THE BARREN GROUND PEOPLE
On Sunday morning, August 20th, I awoke in a state of expectancy.
We had slept three times since leaving the Montagnais camp, and
unless the Barren Grounds People were not now in their accustomed
camping place, we ought to see them before night. Many thoughts
came of how greatly Mr. Hubbard had wished to see them, and what a
privilege he would have thought it to be able to visit them.
It seemed this morning as if something unusual must happen. It was
as if we were coming into a hidden country. From where the river
turned into the hills it flowed for more than a mile northward
through what was like a great magnificent corridor, leading to
something larger beyond.
When Joe and Gilbert, who were usually the first to get off,
slipped away down the river, I realized how swift flowing the water
must be. It looked still as glass and very dark, almost black.
The quiet surface was disturbed only by the jumping of the fish.
We saw the canoe push off and turned to put a few last touches to
the loading of our own. When we looked again they were already far
away. Soon, however, we had caught them up and together the two
canoes ran out into the widening of the river. Here it bent a
little to the northeast, but two miles farther on it again bore
away to the north. In the distance we could see the mountain tops
standing far apart and knew that there, between them, a lake must
lie. Could it be Indian House Lake, the Mush-au-wau-ni-pi, or
"Barren Grounds Water," of the Indians? We were still farther
south than it was placed on the map I carried. Yet we had passed
the full number of lakes given in the map above this water. Even
so I did not believe it could be the big lake I had been looking
forward to reaching so eagerly.
As we paddled on at a rather brisk rate I sat thinking how
beautiful the river, the mountains, and the morning were. I had
not settled myself to watch seriously for the Nascaupee camp, when
suddenly George exclaimed, "There it is."
There it was indeed, a covered wigwam, high up on a sandy hill,
which sloped to the water's edge, and formed the point round which
the river flowed to the lake among the mountains. Soon a second
wigwam came in sight. We could see no one at the camp at first.
Then a figure appeared moving about near one of the wigwams. It
was evident that they were still unconscious of our presence; but
as we paddled slowly along the figure suddenly stopped, a whole
company came running together, and plainly our sudden appearance
was causing great excitement. There was a hurried moving to and
fro and after a time came the sound of two rifle shots. I replied
with my revolver. Again they fired and I replied again. Then more
shots from the hill.
As we drew slowly near, the men ran down towards the landing, but
halted above a narrow belt of trees near the water's edge. There
an animated discussion of the newcomers took place.
We all shouted, "Bo Jou! Bo Jou!" (Bon Jour).
A chorus of Bo Jous came back from the hill.
George called to them in Indian, "We are strangers and are passing
through your country."
The sound of words in their own tongue reassured them and they ran
down to the landing. As we drew near we could hear them talking.
I, of course, could not understand a word of it, but I learned
later from George what they said.
"Who are they?"
"See the man steering looks like an Indian."
"That surely is an Indian."
"Why, there is an English woman."
"Where have they come from?"
As the canoe glided towards the landing, one, who was evidently the
chief, stepped forward while the others remained a little apart.
Putting out his band to catch the canoe as it touched the sand he
said, "Of course you have some tobacco?"
"Only a little," George replied. "We have come far."
Then the hand was given in greeting as we slipped ashore.
It was a striking picture they made that quiet Sabbath morning, as
they stood there at the shore with the dark green woods behind them
and all about them the great wilderness of rock and river and lake.
You did not see it all, but you felt it. They had markedly Indian
faces and those of the older men showed plainly the battle for life
they had been fighting. They were tall, lithe, and active looking,
with a certain air of self-possession and dignity which almost all
Indians seem to have. They wore dressed deer-skin breeches and
moccasins and over the breeches were drawn bright red cloth
leggings reaching from the ankle to well above the knee, and held
in place by straps fastened about the waist. The shirts, some of
which were of cloth and some of dressed deer-skin, were worn
outside the breeches and over these a white coat bound about the
edges with blue or red. Their hair was long and cut straight round
below the ears, while tied about the head was a bright coloured
kerchief. The faces were full of interest. Up on the hill the
women and children and old men stood watching, perhaps waiting till
it should appear whether the strangers were friendly or hostile.
