THE MONTAGNAIS INDIANS
The night was very still when I awoke, but it was cold. Frost
sparkled in the moonlight on willows and low growth, and when at
first sign of dawn I reached for my stockings and duffel to put
them on, they were frozen stiff. I did not wait to hunt out dry
ones, but slipped them on for I was too anxious to be on the march
again. I meant to go on to Ungava now, no matter what befell;
_perhaps_ we could yet be in time for the ship. She might be
delayed.
The men were astir early, and at a quarter to six we were off.
Already the lake was almost too rough again to go forward. The
wind had risen, and blew cold across the water driving the morning
mists before it. Now and then they lifted a little, giving a
glimpse of the farther shore, or parted overhead where a patch of
deep blue could be seen. It was rather shivery, but I loved it.
Two hours later the mists were gone, and for the first time since
leaving Lake Hubbard we saw the sun again.
It was a glorious day, the kind which almost all the eventful days
of our journey had been. I wanted to compel it to yield me
something of value and interest, and it did; for after we had
passed down the stretch of river below Long Lake and out into the
larger one which I afterwards named Resolution, we came upon the
first camp of the Indians.
When we entered the lake we were surrounded by numbers of islands
in its upper extremity, but beyond it was clear and stretched away
northward calm and beautiful after the storm. Its shores were low
for the most part, but four miles down the lake a high, sandy point
reached far out from the east shore, and it was there we found the
Indians.
At first, we could see only a shapeless dark mass on the hillside.
It moved and swayed now this way, now that, and the first thought
was that it was caribou; but when there came the flash of sunlight
on metal from the midst of it, and the sound of rifle shots, there
was no longer any mistaking it for caribou.
As we came towards them the firing continued at intervals, and now
and then I sent back an answering shot from my revolver; but it was
not without a feeling of uneasiness that we approached. I thought
of many things which might happen and the men paddled very slowly;
but our amusement may be imagined when, on drawing nearer, we found
that they were all women and children. There was much screaming
and shouting from the hill.
"Go away, go away," they shrieked. "We are afraid of you. Our
husbands are away."
Their speech was that of the Montagnais Indians which George
understood, having learned to speak it while at Northwest River
post in the winter of 1903-1904.
"_Tanta sebo_?" (Where is the river?) shouted Job into the din,
"_Tanta sebo_?"
When they ceased their screaming to listen, George called to them
in Montagnais: "We are strangers and are passing through your
country."
A swift change followed these few words in their own familiar
tongue. There was eager talking together, the screams of terror
were changed to laughter, and four of the older women ran down to
the landing to welcome us. We were greeted with much handshaking,
and their number was gradually swelled from the camp on the hill.
They displayed not the least sign of shyness or embarrassment,
being altogether at their ease. Their clothing was of a quite
civilised fashion, the dresses being of woollen goods Of various
colours made with plain blouse and skirt, while on their feet they
wore moccasins of dressed deerskin. The jet black hair was parted
from forehead to neck, and brought round on either side, where it
was wound into a little hard roll in front of the ear and bound
about with pieces of plain cloth or a pretty beaded band. Each
head was adorned with a _tuque_ made from black and red broadcloth,
with beaded or braided band around the head. Both the manner of
wearing the hair and the _tuque_ were exceedingly picturesque and
becoming, and the types were various as those to be found in other
communities, ranging from the sweet and even beautiful face to the
grossly animal like. They were not scrupulously clean, but were
not dirtier than hundreds of thousands to be found well within the
borders of civilisation, and all, even the little children, wore
the crucifix.
Their men had gone down to Davis Inlet, on the east coast, to trade
for winter supplies. They had been away five days and were
expected to return soon, the outward trip being made in three or
four days while the return requires five. The camp was now eagerly
awaiting the arrival of the tea, sugar, and tobacco, the new gowns,
the gay shawls and the trinkets which make the return from the post
the great event of the year.
As their speech indicated, these people were found to belong to the
Montagnais tribe, which is a branch of the Cree Nation, and is
tributary to the posts along the St. Lawrence. There after the
winter's hunt they gather in hundreds at Mingan and Seven Islands,
and it is then they receive from the Roman Catholic missionaries
instruction in the Christian faith. This camp, the only one of the
tribe to do so, had for some years traded at Davis Inlet, on the
northeast coast. We could gather little from the women about the
route to Davis Inlet further than that it is a difficult one, and
for this reason they do not accompany the hunters on the yearly
journey there.
