The Beothuk Saga

by Bernard Assiniwi

  With an escort of a dozen people, we were paraded on the streets of St. John’s. We were taken into stores, and by gestures we were told we could have anything we wanted, as much as we could carry. I told this to my mother and sister. My mother said: “They do not know how big a load a Beothuk can carry. They may be sorry they gave us permission.” And for the first time in many suns I saw my mother smile and laugh. I did not know then that I was seeing it almost for the last time.

  We looked at everything. Mother and Dabseek took whatever they thought would be useful or needed, such as kettles made from some light metal, tools and utensils, cloth, stockings, needles, some heavy thread for sewing, rolls of canvas. The only things they would not let us have were the things we most needed: knives and axes. I do not know why they refused us these things.…

  Since those useful items were denied us, I amused myself by tying pieces of coloured cloth to myself, in my hair, over my arm, around my waist. This made the English laugh. Outside, children ran behind us calling us names: “Dirty Indians! Savages! Dirty women!” My mother and Dabseek did not understand their words and laughed. I frightened the children by making fierce faces at them and pretending to try to catch them. Beothuk children would never have been so rude as to insult visitors to their village. Beothuk children were well raised, better than these young English hooligans.

  Captain Buchan ordered John Peyton Jr. to return us to our people as soon as possible. He did not want us to die in captivity. I pretended not to understand what he was saying, but I wanted to shout to him that “our people” were all dead. “You have killed them all!” I wanted to tell him. But I held back my words. They must never know that we were the last of our people! That would give them too much pleasure. I wanted them to remain afraid of us a while longer. I wanted them to tremble with fear every time they stepped into the forest on our island.

  We had been taken to Exploits-Burnt Island aboard a ship called the Anne, belonging to John Peyton Jr., the same ship whose lines we had cut and whose sails we had stolen five season-cycles before. Now it took us back to the Bay of Exploits. Peyton let us off on the beach in Badger Bay, and left us there with enough food for several suns. We found an old mamateek and repaired it, and carried the food into it, then lay down to rest. Doodeebewshet kept saying that we had to find Mamjaesdoo, and I kept putting off telling her the truth about our father.

  On the morning of the fourth sun after our return, we awoke to find that Dabseek had died during the night. My mother and I cried the whole day. She had been my little sister, I had taken care of her since she was a baby. I was miserable, and my mother was inconsolable. She cried and beat her chest, saying that Kobshuneesamut was unjust, that he did not have the right to take away young children who had not lived long enough to experience happiness. She said that the Creator should have come for her instead. But by nightfall she was calmer, and it was she who went out and found a small depression between two rocks. The next morning we placed Dabseek’s body in it and covered her with rocks piled one on top of another, to discourage predators. She would wait there until she was ready to make her final journey. We worked all that day. In the evening, my mother was exhausted, and the next morning she, too, was dead.

  I was responsible for the family. Me, Shanawdithit. But I was completely alone. What must I do? Should I just let myself die? I had no more food, no weapons with which to hunt, and no fish hooks to catch fish. I barely had enough strength to drag my mother’s body out and lay it beside Dabseek’s, and it took me the entire day to carry enough stones to pile on top of it. Then I decided it was time for me to die. I did not have a knife, or an axe, or an arrow. I had nothing sharp at all. I did not know which herbs were poisonous and I knew how to swim. How could I find death? I could wait. I had no food. I could simply sit and wait for death to find me.

  Then I remembered that I had given my word to Mamjaesdoo that I would fight to the very end! That I would never give up. That I would never lose hope. Giving one’s word is a sacred trust. Kobshuneesamut would never forgive me if I broke it. Mamjaesdoo would never forgive me, either.

