The Beothuk Expedition (14 page)

Come all you pretty fair maids, a line to you I'll write
In ploughing of the ocean I take a great delight.
On land you have no danger, no danger do you know
While we poor jolly sailor lads ploughs on the ocean bold.

When labouring men come home at night,
they tell their girls fine tales
Of what they been a-doing out in the new mown fields.
Tis the cutting of the grass so short, tis all that they can do
While we poor jolly sailor lads ploughs on the ocean blue.

Here's the night as dark as any pitch and the wind begins to blow,
Our captain he commands us, all hands turn out below.
Our captain he commands us our goodly ship to God,
Jump up aloft my lively lads and strike topgallant yard.

You see a storm is rising and we are all confound,
Looking out every moment that we shall all be drowned.
Cheer up, never be faint hearted, we shall see our girls again,
In spite of all our danger we'll plough the raging main.

So now the wars are over and we are safe on shore,
We'll sing and we will dance me boys, as we have done before.
We'll sing and we will dance me boys, and spend our money free,
And when our gold it is all gone we'll boldly go to sea.

Oh aye, she's a grand tune. And we had a grand time of it, too. There were no fighting neither, though Grimes and young Greening was eyeing each other. A nasty piece o' work is that Grimes. I seen his like before, mind you. And plenty of 'em. Most don't carry much skin on their backs by the time they been in the fleet a year or two. Which is the only way o' putting the fear o' the Lord—and the bo'sun—into 'em.

Mr. Squibb has other ideas, o' course. Not that I'm saying the young gentleman is wrong in his thinking. Oh no, Mr. Squibb is sound enough, though he don't have much experience in dealing with sea lice like Grimes. Take them few lashes that him and Rundle got from each other. It done the trick in keeping 'em apart fer a few days but it didn't set Grimes to rights, now did it?

Last night I were watching Grimes real close like, 'specially when he thought I weren't looking. I saw from the start how sweet he and that Rowsell is on each other, and now they're after getting a third hook on their line. Who's that, you say? Why, that God-botherin' Cooper, is who. I don't like the looks o' him, I can tell you. And I don't mean them scars. Someone said him and Mr. Squibb was much alike, as they bore their past on their faces. I said that might be true enough but the likeness ends there. Cooper may have somethin' in common with Rowsell, them both bein' furriers and all, but why are they splicing up with Grimes? Makes me wonder. Mind you, I'll be watching 'em closer than a gull watches fer capelin. All the way up the river. You can bet yer last drop o' grog on that.

Jonah Squibb

At the break of day, on the 24th of August, we sailed the
Dove
from Indian Point to Peter's Arm and dropped our anchor. The two furriers followed in Sam Cooper's bye boat. There we readied the jolly boat and stowed it with a week's provisions, each man to carry fourteen pounds of hard bread and seven pounds of salted beef, together with a share of the weapons, kettles, spare powder and ammunition. If the journey lasted longer than seven days, we would have to hunt for our rations.

The sky was clear with a light westerly playing outside the arm, but within it we lay in a calm that invited a great swarm of black flies to join our company. This added to the general misery of everyone aboard, myself included, for the previous night's revelry had taken its toll. I was reminded of Fielding's observation that there is nothing so idle and dissolute as a sailor on land. Indeed, Lieutenant Cartwright's mood was not so expansive this morning and the men were generally lethargic. Reverend Stow had lost his breakfast on the trip over and even Frost, an old hand at debauchery, appeared the worse for wear. Bolger looked like death delayed, though I knew he would have put us all to shame in the hardships that lay ahead, had he been given the chance.

As it was, the lieutenant informed him that he was to stay with the
Dove
. The gunner was far from pleased but he had the good sense to keep his lips together. Without further ado we wished him well, and he us, and we clambered over the side and into the jolly boat. It was close quarters, even with the furriers in their own craft. George Cartwright, Reverend Stow and John Cousens each sat between two oarsmen. Froggat took the bow while the first lieutenant and I were jammed in the sternsheets. Our number was twelve plus the two furriers, the addition of Cooper being a relief to the superstitious sailors.

