Mind's Eye : Stories from Whapmagoostui [1 ed.] 9782981386335, 9782981386311

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M IN D ’S EYE

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M I N D ’S EYE

Stories from Whapmagoostui

Storytellers Sam Atchynia, Nellie Atchynia, Frankie Dick, Matthew George, Rupert George, John Kawapit, Suzanne Kawapit, William Kawapit, Noah Mamianskum, Ann Masty, Sam Masty, Samson Masty, Hannah Natachequan, Andrew Natachequan, Philip Natachequan, Joseph Rupert, Maggie Sandy, Peter Sandy, Ronnie Sheshamush Compiled and Edited by: susan marshall & emily masty

Published by Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute 205 Opemiska Meskino C.P. 1168 Oujé-Bougoumou, QC G0W 3C0

Copyright © 2013 Cree Regional Authority and Whapmagoostui First Nation Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Mind’s eye : stories from Whapmagoostui / compiled and edited by Susan Marshall & Emily Masty. Storytellers: Sam Atchynia, Nellie Atchynia, Frankie Dick, Matthew George, Rupert George, John Kawapit, Suzanne Kawapit, William Kawapit, Noah Mamianskum, Ann Masty, Sam Masty, Samson Masty, Hannah Natachequan, Andrew Natachequan, Philip Natachequan, Joseph Rupert, Maggie Sandy, Peter Sandy, Ronnie Sheshamush Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-2-9813863-1-1 (pbk.) 1. Cree Indians—History. 2. Cree Indians—Québec (Province)— Whapmagoostui. 3. Whapmagoostui (Québec)—History. I. Marshall, Susan, 1951-, editor of compilation, writer of added text II. Masty, Emily, editor of compilation, translator III. Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute, issuing body E99.C88A73 2013

971.4’11100497323

C2013-903274-6

All rights reserved First edition, first printing 2013 Printed in Canada by Lebonfon Printing, Val-d’Or, Québec Copyediting by Joanne Muzak Book Design by Marvin Harder Cover illustration from the painting Manitounik Island by Natasia Mukash Story collection, research, translation, writing and editing were carried out under the auspices of the Cree Regional Authority and the Whapmagoostui First Nation. The Cree Regional Authority acknowledges the financial support of the Ministère de la Culture et des Communications, the Cree Regional Authority Board of Compensation and the Whapmagoostui First Nation.

C ON T E N T S

Foreword—Homage to a Hunter

ix

A Note about Names xiii Acknowledgements

xvii

Maps xix Introduction—The Îyiyiu 1 POWER AND SURVIVAL ONE

11

Lady Spirit of the Caribou 21 POWER AND PROTECTION

TWO THREE FOUR

Whitemen, Bogeymen and War Bosses 77 A Fragile Peace 127 The Life and Times of Kâ Mitâwit and Kâwîpâschikâtâshit 169 SWEPT AWAY

FIVE SIX

69

217

Mistwâhtin 223 From Hunters to Fishers 271

SEVEN

In Memoriam 327

EIGHT

The Kindness of Others 381 Epilogue—Taking Charge 427 Glossary 451 References 457

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I imagine that when the Bible was first introduced to the Îyiyiu, some of the stories must have seemed quite astounding. But just like the people in the Bible, some of the characters in our stories did astounding things. Moses is said to have parted the Red Sea. He was empowered by God. The same idea is at play when powerful Îyiyiu had spirit helpers through whom they worked their powers. emily masty

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FOR E WOR D — HOM AG E TO A H U N T E R

My father [John Kawapit, 1903–1990] married my mother when he was around nineteen or twenty years old. He passed away at the age of eighty-seven, which means they were married for at least sixty-seven years. He was a great man. He was extremely knowledgeable, skilful and very, very wise. He was also gentle, kind and considerate. He worked hard in the bush to make a living for us. Often he was gone for days, sleeping outside at night, never going inside. It could be minus thirty outside and he would still sleep outside beside an open fire. Sometimes, without warning, he’d be gone for a few days. This scared my mother. She didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know if he was safe or if he was hurt. She didn’t know if he would return again. Then she would be angry with him for letting her worry so much. But while he was out hunting there were times when he hadn’t planned to stay away. Then something would happen: maybe he would see caribou tracks and decide to follow them. Before long he would realize he had to stay overnight somewhere to continue following the tracks the next morning. Or there were times when he got some caribou late, late in the evening. So the meat would taste fresh, he had to butcher them before leaving them. No matter how late it was, after he finished cutting up the caribou, he would start walking home, even if he knew it would take all night to get there. He was so determined to get things done. He used to tell me the only way to survive in this world is through determination, hard work and a positive attitude. He would say that whenever you’re feeling down—when you have no strength to go on—to always look ahead and remember that your Father in heaven is watching over you, that He knows what you need even before you ask. Another thing he taught me, he used to say, “Take your time when you’re doing something with your hands. It is more important to do your work properly than to do it too quickly.”

ix

We were always moving around, going here and there in our area. When we were setting up camp, he would tell us over and over again, “Remember to take only what you need. Don’t cut down the trees if you don’t really need to use the wood.” Then, when it was time to go, my father was the last to leave. He had to put away all the [tent] poles and make the campsite really neat. Then he would take a last look around. If he spotted any garbage lying around, he had to pick it up and burn it. Then he could leave for his journey. He did this to make Mother Nature happy, to show respect to her. He had a lot of respect for nature and for every living thing in it. He would remind us that every animal, bird and fish that was given to us to live on was a blessing from the Great Spirit and that we had to make sure that every bit if it was cleaned, used properly and well respected. He always made sure that the bones and all the other parts of the animal that we didn’t use were burned or buried underground. If he found a dead animal or a bird, he would put it underground, bury it. If that wasn’t possible, he would put it in the fire. This way, he said, the spirit of the animal is set free. He taught us which animals were the most sacred, like the caribou and black bear and very large trout. But, according to him, all creatures great and small are sacred because they are all created by the Creator. He believed that all that was created was blessed equally. Sometimes he talked about medicines, about how we can get them from animals, birds, plants or trees and earth. He believed in these medicines but more deeply than that, he believed in the healing power of prayer. He saw the results of his prayers on others. For when he heard that someone was sick, even if he was far away, he would keep praying for the person and the person’s health would be restored. He also had a lot of respect for the rocks. He said there is a healing spirit in rocks. Rocks were used to mash caribou bones to make broth. For generations, broth was considered a very powerful medicine for our people. Throughout his life he said a prayer with us every morning before we started our work, and just before we went to bed. Before starting the day he always reminded us to take the time to pray to the Creator and ask

x

Foreword—Homage to a Hunter

for spiritual guidance for the day so that we could do our jobs properly. And, it pleased our Father in heaven. One night before my dad passed away, this man came to see him. My dad was having a hard time speaking because of his pneumonia, but he managed to say this to him. My father said, “You must continue to fight against the hydro project. You cannot let the whiteman destroy our beautiful land.” In case you’re wondering why he made this request on his deathbed…Well, the land was his life. This was where he raised his family and his grandchildren and where he got the food to help others as well. He did not hate the whiteman, but he did hate the destruction they brought to our people, to our way of life, to our land. I want you to know that the teachings I have shared with you are very important to me, and I hope my children will get to read about them someday. My father finished his work here on earth, but I believe his teachings will be passed on, and he will continue to help his people in the future. There are so many things he taught me. The ones I mentioned here are only a few that I think of everyday. I’m so grateful for them. agnes kawapit

Foreword—Homage to a Hunter

xi

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A N OT E A B OU T N A M E S

Names of Places Cree communities are now known officially by their Cree names. Until recently, they were also referred to by the name of the trading post located there. In this book, the communities are referred to by the trading post names because all the stories took place while the trading posts were in operation. This decision was made also because the trading post names appear in government records, missionary reports and the Hudson’s Bay Company journals. We have, however, made some exceptions: names used by the storytellers have not been changed, which means that Whapmagoostui is sometimes referred to as Whapmagoostui, the Cree name, and sometimes as Great Whale River, the trading post name. Similarly, when Fort George is mentioned in the stories, the storytellers invariably refer to it as Chisasibi, its Cree name. This has been kept intact as well. Also, Whapmagoostui is a mixed community of Cree, Inuit and nonNatives. The Inuit refer to the village as Kuujjuarapik. The French name is Poste-de-la-Baleine. For the reasons cited, we use the Cree and English place names, Whapmagoostui and Great Whale River.

Hudson’s Bay Company Trading Posts and Communities The following are the names of the communities and the Hudson’s Bay Company trading posts that are mentioned in this book. The dates refer to the periods of time these posts were in operation up until 1960, when our stories end.

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Community

Hudson’s Bay Company Post and Dates

EASTMAIN

Eastmain: 1717–1837, 1870–1960+

KUUJJUAQ

Fort Chimo: 1830–1843, 1864–1960+

CHISASIBI

Fort George/Big River: 1803–1813, 1816–1824, 1837–1960+

n/a

Fort Mackenzie: 1916–1948

WHAPMAGOOSTUI

Great Whale River: 1813–1816, 1856–1870, 1880–1960+

n/a

Little Whale River/Whale River: 1752–1759, 1851–1890

MISTISSINI

Mistassini: 1814–1960+

n/a

Neoskweskau: 1793–1822, 1913–1940

n/a

Nichikun: 1816–1822, 1837–1913, 1937–1943

n/a

Richmond Gulf/Richmond Fort: 1750–1756, 1921–1956

WASKAGANISH

Rupert House/Charles Fort: 1670–1686, 1776–1960+

Names of Groups In several stories the Whapmagoostui storytellers talked about visiting groups of people they referred to as Wâpinûtâwiyiyiu, meaning “people to the east,” and Aushâwâwiyiyiu, “barren grounds people,” people with whom the storytellers are closely related through marriage, language, culture and customs. The storytellers also referred to the Wâpinûtâwiyiyiu and Aushâwâwiyiyiu as Îyiyiu, meaning “the people,” the word that Cree from the coastal communities use to describe themselves. Cree from the inland communities refer to themselves as Înû.

xiv

A Note About Names

Historically, the Wâpinûtâwiyiyiu were known to non-Native speakers as Montagnais, but now are referred to as Innu. The Whapmagoostui storytellers consistently referred to them by their Cree name, Wâpinûtâwiyiyiu. The Aushâwâwiyiyiu were known to non-Native speakers as Naskapi. Now Naskapi who live in Labrador are also called Innu, while those living in Québec continue to be referred to as Naskapi. In keeping with the translated versions of the stories included in this book, the Aushâwâwiyiyiu are primarily referred to as Naskapi.

A Note About Names

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AC K N OW L E D G E M E N T S

This book has been long in the making. It was written once, then completely reworked after an additional twenty-six audio tapes of stories became available. Needless to say, many people have helped along the way. The two people who initially presented the idea of the book deserve the first word of appreciation, as much for their patience as for their help; Emily Masty, who collected and translated the stories, and Elizabeth Dick, who, as cultural coordinator in Whapmagoostui, first approached me about writing the book. Because of its scope and the spiritual nature of its subject matter, this collection of stories is unique in the region. We must thank the many elders who told their stories, thank them for opening an window onto subject matter that is often private and, now, not well understood: Sam Atchynia, Frankie Dick, Matthew George, Rupert George, John Kawapit, Suzanne Kawapit, Noah Mamianskum, Ann Masty, Sam Masty, Samson Masty, Hannah Natachequan, Philip Natachequan, Maggie Sandy, Peter Sandy and Ronnie Sheshamush. All have now passed away. We have also included stories told by some of the people who participated in the Whapmagoostui Place Names Project, which took place in 1993. They are Nellie Atchynia, William Kawapit, Andrew Natachequan and Joseph Rupert. With gratitude we acknowledge the contribution of all the storytellers. Thank you also to Lucy Turner for her 1974 interviews and research with the Whapmagoostui storytellers and to Emily Masty for her commitment to continuing the work. Also in Whapmagoostui, Robbie Kawapit, Sinclair Gilpin and Diana Natachequan were of great assistance in identifying the elders in the photographs and tracking down the dates of birth and death of the storytellers. The contextual information in this book owes much to the groundbreaking work of three anthropologists, Toby Morantz, Harvey Feit and Richard Preston, who have contributed greatly to our understanding of

xvii

the region. Indeed, much of the historical information in this book is informed by Morantz’s work, while information about the Cree belief system draws heavily upon the work of Feit and Preston. By making available the journals kept by the postmasters of the Hudson’s Bay Company trading posts, the Hudson’s Bay Company Archives was another invaluable source of information. Thank you. Appreciation is also due several employees of the Cree Regional Authority’s Language and Culture Department, beginning with the director, Willie Iserhoff. Francis Marcoux and Dario Izaguirre provided invaluable support and services at many steps along the way. David Denton, the project’s midwife, guided it through its various stages, created the map and verified the spelling of Cree words and place names. He also contributed innumerable comments and suggestions about the text. The monumental task, considering its length, of reviewing the manuscript was assumed by Sarah Pashagumskum and Kevin Brousseau of the Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute and Toby Morantz. Focusing on their areas of expertise, all provided constructive criticism, for which I am very grateful. I am similarly grateful for the patience and diligence displayed by copy editor Joanne Muzak. And, thank you to designer Marvin Harder who, once again, has created a very handsome book. susan marshall

xviii

Acknowledgements

MAPS

Map 1: Northern Québec and Labrador, modern communities and historic trading posts. Map 2: Places in the Whapmagoostui area mentioned by the storytellers.

xix

84˚

80˚

U Map 1: Northern Québec and Labrador, modern communities and historic trading posts.

58˚

Ri

vi

e èr

x au

Fe

Hudson Bay au Rivière

x

uill

Mé

es

Kuujjuaq Fort Chimo

k Ko

es lèz

so

ak

Ri

ve

r

Fort Mackenzie Richmond Gulf Lac Guillaume-Delisle G

Whapmagoostui Kuujjuarapik Poste-de-la-Baleine

Ro

54˚

James Bay

gga

La

n R iv

re

at

W

Clearwater Lake

h a l e Ri ver

Lake Bienville

er

G ra nde

Chisasibi Fort George

Caniapiscau

Riv

er

Wemindji Nichikun

Eastmain Moosonee

Nemaska Neoskweskau

Ru

pert Riv er Waskaganish Rupert House

Manicouagan

N

Bro

ot taw

ad back Riv er

ay

Riv

Mistissini

er Oujé-Bougoumou Waswanipi

Îlets Jérémie

Migiskan

Tadoussac

ve

68˚

64˚

60˚

56˚

Ungava Bay

58˚

r

Atlantic Ocean

Schefferville

54˚

Sheshatshiu

gan 50˚ Mingan

Gulf of St. Lawrence

Betsiamites

e

0 0 64˚

65 65

130 miles

130 km 60˚

Map 2: Places in the Whapmagoostui area mentioned by the storytellers.

Nipîschî Lake Minto

Hudson Bay

Na

sta

po

ka

Riv

er

Nâ

stû

pû

hk

ûs

Nûchishûshâshiwânân

îst

ikw

Yâtiwînipâkw Richmond Gulf

Kwâhkuschiûn Mitisînukw Wâpmâkushtûsh Âhûpâsich Mâsimâkus Little Whale River Pichistihwâhkin

Manitounik Sound Wîmin Âtât Mintûnikw

Littl

Chihkâskâu Wâskâhikanis

Âpâskuhskâsich

Mintûwâkwh

Kâîhpitâukâu

Grea Wîminipîsh Lake Fagnant

e Whale R iver

Kâîychisâkâkimâu

Whapmagoostui Kuujjuarapik Âîhiypâstâsich Poste-de-la-Baleine Kwâhkutuwî

Wiyâsâkimî Clearwater Lake

Kâkûpîs

Mâtâwâu Ikûmunâns Âministikâpiûch

Nâtwâhkimî

t Whal e R i ver

Âchâkûnkâch

Yâchisâkuhch

Nâsâkâu

Â

Ayischîmâu-Wâskâhîkin Fort Chimo Kuujjuaq

Nûhchimîu-Wâskâhîkin Fort Mackenzie Âmûsahâkinûshit Âchikunipî

M

i ist sîp

î

Pâîpitâukâuh Kâwâschayâmskâu Waschayamiscow Apishikimîsh Lake Bienville

0

0

65

65

130 miles

130 km

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Introduction— The Îyiyiu

Numbering about seventeen thousand, the Cree of James Bay inhabit an area of northern Québec about two-thirds the size of France. We are struck by its vast expanse. Dotted by myriad lakes and rivers, its interior appears bereft of human settlement, the towns and villages confined to the coast of James Bay and Hudson Bay and to a few locations in the southern part of the territory. If we didn’t know otherwise, we would think of it as a great, lone land. But this emptiness is deceptive. Since time immemorial, the land and waters have been the life support system of people who know the landscape like farmers know their fields. There are nine Cree communities in Québec. Beginning in the north, they are Whapmagoostui, Chisasibi, Wemindji, Eastmain, Waskaganish, Nemaska, Waswanipi, Oujé-Bougoumou and Mistissini. The stories in this book are from Whapmagoostui, located on the eastern shore of Hudson Bay at the mouth of the Great Whale River. Whapmagoostui is a mixed community of Cree, Inuit and non-Natives. While the Inuit and non-Natives have their own names for the settlement, we refer to it as either Whapmagoostui or Great Whale River, after the Hudson’s Bay Company trading post that was there. Over the last several decades, the biggest and most public issue confronting the Cree has been hydroelectric development in their territory. Plans for the construction of the James Bay power project were revealed by the Québec government in 1971 with great fanfare. Aptly called the “project of the century” by the Québec government, the James Bay power project consisted of the construction of three large hydroelectric

