Algonquin Spring Page 4

  “The Inuit had always come to Natigòsteg to hunt seals, but they had never before ventured inland to hunt or fish, so we had no reason to fear them. For our part we never showed ourselves to them, always watching them, keeping hidden from view.

  “One spring the Inuit came to hunt seals. I was only eight or nine summers old, but I still vividly remember the carnage that transpired. I, with my father, brother, and a few warriors, were out hunting seals along the shoreline. One of the men ahead motioned for us to go into the forest as he was running back to us.

  “Inuit,” he said, “but there are also Innu and they are killing each other along the shore and on the ice floes.

  “Tall Man, we kept to the woods, staying well out of sight. Our small number approached where the massacre was taking place. There were maybe a dozen Inuit but over twenty Innu and the Innu were holding the upper hand. I counted seven arrows in one Inuit and three spears in another. The Innu were hacking the Inuit with their clubs and goring them with their spears. When it was done the ice was blood red and the Innu were stripping the clothes off their enemies and then hacking off arms and legs and throwing the limbs into the ocean.

  “With one of the captured Inuit, they stripped him and staked him on his back. Then the Innu took turns grabbing hot embers from a fire they had made for the upcoming torture they had planned. They put the coals on the man’s testicles, eyes, into his mouth, up his nose, and on his chest. The Inuit never screamed or made a sound, but you knew he was in immense pain.

  “We left then, not being able to watch any longer and with the memory of the torture etched into our minds. It was from that moment on we realized our people had to always be vigilant whenever we were near the shorelines of the island. However, this kept the Inuit away from the island for many years. Rarely did the Inuit or Innu come into the interior since there were no deer or moose, though when they did they kept to the river banks looking for feeding bears.

  “The island receives huge amounts of snow and the summers are rainy, not the type of weather that encouraged either of the two tribes to settle on the island.

  “The Puglatm’j totals no more than one hundred people, with only about thirty warriors. The rest are women and children. We were dispersed into three bands with an elder in each band responsible for all decisions and to settle any differences among the band.

  “My father will be looking for the Mui’n offering and for me. When he cannot find me he will assume that I died in the battle, but being unable able to find my body will puzzle him, knowing that the Mi’kmaq have never taken one of us from the Island.

  “I am convinced that if you had not pulled me from the river when you did, I would have drowned. I was going in and out of consciousness. Tall Man, I see in the future many adventures for us.”

  Matues turned and told us we would soon be at the campsite. We then came to a steep, ice-covered hill. Apistanéwj held onto the dogs and went down first. The sure-footed Eli’tuat dogs reached the bottom without incident. E’s and Matues motioned for me to go ahead. I took two steps then realized I was in trouble. Stepping to the wrong side of the trail, I soon realized I was out of reach of a nearby tree to sustain my balance. With only the option of stepping to my left, I misjudged the distance, and before I could react I was sliding on my rump, hitting a projecting stone that then knocked me onto my back. Saved from tumbling over a large embankment by going crotch first into a large birch tree, my pain was sudden and intense. In the process I lost a chunk of skin from my rear end and upper back. This time there was no laughing, just gasps of relief that I had not gone over the chasm. Two falls on this trip so far and no broken bones — luck was with me.

  Matues reached out with his spear and I able to grasp it and safely weave down the rest of the hill. Once I was there, Apistanéwj attended to my wounds. We watched as E’s and Matues safely descended.

  Our small group continued for the rest of the day with no further incidents. The fragrant smell of spring from the forest is one of the many joys of life. The newly budding trees gave off an aroma to announce that they had awakened from their long winter dormancy. Along with the warming of the daylight hours, there came a sense of security in the coming days. Next to this aromatic smell, I could now detect an odour of sea salt.

  E’s and Matues stopped in the trail ahead and turned to Apistanéwj and me, saying, “We are very close to our campsite. A tia’m (moose) call will warn our people we are coming. Because there are no tia’m on the island, this signal is always used here.”