Froggat seemed a good deal better that day, at least in physical health. He showed no signs of impairment in scrambling into the boat, though he was uncommonly quiet. As a boy he had chattered like a magpie, even talking in his sleep at times. Now he sat quietly in the bows, his hat pulled low over his eyes. There he stayed, as silent as the wide river beneath us, as we began our journey into the wilderness.

The men rowed for three hours at a steady stroke and at nine o'clock we put ashore at Jumper's Brook, a good three leagues from Peter's Arm. Here we took a brief rest and a few mouthfuls of bread before carrying on. A short time later the walls of the forest moved closer to us as the river narrowed. At length we came to the salmon weirs belonging to John Cousens and under his direction we navigated the maze of woven sticks and netting. The traps had yielded him several hundred quintals of dried fish that spring, he said, and it had not been his best season. George Cartwright took a particular interest in this and posed many unwelcome questions on markets and prices.

The current grew stronger as we progressed and after much effort on the part of the oarsmen, we arrived at Start Rattle. It was a little before noon when we beached the boats and unloaded our supplies. Each man was given his food and equipment and I armed Froggat with a pistol and the boatswain with a fowling piece. The Cartwrights and Cousens had their long-barreled muskets, as did the furriers. I equipped myself with a pistol and gave the remaining men a hatchet apiece. This brought a complaint from Grimes until Frost silenced him with a threatening fist.

The lieutenant's plan was to divide the party so that we would travel each shore, thereby increasing our chances of meeting with the Indians. He cautioned that we were not to fire our weapons in any circumstance, unless our very lives lay in the balance. This caused a new round of complaints, chiefly from his brother, who was incapable of restraint when a living creature came within range of his gun. With this and other matters settled, we bid adieu to the south bank party, consisting of George Cartwright, Reverend Stow, Frost, Greening, Rundle, Jenkins and Atkinson. The remainder of us—Lieutenant Cartwright, Cousens, Grimes, Rowsell, Cooper, Froggat, and myself—rowed across the river and dragged the two boats into the trees.

The lieutenant took the lead and I brought up the rear. I recall thinking that it was odd to have left both guides on the same side of the river, but in all likelihood Lieutenant Cartwright was not thinking clearly. It seemed unimportant at the time but much later it would have consequences beyond my ability to imagine on that day.

Our progress was very good for the first hour, and our companions on the south bank matched our pace despite a great many boulders and jagged rocks in their path. We had cleared the rattle and the river was running smoothly between us when I looked across and saw much waving and gesturing from the other side. Calling this to the lieutenant's attention, we stopped and I took out my viewing glass, quickly discerning the cause of the commotion. They had come upon a wigwam, or
mamateek
, as Joseph Banks had called it, sitting in a clearing. There were no signs of occupation, but all hands were excited to see that we had arrived in the territory of the Red Indian.

Lieutenant Cartwright and I were discussing whether to return to the boats and cross over when Cooper pointed to something further along our own side of the river. I put the glass to my eye and saw that it was a second
mamateek
. A moment later I spied another, and yet another. All along the bank, for three or four cables, I saw hut after hut. Some had fallen into disrepair and others looked quite habitable. The discovery of so many dwellings quickly changed our mood from excitement to caution. I checked the priming pan of my pistol, as did Froggat, and the men nervously fingered their hatchets.

There was no cause for unease however, as we discovered that the houses had been abandoned for some time. We searched a few of them but discovered nothing of value or interest, although the structures themselves were quite remarkable. Each was of a conical shape, the base seemingly proportioned to the number of people who would occupy it. Inside and surrounding a fire pit were oblong hollows in the earth that Rowsell said had served the purpose of beds. Each hollow was lined with young branches of fir or pine and upon these the Indians would lay their furs. A dozen straight sticks made up the conical frame of the hut and over these were laid large pieces of rind from the birch trees. The pieces overlapped, sheet upon sheet, in the manner of shingles, and covered all but a smoke hole at the top and a small entrance at the base. The rind was secured in its place by other sticks that were laid against the outside of the structure. We lingered long enough to satisfy our curiosity before pushing on.