1

development schemes, affecting all the major rivers in northern Québec. With the demand for energy in the province doubling every decade, a high rate of unemployment and the desire for greater economic independence, Québec did not even consider Aboriginal rights to the land. The Cree were perceived as an insignificant and impoverished minority, their lands free for the taking. The Cree did not see it quite the same way. There was no doubt they were poor, but their land was not up for grabs. The Cree considered it as critical to their future as it had been to their past. Feeling they couldn’t stand by as their lands were drowned and their rivers diverted and dammed, the Cree organized to fight. As will be discussed in the epilogue, they won an injunction to stop the project, an injunction that was overruled within a week. That initial success in the courts, however, forced Québec to recognize Cree rights to the land and to negotiate a settlement, the historic James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement. The first hydro project, the La Grande project, flooded about 11,300 km of Cree, Inuit and Innu hunting grounds. It began with a series of hydroelectric power stations along the La Grande River and five reservoirs. Seen by some as a showcase of Québec’s engineering ingenuity, it was a massive undertaking. The volume of water in the La Grande River increased tenfold after the diversion of seven rivers into the La Grande. Waters that had once washed out into Ungava Bay were redirected and absorbed by the La Grande, as were the waters of the Eastmain, which had emptied into the southeastern end of James Bay. For the province of Québec much was at stake in the continued exploitation of the hydroelectric potential in northern Québec. Hydroelectric power drives Québec’s industrial strategy. Not only is electricity important to the province as an export, the availability of inexpensive electricity is used to attract industry. Hence Hydro-Québec proceeded with the construction of five secondary power plants on the La Grande and its tributaries. In 1986, during the construction of the latter, Québec announced plans for a second large hydroelectric development scheme, this one to the north of the La Grande watershed, on the Great Whale River. With the damming and diversion of the rivers in the Great Whale River region, the Great Whale River project would directly affect the

2

Introduction—The Îyiyiu

people of Whapmagoostui. Ninety per cent of the water in the Great Whale River and Little Whale River was to be diverted, reducing two of the Cree’s primary highways to a trickle. Increased water flow into Manitounik Sound from the main dam would deprive the people of yet another major transportation route. With more than 3,000 km2 of new reservoirs, whole hunting territories would be destroyed (Grand Council of the Crees n.d.). Both the Inuit and Cree of Whapmagoostui adamantly opposed the project. Searching for a comparison to help illustrate the importance of places that would be affected by the project, the late John Kawapit, a Whapmagoostui elder, said, “Apishikimîsh [Lake Bienville] is to the Îyiyiu1 what the city of Québec is to the province of Québec. It is like our capital.” He couldn’t fathom why places so rich in resources and key to the livelihood of the Îyiyiu should be destroyed. People also feared a repetition of one of the unanticipated consequences of the La Grande project—mercury poisoning. Reservoirs created by the project had triggered the release of methyl-mercury from decaying vegetation, rendering a range of fish unfit to eat. Highly dependent on fish, the people of Great Whale River objected to the contamination of their food supply as well as the destruction of their lands. Once again, the Cree organized to fight. A major campaign not only to explain Cree interests but to prove that the economic and environmental aspects of the project didn’t make sense ensued. In 1994, Québec suspended the project. This is the backdrop against which Emily Masty collected most of the stories in this book. This, and a concern that parts of the Cree language were dying out. The threat to the Cree language had become abundantly clear to Emily in the course of a conversation with family members upon their return from a fishing trip inland. Emily, a fluent Cree speaker, felt as if she was hearing a new language. She wasn’t, of course. Rather, her family was using vocabulary she had never heard before, words and expressions specific to bush activities. But because it was vocabulary not used in the village, it was unfamiliar to her, and it would have been unfamiliar to most of the younger people in the community. 1

The Cree of Whapmagoostui and the other coastal communities refer to themselves as “Îyiyiu.” Inland Cree refer to themselves as “Înû.” In both instances they mean “the people.”

Introduction —The Îyiyiu

3

At the same time, and on a positive note, there was a keen interest in Aboriginal communities in producing materials based on Aboriginal knowledge. Through its curriculum development program, the Cree School Board, which was established in 1978 as part of the James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement, was committed to producing culturally relevant materials. So, in the mid-1980s, Emily began collecting stories for educational purposes, thinking that they would be good for the students and that they could help keep the language alive. Like most nomadic northern peoples, the Îyiyiu carried their knowledge where it was most accessible – in their heads. Nothing was written down. Stories about the past were no exception. With mobility key to survival, the Îyiyiu hadn’t developed a complicated material culture. Instead, they stored copious quantities of information in their heads where it could be retrieved at a moment’s notice. Over the course of a lifetime people became walking encyclopedia! In the past, transmission of knowledge occurred naturally as people went about their daily business, the young learning at the knees of the experts, usually their parents and grandparents. Now, however, with the children at school for eight months of the year, the chain of knowledge has been interrupted. This means that when elders die, knowledge about Cree ways goes with them. Alarmed at the wealth of information that was being lost, Emily began recording the elders. Over the next ten years she interviewed many of the community’s elders, filling twenty-eight audiotapes with their stories about the past, some about events that took place more than two centuries ago. She also had in her possession an additional fifteen tapes of stories collected from the elders by Lucy Turner in 1974. As Lucy’s translator, Emily had translated and transcribed all of Lucy’s tapes, as well as her own. It added up to a vast amount of material about a multitude of subjects and events, a veritable stew consisting of hundreds of stories. During this time, Emily had completed a university degree in curriculum development. Like all young educated Cree, she was immediately hired by a Cree organization, in her case by the Cree School Board. The demands of her career, first as an English teacher, then as principal of the school in Whapmagoostui, prevented her from working with the material she had so painstakingly collected. She just didn’t have time. She

4

Introduction—The Îyiyiu

asked me if I would look at the material with the view of writing about the history of Whapmagoostui. Until fairly recently, the historical value of the Native oral tradition was considered irrelevant, the assumption being that Native people had no sense of history. Instead, histories of Aboriginal people were usually created on the basis of reports and journals produced by traders, administrators and missionaries. Needless to say, this approach has been criticized on the grounds that colonial records provide an insufficient foundation upon which to reconstruct the history of indigenous peoples. The challenge was then to write a history using the oral record as its cornerstone. To counter the argument that the results would be purely conjectural, early efforts focused on demonstrating the authenticity and falsity of oral testimonies. This in turn provoked questions about a possible double standard. If the information in the written record provided by traders, missionaries and colonial administrators were incorporated uncritically, why were statements made by indigenous people subjected to different treatment? Others suggested that a preoccupation with the veracity of oral testimonies blinded the listener to the meaning embodied in the stories. Instead of denying the stories, it was proposed we seek to understand them, to see what they tell us about the past, which is what I have attempted to do here. The voice of history is an amalgamation of many voices, some of which speak louder than others. So too here. In a small community, the best storytellers are well-known. Not everyone is equally blessed. The obvious problem when working within an oral tradition is the reliability of memory. In Cree communities, the best storytellers are thought to be those who can tell a story as accurately and thoroughly as possible. The point is not to embellish a story for the amusement of the listener but to render it faithfully. The oral tradition can not be preserved otherwise. The credibility of the storyteller, then, rests on recounting the narratives exactly as he or she remembers them being told. That being said, there are often several versions of the same story; details in the stories vary depending upon the original storytellers’ point of view and knowledge. On occasion, two Whapmagoostui storytellers recounted different fragments of the same story, fragments I then stitched together to complete the story. In these cases, the story is attributed to both of the storytellers.

Introduction —The Îyiyiu

5

The storytellers that Emily consulted grew old with the twentieth century, most of their lives grounded in a time far removed from today. They were proud of their history. From their perspective, theirs was a demanding and noble past, rich in tradition and wondrous moments. There were, of course, blemishes in the past, but they were not diminished by them. In fact, the shameful parts were outshone by those more enviable. A living legacy, the past was brought forward to be emulated, and stories are a primary source of knowledge, beliefs, motivations, values, attitudes and roles. There are two kinds of Cree stories about the past, âtiyûhkân and tipâchimuwin. Generally âtiyûhkân—myths—are about a remote time when animals spoke and interacted like humans, when animals, in fact, were considered to be other-than-human persons. These other-thanhuman persons often engaged in activities that required they perform extraordinary feats using supernatural powers. Tipâchimuwin, on the other hand, are true stories about real people. There are two kinds of tipâchimuwin—formal, historical narratives about events that took place a long time ago, and less formal news and personal anecdotes usually involving the storyteller or a family member. As the material from Whapmagoostui reveals, the formal, historical narratives include testimonies about battles with the Inuit, about raids by Cree from southern James Bay and about early contact with Europeans. The bulk of the stories in our collection are tipâchimuwin, featuring events involving people who lived a long time ago. Several of the latter are about mundane experiences—playing ball, fabricating caribou-skin coats, making fish nets and so on—but they are the exception. Instead, most of the tipâchimuwin illustrate the degree to which the ubiquitous presence of the supernatural was considered a normal, even necessary part of daily life. Most stories focus on people whose activities and powers resemble those found in myths. Whether talking about early contact with Europeans, raids by Cree from elsewhere in James Bay or battles with the Inuit, the main characters in the oldest stories perform extraordinary feats, miracles even. To the Îyiyiu, something was deemed true if it described a personal experience. Personal experiences consisted of experiences in the natural

6

Introduction—The Îyiyiu

world and encounters with the supernatural. Not only was each considered real, each was regarded as an important source of knowledge. Survival required that both experiences in the natural world and supernatural world be pursued. Knowledge of the natural world was gleaned through observation and experience. Knowledge of the supernatural was acquired through direct communication with the spirits of the animals. Drumming, chanting, dreaming and the shaking tent expedited communication with the spirits of the animals. All these media helped activate the mind’s eye, conferring upon the Îyiyiu powers of “second sight” that enabled them to “see” and sometimes exert control over many crucial aspects of existence. While often revolving around central characters with extraordinary abilities, stories about the past functioned as a key source of knowledge about all aspects of Cree society and culture, a kind of operational guide. They provided models for behaviour, thereby helping people make decisions, coordinate activities and define their relations with other people, as well as with the natural and spirit worlds. Both âtiyûhkân and tipâchimuwin reinforced a shared understanding of attitudes, values, beliefs, motivations, roles and actions, while illustrating the underlying relationship between the secular and spiritual aspects of their lives. And, by showing how behaviours and attitudes prescribed in the stories were rewarded by the general well-being of the group, stories were also an effective means of social control. Although Îyiyiu stories implicitly recommended certain behaviours and attitudes, their lessons were not etched in stone. They were not blueprints for behaviour. As conditions changed, so did the prescriptive power of some of the beliefs, values and roles described in the myths and stories. The most obvious example is the relationship of the Îyiyiu with the spirit world. By the time of the events featured in the last stories in this book— events that took place in the 1950s—the Îyiyiu had developed an ambivalent attitude to some of the traditional uses of supernatural power. Stories from other eras are often beyond the comprehension of contemporary audiences. Vocabulary, as Emily found, may seem foreign, behaviour odd, and etiquette and values confusing, as is the case with these stories. With younger generations of Îyiyiu spending more time

Introduction —The Îyiyiu

7

in school and not in the bush, where they would have grown up hearing the stories, many of the situations and concepts in the narratives won’t necessarily make sense. In this book, to assist the reader, short explanations often precede the stories. Interestingly, the storytellers had no qualms about recounting stories about people whose behaviour was reprehensible. These people are presented warts and all, the narrator quickly passing judgement on that which was considered inappropriate. The explanations are included not to excuse behaviour, then, but to explain words or actions that may not be understood today. The oldest stories, dominated by events showing how the Îyiyiu attempted to influence the outcome of events through the use of supernatural powers, are presented in the first and second sections of the book, “Power and Survival” and “Power and Protection.” These stories highlight deeds performed by people with extraordinary abilities and insights. They feature the superheroes of another era. The stage is set in the first section, which focuses on the important role of the supernatural in survival. Taking place when the Îyiyiu lived entirely by the chase, not surprisingly, almost all these narratives are about caribou hunting. They emphasize incidents of divine intervention in times of extreme hunger. The second section illustrates how, during the same period, divine intervention was also marshalled to protect the Îyiyiu from potential enemies. Stories about first contact with the whiteman are included here, as are narratives about relations with the Inuit and marauding bands of Cree from the southern part of James Bay. The stories in the final chapter of “Power and Protection” are about the lives of two very powerful men, Kâ Mitâwit and Kâwîpâschikâtâshit. These stories bring us to the end of the nineteenth century. The third section, “Swept Away,” concentrates on that long period, from the end of the nineteenth century to the middle of the twentieth, when important game animals, particularly caribou, were in decline. This was a time of devastating hardship, a time when traditional spiritual powers were put to the test and often failed. This period also coincided with the arrival of Reverend Walton, an Anglican missionary whose teachings had a tremendous impact on the Îyiyiu. The third section opens with stories about Reverend Walton. His ministry dealt a mortal blow to

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Introduction—The Îyiyiu

the most dramatic uses of the supernatural by the Îyiyiu. The last three chapters in the book deal more specifically with the game shortage itself. Drama was no longer dominated by the supernatural, which now took a back seat to the practical aspects of survival. Tracing the decline in game animals as it swept across the Québec-Labrador peninsula, the stories in Chapter 6 reflect the constant struggle to survive. With caribou hard to find, the people turned to fish for their daily fare. Chapter 7 pays homage to the many people who lost their lives to starvation and disease at this time. The stories end in the 1950s with the establishment of the military base at Great Whale River. These stories appear in Chapter 8. Conditions had been so difficult that the arrival of the military was greeted with relief. The military ravaged the land to build roads and airstrips, yet, in the words of one of the elders, “He made things right!” How? The military provided jobs—albeit, short-term jobs—which allowed some of the people to let their hunting territories lie fallow while the caribou herds recovered. Others used the income to subsidize life on the land. Unlike the stories in the first two sections, those in the third section are autobiographical, the narrators being participants in the events. They are stories about the lives of ordinary people, people ravaged by cold, starvation and grief. They are intensely personal. Experiences are exposed, raw and untreated, each one an illustration of how, chewed by frost and aching with hunger, people struggled to survive. Historians often maintain the past is best distilled through the lens of a distant observer. They make a virtue of a cool, analytic view of the past, arguing that contemporaries, because they lack perspective, are not always capable of distinguishing what is significant in events. The Whapmagoostui storytellers did not share such preoccupations. Theirs were not the voices of dispassionate observers prowling the perimeters of events and making pronouncements about how a situation evolved and what its effects were. They were fully engaged. Any representation of the past will be partial and contingent. While the Whapmagoostui elders referred to a range of topics, their stories didn’t exhaust all the subjects forming the fabric of daily life. Indeed, some important subjects were not explored at all. Notably absent was a topic central to Cree discussions during the court case that preceded

Introduction —The Îyiyiu

9

negotiations for the James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement, elaborations of the “land as garden” metaphor. In the face of threats to their lands and waterways, it was important for the Îyiyiu to explain the extent to which their survival has depended upon the land. Its wealth nourished them and all who came before them. As we shall see in the stories, however, periods of bounty do not exhaust the Îyiyiu past, a past that was punctuated by moments of savage scarcity. Our storytellers describe how the people met the challenge when conditions were more precarious: times of hunger and starvation, times when threatened by enemies. This, then, is not a reconstruction of the past; it is not even an approximation. Rather, the narratives recounted by the Whapmagoostui Îyiyiu comprise a mythic history underlining the glorious deeds of their ancestors, their crowning accomplishments. The oldest stories illustrate marvellous feats performed by individuals under duress. The more recent ones point to the remarkable achievement accomplished by the Îyiyiu in general—the fact they survived at all. And wending their way through all of this are details that comprise lessons for daily life. Today, some Îyiyiu regret the erosion of the use of the supernatural, particularly its most powerful instrument—the shaking tent. But the people in the past used the tools they had then to see, analyze and influence the world around them. Different tools are required today, and the Îyiyiu have been quick to embrace them. While certain things have been lost, key lessons articulated in the stories continue to be relevant: lessons about relations with the land, with the animals, between people, and about the well-being of the group. Like a bridge between past and future, trappers are taught to show respect for the land, the animals and people in the ways of their ancestors. There is no reason, however, why these lessons need be confined to the trappers. Most of the people whose stories are in this book are no longer with us, but thanks to them, despite the whirlwind of change sweeping the North, succeeding generations of Îyiyiu may remain connected in time and place to those who came before them. May the courage, determination and wisdom of their ancestors inspire them. susan marshall

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Introduction—The Îyiyiu

P O W E R AND SURVIVAL

Previous Photo: Whapmagoostuit, 1915. [Margaret E. Murie Fonds, Library and Archives Canada, P.A.–136290, O.J. Murie]

P OW E R A N D S U RV I VA L

Who was that beautiful woman who told the starving Kâwâchikâtât where to find caribou? What were those sounds of joyful dancing heard by the young orphan? How did the hunter bring home three herds of caribou in just one day? The Whapmagoostui storytellers will tell you! Trekking across vast northern lands by foot and canoe, the Îyiyiu of Whapmagoostui roamed an extensive territory, from Kuujjuaq to Schefferville to the Great Whale River and the La Grande. In the east, their range overlapped with that of the neighbouring Innu and Naskapi/ Innu, in the north with the Inuit, their historic enemies. Even prior to contact with European traders, Whapmagoostui was an established meeting place. People gathered here each summer to hunt beluga. Some of the Îyiyiu then spent the rest of the year south of the Great Whale River; others lived to the north. The boreal forest, that great coniferous forest that circles the northern hemisphere on the North American and Eurasian continents, was home for those in the south. The treeless tundra stretching way off to the north was home to the hunters of the barren grounds. Other Îyiyiu lived in the open, park-like taiga that lies between these two regions. Forming part of the Canadian Shield, the land of the Îyiyiu is extraordinarily diversified. The coastline is irregular with many deeply indented, small bays and numerous treeless islands. Behind this, the land is broken by low, rocky hills and rolling ground. The elevation increases to the eastern limits of the hunting lands where it reaches heights of between 430 and 460 metres. Here it is quite hilly, even mountainous. Thousands of lakes and ponds, interconnected by networks of streams and rivers flowing into the southern part of Hudson Bay and Ungava Bay, are scattered throughout (Weinstein 1976). The land, in all its grandeur, is a living portrait to the Îyiyiu, painted with the stories and experiences of the people who have occupied it over

