The Beothuk Expedition

by Derek Yetman

  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.

  Our progress that day was not as rapid as either Mr. Cartwright or I would have preferred. Our companions were still having difficulty on the south bank, and we were obliged to wait for them on several occasions. During these delays the two furriers would walk into the forest to explore the many brooks and streams that flowed into the river. They were plainly in search of a new source of pelts and on their return they would scratch little maps on birch bark with the points of their knives. The prospect of profit had done much for their courage, for they no longer seemed nervous of the forest. It was early evidence of a greed that would become much bolder in the days to come.

  All that day we passed abandoned huts as well as a cleverly constructed raft and two partially built canoes. What we did not discover were signs that the Indians had been there in recent weeks. Cooper went so far as to say they hadn’t been there in many months. Our second night on the river was passed in one of the mamateeks, as partial protection from the mosquitoes and blackflies, and by dawn we were walking again. Lieutenant Cartwright was convinced that we would find the Red Indians farth
er inland, near the great lake that Tom June had described. He became more convinced of this when, on the third day, Grimes claimed to have seen a canoe full of men in the distance. They had been armed and war-like, he said, and I listened to this with more than a little suspicion. No one else had seen them and Grimes was forever complaining of the walking, the flies and the heat. Nothing would have suited him more than to have us turn around and return to the relative comfort of the Dove.

  Unfortunately for him, his claim had the opposite effect upon the first lieutenant. He became more eager than ever to push on and he drove us hard on the fourth day. The other party was pressed to keep up and twice we lost sight of them for hours at a time. We had been without communication, save for the most rudimentary kind, since the start of the journey. In places where the river had been narrow enough to shout across, the rush and splash of the water had all but drowned our voices.

  When I awoke on the fifth morning I looked across the river and suspected that something was amiss. Rain had started during the night and although we were dry inside a large hut the others had not been so fortunate. They had slept under the trees around a campfire that now smouldered in the rain. There was no sign of activity but a scan through my glass found the seven men sitting in the undergrowth, and a sorry-looking lot they were. Some were attempting to repair their shoes, others lay motionless except for listless slapping at the mosquitoes, and all were as wet as seals.

  The lieutenant asked my opinion and I said that we ought to establish their condition, which did not look promising. How this was to be done was another matter, for while the river ran smoothly between us, it was at least a hundred yards wide. I said that I would try to find a way across, and leaving my pistol with Froggat, I walked upstream to investigate. Before long I discovered two large tree trunks that had washed ashore. By observing the flow of the river, I concluded that any object launched from this point would make its way to the other bank in the general vicinity of our companions. I therefore placed the two logs side-by-side in the water, straddled them as I would a horse and then pushed myself into the stream. The soundness of my idea was quickly put to the test, and it was not the verdict I had hoped for. The current took hold of my little raft and spun it around like a leaf, propelling me downriver at an alarming speed.

  I was clearly in trouble, and I believe I would have drowned if not for some quick action on the part of Greening. Seeing my predicament he grabbed a hatchet and sprang into action. At a stroke or two he toppled a long pole of birch and thrust it into my path as the current pushed me past the south bank. I had the good sense to grab it as I was swept along, losing my seat and tumbling into the water. Others lent a hand and the pole was drawn in to bring me safely to shore. I was soaked to the skin but no worse off than the men who helped me to my feet. They had been lying in the rain all night and to make their misery more complete, most of them were crippled for want of a decent pair of shoes. For all that, Frost and Greening found my antics on the river quite amusing. Greening tried to hide a smile but Frost laughed outright at my sodden appearance, reciting: “Mother, may I go out to swim? Why yes, my darling daughter, fold your clothes up neat and trim, but don’t go near the water!”

  I ignored the jest and turned my attention to the state of their footwear. George Cartwright and Reverend Stow had been well shod to begin with and their boots had stood up to the sharp rocks. The sailors’ shoes were another matter. Frost and Jenkins had not a sole between them and they’d walked the last mile in their bare feet. The cuts and abrasions were ugly enough but Frost had also twisted an ankle and was favouring it. Greening, Rundle and Atkinson were not much better equipped, with mere flaps of leather hanging from their uppers.

  There was only one course to follow, and there and then I ordered the four sailors to make their way back to Start Rattle. Greening began to voice an objection but I silenced him quickly enough. I heard no word of complaint from Rundle or Jenkins, though Frost alone made up for that. The boatswain was determined to argue the point, even after I had hardened my tone and said the decision was final.

  “But sir,” he protested, “this here is a naval expedition. With me and the lads turned back, there’ll be more lubbers than seamen. Now that can’t be right, can it, sir?”

  “I believe we can uphold the honour of the Navy in your absence, Mister Frost,” I replied.