The "Mush-a-wau e-u-its" (Barren Grounds people), the Nascaupee
Indians, whom Mr. Hubbard had been so eager to visit, and who also
are a branch of the Cree Nation, they informed us, have their
hunting grounds farther down the river.
"You will sleep twice before coming to their camp," they said.
We were assured of a friendly reception there, for the two camps
are friendly and sometimes visit each other; but they could tell us
little about the river, because in making the journey between the
two camps, they use a portage route through lakes to the east of
the river. The journey to the George River post at Ungava they
thought would take two months.
My heart sank as this was interpreted to me. In that case I could
no longer entertain any hope of being in time for the ship. It
would mean, too, the entire journey back in winter weather. I had
counted that even if we missed the ship we could probably reach
Lake Michikamau on the return before winter set in; but that also
would be impossible. In the midst of the sickening feeling of
disappointment and uncertainty which came with this information, I
was conscious of being thankful that the main question had been
decided.
Rather disconsolately I went up for a brief look at the camp on the
hill. The situation was beautiful, and commanded a view from end
to end of Resolution Lake, which extended about four miles both
north and south of the point, and was divided into two distinct
parts, just opposite the camp, by a long island with points of land
reaching towards it from north and south. Beyond the island lay a
broad sheet of water which seemed equal in size to the one we were
on, and along its farther shore low blue ridges stretched away
northward.
The skies seemed trying to make reparation for the week of storms,
and the mood of the camp corresponded with that of the day.
Children played about quietly, or clung to their mothers' skirts,
as they watched the strangers with curious interest and the mothers
were evidently happy in their motherhood as mothers otherwhere.
"We are poor," said one, "and we live among the trees, but we have
our children."
The camp consisted of two wigwams, one a large oblong and the other
round. They were covered with dressed deer-skins drawn tight over
the poles, blackened round the opening at the top by the smoke of
the fires, which are built in the centre within. I was not invited
to go into the wigwams, but through the opening which served as
doorway in front of one of them I had a glimpse of the interior.
It seemed quite orderly and clean. Four rifles, which lay on the
carpet of balsam boughs, looked clean and well cared for. The
dishes, pans, tea-pots, etc., which were mostly of white enamel,
with some china of an ordinary sort, were clean and shining. Long
strings of dressed deerskin, and a few moccasins hung from the
poles round the opening at the top. The moccasins were not
decorated in any way, nor were those worn by the women, and I saw
no sign of ornamentation of any kind, save the toques with their
beaded or braided bands, and the bands on the hair.
Except for their children they were poor indeed now, for there was
not a taste of sugar, tea, or tobacco at the camp. They rarely
have flour, which with them is not one of the necessities of life.
They were living on what fish they could catch while the hunters
were away, and were not having the best success with their fishing.
They did not know of the presence of the caribou so near them, and
I thought regretfully of how easily we could have brought down one
or more had we known of their need, and where we should find them.
Some six or eight splendid Eskimo dogs prowled about snarling at
one another, and occasionally indulging in an ugly fight, at which
there was a rush for clubs or tent poles to separate them; for
unless separated they never stop till the one that goes down is
killed. At whatever hour of the day or night a fight begins, the
dogs have to, be separated, otherwise one or more of the number
will be lost; and the loss of a dog is a calamity in the north
country.
While I wandered over the hillside a little, keeping a wary eye on
the dogs, the women devoted their attentions to the men. They were
anxious to have the visit prolonged, and every inducement was held
out even to offering them wives, temporary, if they would remain;
but after taking a few pictures, for which they posed easily and
without sign of self-consciousness, I bade them farewell and we
returned to the canoes. They did not accompany us to the landing.
With the prospect of so long a journey before me I had to resist
the impulse to share my provisions with them; but before we left,
George carried a few ounces of tea up the hill. There was a merry
chase as each tried to possess herself of the treasure. They were
like children in their delight. A pair of moccasins was offered in
return; but the gift of tea was too slight and they were not
accepted. Soon we were slipping slowly away towards the river with
an occasional glance back to the group on the hill. When a few
rods from shore, Job, who had the faculty of making his English
irresistibly funny whenever he chose, stood up in the stern of the
canoe, and taking off his hat to them with a very elaborate bow
called, "Good-bye, good-bye, my lady."
The directions we had received enabled us to find the river without
difficulty, and passing down through a succession of small
expansions with low, swampy shores where the wood growth was almost
altogether tamarack, we camped in the evening ten miles below
Resolution Lake, at the point where the river drops down through
three rocky gorges to flow with strong, swift current in a distinct
valley.