The rocks on the south bank of the river became larger and more troublesome as we progressed, until the party under George Cartwright had difficulty keeping pace. The day was wearing on when we came to another set of rapids that our guides called Little Rattle. Here we found a hut of a different design—being in the shape of a rectangle instead of a cone. It was framed nearly in the fashion of an English house, with wall studs and a sloping roof of rafters. We discovered a sizable frame of sticks adjoining this large structure, on which lengths of split roots and fine sinews were tied. It had all the appearance of a rack for drying salmon, a staple food of the Indians. We also found several arrowheads nearby and a kind of fleshing knife.

I examined these items with interest and they provided me with a perspective that had hitherto been lacking. I began to think of the Red Indians as a more substantive entity, as fellow beings with whom we shared the common concerns of food, warmth and shelter. Here was evidence of creative and resourceful minds at work in the wilderness, and I was greatly impressed. Of course, the same could not be said of everyone else. Rowsell and Cooper showed no concern for anything save the forest around them. They watched the trees like lookouts at the masthead, their guns always levelled in readiness.

It was late afternoon when Grimes began to complain of his feet and stomach. He complained so much, in fact, that I was obliged to speak to him sharply. We were all very tired but we carried on throughout the evening and just before dusk we arrived at what our guides called Sewel Point. This was the limit that any European save Cooper had travelled before. The small outcrop in the river afforded a view of a magnificent falls that roared like thunder a short distance upstream.

At the behest of Cousens, Cooper described his visit here in the company of another furrier two summers before. They had been trapping beaver in the small brooks that fed into the river, he said, and had intended to travel above the falls when they discovered an Indian canoe at this very spot. His companion, who was a new man, feared an encounter and retreated down-river as fast as he could travel. Cooper was not so easily deterred and the promise of pelts drew him on for three more days. He claimed to have encountered no other human being in that time.

There were several huts on each shore below the falls and it was here that Lieutenant Cartwright decided we would spend the night. After signalling our intentions to his brother's party, he and I ascended the steep bank and surveyed the country above the cascade. It was an uncommon feeling to stand at that apex and know that in a few days' time we would look upon a landscape that had never been seen by white men before. I am bound to admit that thoughts of this, and the possibility of other discoveries, thrilled me very much. As a rule I am not impressionable, but that evening, as we watched the sun set in a narrow band of purple and gold over the wide River of Exploits, I felt something of the grand scope and purpose of our undertaking.

The next morning we were up and moving before dawn and only then did I think to ask Cooper why our campsite was named Sewel Point. He smugly replied that if I had been more observant I would have seen a mile or more of “sewels” on both sides of the river last evening. I chose to ignore his tone and asked him the meaning of the word. He grudgingly explained that a sewel was a tassel of birch rind tied to a stick of about six feet in length. The Indians would then drive these into the ground at some yards apart, so that the rind dangled and played in wind. His explanation was all well and good but it still did nothing to make clear their purpose. When I asked him to explain their use, the furrier was amused at the question.

“They're used,” he said, “to catch the eye of what ye intends to kill.”

I turned his words over in my mind as we made our way up the river and soon came to understand their meaning. The puzzle was not solved by the power of my reasoning alone, I will confess. Instead we came upon a kind of fence that could only have been constructed by the Indians. Large numbers of trees had been felled, birch and poplar alike, one upon the other in a straight line that followed the bank of the river. Sticks and brush had been added to fill the gaps, along with a number of these sewels.

I surmised that the fence had been built to intercept the caribou as they passed in migration and to force them towards a particular place. This was confirmed when we came to an opening in the fence, situated above a steep embankment that led down to the river. Here the Indians would wait and slaughter their quarry as they passed through the gap. I was struck once more by the ingenuity of these people and their stratagems for survival in the wild.