The Last Beothuk

by Gary Collins

  A cloud smeared across the sky. Its long, grey shadow scudded over the ice floe and fell upon the seals. They raised their heads as one, casting around them, their huge black eyes rolling warily. Then the shadow fled down the ice. The bright sun returned, lulling the seals back to basking in its warmth. The huge white bear knew its best chance had come, and in a flashing blur of white, its four padded feet propelled it over the ice.

  The consummate hunter, the bear’s focus was not on all of the seals but on just one, the nearest to him. It was also the fattest one in the group. Less than a dozen strides, with its black nose flaring and its head lowered to the ice, was all it needed to reach its prey. The seal caught the scent of danger and screeched in alarm. It was enough to warn the other seals, but it was the last sound it would ever make.

  The bear attacked in a full, relentless, deadly fury. Its left front paw rendered the seal immobile with just one powerful blow just below the head. It followed the vicious strike with a cough-like snarl muffled by a mouthful of seal fur. Just for an instant its jaws opened to reveal a thick, black tongue slavering between long, white canines. The vise-like jaws closed over the struggling seal’s neck. Dark red blood from the doomed animal poured out of the bear’s mouth. The other seals clawed frantically over the ice for escape. Mewling and bleating like fox kits, they reached the water hole, into which they plunged head first with a loud, clumsy splash and disappeared.

  From behind their ice blind, Kop and Buka stared in fascination. They had just witnessed how the greatest hunter of all killed its prey. Kop was shivering as much in fear as with excitement. They were close enough to hear the suck of air escape the seal as the bear’s bloodstained teeth vented its chest. Buka was shaking, too, but not in fear. The hunting lust was coursing through his very soul. He meant to kill the bear and signalled Kop his intent. Kop tried to dissuade him but knew it was no use.

  The bear dropped the dead seal at its feet. Standing up on its two hind feet, it looked all around, claiming the kill as his alone. The ice was bloodstained, as were the bear’s neck and chest. Its upper and lower jaws were covered in blood. The bear sat down on its hind legs and licked slowly at the blood on its paws, relishing the taste of it. It stood once more, this time on all four legs, and gave a furtive look around. It was hungry and eager to eat.

  When the bear turned its back, Buka half stood above the ice hummock. Aiming for the sweet death spot just behind the bear’s right front shoulder, with his long arrow nocked and drawn with its feathered fletch to the edge of his chin, he let loose the first one. Kop held two more arrows in readiness. Buka snatched another arrow from him and, with one fluent motion, nocked and drew back the bow and fluted the second arrow into the same wound made by the first.

  The bear turned in surprise. There was no blood on its white fur. While it pawed at the arrows buried deep in its side, another sank in, just as deep, between the other two. The bear surged to its feet, and blood began pouring out of the wound. It clawed at the arrows and broke all three shafts. Now the wound was spurting blood all over the bear’s white hide. A roar of pain and fury, along with seal fat and blood, escaped its open maw. Then the great bear’s cry was muffled into a frothy cough by a surge of bloody bubbles erupting from its throat. It was then Bukashaman leaped from the ice blind with his long, black-tipped spear held high. His face was frozen into a fearless smile. His strong white teeth flashed defiantly. The frothy blood bubbles meant the arrows had ruptured the great bear’s lungs. It was a sure death shot. Already the animal was weakening and faltering. Buka released a cry of victory that was fierce and beautiful to hear. And with his spear readied, and yelling all the more, he sped in a zigzag run over the ice pans. His long, black hair streamed back over his shoulders as he ran toward the roaring beast, which now gasped for breath and had red strings of blood pouring from its jaws.

  Kop sprang into motion. A cry of triumph erupted from his throat. He was caught up in the hunting fever and the thrill of the successful hunt. The bear’s great roars and Buka’s yells split the icy air. Shivers raced down Kop’s spine. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Never had he seen such a sight! It was as if the endless blue sky and the great white plain had ceased all of their daily functions to witness this greatest of hunts.

  A seal appeared in the swatch of water. It raised itself high above the surface. Then, startled by the screams of man and bear, it sank below the surface without a sound. The great bear staggered and went down on all four feet. Its once magnificent white coat was spattered, more with its own blood than that of the seal it had killed.

  Buka, still yelling hysterically, neared the wounded animal. He crouched, his spear held horizontally, waist high, pointed at the terror-stricken bear. The beast raised itself to its full terrifying height as Buka approached. It had difficulty keeping on its hind feet. This was the most dangerous part of the hunt. The bear would die fighting. Buka stopped yelling his terrible war cry. He needed all his energy and breath for the risk he was taking. He knew it would all be over in an instant. Either he or the bear would die. He crept closer. The bear fell forward on its four feet, coughed up more blood, and snarled at the Beothuk. Its head was lowered, its ears pinned back. Its black nose sucked in air and blew out blood. Even its small black eyes looked rheumy and sick. Quickly losing strength, it forced its great weight upright again. The wound in its chest opened, and more blood poured out over its stained hide as it did. The bear shut its eyes in pure misery.

  And Buka attacked.

