Chapter Fifteen
The strange, almost mystical nature of his recovery has convinced John Shaw that, despite the loss of his hand and forearm, their mission is fated to succeed whatever new obstacles they may encounter on the way.
He speaks often now, Hearn has noticed, as if the gold they are looking for is a living, conscious being, like a mighty monarch or a pagan god, able to bestow or withhold its favors at will, and Abel Walker, swept up in the excitement, joins in, parroting such prophecies as if they were his own.
When he hears them talking in this wild fashion, Hearn is tempted to explain that gold is just another kind of metal, that it has no special will or character of its own, and no powers of acceptance or refusal either, but he can see that they are much too attached to their fancies to be diverted by the influence of mere reason, so he gauges it better, as usual, to keep such heterodox opinions to himself.
They understand that the sudden arrival of a group of strangers is likely to make the resident Esquimaux nervous, so Shaw and Hearn agree that in the morning the two of them will venture out alone to find the Ox Lake band and, after carefully explaining their purposes and offering suitable gifts, ask for their assistance in discovering the source of the gold.
As it is, though, to everyone’s surprise, on that very first evening, as they are settling in and making ready for supper, Keasik looks up from tending the fire and sees, on the brow of a rise about a hundred yards from the campfire, a lean, dark figure looking back at her.
She yells out and points, and Nabayah and Datsanthi, turning around and seeing the man, grab for their muskets as if they are under attack.
John Shaw, once he realizes what is happening, shouts at them to keep calm and lower their weapons.
“At ease, you two,” he says. “We’re not at war. It’s just a friendly fellow come out to say hello.”
Once the Indians have settled, he takes his spyglass from its leather case, peers for a minute at the distant stranger, then snaps it shut and turns to Hearn.
“He’s all alone, so there’s no cause for concern. How about you and I run up there now and introduce ourselves.”
“He’ll have seen the Indians already, I expect, so we need to be careful not to scare him away,” Hearn says. “It might be less threatening if I go up alone.”
“As you wish, but you be sure to smile and be polite and let him know we have plenty of gifts to give out if only they help us.”
Hearn takes out a small metal file from their case of trade goods and puts it in his pocket, then, after reminding the others to keep quiet and stay where they are, he starts up the rise toward where the stranger is still standing looking down.
In the summers at Churchill, when they venture north to Whale Cove and Marble Island in the sloop, the esquimaux men come out in their kayaks to greet the ship’s arrival, shouting and laughing merrily and singing songs of welcome, but here he knows it will be quite different.
The inland tribes have never traded with the Company before, and they see the Northern Indians as their mortal enemies, so he must be cautious in trying to win their trust and careful not to alarm them or inspire any fear.
As he gets closer, he sees that their visitor is tall and thin with shaggy dark hair, a long chin, and narrow eyes set close together.
He’s clad in a shabby deerskin suit and is holding in one hand a crude-looking bow made of bones.
Hearn, after pausing for a moment, moves toward him more slowly with his arms raised in the air so as not to provoke unease, and when he’s close enough to be easily heard, he calls out in the Esquimaux language the words for friend and European, then takes the file from his pocket, holds it up, and shouts the word for gift.
After a short while, the Esquimaux steps forward cautiously, takes the file from Hearn’s hand, then steps away again.
He looks at it carefully, sniffs it once or twice, then rubs its ridged surface with his fingertip and touches it to his tongue.
He has a wispy mustache on his upper lip and a few faint lines around his eyes.
He’s not a boy anymore, Hearn thinks, but even so, there is something youthful and carefree, even childlike, in the way he looks and moves.
“My name is Hearn,” he says, pressing his right hand flat against his chest. “What is your name?”
The man looks back at him, curious and unafraid, but takes no notice of the question.
“You sound strange,” he says. “Who taught you how to speak like that, and where do you come from?”
“I come from below,” Hearn says. “A long way from here. I know your brothers who live on the coast. The fish eaters. They’re good friends of mine.”
“Do you give the fish eaters pieces of metal like this?”
“Yes, if they help us, we give them gifts. Or if they have sealskins or whale oil to trade.”
The Esquimaux looks at the file again, then rubs the edge of it slowly across his open palm. Hearn can see that he is fascinated, almost entranced, and wonders if this is the first piece of metal he has ever seen or touched.
