by Farley Mowat
He hurried to the canoe and the other two boys joined him without a word, for they had been shocked by the discovery of what was under it. In a moment they had levered the heavy boat back on its edge and then they lowered it gently into its former position over the dead man and his belongings.
Somewhat shaken, the voyagers hurried on downriver. But they realized that the great canoe had been a good sign too. It was obvious that the river below this point could not be very difficult to navigate, since otherwise no one would have brought a sea-going canoe this far inland.
Big River had indeed changed its nature. It was no longer flinging itself down a steady slope at express-train speed. Now it flowed more sedately through a dead-flat, drowned land of muskegs, bogs and innumerable ponds. Although the travelers did not know it, they were already on the flat coastal plain which borders Hudson Bay.
When they camped that night it was on a site that had been used by other people for many centuries. Here they found scores of tent-circles of round stones marking the places where Eskimo topay’s had stood. Several stone fireplaces still held fresh ashes. Piled carefully under rocks near the camp were boxes and bales covered in skins. Peetyuk explained that these were caches containing the winter gear of several families of Eskimos.
“Now we almost there,” he said jubilantly.
Jamie had a thoughtful look on his face. “Almost where?” he asked. “We don’t have any idea where the mouth of Big River is on Hudson Bay. Your people never followed the river all the way to its mouth on their winter journeys, Pete. They used to branch off between Edehon and the sea and go across country. We’re strictly on our own.”
“We know something about it, Jamie,” Awasin said. “We know the river mouth is north of Churchill. All we must do is turn south along the seacoast.”
Jamie snorted. “What an optimist! All we have to do is turn south! You don’t know the sea, Awasin. Remember that big Eskimo canoe? I tell you it wasn’t any too big for going on the open sea. I hate to think what will happen to these cockleshells.”
Angeline poured them all a mug of tea—almost the last they had. “Why do you worry?” she asked brightly. “We have come many, many miles through this land and we are still alive and healthy. Nothing will happen to us now. With three good men and me we will be fine.”
They had not gone more than ten miles the next morning when they shot out into a small triangular-shaped lake. On its northern edge, they saw another sea-going canoe pulled up on shore with a topay standing beside it. A wisp of smoke from a small fire showed them that this time they had found living people.
As they paddled toward the camp they were gripped with nervousness. It was rather like stage-fright. It had been so long since they had seen strangers that the prospect of an encounter with an alien people made them feel ill at ease.
They approached so cautiously and quietly that they were within a few yards of shore before they were noticed. Then an old Eskimo man with a few scraggly black whiskers at his chin came out of the tent, glanced at them, started visibly, and ducked quickly back into the tent. A moment later he again emerged, accompanied by an old woman and two well-grown boys. All four stood and stared dubiously at the strangers, who stared back as silently.
The impasse might have lasted a long time had not Angeline dipped her paddle to drive the canoe shoreward and called out a musical greeting in Cree.
The boys came out of their trance.
“That no good, Angeline. They not understand. I speak.”
Peetyuk called out something in his own tongue. The air of silent wariness on the part of the four people ashore seemed to dissipate. The old man shouted something in return and in a moment he and Peetyuk were engaged in a voluble conversation.
At length Peetyuk paused.
“It all right. They good people. We go shore now.”
As the canoes were being hauled up on the beach he explained further. “We scare these people. They never hear of anyone come down Big River with canoe in all time Eskimo live here. They not know what we are. But okay now. They understand me pretty good, even though don’t talk quite same as my people. They glad have visitors. We go up their tent.”
The Sea People, who called themselves Dhaeomiut, proved to be as hospitable and friendly as Eskimos everywhere. The old man, his wife and their two grandsons were part of a family of twelve people. The rest of the family had gone out to the coast three weeks earlier to set up a sealing camp and to trade their fox furs to a white man who, so the old fellow said, lived at the mouth of Big River. The old couple and the two boys had remained behind to net and dry arctic char, a pink-fleshed salmonlike fish.
