“Where would you like to go, Baboo?” Miss Carr would ask. We had discussed it several times, and were undecided which of two places we would visit. They were nearly all new to me but she had been to all of them several times in the past, in some cases many years before. Then it had been the big English Bobtails that had gone with her; they were so big that often only one could go at a time, but the Indians liked her big dogs then, just as they liked her little pug-faced Griffons now. They would often gather around her, the old as well as the young, and go into gales of laughter at the little dogs’ clown-like expressions.
When the Bobbies had accompanied her, they would sit calmly as she painted, giving her moral support, keeping her from loneliness or the dread that the wild, deserted villages strove to create. They had been deserted so long that the growth, lush and greedy, now pushed into the places where the clearings had been, up through the boards, in the cracks in the big totems themselves.
It was the glowing, vivid stories which she told me, her eyes shining with her own memories of them, that had built the great urge in me to see them too. Her painted pictures are satisfying, her books are alive, but her stories, as she told them, brought the five senses into play and fully satisfied them. I lived them too, and laughed and cried with the little girl that was the heroine of them. As the story progressed, the girl was there before me, and it was with her I roamed the hillsides, sketching, gathering the flowers to take home and paint later. When the storms came up, four feet would be wet, two heads would be tired from the wandering both had enjoyed. When “good-nights” were said, there beside her studio fire where Miss Carr had told the stories, I would sleep quite as soundly, with dreams as sweet, as the little girl of the tale must have slept years before.
The sea had always been a love of mine, so it was a trip by boat I chose. The year before I met Miss Carr, I had become acquainted with the Indians at Westholme. Partly because I rode a great deal and was always out in the open, I had frequently been in contact with them and knew some very well. They had been very good to me, showing me the best trails, letting me ride their choice ponies. They were real friends. When Miss Carr knew this she was very pleased. The Indians had come to mean much to her, and for her it was very sad that so few people on the Island knew them well.
We carefully counted the days that we would be away, and arranged the food for ourselves and the animals, including extra biscuits for the Indian dogs. They loved them. We had stacks of sketching material, several changes of clothes, a roll of bedding, cooking pots, two plates, two spoons!
On our first trip, I packed a clock, a calendar, pillows, all the things I thought she had missed. I wanted to impress Miss Carr with my thoroughness. “Why?” That was all she said when she saw my little pile. I didn’t know why! Miss Carr went on, “The Indians, Baboo, eat when they are hungry; they sleep when they are tired. The exact time and date mean nothing to them at all. For the next five days we will be Indians.”
When we arrived at a destination, arrangements had to be made when we were to be picked up again, as in most cases there was no way to contact our means of transportation. Miss Carr had found out on her many past experiences that the less taken, the better, and made for a much happier journey. The Indians always travel light, and they have a quiet respect for all who do! This is especially true when transportation problems are completely in their hands, as ours were. The animals they understood and accepted without a word; their own pets went with them always. Our trip to Alaska had been by steamer, and was therefore a very formal trip compared to the one we were now planning. When we were ready the pile of luggage left the impression we had forgotten our plan to travel light. There were two boxes of food, “for the two- and the four-footed hungers,” as Miss Carr would say with her little grin. The animals travelled in boxes too, one for the dogs and one for Woo and the cat. Though the parrot had a basket, he was seldom closed in and generally rode on the shoulders of one of us. The clothes, mosquito oil, and so on, were in another basket; then all the sketching material, with the camp stools tied on, made a very bulky package. We carried quite a lot, even when we kept it down to essentials.
We had two taxis to carry our load to Oak Bay, where our Indian friend was to meet us with his motor launch at a given time. When we arrived at Oak Bay, I looked up and down the beach. No one was in sight. My insides went cold; the trip meant such a lot to me. “Come along, Child, do not dawdle all day.” It was Miss Carr, calmly and busily unloading the taxis, quite unconcerned, as if she had fully expected to find the beach deserted! But I had been right there when the arrangements had been made, and we were then more than half an hour late (due to the key!). It seemed to me our Indian had given up and gone. The cabs were unloaded at last, and moved away, leaving us sitting on our pile of boxes. Miss Carr busied herself almost at once. She let the animals out of their little prisons, untied the stools, arranged some drawing paper on her board, and “Well?” was all she said. She then calmly started to draw and sketch the scene before her, quite as if it was the one place she wanted most to do! I walked up the beach and back. The animals were all playing about, the monkey having a wonderful time with all the boxes, which were much too well tied for her little fingers to damage. The animals were quite as relaxed and unconcerned, and as happy just to be there, as Miss Carr herself.
We were there for three hours before that man came, with not one word about why he was late, with no explanation whatever. When I questioned Miss Carr about it later, she said the Indians were never on time for anything. Once you know them, she said, you always allow from two to three hours, always; it was the same at the schools, the churches—time just wasn’t. The only rush they ever made was a slow one, when a certain boat was due, then, with an eye on the sun, they did seem to make an effort.