13

the centuries. Matthew George, one of our storytellers, illustrates this with his description of his grandfather’s lake: “Kâ Mûhyâwât’s lake was called Kâkûpîs. He always spent spring break-up at Kâkûpîs. The fish in that lake were big and healthy. The year he died hardly any fish could be fished from that lake. I guess his lake missed him!” Through the ages, caribou provided the Îyiyiu with most of their needs: with food, with clothing, with housing and tools. For those who lived on the tundra, the most important hunt occurred in the fall when thousands of caribou migrated from the coast. Their movements were predictable, enabling the Îyiyiu to enjoy highly productive hunts. Anticipating the arrival of the caribou, the tundra Îyiyiu would gather in large numbers at the river crossings, dispersing only if they didn’t get enough food to support their hunting groups. One nineteenth-century traveller reported coming across an encampment of one hundred people who between them had killed two hundred caribou during the winter. Beaver, on the other hand, was rare. So when the Îyiyiu first began to trade for European goods, those who inhabited the tundra trapped fox and marten. The Îyiyiu who lived south of the tundra relied on the woodland caribou. Moving in smaller numbers than the herds on the tundra, the woodland caribou had less predictable migration patterns. The Îyiyiu hunted them all winter long, but fewer were caught at a time. This meant that the Îyiyiu who lived in the forest spent the winter in smaller groups than those on the tundra. These Îyiyiu, however, enjoyed the availability of beaver, mink, otter and muskrat, which provided them with a greater variety of food and furs. Entirely dependent on the land for support, the Îyiyiu were acutely tuned to messages penned by their environment and developed a detailed understanding of all its aspects, its plants and animals, its geography and weather. Through observation and by demonstration they studied animal behaviour, they learned to read and navigate the land and its waters, they scanned the skies for meteorological information. Each hunter became familiar with the plants. Sights and sounds were constantly monitored for information about the natural world. Hunting technique was perfected. But that was not enough. In these cold northern

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Mind's Eye

lands, to know, predict and, where possible, moderate the exigencies of daily life was crucial. So, the Îyiyiu sought additional ways to mediate the world around them. While much of the knowledge of the Îyiyiu was practical, a lot was highly spiritual. In many ways, the two—the spiritual and practical—were irrevocably intertwined. The natural world of the Îyiyiu consisted of a wide range of “living beings.” There were categories of living beings that consisted of things visible to all competent people—plants, animals, people and so on. But there was another category of living beings that was not visible. This category consisted of spirit beings. Once Christianity had been introduced, God was considered a spirit being, as were the winds, a range of spirits and spirit helpers, souls and legendary figures. While most people couldn’t actually see spirit beings, everyone was capable of witnessing their actions. Because the consequences of their actions were thought to be visible, spirit beings were considered as real and as tangible as any other kind of living being. Îyiyiu sought to enhance their influence over the natural world by establishing a close personal relationship with spirit beings. The spirit being with whom the Îyiyiu had the most intimate relationship was mistâpâu, literally “big man” (Preston 1975, 90). The term “big man” describes what mistâpâu could do, not the size of his body (ibid., 80). Mistâpâu (plural, mistâpâuch) was a spirit helper who acted as an intermediary between individual Îyiyiu and the rest of the spirit world, relaying messages back and forth. He helped with the heavy work (ibid., 104)! Since his assistance was used most commonly in finding and luring food animals, good hunters had their own mistâpâu or spirit helper; some had several. Power—mind power, that is—was the essence that fuelled the relationship between the Îyiyiu, his mistâpâu and the rest of the spirit world. Through their powers, the Îyiyiu attempted to communicate their thoughts to spirit beings in the hope that the spirit world would assist them in their endeavours. Mind power was deployed for two main purposes—to assure success in hunting and for protection against enemies. A successful hunt was contingent on the actions and power of the hunter. It was assumed most boys would grow up to be competent hunters. But

Power and Survival

15

what differentiated one hunter from another was the amount of power possessed by the hunter, this being determined by the closeness of the relationship between each hunter and the spirit beings. A close relationship meant spirit beings were more likely to cooperate with the hunter and give them the animals they desired. Power was used for other purposes—locating lost people or objects, or controlling the weather or healing people—but its use in hunting was its most frequent application. It was a prerequisite for survival. Except those disqualified by limitations of character, everyone had some spiritual potential. Not everyone, however, wished to cultivate it to the same degree (Preston 1975, 107). A person got a mistâpâu, for instance, by going out to meet it: “You see them coming and if you want to bother with them you meet them. If you don’t want to bother, you don’t go on to meet them” (Blackned in Preston 1975, 104). In general, power was a prerogative of age, increasing as one got older. While this varied from individual to individual, as men and women matured they first started “to know” the spirit world until, finally, in later life, “they came to know it a lot” (Feit 1978, 276). From time to time, there arose people—shamans—who developed powers beyond the domestic magic of the ordinary person. A person so endowed was called mitâu (plural, mitâuch). As with other Algonquian speaking peoples, Îyiyiu shamans were thought of as visionaries or seers. In fact, the Cree word to describe what shamans do—conjure—contains a combination of “try” and “see” or “vision” (Preston 1975, 293), although some manifested a gift for “hearing.” They were audient. Others were psychic and some could astral project. In this sense, the shaman exhibited a more exotic and dramatic manifestation of the mental or spiritual capabilities of the ordinary hunter. By combining his mental or spiritual abilities with the spirit power of his mistâpâu, or whatever spirit he was working with, the shaman worked his powers in much the same way as the ordinary hunter. The main difference is that shamans handled enormous amounts of power. For one, they often had many mistâpâuch, a special one and a string of others. Their powers freed their souls to soar away in mystical encounters with the spirit world. While so engaged they were able to transcend time and space; they could manipulate reality

16

Mind's Eye

by changing shape, disappearing and reappearing. Some could fly or assume the form of different animals. Some were capable of changing the weather and effecting miraculous cures. And, unlike the ordinary person, they could actually see the spirit beings with whom they had a relationship. A good man with the powers of a shaman reflected the ideals of moral behaviour. But some shamans used their powers for sorcery, to do harm. The deviant behaviour of sorcerers was regarded as fearsome and reprehensible (Preston 1975, 27). Working through their mistâpâu or other spirit beings, a sorcerer could send a cannibal or a monstrous animal or any other kind of object to harm someone. He could harm a person directly or, if so inclined, pit his mistâpâu against that of his victim. In either case, death of his victim was a possibility. Since shamans often assumed the role of protector when the safety of an individual or the group was threatened, it was they who were called upon to resist attacks and fight the sorcerer. Sometimes they were called upon, after the fact, to exact revenge for a wrongdoing. In either case, the duty of the shaman was to free his soul to find and remove the forces of evil. In the process, they put their lives at risk on the mental battlefields where confrontations with sorcerers took place. While these powerful people were held in awe, not everyone aspired to be like them. As we will see, their lives were fraught with danger. A number of channels of communication with the spirit world were available to the Îyiyiu: dreaming, chanting, drumming and the shaking tent. Using any of these instruments, the Îyiyiu sought the benevolence and assistance of the spirit world, and the spirits, whether mistâpâu or any other, understood and sometimes responded. Dreams, one of the most common ways of communicating with spirit beings, were an important element in the development of powers. It was often through dreams that people first realized they had special powers. A person’s mistâpâu, for instance, often first presented himself to the hunter in a dream. Typically, the hunter learned which animals would avail themselves to him through dreams, dreams in which “someone”—a spirit being of a specific animal species—let him know he could count on its help. When this category of spirit being appeared visually in dreams they usually

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were in human form, coming to the hunter as a representative of the actual living being. A hunter who didn’t dream successfully didn’t hunt successfully. This recognition by the animals in concert with the animals’ willingness to be hunted was fundamental to the success of any hunter. The Îyiyiu were hence encouraged to take their dreams seriously. Instrumental in effecting a successful hunt, singing and drumming were also considered an integral part of the hunt. The most capable hunters had the most songs. Through singing and drumming one communicated deep feelings to one’s mistâpâu and to other spirit beings. Singing and drumming gave expression to the emotions that went with hunting, to the deep love hunters felt for the animals. The hunters sincerely believed that the love they felt for animals was reciprocal, that the animals showed their love by allowing themselves to be killed, sometimes even waiting to be killed. From an Îyiyiu perspective, through singing and drumming, individual hunters gave voice to their feelings, adding power to their technical abilities as hunters for, in an essentially mental or spiritual way, these efforts influenced the animals. “He caused food to come to him by chanting,” Matthew George explained. Singing and drumming also afforded people the opportunity to express gratitude to the spirit world for nature’s gifts. The most powerful instrument through which mental powers were deployed, however, was the kischwâpitâkin (shaking tent or conjuring house). Dreams, drumming and chanting were the prerogative of any hunter; the shaking tent the province of the shaman. Through the shaking tent shamans exercised extraordinary power. Here, with the assistance of their mistâpâu, shamans visited, conferred and sometimes did battle. Shaking tent ceremonies were typically public events, the conjuror sitting inside while the spectators remained outside. The conjuror was then visited by spirit beings who he actually saw. The most frequent visitors were mistâpâuch of other shamans and spirit representatives of animals hunted by the Îyiyiu. The mistâpâuch of the visiting shamans called themselves “flying people” because of their penchant for flying from tent to tent (Preston 1975, 73). The power of their flight accounted for some of the movement of the shaking tent.

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Mind's Eye

Although the spectators couldn’t see the spirit beings, they knew who the visitors were because they could hear them talking to each other. The mistâpâu of the shaman conducting the shaking tent played the central role in the performance. Besides using his power to call spirit beings into the shaking tent, he acted as interpreter, which was vital. The people outside the tent didn’t always understand the conversations between the spirits; translation was necessary. The shaking tent was conducted primarily to obtain information, for seeing and predicting. If, for instance, food was gone from a cache, a person might have conducted a shaking tent to find out what had happened to it. The person’s mistâpâu would then report back that hungry people had taken the food, for example. There was a strong relationship between a person’s ability to bring the spirit representatives of the animals he hunted into the shaking tent and his hunting success (Preston 1975, 81). So, if game were scarce, a shaking tent might have been conducted in which the spirit representatives of the animals sought would be called in and conferred with. Since it was difficult to get the animals into the shaking tent, the shaman’s mistâpâu had to be very strong to succeed. Here, sitting in darkness, the conjuror would wait for the information he needed to guide his people to the caribou. So great was the power of the shaman, however, that many could “see” using nothing but their mind’s eye. An insatiable appetite for humour extended into the relations of the Îyiyiu with the spirit world. Often lost in written descriptions of Îyiyiu life, humour is a defining characteristic of many Îyiyiu interactions. Not many subjects, however serious or sensitive, escape its scope. One might imagine restraint would be exercised with regards to spiritual matters, but even these are not spared. Entering into a respectful relationship with animals and the spirit world didn’t mean relinquishing the desire to laugh. On the contrary; while, on the one hand, the implications of these interactions could be very serious, the Îyiyiu developed a joking relationship with the spirit world, as they did with anybody else. At times, shamans even joked around with spirits in the shaking tent. Most of the oldest stories told by the people of Whapmagoostui reflect their fascination with mind power. The stories in “Power and Survival”

Power and Survival

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extol the use people made of mind power to survive times of acute food shortage. Although many of the oldest stories are juxtaposed against the spectre of starvation, people do not consider the deep past a time of extreme deprivation. In general, game was thought of as being more plentiful than in the recent past. But punctuating the years when there was an abundance of game were periods when it was in short supply. At such times, miraculous, singular measures were sometimes invoked to amend the situation. A solitary hunter was visited by “someone” who directed him to food; caribou or fish miraculously appeared; a hunter “brought home” two, sometimes three, herds of caribou in one day and so on.

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Mind's Eye

ON E

Lady Spirit of the Caribou

Embedded in the Cree belief system was a keen appreciation for the fact that living in the Subarctic required the help and cooperation of a pantheon of others. While self-evident in the practical aspects of daily life, this idea applied equally to spiritual matters where there was a strong belief in spirit beings who could influence the outcome of events. The Cree cosmology consisted of a hierarchy of helpers, spirit beings whose cooperation was essential to survival. The spirit beings were distinguished and ranked according to their power (Feit 1978, 279). Heading the hierarchy were the winds, the north wind, Chîwâtinisiu in particular. But important winds blew from four directions, and spirit beings resided at the “end of the earth in each of the cardinal directions” (ibid., 232). The spirit beings of the winds, like all other spirit beings, were personified. This meant each was considered to be alive and to have its own personality.

T HE W I N DS The influence of the winds was inordinate. The winds were known by the weather they brought. Animals are hunted during specific seasons and according to preferred weather conditions. Since daily weather conditions affect the behaviour and sensitivity of animals, the winds, in effect, told the hunter what he would catch that day (Feit 1978, 271). Chîwâtinisiu, the north wind, brought extreme cold and was considered the most powerful. Despite its dangers, it was deemed to be a good wind,

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bringing cold, clean air that was beneficial for hunting. The west wind was also thought to be favourable. The worst were the winds from the east. Delivering bad weather—wet snow, freezing rain, clouds or humidity—the east wind made the animals nervous and afraid. Disturbed, they didn’t move around much, which made hunting very difficult. The south wind, while good in the summer, was thought to be bad in winter. South winds in winter brought rain, once again making it difficult to catch animals (ibid., 274). Ultimately, then, the winds gave the Îyiyiu the animals they hunted. Having some way to influence the winds and other aspects of the weather was definitely an advantage. As Noah says in the story below, the following events took place when Eastmain House was the only post on the east coast of James Bay. The Hudson’s Bay Company trading post at Eastmain was open from the early 1700s until 1837. It was the only trading centre on the east coast from the time it opened until 1750. Then, from 1769 until 1821, it was the principal post along the coast, an outpost of Eastmain House having been established at Rupert House in 1776.1 During that time, some of the Whapmagoostui people traded furs at Eastmain House. They made the journey south in the spring, sometimes participating in the spring goose hunt on behalf of the Hudson’s Bay Company.2 Noah’s story, while making reference to trading, is more concerned with the vagaries of weather and travel. Sometimes unpredictable and unforgiving, Chîwâtinisiu, the north wind, could whip the waves into a heaving sea, making travel tricky. In the story below, travel has been thwarted by warm weather. Because the soft, melting snow has made it very hard going, the leader of the trading group implores “their old man” to bring cold weather. They want the cold north air! This is his story.

The Old Man and the North Wind This story took place when Eastmain was the only post on this side of the coast. In those days, the Îyiyiu had to go a long way to get supplies, for

1 2

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The official name for Rupert House is now Waskaganish. More will be said about the Îyiyiu and early contact with Europeans in the next chapter.

Mind's Eye

A View of Eastmain Factory, early 1800s. Some of the Whapmagoostui people made the long trip to Eastmain for supplies in the days when there were no other trading posts along the east coast of James Bay. Eastmain was the only post from the time it opened in the early 1700s until 1750 (when a post opened at Richmond Fort) and then again from 1760 until 1776 (when the post opened at Rupert House). [Hudson’s Bay Company Archives, Archives of Manitoba, P-119, William Richards. ]

there was no other post. Some of the people would travel from Eastmain, up past Whapmagoostui to Richmond Gulf and on to Nipîschî [Lake Minto] to spend freeze-up on the tundra. Heading southward on the land, a few even returned to Eastmain during the winter to trade. On those trips to the post, one of the people was designated leader. Everyone did what the leader said. One time, when a group was returning from the post,

Lady Spirit of the Caribou

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and while they were still a long way from home, they realized they would probably not make it back before break-up. There had been an extremely warm spring thaw that year. With their toboggans they moved quickly but knew they would have to stop somewhere along the way to make canoes. Canoes were made with birchbark in those days. I guess they had bought birchbark at the post; birchbark was one of the things sold there. The days got warmer. With the group was an old man, a wise man. As was the custom a long time ago, the old man was the last one on the trail as they travelled along. One time, as they were resting on the ice waiting for him to catch up, the leader of the group discussed the possibility they wouldn’t make it home before break-up. “I guess we’ll go as far as we can and stop when we have to,” he said. “Maybe I will tease our grandfather when he catches up to us. I’ll ask him to make the weather cold so that the snow will freeze again,” he continued. When the old man caught up, he said to the group, “I feel sorry for you my grandchildren because the going is not very easy and we still have a long way to go.” “Well, Grandfather,” the leader responded, “I want to tease you a little bit. I would like to ask you to make the weather cold so that we can walk more easily.” “I’ve never had a job like that before!” the old man exclaimed. In those days alcohol was one of the things the Hudson’s Bay Company stocked in their store. It was sold in big barrels. Some was being carried home on this trip. It belonged to the leader of the group. The leader undid his load and poured a drink for the old man. Handing the drink to the old man, he said, “Here, Grandfather, have a drink. You must be tired.” “I’m grateful for the drink, Grandchild,” the old man responded. When he had finished, the leader gave him more. He was beginning to feel it! After he had finished, the leader instructed the people to continue on their way. They overheard the old man chanting away as they walked along. The day was warm and clear, the snow slushy. Before long they could hear the old man singing. He was feeling very good by then! “Grandchildren, look for me to the north,” he said. To the north they could see dark clouds, dark clouds being blown about fast by the wind.