While the old lady scampered about preparing a huge iron kettleful of char to make a feast, the travelers sat inside the tent talking to the old man and the two wild-looking youths. The news that a white man was living at the mouth of the river was greeted with great excitement.
“Ask him what the fellow’s name is, Pete. Find out is he a Hudson Bay Company trader, or what?”
“He say not Hudson Bay man. He say wintertime this man go trapping fox. Spring do a little trading with Sea People. Summertime take big boat and go Iglu-ujaruk—Stone House—what we call Churchill.”
“A free trader! Listen, Pete! When does he go to Churchill? Has he gone yet?”
Once more Peetyuk addressed himself to the old man.
“He say not know. Maybe gone, maybe not. Say if we hurry quick, maybe catch. He say Big River split up near mouth. Have many, many channels. Only one take to kablunak—white man—house.”
“Ask him if he will show us the way,” Awasin interjected.
“He not can go himself,” Peetyuk replied after posing the question. “But he say one his grandson maybe go with us. Old man, he got no tobacco. Very hungry for tobacco. Grandson can go and bring back tobacco for old man. He say go tomorrow morning. Now must have big feed and we tell about where we come from.”
Despite their anxiety to meet the unknown white man before he left for Churchill, the travelers realized that they would have to curb their impatience. They made the best of the long day that followed. They stuffed themselves on fresh char and on smoked deer-tongues. Curious as pups, they prowled around the camp accompanied by the two Eskimo youths, whose names were Paijak and Mikkiluk. They examined a stone fish weir where the char were diverted into a backwater on their migratory journey upstream to spawn. And they watched with admiration as Paijak and Mikkiluk demonstrated how they caught the char with long fish spears, triple-tipped like the trident that Neptune is supposed to carry.
That evening they sat for many hours in the tent while the old man talked to Peetyuk. The Meewasins and Jamie were somewhat bored, but Peetyuk and the Eskimos had a fine time of it. This was the first meeting between Ihalmiut and Dhaeomiut in several decades, and there was a great deal to tell on both sides. When Jamie, Awasin and Angeline went wearily off to sleep, Peetyuk and the Sea People were still hard at it.
CHAPTER 22
Joshua Fudge
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING THE travelers said good-by to the hospitable old couple and again took to the river. Jamie switched over to Awasin’s canoe and Angeline now sat amidships. Peetyuk led the way in the other canoe with the young Eskimo, Mikkiluk, paddling bow and acting as pilot.
Under his leadership they had no difficulty negotiating the rapids they encountered during the next few hours. Towards noon Mikkiluk led the way to shore for a brew-up. When the boys and Angeline climbed the steep dike of boulders which formed the riverbank, they found themselves looking out over an infinite expanse of gray waters.
“Dhaeo!” Mikkiluk said proudly.
It was indeed the sea—for Hudson Bay is an ocean unto itself measuring over eight hundred miles from north to south and more than four hundred miles in breadth. The sight of that heaving immensity of endless waters had a profound effect upon Peetyuk and the two Meewasins, none of whom had ever seen salt water before.
“Ai-ya! He too big for me,” Peetyu
k exclaimed.
“It would be bad to be out there in a storm,” Awasin agreed. “Now I know what you meant, Jamie. It is no place for canoes like ours.”
“Maybe we won’t need the canoes—if we’re lucky. If he hasn’t gone yet we may be able to hitch a ride with the free trader. That is, if he’s any sort of a half-decent fellow.”
They were not long in finding out what sort of fellow he was.
Big River now began to split up into channels that grew in number as they decreased in size. The voyagers were entering the tidal estuary which spreads out over dozens of square miles forming an almost impenetrable maze of channels and low, barren islets. Had it not been for Mikkiluk they might have searched for days before they found the trader’s cabin. But Mikkiluk guided them unerringly from channel to channel until they rounded a final bend.
There, on a slight promontory, was an Eskimo camp in the process of being broken up. Mikkiluk yelled and waved and the canoes touched shore.
The goodbyes were quick. Jamie and the others were impatient, and as Mikkiluk pointed from the shore they turned and paddled away from him.
