The Devil's Making (7 page)

‘It's almost a mile', Parry remarked, untying his horse. ‘I'd heard there was a band at Cormorant Point. Down from the North. Trading, they say. Most likely stealing.' He scowled at the Indian.

We mounted, and this time the messenger walked briskly ahead of us. The firs became thinner, interspersed with huge arbutus, their blood red under-bark exposed where sheets of pale skin were peeling off, growing from rocks exposed to sunlight. I saw the sea ahead, glistening between the tree trunks, and smelled wood smoke.

*   *   *

We came out into a clearing which faced onto the sea from a bluff, which on the left became a rocky point. Tents and awnings made from densely woven matting, red but with black designs of beaks and eyes, had been slung on ropes from trees at the edge of the clearing, their lower edges tied to bushes or weighed down by stones. Other ropes held rows of split salmon hung up from poles to dry over smoky fires burning in circular hearths made from rocks. To one side was a pile of stacked cedar boxes. Some Indians were in the open, sitting on the ground, their legs spread out in front of them, men and women working at baskets, piles of cedar strips on the ground beside them. When they saw us coming they stood up and formed a straggling line. Others came crawling out of the tents and joined them. There were about ten men and twenty women, and a few children who ran to their mothers' arms to be picked up. No one said a word. The robins around the clearing sang loudly.

We dismounted. The Indians watched as we tied our horses to a tree. Parry was taking his time. Perhaps he was surprised, as I was, at the number of Indians, the well organised look of the camp, and their completely un-European clothing. All were bareheaded in the sun, the women long-haired with braids, the men's hair cut shorter. Although one or two men were wearing only deerskin trousers and loose tunics of woven fibre, most had red fibre blankets wrapped around them like cloaks. Some of the women had bare legs. Others wore leggings like the men. The Indians' skin was more coppery than the usual. Their heads had not been distorted by binding.

Two people appeared from behind a tent on one side, a man with a woman walking slightly behind him. They advanced unhurriedly. Both were quite tall, and were dressed strikingly in blankets of cream coloured cloth, with the usual geometrical patterns but in light blue and black, with long fringes of cream coloured tassels. The man was wearing deerskin leggings, the woman a sort of kilt, also of deerskin and with a fringe of tassels and zigzag patterns of tiny shells sewn onto it. Although the man was imposing, with a long nose and penetrating black eyes, a long moustache and thick but short cut hair, I could not help staring at the woman. She was young and beautiful, with light coppery skin, high cheekbones, and a narrow nose which she looked down rather haughtily, her eyes as black as the man's and more slanted, narrowing sharply. ‘Arrow eyes', I found myself thinking. Her hair was not quite black, having a reddish burnished tint. It was parted in the centre into two braids which hung just behind her shoulders. She was wearing oval ear-rings of mother-of-pearl – abalone shell. My eyes were drawn lower down, to the kilt below her blanket, and her legs, naked, slim and brown, her feet in moccasins which were decorated, like the kilt, with stitched tiny shells.

They walked along in front of the others and paused near the centre of the line, the man a step in front of the woman. He was older than she, perhaps about thirty. His air was one of alertness and intelligence. But he was somewhat frightening: his mouth was so firm it looked ruthless, his eyes, which now darted to and fro between Parry and me, almost too penetrating. I glanced back at the woman. She was looking at me steadily, with a certain softness in her eyes. I felt a sudden melting feeling around my heart, and stiffened. She instantly looked downward.

The messenger joined the other Indians and squatted down to one side. ‘You'd better take notes', Parry said. I took out my notebook and pencil. Parry, who was fluent in Chinook, although he shouted rather than spoke it, asked in a bellow, who was the Tyee here?

The obvious Tyee pointed to his chest.

Who were they? What band?

‘Tsalaks'. (Not a Chinook word). ‘Chack chack', he added (‘Eagle'). ‘Tsimshian'. (Indian people, up the coast some hundreds of miles North).

‘Tsimshian! Fort Simpson!' Parry bellowed, referring to the HBC headquarters ‘up island.'

‘Wake' (‘No').

‘Mektakatla?' (The name of the mission settlement).

‘Wake.'

‘Kah?' Parry asked impatiently. (‘Where?')

‘Tsalaks.'

‘Mesika nem?' (‘Your name?')