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Mind's Eye

“By the looks of things the snow will freeze good and hard,” commented the old man. He burst into song. The leader told the people to go ashore and make a big fire to dry their soggy footwear. In those days, the Îyiyiu didn’t have much in the way of waterproof footwear. “Dry your footwear,” he said, “for it looks like it’s going to be very cold. Let’s walk as far as we can while it’s cold.” They made a huge fire on ground that was already exposed. By then there were large patches of exposed ground where the snow had melted away. They kept testing the snow. When the snow was hard enough so that their snowshoes wouldn’t sink through, they continued their trek. By sundown they didn’t need snowshoes at all. The snow was frozen so solidly they could walk quickly. They walked through the night not stopping to sleep. With the going so easy, they reached their camp before the snow started to melt again. They certainly put their old man to good use! noah mamianskum

S PI R I T M A S T E R S Below the winds on the hierarchy of helpers were the spirit masters of the animals (Feit 1978, 279). All living creatures were under the care of spirit masters. The spirit masters of the animals were the leaders or bosses of each species of animal, the “keepers of the game,” as it were. Each of the different kinds of large mammals had its own spirit master, fish as a category had one, large birds had another, as did small birds. The master of the fish or spirit in charge of fish is called Mischinâhkw, “the boss of everything in the water” (Preston, field notes, 144).3 According to Nellie Atchynia, one of the Whapmagoostui storytellers, the spirit in charge of the animals “that live on dry land” is called Îyâukâu mischinâhkw (Whapmagoostui Place Names Project 1993). That being said, each of the large game animals hunted by the Îyiyiu had its own specific spirit master, Pikutiskwâu being the female spirit in charge of the caribou. 3

In many Algonquian dialects, including the Cree spoken at Waswanipi (Brousseau 2010), mischinâhkw is the name for turtle. According to the Cree dictionary (Cree– English–French Dictionary), however, the word for turtle in the northern Cree dialect is tâhtâu, while in the southern Cree dialect it is kâmaskûwâchipiskunet.

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Mischinâhkw took care of the fish, sharing them as it saw fit with people who had demonstrated the proper respect. For, as Mischinâhkw explained to the mistâpâu of an old man in his conjuring tent, if the spirit master did not do so, the fish would all be killed in a very short time (Preston, field notes, 144). The bosses of the other animal species performed the same role. The spirit masters of the animals were ranked according to how much power they were said to possess. This reflected the value a particular species had for the Îyiyiu. For the people of Whapmagoostui, the caribou had the greatest spiritual and nutritional significance. Not surprisingly, then, Pikutiskwâu, the female spirit master of the caribou, was the highest power in the spirit world of the animals. The pre-eminent position of Pikutiskwâu, according to elder Matthew George, placed her in charge of all the game. Pikutiskwâu looked like a human. In fact, Pikutiskwâu, like all other spirit beings, was thought to be a person or person-like. Usually the people made contact with Pikutiskwâu in dreams or singing and drumming; very few people actually saw her. To see her, or to see the masters of any of the animals, required great power on the part of the hunter and the mistâpâu of the hunter. Those so endowed were able to bring the master of the animal they were interested in hunting into the shaking tent. These same powerful people sometimes saw the master of the animal without the aid of the shaking tent. The story below is about the experience of one hunter who did just that. The hunter encountered Pikutiskwâu, “lady spirit of the caribou,” after a walk of more than two days. By letting him know where she had “made camp,” she told him where he would find what he was looking for.

Kâwâchikâtât and Pikutiskwâu This story is about a man who always had an easy time with caribou. The caribou never got away from him. He liked to hunt other kinds of game but caribou were his favourite. Caribou run away if they smell man or smoke. When this happened to the people he knew, the man would say, “But where did they go? The caribou must be around here somewhere.

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They didn’t fall through the earth!” And he would go look for them himself. He believed that once caribou tracks had been sighted, he could always get them. It was just a question of catching up to them. The man’s name was Kâwâchikâtât. One time hunger hit the camp of Kâwâchikâtât and his group. At the time they were camped by a lake where they could do some fishing. Most of the men had become so weak they couldn’t walk. Caribou sometimes travel at night. Day or night, it doesn’t matter which, if caribou come across fish lines in the ice, they check out the mounds of snow beside the holes in the ice to see if people are close by. If they are, the caribou go as far from the place as possible. In the past, it was the job of the women to check the fish lines and the nets in the morning. One morning when the women returned from doing this, they said, “A herd of caribou reached us in the night.” Kâwâchikâtât said that he would take a look for their trail. It is said that when caribou walk in a line they intend to walk very far. If, on the other hand, their footprints are all over the place it means that they are not in a hurry. So off he went with his rifle and small pail. Following their tracks, Kâwâchikâtât saw that the path of the herd looked as if only one caribou was making trail. The next day he noticed the same thing. The herd was travelling this way and this far because it had detected signs of human occupation. After he had slept outside twice, meaning he had been on their trail for two days, he came upon the shore of a lake that was oriented in a northerly direction. He could see the trail of the herd heading over the hill on the other side of the lake. Coming towards him on the ice was a person. Because all the men in his group were too weak to walk, he assumed that it was a visitor, perhaps a stranger. He soon realized, however, that the person was a woman, a woman with very beautiful clothing. When she reached Kâwâchikâtât, she said, “Over the hill is another lake where I have made camp.” And then she vanished leaving only a whirlwind where she had walked. Kâwâchikâtât continued on his way. He went to the top of the hill. A herd of caribou lay resting on the lake before him. He shot and killed many of them. Thinking of the starving people he had left behind, he didn’t butcher all the caribou at once. He

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cut up one caribou and carried back as much as he could. He wanted to return before someone in camp perished. Kâwâchikâtât only spoke about this experience when he was a very old man for what he had seen out there on the ice was the Pikutiskwâu, spirit leader of the caribou. Pikutiskwâu was the female spirit associated with the caribou. She could only be seen by men, and then most infrequently. She rarely revealed herself. Another spirit, a male version of Pikutiskwâu, also associated with the caribou, existed as well. peter sandy and noah mamianskum

It was felt that man and animals had been put on earth to take care of each other. They thought of each other as friends, partners—sometimes even closer. To have seen and been helped by Pikutiskwâu, as the man in the previous story was, the man had to have a very close relationship with the spirit beings. In the next story, we see a similarly close relationship. The relationship between man and animals was governed by a covenant that placed great responsibility upon its Îyiyiu constituents. According to Îyiyiu philosophy, the land was to be shared by man and all living things. Man and animals were to live together in a state of balanced cooperation. It was understood that the animals would provide the Îyiyiu with food on condition that the Îyiyiu fulfill a number of obligations. Firstly, the Îyiyiu were to treat both the animal world and the people around them with respect. And, people were to treat each other with great hospitality and generosity. There were many different ways to show respect for the animals. Numerous rites, rituals and ceremonies were enacted in honour of the animal world to express appreciation for its gifts. The Îyiyiu were humbled by the fact that animals shortened their lives so that humans could extend theirs. Shamans expressed their gratitude to the animals in the shaking tent. Those who did not conjure expressed their feelings through everything they did associated with the hunt, through songs and offerings, through attitudes and actions, even through their clothing. The spirits of the moccasins, snowshoes,

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leggings and hoods kept the hunter from getting tired and led him to his prey. These items were decorated to please the animal world. While hunting, the hunter joyfully greeted the animal he was hunting. The hunter’s equipment was kept in good order out of respect for the animals. After a hunt, the person who had led the hunt thanked the animal he had killed. He thanked its spirit leader by making offerings of food to the animal and looking after its bones in a special way. Then, all parts of the animal were used. It was incumbent upon the women to butcher and store the food so that nothing would be wasted or rot. And, the hides and skins had to be properly tanned. Above and beyond this, the Îyiyiu had to show respect for the animals by only killing what they needed and by sharing the results of the hunt with the people around them. The effort of the generous and considerate hunter was then rewarded with good luck, the animals being willing to give themselves to him. If, on the other hand, the hunter had been greedy, hunting more than he needed, or stingy or negligent about sharing, the spirit of the animal species involved would decline to make that species available to the hunter. As this could place the security of the group in jeopardy, a greedy hunter was considered dangerous. The following story is about how, one winter, “someone” saved a starving family by filling their lines with fish and leading them to the caribou. The “someone” was probably a spirit being in human form, not in itself remarkable as the masters of the animals all assumed human form. What was remarkable was that he appeared, just as the spirit master of the caribou did in the previous story, while the Îyiyiu was outside going about his business and not in a dream or in the shaking tent. This Îyiyiu must have cultivated a very good relationship with the spirit world.

“Someone” Helps the Starving Îyiyiu The Îyiyiu, his wife and child were very close to starvation. Weak from hunger, he attempted to set his four fish lines. His wife put up their dwelling. While chiselling the ice for the first line, he saw a stranger walking

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energetically towards him from across the ice. The Îyiyiu thought to himself, “He certainly doesn’t look hungry!” The visitor reached the man and said something to him. “I don’t think I can manage to chisel all my lines,” the Îyiyiu responded. “Give me your ice pick, I’ll do it for you,” the visitor offered. The Îyiyiu gave him the ice pick and the man went to chisel the ice for the remaining fish lines. The Îyiyiu put his line in the hole he had already chiselled. This did not take long. He stood up to go to the visitor. Assuming that the visitor would still be working on the hole for the second line, he thought he would wait with him while he finished. The Îyiyiu was surprised to see that the visitor was already on his way to chisel a third hole. “The visitor is incredibly fast,” the Îyiyiu thought to himself. The Îyiyiu put his fish line in the hole and prepared to meet the visitor at the third. Again, the visitor was just leaving to work on the fourth hole. The Îyiyiu finished with the third hole and proceeded to the fourth and last hole in the ice. By then the visitor had cleared the hole of the pieces of ice and debris. His ice pick was already standing by the hole. The visitor waited as the man placed the last line in the water. “Go back and check the lines,” the visitor suggested to the man. “On your way home, check all three lines. You’ll see that there’ll be fish on your third line.” “What on earth is he saying!” the man wondered to himself. “The first fish you get is for you,” the visitor continued. “The next line you check will also have a fish. It is for your wife. When you check the line after that it, too, will have a fish, a fish for your son. Keep checking your lines. When you feel strong enough to take a long trip, this is where you should go.” And the visitor gave the man instructions about where they should go next. The visitor left when he had finished giving directions. In a flash he was out of sight. He left no trace. But his words came true. Just as he had said, there were fish on the three fish lines. Checking his lines on the following days as he had been instructed, the Îyiyiu always found fish. Each time he checked, he was rewarded with a good catch. Soon he and his

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Noah Mamianskum. [Courtesy of Elizabeth Dick.]

family had regained their strength and felt that they could go on a long trip. They left and went to the area recommended by the visitor, an area teeming with caribou. They had been saved from starvation. That is what sometimes happened to the Îyiyiu. They would see “someone” and talk to them while they were out hunting. noah mamianskum

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Through the spirit masters of the animals, a hunter established a relationship with the animals he hunted. It was critical that the hunter be known to the master of the species of animal he was hunting. After all, the spirit leader could only help the Îyiyiu it knew. Because food, clothing, dwelling materials and some tools were derived from the products of the chase, Îyiyiu not known to the spirit leaders could find themselves in dire straits. Not to be known could seriously jeopardize a person’s ability to lead a normal life, indeed, to stay alive. The legend below, “The Man Who Couldn’t Kill Anything,” about the frustrated and bewildered young hunter Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât illustrates how futile his efforts at hunting were until spirits representing the animal species he wanted to hunt took notice of him. The closeness of the relationship between the Îyiyiu and Pikutiskwâu, lady spirit of the caribou, is also underlined here when Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât and Pikutiskwâu become man and wife.

The Man Who Couldn’t Kill Anything

Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât became a man without killing a thing, not even a wîskichâns [Canada jay]. He was ridiculed all his life because he couldn’t kill anything. Even the women made fun of him! Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât was the youngest boy in the family and his parents were getting very old. They lived with Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât’s married sister and her husband. Her husband hunted for them. One time his sister and her husband went to live with another group of people, not far from where Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât and his parents were camped. Just as before, Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât went out everyday, walking around to see if he could get some game. Like all the other men, he had always gone out first thing in the morning to hunt. Unlike the other men, he never brought anything home. One day, as he was walking in the woods, he began to question his existence. “Why was I born a man? I never see any game or kill any game like other men. I wish I hadn’t been born a man!” Overcome with frustration, he shot his arrows anywhere. Finally, he threw his bow away and collapsed crying on the ground.

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Soon he was awakened by a wîskichâns hopping about among the trees. “Oh, here’s a man; I wonder who he is? Why haven’t I noticed him before?” she wondered to herself. She went to all the animals nearby telling them of her find. “My fellow creatures,” she said to them, “I have found a man, but I don’t know him. What about you? Have you ever seen him before?” The animals said they hadn’t seen the man before either. Now listen very carefully to this part, for this is what happens at the birth of every male Îyiyiu child. The animals tell each other of the birth of the male child. Just as the wîskichâns was the first one mentioned in this story, the wîskichâns also says when a male child is born to an Îyiyiu, “It is announced that our grandchild is a man. We’ll certainly ask for the food he kills. We will drink the blood on the snow when he kills something.” My grandfather told me that this is what wîskichâns says whenever a male child is born. Before long, many kinds of animals had gathered around the sleeping man. The last one to arrive at the man’s side was Pikutiskwâu. She said to the other animals, “What do you mean, have I seen him before? I haven’t, you should have been the first ones to know him. Why would I get to know him first?” Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât suddenly became conscious. He looked up to see a woman fixing his hair. She said to him, “We didn’t know you before. That’s why you’ve had such a miserable life. But things will be different from now on.” Each of the animals told him where in his body game would be situated. The caribou said, “I’ll be right in the middle of your chest. I’ll be there to look after you for the rest of your life.” Then the fish said to him, “I will be in the palm of your hand.” And all the other animals told him where in his body they would be. And he was told that he should look for each kind of animal, one by one, killing just one kind of animal a day. Wîskichâns, who had found him first, said to him, “You don’t have to wait to have me. You can take me inside your dwelling now.” Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât went home. Wîskichâns were all about him as he walked home. He shot one before he reached home. As he entered the dwelling with the birds, his old father took notice right away, exclaiming to his wife, “Our son has killed a wîskichâns! Take it and clean it right away.”

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Before Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât had started for home, the fish had said to him, “Look for me as soon as you reach home.4 When you check your net, the first fish you get is for you to eat. The second fish is for your father while the third is for your mother. That’s all I have to say about the first time you will seek me.” So when he got home, he said to his mother, “Mother, would you fix a net for me to put in the water.” He had never made such a request before. She prepared the net. He went out to set the net. Before he had finished putting it in the water he felt fish splashing about in the net. No sooner was he finished than he had to start removing the fish. Pulling the net out of the water, he removed the first fish. It was medium-sized. As the fish had instructed, he marked it to know that this was the one that was meant for him. The second fish, the one that was meant for his father, was quite large. The third fish he pulled out of the water was for his mother. He removed a few more fish but couldn’t take all of them just then. Fish had filled his net as soon as it had hit the water! He couldn’t carry his whole catch home! His parents were ecstatic. Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât had never caught a fish before! Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât said to his mother, “Mother, here are some fish to cook. I’ll eat this fish. This one is for my father; the other is for you.” The old man took great care handling the fish. He knew what was happening to his son. The old man held a feast with the fish. He ate the fish that was meant for him. He also ate the part of the fish his wife couldn’t finish. He ate almost two whole fish! Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât said to his father, “I didn’t take all the fish that were in the net. Why don’t you go get them? Take the net out of the water if you wish.” The ptarmigan had told him when he should go and look for them. There were a lot of ptarmigan near their dwelling. He killed a few and brought them home. As for the otter and the beaver, he killed them on the shore where their dwellings were. The caribou had told him which day he should look for it. When the time came, he hunted caribou, killing three. One was a big male and one was a female caribou with her young. The bear had told him that he should look for it after he had got the other animals. The bear was quite proud and could not be hunted 4

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The fish was telling Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât to put a net in the water: Emily Masty.

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easily. “I will be the last you will look for,” bear had said. Finally, he had killed everything that he had been instructed to kill. Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât went hunting again as soon as everything he had killed had been cleaned and properly stored away. From then on he never had to go far from home before he found the game he was looking for, especially caribou. They soon had plenty of food. One day, the old man said to his son, “Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât, go fetch your sister. She could be a big help preparing the game you are getting. She could keep some of the game for herself, too. Your mother can hardly keep up with the cleaning and food preparation.” Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât left to get his sister. The old man had also extended the invitation to the other people his sister was camping with. Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât reached his sister’s camp. The women said, “Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât is here. He looks very different. There’s blood on his arrows; he’s not the same man we last saw.” Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât relayed his father’s message to his sister. His sister and her husband accepted the invitation. The woman’s husband said to the other people, “My family and I have been invited. I imagine it is because of food. You’re all welcome to come too, if you wish.” The other Îyiyiu agreed. They were starting to be hungry because their hunting hadn’t been too successful. Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât travelled with his brother-in-law and sister in their canoe. Whenever they would portage, it seemed that there were a lot of ptarmigan around. The ptarmigan had never behaved like this before. Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât didn’t bother with them. The other Îyiyiu stopped to hunt them but they couldn’t get much of anything. The ptarmigan flew away. Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât’s sister said to him, “Why don’t you try to get a few ptarmigan?” He said, “Okay. Take my load, then.” He started walking. There were ptarmigan everywhere he went. They didn’t seem to be afraid of him. Naturally, he killed a lot of ptarmigan in no time at all. It wasn’t long before his brother-in-law couldn’t carry any more. He was tying them in bunches by their necks. He said to the women, “Take the rest of the ptarmigan. This is all I can carry.” The women ran to the ptarmigan, competing to get to them first as he killed them. After a while he said he’d killed enough.

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When they came atop a hill, he said to his sister, “There’s our camp down there.” The Îyiyiu looked down upon a well-to-do camp. There were caribou skins all over the place hanging to dry. Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât’s sister entered her father’s dwelling. After greetings, he said to his daughter, “Daughter, all this food was hunted by your brother. I called for you because your mother couldn’t keep up with your brother’s hunting. She needs your help. And, of course, you can have some of the food, too.” Earlier, Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât had told his father some of the things Pikutiskwâu had said to him. Pikutiskwâu had said to him when he first met her, “You will not marry a human woman. I am the one you will marry. It is because you were not known to us for a long time, that is why I will marry you. Once you live with me, you will live with me until the world comes to an end.” He told his father this. Pikutiskwâu had continued, “You will be sought after with the same intensity as you were ridiculed before you killed anything. I will take you with me when the time comes, when you feel frustrated by the insistence of those who want to marry you.” He suggested his father warn people not to bother him. The old man said to his wife, “Tell our daughter right away to warn the others not to bother our son about marriage.” The old woman told this to her daughter. The old man said, “Make our dwelling bigger. You5 will live with us.” The other Îyiyiu erected their dwellings, too. Soon the single women started saying to each other, “I am going to marry Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât.” The others would reply, “No, I’m going to marry him!” When Samuel Bearskin tells this story he wonders whether, if it were to happen now, the girls would be calling Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât on the phone! Later Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât disappeared. He was never seen again. I guess Pikutiskwâu had taken him away with her. matthew george and peter sandy

The Îyiyiu thought of the relationship between hunter and caribou as being as close as that between husband and wife. The years of accumulated understanding of animal behaviour based upon close observation 5

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The old man was referring to his daughter and her husband: Emily Masty.

