Countless stories of selflessness and personal sacrifice in the service of others have been passed down for generations within Upper Great Lakes Métis communities. Many of these Métis stories speak of harrowing rescues in the face of great personal risk.
Métis mail carrier Louis Miron shared many such stories later in life, including one of the successful rescue of his uncle who had fallen through the ice:
“When my uncle he come down again he go clean tho’ [the ice]… We haf de long pole an I run dat pole ond to him and he grab it, and little by little he work his way on to de solid ice. We no say a word, we just work, and when he got out he tak de sleigh an’ start for de town as fas’ as he can go. Dat kep’ him from freezing, and when I get der too, he was all right.”
In another now-famous story, Miron recalled saving the inexperienced John Egan along his mail route—dragging him over thirty miles to safety through thigh-deep snow. Miron later emphasized his sense of duty to Egan, having made a promise to Egan’s father:
“I say I would not leave him, and I mean what I say.”
In another well-known story, Upper Great Lakes Métis guide, Lewis Solomon, rescued a traveller under his care, at great personal risk, while guiding near the French River:
“Lord Morpeth went in bathing and got beyond his depth and came near drowning. I happened to pass near, and reached him just as he was sinking for the last time, and got him to a safe place.”
Late in her life, Rosette Boucher (née Larammee) of Penetanguishene also shared stories of her Métis community banding together for their friends and relatives in their times of greatest need:
“My son, Narcisse Boucher, and several others started out to hunt for [Joseph Giroux]. The snow was two feet deep and no roads. They found him on the third day in the afternoon lying on some boughs behind a big oak log, his hands and feet frozen solid, and his dog wrapped in the breast of his coat to help keep him warm. They made a stretcher of withes covered with boughs, and carried him home on their shoulders, relieving each other by turns.”
So strong was the sense of duty to others in Upper Great Lakes Métis communities that when Louis Miron finally caught up to a third winter traveller who had abandoned the young John Egan, all he had to say was:
“You can dank your stars I haf not a pistol wit me now or I would teach you to have frozen men thirty mile from a house.”