  He drove the spear beneath the flaring front paws, into the bleeding orifice. The bear roared in pain and swiped at its attacker. Though weakened by blood loss, if the bear’s blow had connected, the fight would have been over for Buka. The swipe was close enough for the bear to drag strands of hair from Buka’s head, but he was unharmed. He still held the butt of the spear in his hand. Another terrible, blood-curdling cry burst from his throat. At that moment he was a hunting animal as committed to the kill as was his adversary. And he knew no fear. Drunk with the adrenaline pumping through his body, he twisted the spear and thrust it deeper into the great bear’s chest. The bear lunged at Buka again with both front paws, but it was weaker now. Its eyes were glazed. It was losing the strength to live.

  Buka, buoyed by the thrill of the kill, jumped away from the animal. He danced and yelled and jumped around, just out of reach of the bear. Kop reached him, and both men cheered wildly as the bear fell on its haunches. Its breath was choked with blood. The great head fell on its proud, bloodied chest. Its massive body slumped over against an ice ledge, keeping it partly upright. The two black eyes opened. Both of its hind legs slowly stretched to their full length, and then slowly contracted back. One last breath gushed out of its mouth, and though the jaws gasped once for life, no breath went in. The great white hunter, with its once-pristine coat blood-spattered and torn, its eyes staring without seeing, was dead.

  9

  For three moonlit nights and four warm, sunny days, Kop had watched for a sign to lead his family to the place where their friends had been killed a full season ago. He had witnessed and even helped with the sacred painting of the bones of the dead before, but he had never taken control of such a ceremony. He was afraid to be in charge.

  Then, one late afternoon when the sea was calm, he spied a fish hawk hovering in the same spot, for the longest time, high above the water without diving. Curious, Kop walked toward the best of fish hunters. He was sure the hawk was looking at him and not down into the water. As he approached, the hawk moved away, still hovering, and Kop followed. Flying just offshore, the stoop of the hawk drew him on until he was standing on the point above the cove where Buka and the others had died. Hiding, he stared at the silent cove and the beach, where only blackened debris remained of the once proud Beothuk camp. He looked for the fish hawk. For a moment he thought it had gone. And then it appeared, directly adjacent the burnt remnants of the mamateeks, hovering withou
t diving as it had done before.

  As he watched, the proud osprey fell seaward, its loud screech piercing the silence of the cove as it fell, arrow straight, into the black water. Kop had never heard the fish hawk call as it dived before. The bird arose out of the sea, water shimmering from its battering wings, and hovered over the sight as before. Twice more the bird dived and arose out of the sea, just as magnificently, to the skies, where it continued to hover, its great hooked talons empty. Kop rose from his place of concealment and headed toward the beach. When he reached it, the fish hawk was nowhere to be seen. Kop had been given his sign.

  The sun was less than one hand above the sea where it would hide for the night. With the light of the rising moon, which had a similar shape to the beach, like a strung bow, Kop made his way back to his family. He told Tehonee he would return to the cove the next day to carry out the ceremony of the red clay. She and Kuise were to go with him. Tehonee snuggled close to her sleeping daughter. She would not share the robes of the hunter, who with the new day would enter into the spirit world.

  The next day, in the place they would forever call the cove of death, Kop prepared a sacred ceremony. He would not remove any bodies for burial rites or do any staining of bones before the remains were consecrated with their ancient ritual of smudging. He heated small red beach stones in a low fire before placing them into the hollow depression of a boulder up from the beach. Verdant, spiked leaves with earth-coloured undersides, soft as eider down, were tied together and placed on the rocks. With small reams of crushed birchbark under them, they were set alight. The green herbs smouldered without catching fire and produced a thick, blue smoke giving off a dense, pungent odour. Kop knelt and drew the smoke toward him with his open palms, as if washing his face with it. His eyes watered with the tang of the smoke. With his open palms he gently pushed the smoke in the direction of the rising sun and to where it would set.

  Tehonee and Kuise stood with heads bowed until Kop beckoned them to him. Without speaking, they knelt beside him, and Kop wafted smoke over and around them. Kuise coughed once and her eyes watered. She was quickly silenced by her mother. The green leaves blackened and smouldered. The smoke died away. Water poured out of Kop’s eyes, and he stood up. So strong was the smoke in his eyes, he staggered once. Tehonee gasped, knowing Kop had been recognized by the ancient spirits. They walked away from the place of smudging, not toward the blackened remains of the mamateek, where the dead lay, but into the forest.

  There in a small clearing, in a natural depression already chosen by Kop, where the rich soil was soft and surrounded by high trees soughing in the warm summer breeze, under Kop’s soft-spoken instructions they prepared a burial site for the bones of their friends. They walked in great reverence, having not yet entered the place of death. The leather thong which held Buka’s talisman of ice bear claws and teeth around his neck had been partially burnt. The fire, which had consumed the family of Beothuk, fed by the dry birchbark walls, died quickly after the bark had been burnt and the black poles had collapsed inward. All of the human remains lay slightly burnt but otherwise intact. Buka’s was the tallest of them all. Kop sighed with relief, knowing it was possible that the thunder sticks and blows from the Unwanted Ones had killed them, and not the dreaded fire.