  E’s bellowed out the call and received one from the distance in return. In a few minutes we walked from the forest into a small clearing a stone’s throw from the ocean. There beside a campfire were two warriors and an old woman. They stood as we entered their campsite. As Apistanéwj and I entered into view, their eyes bulged and they seemed to gasp for air. The elder one asked where the rest of the young men were and E’s told him about the battle with the Eli’tuat. The man then looked at my small companion and me and said, “You lose six warriors and bring me back a Megwe’g Jenu (Red Giant) and a Puglatm’j?”

  “Jilte’g (Scar), they helped us and contributed during the battle. The one we identify as Tall Man, that you call a Red Giant, killed one of the enemies with just a fishing knife, and the little one warned us of the attack and was the first to draw blood. They are warriors.”

  “Well, we have three boats and barely enough to man two of them. Now we are going to have to watch for the big Eli’tuat boat, as they will probably come through the channel on the way to their homelands. These two big dogs, are they for eating or are we to load them also?” asked Jilte’g. “If we run into any bad weather with four and a half men plus an old woman we will be lucky to survive. Grandmother and this dwarf will both have to take the place of young warriors. I think we would have better luck to try to walk back. Hopefully the Red Giant can take the place of five men.”

  Matues then turned to me and said, “Now that you have met Jilte’g, let me introduce you to the rest of our small group. This is Ta’s’ji’jg (Little Bit) and Grandmother, who is also known as Nukumi. She is our provider and life teacher.”

  Nukumi looked at me and winked, making me smile. She then looked at Apistanéwj and the two dogs and stated, “I have been waiting for all of you for a long time. Come and eat.”

  I looked at my small friend and asked, “Any idea what that was all about?”

  Apistanéwj answered, “No, not yet, Tall Man, although I have a feeling someone has chosen a path for us.”

  Nukumi then set about making us supper. She boiled a big birch container of cedar tea for us to drink and restore our energy. Then she wrapped clams and lobster in seaweed, cooking them over a fire pit. The food was delicious and we ate the seaweed along with the meat cooked inside it.

  After we finished eating, Jilte’g rose and said, “I am going to go and see if I can hear the Sabawaelnu sing. Nukumi, I need some tmawei (tobacco) as an offering to keep them happy.”

  Nukumi reached into a pouch around her waist and gave him a small amount of what they called tmawei.

  I looked at E’s and asked, “What is a Sabawaelnu?”

  “Tall Man,” he replied, “they are Halfway People who are half human and half fish. They sing to elders and children, but when they stop it means there is a storm approaching. If you give them a small gift of tobacco, they will be your friends, although if you insult or slight them they will bring a storm upon you. Jilte’g needs to know when the good weather will be so that we can safely travel back home to Gespe’g. There are many stories of Mi’kmaq travellers that either did not consult the Sabawaelnu about the weather or insulted them. Either way, you risk your life.”

  Nukumi asked E’s and Matues about the young warriors’ burial, and they told her that they were able to bury them as custom dictated, in the sitting position. It was a battlefield burial, though. Matues said, “We had no skins to wrap them in, and even though we had access to two dogs, we did not think it r
ight to kill them to send them on into the other world. The animals were unknown to our dead companions and they might not lead our brethren to the correct Spirit World. We were, though, able to bury their weapons with them.”

  “Boys,” said Nukumi, “that was not a good burial; those warriors’ spirits will inhabit that area for eternity.”

  The moon was visible before Jilte’g returned. He spoke not a word until after he sat and had some tea. “We leave at noon sky tomorrow. I will think about the boat assignments during my sleep tonight.” He then finished his tea, lay down, and went to sleep.

  The morning dawned with frost on the ground and a coolness to the salty sea air. Nukumi had hollowed out a tree stump, filled it with water, and then put heated rocks from the fire into the water. She then added sixty or seventy birds’ eggs that she had foraged into this huge stump. After letting them boil in the water for a short time, she directed us to help ourselves, but we had to drop them in a container of cold water for a bit before eating them. After taking them out of the cold water, we peeled the shells off and ate the whites and yolk. Some of the eggs had had been fertilized, which was considered a delicacy. Nukumi took the remainder and placed them in a container for the sea voyage.