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Peter Sandy. [Courtesy of Elizabeth Dick.]

of their habits, as well as a strong need and desire for animals to provide most of the necessities of life, added credence and humility to their love. Through myth, man and the female caribou become man and wife, relationships that are illustrated in legends such as the one about Âkâ Kâ Nipihtât and Pikutiskwâu, spirit leader of the caribou. Women enjoyed a similar relationship with the caribou. A male version of the female spirit of the caribou existed as well. And just as Pikutiskwâu could only be seen by men, this spirit could only be seen by women. According to the elders,

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“In the past when one of the old women was thinking about this spirit, she would sing her song, which began like this, ‘I desire the man.’” Traditionally, by making himself attractive to the female caribou spirit, the hunter assumed the role of a young man who, like a young man enticing a woman, encouraged the caribou to give herself to him. Caribou recognized the hunter as a man by the style of his leggings. Before pants were introduced, men and women wore leggings, the men during the winter, the women, year-round. Because the caribou wanted to distinguish the hunter from his wife, men’s and women’s leggings were made differently. The hunters’ leggings were shaped to resemble the leg of a caribou, cut at the bottom into a pointed ankle flap reflecting the dew claws of the caribou’s hoof (Oberholtzer 1994). Women’s, in contrast, were rounded at the bottom. The metaphorical marriage between man and caribou was consummated in language through expressions that equated hunting with male sexuality: “sperm” and “gun powder” were the same word, as were the phrases, “he ejaculates” and “he shoots,” as well as the word “condom” and the Îyiyiu word for the protective cloth sheath placed over guns. Logically then, just as marriage and sexuality were the prerogative of the socially mature male, so too was hunting caribou (Adelson 1992). In the same way that cooperation was required from the spirit world to ensure a successful hunt, cooperation was also required between members of hunting parties. From the stories, we learn that the Îyiyiu designated a headman or leader, usually an older man, to set out the plan of action for the hunt. It was incumbent upon him to act in the interest of the group. His older sons would scout the area for caribou tracks, and, when they had been spotted, the sons called out to let the people in the other dwellings in camp know. The headman then told the hunters where to set their snares, the snares of the leader being placed before the other snares so the caribou reached the headman’s snares first. The headman also determined who got the top job—chasing the caribou to the snares, a job bestowed upon only the most experienced hunters. The men were then situated at strategic spots to steer the caribou in the direction of the snares. Some of the hunters chased the caribou to

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the snares while those who were stationed near the snares speared them. To get the attention of the caribou, the lead chaser or someone with him made tapping sounds with his snowshoes. Failing that he would make wolf calls to really get them going! Then the chaser yelled to the caribou, “Go, run home,” as he drove them to the snares, often continuing to chant as the caribou hit the snares. In the two following stories, in recognition of their exceptional abilities, young boys—orphans both—acquire roles normally assumed by mature hunters. Each of the boys, however, had developed a close relationship with Mischinâhkw at an early age. Such bonds between youths and spirit helpers were highly unusual. In the previous stories, the men reaping the rewards of their powers were much older. A person’s power was usually determined by age, marital status and degree of knowledge. In general, unmarried girls and boys were just learning to hunt and to process animals and food; they had no power. To illustrate this, Noah Mamianskum told a story about two young friends who were out hunting for spruce grouse when they unexpectedly came across a herd of caribou. There had been a lot of snow recently, so the boys thought the caribou would stay put. Grouse and other small game completed the hunting repertoire of the two friends, like other young boys. They hadn’t gone far when they saw snow that had been trampled by caribou. The herd wasn’t far away. “Oh, no! Why were we the ones to find the caribou?” they groaned. They were dismayed because they were just learning how to hunt. And they had no power. With the responsibilities that came with marriage, young married men and women acquired a new perspective on life. In the process, they began to know a little about the spirit world. From the Îyiyiu perspective, they started “to think” and, as a result, have some ability to know what will happen. Then, with maturity, middle-aged men and women came to know and understand more, until finally, as elders, they “knew a lot” (Feit 1978, 276) Through dreams, drumming and chanting—and for some, the shaking tent—they had developed such a close relationship with spirit beings, they could understand things younger people were incapable of understanding.

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Knowing how to think about the spirit world enabled older men and women to use what they knew to help the younger people hunt and to treat the animals and spirit beings properly. Older men took fewer animals, but they weren’t less important as hunters because it was they who told the younger hunters both where to look for the animals and how to get them. In this way they shared their knowledge and power with the younger hunters who, in turn, were learning how to think and inherit power. As the stories below attest, there are exceptions. Sometimes it was known very early on in a young person’s life that he was not ordinary, that he possessed powers or abilities beyond his years. In the second story below, the headman, like many before him and many since, is playing this role with his adult sons. Despite the presence of caribou, the Îyiyiu had been plagued with unsuccessful hunts; starvation was imminent. In a break from tradition, a young boy is invited by the headman to chase the caribou to the snares. Such an invitation was an acknowledgement of the boy’s exceptional abilities. Similarly, in the first story below, a young boy blessed with a talent for “hearing” used his gifts to locate what had been, until then, an elusive herd of caribou. In both cases, the efforts of the youths proved highly successful. But because unmarried youths were not thought “to know” much about the spirit world, their hunting success was entirely unexpected. The custom at the end of the hunt was to give the two best caribou to the person who had chased the caribou to the snares. Having been shown which caribou were his, the leader of the hunt would return home empty-handed, while the others, men and women both, stayed behind to butcher them. All the other people, children included, then carried the food back to the camp. Often when a larger animal, a bear or caribou, was killed, the chaser gave it to an elder, the headman or his father or grandfather, as a sign of respect for both the elder and the animal. The elder then decided how the meat was to be distributed to all the members of the camp. Generosity was expected. Back at the camp, a feast would be held in honour of the leader of the chase. During the feasts the old men played the drum and sang their gratitude to the caribou. In the second story below, after the hunt the youth gave the caribou that were meant for him to his grandfather to hold a caribou feast. The

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bones were used to make pimî. Caribou pimî was made of marrow from the crushed joint bones and other parts of the caribou where marrow is found. The crushed bones are boiled and then the fat, which has come to the top, is skimmed off. It was a great honour to be asked to host a caribou feast and to oversee the making of caribou pimî, a food highly valued by the Îyiyiu. Those who were asked to host the feast and make the pimî were obviously held in high esteem. While women did most of the everyday cooking, food for certain feasts and ceremonial occasions was prepared by the men. Men also prepared the pimî. Old men who were given the caribou bones after a big hunt liked to divide up the pimî so that each of the elderly men in the group could have his own bundle. Considered a great source of nourishment, caribou fat was and still is used as a complement to meat and fish, enhancing their flavour and consistency. It was handled with great care during preparation so that none was wasted. People felt rich when there was an abundance of fat. The following two stories are recounted by Matthew George. While telling the second one, Matthew stops midway to explain a detail in the story. As with many Cree storytellers, he does this by recounting part of a legend that illustrates why this detail is pertinent.

The Boy Who Heard Sounds of Joyful Dancing I will tell a story about an orphan from long ago. One time, as was the case sometimes, the Îyiyiu were hungry because no game had been killed. The Îyiyiu bedded down for the night. Earlier that day the men had gone caribou hunting but hadn’t seen any tracks. It was later discovered the Îyiyiu had missed the caribou even though they had gone looking for them. The caribou had come by later on when the Îyiyiu had gone another way. It was during the coldest part of the winter. The moon was full that night. After the Îyiyiu had gone to sleep for the night, the orphan kept sticking his head out of his bedcovers and looking towards the entrance way as if listening for something. He said to his grandfather, “Grandfather, where is the dance being held? There is a dance happening

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right now.” Taking notice of what the orphan had said, the grandfather replied, “Listen very carefully, Grandson. Is it really a dance you hear?” The orphan got up to listen more carefully. He said, “Yes, that’s what I hear. There is a dance going on. The dancing comes from the west. There’s great joy in the dancing.” His grandfather said to him, “Stick your head outside to make sure.” He stuck his head outside and reported, “I’m certain it’s a dance. I distinctly hear a rattle.” His grandfather said to him, “Do you think you could get near the dance without being seen?” The moon was shining brightly. “Yes, I’ll try to get closer.” He put on his clothes. His grandfather heard his footsteps retreating away from the dwelling. He was gone for quite a while. Later, his grandfather heard his footsteps coming back. He entered the dwelling and said, “Grandfather, I really did hear dancing. A dance is definitely being held.” His grandfather asked him, “Did anybody see you?” He said, “No, I don’t think so. On my way home when I was far from the dance, I stopped to listen again. They were still dancing; they sounded so happy. But I couldn’t see exactly where the dance was being held. The sounds came from a hollow or dent in the landscape.” His grandfather said to the other Îyiyiu, “Go to where he thinks the dance was held. It won’t be the first time people do something for nothing, should that be the case.” In the morning, the men went with the orphan and his grandfather to the area where he had heard the dance. The men looked from a distance so they wouldn’t be seen. There was a small lake down below. The lake was surrounded by many trees. Caribou were on the lake. Spread out across the width of the lake, the caribou looked like open water. The men set up their snares. As the men were hanging up their snares, the orphan said to his grandfather, “Grandfather, the snares are being set up in the wrong place. The caribou will not come this way. The entrance is not here. It’s over there.” His grandfather told the men where to set the snares. The snares were taken down and placed where the orphan said to set them. The headman said to him, “Would you chase the caribou to the snares?” He replied, “Yes, I’ll go with my grandfather. He’ll be the one the caribou sense first and I will call to them.” The boy and his grandfather went to the area where they were to start chasing the caribou. When they got to the spot, he said to his

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grandfather, “Grandfather, let them know you are here.” The old man tapped on his snowshoes. The caribou got to their feet. His grandfather said to him, “It’s your turn.” The orphan called to the caribou. Not hesitating for even a second, the caribou ran right into the snares. As the caribou were running in the direction where the boy had said to put the entrance, they made the snow fly up into the air. It looked just like the mist that forms in the doorway when the flap of a tent is opened and hot and cold air meet. After the hunt, the boy and his grandfather went to the men where the snares had been hung. The custom was that the person who had chased the caribou to the snares would be met by one of the men by the snares, who would say, “We have caught some.” This, one of the men did. The orphan was given his two caribou. He thanked them, saying, “You may take them home so my grandfather can feast on them.” The orphan noticed a caribou with big antlers lying there. It had not been taken off the snare yet. He asked his grandfather, “Grandfather, why has that caribou not been tended to yet? It should be the first one we eat because it’s the one who suggested we be fed.”6 His grandfather spoke to the Îyiyiu. The caribou was tended to right away and loaded up on a toboggan to be taken to the camp right away. All the caribou were taken home from there. That’s all that I know of this story. matthew george

The Orphan and Mischinâhkw I will tell a story about an Îyiyiu of long ago. I heard this story from my grandfather. The Great Whale River Îyiyiu took good care of their orphans, especially the boys—the future hunters of the group. This story is about an orphaned boy. It took place when he was able to go with the hunters if they did not go long distances. His grandfather was raising him; they lived together. There came a time when the group of Îyiyiu they lived with were not able to kill any caribou. They would see the caribou

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The orphan meant that this was the caribou that had led the others to the snares: Emily Masty.

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tracks but when they went to look for them, the caribou would already have gone far away. This went on for a long time. One day it was announced that caribou tracks had been sighted. By the looks of their tracks, there were many of them. The men went to look for the caribou. The orphan went along, too. He had two snares. In those days the caribou were snared and then speared. But the same thing happened as had been happening all along. When they got to where the caribou tracks had been seen, they found the caribou had left the area. The caribou were in a hurry. The Îyiyiu saw the caribou going over a high hill. They followed their trail. The orphan was way behind the others, too young to keep up with the men. By the time they got to the top of the hill, the caribou tracks were already heading over another hill. The trail had gone around a high mountain and beyond. The headman of the hunt said to the men, “We’ll head home from here. I’m afraid some of you might not make it home if we keep following the tracks.” Soon the young boy’s head could be seen bobbing up and down as he came up the incline of the hill where the men were. He had on the hood of his caribou-skin coat. His caribou-skin coat was in dire need of replacing. He glanced at where the trail was leading and asked, “Why are you sitting down? You could be on the other side of the mountain by now.” Not liking this remark, the headman responded, “I feel you’re criticizing my decision. But if you think you can continue, go on then. Most of the men aren’t able to, even if they wanted to.” The orphan replied, “This isn’t a criticism. I’m only imagining where we would be if we could go farther.” “Well, go on then,” the headman said. The orphan left. There were trees in the valley between the two hills. He had to get through these woods before reaching the other mountain. He was going very slowly. He stopped when he saw what was on the other side. He turned around and started walking back towards the Îyiyiu. When he got to a place where he knew the others could see him, he started waving his arms back and forth to get their attention. “I hope he has good news for us,” they said. The men got up and crossed over to where he was. Anticipation of good news had restored their energy.

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The orphan waited for them. “Why did you wave your arms like that?” the Îyiyiu asked him. He replied, “Look to the other side where I’ve just been. There’s a lake over there. At the east end of the lake is something on the ice. I imagine a herd of caribou would look like that if it were sitting on the ice.” They looked. There they were. The area where the caribou were sitting on the ice looked like open water stretching across the lake. There sat the herd of caribou. The headman said to the rest, “Place your snares.” When the Îyiyiu had hung half of their snares, he said to the orphan, “You should leave now to chase the caribou towards the snares.”7 The boy agreed and left to go behind the caribou to chase them to the snares. Not long after this, they could hear the youth calling the caribou. The caribou started running. The boy chased them right into the middle of the snares. The custom was, in those days when snares were still in use for hunting caribou, that the one who had chased the caribou to the snares was given the best caribou of the lot. So when the boy got back to the men, they had chosen the two best caribou for him. “Here are your two caribou,” they said to him. “Take the two caribou back to the camp.” “I’m very happy we’ll be able to have some broth! Now my grandfather will eat the caribou,” he responded.8 The caribou were transported home by the men. The old man held a feast with the two caribou. The next day the camp was moved to where the caribou had been killed. When the camp was being set up, the youth was nowhere to be seen. He had taken off. He appeared when the boughs were being placed inside the dwellings and said, “Can you try to be quiet? I’ve just followed the caribou that got away yesterday. There’s a lake nearby. That’s where they are. It looks like there are more caribou than there were yesterday. The caribou that got away have joined another herd.” The call went out, “Run home, for we are happy.” This would be called out whenever someone had seen caribou or their tracks. Before I go on with my story, I want to tell you something from a legend. Once there was a caribou called Âyâshûtuhkws. He had been a 7 8

“I guess he already suspected that he was not an ordinary boy,” Matthew commented. The boy meant that his grandfather would hold a feast with the two caribou, as was the custom: Emily Masty.

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human at one time. Âyâshûtuhkws lived with the caribou in their dwelling. According to the legend, when the Îyiyiu sighted caribou or their tracks, it appeared to the caribou as if someone were peeking through the top of the entrance flap of their dwelling. I am telling this part of the legend before I go on with my story. So someone would be seen peeking through the top of the entrance flap of the caribou dwelling. This is what the caribou would see when an Îyiyiu had sighted caribou or their tracks. But Âyâshûtuhkws’s fellow dwellers—the other caribou—wouldn’t react to the Îyiyiu peeking at them. Âyâshûtuhkws would then be told, “Âyâshûtuhkws, go and see what is going on. See if the Îyiyiu are happy. Go in your bare feet.” Upon his return, he would usually announce, “They [the Îyiyiu] are expressing their happiness and gratitude.”9 The caribou would then say, “We will feed them then if they are happy.” He would also report back whenever the Îyiyiu had snared some caribou or killed some caribou. Sometimes, he would say, “I don’t hear them expressing their happiness and gratitude. I came home when my feet were really cold.” The other caribou would then say, “We will not feed them if they’re not happy.” This is what would happen when the caribou would go a way other than where the Îyiyiu wanted to chase them. And the caribou would miss the snares altogether. That is how the story goes. I will continue my story now. The Îyiyiu went after the caribou the very next morning bringing all their snares with them. The men set up the snares. The boy said to the headman, “I would like to chase the caribou to the snares again.” The headman agreed. The boy set out to where the caribou were. He chased the caribou to the snares again. He sent them right to the snares. This time many were snared. For there were more snares than the day before. As the men were taking the caribou off the snares, the orphan was standing near the headman. The boy said to him, “I’d like to say something to you even if it may seem out of line.” The boss man said to go ahead. The orphan said, “I suggest you be the one to drink the bloody snow from the caribou we killed yesterday and today.” What he actually was saying was that the man should have all the bones of the caribou to make pimî with. The headman expressed 9

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They are expressing their happiness by saying “Run home, for we are happy”: Emily Masty.