  Peyton had left a small, flat-bottomed boat at the end of the bay in case we needed it. I decided I had to return to Peyton’s house on Exploit-Burnt Island. But it was such a long way. I began rowing and kept on without stopping until it was almost dark. Then I saw a small sailboat which I recognized as belonging to Peyton, and called to it. The men on board agreed to take me to Peyton. Everyone was sleeping at his house when we arrived, and as I did not want to disturb them I slept in the outside shelter the magistrate had had built for us on our previous visit to his house.

  In the morning, Peyton’s maid and cook found me sitting on the step outside his door.

  58

  I missed my family very much.

  My mother, my sister, and my father were so unhappy without me that I often thought of joining them as soon as possible. But my promise to Mamjaesdoo, given during that last season of cold and snow, weighed heavily upon me. I could not go back on my word. I could not betray my people. I was the last hope my people had of being continued in others. I had to fight on to the finish. Who knew? I could still marry a man from away who might agree to live here with me on the island of the Red Men. Who could say? We could have children, give birth to a new nation, perhaps start a clan, or at least a family. I was dreaming with my eyes open: I would never meet anyone who would be interested in me. I was nothing but a servant in the Peyton household. Since coming here I had done nothing but wash and dry dishes. Mrs. Jury taught me how to do it, speaking harshly:

  “You hold the plate like this, not like that. You take this cloth and you dry the glasses first, then the plates. Why do you not understand?”

  I thought: It is you, Mrs. Jury, who do not understand. Soon I will be twenty-eight season-cycles old. In the Beothuk world I know how to do everything. I know how to hunt, how to fish, how to kill white men. And you, what do you know? You are ignorant of every important thing, and yet you have the nerve to tell me I do not understand. I understood your language before I even met you. I knew exactly what time of day you took your meals, what kind of bed you slept in, and what kind of awful, stinking meat you put into your mouth. What do you know about us, Mrs. Jury? What do you know about the Beothuk? What do you even know about me, after five years of working in your damned silly house, where people come and go without ever greeting the servants? The only kind people in this house are young Anne and the boy, John III. They come to me, they seek me out, they run to me and hug me. When they are sad it is me they come to. When Mrs. Eleanor spanks them, it is me who comforts them. Peyton Jr., your master, has spoken to me exactly four times in five years, and each time Mrs. Peyton, his wife, has thrown a jealous fit and has kept me away from the children for a month. She punishes me because her husband speaks to me. She punishes the children because she is angry with her husband. Is it my fault, or the children’s fault, if her husband speaks to me? Will someone come down with “the consumption” if he speaks to me? I am a good little maid to work so silently in this house. If I left here I would miss only the children. They are so sweet. I love them more than anything in the world because they are all I have left. Peyton’s employees are all brutes, and Beothuk killers. It must make them very unhappy not to be able to kill me. They are the same men who came into our forest and shot at our people. They do not know how much I hate them. They know that I hate them because I have told them so many times. But they do not know how much.

  The other day a man came and spoke to me and questioned me for a long time. He seemed to be a kind man. He wanted to know about the Beothuk. He was the first person to show any interest in my people since I was in St. John’s. When I was there, Captain Buchan gave me some paper and a pencil and asked me to draw my people. I enjoyed drawing very much. But in five years at the Peytons no one has ever given me paper. If I so much as pick up a pencil it is taken from me. They think I will write on the walls with it, as though I were a child.…


  I miss my people very much. Here they call me Nancy April. I miss not being able to speak my own language with anyone. I was able to do so just once. I was told that a Shanung came here often, and the other day I saw him from close up. He was not a Shanung at all, he was Ge-oun the Jaw, who went to live with the Mixed-Bloods at Bay d’Espoir. I was very angry with him and hit him in the face with my fist, and told him never to come back here: if the people here found out that he was not Shanung but Beothuk they would kill him. Fortunately, no one understood our conversation. I told them he was a Mi’kmaq who had killed many Beothuk, and that I did not want to see him again. Then they treated him as a hero. They shook his hand and gave him rum. He sang Beothuk songs for them, and everyone thought he was singing in Mi’kmaq. But even if he escapes this time, they will kill him some other time. He must not come here again. It is too dangerous for him.