  The grey pigtail hung wet and limp as his small eyes peered across the river and then back at me. I knew what was really on his mind, and it was not the honour of the Navy. “You don’t take my meaning, sir. Some of them you’re left with can’t be relied on. Why, I wouldn’t trust ’em—”

  “I am aware of their shortcomings, Mister Frost. That is my duty, is it not?”

  My tone quieted him but he gave me a seething look. I took him by the sleeve and drew him away from the others. “Listen to me, Frost,” I hissed. “With that ankle, you are as useless as a hulk on a lee shore. At least Grimes and the furriers can walk and fire a musket if need be. Now these men must return to the Dove while they can. I have my doubts whether they can manage it alone. You must go with them. There is no one else.”

  He heard me out and nodded his head in resignation, realizing that what I said was true. He would only slow our progress or worse still, force us to abandon him or give up the expedition entirely. Having put the matter to rest, I informed our two gentlemen that they were free to return to the shallop, if they chose to do so. They were volunteers and could not be expected to bear the difficulties that were already multiplying upon us. I had anticipated a particular response from each of them but their reactions were, I have to say, the complete opposite of my expectations. I had scolded Frost not five minutes earlier about knowing the shortcomings of those around me. It now became clear how little I really knew of these people.

  Mr. George Cartwright, the bold young army captain, fairly jumped at the chance to retreat. He invented no excuses, I will give him that, other than to say he’d had enough. And yet, the speed with which he gathered his things was remarkable. Without a trace of embarrassment he asked that I convey his regrets to his brother.

  I was not fully recovered from this when a second surprise came in the response of Reverend Stow, who declared his absolute determination to stay the course. He spoke emphatically of fulfilling his mission, of finding, as he put it, “those savages who have yet to receive the glad tidings of salvation.” Oh, but the poor chaplain was a sorry sight, standing there in the streaming rain with his wig plastered to his skull. He looked at me defiantly, as if I might order him away. The thought hadn’t even entered my mind, for how could I deny a man who would endure so much for his convictions?

  I suppose I must have looked a sight as well, listening incredulously to this reversal of my expectations. I regained my wits in time to stop George Cartwright as he set off with faithful old Atkinson at his heels. I asked him if he would not give up his boots so that another man might carry on. I think he would have told me to go to hell had the others not been watching. Instead, he sat on a rock and his servant pulled the boots off with difficulty. I picked them up and gave them to Greening, who grinned with delight as he handed the gentleman his battered shoes with their flapping soles.

  Friday Froggat

  It was the sight of poor Jonah struggling in the river that marked the change. I came to my senses just after that, though at the time it felt like I was watching myself fighting that mighty current, trying to survive a force that was far greater than any I could overcome. But just as deliverance and solid ground came to Jonah that morning, so it came to me.

  The Lord knows I’ve had sickness and injury aplenty in my time, but never the torture of mind that had hold of me in those weeks. There were moments when I could think clearly enough, and only then did I know that I was surely going mad. I plainly recollect falling ill on board the Liverpool, and being told it was the scurvy. From there it was naught but a hellish nightmare of demons who came to claw at my reason and to tear at my soul. They
brought hideous thoughts that were not my own and unspeakable cravings that took possession of my very being. I had fallen into an abyss without hope and was allowed to live only to prolong my suffering.

  I recall that Jonah was with me much of the time, and without him I would not be on this earthly plane today. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing him in mortal danger that caused the tide to shift, but whatever it was, I began to make sense of what was going on around me. Mind you, I wasn’t sure who some of my companions were, though I recognized Nehemiah Grimes from the Liverpool. There was something else about him, too, only for the life of me I couldn’t remember what it was.

  I wasn’t sure how I came to be in the Newfoundland wilderness, either. But that and the other gaps were caulked by and by, thanks to Jonah. He told me everything and right happy he was to see me back in my senses, I can tell you. Lieutenant Cartwright didn’t seem to care one way or another. Jonah told him he might have lost five men to poor cobbling but he was gaining one who made the trade nearly even. The lieutenant gave him a funny look when he said that, like he thought it might be a fling against his brother leaving the way he did.

  I also found something in the pocket of my old uniform coat. It was a tiny figure like a pendant, carved from bone or antler, I suppose. It wasn’t more than an inch long but it was cut real fine in the likeness of a child. I couldn’t say how it got there until the memory returned to me by degrees. It was our second night on the river, when we were lying in one of them Indian huts. I was awake in the dark, a fair bit dazed but I recall the moonlight coming through a hole in the roof. It was lying right there in that little patch of light, this tiny figure, and I must’ve picked it up and put it in my pocket, which is where I found it on my resurrection day.