"Where did you come into the river?" the chief asked. George
explained that we had come the whole length of the river, that we
had come into it from Lake Michikamau, which we reached by way of
the Nascaupee. He was greatly surprised. He had been at Northwest
River and knew the route. Turning to the others he told them of
our long journey. Then they came forward and gathered eagerly
about us. We told them we were going down the river to the post at
Ungava.
"Oh! you are near now,", they said. "You will sleep only five
times if you travel fast."
My heart bounded as this was interpreted to me, for it meant that
we should be at the post before the end of August, for this was
only the twentieth. There was still a chance that we might be in
time for the ship.
"Then where is the long lake that is in this river?" George
enquired.
"It is here," the chief replied.
We enquired about the river. All were eager to tell about it, and
many expressive gestures were added to their words to tell that the
river was rapid all the way. An arm held at an angle showed what
we were to expect in the rapids and a vigorous drop of the hand
expressed something about the falls. There would be a few portages
but they were not long, and in some places it would be just a short
lift over; but it was all rapid nearly.
"And when you come to a river coming in on the other side in quite
a fall you are not far from the post."
There was a tightening in my throat as I thought, "What if I had
decided to turn back rather than winter in Labrador!"
"Did you see any Indians?" the chief asked.
"Yes, we have slept three times since we were at their camp."
"Were they getting any caribou?" was the next eager question. "Had
they seen any signs of the crossing?" George told them of the
great numbers we had seen and there followed an earnest discussion
among themselves as to the probability of the caribou passing near
them.
"Are you going up?" we enquired.
They replied, "No, not our country."
There were enquiries as to which way the caribou were passing, and
again they talked among themselves about their hopes and fears. We
learned that only three days before they had returned from Davis
Inlet where they go to trade for supplies as do the Montagnais.
They had come back from their long journey sick at heart to meet
empty handed those who waited in glad anticipation of this the
great event of the year--the return from the post. The ship had
not come, and the post store was empty.
As they talked, the group about the canoe was growing larger. The
old men had joined the others together with a few old women. As
the story of their disappointment was told one old man said, "You
see the way we live and you see the way we dress. It is hard for
us to live. Sometimes we do not get many caribou. Perhaps they
will not cross our country. We can get nothing from the
Englishman, not even ammunition. It is hard for us to live."
All summer they had been taking an occasional caribou, enough for
present needs, but little more than that, and the hunters on their
return from the coast found the hands at home as empty as their
own. Now the long winter stretched before them with all its dread
possibilities.
We enquired of them how far it was to the coast, and found that
they make the outward journey in five days, and the return trip in
seven. They informed us that they had this year been accompanied
part of the way in by an Englishman. All white men are Englishmen
to them. As George interpreted to me, he said, "That must be Mr.
Cabot."
Instantly the chief caught at the name and said, "Cabot? Yes, that
is the man. He turned back two days' journey from here. He was
going away on a ship."
When during the winter I had talked with Mr. Cabot of my trip he
had said, "Perhaps we shall meet on the George next summer." Now I
felt quite excited to think how near we had come to doing so. How
I wished he had sent me a line by the Indians. I wanted to know
how the Peace Conference was getting on. I wondered at first that
he had not done so; but after a little laughed to myself as I
thought I could guess why. How envious he would be of me, for I
had really found the home camp of his beloved Nascaupees.
Meanwhile the old women had gathered about me begging for tobacco.
I did not know, of course, what it was they wanted, and when the
coveted tobacco did not appear they began to complain bitterly,
"She is not giving us any tobacco. See, she does not want to give
us any tobacco."
George explained to them that I did not smoke and so had no tobacco
to give them, but that I had other things I could give them. Now
that we were so near the post I could spare some of my provisions
for the supply was considerably more than we should now need to
take us to our journey's end. There was one partly used bag of
flour which was lifted out of the canoe and laid on the beach.
