Coppermine (37 page)

“All that aside, it is my contention that the evidence proves that Sinnisiak and Uluksuk planned to kill the priests for their rifles. It was clearly a case of premeditated murder. But the civilized standards under which the defendants are tried must not be influenced in any way by the question of guilt. These men used a knife and a gun and an axe to kill these priests. Father Rouvière was completely unarmed and running away!” McCaul’s voice rose steadily with his rhetoric. “He presented no threat to them when they shot him down, stabbed him, and finally finished him off with an axe. They cut his body open, ate his liver, stole the rifles and cartridges, and returned to their people, boasting of their deeds! You, gentlemen of the jury, have a duty to send the strongest message to the North that these actions will not be tolerated. I ask you … I plead … I demand of you, that you do your duty. Thank you.”

AFTER A QUICK,
late break for lunch, Justice Harvey addressed the jury. Like McCaul, he assumed a calm, reflective tone.

“I wish to point out, as has my colleague Mr. McCaul, that despite the fact that these defendants are poor, ignorant, benighted pagans who come from beyond the borders of our civilization, they still receive all the protection that our laws can give any person charged with such a crime. They have been furnished with a fine counsel”—Harvey shot a cold look at Wallbridge—“who has left no stone unturned to ensure no unfair advantage was taken of them and everything possible brought out in their favour.

“Now the defence has put forward the idea that the defendants acted in self-defence. Killing in self-defence is justified only when there is no question you are about to be killed. Killing that may prevent you being killed sometime in the future is something else entirely. For this I use the example of the war raging in Europe. Germany first made war with France—they attacked first—claiming it was for self-defence. But this was not self-defence. If you believe them, it was to prevent what Germans feared would be an attack. This is not true self-defence. And I suggest you compare that to the events that transpired on the banks of the Coppermine near Bloody Falls. This was not self-defence.”

Harvey had locked eyes with each juryman over the course of his summation, but now he turned away dismissively, preparing to retire to his office and tossing his final order over his shoulder as he left.

“Gentlemen, I ask you to do what the law demands of you.”

Nineteen

The jury retired to deliberate quite late in the afternoon. The people emptied the stifling courtroom, retreating to the lawns outside to fan themselves in the hot summer evening and speculate on how long the jury would take to reach a verdict. A young boy selling copies of the
Edmonton Journal
still warm from the presses emptied his bag in moments. E.K. Mainprize was at the centre of a gathering of reporters. One opened the pages and scanned Howard Fleishman’s column from that morning. He read aloud:

“The Eskimos, half asleep during the proceedings, were dreaming perhaps of a place far away, less complicated, less hot, less full of people and more of caribou.”

The reporters laughed. “You’re a poet, Howie.”

“Those Eskimos won’t be seeing that place again.” Fleishman was confident.

“I wouldn’t be too hasty with your conclusion,” Mainprize told him. “In fact I’d be willing to bet a dinner at the Empire Hotel they are acquitted.”

The journalists responded in an uproar, not one among them supporting Mainprize’s prediction.

“The Eskimos said they killed them.”

“Rouvière was shot in the back running away!”

“Self-defence’ll never fly.”

Mainprize’s bet was taken by Walter Fresson of the
Seattle Daily Times.
Mainprize just smiled as the debate continued against his position, and he moved away from his colleagues to another, more interesting circle that included Inspector Creed, Nicole Harvey, John Hornby, Koeha, Wallbridge, and the young translator, Angituk. He shook Wallbridge’s hand.

“A beautifully directed defence, Mr. Wallbridge. ‘A jury of their peers’ as is guaranteed by British and Canadian law. You instructed them to ‘think like Eskimos.’ Brilliant!”

“Thank you, Mr. Mainprize.” The young lawyer’s expression betrayed a lack of optimism. “We’ll see.”

“Miss Harvey? Who are you rooting for?”

“This is hardly a cricket match, Mr. Mainprize. What I’m ‘rooting for’ is justice. I do hope there is a modicum of compassion in our justice system, but I think the gruesome facts of the murders speak for themselves.”

Mainprize smiled at her then turned to Koeha, extending his hand. The hunter, who was growing accustomed to white rituals, took his hand and smiled.