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gratitude to the youth, saying, “I will certainly drink broth by what you are saying to me.” The youth continued, “I felt the first time we followed the caribou tracks we were kind of angry.10 But next time you see the tracks of a caribou, you can continue to do what you’ve done all your life. You don’t have to think of me anymore to help. You should take over your job again. I won’t be in your way. The caribou won’t behave as they did anymore.11 You may resume your position when you see other caribou tracks again.” The headman said to the Îyiyiu when they came home from their hunt, “Finish working with the bones of the first caribou we killed. I’ll have a feast as soon as the pimî is done. Anyway, we still have the other herd so I’ll be able to keep some pimî to share with visitors.” They held a pimî feast along with the caribou meat. There was a lot of pimî from the first herd. Before and after the feast, the men sang songs and chants with the drum. The orphan was near the fire. The drum was being passed around for the last time that evening. When the drum was going by him, he said, “Ah! Tie and hang the drum for me. I, too, have a song. I wouldn’t have been able to do what I did if I hadn’t had a song.” His grandfather said to him, “You may sing but not too long.” He said, “Okay, I won’t sing too long. Why would I do that?” They hung the drum for him. He tapped on the drum for a while before he sang. Then he started singing. He was able to finish his song. Right at the end of this song, something was heard to the west. The thing that was heard was Mischinâhkw. He threw down his tapping stick and fell backwards, saying, “I’ve finished my song.” That’s all he sang. The story about the orphan ends here. matthew george

The following story highlights the behaviour of a recalcitrant hunter who refused to assume the role he has been asked to play. In the previous story, a young hunter questioned the authority of the headman, but his behaviour was tolerated because circumstances demanded a change in 10

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The boy meant that because they were angry they were unable to get the cooperation of the caribou: Emily Masty. He meant that the caribou would be easier to kill, as before: Emily Masty.

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roles. The headman’s hunting strategy had not met with success and the Îyiyiu were hungry. This is not the case in the next story. Instead, the lead chaser had succeeded in driving home three herds of caribou, which the Îyiyiu were now preparing to hunt. The Îyiyiu were highly sensitive to the fact that one of the essential ingredients to their survival was cooperation. People had to be able to count on each other. Immature and uncooperative, Kâpihkihkûwâu was sent to sit with the children, not with the lead chaser where he felt he belonged. Hopefully, this humiliation would convince him to assume his assigned role.

Why Kâpihkihkûwâu Found Himself Sitting with the Children Kâpihkihkûwâu always wanted to be the one to chase the caribou to the snares. One time he was living with a group of people at Kâtâpâchunikinuwich. Amongst the people in the group were three brothers. Kâpihkihkûwâu was a potential father-in-law to the brothers. Cree social norms dictate that sons-in-law and fathers-in-law, potential or otherwise, must give each other total respect, so much so one doesn’t venture into anything with the other unless specifically asked to do so by the other. One day the eldest brother chased a herd of caribou down from the north to their encampment. The caribou consisted of three herds, combined. Snares were set up for the caribou and the man who brought the caribou home was told, “You have the honour of chasing the caribou into the snares because it was you who brought them home.” Kâpihkihkûwâu went to the front where the men had assembled hoping, as usual, to be asked to lead the hunt. He always acted as if it were his right to do so. Because the way to the chase was hard going, the middle brother told the younger to make the trail for their older brother. They didn’t want him to be tired before the hunt began. With the older brother in pursuit, the younger brother left to make trail. Although he hadn’t been invited, Kâpihkihkûwâu went too. The other men situated themselves at strategic spots to steer the caribou in

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the direction of the snares. When they reached a small cove, the older brother told Kâpihkihkûwâu to stay at the cove in case some of the caribou tried to escape that way. He ignored the request suggesting instead the younger brother stay at the cove so he, too, could chase the caribou into the snares. He was obsessed. The brothers ignored him, the youngest running ahead, followed by the eldest. Despite his efforts to keep up, Kâpihkihkûwâu was left far behind. The older brother went around and behind the caribou. The person who is designated to lead the chase is also supposed to call the caribou. When the older brother started running, he could be heard calling out, “Go, run home!” The caribou started running in the direction he was chasing them. Needless to say, once the caribou were halfway across the ice, Kâpihkihkûwâu could be heard calling out to them as well. That’s how much he wanted to be the one to chase the caribou to the snares. A lot of caribou were caught in the snares. The men had started butchering them when the older brother reached the area where the snares were. When the person who started the chase first reaches the place where the snares are, it is customary for him to be told, “Niminihunân” (We have killed something to eat). This is what was said to the older brother. “It is with gratitude that we will eat now,” he responded. The men then looked for the two best caribou to give to the eldest brother. The man who first called the caribou was not allowed to do any of the butchering. He could watch. He usually would go back to camp after he had been shown which of the caribou were to be his. The older brother watched as the other men prepared the caribou. Kâpihkihkûwâu stood just behind him; he didn’t do any work. After the men had selected which of the two caribou were to be for the feast in his honour, the older brother expressed his thanks and said, “Cut them up so the women and children can bring them right back to camp.” Women and children also went along on hunts like this. He then went home. So, too, did Kâpihkihkûwâu. Kâpihkihkûwâu had two wives. When his wives got home, they asked him, “Why did you leave? You could have helped us with our caribou because we were given a lot. We haven’t yet finished doing what we’re supposed to do with our caribou.” “I came home when my hunting partner came home,” he responded.

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When the two caribou had been cooked, everyone was invited to the feast.12 Kâpihkihkûwâu entered the dwelling where the feast was and asked, “Where’s my partner? I’ll sit with my partner.” The older brother had been seated in the place of honour, with the old men. Kâpihkihkûwâu stepped in that direction. In order to reach the place of honour he had to pass the young men who were sitting around the food. The young men guided him away until he found himself sitting amongst the children. noah mamianskum

C OM M U N IC AT ION S Dreaming, Drumming and Singing “You have to face the reality of your dreams,” said an elderly man from Waswanipi, emphasizing the fact that information conveyed through dreams was as real and as relevant as any acquired while awake (Feit Interviews). Dreaming was the vehicle most people used to communicate with the spirit world. Dreams could either be realistic or metaphorical, the latter requiring interpretation. In both kinds of dreams, power was bestowed upon the dreamer by friends from the spirit world. A hunter benefited from having many friends in the spirit world. Usually there was a strong association between dreams and the maturity of the dreamer. While children were encouraged to remember their dreams, their dreams were not thought to have a practical application. Instead, they indicated that the child had potential spiritual power, a potential that could be tapped once the person had developed some skills as a hunter. Since full potential was not usually realized until the person had become a very experienced hunter, most of the leaders of the hunt were usually mature men. The orphans in the previous stories were exceptions. The events in the next story more reflect the norm, as here caribou come to the hungry Îyiyiu after the old man has dreamed and sung his songs. There were different kinds of songs—running songs, rapids songs, caribou hunting songs, and more. According to Noah Mamianskum, 12

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“The women sang songs about their work, especially about the jobs they liked to do. What many liked doing best was fixing and tanning caribou skins. So that is what they sang about.” The words were generally few, giving just a hint about what the singer was thinking, enough to sketch a mental image in the minds of the singer and audience. Very few of the words are recognized by contemporary Cree non-singers, mostly because the language is esoteric. The experience of frequently hearing the songs and participating in the hunting way of life helps reveal their meaning. In some songs the hunter appeals to his mistâpâu or other spirit helpers for help in a particular endeavour. Noah mentioned that the old woman Kâkutipît had a song she sang to Mischinâhkw. She had been told by another spirit that when she was cleaning and working with the animals it was really Mischinâhkw she was working on. Noah said, “Her song begins like this as if Mischinâhkw is speaking directly to her, ‘Show me how you tended to me.’” Other people’s songs sometimes express a deep hope that he, the singer, will kill food animals. Hunters sang a lot during times of hunger to convert the hardship into a time of plenty; it was felt that through hoping deeply the hunter could influence the animals he was singing to. Songs often came to a hunter in dreams as if “someone” were trying to help him kill more animals. Since songs added to their hope of killing more food for their families, the most successful hunters had the most songs.

Dreaming of Caribou One time Ûtâumûtî and his family were very hungry. His three sons were so weak they could barely walk. One night the old man began to sing while the others slept. At dawn he told his wife to get up and make the fire. He kept on singing as she went about her work. He sang while he dressed. He woke up his sons, the eldest of whom was called Kûkâkân. “Get up, don’t just lie around!” he admonished them. “Go put your fish hooks in the lake to the east of here.” It was very stormy outside and his sons, weak from hunger, didn’t have much strength. Slowly, they went towards the lake, leaving their

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mother and the old man singing at the camp. Before they left, the old man had told the others of his dream from the night before. The night had been snowy and windy. Ûtâumûtî said to them, “Sons, I wonder why I dreamt what I did. I dreamt I ate a good part of the freshly fallen snow.” His sons considered the dream a good omen. Kûkâkân headed towards the lake with his wife. As they were walking they noticed the black hair-like lichen that grows on trees, blowing across the swamp. The wind was out of the north. When the sons got to the lake, they saw caribou, a lot of caribou just sitting there. Meanwhile, the old man and his wife had been following the path made by the others. They heard shots ring out. They knew their sons were shooting the caribou and were certain they would finally have something to eat. The old man didn’t want the meat to be cooked outside. A long time ago, it was our belief that in order to show respect for the animals we did not eat or cook the choice parts of the animal outside. Although they were very hungry, the old man only allowed them to mix snow with caribou blood in a pot. As was proper, they ate the meat in their dwelling. This custom was so important that some people almost died of starvation while transporting the parts of the caribou one is to bring home from the hunt. In times of hunger, when all the people in camp awaited the hunters, the hunters were sometimes so anxious to get food back to camp they, themselves, did not eat before returning. It is considered acceptable to tear off some of the fat that surrounds the stomach and intestines and eat that outside. It is safe to eat the raw fat. A hungry man is better able to continue on his trip once he has done so. rupert george and noah mamianskum

Through drumming and chanting before a hunt, the Îyiyiu sought the assistance and beneficence of a host of spirit helpers. In the next story, Wichiskûmintu, a young and relatively inexperienced hunter, attempts to convince his uncle to let him lead the hunt. His drumming and singing have led him to believe his efforts will be well rewarded. The group

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has suffered from a shortage of food all winter long and Wichiskûmintu thinks that, despite his youth, he can turn their luck around. People didn’t expect to have “luck” in hunting all the time (Feit 1978, 281). Just as there are cycles in animal populations, there were cycles in hunting success based on the ebb and flow of power of the lead hunter. Good hunters could have bad years. For it was felt that what humans “thought” or hoped for (whether through drumming, dreaming, singing or the shaking tent) sometimes happened and sometimes didn’t. A person’s power came into effect when his or her wishes reflected that of the spirit beings, when they both agreed. When both parties agreed, communication with the spirit world acted upon the mind of the Îyiyiu and revealed to him the information he was seeking, as if a knot had been untied, allowing insight or providing a straight path to the desired goal (Preston 1975). The thought of the individual, by according with the thought of a relevant spirit being, was translated into action, into concrete happenings in the visible world. Power was, hence, the realization of thought (Feit 1978, 287). And mistâpâu was the agent who most frequently made the connection between what Îyiyiu thought or hoped and what happened in the visible world. But the hunter was never completely in control. Even mistâpâu, as with other spirit helpers, exercised free will and had a personality of his own. Like people, spirit beings possessed both intelligence and will. And they were not necessarily good. Matthew George tells a story about a hunter whose mistâpâu actually lost him. The fortune of the hunter was not restored until the two, hunter and mistâpâu, were reunited. In the meantime, another mistâpâu had been hoarding food that had been meant for the hunter. According to the Îyiyiu, when powers are used against you and you have trouble hunting, the best thing to do is to keep going until things change. The idea is to use your power for good in the hope that good will eventually overcome the bad (Feit 1978). This being the case, the best that could be expected was good hunts during most years. Interestingly, in a way, it was felt it was better if everybody didn’t have “luck” at the same time, so the role of sharing food could be assumed by different members of the hunting group (ibid.).

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The power of the lead hunter in the next story has apparently waned because, even though the Îyiyiu sight caribou, his efforts to chase them to the snares have failed. His hunting group consists of at least two older men, both brothers, and four younger adult men and their families. Three of the younger adult men are the sons of one of the older brothers, the fourth is a nephew. People in hunting groups were usually related by blood or marriage, although friends could be asked to join as well. The groups were fluid, members staying together for the year, or a season, or just to share a successful hunt. Some, on the other hand, were very stable, enduring over long periods of time. While living in different dwellings, members of hunting groups worked as a unit of production and consumption. They worked together as a team for the purposes of food production, and, while the harvest was individually owned, it was consumed collectively. Wichiskûmintu, the main character in this story, however, is very dissatisfied with the rations that have been made available to him by his uncle’s family. He also thinks he can do something to restore the hunting success of the group.

Wichiskûmintu— Drumming for Caribou This story took place long ago, before the Îyiyiu had guns. It happened during the time when snares and bows and arrows were used to catch caribou. Wichiskûmintu and his uncle lived with their families in one dwelling. Wichiskûmintu was a young, married man. His other uncle, the elder of the two uncles, lived with his three sons in another dwelling. In the past, the Îyiyiu used to designate a leader when they were in groups. The leader set out a plan of action for the group, for both the short and the long term. If the leader had older sons, they would be the ones to walk about looking for caribou tracks. One of the sons of the eldest uncle was the leader of this group. He and the other sons would walk about on the land looking for caribou tracks. At the time of this story they had not been able to catch very much to eat; this sometimes happened in the life of a hunter. The leader and the sons often saw

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caribou tracks but they could never kill any. The caribou wouldn’t run to the snares even when they were carefully chased to them. They just scattered, running all over the place. This happened all winter long. Many times they chased the caribou with nothing to show for their effort. Sometimes they got one. When they did, the eldest uncle held the feast in his dwelling. He and his sons cooked the caribou in their dwelling and held the feast there. The group, then, shared the caribou, eating it all in one sitting. One day Wichiskûmintu said to the uncle he was living with, “It’s quite unsettling the way the others are not getting much of anything when they hunt. It is even more unsettling that they don’t ask anyone else to chase the caribou. I think they should change their strategy. I think if someone else were to chase the caribou to the snares, the caribou wouldn’t run away.” “I suppose you’re right,” replied his uncle. His uncle was already quite old. “Uncle,” Wichiskûmintu said to his uncle, “I’m going to say something to our fellow hunters, but first I would like you to hear a song of mine. Listen to it. If what I’m thinking is correct and especially, if I’m not thinking the right way, I would like you to tell me so. I would like you to listen to my song. It’s about what I’ve been thinking.” Wichiskûmintu was not held in high esteem among the men. They didn’t think much of him at all. Whenever caribou was cooked, he was never given his share of the parts of the caribou that were for men only. They only give him the meat from the tough, front lower leg of the caribou and a bowl of caribou blood broth. That was all he ever got. “Uncle, I will sing now,” he said. He sang his song. He sang about what he had been thinking. “What did you think of my song, Uncle? What did you think of my words?” “I have hope in your song,” his uncle responded. “Don’t abandon what your song says, if it is really what you are thinking about.” Wichiskûmintu began singing again. After he had sung his song again, his uncle said to him, “I have no objection if you want to talk about this with your cousins. After all, they are your very close relatives.” Soon after that his cousins killed another caribou. Wichiskûmintu and his uncle were invited to come and eat when the caribou had been

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cooked. Naturally, Wichiskûmintu was given his usual fare.13 He ate the meat and the bowl of caribou blood broth. There was not enough to take home to eat later. It was then he said something to his cousins. Up to this time he was never known to have said anything unkind or boastful to anyone. “Since you are not just any Îyiyiu,14 there is something I would like to say to you,” he said to his cousins. No one said a word, waiting to hear what he had to say. “It doesn’t seem right that you are the only ones whose presence the caribou gets to know first,” he continued. “You haven’t done much to improve the situation. Whenever caribou have been sighted you have chased them to the snares, but we haven’t been able to have our fill of mûshkimî all winter long.15 When one strategy doesn’t work, you should try doing things differently. Maybe someone else could make an abundance of broth. For example, you could ask your uncle, the one I live with, to have the honour of chasing the caribou.” “I don’t think I should be the one to lead the caribou to the snares,” his uncle responded. “It is unlikely that I would get something where the others have failed.” “Well, I have no illusions you would ask me to do the chasing, you, who think of me as less than human. You’ve probably never considered asking me to chase the caribou to the snares even though I could cause the mûshkimî to flow abundantly,” Wichiskûmintu said. No one said a word after he had finished. Wichiskûmintu left the dwelling. The other Îyiyiu returned home. “Uncle, hand me your drum,” Wichiskûmintu said when he got home from the feast. He began to sing with the drum. He sang songs about what he thought and about chasing caribou into the snares. After he had finished he said, “What did you think of my songs, Uncle?” “I hope you have a chance to chase the caribou,” his uncle replied. In the meantime, when everyone had gone from the dwelling where the feast had been held, the old man asked his sons, “What did your 13 14

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“I guess he couldn’t give his wife any caribou fat!” remarked Suzanne. He meant that because they were cousins his words shouldn’t seem disrespectful: Emily Masty. Mûshkimî is the broth in which meat and bones have been boiled. It was drunk as a beverage before the introduction of tea, milk and fruit juices, and still is part of the Îyiyiu diet today: Emily Masty.