They hardly bothered to wave, for ahead of them on the flat and barren foreshore of Hudson Bay stood a large wooden house. But even more exciting was the sight of a sailing vessel anchored in a lagoon.
Although there was no sign of anyone moving on the boat, Jamie was so fearful of losing a ride that he risked a swim by standing up in the canoe and announcing their arrival by yelling at the top of his voice.
His shout was answered by a chorus of yelps and howls from a dozen dogs tethered near the cabin. Then the door opened and a big, bald-headed man appeared, his face covered with shaving lather.
The man stood as if transfixed, staring at the approaching canoes. Then he rushed inside, appearing a moment later with a pair of binoculars. He continued to stare through these until the canoes had landed. Not a word did he say, nor did he acknowledge the arrival of visitors by the slightest gesture.
“He does not seem too friendly,” Awasin said anxiously as they hauled the canoes up above the tide level.
The big man lowered his glasses and stood immobile as the four travelers hesitantly approached him. They noted the bulging muscles of his bare arms, and the hard glare of his blue eyes peering at them over the beard of lather. When he finally spoke he transfixed his visitors, for he had a voice like the bellow of a moose.
“Where in the blank-blank-blank did you come from? And who in the blankety-blank are ye anyhow?”
Peetyuk and Awasin were tongue-tied, and even Jamie had trouble finding his voice.
“From the Kazon River, sir,” he stuttered. “From Thanout Lake, I mean.”
“Make up your blinking mind,” the big man shouted (for shouting was his normal way of talking). “I guess you’re a bunch of whopping liars anyway. Nobody ever canoed from Thanout Lake down Big River.”
“We did, sir, honestly,” Jamie said. “I’m Jamie Macnair.”
“Macnair? Macnair? No relation to Angus Macnair, be ye?”
“I’m his nephew, sir. These two, they’re the son and daughter of Mr. Meewasin, the chief of the Crees at Thanout. And this is Peetyuk Anderson—his dad was a trapper on the Barrens.”
“Anderson too, eh? Why blank me, this is like old home week. Well, what are you standin’ there for? Come in! Come in!” And he stood aside so they could enter his home.
Since there were no trees anywhere near the mouth of Big River, the house had been built of planed timber brought by schooner from Churchill. It had four rooms, many windows, three stoves, and was filled with shiny mail-order furniture. A glittering radio blared away from the kitchen table, and small light bulbs on the ceiling showed that the owner had a generating plant to make his own electricity.
The big man suddenly remembered his lathered face. With a muffled apology he grabbed a towel and wiped off the lather. Then he began to bustle about at a great rate, heaping coal on the kitchen range and slapping dishes on the table.
“Wherever ye belong, ye look nigh starved. You needs a scoff! What’ll it be? Bacon and eggs and seal steaks suit ye?”
The travelers could only nod their heads dumbly, for they were overwhelmed by the change in their situation. Only a few hours ago they had been nomads living in a lonely, empty land. Now they were in the lap of such luxury as Peetyuk and the Meewasins had never known, and such as Jamie had not seen for several years. It was enough to strike them all dumb.
“Got no tongues in yere heads?” the big man shouted. “I’m Joshua Fudge. Belong to Newfoundland, I do. Been in this blank-blank country for thirty years now. Don’t know why I stays. Knew Frank Anderson pretty good a long spell back. Told him he was a damn fool to go into the Barrens. He wouldn’t listen. So you’re his son, eh? Got his hair, anyway. And Angus Macnair. The old so-and-so’s still living, is he? Trapped three seasons with him on the Mackenzie. You’re his nephew? Pretty puny one, if you asks me. Now here’s your grub. Scoff it down, me sons. Don’t mind me. I talks a lot. But then I ain’t had nobody but Eskimos to talk to for a year. Kind of get bottled up inside me, ye might say….”