“Mr. Koeha, you were an interesting and enlightening witness for the defence.” Nearby, Angituk translated as he spoke. “It has taken many months for you to get here. Will you stay for a while or go back to the North?”

“I like it here. White people are not demons at all.”

“High praise indeed.”

Mainprize was subtly checking the time to calculate his deadline for the morning edition when Koeha took an interest in his silver pocket watch.

“That is very beautiful. What is that?”

“A watch. It tells the time.”

“What is ‘time’?”

“It is a point in the day, early or middle or late, or just before the sun goes down.”

Angituk rose to the challenge of interpreting the concept of time. She listened carefully to the white man’s choice of words and translated with accuracy and imagination, briefly adding references Koeha would understand: if you’re building an igloo, the moment your knife breaks the snow to the moment of the last block installed—that amount of
time
is measured on the little instrument. It is called about one
hour.

“Show me on the little machine,” the hunter instructed.

Mainprize opened the watch to demonstrate. “You see? This hand tells when it is six o’clock a.m., when the sun comes up, and it turns around through the six numbers to twelve, when it is the middle of the day.” He waited until Angituk nimbly translated this. “Then on to maybe seven o’clock, when the sun goes down. You see? When the little stick is there, the sun will go down. Here, it’s a gift to you!”

Koeha took the watch with awe and held it carefully. Mainprize repeated his remarks so Koeha would understand.

“When that stick … we call it a
hand
… reaches the six … right there … tomorrow morning, then the sun will rise!”

“Quanaqqutit,”
Koeha said with conviction. “This is a fine gift, but the responsibility for the sun is too great!”

The others laughed.

“No, it is easy. Just remember to wind it once a day. Here.” And Mainprize showed him how as Angituk explained.

Koeha tentatively turned the winder and marvelled at the metallic clicking sound. “It scares me,” Koeha told Mainprize, and the others laughed again.

A voice was heard on the steps of the courthouse and people stopped their chatter to hear. The clerk of the court repeated, “THE JURY HAS RETURNED! THE COURT RESUMES!”

Wallbridge appeared depressed by such a fast verdict. He spoke the obvious to no one in particular. “We better go in.”

THE JURY FOREMAN
rose. It was Alfred F. Fugl of the Hudson’s Bay Company, in a smart blue pinstriped suit and long patterned tie.

“Mr. Foreman, have you reached a verdict?” Justice Harvey inquired.

“We have, your Lordship.” The company man spoke out to the Justice and to the expectant audience in the packed courtroom. He was a businessman, a chairman of boards, not uncomfortable about addressing gatherings, but the weight of responsibility could be heard in the measure of his voice. “For the murder of Father Rouvière in the first degree we, the jury, find the defendants, Sinnisiak and Uluksuk, NOT GUILTY.”

A murmur of disbelief reverberated through the courtroom. Creed tried to cover his relief and gave a discreet thumbs-up to Sinnisiak and Uluksuk. They only stared. Wallbridge was shocked but delighted. The Bishop and his priest stood up in open amazement. C.C. McCaul and Justice Harvey made no pretence of hiding their outrage as they glared at the jurymen. Creed looked at Angituk and they shared a subtle smile of triumph. Nicole watched him askance.

Justice Harvey hammered his gavel to settle them all and glared at the accused. “Mr. Sinnisiak and Mr. Uluksuk.” The two defendants looked up at him. “The charges are dismissed. You are free to go.” Next he turned to the jury, his tone an obvious rebuke. “Members of the jury, your duties as such are complete. You are dismissed.”

The Justice rose and stormed from the courtroom. Released from Harvey’s oppressive governance, the room erupted. C.C. McCaul stood for a moment, stunned. He watched as the Bishop, badly shaken, turned, and walked out of the courtroom with the aid of his young priest.

“C.C.? Would you care to give a statement?”

Mainprize asked the question gently, sensing the furies raging within the counsel for the Crown. McCaul’s bear-trap expression fixed on him.

“The obvious agenda of the jury was to pull down the mighty from their seats and to exalt the humble and the meek.” Then he turned and followed the Justice into his chambers.

Creed went to Uluksuk and Sinnisiak and shook their hands. “Yes, you are free. It will be all right. You are going home.”

Journalists had surrounded the defendants to offer congratulations and ask questions.