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cousin say before he left? I thought I heard him saying that he could bring mûshkimî to our group?” “That’s exactly what he said,” replied the sons. “He’s certain that he could make some mûshkimî.” “Then go tomorrow to look for more caribou tracks,” the old man said to his sons. “Your cousin can be the leader of the hunt. Let us have our fill of mûshkimî for once. We will see if he is right, he who is so sure he can turn the situation around. It has been a long winter. We have not had our fill of mûshkimî all winter.” In the morning the old man’s sons left to look for caribou tracks, as usual. That evening before the sun had set, a cry went out, “Wishtimânû!” [It has been sighted!] That’s what the Îyiyiu would say to inform the other dwellings when someone had seen tracks of caribou on their outings. The other dwellings of Îyiyiu were informed that two whole herds had been seen in different locations. The Îyiyiu were very happy. In the morning, the Îyiyiu got ready to go hunting. Except for Wichiskûmintu. He took his time whenever things were happening. He took his time because he was never invited to go with the men in these kinds of hunts. So he didn’t hurry with excitement as the other men did in times like this. He was not regarded highly as a hunter by his group. His uncle got dressed and was ready to go with the men. “Son,” his uncle said to him, “I would like you to come with us. I want you to come to the hunt.” A message was brought from his other uncle, saying, “All of you are asked to come to the hunt.” “Okay. I’ll go,” he informed his uncle. The caribou had been seen in two places, the male caribou in one location, the females in another. When the Îyiyiu got to the place where they had seen the caribou, they looked over to see if they were still there. Sure enough, the caribou were still in the same places they had been the day before. When Wichiskûmintu finally arrived, the leader of the hunt went to meet him, saying, “I was asked to lead the hunt as usual, but I am giving the honour to you.” Wichiskûmintu didn’t hesitate at all about this great task. “Okay, I’ll chase the caribou. I am certain there will be another chance for

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you to do your job very soon, anyway. Let’s take a look at them.” Wichiskûmintu peered over the hill where the Îyiyiu had gathered to take a look at the caribou down below on the ice. He looked at them. He saw the male and female caribou in their different locations. When the wind is coming from the west, the males have their females stay before the wind and they stay downwind from their females. That was the situation here. Wichiskûmintu gave instructions about where the snares should be placed. It is said the hunt leader’s snares should be placed first and in front of all the other snares.16 After his snares had been placed, the others placed their snares. There were many people in this group. “I’ll go now and chase the males,” Wichiskûmintu informed his cousin. He told him where he would go. He continued, “If the males come this way towards the snares, I won’t come back here. I’ll go straight around to the other side of the females to chase them to the snares.” There were more female than male caribou. Wichiskûmintu went to the herd of males. His snowshoes, made of braided caribou lacings, echoed as he raced over the snow. He chased the caribou. The caribou ran straight for the snares. They fell on the snares, Wichiskûmintu singing the whole time, “They have been lifted off the ground.” His song described the impact of the caribou as they hit the snares at high speed and were lifted momentarily off the ground. It was as if he had shown the caribou exactly where the snares were. The males ran towards the snares and were all caught. “Your cousin is certainly making you work hard!” said the old man to his sons. Wichiskûmintu walked around to the other side of the herd, away from the wind. He made clicking sounds by knocking on his snowshoe frame to get them going, but the females were not moving. When this did not work, he used a wolf howl. The other Îyiyiu knew the caribou were on their way when they heard his wolf call. The caribou started running. Before he had left, he told the other Îyiyiu what the females would do: “The females will run towards where their mates had been. They will go over this land bridge just as the males will have done before them. The 16

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This was so the caribou would reach his snares first: Emily Masty.

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females will follow.” He seemed to know exactly what the caribou would do. And so it was. The Îyiyiu at the snares saw the caribou coming towards them again. The caribou did the same thing as the other group. They, too, ran at the snares as if Wichiskûmintu had pointed the way to the snares. Proud of Wichiskûmintu, the old man said to his sons, “Your cousin was certainly right when he let it be known he could have you drink mûshkimî.” “Look for the fattest caribou for your cousin,” the old man instructed his sons. His sons did that, pulling the caribou to one side. The Îyiyiu must have known what the fattest caribou looked like. They pulled two of the fattest caribou to one side. After a while, they saw Wichiskûmintu walking down the caribou trail towards them, he who had chased the caribou to them. As soon as Wichiskûmintu was within earshot, the old man called out to him, “Wichiskûmintu, we have caught us some caribou.” It was the custom to say this to the one who had chased the caribou to the snares when he reached the ones who had been at the snares. “I am grateful. I’m grateful for your success. I’m grateful we’ll have something to eat,” Wichiskûmintu replied. “These two caribou are yours.” The two caribou were the largest and fattest females. “Thank you. Naturally, you will butcher them and take them back to our camp. Transport them to our camp and put them in the biggest dwelling. Our uncle will have a feast. Let us drink our fill of mûshkimî!” All was done as Wichiskûmintu had requested. Their treatment of Wichiskûmintu changed at the feast. He was told to sit in the middle of the dwelling, the place of honour and respect. After he had eaten, he said, “I’m really full for the first time. I’m full because someone else chased the caribou to the snares. I could have been full sooner if someone else had been asked to chase the caribou sooner.” This was his final reprimand to his uncle and his cousins. Having made their stomachs full, he thought he had the right to say something. So many caribou were killed that they moved their camp to where the caribou had been snared. Then Wichiskûmintu said to them, “I would like you to set up the snares near our camp. I’m going to go after the

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caribou that ran past the snares.” That’s what he did. He followed their tracks. He must have walked fast because he caught up to them. He chased them down to where the Îyiyiu had set up the snares. The caribou were caught in the snares. I don’t know if all the caribou were caught this time, but they caught many. I don’t know exactly what time of the year it was when he killed all those caribou, but spring found them still at the same camp. From that time on, he was held in high esteem like any successful hunter. He must have made large bundles of caribou fat for them. In those days, the custom when large numbers of caribou had been killed was to crush and boil the bones and then mix the bone fat and caribou marrow to make caribou lard for the old men of the group. Each old man had his own caribou lard, which had been made by the men. Wichiskûmintu must have had his own caribou lard, he who used to be given only the meat from the tough upper leg of the caribou. They couldn’t move from that place until the summer time because they had so much food to prepare. That’s the way it was. When the Îyiyiu had a lot of food in one place, they couldn’t move around much until some of the food had been eaten. They would stay in one place. But there was a lot of travelling done when the Îyiyiu were hungry, travelling in search of food in different areas. This happened a lot when the caribou were no longer around in these parts. But this story took place when the caribou were abundant on the land. suzanne kawapit and matthew george

Dressed to Kill According to the Îyiyiu, communication between humans and animals took many forms. We have already mentioned how dreaming, drumming, chanting and the shaking tent were used as instruments of communication between human and animal beings. Material objects functioned as another (Oberholtzer 1994). The nature of the

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relationship between caribou and hunter suggested that the hunting clothing and paraphernalia of the Îyiyiu be decorated as if for a ceremonial or ritual occasion. Material objects were designed to be attractive to the animal world. When hunting, then, the hunter presented himself in his finest regalia, the idea being that animals would be more willing to give themselves to an attractive hunter. Moccasins, coats, snowshoes, mittens, shot bags, pouches and straps were all carefully crafted and beautifully decorated to please the animals. Made from tanned caribou hide, the leggings and coats were decorated with paint to communicate messages to the animal world. When beads became available, rows of fancy beads were applied to the bottom of the leggings. It was women’s job to make the men look great! Through dreams, the spirits of the animals sent messages to the hunter. In fact, it was these dream visitors who gave the hunter designs for decorating his clothing and hunting gear. The dreamer would then tell his wife about his dream and she, in turn, would interpret it, giving visual form to the dream. To preserve the power that was conferred through the dream, it was essential the dreams be well depicted. The quality of the woman’s work was, hence, vital to survival since an inaccurate or sloppy job would offend the spirit world, which would withdraw its support. A number of materials—feathers, porcupine quills, paint and, later, beads—were used to decorate the clothing and hunting paraphernalia that transformed men into visible manifestations of their dreams. By making their men look wonderful, the domestic skills of the woman complemented the hunting skills and spiritual power of the hunter. The caribou hunt was awaited with great joy and anticipation. As we saw in earlier stories, after the men had located caribou tracks, they returned home to notify the rest of the hunting group. That night, the old man, the headman, would drum and sing. Wearing their beautifully decorated hoods, the women would dance, happily holding onto the tent pole and laughing as encouragement to the old man who sang on. Both men and women wore specially decorated caribou-skin hoods for rituals associated with caribou hunting. This included hunting itself.

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The hooded coats of the men, made from caribou skin with the hair left on, were painted on the inside. In an effort to propitiate the spirit of the caribou for hunting success, the eyes, mouth and skin of a caribou were outlined on the coats (Oberholtzer 1994). Before the hunt began, a strategy was devised to establish the role of each hunter. Then, dressed like visions, all left to drive the caribou to the snares. That night, at the feast following a successful hunt, the women once again donned their beautiful hoods while the men drummed. Suzanne Kawapit talks about decorating the hunting paraphernalia of the hunters.

Beading In those days the men and the women liked it when their clothing and things were beaded. It was even fashionable for men. If they had beads, the women beaded everything that was used by their men. When spring break-up was being waited out, the women would sit and sew outside. The days are longer then. They would sit outside to make things. They beaded the bags men used to hold loose ammunition. They beaded the straps attached to the powder holders. They even beaded their own hoods. The women’s hoods were fashioned like the children’s with long laps hanging over. They made bead fringes around the ends of the laps. The women really liked to use the beads that came from the whiteman. They’re not the same as the beads we have now. Long ago porcupine quills were used to decorate things. The quills were used as beads. suzanne kawapit

In the next story, an old woman takes great care to dress up her man, a very young hunter. Times are tough and, by marrying a man much, much younger than she, she has done something unusual—with positive results!

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The Old Lady Who Did Something Unusual In the old days, the Îyiyiu had a way of making things happen. If they were in trouble, for instance, an Îyiyiu might think, “If I did such and such, things might get better.” He would then do it and find out he was right. Both men and women had this ability. One time, a group of Îyiyiu was so hungry most could barely move. Those who could move didn’t have the strength to go outdoors. With them was an old woman. She was able to walk when the group travelled, but she was too old to work. “Grandchildren,” she said to the people in her group, “listen to me. What I’m about to say will probably shock you but bear with me. I want to get married! If what I request is done, I feel we’ll live to see another day.” The old men said to the others, “It looks as if we’ll perish. We should do what your grandmother suggests. If she feels that this will help us survive, so be it.” Among the group were a number of unmarried males, one of whom was urged to marry the old lady. He consented because of the circumstances. He was brought to the old lady and presented as her husbandto-be. She kissed him, as a grandmother to a grandchild, and combed his hair. In those days, the men had long hair. She arranged his hair nicely with a headband that she had decorated with feathers. “Let us go look for ptarmigan,” she said to him. They had not gone long before they came across some caribou. I don’t know how many they saw. Being old enough to hunt, her new husband killed them. “Hurry,” she said, “we must get food to the people in camp.” The others had noticed that marriage had immediately given her a vigour unheard of in one so old. Working hard, as she had when she was a young girl, she had regained her youth. She hastened back to camp for a toboggan to transport the caribou. On her return, she made broth for the people to drink. Soon the people were up and about. They had regained their strength. noah mamianskum

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A C AU T ION A RY TA L E What follows in the legend below is a cautionary tale about what can happen, in that realm where spirits and humans mingle, when a hunter breaks the covenant between man and animals. Human frailties—in this instance, one man’s jealousy about the powers of another—may not only impede his ability to hunt but may ultimately place the survival of the group in jeopardy. In the legend the caribou have developed a close and trusting relationship with a young man called Ukwîwâshu. Ukwîwâshu’s relationship with the female caribou spirit results in her leading the male caribou to the snares during the caribou hunts of Ukwîwâshu’s group. In leading the caribou to the snares, she is consciously feeding the hungry Îyiyiu. The legend demonstrates how animals are not so much killed, as given as gifts by spirit beings to hunters who have followed certain principles. With the introduction of Christianity, animals killed were considered gifts from God and Jesus, as well as from the spirit beings. As illustrated in the legend below, the ideal relationship between man and animals is shattered when an Îyiyiu rashly intervenes and kills the lead female caribou, the one with whom Ukwîwâshu had the closest ties. Saddened by the betrayal of trust, Ukwîwâshu, the best hunter, leaves his human companions to live with the caribou. He leaves behind the delinquent hunter, whose powers are so undeveloped he can walk through a herd of caribou without even seeing them! Hunters and their actions are very important. Since what a person catches in one year is explained by what he has done previously, the actions of a thoughtless Îyiyiu do not auger well for his future hunting success.

The Legend of Ukwîwâshu I will now tell a story about an Îyiyiu of long ago. He was called Ukwîwâshu. A long time ago when young men or women reached the age of maturity, they went through a ritual in which a small dwelling was erected for them away from the main camp. The young man or woman

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stayed alone in this dwelling for three days and nights. The young woman’s mother or other women were the only ones allowed to go see the young woman. Men were forbidden. As for the young man, only men were allowed to see him. It was during this time of ritual that the young man Ukwîwâshu was taken away from his dwelling by “someone.” The time had come for Ukwîwâshu to live in his newly erected dwelling away from the main camp. During the first and second nights just before dawn, he heard “someone” say, “Ukwîwâshu, Chiwî pûmikûn.” [Someone is trying to shoot you with an arrow, or someone is trying to throw something at you.] He tried to see who was uttering these words but he couldn’t. He never got to the entrance of his dwelling in time. He ran out but he couldn’t see anyone. “I have to see who is talking to me,” he said. He got his snowshoes and bow and arrows ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. He put on his outside clothes. He wanted to be ready to act. The next time he heard sounds of talking, he didn’t let the person finish his sentence. He ran outside. He saw a piniu [caribou of a certain age] turning around to ran away. Without taking his eyes off the caribou, he put on his snowshoes and grabbed his bow and arrows. He followed the caribou. He tried to shoot it but it would jump behind the trees each time. “All of a sudden I didn’t see the caribou anymore,” he said. Instead, right in front of him appeared a dwelling. Inside the dwelling caribou were talking to each other. He heard one say, “My daughter, go see the man I’ve brought home for you to marry.” Ukwîwâshu saw a woman coming out of the dwelling. The woman said, “Enter.” He went inside. Caribou were sitting all around the dwelling. Their dwelling looked very big inside. A lot of piniu were sitting there. They fed him. When Ukwîwâshu entered the dwelling, the caribou he had followed said, “What will we give him to eat, my fellow uncle?” The caribou handed him the stuffed large intestine of a caribou that had been killed during the summer. In the following days the other caribou gave him parts of the caribou to eat, parts that are considered the best. The atihkush [young caribou] gave him the neck and the lower back. The chihchiwitâu [caribou at this specific age] gave him the head. And the piniu gave him the head and back legs. That’s what they gave him to eat. As for his wife, she gave him whatever she wanted to give him.

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After a while, Ukwîwâshu was anxious to go outdoors. He said to his wife, “I’m going for a walk on the land.” He didn’t think his wife would tell her father, but she did, saying, “Father, he wants to go for a walk.” “I will not allow it, daughter. It’s too cold outside. He might get cold. Besides, we have enough food to last us,” the caribou replied.17 Sometime later, the Îyiyiu said to his wife, “I’m going out anyway, whether it’s cold or not.” The caribou woman said to her father, “Father, he wants to go out again.” The caribou father said, “Just a moment, Daughter. I’ll check the weather.” He went outside. When he returned he said, “Well, it’s still very cold but he can go out if he insists. He should stay close to our area.” Ukwîwâshu went outside. Eventually, he came across the remains of a caribou that had been eaten by wolves. Upon hearing about this, the rest of the caribou decided they had to battle the wolves. Fearing the wolves would greatly harm the caribou, Ukwîwâshu asked to accompany them, but the caribou refused saying Ukwîwâshu didn’t have any way to retreat quickly should he have to. Eventually, the caribou returned to camp, their numbers greatly reduced. They had been badly beaten. Ukwîwâshu was determined to avenge the death of the caribou. In the battle that followed he single-handedly killed most of the wolves. Soon after this, the leader of the caribou said to his daughter, “Daughter, your husband has to go back to his parents. They miss him very much. You can see him whenever you want to. We’ll always be here. He can come and see you here whenever he wants to.” The Îyiyiu did as he was told. He left to see his parents. He lived with his parents and the Îyiyiu for a time. Whenever the Îyiyiu were hungry, he would volunteer to go to the lake to get some food. The caribou were always there. When he climbed atop the mountain overlooking the lake, he would see a female caribou with her young coming onto the ice. They would come to him. They gave the Îyiyiu all the food they needed to live. But one day, one of the Îyiyiu in the group complained, saying, “I wonder why Ukwîwâshu always wants to be the first to the lake.” This Îyiyiu went to the lake without anyone’s knowledge. When he got to the top of the mountain he didn’t see anything. He went straight across 17

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“Caribou should talk about it being cold, caribou who can walk such long distances when they are being chased in the coldest time of the year!” exclaimed Matthew.