‘Wiladzap.' The Tyee tapped his chest again.

Parry asked who had found the body.

Again the Tyee tapped his chest.

Parry shouted that the messenger had said there was a dead Boston (American). Did the Tyee know that the dead man was a Boston?

‘McCloly', the Tyee said in a good imitation of the dead man's name, given that no Indian can pronounce ‘R'. Then in a low but strong voice, he explained in fluent Chinook that McCrory had visited the camp four times. Once with a yellow man, a servant. After that alone. He discussed Indian medicine. He bought herbs. He also discussed the wind. Here Parry and I must have looked puzzled, because Wiladzap paused and said ‘swensk', in I presume his own language. Then he explained that this meant the breath or spirit.

Parry asked if the Tyee was also a ‘mestin' – a medicine man.

‘Ah-ha' (‘Yes').

Who had found the body?

The Tyee, Wiladzap, pointed to himself and explained carefully. McCrory had visited them in the morning, stayed for a time, then left. After a while Wiladzap heard McCrory calling for help. He ran through the forest. Again he heard the call for help. He found the body. McCrory was not quite dead, but dying. Wiladzap could do nothing, but he splashed a little water on McCrory's face. McCrory spoke in a small voice. He spoke words to Wiladzap. Then he died. Wiladzap left him there, came back to the camp, and sent a messenger to the King George men (the English – us.)

What words? Parry demanded. What words did McCrory say?

‘King George Diaub'. Again, after a pause. ‘King George Diaub.'

A King George is any Englishman, as opposed to a Boston. But ‘Diaub' is ‘Devil'.

Parry asked, How did the Tyee hear a call for help? The dead man was found almost a mile from this camp.

‘Tum tum hool hool wawa chack chack'. (Literally: ‘The heart of the mouse speaks to the eagle.')

Parry either lost his temper or pretended to. He bellowed that it was not a King George who had killed the Boston McCrory, it was certainly an Indian, a ‘siwash'. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his long-barreled pistol, held it up for the Indians to see, then put it back into his pocket. He explained in his jerky but accurate Chinook that the Great Queen Victoria, who had given her name to the King George city, was mother of all the King Georges and all Bostons in this land. And they would make sure to find the Indian or Indians who had done this killing.

Wiladzap shrugged his shoulders.

Parry shouted: ‘Mesika opitsah?' (‘You have a knife?')

Wiladzap shrugged again. He reached under his blanket into the waist of his leggings and brought out a hunting knife in a sheath. He held it forward politely, handle first. I took it. It was a Bowie knife. Everyone in America has one. I do. I gave it to Parry who took it, pushed it back into his sheath and dropped it into his pocket.

Parry now followed standard procedure for dealing with Indians, and reached into his other pocket, pulled out his change purse, and took out a sovereign. He held it up and the sun caught it with a flash. He announced that this was the face of the great Queen Victoria. Her men must know who had killed the Boston, McCrory.

The Indians were motionless and quiet. Even children, clinging to their mothers' legs or in their arms, were silent.

Another sovereign. Another, and another.

Suddenly the messenger took a step forward and pointed with his whole hand, not just a finger, at the Tyee. ‘Wiladzap sick tum tum Lukswaas mamook hee hee tikegh bebe bebe doctah. Doctah dollah dollah Lukswaas potlatch.' (‘Wiladzap sick at heart, Lukswaas have fun, love, kiss doctor. Doctor give Lukswaas dollars.')

‘Wake!' The woman beside Wiladzap spoke out in a voice that was quite loud, but choked. Her eyes were open as if horrified.

‘Wake', Wiladzap said calmly. He explained that the doctor bought herbs from Lukswaas, he searched for plants with her, but he certainly did not love or kiss her. He paid dollars to her for plants.

Wiladzap turned to the woman, Lukswaas, and spoke in their own language – I suppose there is a specific Tsimshian language. She reached under her blanket and brought out a small purse made of woven fibres, holding it out in front of her. She was wearing several ornately engraved silver bracelets on her slim coppery arm. I put my notebook in my pocket, stepped forward, and took the purse, noticing that her hand was trembling. I opened the purse and poured its contents into my left hand.

‘Eight silver dollars', I announced to Parry.

‘We'll arrest the Tyee', he said, ‘and bring in the informer and the squaw for questioning.'