The lakes of the upper country were here left behind, and when we
resumed our journey the following morning it was to be carried
miles on a current in which the paddles were needed only for
steering. Stretches of quiet water were succeeded by boisterous
rapids, and sometimes I walked to lighten the canoe where the rapid
was shallow. Tributaries entered on either hand, the river
increased in force and volume, and when we halted for lunch some
ten miles below Canyon Camp, the George had come to be a really
great river.
We were getting down to the hills now and the country, which had
been burned over, was exceedingly barren and desolate. On the
slopes, which had been wooded, the grey and blackened tree trunks
were still standing like armies of skeletons, and through their
ranks the hills of everlasting rock showed grey and stern, stripped
even of their covering of reindeer moss. Heavy showers passed
during the day, but it was otherwise beautiful and we made good
progress. When we camped that evening below Thousand Island
Expansion it was with twenty-two miles to our credit.
It seemed very fine to have another good day's work behind and I
felt less heavy hearted. Some thinking had convinced me that the
two months' estimate for the journey to Ungava was far from
correct; but I still feared it was useless to entertain hope of
being in time for the ship. Yet one does hope even when it is
plainly useless. Nevertheless life had come to be a serious matter
with us all now, excepting Gilbert, for the men too were averse to
spending a winter in Labrador, and had rather advocated a return by
way of Davis Inlet or the Grand River. Gilbert alone sang and
laughed as merrily as ever, undisturbed by doubts or fears.
That evening the sunset was of clear gold and the sudden chill,
which in Labrador always follows, sent me shivering to the camp
fire where, below the bank, on the solid, smooth-worn rock of the
river-bed, we had supper of ptarmigan. But neither hunger nor
perplexities could shut out the impress of the desolate grandeur of
our surroundings. This was the wilderness indeed with only the
crystal river and the beautiful skies to make it glad. Only? Or
was there more? Or was it glad? Perhaps, yes surely, somewhere
within it there was gladness; but everywhere it was beautiful with
the beauty which alone, to some hearts, can carry the "still small
voice." If only it would never say, "What dost thou here?" One
must wish to stay and listen to it always.
Through the stillness came up the sound of the rapids below our
camp. Above, fish jumped in the quiet waters where the after-glow
in the sky was given back enriched and deepened. Then came night
and the stars--bright northern lights--bright moon--shadows on the
tent--dreams.
A ptarmigan whirred up, from the corner of my tent and I awoke to
find the sun shining and everything outside sparkling with frost.
The men had already begun portaging, for below camp the rapids were
too heavy to take the outfit down; but when breakfast was over and
the last load had been taken forward over the half-mile portage,
the canoes were run down the river.
A short distance below, the river drops rapidly round many little
islands of pink and white rock by a succession of picturesque falls
and rapids and chutes extending for more than a mile and here a
number of short portages were made. We reached the last of the
islands shortly before eleven o'clock and then landed to climb a
hill to the east. It rose six hundred and thirty feet above the
river, but the view from the top afforded us little satisfaction so
far as the route was concerned. The river could be seen for only a
few miles ahead, flowing away to the northwest towards higher
hills, where we could see patches of snow lying. Some miles to the
east was a large lake, its outlet, a river of considerable size,
joining the George River three-quarters of a mile north of where we
had left the canoes. Below the junction there were many Indian
signs along the shores, and we knew that there the portage route of
which the Montagnais women had spoken, must lead to the river
again. Steadily through the afternoon we approached the higher
hills, ever on the watch for the Nascaupee camp; but we did not
find it.
There was a short lift over a direct drop of four or five feet, and
two portages of about half a mile past heavy rapids, at the second
of which the river drops fifty feet to flow between high, sandy
banks, the hills on either side standing back from the river, their
broken faces red with a coating of iron rust. The intervening
spaces were strewn with boulders of unusual size.
Fresh caribou tracks, the only ones seen since leaving the head of
Long Lake, were found on the first portage, and on the second I
gathered my first moss berries. A heavy shower passed late in the
afternoon and the sky remained overcast; but we were not delayed,
and towards evening arrived at the point, twenty miles below
Thousand Island Expansion, where a large tributary comes in from
the west, and the George River turns abruptly northward among the
higher hills.
The proposal to go into camp had already been made when George
discovered some ptarmigan high up the bank. There was a brisk hunt
and eleven were taken. So again we supped on ptarmigan that night.
I took mine in my tent on account of the mosquitoes, which were so
thick that, as George expressed it, it was like walking in a
snowstorm to move about outside.