but she had to tell her something. If she wasn’t truthful, Oobata would know. “I was thinking about the winter feasts, Oobata. I was distracted and didn’t work as hard as I should have in the woods today ...”
Just then Mishbee was interrupted. Her father flew into camp, breathless and agitated. He was a respected hunter and an elder in their small coastal hunting group. Although Mishbee was thankful that she didn’t have to finish her story, it was obvious that something was terribly wrong. The women, the few children, and all the men instinctively gathered around Mishbee’s father. The group felt terror settle over them, and everything seemed to go suddenly still. When Mishbee’s father caught his breath enough to speak, he told them what he had seen. “When I was in the woods, I spotted settlers hunting in the bush just east of our encampment.”
Mishbee gulped. Her father had seen John! This man who had loved and protected her all her life had seen her secret. But that couldn’t be. Obviously, her father hadn’t seen her speaking to John or he would have said something to her by now.
Mishbee’s father continued his story. “At least two of them had muskets. Our land is being taken once again. The aichmudyim has returned! We’re no longer safe here. The council must meet. We must hurry.” Mishbee’s father spoke of the white men as the devil.
In the summer the tribe broke up into small hunting groups of a dozen and a half or so people. But even so a small council was formed to be consulted with before the group made a decision. This was an emergency and there was no time to waste.
With memories of the death of Mishbee’s cousin still fresh in their minds, the council people didn’t take long to decide to move the camp the next morning. The thunderous noise of the musket, the death, the ceremony, the ochre, the birchbark, all of it was etched into their memories as if it happened yesterday. They didn’t want anything to do with the settlers.
Mishbee crawled into her sleeping nook beside Oobata. The smoke-filled wigwam provided light protection from the summer weather. She curled up in her spruce boughs, but it was useless. That night sleep wasn’t restful for Mishbee. Visions of the settler boy haunted her weary mind. Every time she reached the brink of sleep, she jerked awake as if she were once again staring into the barrel of his musket. She could never tell her father what had happened today. He would never forgive her carelessness. He had loved his nephew as if he were his own son. The grief was too fresh in his mind.
Early the next morning the group gathered up the few tools, skins, and food in order to abandon their campsite. Mishbee hated to leave, but she was used to this nomadic way of life. Every season they followed their food supply.
“You had an uneasy sleep,” Oobata said. “It was as if something were frightening you awake every hour.”
“I’m worried about the settlers,” Mishbee answered truthfully.
Every summer they came to the coast to hunt birds and fish and gather eggs. But the coast was quickly becoming dotted with the settlers’ communities, making it more difficult for Mishbee’s people to access their coastal lifeline.
After everything was packed, Mishbee’s people huddled together with all their earthly possessions to plan their trip. “I saw them inland a little to the east,” Mishbee’s father said. “We should head west.”
The elders of the tiny council agreed, and the group decided to move westward along the coast. It was still too early to go inland where they lived during the winter, and hopefully there wasn’t a new settlement of the foreigners to the west.
The wigwams were left behind, but they would build new ones. The group headed down to the water and into their large canoes. Mishbee remembered watching her father and mother make their canoe. The Beothuks’ canoes were quite different from the settlers’ boats. They were long and had high, curved fronts and backs to protect their occupants from the ocean spray. The canoes didn’t have flat bottoms. Instead the two sides came straight up from the centre, giving the vessels a lot of depth for the unpredictable ocean waters. Rocks were placed in the centre to provide balance and moss was used to provide comfortable upholstery.
To make a canoe, Mishbee’s father stripped sheets of birchbark from the trees, and her mother sewed the pieces together to form a single sheet. Later the birchbark sheet was put on the ground and a piece of spruce was placed in the centre to form a frame. The bark had to be folded to make the sides of the canoe. Then her father strengthened the vessel with tapered poles of spruce, which her mother latched to the bark with split spruce roots. Finally, her father put crossbars in the middle to hold the canoe sides open. Mishbee recalled helping to waterproof the boat with a thick coating of heated tree gum, charcoal, and red ochre.
Now this canoe would save their lives. A half-dozen people climbed into her family’s canoe. The women and children huddled in the middle where the sides extended much wider and higher than the rest of the vessel.
“I haven’t forgotten what we talked about yesterday,” Oobata said quietly into Mishbee’s ear.
Mishbee wished that Oobata would forget.
The canoes and paddlers were efficient. Mishbee loved and feared the ocean all at the same time. It gave them food and travel, but it could also be angry and unpredictable. A great monster lived in the sea, and it was important to respect and not disturb that creature.
Travel was easy today, and they found a suitable site about an hour later in a quiet inlet. After unloading, they quickly busied themselves by building the cone-shaped summer wigwams.
A few of the younger women started digging out a round pit, slightly lower than ground level. The centre of this structure would become the fireplace. The men quickly cut down and gathered birch trees for the frame of the wigwam. Mishbee loved to latch these birch poles together. Many found it difficult, but it was one of her special talents. She was pleased as she worked skilfully and quickly. Oobata helped her, but she wasn’t as good as Mishbee. As the two sisters worked, Mishbee’s father cut birch trees and her mother attended the fire.
Oobata seized this quiet moment for conversation. “Mishbee, you can’t keep secrets from me. The spirits won’t allow it. I’m your only sister! You have to tell me what happened yesterday.”
“Won’t you give up, Oobata?”
“No, I won’t. Not until you tell me your secret.”
Mishbee continued to latch the poles together. Their conversation stopped abruptly when Dematith returned with yet another pole. Impatiently, they waited for him to leave.
Mishbee glanced around to see if anyone was close. “Oobata, the spirits want me to be quiet,” she hissed.
“I was right. Something did happen. Tell me, tell me!”
“No, Oobata, I can’t. As I said before, the spirits want me to be quiet.”
Oobata reflected for a long moment, then sighed. “If the spirits want you to be quiet, you must do as they say.”
“Thank you, Oobata,” Mishbee said, relieved.
“Let’s go get more birchbark.”
The two set out to gather layers of birchbark to tile over the wigwam. This natural shingling would protect them from the weather. Mishbee looked around as they walked about their new camp collecting bark. The rocky coastline was very rugged, and the icy ocean melted into an ominous grey sky.
When