Once started, Josh apparently could not stop talking. But as he roared on, the visitors dug into the welcome meal and began to feel a little more at home. By the time they had finished they had grown used to the bellowing, and had begun to like their host. When breakfast, or lunch, or whatever one would call it, was over, Josh poured pint mugs of coffee for all hands and herded them into the next room. This was a spacious living room equipped with easy chairs and with masses of books and magazines piled against the walls.
“Sit ye down, me sons. Sorry, missy! Don’t mind what I calls you. It’s only the way I has of talkin’. We don’t see many ladies in these parts, not counting Eskimo ladies. Sorry to you, Peter, or whatever your name is. I meant no harm to the Eskimos. They’re the finest friends I got. Might say the only friends. Now, then, what the devil is all this about coming down Big River? Where did you really come from, and how?”
Josh relapsed into temporary silence as Jamie told the story of the trip through the Barrens. The big man grew more and more interested, leaning forward in his chair until he was almost falling off the edge of it. “You don’t say?” he would bellow at intervals, but he let Jamie continue until the tale was told.
“So that’s the way of it? Well, me sons, ye came to the right place. Macnair in trouble? And the Mounties after you younkers? Ha! We’ll see about all that. And them Viking things? I’d like to cast me eyes on them if I might. Now then, you younkers. I figured on sailing for Churchill day after tomorrow. That good enough for ye? We’ll make the run in two days, weather willing. Once we makes Churchill I’ll get on the telegraph. We’ll find out about Angus right smart—that we will. And if needs be I’ll go along of ye to The Pas. Time I had a holiday in the bright lights anyway. By the living blank-blank-blank there ain’t nobody will lay a hand on ye if Josh Fudge is standing nigh!”
He paused as he saw that he was losing his audience. The excitement of their overwhelming welcome at Josh Fudge’s, together with the warmth of the room and the relief of knowing that their lonely voyage was at an end, had combined to render the travelers unbearably sleepy. Josh understood.
“Best haul down the sails for now, I reckons. Time for the watch below. Off with the lot of ye. There’s two bedrooms. Yes, and even sheets on one of the beds. That’ll be for the young lady. The rest of ye can bunk together. Git, now! I’ll see to yere gear.”
The stain of the voyage down Big River was at an end, and the uncertainty about how they would get to Churchill was resolved. The boys and Angeline now had nothing to do but take things easy, eat, sleep, and satisfy their curiosity about their host.
Josh was a magnificent cook. The table was always heaped with fresh bread, doughnuts, great roasts of meat, potatoes, apple pies, stewed fruit and cookies. He never stopped talking, and he was full of yarns about his own experiences.
He told them how he had
first come north as an apprentice with the Hudson Bay Company, but had tired of hard work for little pay and had gone off trapping on his own. During his thirty years in the arctic he had wandered all the way from Baffin Island to Alaska, amassing a not inconsiderable fortune in the process. Ten years earlier he had decided to settle down at the mouth of Big River, and here he had built his elaborate house which was now a legend for comfort all through the north. He did not work too hard any more, contenting himself with running a few traplines for white fox on the lower reaches of Big River. More or less by accident he had also become the trader for the Big River Eskimos, who found it difficult to make the long journey south to Churchill even in their big sea-going canoes. So Josh took their furs and supplied them with their needs, but he ran the trading business almost at cost—making little or no profit on it. It was a service which he rendered to the Eskimos. In the summer months he and some of his particular friends amongst the Eskimo men took his schooner, the Arctica, on exploring and hunting voyages along the coasts of Hudson Bay. The previous year they had been as far north as Southampton Island, hunting walrus for winter dog food.
His stories fascinated all his visitors, but Peetyuk was particularly interested. The first sight of the sea seemed to have affected him like a fever. He could not hear enough about it and he was constantly pestering Josh to tell him more.
The day after their arrival Josh took the young people out to see his vessel. She was a fifty-foot Newfoundland schooner. In addition to her sails she was fitted with a powerful diesel engine. She had been specially built for ice navigation and was double-sheathed with iron-hard greenheart planking. She had a roomy main cabin with a good galley in it, a saloon table and bunks for four, and up in her bows was a forepeak cabin with four more bunks.
