Chapter Four
Of all the Northern Indians who visit the Fort to trade, in Magnus Norton’s considered opinion, Datsanthi is the best by far.
The others are too standoffish and stuck in their ways.
They bring skins only if they need more powder and bullets, while the rest of the time they keep away and live as they always have, moving their tents from place to place like gypsies or vagrants.
If you explain to them patiently that trading skins is more profitable than hunting, that English beef and brandy taste better than deer meat and water, most will only laugh at you or shake their heads and look perplexed.
But Datsanthi is of a different kind; he’s open to reason, he listens, and he learns.
Norton has more than once had long conversations with him in the trading room, and instead of begging for more gifts or complaining about something or other, like the visiting Indians usually do, Datsanthi asks questions about the Company.
He wants to know how and when it arose, and who serves it and why.
He doesn’t grasp every detail—how could he?
—but he understands enough. He senses, at least, the Company’s power and realizes that the vagabond way of life that seems to his friends eternal and immutable will soon be swept aside.
That’s why he tries to make himself pleasant, Norton thinks, and why he accepts what bargains we offer—because he’s wise enough to understand that the verdict has already been passed, and that what may seem like a contest between our way and theirs, between a bright future and an ignorant and barbarous past, is, in truth, no contest at all.
After Patterson’s visit has ended, Norton sends two of the home guard Indians out into the woods to look for Datsanthi’s band.
One evening at dusk some three weeks later, they arrive back together in a caravan, the two home guard Cree leading the way and Datsanthi and twenty or twenty-five others following after.
They set up camp near the east wall, and John Shaw goes out to bid them welcome.
He and Datsanthi and several of Datsanthi’s lieutenants exchange greetings and smoke the calumet together and then Shaw, when he judges the time is right, invites Datsanthi to come inside the Fort to speak with the chief factor and listen to their proposal.
The fire in the trading room has been lit well in advance and trays of food and drink laid out so all is pleasant and commodious.
Magnus Norton, who after fifty years trading on the Bay is fluent in the Indian languages and renowned for his powers of persuasion, begins the conversation by flattering his visitor in the usual ways—praising his great wisdom and courage, noting his famous skills as a hunter, and marveling at his ability to keep his family and followers well-fed, strong, and healthy.
Datsanthi, a lean, square-shouldered man with a long nose, thin down-turned lips, and a cryptical expression, half dubious and half amused, accepts the compliments calmly as his due and replies in kind, noting how Norton has always treated him like a brother with generosity and respect, never lying or misleading him in any way but always being truthful and fair.
After this first exchange, since they have not spoken for almost a year, they discuss the state of the beaver and the caribou and whether since they last met the hunting has been easy or hard.
It is only after an hour has passed in this fashion that Norton mentions calmly and with no undue emphasis, as if it is just another piece of interesting intelligence, that they are intending to send a party north up onto the Barren Grounds to a place called Ox Lake and will be seeking a knowledgeable guide to lead them there.
Datsanthi shows no special interest or surprise when he hears this news. The Esquimaux, he tells Norton, are a savage and dangerous people, and to travel that far north is always a risky business.
“I understand that, of course,” Norton says. “Which is why whoever guides us will be well rewarded for their cleverness and bravery.”
“There are no beavers out on the Barren Grounds,” Datsanthi points out. “And no marten there either. So why would you want to travel so far?”
“Not for the furs,” Norton says. “For something more important.”
Datsanthi looks surprised and says that he thought for the English there was nothing more important than furs.
Norton agrees. “There’s not much, but there is one thing. Look at this.”
He reaches into the sack lying by his feet and takes out the rock that Patterson gave him. He leans forward and holds it up close to the oil lamp so Datsanthi can more easily see the broad white band of quartz and the two yellow lines running through it.
“It’s a metal like copper,” Norton explains, “but better than copper, much better.”
Datsanthi takes the rock and looks at it for himself.
“Is this metal better than iron too?” he says.
“Yes, much better than iron.”
“So you can make guns with it?”
“Not guns.”
“Cooking pots? Knives?”
Norton shakes his head, then holds out his right hand and points to the ring on his middle finger.
“This ring is made of gold,” he says. “And it’s worth fifty beaver skins at least.”
Datsanthi looks at Norton’s ring and then looks back at the rock.
“I wouldn’t give you fifty beavers for that little ring,” he says. “I wouldn’t even give you ten.”
Norton shakes his head and laughs.
“Gold is different from the other metals, Captain,” he says. “It’s valued not for its strength but for its beauty and its rarity.”
“But what is it used for?”
“For exchange. In England, if I want to buy a new musket, or if I want to buy a house or farm, I don’t bring furs or hides to market, I bring gold.”
“People in England will give you a musket if you offer them this?”
“Yes, they will give you two or three muskets if you offer them enough, and then when they have the gold, they can take it away and buy something different. Whatever it is they want. Gold is what we call money at home,” he says, “and money means you can buy and sell without the trouble of carrying your goods about with you. It’s a great convenience. ”
“So a piece of gold is like an amulet,” Datsanthi says.
