Coppermine (30 page)

EDMONTON CITY COURTHOUSE
ALBERTA

Just after dawn at the pillared brick courthouse on 102nd Avenue, the crowd began to queue up for the trial of the Eskimo cannibals. An enterprising merchant selling peanuts and lemonade from a cart gave a carnival atmosphere to the gathering. The municipal police were on hand to keep order, stop queue jumpers, discourage pickpockets, and guide the line of spectators in an orderly fashion into the courtroom. They had to limit the overflowing numbers, leaving the disappointed and disgruntled outside. The officers chased young men and boys off the high outer windowsills and away from the crowded doorways. It was widely known the trial would be an event to see.

The courtroom was packed, with three rows of spectators standing at the back and some sitting up on the deep ledges of the banks of tall windows on both sides. The temperature rose with the sun, and although there were two brass electrical fans overhead in the high corniced ceiling to stir the hot, laden air, they offered little respite from the rapid rise in body heat.

Creed sat in the front row in his dress uniform, a dark blue tunic and light blue breeches with a gold stripe down the leg, his stetson on his lap. He looked up to the empty ornate leather chair behind the bench set high on the dais. Chief Justice Harvey had yet to arrive. He was referred to as
Ishumatok
(“the Thinker”) to the defendants by the interpreter Ilavinik, an older Copper Eskimo the defendants had never met, dressed in a baggy tweed suit and white shirt buttoned to the neck without a tie. This word caught on among the journalists. It was their first Inuktitut word. They tried it out on each other.

On the evidence table before Creed was Le Roux’s rusted .44 Winchester octagonal-barrelled rifle, a blood-encrusted cassock and a torn surplice, the damaged skull of Father Rouvière, a crucifix, a silver paten for serving the Eucharist, a bible, a weathered journal, and letters and pictures Creed had brought back.

Over to his right, facing the bench and the witness box, the jury of six—all Edmonton businessmen in expensive, conservative wool suits of brown and blue, long ties, one bow, one winged collar, three with pocket watches, three with watches on their wrists, Creed noticed—sat with expressions committed to the determined pursuit of justice. Creed recognized W.H. Martin, a city alderman, and Alfred F. Fugl, district manager of the Hudson’s Bay Company.

To the left, at the defence desk where most eyes in the courtroom were directed, sat the defendants, Sinnisiak and Uluksuk. They were dressed in their Native clothes: the brown caribou-skin summer shells, the necks trimmed with a strip of white fox. These had been fumigated and washed. Creed had argued that the defendants would roast in these clothes, but the prosecutor, C.C. McCaul, had insisted on “authentic garb” so the jury might see them as they were when they were arrested. McCaul was disappointed that their hair and beards had been closely cropped. As a concession to their sensitivity to the summer heat, beside each defendant was a small electric fan and a large tub of water containing big chunks of ice so, according to the court staff, they “will not be disoriented by their surroundings in the courtroom and can cool off.” Into these tubs they could dip their hands and feet as necessary. They both spoke with Angituk, who was beside them to offer translation, but they turned every once in a while to get a reassuring smile from Creed. Creed realized that in this strange world he and Angi were the only links between their past and their present.

Sinnisiak munched the little candies he had developed quite a fondness for and gazed around at the people. He leaned toward Uluksuk and whispered, “This is an impressive dance house. Look at these people. Are they all here for us?”

“I think so.”

“Who feeds them all?”

“Ishumatok.
Angituk says he’s the Best Hunter. Probably out hunting now. This must be his tribe.”

“There can’t be many caribou around here.”

“That’s probably why he’s late.”

“He would need eight or ten just to feed all of these people once!”

Sitting in the front row to Creed’s left were Bishop Breynat and an assisting priest, both of them in long black robes almost to the floor. The Bishop was a good-natured, energetic man who Creed was surprised to find had made several Arctic journeys, mostly along the Mackenzie. He and Jack had spoken of Father Rouvière. Breynat’s affection for the young priest was apparent and the grief at his passing intense.

Creed turned with one arm over the back of the bench to look around the courtroom. Nicole, who sat three rows behind, gave him a little wave and repressed a giddy smile and he smiled back. No question she was stunning. Radiant. He might be a fool, but his life was running on instinct now. He looked beyond her.