Our Indian friend had arrived in his gas boat. Tied behind was a nicely carved canoe in which he came ashore. He used his boats for fishing, when the need for money was urgent, but generally he and his family just loafed about, up and down the coast, enjoying nature. The cabin on the boat was surprisingly clean, but the Indians are like that; either they are clean, or they aren’t.
He came ashore in the canoe and proceeded to load our things into it. There was no haste at all! The job had to be done, so he did it. As he had to make several trips, some boxes and Emily Carr went in the first load. When they reached the launch, another figure came into view and helped with the unloading and steadying of the canoe. This turned out to be his son, who was a big, well-made lad, strong and lazy, who could do a man-sized job when the spirit moved him; but “his spirit is lazy too,” Miss Carr said with her chuckle.
I went out on the third and last trip, tucked in among the last of the boxes. It was noon before we got away. We sailed up the west side of the Island without stopping till the sun was about to set. We sat on the starboard side of the boat, watching the coast and the gulls and the funny little shore birds that play games with all passing boats. Sometimes we were a half mile or so from shore, and again only a few feet. It was surprising to me how that Indian knew all the danger spots, out there, along the wild shore line which looked all alike. We seemed to be in deep water, but he would suddenly turn sharply at right angles, go around something that wasn’t there, and then continue on again. Miss Carr said he did this to avoid the jagged points of rock jutting up almost to the surface of the water. They were continuations of the mountains, she said, that ran along under the ocean. The rocky little islands that peppered the coastal waters were the high mountain peaks, from under the sea. I had never given the little islands a thought! Now they seemed so much more interesting. We giggled and joked about it, to help pass the time. How silly it must have sounded: “Sorry we are late—but our boat ran into a mountain!” But it didn’t. We made camp that night about sixty miles north of Victoria, in a little bay known to Jim, our Indian guide. We put in the canoe only what was needed for the night and morning, plus the animals, and we wer
e ashore in only two trips. Our tent was put up, boughs were piled for beds, and rocks for the fire. Then our friends went back to their boat. They very seldom spent the night ashore, when on a trip, if the boat was at all handy and sheltered.
After we were settled, and the animals had lost interest in the empty cans, so that we could bury them, we sat beside the lantern and took turns reading aloud the poetry she had brought. The sound of the surf nearby, and the night birds’ songs, united to lull us to sleep, in spite of the fact that we had decided to stay awake and watch the moon cloak the mountain behind us with light.
We woke early, to the monkey’s chatter. It was a beautiful day, the kind described in detail in the travel folders. The gulls were wheeling and calling overhead, great clouds of them. “Our welcoming committee,” Miss Carr said, and none could have pleased her better.
She got her sketching materials out as I prepared the eight breakfasts for the busy little group. The pets were very good but they would watch intently and keep count, I am sure, as bits of this and that went into each dish. After things were cleaned away and the fire put out, I got my stool and sketching pad. But out there, in the great vastness of it all, I could only look and look. Have you ever noticed a horse, when it stares at something? It will stare and stare, then look away, for several seconds; after several serious blinks, it will turn and stare again. It is almost as if it wants to give what it has already seen time to settle, be digested and stored away there ready to be called on later. That is how I felt, trying to fill my eyes full and pack everything in.
“What is wrong, Baboo?” Miss Carr said, suddenly. “Can’t you pick something out? Do not worry, for now. Match those lovely soft colours, mix them carefully to match as nearly as you can. The memories will lock themselves away in your heart, and will return to you some day when your world seems dull and drab, when you have forgotten for a time such colours existed.”
And do you know they did just that, twenty-six years later, in a hospital room. I was very ill, and the nurses had done all they could for me. Suddenly I saw the little cracks in the plaster, overhead and high on the wall, and it came to me that they formed the outline of the mountains that had towered above us then; and the lovely soft colours seemed to fill in of their own accord. Even the warm glow was reflected. It made me warm and happy inside, as I remembered her and what she had said so calmly and kindly many years before, and I was able to sleep. Next day I was much better, and the nurses wondered why! Could I tell them of the small cracks in the plaster?
There have been many times in my life when the things Miss Carr said to me returned, steady and strong, like her presence beside me.
But to get back to our trip. It was noon before our Indian friends stirred. There had been no sign of life on the boat all morning. When, I wondered, would we continue our journey? With Miss Carr still sketching, it was no time to ask. That is one reason I gave up painting after I was married. When a sketch or painting is started, dinner time, door bells, phone calls, even horses wanting exercise, mean absolutely nothing. My whole interest would be in the particular shade I was mixing and in the final effect I was after. This cannot be explained to a hungry man. Though just a child then, I had done enough myself to clearly understand her attitude, and I deeply respected it.
The Indians must have eaten on their boat. Just at noon they came ashore, and very casually started loading our things for the next part of the journey. The partly finished picture on Miss Carr’s canvas meant nothing at all to them. They were ready. The tide and the wind suited their purpose, so our things were gathered up, even as we used them, and we were off before we had time to think. Miss Carr often said the Indians were ruled by the tides and the seasons. She knew and understood them so well. Even ignorance, seemingly gross carelessness, is forgivable when completely understood. Her patience with all animals, as well as the Indians, was childlike in its graciousness; but when with adults, whose thinking ability was taken for granted, she wasted little or no patience whatever!