“What will you do now?”

“How many wives do you have?”

“What does human liver taste like?”

Angituk stopped translating halfway through this last one and refused to continue. E.K. Mainprize pushed his way in to join the interrogation.

“What are your favourite things that you’ve seen here in Edmonton?”

Sinnisiak thought for a moment and Angituk translated his response. “Candies … magic lights … sleds with no dogs in harness to get tangled … how nice the women smell.”

“Very astute choices.” Mainprize thanked them.

Creed turned to find Nicole beside him. He tried to remove the smile that had been on his face since the verdict. She had to raise her voice over the din.

“Aren’t you a little frustrated? You’ve wasted a year of your life bringing these men to justice. Did you see how upset my uncle was?”

“They are my friends, Nicole.”

They looked at each other like strangers.

A distinguished man and his elegant wife were escorted over by Wallbridge to meet the exonerated Eskimos. Angituk translated.

“Sinnisiak and Uluksuk, I’d like you to meet the Honourable Mayor Henry, the Best Hunter in this city, and his wife, Mrs. Henry.” Angituk explained to the mayor and his wife, “The closest I can come to explain the title of Mayor is ‘the Best Hunter.’”

Though he rather enjoyed this unusual title, Mayor Henry exuded a detached air about it all. He had done well in business as a canny retailer, but he had no idea what to make of these Eskimos. His wife, on the other hand, made the most of the situation, laughing about being the wife of the Best Hunter: her husband hadn’t fired a gun in years. She was fascinated by the exoticism of the Eskimos. Uluksuk bowed his head slightly in a courtly gesture and she was charmed by him. She held Uluksuk’s hand in both of hers and told him, “Call me Ada.” Uluksuk smiled and repeated her name with perfect inflection, to her great surprise and delight.

MAYOR HENRY AND HIS WIFE,
with their guests, Sinnisiak and Uluksuk and the interpreter Angituk, led the parade slowly down Jasper Avenue in the mayor’s shiny new 1917 Cadillac landaulet. The traffic officer at 109 th stopped all cross traffic. Passengers from a line of backed-up streetcars heard news of the verdict and emptied the cars to come and see the exonerated Eskimos pass by.

The mayor whispered his perplexity to his wife. “I don’t understand how they got off.”

“It doesn’t matter, darling. Just make the most of the publicity. They’re so cute.”

Somehow Mainprize had found a seat in the first car. “What do you think, Mayor Henry? You could declare this Eskimo Day.”

“Eskimo Day,” the mayor repeated. He liked the sound of it.

They were followed by Wallbridge’s rented Model T, which held Creed, Koeha, and John Hornby. Nicole had refused Creed’s offer to join him. A third car, a large Packard, held other reporters, and behind them were a mix of carriages and honking cars. A horse spooked and bolted down 113th Street, its empty buggy fishtailing behind it. The streets were crowded with people waving and even cheering for the Eskimos. Paper boys shouted out the news and sold papers with the headline NOT GUILTY! and Creed realized that the
Journal
must have printed two versions. A sea change of public opinion had attended the announcement of the verdict and turned the “murdering cannibals” into exotic celebrities, akin to ambassadors from a faraway nation. The hunter and the shaman sat in the open landaulet and looked out at all the people in amazement.

“So they like us now? They’re not going to kill us anymore?”

“Yes, I think they like us. They treat us like special guests now. Just go along with it.”

“Okay.”

Uluksuk had rallied substantially from his depressed state and began to smile and even enjoy himself, waving back at the crowds. People ran up to the car and gave them candy bars and cigars. A young man handed them a newspaper with a photograph of the two of them on the front page. Sinnisiak and Uluksuk stared at it.

“That’s you.”

“No, that’s you there.”

Each could see the other, but neither could recognize himself in the photographs.

A pretty young girl jumped up on the running board and, in the emotion of the moment, threw her arms around Sinnisiak and kissed his cheek. He yelled in fear and pulled away from her. The girl hopped easily down from the car, holding her skirt up so she could run along, still smiling at Sinnisiak until she came up against the crowds and was lost.

“I thought she was biting my face!” Sinnisiak explained, and Angituk laughed out loud at this.

“It is called a
kiss,”
she told them with authority, using the English word.