Cowperthwaite had briefed him about the surprising variety of attendees. There was a press section on the left rear side with earnest, note-taking journalists from across Canada and the United States, including the eager E.K. Mainprize from
The New York Times.
The
Edmonton Journal
had two reporters on the story. There were European representatives from the London
Times
and French- Canadians from
La Presse,
and a very unpopular but determined gentleman from the
Deutsche Zeitung.
No one knew why he hadn’t been detained. “Germans love Indians,” was all he would say. There were several professors and scholars of law from Osgoode Hall in Toronto and McGill University in Montreal, and, remarkably, the twelve postgraduate students from Harvard Law School brought to observe the trial by their famous mentor, Dr. Edwin Keedy. Finally, a small group of ethnologists had reserved seats, including New Zealander Diamond Jenness, one of the few white men in the world to have travelled and lived with the Copper Eskimos west of where Creed had been. He was writing a book on his travels. Creed had met him a few days before and shared some Arctic stories. They raised a hand to each other.

Prosecutor C.C. McCaul was a large, handsome man in his fifties with a thick moustache waxed and tweaked at the ends like exclamation marks. His long black robes added to his air of authority. McCaul had been a cowboy, a prospector, a businessman, and an explorer in his youth before turning to law at Osgoode Hall in Toronto. He had come back west, dabbled in politics, and settled into law, on the side of the Crown. Sitting motionless, turned in his chair to face the courtroom, his eyes half closed as if conserving his energies for the battle ahead, he exuded the complete confidence that a long, distinguished career afforded him. His powerful aura unsettled Creed. McCaul was renowned for his photographic memory and Creed noted that the table before him was bare of notes.

In contrast to McCaul, at the defence table to his left sat a thin man with a pronounced Adam’s apple and several piles of notes he shuffled nervously. He seemed lost in his black robes. James Wallbridge was the defence counsel for Sinnisiak and Uluksuk, and this was his first murder case. His long, bony nose and spectacles were downturned in contemplation of the notes before him.

Angituk sat beside Wallbridge as a secondary translator, to ensure “fair play” and to interpret for the two defendants. She was dressed in a dark, baggy man’s suit Mr. Ainsley had found her and a white shirt buttoned to the neck like the old translator Ilavinik. Creed watched her as she studied the people around her with a mixture of intimidation and excitement. An ache came over him again as he imagined the confident woman’s body under the man’s clothes. And when her blue eyes suddenly shifted to his with a tentative smile, there was no doubt—he was helplessly in love with the girl. But, he reminded himself, that would have to be put very carefully aside for now.

The private side door of the court opened. “All rise!” Justice Harvey seemed to float in his long black robes up the three steps to the chair high on the dais behind the bench.

“Court is in session!” announced the clerk.

“Let the charges be read,” the Justice instructed.

Mr. McCaul stood up. “Your Lordship, the Crown is proposing to try the two accused on the murder of Father Rouvière alone at this time.”

“I object!” The skinny, furtive Wallbridge was on his feet.

“Your indulgence, Mr. Wallbridge.” Justice Harvey registered his impatience. “Mr. McCaul, are you suggesting then a second trial for the murder of Father Le Roux? I am deeply concerned this will unduly lengthen the proceedings.”

“If I may explain, your Lordship, on the contrary, I hope to save time. This is owing to the fact that at the time of his murder Father Rouvière was unarmed and actually running away. We are confident of a conviction here and if we get the sentence we seek, the second trial will be unnecessary.”

The Bishop stood up. “I object! You are saying you will not try them for the murder of Father Le Roux?”

“No, Bishop Breynat. We will certainly try them if we have to. We are saying there is no use in trying … condemned men.”

A surly voice came from the rear of the courtroom. “Can’t hang ‘em twice!”

There was laughter and Harvey banged his gavel three times. “That’s enough of that! I’m warning you once: there will be no such outbursts in my courtroom or I promise you the penalty will be severe.”

The courtroom was silent.

“Good, then. Bishop Breynat, please sit down and, with respect, please don’t interrupt again. Mr. Wallbridge, I am overruling your objection. Clerk, read the new charges.”

Wallbridge sat down. Bishop Breynat was still troubled by the ruling but offered no further comments.

The clerk began: “Sinnisiak and Uluksuk, you stand charged that in November of 1913, at a place near Bloody Falls on the Coppermine River in the Northwestern Territories, you did murder one Kuleavik, alias Father Jean-Baptiste Rouvière, a Roman Catholic missionary.”