  The kind gentleman who asked me questions the other day came back with a priest, and the priest scolded the Peytons for not having me converted to their religion. I have no use for their religion. Any god who allows his followers to kill anyone who does not think as he does surely does not deserve to be a god. Kobshuneesamut would never allow such a law. William Cormack, the gentleman who brought the priest, wanted to know about our way of life. I will tell him that I am the last one. I have told the others that there were still twenty-seven of us, but I lied. I must be careful, because lies can kill. Only the truth exists. If they find out that I have lied to them, perhaps they will kill me. That would be good, because then I could die without betraying my promise to my father. I must keep my word. I hope this Mr. Cormack comes back.

  One morning when Mr. Peyton was away a man came with a paper. Mrs. Eleanor talked to him, then told me to pack a small bag but to leave here all the clothes she had given me. I could only take the things given to me by Captain Buchan, that is, one quilted dress, a pair of long stockings, and a pair of flat shoes. Then she told me to go with the man. She did not say goodbye or shake my hand, or do any of the things the English do when they part. I left, just like that, with no formalities. The man took me to a ship and informed me that I was going to live in St. John’s with Mr. Cormack.

  I was delirious with joy. I was going to live with the only person who had ever shown any interest in me in five years! Maybe he liked me a little? Maybe he didn’t think I was ugly after all? If I was nice to him, maybe he would learn to like me? Mamjaesdoo was right, we have to go on hoping to the end.

  When I arrived at Mr. Cormack’s residence his attitude towards me seemed to have changed. He said it was necessary for us to keep our distance, because of “what people might say.” I did not understand at first, but he explained to me that people would become suspicious of a bachelor sharing a house with a “wild woman.” So he had to keep his distance from me. I asked him if he touched me would he leave a mark on my skin that people would see, and he said no, but in his conscience as a gentleman it would be exactly as though that were the case! I liked it when he took my hand to show me how to draw a circle with a pencil. I also liked the feel of his warm breath on my neck when he leaned over me to see what I was drawing. I wanted him to kiss my neck, to caress my shoulders. I wanted to be loved … but he never did any of those things. Alas. I was dreaming with open eyes again. The English said that he was not handsome, that he was too thin, too tall, too this, not enough that. All their remarks left me cold. To me he was a kind, gentle, sympathetic, and interesting man. He told me many things I did not know, and I told him many things he wanted to learn. Maybe more. I would have told him anything to keep him near me.

  He explained to me that he had made a great study of native peoples. Once in a while I would ask him to tell me about these primitives, as he called them, just so that I could listen to his voice. Hearing him speak to me I was in ecstasy! He knew very well that I could understand virtually nothing of his dissertations, but he went along with it anyway … I think … I hope!

  I was much happier staying with William Epp Cormack than I had been at the Peytons’, but I missed the children. Still, Cormack charmed me. I would have loved him to take me in his arms and kiss me with passion, but he never did. Perhaps he sensed that I had contracted the sickness called consumption, like my mother and my sister. I was coughing more and more frequently, but I tried not to when I was with him.

  Or perhaps he simply did not like me personally. Perhaps he was only interested in me as a Beothuk. He had started an institution that was named after my people. Towards the end of my stay with the Peytons we had moved into a new house, in Twillingate, a place to which I did not want to return.

  I think I am getting weaker.