“We don’t have any whale oil or sealskins up here,” the man says lightly. “We only hunt the deer and musk oxen.”
“I know that.”
“Then why did you come so far?”
“We’re looking for something here. If you follow me down to the camp, I’ll tell you more.”
The Esquimaux laughs at this idea and shakes his head.
“If I go down there, the Indians will try to kill me.”
“The Indians are our servants,” Hearn explains. “They’ll only do what we say, so you have nothing to fear from them. Nothing at all.”
“That’s your story, but why should I believe you? Everyone knows the Indians are devils, and you travel with them, so maybe you’re a devil too.”
He grins slyly and, despite their slanderous meaning, speaks the words in such a light and cheerful tone that Hearn, rather than objecting or taking offense at this suggestion, as another man might, finds himself, without quite knowing why, smiling back.
“I still don’t know your name,” he says.
“My name is Hekwaw. My father is Owliktuk, the chief of our village.”
“If your father is chief, then you are an important man too and it’s an honor to meet you.”
Hekwaw shrugs as if he finds such empty speechifying tedious and then peers over Hearn’s shoulder at the camp down below.
“A few Indians cross the White River each summer to hunt deer,” he says. “But they never arrive so early in the year as this. When I tell my father I met you here, he will think you mean us some harm.”
“Give your father that gift and tell him we’re friends and we need his help.”
“He won’t take my word for something so important. You must speak to him yourself and explain. You can come to the village tomorrow, but don’t bring any of the Indians. I won’t promise he’ll agree to help—my father isn’t fond of strangers as a rule; he thinks they bring bad luck—but you can try.”
“We’re not here to cause you any trouble. You have my word on that.”
Hekwaw laughs again.
“I’m not scared of you at all. You don’t look frightening to me, but I’m not the one who decides. I’m cheerful and friendly, but my father is fierce. You’ll see.”
“Not too fierce, I hope.”
“You’ll see what he’s like when you meet him,” Hekwaw says again, still laughing as he turns to leave. “You’ll see him tomorrow and then you’ll understand.”
The esquimaux village consists of four large, lopsided shanties built of weather-blackened deer hides and lengths of driftwood pulled out from the White River and lashed into poles.
The shanties form a clumsy quadrant set back from the edge of the still-frozen lake, and the snow-patched agora in between is cluttered with smoking racks, broken fish traps, bundles of black moss and kindling, and here and there, as evidence of their long habitation, head-high piles of whitened moose, ox, and deer bone.
As Hearn and Shaw approach, a pair of children with broad seraphic faces, ink-black eyes, and sawn-off hair as dark and thick as horses’ manes run out to greet them and are immediately pursued and dragged back to safety by their frightened mother.
Alerted by the children’s happy shrieking, a group of five or six men who were crouching together in a ring rise up and turn toward the new arrivals.
Hearn, recognizing Hekwaw among this group, shouts out and raises his hand in greeting. But Hekwaw makes no reply.
“Yonder graybeard standing in the center must be the chieftain,” John Shaw says to Hearn when they are close enough to begin the parlay. “You talk to him first and tell him what we’re about.”
The man that Shaw is pointing to is short and squat with the wide neck and thick sloping shoulders of a drayman or a fairground pugilist. His hair, held back from his face by a narrow leather band, is lank and gray, and the years have scored deep lines, like harrow marks, into his weathered cheeks and brow.
Yet despite these signs of age, he still gives off an air of silent strength and certitude.
Before Hearn has a chance to offer any form of greeting, the man steps forward and announces that, as Shaw suspected, he is the chief, Owliktuk, and that his son, Hekwaw, has warned him of their visit.
“We welcome all those who come here in friendship,” he says. “But know that any who mean us harm will suffer for it.”
Hearn replies that they come in peace, as friends, and then, as agreed with Shaw in advance, offers the chief a short-bladed knife as proof of their good intentions. Owliktuk takes the knife, looks at it for a moment with real or apparent indifference, then hands it to Hekwaw.
“Your gifts are generous,” Owliktuk says, “but what purpose do they serve?”
“He wants to know why we’re here,” Hearn explains to Shaw. “He’s not wasting time on any chitchat.”