Then Job handed me the tea and rice bags. Two, not very clean,
coloured silk handkerchiefs were spread on the beach when I asked
for something to put the tea and rice in, and a group of eager
faces bent over me as I lifted the precious contents from the bags,
leaving only enough tea to take us to the post, and enough rice for
one more pudding. An old tin pail lying near was filled with salt,
and a piece of bacon completed the list. A few little trinkets
were distributed among the women and from the expression on their
faces, I judged they had come to the conclusion that I was not so
bad after all, even though I did not smoke a pipe and so could not
give them any of their precious "Tshishtemau."
Meantime I had been thinking about my photographs. Taking up one
of my kodaks I said to the chief that I should like to take his
picture and motioned him to stand apart. He seemed to understand
quite readily and stepped lightly to one side of the little company
in a way which showed it was not a new experience to him. They had
no sort of objection to being snapped, but rather seemed quite
eager to pose for me.
Then came an invitation to go up to the camp. As George
interpreted he did not look at all comfortable, and when he asked
if I cared to go I knew he was wishing very much that I would say
"No," but I said, "Yes, indeed." So we went up while the other
three remained at the canoes.
Even in barren Labrador are to be found little touches that go to
prove human nature the same the world over. One of the young men,
handsomer than the others, and conscious of the fact, had been
watching me throughout with evident interest. He was not only
handsomer than the others, but his leggings were redder. As we
walked up towards the camp he went a little ahead, and to one side
managing to watch for the impression he evidently expected to make.
A little distance from where we landed was a row of bark canoes
turned upside down. As we passed them be turned and, to make sure
that those red leggings should not fail of their mission, be put
his foot up on one of the canoes, pretending, as I passed, to tie
his moccasin, the while watching for the effect.
It was some little distance up to camp. When we reached it we
could see northward down the lake for miles. It lay, like a great,
broad river guarded on either side by the mountains. The prospect
was very beautiful. Everywhere along the way we found their
camping places chosen from among the most beautiful spots, and
there seemed abundant evidence that in many another Indian breast
dwelt the heart of Saltatha, Warburton Pike's famous guide, who
when the good priest had told him of the beauties of heaven said,
"My Father, you have spoken well. You have told me that heaven is
beautiful. Tell me now one thing more. Is it more beautiful than
the land of the musk ox in summer, when sometimes the mist blows
over the lakes, and sometimes the waters are blue, and the loons
call very often? This is beautiful, my Father. If heaven is more
beautiful I shall be content to rest there till I am very old."
The camp consisted of two large wigwams, the covers of which were
of dressed deer-skins sewed together and drawn tight over the
poles, while across the doorway bung an old piece of sacking. The
covers were now worn and old and dirty-grey in colour save round
the opening at the top, where they were blackened by the smoke from
the fire in the centre of the wigwam.
Here the younger women and the children were waiting, and some of
them had donned their best attire for the occasion of the
strangers' visit. Their dresses were of cotton and woollen goods.
Few wore skin clothes, and those who did had on a rather long skin
shirt with hood attached, but under the shirt were numerous cloth
garments. Only the old men and little children were dressed
altogether in skins. One young woman appeared in a gorgeous purple
dress, and on her head the black and red _tuque_ with beaded band
worn by most of the Montagnais women, and I wondered if she had
come to the Nascaupee camp the bride of one of its braves. There
was about her an air of conscious difference from the others, but
this was unrecognised by them. The faces here were not bright and
happy looking as at the Montagnais camp. Nearly all were sad and
wistful. The old women seemed the brightest of all and were
apparently important people in the camp. Even the little
children's faces were sad and old in expression as if they too
realised something of the cares of wilderness life.
At first they stood about rather shyly watching me, with evident
interest, but making no move to greet or welcome me. I did not
know how best to approach them. Then seeing a young mother with
her babe in her arms standing among the group, near one of the
wigwams, I stepped towards her, and touching the little bundle I
spoke to her of her child and she held it so that I might see its
face. It was a very young baby, born only the day before, I
learned later, and the mother herself looked little more than a
child. Her face was pale, and she looked weak and sick. Though
she held her child towards me there was no lighting up of the face,
no sign of responsive interest. Almost immediately, however, I was
surrounded by nearly the whole community of women who talked
rapidly about the babe and its mother.