  They were dressed in their finest buckskins and moccasins, and their faces shone bright with new red ochre. The trappings of the dead—clothing, personal belongings, tools and weapons, including their bones—were stained generously with the red stain of the sacred red earth. Kop himself stained Buka’s prized ice bear talisman before placing it over Buka’s neck bones. Then he remembered Buka’s missing spear.

  He left the burial ground with a brief explanation to his family. He returned to the same place he had hidden on the day of the massacre. There he focused his view and his memory on the place where Buka had exited the woods without his spear. He found it easily and entered the woods at the exact spot. Now he walked carefully, surveying the area with a discerning eye. Buka would not have carelessly thrown his spear among the bushes. He would have put it somewhere he could easily retrieve it. Nor would it be far into the woods, for Buka would have kept it in his hand as long as possible. Only his spirit vision had convinced him to talk peace with the Unwanted Ones.

  Kop shivered at the thought: Buka’s vision had been wrong. Then he saw the spear. It had lost all of its red colour. It was tucked under the spreading branches of a large tree. Without a keen eye, he would have taken it for another branch. But its shaft, smooth with use, had caught his attention. With the spear in his hand, he walked back to the burial ground where Tehonee and Kuise were waiting. They did not like being alone at such a sacred time. Kop smeared the spear with the precious red mixture.

  They carried the remains to the burial site and laid them in the graves. Tehonee wept. Kuise cried softly and was not chided for it. Kop laid Buka’s great spear by the bones of his right hand. When all was done to Kop’s liking, they covered the grounds with soil, stones, and boughs. Over it all they placed the sweet-scented branches from pine saplings, and without looking back, the three Beothuk left the burial ground.

  Walking out from the forest and standing on the beach above the cove, they all heard the screech of the fish hawk. At first no one could see the bird. Suddenly, it was there, hovering above the sea as before. As Kop and his family watched, the magnificent bird dropped out of the sky toward the sea, like a thrown spear. They watched, and just before the bird entered the water, its body turned, curved talons pointed down and its wings canted back over its sleek body, its feathers bristling with speed. It entered the water claws first with a great splash. Its wings battered. Water glistened with the sun as the hawk rose. The bird screamed in triumph, and Kop shivered visibly. The hawk’s cry was similar to Buka’s triumphant call. The hawk beat its way out of the sea on battering pinions, and gripped in its talons was a shiny salmon struggling for a life that was already gone.

  The family made their way north by the coast for weeks. They spent the last days of autumn in the largest of bays filled with islands, where a great river bled into the sea. Following that estuary, and guided by the schools of salmon which milled around that river mouth every year, they entered the forest to their winter hunting grounds beyond. It was an age-old route proven true and profitable for ages. They gathered as much fish, dried and smoked and packed in light birchbark containers, as they could carry with them. Even Kuise was expected to carry as much as she could. And in all of that time, as they worked their way north and then west into the huge estuary, they saw no one. Twice they approached campgrounds known to them, but the mamateeks there were unused. The firepits were cold, and the drying racks were bare of fish. It was very disturbing to Tehonee.

  “Where are the others, Kopituk? Why are they not here to glean from the mighty river the shiny salmon which the Great Spirit guides into our weirs?” They stood talking in the trees directly opposite another mamateek from which no welcoming smoke was rising.

  “I know not where they are, my woman. But this I know. They have been here! See at the base of the mamateek. There! One side of the hide door. Repairs have been made.” Kop’s eye had caught the bright new bark added to the structure.

  “Stay here and do not show yourself,” he ordered. And in a low crouch he crept over the green, untrodden grasses toward the mamateek. He carried his bow and a quiver of arrows slung across his shoulder, and in his hand was a pointed spear. Kop’s body was as tense as stone. He was afraid of what he would find inside the camp. He remembered all too well what he had witnessed in the lodge at the cove of death.

  He neared the door opening and crouched low, listening. He heard nothing from within. He knew he would not. There was no physical sign anywhere of the life he had hoped for. He noticed the tracks of field mice through the grass leading under the frame and into the camp. The birds above him chirped and twittered without fear. Shivering in anticipation, Kop pulled t
he hide door wide open. Light spilled inside, and after an eternity, he entered. With his hand trembling behind him, he kept the hide flap open. There was no one inside. His eyes soon adjusted to the wan light inside the cave-like shelter, and some of the tension left his body. It was obvious to Kop they had been here. New pine boughs had been added to the sleeping ledges. Rotting fish hung from a pole above the dead fire. The fish had been hung to be smoke-cured but had not been eaten. Nothing of any value was inside the camp, only a few tattered hides. The mamateek had been looted!

  Kop stepped outside. He had a bad feeling in his stomach. He called to Tehonee. She had been anxiously waiting and came running toward him. Kuise was by her side.

  “They were here, but only for a short time. The small sleek fish which come to the brooks in spring have been gathered and have rotted. Few have been eaten. Cowardly thieves have taken their belongings.” He reported this to Tehonee with downcast eyes.

  “Kopituk, tell me true this time. Are there bones inside to be buried?”

  “No, Tehonee. There is nothing inside, living or dead.”