  After eating, Jilte’g called us together and said, “We have seven people and two dogs to get back to our native soil. With the loss of the six young men, we will need luck to get back because we certainly do not have too much skill with this group.”

  Nukumi replied, “Jilte’g, do not worry; we have all we need with this group.”

  He looked at her and walked away muttering to himself.

  Nukumi then directed us with different chores to prepare for the crossing. She asked us to fill all the water skins with fresh water and then to walk the beach, digging clams and harvesting seaweed.

  Jilte’g, Apistanéwj, Grandmother, one of the imu’j (dogs), and I would be in a canoe together, leaving E’s, Matues, Ta’s’ji’jg, and the remaining imu’j. The three young warriors would have the bulk of the supplies to carry with them. We would also have a couple of fishing lines trailing the boats. Fresh fish, even uncooked, would always be welcome.

  After a midmorning meal of fish stew and more tea, we loaded the canoes. The sea was very calm when the Jilte’g gave the word to leave. We pushed the large canoes out into the surf and started a rhythmic paddling, all the time hoping that the wind would come up strong enough to use the small sails that each canoe had. Their canoes were different from what my people used for the ocean. Our canoes had a raised middle section that kept the boat steady in rough waters and prevented water from washing into it. There was always a certain amount of bailing needed in harsh seas but our design kept it at a minimum.

  The Mi’kmaq sea canoe that I was now in was over three times my body length and had a square-rigged sail made of skins that they were able to manoeuvre when there was wind.

  The gulls followed us until we lost sight of land. In the far distance we could see a bootup blow his air hole. The Mi’kmaq liked to sing when they paddled to break the monotony. I listened to their voices, and calmness fell over me as they sung about their lands, families, and battles.

  I took the time during the boredom of the paddling to take in the characteristics of the people with whom I was sharing this adventure. Matues and E’s were still young warriors and had not yet shaved their heads with a scalp lock design. Their hair hung loose. They both were slender of build, with round faces. Both wore deerskin shirts and leggings.

  Ta’s’ji’jg had shaved both sides of his head and made his black hair stand up with gobs of bear grease that made it shine in the sunlight. Along the nape of his neck hung two eagle feathers wrapped with a strip of beaver fur around the quills. He was shorter than his two younger companions but more muscled. He also a round, unscarred face and wore a breechcloth with a sealskin shirt.

  Nukumi was very fit. Her hair was starting to turn grey, but her face still had a look of youth — no wrinkles, and a permanent smile. She wore a white dress made from the skin of young seals.

  Apistanéwj, though short, was heavily muscled in his arms and legs. His face was weather-beaten and his hair braided in one long plait down his back, with white gull feathers tied into the tress along the length. His clothes were of bearskin.

  Jilte’g was every bit a warrior: head shaved at the front, with a long braid interspersed with turkey feathers. He had a scar that ran from the top of his right shoulder to his elbow and another on his forehead that looked like he had lost a chunk of skin, which was now just a red blotch. The scar on his arm stood out because of its whiteness. He had a snake’s head tattoo where the scar ended at his elbow. Jilte’g was taller than the other three Mi’kmaq warriors and was heavily muscled. When he paddled, you could see the sinews and muscles in his arms and back expand and contract. He never tired and carried himself as a man who you did not want to provoke. Enemy no, ally yes.

  We paddled until my arms felt like they were going to go numb. The wind came up at our backs in the late afternoon and since we could sail we were able to relax, eat, and drink.