Suddenly the informer dashed across in front of us and ran towards the sea. The line of Indians broke, some men running after him. But Wiladzap called out sharply, and they stopped. Parry yanked out his revolver and pointed it at Wiladzap. ‘Follow the man' he bellowed, but I was already sprinting across the clearing, while clumsily stuffing the purse and silver dollars into my pockets. I dodged around the nearest Indian, leapt over a fire, and ran to the edge of the bluff, where the Indian had now disappeared. I looked down. He was already on the beach some fifty feet below, pulling a small canoe down the sand to the water.

‘Stop!' I yelled ridiculously. I dashed to pick my way down a steep path through bushes. He must have leapt down it like a goat. By the time I had reached the shingle at the back of the beach, the man was already embarked, paddling vigorously, pointing the canoe out to the sea, to the North. I ran into the water, my boots splashing, then stopped. He was thirty yards away and paddling much faster than I could ever swim. Drawn up on the shingle was a dugout canoe, not less than forty feet long, of weather-blackened cedar, with high stern and prow on which boards had been placed, painted with red and black designs. I ran around it, stumbling on rocks. On the other side was a second small canoe, with two paddles in it. I looked out at the water sparkling in the sun, and the man paddling furiously Northwards. No question of catching up. Nor did I want to leave Parry alone for long, revolver or not. Even these Indians from far away would have guns, at least shot-guns for duck-shooting, and possibly rifles. I took a final look at the paddling Indian. He would pass behind an island after another mile or so and be lost.

I climbed the path to the top of the bluff. On the other side of the smoking fires, and against the background of the wall of dark green forest, the Indians and Parry were just as I had left them. I walked across the clearing as calmly as I could and reported the situation to Parry who said, as if in a daze, ‘He didn't even take the money.' He glanced down at the sovereigns still in his left hand, and dropped them into his pocket. His revolver was still trained on Wiladzap. ‘Arrest him', he ordered.

I walked forward. Wiladzap was about my height. I placed my hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye. ‘I arrest you on suspicion of murder', I said, then the nearest thing I could think of in Chinook, a convoluted explanation that the Tyee would have to come to the King George men's big house and answer words.

His eyes had a strange expression, not fierce, but puzzled or sad.

‘Nika mahko', he said. (‘I come').

I turned to Lukswaas. She was not much more than a girl. Her eyes were fixed on me, but not with fear: she was angry. She said something sharply in her own language. Then in a slower Chinook, indignation making her voice tremble, she said that Wiladzap did not kill McCrory, no Indian killed McCrory, no Tsimshian, no eagle, no man from Tsalaks.

I told her, I hoped reassuringly, that she was to come with us and she could then say more words.

She and Wiladzap exchanged a few phrases, then Wiladzap turned to face the other Indians and spoke to them at length. I waited for him to finish, not looking at Parry. Then Wiladzap turned back to us and spoke at length in Chinook. He said he had explained to his people that a mistake had been made, and that when the King George Tyees found the man who had killed McCrory, they would bring Wiladzap back to his people. In the meantime they should stay in their camp, fish for salmon, and do no trading.

I was impressed, but Parry showed no signs of being so. Perhaps this was prudent: we would have to turn our backs on the Indians while marching Wiladzap away. ‘I'm wondering whether we should hand-cuff him', Parry said quietly. ‘He could get away from us in the woods. We could tie him up and let him run behind the horses, or put him on the wagon when it gets here.' Parry paused and seemed to listen for the sound of reinforcements from the woods.

‘The heart of the mouse talks to the eagle', I thought. The scene of the murder, where Harding and the other Indian were left waiting with the cart, was indeed too far away for any other sound to be heard.

‘Perhaps that would be provocative, Sir', I said. ‘You do have your revolver trained on him. And if he's their chief they won't risk having him shot.'

‘Good', said Parry, as if relieved of the decision. ‘Klatawa!', he said to Wiladzap. (‘Go!')

Without a backward glance Wiladzap started up the path. ‘Klatawa', I said to the girl.

After twenty minutes' gradual climb through the forest we reached the place where we had left Harding. The cart was there. Several horses were tied to trees, and there were were two more constables. On the cart was a grey blanket covering the body, and beside it a pile of wet and bloodstained clothing.