awaiting the addition of historical nuggets.
Some living history simulations “just happen,” while others require a tad bit of planning. For example, last June we ventured to Friendship, Indiana, and the home grounds of the National Muzzle Loading Rifle Association. Unfortunately, a knee injury ended that visit before Mi-ki-naak had a chance to create a lasting frontier memory during the Fort Greenville Match.
The Max Vickery Primitive Range includes a two-story log blockhouse. On Tuesday evening of the National Spring Shoot in June and the National Championship Shoot in September, eager participants gather in the shadow of the blockhouse to compete in the Fort Greenville Match.
Back in the mid-1990s, a group of re-enactors sat around a flickering campfire jawing about this and that. Someone wondered out loud if it was possible to re-create the conditions of a backcountry fort under attack. The discussion ebbed, but resurfaced now and again. The first Fort Greenville Match was shot in June of 1999 and became an instant success. The event honors the signing of the Treaty of Greenville in 1795.
Flintlocks, rifles in June or smoothbores in September, are required. Begrudgingly, smoothbores are also allowed at the June match. I say that because more than once “Old Turkey Feathers” has drawn disparaging remarks. The last time, that Northwest gun rang the clangor four times at 85 paces; the objector’s rifle hit twice, which ended the discourse.
Participants must wear period-correct attire. The match is shot from the second floor gun ports that face the range. Three-person teams are chosen by lot using 18th-century playing cards. All NMLRA safety rules apply. An eerie silence usually shrouds the defenders as they ascend the wooden stairs. The first team is assigned to the right window and the second to the left. Firelocks are loaded only on the range officer’s command, and the muzzles must be kept pointed up. An arm can only be primed once the muzzle is through the log opening and pointed downrange, and to do so, one must kneel on the rough plank floor. The match carries a five minute time limit. Each team attempts as many shots as possible. The team with the most hits on a target placed 75 to 100 yards wins. Shoot offs are common.
As was the intent of those initial discussions, the Fort Greenville Match affords a tremendous opportunity to experience what it was really like to live and survive in the 18th century, if only for five minutes.
In June of 1795, Msko-waagosh entered the fort’s trading house, consistent with the journal entries of John Tanner. Tanner bartered skins for gunpowder and thirty round balls. That scenario became Msko-waagosh’s intent. Instead, he found himself embroiled in a frontier drama that elicited feelings and emotions mirroring those Tanner wrote about. The racing heartbeats, the thunder of smoothbores and the crack of rifles, the flashing pans, the pungent stench of burned gunpowder and the swoop of an anxious bat chased from the rafters all flavored that pristine moment for the Red Fox.
This past June was supposed to be Mi-ki-naak’s turn to experience defending a log fort. The fervent hope was that somehow a lasting pristine moment might develop in the midst of war whoops and hanging, sulfurous smoke, a precious few seconds offering a taste of the siege of Fort Detroit. From the outset, I had no idea how the evening would play out or how the match would work its way into this new character’s mindset. I just knew defending the fort would be a noteworthy happenstance. After all, that is the fun of living history. Neither I nor Snapping Turtle could wait, and then a bum knee dashed those hopes.
Tuesday morning we hooked up the trailer and headed out. As we turned east on US-12 and began the last hour’s drive home, Tami said, “They should be drawing cards about now.” My gut twisted. I felt a great sense of loss.
“There’s always September,” I responded in a quiet, disappointed tone.
As the summer played out, hopes of attending the NMLRA’s National Championship Shoot faded away, too. Over the last two years, multiple family health issues have wiped out a lot of well-laid plans. Life is filled with choices, and family comes first.
For the September shoot, the first weekend is always preempted with the Woods-N-Water News Outdoor Weekend, held in Imlay City, Michigan. In those rare moments when guests are not viewing the 1794 trader’s camp, looking through the traditional black powder hunting photos, or simply dropping by to say “Hi,” Tami and I sit and mark time in terms of our usual habits at Friendship. Comments like, “We should be picking up our shooter registrations about now,” “They should be starting the opening ceremony,” and “They should be gathering for the Gunmaker’s Match” are common, usually followed with a giggle or laugh. The whimsical “They should be…” suggestions have turned into a game of sorts for us.
As always, I had a great time at the Outdoor Weekend. The weather was cooler and the crowd a bit larger, I believe. The time flew by as I greeted each guest and answered their questions or listened to their thoughts on a wide variety of topics. On the drive home, I juggled all of the possible scenarios in my mind with regards to making a quick trip to Friendship for a day or two. In the end, there is still no way.
So now we continue with the “They should be…” game. Tuesday evening, about 4:50, Tami said, “They should be drawing cards, or maybe climbing the stairs.” “Wednesday’s Covey,” a special match that I like to shoot at Shaw’s Quail Walk, popped into our conversations yesterday, and this morning she said, “This afternoon is the Feather Duster, right?” Each day brings a sigh and a new “They should be…” That’s all part of grasping at a vicarious opportunity that isn’t meant to be.
Traditional black powder hunting is, after all, a pleasant and enjoyable pastime. The journey down this path is at one’s own pace, intermingled with life’s twists and turns. As a traditional woodsman, I venture back in time when I can and dream about it when I can’t.
It doesn’t seem possible that three weeks ago I sat in a surgical waiting room hand-stitching a sleeve seam for Mi-ki-naak’s linen shirt—he’s using a hand-me-down shirt for now. A half dozen times I had the opportunity to answer questions and profess the joys of living history. Ya gotta admit a guy hand-sewing a French-felled seam is an oddity—if you even know what linen is or that style of seam.
One lady in particular asked questions for over a half hour. She was fascinated. Will she ever chase whitetails with a muzzleloader, I doubt it. But I enjoyed our conversation and the chance to share this glorious hobby with someone who never knew it existed. When I returned to sewing I wondered what adventures Mi-ki-naak would have while he wore that shirt…
Well, about now they should be opening up the registration window at Shaw’s Quail Walk…
Give traditional black powder hunting a try, be safe and may God bless you.
The butcher knife sliced away tender bark from a wild cherry sapling. Two buckskins (the equivalent of one prime beaver pelt) purchased the head. In the hour that followed, the post hunter fashioned a suitable haft for the new ‘hawk. Old Northwest Territory, two ridges east of the headwaters of the River Raisin, in the Year of our Lord, 1794…
The morning’s dense fog began to lift as the post hunter waded into the thigh-deep prairie grass. The trail led to the base of the great cottonwood that towered over the clearing. Old Northwest Territory, in the Year of our Lord, 1794…