  The sails had been up for only a short while before Matues yelled and pointed toward the western horizon. It was just a speck but there was no mistaking the Eli’tuats’ ship. We hastily dropped our sails and put our backs into paddling as hard as we could, hoping we could avoid detection. When we looked back to see if we had been spotted we were stunned at what our eyes beheld. At least twenty whales had positioned themselves between the Eli’tuat ship and us, blowing water from their spouts. They kept this up until dusk then disappeared, and when they did, we could see no sign of the ship. Bootup, my old friend, had caused enough of a diversion for us to escape discovery. I reached into my pouch and pulled out one of the few items I valued, my clay pipe. Standing up in the canoe, I threw it into the ocean and yelled, “Bootup, when you enjoy this pipe think of my gratitude for saving us!”

  Little did I know that this would not be the last time Bootup would come to my aid or the last time that I would encounter the Eli’tuat.

  As darkness started to fall, we brought the two boats alongside each other to eat and then we tethered them together with spruce rope. This would keep us from separating during the evening and enable us to take turns sleeping while only two in each boat paddled. If the wind came up they would use the sails and then only one person in each boat would have to stay awake to steer by the stars and moon. If the clouds came in, they would drop the sails and float until daylight.

  I had never been on the water overnight. It was an eerie feeling floating in an immense open space, not seeing anything, with the only the sound of the breathing of my sleeping companions and the lapping of the water alongside the canoes. When you are on land, you know where you are and can listen to the night noises. The one advantage, though, to being on the sea is that there are no bugs.

  The morning sun rose with an intense brightness aided by its reflection off the surrounding waters. Nukumi gave us all gobs of bear fat to smear on our bodies to prevent our skin from burning from the intense sunlight that reflected off the ocean. I still had a good layer left from the previous day, but I added more. Mixing with the layer of red ochre on my body, it made for excellent protection. For our eyes, we cut strips of leather from our leggings, made small eye slits, and then tied them around our heads. The last thing you wanted was to go blind from the sun. I had witnessed this before in my homeland. Sometimes the eyesight came back, but more often the victim remained blind.

  It was comical to watch the two dogs, though. Each of them stood in the forward bow of their respective canoes, facing in the direction we were going, as if they were leading us to the safety of the distant shore.

  The winds dropped down at midmorning and we had to paddle for the rest of the day. Then, just as we were tying our boats together for the night and preparing our meal, we could see lightning in the distance. Jilte’g said, “Do not worry; we will encounter only a light shower. The main part of the
storm will pass to the west. Sabawaelnu guaranteed our safe passage.”

  True to his prediction, we suffered only a light misting for most of the night, just enough to make us uncomfortable and cold and to sufficiently soak the dogs, giving them that wet, pungent smell. The morning sun would definitely be welcome to help dry us out. The bear grease did make us a little waterproof, but the dampness of our clothes made us shiver and yearn for shelter and the warmth of a fire. It is very difficult to sleep when you are wet. We did keep active by bailing water because between the choppiness of the ocean and the rain, we received lots of water in the boats.

  At dawn we ate and the sun’s warming rays helped us to dry out and feel better. The wind was very weak so our weary arms had to paddle again. We were now into our third day on the water and I was beginning to wonder if we would ever see land again. My small friend looked very exhausted. I knew he was not used to this kind of physical labour for sustained amounts of time, but to his credit he did not complain or shirk his responsibilities. Even Jilte’g had to admire Apistanéwj’s persistence.

  Just after midday we started to notice gulls. This gave us a newfound burst of energy because these birds signalled that land was near. The closer we came to shore, the more birds that appeared, until finally we could sight land in the distance. Then I beheld an amazing sight!

  5

  MAHINGAN AND WINTER’S END

  My name is Mahingan (Wolf). Our small family unit of nineteen people was spending the winter close to a waterfall. The members of the band that I was responsible for were as follows: my son, Anokì (Hunt), and I. My brother, Kàg (Porcupine), Kàg’s wife, Kinebigokesì (Cricket), and their twin sons Makwa and Wàbek (both names meaning Bear). The twins Makwa and Wàbek had grown into fearless warriors and hunters under the training of their uncle, Mitigomij, who still managed to hunt and war within the limitations that his club foot permitted. The twins were his constant companions, and the feared Black Panther Makadewà Wàban (Black Dawn) was his relentless protector.