“Amulets are made of nothing much, of trash, really—old teeth, pieces of fish bone or hair—but everyone believes they’re precious because the wizards say they are.
A good strong amulet can be traded for meat, hide, or tobacco. I’ve seen that done before.”
Norton frowns and shakes his head.
“No, that’s not right,” he says. “You don’t understand me at all. An amulet is just gobbledegook and superstition, but gold is real. Gold is the most real thing there is.”
Datsanthi’s expression stiffens and Norton realizes that he has spoken too bluntly and so caused some offense.
“Good friends like us mustn’t disagree,” he says in a more soothing tone. “Please excuse my rough words.”
Datsanthi, for the sake of his dignity, allows a few moments to pass in silence before replying.
“There is no need to be sorry. Every tribe has its own strange beliefs, and this one is yours. So now I understand you a little better than I did before.”
Norton would like to insist that rather than gold’s value being a belief it is a fact, clear and provable, but he is much too wise in the ways of the Indians to risk speaking his mind a second time so soon.
What matters most, he knows, is persuading Datsanthi to guide the expedition safely to Ox Lake, and whether he adequately understands the point of their journey is really neither here nor there.
He may be bright compared to all the others, Norton reminds himself, but that doesn’t mean he can ever be expected to think or reason just as we do.
“The better we two understand each other, the deeper our friendship will grow,” Norton says, smiling again and offering a plate of prunes and biscuits. “I’m sure of that.”
Datsanthi accepts the food with a nod and sits for a while in silence, slowly chewing.
There are muffled shouts and crashes from the workmen outside in the courtyard unloading wood and then the sharp scrape and whinny of a horse.
Above the stove, the hard blue ice on the roof beams is melting from the heat, and drops of water are hissing and turning to steam as they strike against the red-hot iron.
“Ox Lake isn’t a place we visit,” Datsanthi says. “I’ve only been there once, a summer many years ago when the deer were hard to find.”
“But you remember the way? You could lead a party there if you wished to?”
“It’s easy enough to find. Two or three days north of the White River crossing.”
“I’ll reward you well. Whatever you require.”
Datsanthi nods and then blinks and yawns, shakes his head, and looks away as if he’s already begun to lose interest in this new idea.
Now he’s starting to toy with my affections, Norton thinks.
I’ve seen it before. It looks like gifts and sweet words alone might not be enough to land him, but if I can appeal to his pride instead, then he might feel too ashamed or too provoked to refuse.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of the Esquimaux?” Norton asks suddenly, as if the thought has just struck him. “Women and boys may fear them, I know, but a brave man like you is surely too wise to believe the stories they tell.”
“They can kill you with their curses.”
Norton rolls his eyes.
“I’ve seen an Esquimaux or two brought down here from Marble Island, and compared to you they look like little children. How much power can their feeble curses really have?”
Datsanthi lets the question hang. He eats the last of the prunes from the metal tray, then wipes his hands on his deerskin britches and drinks a cup of water.
“That’s not my only problem,” he says. “Food will be hard to find on the Barrens so early in the year. Most of the deer will still be living down in the woods. We might starve.”
“Oh, I doubt you’ll starve,” Norton says lightly. “Or even go hungry for long, a great hunter like you. But if the task is really beyond your powers, I can ask someone else. Last time your cousin Keelshies visited us here, he offered to help me in any way he could.”
This is quite untrue—Keelshies, who is brutish and truculent, would never make such an offer—but Norton knows from whispers that Datsanthi and Keelshies are rivals and hopes that the thought of his enemy becoming a Company favorite instead of him might provoke jealousy in Datsanthi and revive his flagging interest.
“Keelshies would only get you lost.”
“He says he’s the best guide about and the best hunter too. Much better than you are.”
“That just proves he’s a liar.”
Norton shrugs and spreads his hands helplessly wide as if to say, How can I, a simple Englishman, possibly decide between the two of you? In response, Datsanthi narrows his eyes and looks annoyed, which Norton interprets as a promising sign.
“Keelshies shouldn’t be trusted,” he says. “I warned you before.”
“He brings me good furs, so I can hardly turn him away.”
Now is the moment to hold my nerve, Norton thinks. Let him imagine I don’t care much either way. He smiles at Datsanthi again and gets another sour look in response.
“Very well,” Datsanthi says. “For the sake of our friendship, I’ll take your party north. But we’ll need powder and lead and tobacco for the journey. Plenty of everything.”
“Of course,” Norton says. “Of course. Plenty of powder, lead, tobacco, and brandy too. Whatever you require. And I won’t forget your loyalty, Captain, I promise. In future, if you are ever suffering or in need, you can bring your people here and we will help and protect you.”
“What will you protect us from?”
“From all your troubles, of course. The life you Indians lead here is much too hard, Captain. We can make things so much easier if you’ll only let us.”