The little creature had no made garments on, but was simply wrapped
about with old cloths leaving only its face and neck bare. The
outermost covering was a piece of plaid shawl, and all were held
tightly in place by a stout cord passing round the bundle a number
of times. It would be quite impossible for the tiny thing to move
hand or foot or any part of its body except the face. As one might
expect it wore an expression of utter wretchedness though it lay
with closed eyes making no sound. I could make almost nothing of
what they said, and when I called George to interpret for me they
seemed not to want to talk.
Taking out my kodaks I set about securing a few photographs.
Already the old women were beginning to prepare for the feast they
were to have. Two large black pots that stood on three legs were
set out, and one of the women went into the tent and brought out a
burning brand to light the fire under them. Soon interest was
centred in the pots. I had a little group ranged up in front of
one of the wigwams, when the lady in purple, whose attention for a
time had been turned to the preparations for the feast, seeing what
was taking place came swiftly across and placed herself in the very
centre of the group. All apparently understood what was being done
and were anxious to be in the picture.
During the stay at camp I saw little sign of attempt at
ornamentation. The moccasins and skin clothing I saw were
unadorned. There was but the one black and red _tuque_ with
braided band, and the chief's daughter alone wore the beaded band
on her hair, which was arranged as that of the women in the
Montagnais camp. One woman coveted a sweater I wore. It was a
rather bright green with red cuffs and collar, and the colour had
greatly taken her fancy. I wished that I had been able to give it
to her, but my wardrobe was as limited as I dared to have it, and
so I was obliged to refuse her request. In a way which I had not
in the least expected I found these people appealing to me, and
myself wishing that I might remain with them for a time, but I
could not risk a winter in Labrador for the sake of the longer
visit, even had I been able to persuade the men to remain.
Already George was showing his anxiety to get away and I realised
that it was not yet certain we should be in time for the ship. It
might easily be more than five days to the post. I could not know
how far the Indian mind had been influenced in gauging the distance
by a desire to reduce to the smallest possible limit the amount of
tobacco the men would need to retain for their own use. It was not
far from the last week in August. Now I felt that not simply a day
but even an hour might cost me a winter in Labrador.
When the word went forth that we were about to leave, all gathered
for the parting. Looking about for something which I might carry
away with me as a souvenir of the visit, my eyes caught the beaded
band, which the chief's daughter wore on her hair, and stepping
towards her I touched it to indicate my wish. She drew sharply
away and said something in tones that had a plainly resentful ring.
It was, "That is mine." I determined not to be discouraged and
made another try. Stretched on a frame to dry was a very pretty
deer-skin and I had George ask if I might have that. That seemed
to appeal to them as a not unreasonable request, and they suggested
that I should take one already dressed. The woman who had wanted
my sweater went into the wigwam and brought out one. It was very
pretty and beautifully soft and white on the inside. She again
pleaded for the sweater, and as I could not grant her request I
handed her back the skin; but she bade me keep it. They gave
George a piece of deer-skin dressed without the hair, "to line a
pair of mits," they said.
As they stood about during the last few minutes of our stay, the
chief's arm was thrown across his little daughter's shoulders as
she leaned confidingly against him. While the parting words were
being exchanged he was engaged in a somewhat absent-minded but none
the less successful, examination of her head. Many of the others
were similarly occupied. There was no evidence of their being
conscious that there was anything extraordinary in what they were
doing, nor any attempt at concealing it. Apparently it was as much
a matter of course as eating.
When I said, "Good-bye," they made no move to accompany me to the
canoe.
"Good-bye," said George. "Send us a fair wind."
Smilingly they assured him that they would. In a minute we were in
the canoe and pushing off from shore. As we turned down the lake,
all eager to be shortening the distance between us and the post, I
looked back. They were still standing just as we had left them
watching us. Taking out my handkerchief I waved it over my head.
Instantly the shawls and kerchiefs flew out as they waved a
response, and with this parting look backward to our wilderness
friends we turned our faces to Ungava.