  Cormack had other “primitives” who were staying with him, a Montagnais or Innu man and two Abenakis. They told Cormack that I was ill. I was furious with them, and told them so. A Beothuk never betrays another’s secret, not even for the other person’s benefit. Would Cormack now be afraid to come near me? Perhaps he would decide it was time to remove himself from me further … so he would not accidentally come to love me. He warned me that he would have to leave me for a while. He said that his life as a man of science, a man who sought to understand the ways of primitive peoples, was forcing him to go to England in order to sell some articles and earn enough money to be able to continue his research in the field. I tried to dissuade him from going. I told him that I still had many stories to give him, new ones that he did not know about the Beothuk, and the Addaboutik, about Anin and his four wives.…

  He affected not to understand me. He became more distant, while I was burning up inside. I would have sliced my body and opened it up to show him what a Beothuk looked like on the inside if he had asked me to. I wanted to shout to him that I loved him. But I could never do that. I felt my life draining from me slowly. My final hopes were disappearing before my very eyes. I felt this man running through my fingers like a fistful of sand. I was desperate. I wanted to die. I was dying.

  One morning when I came downstairs I was told that William Cormack was gone. It was the season of cold and snow. I was taken to the English governor’s house. I was beginning to have frequent weak spells, and sometimes I would faint and not know what was happening around me. I spent whole days looking at my naked body in a mirror. I had only one breast. My other breast had been torn away by an English musket. The muscle on one of my legs was also missing, also torn away by an English musket. And there was a dark, dirty hole at the top of my ribcage, where part of my side had been blown away by an English musket. I suddenly understood why William Cormack would not touch me. I was not a complete person.

  When the warm season returned I could hardly get out of bed. My legs, once young and strong, were too weak to hold me up long enough to go outside to breathe the fresh air of my island. I was dying to smell the flowers. I was dying to see the sun rise again over the sea. I was dying from never having known the heat of a man’s love. But I could still be proud. I had kept my promise to the end. I had hoped that my people would go on living.

  I knew that the Beothuk would live forever because there are still real men on the earth even if they do not have red skins. With what little energy I have I will fight against death until the last breath leaves my body. When that happens, the last Living Memory of the Beothuk people will vanish.

  Shanawdithit died of tuberculosis on the sixth of June, 1829, in the hospital in St. John’s, Newfoundland. She was buried in South Side Cemetery after a brief religious ceremony held in the St. John’s Cathedral. No one attended the service. Some people still say she died for love, for the love of her people and for the love of William Epp Cormack.

  CHRONOLOGY OF EVENTS

  in the History of the Beothuk of Newfoundland

  I – THE INTITIATE

  About 1000 A.D.

  Vikings winter on the northern peninsula of the island, an event confirmed in the Norse sagas.

  II – THE INVADERS

  1497, June 24, 5:00 a.m.

  John Cabot (Jean Cabot,
Giovanni Cabotto) sails into Bonavista Bay. When he returns to England, he takes three Beothuk with him and presents them to King Henry VII.

  1500, October 18

  Gaspar de Côrte Real returns to Lisbon with seven Beothuk, who are painted red. His second ship arrives two days later with fifty more Beothuk. All are sold as slaves.

  1501, May 15

  Côrte Real leaves Lisbon for Newfoundland to capture more slaves. He never returns from this voyage.

  1503

  Miguel de Côrte Real leaves in search of his brother Gaspar. He, too, is never seen again in Portugal.

  1508

  According to Father Charlevoix, the French ship Bonaventure brings six captive Beothuk to Rouen.

  1523

  Giovanni Verazzano sails the Dauphin to the waters off Newfoundland.

  1534, May 10

  Jacques Cartier sails into Catalina Bay, which he names Sainte-Catherine. He also visits Port de Rapont (Quirpont), where he finds Beothuk habitations covered with sailcloth, but does not make contact.

  1583

  Humphrey Gilbert arrives in St. John’s Harbour and takes possession of the island. He leads two exploratory expeditions, one to the south, where no Beothuk are encountered, and one to the north, where he describes the Beothuk as “gentle, kind, and inoffensive.” Gilbert writes that he counted sixty sailing vessels in Placentia Bay, all from St-Jean-de-Lutz. In Siburno and Biscay there are eight Spanish vessels. In Farillon (Ferryland), he sees twenty-eight English ships. In all, he records, ninety European vessels are frequenting the waters off the island of Newfoundland.