“How do you plead?” Harvey looked down at them.

The interpreter Ilavinik asked them if they had killed the priest. Sinnisiak and Uluksuk looked at each other for a moment and began to nod.

“Yes, we killed the priest. Oh, yes, we killed them both,” Ilavinik translated, and a loud murmur filled the court.

Wallbridge was on his feet. “May I have a moment, your Lordship?”

“Go ahead, Counsel.”

Wallbridge spoke quietly to Uluksuk and Sinnisiak. Creed watched them, numbly realizing again that it was possible they would be hanged. He had done his duty as an officer. What had he expected the court to do—award them a medal?

Sinnisiak turned and whispered to Uluksuk. “But we did kill them.”

“I know, but Older Brother is saying we should say no.”

“We should lie?”

“I guess so. It is complicated. Anyway, Creed said to trust him.”

“Okay, but will you explain it to the spirits tonight so they won’t be angry at us for lying?”

“Yes.”

Uluksuk and Sinnisiak finally nodded that they understood and Wallbridge returned to his table.

“Shall we try this again, Mr. Wallbridge?”

“At your pleasure, your Lordship.”

“How do you plead?”

This time, in perfect unison, they spoke in English the words: “Not guilty.”

“Very well,” Justice Harvey declared. “Let’s proceed.”

CROWN PROSECUTOR
Charles Coursolles McCaul did not spout rhetoric. He spoke from deeply held convictions. A cloud drifted across the bright sun as he began, lending a sombre and dramatic element to his opening statements.

“Gentlemen of the jury, you should consider yourselves lucky. Lucky, because you are to witness a trial absolutely unique in the history of North America: the murder trial by a modern court of what are essentially two Stone Age men. You will have before you a thrilling story of travel and adventure in lands forlorn, and I am quite sure that after you have heard all the story you will agree with me that too much credit cannot be given to the young police officer who is here, Inspector Creed, for his discretion and for his splendid courage in effecting their arrest. It is extraordinary in that this one police officer, Creed—not a soldier, mind you, a ‘peace’ officer—investigated, located, and arrested these two individuals out of a whole tribe of Eskimos with whom the priests were working and living. Contrast this, I ask you, with what would have happened elsewhere if white men had been killed by a tribe of savages—in central Africa, Borneo, the Philippines, Mexico, or even our neighbour to the south. Let me tell you: a retributive military force—a punitive force—would have been sent against the tribe and the tribe would have been decimated, possibly even exterminated. I offer Wounded Knee, South Dakota, as an example—December 29, 1890, only a scant few years ago. A white man killed somehow, and Hotchkiss machine guns were turned on three hundred men, women, and children.

“But here in Canada, instead of these warlike measures, British law—Canadian law—reaches a strong hand out to the distant shore of the Arctic Ocean in the person of one Corporal Jack Valentine Creed, and says, ‘We have found the two men we hold responsible for these murders. We have no quarrel with the rest of the tribe.’ And here, gentlemen of the jury, is the essential thing! British justice is not about retribution. It is not a justice of vengeance! There is not a bit of vengeance in it. These two men will receive a fair and impartial trial. We have educated the Blackfoot and the Cree and the Stoneys and the Sarcees and the Chipewyans that our justice is a fair and impartial justice, and we must spread that message to the Eskimos, the message that they are under the law. They must regulate their lives and dealings with their fellow man accordingly. They must respect the principles of justice, not just submit to it. They can take advantage of it, be protected by it. And this message must be heard out on the barren lands of North America, on the shores of the Arctic Ocean, on the ice of the polar seas—even as far as the Pole itself!”

McCaul paused to pull the handkerchief from his sleeve and wipe the perspiration from his face. He was pleased by the vacuum of silence in the courtroom. Every ear strained for his next word.

“Hard on the footsteps of the explorers in North America have always followed the Roman Catholic missionaries. Canadian history furnishes us with many, many examples of their courage, their fortitude, and their martyrdom, braving hardships, starvation, and death to spread the word of God. Gentlemen of the jury, whether we agree or not with the dogmas and tenets of the Roman Catholic Church, all good Christians must acknowledge and respect the zeal and fervour, the courage and fortitude of the Catholic missionaries who sought to bring a knowledge of God and the divinity of Christ to these human beings. The very God in whose name we have here sworn today to render justice!”