“Well, good for him,” Shaw says. “It’s a simple exchange, after all. We give them some pieces of our iron and they show us where the gold is hiding. No need for any great palaver.”
Shaw shrugs the leather satchel off his shoulder and lowers it to the ground and then reaches down, takes out the pedlar’s rock, and hands it to Owliktuk.
“This special stone is what we’re looking for,” Hearn says, pointing out the two thin lines of gold. “An Indian found it close by here and we need to know the place.”
Owliktuk appears puzzled at first. Then, when Hearn explains that in their country the yellow stone is precious and if there is any more lying in the ground they wish to dig it up and carry it away with them, he nods and calls the other men closer.
They pass the rock around between them and whisper together for several minutes.
Then Owliktuk turns back to Hearn and explains that none of them have ever seen this kind of stone before and if the Indian told them it came from Ox Lake, then he must have been lying.
“The Indians should never be trusted,” he says. “You’ve walked a long way for no reason.”
“We believe he was telling us the truth,” Hearn says. “Please look and think again.”
Owliktuk shakes his head and gives the rock back to Shaw, who frowns and asks Hearn what’s going on.
“They insist they’ve never seen anything like it before. He says the Indian who gave it to the pedlar must have been lying.”
“They want more iron, that’s all. Show him this and watch how quickly he changes his mind.” He takes another knife from the satchel and gives it to Hearn. “Tell him there are plenty more like that to come when they lead us to the gold.”
“Perhaps you’ve forgotten something,” Hearn says to Owliktuk. “Perhaps tomorrow, if we come here again with more fine gifts like this, you will remember where it is.”
Hearn holds out the knife, but Owliktuk refuses to touch it.
“I’m old,” he says, “not stupid. My memory is as good as yours.”
“Why doesn’t he take the knife?” Shaw asks. “What’s wrong with him now?”
“He insists they can’t help us,” Hearn says. “And he’s offended that I don’t believe him.”
Shaw stares at Owliktuk belligerently for a moment, then looks away again.
“What about the others?” he says. “If the chieftain won’t lend us a hand, perhaps one of his henchmen will oblige.”
Shaw grabs the knife from Hearn and, stepping forward, offers it to Hekwaw, who takes it with a gleeful smile, then looks across at his father and quickly gives it back. When Shaw tries to offer it a second time, Owliktuk shouts at him to stop.
“Your crippled friend should show us more respect,” Owliktuk says to Hearn. “I’m the chieftain here, not him.”
“What’s the old fool saying now?”
“He thinks we should leave,” Hearn says, “and I agree. We’ve asked our question and heard their answer and there’s nothing more to be gained from arguing about it.”
Shaw curses, scowls, then scratches his bandaged stump and looks out across the lake’s frozen surface to the dark lateral blur of the opposing shoreline.
“I can smell that vein of gold, so I know it’s close, and if these Esquimaux won’t help I’ll find it on my own. You watch.”
“The lake is fifteen miles or more around,” Hearn reminds him. “We could waste all summer looking.”
“I’ll find it,” Shaw says again as he puts the pedlar’s rock back into his satchel and hoists the strap over his head with his right hand. “If it takes me a day, or a year. I already gave up an arm, so I’m not about to be knocked from my course by the naysaying of a crew of faithless savages.”
Having exchanged a few curt farewells, they leave the village behind and start walking back the way they came along a narrow, crooked pathway that rises up to the moorland from the water’s stony edge.
On the way, they pass a sleeping dog, a staring child, and a silent old woman bent nearly double under a bundle of firewood.
Shaw rants and rages against the ignorance of the Esquimaux, and Hearn listens because he has to but takes no notice.
After so many months of the deputy’s blusterous company, Hearn’s initial indifference concerning the success of their expedition has turned, gradually but steadily, into a firm, if still secret, hope that it will fail.
Although he dares not say so yet, he is more pleased than displeased by Owliktuk’s refusal, because he wants Shaw, who thinks himself so mighty and unstoppable, to be dealt a blow.
Let him be disappointed, he thinks. Let him be amazed.
Let him learn, as I have had to learn, that the world is a careless and accidental place, and that however cleverly we may scheme or plot, what we wish for is rarely ever what we get.