Soon we were aboard again, boxes, animals, little tent, all securely packed away. We settled our backs against the cabin and again watched the beautiful, ever-changing shore line. It was quite deserted except for an occasional wild animal, grazing at the water’s edge, or a few Indian families going peacefully about their business. This second trip lasted only a few hours before we reached the spot, carefully chosen ahead of time, for our camp. The lush growth and huge trees seemed to dwarf us to nothingness. The ferns and nettles were too big for their stems, which glowed pale and small under their immense leaves. Have you ever noticed that when some stout people are standing, their ankles seem too slender to support them? “That will do, Baboo!” Miss Carr replied, when I pointed the ferns and nettles out to her, adding my little simile. She was quite stout, and her slender delicate little ankles were her only vanity. “I will not be likened to a nettle to prove your point,” she said, with her merry grin. It was when she was like this that she seemed much younger to me, than I was myself.
The scenery was lovely, but set back a little was the burial ground of one of the Indian tribes. Here the trees had been used, in many cases, to support the poorly-made coffins, which were like huge birds’ nests, partly wrecked by the storms. This, as far as our painting went, was far beyond me; I had no urge to paint in their cemetery. I stayed with the sea and the mountains. They were ever-changing, always strong, though sometimes, with the sunlight falling over them, tender and gentle. I loved the scene and worked like mad, but when I looked, after hours of hard work, and saw the weak little thing on my paper—! How, I wondered, did you paint strength?
On the shore where we landed next was an old deserted one-room building. The door was carefully padlocked, but one wall was partly out. Our Indian friends again helped till we were moved in. The animals were turned loose, except Woo who was chained to a rafter. She soon had all the wild birds chased out of our new home! The Indians supplied us with wood, pointed out the location of the spring and filled our water pail at it. Then, after sitting smoking on the beach an hour or so, they left, saying that on the fifth day they would return.
The barking of the dogs a little later warned us that something or someone was approaching. We followed them down to the beach to investigate. It was Joe, the Indian boy, tying up their canoe! He grinned a sheepish grin, backed off into the sea, pointed at the canoe, said, “We think you might like,” then turned and swam out to the launch, a quarter of a mile away. It was very good of them to lend us the canoe, for it meant they both had to swim to and from shore till they located another! But it was wonderful for us, for we were able to see so much more of the coast and its beaches. In many places the forests came close to the shore and was too dense to walk through on foot. These two, who half an hour before had left without even a “good-bye,” who, in spite of their help, seemed almost ungracious, were, after all, most liberal.
They had also placed in the canoe two paddles and some fishing tackle. This was something we had completely overlooked, but it proved very useful and even provided sport the monkey thoroughly enjoyed. You know the alive, expectant look on a child’s face, as he watches you hold a Jack-in-the-box, not quite knowing just when you will spring the lid? Well, that describes Woo. She would sit so still, never taking her eyes from the line, absent-mindedly pushing dogs and flies away. Then her wild glee, when the line jerked and we would land a squirming fish as close to her as possible!
The time passed quickly. Every day was about the same. We travelled miles together up and down the coast, in close to the shore, often landing where it was open enough and walking far inland. There were, at times, spots so beautiful that we had to paddle far out from shore to focus properly, if the shoreline was the subject of that particular day.
The trees grew close to the shore where a big rock jutted out. We had drawn our boat up on this rock. It slanted smoothly but steeply into the water. As the stone’s surface was dry each day
when the tide was out, it was never slippery to walk on, in spite of the slant. When the tide was coming in it was a wonderful place to bathe; the incoming tide would push the shallow, warmed water before it, and we would slip into it, with great bars of soap. By the time we were well lathered, the tide would be high enough to rinse us with fresh, cool water.
The dragon flies would skim along the water’s surface, as if daring us to stay another second; and, while we were in the water, the birds would venture out of the sheltering trees to gather the crumbs Miss Carr had scattered for them. Woo, the dogs, and the cat would all gather on the rock at the water’s edge, scolding, then pleading for us to come out. Often, in the evening, we would see deer and many of the mountain animals come to the shore to drink. They would watch us long and intently, and often I was able to get pictures of them with a camera. But if a deer, a bear, or a moose was drinking, from the spot Miss Carr was painting, she never put it in the picture!
We painted, and sketched, and read to each other. Sometimes we took turns telling stories, making them up as we went along. If one of us suddenly stopped, the other continued for several minutes. We had such fun together, relaxed, happy, a woman of fifty-three and a girl of fifteen, and all the animals.
It seemed right to us that the day we were to return was dull with threatened rain. The rain leaked every little while, not able to stay up in the flimsy little cloud that it was trying to hide in, and a few spatters would fall. “You see, Baboo,” Miss Carr said, “we are intruders no longer, we have been accepted. Nature and her beasts, and her green growing treasures weep that we leave.”
Emily Carr As I Knew Her Page 4