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the lake, right by where the caribou used to sit. When he got back to his camp, he said to the Îyiyiu, “I went to the place where the caribou used to be found.” Ignoring this Îyiyiu, Ukwîwâshu went to the lake himself. He saw the caribou where he had always found them. The tracks of the Îyiyiu who had gone earlier had gone right through the caribou, which were sitting on the ice. This is the same person who said that he hadn’t seen any signs of caribou tracks on the ice. But he had walked through a herd of caribou! Earlier Ukwîwâshu had said to the Îyiyiu, “Don’t shoot at the female caribou. Let it get past the snares.” Later—there had to be one who didn’t obey his instructions—the Îyiyiu who had walked through the herd, said, “I wonder why Ukwîwâshu says not to shoot the female caribou, to let it go past the snares. I will shoot it myself when I see it.” And that’s what he did. He shot the female caribou after it had gone past the snares. She had been running with a young caribou. The Îyiyiu let the young caribou go. He didn’t shoot it. At that point Ukwîwâshu didn’t even come onto the ice to chase the caribou. He must have just walked around everyone. He saw the young caribou’s tracks. His snowshoes were found at the place where he had seen the young caribou’s tracks. He had run after it as if he were a caribou himself. His tracks were that of a caribou. He was never seen again as an Îyiyiu. He had become a real caribou, he who had lived with the caribou. matthew george

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P O W E R AND PROTECTION

Previous Photo: Whapmagoostuit, 1903. [A.A. Chesterfield Fonds, Queen’s University Archives, A.A. Chesterfield]

P OW E R A N D PROT E C T ION

“The man who kept watch with his mind’s eye told them where the pwâtich [singular, pwât] were sitting in wait,” said Kâwîpâschikâtâshit, who lived in the mid-1800s. Pwâtich were strangers or enemies who, according to Cree oral tradition, threatened and sometimes ambushed the Îyiyiu while travelling through Îyiyiu territory. With their mind’s eye, the Îyiyiu kept track of what was going on in the world. Elders today liken it to radio and television. In the same way the Îyiyiu harnessed special powers to locate game, special powers were enlisted to deal with their enemies. Among their adversaries the Îyiyiu counted a number of groups: the Inuit, in general, were seen as potentially threatening. A group of people from the Moose and Albany Rivers region on the west side of James Bay called kâchîmâhîchâsiuch (singular, kâchîmâhîchâsiu), who conducted northern “Esquimaux” hunts, inspired fear. So did the category of people known as pwâtich. All three groups launched attacks at different times against the Îyiyiu. The raids by the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch were organized and premeditated, often involving more than half a dozen canoes of warriors (Francis 1976). Skirmishes between the Îyiyiu and the Inuit, and the Îyiyiu and pwâtich appear to have been more spontaneous, occurring when the groups came across each other while out hunting, although some battles were retaliatory strikes for losses suffered in earlier clashes. The many stories about conflicts between the Îyiyiu and their foes attest to the great interest the Îyiyiu had in these events. Their occurrence also left an impression on employees of the Hudson’s Bay Company whose records contain many references to the disruption to trade and daily life caused by the hostilities. The oral tradition from Whapmagoostui provides a wealth of detail about the actual skirmishes between the various groups. And, although its employees were not always witness to such events, Hudson’s Bay Company records help us situate when some

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of them occurred. For instance, the earliest written records from the Great Whale area—dating to the 1750s—describe the Inuit as the sworn enemies of the Îyiyiu. At that time, the northern Îyiyiu resisted coming in to trade because they feared encountering the Inuit in the Richmond Gulf area. Hudson’s Bay Company records indicate hostilities between Îyiyiu and Inuit continued well into the nineteenth century. Îyiyiu storytellers directly link the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch to specific historic events, notably the raids against the Inuit by people from the west side of James Bay, which written records suggest were occurring in the late 1600s and which continued throughout the 1700s. They may have started earlier, but there are no written records for the area before this time. Pierre de Troyes mentions meeting Native people during his 1686 military expedition to James Bay, on behalf of the French, who informed the soldiers they were on their way to war with the Inuit (Collection Clairambault in Francis and Morantz 1983). Hudson’s Bay Company journals mention twenty such raids between 1707 and 1794. The raiding parties had a terrifying effect on the northern Îyiyiu; for if Inuit were not found, the warriors turned their aggression against the Îyiyiu (Francis 1976). Pwâtich were also a great source of consternation. While the written record does not appear to mention them, the oral tradition is resplendent with stories about their activities. In the oldest stories, pwâtich are presented as strangers who attack the Îyiyiu, killing them or taking them as captives and slaves. Îyiyiu categories of humanity were determined by a logic of reciprocity (Scott 1992). Through relations of exchange—trading, giftgiving, feasting, marriage—the Îyiyiu created moral communities with other groups. From the perspective of the Îyiyiu, the behaviour of the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch, the pwâtich and the Inuit during the time of the hostilities, precluded the possibility of such relations. To the Îyiyiu, the ideal in behaviour was achieved by recognizing what someone needed and providing it without expectation of return (ibid., 7). The high value placed on generosity is reflected in the language where, for instance, the Cree word for leader, uchimâu, is derived from the verb, “to give away” (Scott 1989). It will be recalled that giving and sharing were considered

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primary in achieving hunting success. Sharing was so sanctioned by the spirit world that an absence of generosity could threaten survival as the animals withdrew support from a delinquent hunter. Neither the Inuit, the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch nor pwâtich were involved in normal relations of exchange with the Îyiyiu. Rather, they engaged in behaviours that posed a direct threat to their well-being, stealing their food, making people sick and mounting direct attacks against them. Although a lingering fear remained, clashes between Îyiyiu and the Inuit began to peter out in the mid-1800s when, according to the stories, the two peoples became more involved in trading relations. If the Hudson’s Bay Company records are accurate, Inuit raids by the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch ceased by the beginning of the 1800s for reasons that are not entirely clear. Neither the oral tradition nor the records offer a direct explanation. Hudson’s Bay Company journals indicate that while verbal persuasion didn’t succeed in stopping the raids, bribery sometimes had a positive effect. Five gallons of brandy and six pounds of tobacco offered by the postmaster at Eastmain House convinced one group of kâchîmâhîchâsiu warriors to return home. Since the end of the raids appears to coincide with a period when the Hudson’s Bay Company was expanding its operations into the interior, it is possible the warriors were too busy manning supply canoes to launch northern forays. By 1800, Fort Albany alone had nine outposts to service, providing an opportunity for employment at the time of the year when the raids had been conducted (Francis 1976). Concern about pwâtich, on the other hand, continued well into the twentieth century, by which time the term referred specifically to whitemen: “When I was young,” recalled Suzanne Kawapit, “we never saw or heard whitemen when we were in the bush. But it was said that in the deep past the presence of some whitemen was sensed when they were travelling by canoe through Îyiyiu territory. It was the whitemen known as pwâtich whose presence was felt by the Îyiyiu from time to time.” The moral position of the whiteman improves when he enters into normal relations of exchange with the Îyiyiu. Some whitemen did. Îyiyiu stories about first contact with the whiteman indicate the Îyiyiu were satisfied, even intrigued, with the encounter.

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Îyiyiu perceptions of the Inuit, kâchîmâhîchâsiuch and pwâtich were informed by their own concepts of power and spirit beings. The Inuit, kâchîmâhîchâsiuch and pwâtich were all attributed with possessing powers through which they could harm their adversaries. In fact, every one of the Îyiyiu stories about these groups features examples of how their powers were manifested in battle against the Îyiyiu. Similarly, all the stories about early contact with the whiteman give prominence to the importance of mind power. “Naturally an Îyiyiu conducting a shaking tent first predicted the arrival of the whiteman,” said Matthew George. He could just as easily have substituted “whiteman” with Inuit, kâchîmâhîchâsiuch or pwâtich. Unlike the stories about the Inuit, kâchîmâhîchâsiuch and pwâtich, however, the Îyiyiu make no reference to the white traders they encounter at this time using powers against them. The sole mention of a trader using powers is later on in the context of the Hudson’s Bay Company trying to pacify the Inuit. Îyiyiu shamans often reserved the most dramatic expressions of their power for their protective role. As we shall see, such powers were fraught with danger. In their protective capacity, Îyiyiu shamans directed their powers of “seeing” and “hearing” towards locating and identifying people with malevolent intentions toward the Îyiyiu. At times, according to their assessment of the situation, they then pitted their powers against their enemies to fend off attacks. This required that they navigate the dangerous territory that was home to the spirit helpers of their adversaries. The ensuing contests took place on both mental and physical battlefields where death of one of the contestants was a possible outcome. The shaking tent provided the stage for some of the battles the Îyiyiu engaged in, the shamans attempting to disarm each other in the confrontations. The shaman conducting the shaking tent would try to fend off his opponents, expelling them, if he were strong enough, and sending them to their deaths. More often than not, however, the theatre of war took place outside the shaking tent, the shaman having first summoned to his side the big guns, his arsenal of spirit beings. Then amazing things happened! Stories about battles with the Inuit, kâchîmâhîchâsiuch and pwâtich talk about conjurors flying through the air, turning into birds

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and caribou, making gigantic birds appear, giving flight to huge rocks and so on. Nothing was impossible! Preserved only by memory, these stories about the Inuit, kâchîmâhîchâsiuch and pwâtich are very old, dating well before many of the seminal events in the history of Canada. Battles with the Inuit and the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch, for instance, took place in the late 1600s. They were still in full swing by 1759, when a British expeditionary force took Québec. The stories dealing with how the Îyiyiu used their powers for protection have been divided into two main sections. The first, Chapter 2, includes stories about relations with the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch and pwâtich, as well as narratives about early contact with the whiteman. Stories about the historic enmity between the Îyiyiu and Inuit dominate Chapter 3. Interestingly, while historic records note the deaths of Îyiyiu as a result of clashes with people from other groups, the Îyiyiu narratives do not. In the stories, the Îyiyiu always emerge victorious, damaged and bruised perhaps, but victorious nevertheless. According to Suzanne Kawapit, a pwât was quoted as saying, “The Îyiyiu from this area have greater powers than other groups of Îyiyiu. Even if we plan a secret attack, we cannot penetrate their defenses. They are always on the look out for surprise attacks!”

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T WO

Whitemen, Bogeymen and War Bosses

The Creation of People by the Wolverine and the Muskrat As wolverine [Mâshu] was wandering along the bank of the river, he saw muskrat swimming at the water’s edge. Wolverine stopped muskrat. “Who are you? Are you a man or a woman?” he asked. “I am a woman,” answered muskrat. Wolverine then told her he would take her for a wife. “How can I be your wife? I live in the water,” she replied. Wolverine told her she could live on the land as well as in the water. Muskrat went up on the bank to where wolverine was standing. They selected a place, and she began to prepare a home for them. They retired after eating supper. Soon afterwards a child was born. Wolverine informed his wife it would be a whiteman, father of all white people. This child was born the normal way. In due time, a second child was born. This child, decreed wolverine, would be an Indian, the father of all other Indians. It was born from its mother’s mouth. After a while, a third child was born, an Inuit, according to wolverine, and father of all its kind. This child was born ab ano [Latin: from the anus]. In the natural course of events, a fourth child came into the world. Wolverine determined it to be an Iroquois, also father of its kind. This child was born by its mother’s nose. Finally, a fifth child, decreed by wolverine to be a black man and father to its kind, was born. This child was born from the ears of its mother.

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The children lived with their parents until adulthood. Then, calling them together, their mother announced they must go their separate ways. She sent them off in different directions. Before parting, she told them to go to the whiteman whenever they were in need of anything for he would have everything ready for them. lucien turner (1894, 338)

Lucien Turner, a naturalist in the employ of the Smithsonian Institution and the US Signal Service, collected this myth at Fort Chimo where he was stationed between 1882 and 1884.1 While there he studied and recorded the stories, material culture and way of life of the Îyiyiu, Innu and Inuit who came to the post to trade. Readers today might question the reference to a black man in an Îyiyiu myth collected more than one hundred years ago, but in another myth—a companion to this one—collected by Savard at Sheshatshiu,2 in 1967, a reference is also made to black people. Interestingly, in the Sheshatshiu myth an explanation is provided for why each of the races emerged from a different orifice (Savard 1971, 102). Readers today might also find distasteful the relative position ascribed the races in this creation myth: the first born, the whiteman, is born naturally and assigned the prestigious role of eldest brother. The second born, the Îyiyiu, also enjoys an honourable birth, the mouth being associated with food. The traditional enemies of the Cree—the Inuit and Iroquois—are born anally and nasally, both considered disgusting ways of emergence. The black man, identified as a special sort of whiteman, fares better than the Inuit and Iroquois (Scott 1983, 237). A similar relationship is described in the North West River creation myth.

F I R S T C ON TAC T W I T H E U ROPE A N S Through myth the whiteman is entrusted with the role of eldest brother. Because the whiteman was considered materially powerful, his wealth, 1

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Fort Chimo is now officially known as Kuujjuaq. It was known to the Îyiyiu as Ayischîmâu-Wâskâhîkin, meaning “Inuit house.” Sheshatshiu used to be known as North West River.

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according to Cree ideas of leadership, conferred upon him authority. But such authority also entailed a moral duty as benefactor and protector similar to the responsibility of the eldest in a family for the youngest (Scott 1989). Îyiyiu narratives about early trading between the whiteman and the Îyiyiu describe the first exchanges between the two groups, the Îyiyiu obtaining a limited range of equipment and supplies, the whiteman, furs and sustenance. Each saw in the fur trade a mutually rewarding opportunity. The technical advantage of using certain European tools tied the Îyiyiu to trade. And the whiteman would not have survived in the North without the knowledge and participation of the Îyiyiu in the production for the trading posts of food and furs. Îyiyiu descriptions of early contact with the whiteman indicate that from an Îyiyiu perspective the whiteman fulfilled his obligations. The moral position of the whiteman, however, became more complex, deteriorating as time went on. We begin with Îyiyiu stories about the first contact with the whiteman. Here, as in other places across the land, people with the power of prophecy predicted the arrival of the whiteman. Micmac oral history includes a story, dating to the early 1500s, about the first meeting between the Micmac and the whiteman. It features a young girl who dreamed that a small island containing tall trees and living beings came floating towards land. Her dream came true the next day when what appeared to be an island—it was really a ship, hence the tall trees—anchored near the shore. About a century later, an Ojibwa prophet had a vision in which he saw “men of strange appearance.” His people were so impatient to meet the visitors, they sent out envoys to find them and report back (Ray 1996). Events in the first contact story told by the people of Whapmagoostui took place a century later, at Eastmain, on the east coast of James Bay. A Hudson’s Bay Company trading post was built at Eastmain in 1719, but for two decades prior to this the English had sent ships to winter there. Even after the construction of the post, Eastmain continued as just a wintering place. In the fall, the Hudson’s Bay Company sent a ship with trade goods from the fort at Albany, on the other side of James Bay, to meet the Îyiyiu before they left for their winter quarters. After the Îyiyiu had traded their furs in the early summer, the vessel returned to Albany with the furs and the Eastmain staff. Year-round occupation

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of the post only began in 1770. The post stayed in operation until 1837 when another was established at Fort George.3 Until the opening of the post at Eastmain, the people of Whapmagoostui probably remained isolated from direct involvement in the fur trade. Some obtained trade goods from other Native people who traded with the French based on the north shore of the St. Lawrence River; others might have traded with people who had been to Charles Fort, the Hudson’s Bay Company trading post at the mouth of the Rupert River at the end of the seventeenth century.4 More northern Îyiyiu became directly involved in the fur trade in the decades following the establishment of Eastmain House. Reference to trading at Eastmain “during the time when Eastmain was the only post along the coast” is made in a number of our stories. All of them are about how the main character uses his powers to solve a particular problem. In a story in the previous chapter, we saw how an old man caused the weather to turn cold to facilitate spring travel for the trip back from Eastmain. Another story tells of an Îyiyiu using his powers to fight off a menacing monster. The one we are including here is about the events surrounding the first contact between the whiteman and Îyiyiu at Eastmain. As in many other first contact stories, the arrival of the whiteman in James Bay was foreseen, predicted on the basis of information gleaned through the shaking tent. The spirit helper mistâpâu, who understands all languages, tells the Îyiyiu it is safe to go to the whiteman’s boat, that not only is the whiteman not dangerous but he has things that will be of help to the Îyiyiu. Through the shaking tent, the Îyiyiu learns friendly relations are possible. Both nervous and encouraged, the Îyiyiu ventures out to meet the ship. His companions, none of whom can be convinced to accompany him, anxiously await his return on shore!

First Contact at Eastmain I am going to tell you about the first time the Îyiyiu saw the whiteman. It is said the first post was situated at Eastmain. Naturally, it was 3 4

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The official name is now Chisasibi. Charles Fort was later renamed Rupert House.

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an Îyiyiu who was conducting a shaking tent who first predicted the arrival of the whiteman. The Îyiyiu was starting to talk of his arrival more frequently as the days passed. Naturally, mistâpâu didn’t know what to call the ship the whiteman was on. The Îyiyiu were quite frightened about it but mistâpâu told them not to be afraid, saying, “It seems you will get something that will help you from this thing. It also seems there will be something that will help you hunt more successfully.” That is what the mistâpâu said. “You will see this thing with your own eyes. It will be here tomorrow,” mistâpâu said to the person conducting the shaking tent. “Paddle in your canoe to it when you see it.” The next day the Îyiyiu saw something out on the water that looked like a white spruce. There are some islands near the island called Wichinukw. It might have been here they first saw the ship. Some of the islands are barely visible from the mainland. It is said that is where they first sighted the ship. When it was still far offshore, it looked like a tree. But when it got closer, its contours were more visible to them. It anchored close to the mainland. The ship stayed in one spot. It was no longer moving. The Îyiyiu had no one to go with him when he prepared to paddle out to the ship. He got into his canoe and paddled out to it. The rest of the Îyiyiu just watched him as he paddled away. They wondered what his fate would be. Off the Îyiyiu paddled towards the ship. When he got closer to the ship, he could see whitemen hanging over the side to take a closer look at him. The Îyiyiu said, “When I got close to them, they threw down a rope to me and motioned me to tie my canoe with it. Then a rope ladder was pushed overboard to me. One of the whitemen climbed down. He got into my canoe. He motioned to me to climb up the ladder. He watched as I climbed up the ladder. I got onto the ship and shook hands with the whiteman. They stood around me as I shook hands with them.” The Îyiyiu, naturally, was given some alcoholic drink. He was shown all kinds of things for trade. He was shown a gun and how to use it. He was shown how much of the powder to use and then how to put in the pellets. The gun was fired off. “This will be given to you all,” he was told. He could understand what was being said to him. He was also

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told to take off all his clothes and give them to the whiteman. He was dressed in skins and furs. He was given a whiteman’s set of clothing. He was told to bring all the clothing made of fur and all the furs they had to the ship. He was able to understand what was being asked of him. Besides, his mistâpâu had already told him all of this prior to the arrival of the ship. Mistâpâu was capable of understanding the English language without effort. “A trading post will be built here where supplies for trade will be kept,” the Îyiyiu was told. And so it came to be. The material for the trading post was unloaded and erected. “Tell all the Îyiyiu you meet about this trading post. Tell them to bring all their furs, like the furs you wear as clothing, to this place,” the Îyiyiu were told. The Îyiyiu were only wearing things made of fur and caribou skins. It was the fur the whiteman seemed to want more than anything else. The Îyiyiu did not have many pelts in their possession. They gave the whiteman what fur they had as clothing. In return the Îyiyiu were given things from the ship and were shown how to use the things. “The ship will be here next summer and there will be more things to give to you,” the Îyiyiu were told. One young boy was taken and put on the ship before it sailed away. The ship came back the next summer. The young boy who had been taken away was now proficient in the English language. He told the Îyiyiu the pelts of the animals were wanted in great amounts and to tell all the Îyiyiu to bring in as many pelts as they could. If this was done, they were told there would be supplies in the trading post all the time. And in time, other trading posts, where supplies would be kept and traded for furs, would be built in other Îyiyiu territories. In time, the trading post was built inside Richmond Gulf. It was the first post to be built, before the posts at the Whale Rivers. Okay. Let’s go back to the Îyiyiu who had gone out to the ship. The Îyiyiu paddled back to his fellow Îyiyiu after his visit to the ship. The other Îyiyiu saw him coming closer. They wondered, “What’s wrong with him? He looks different. What’s on his head? It’s different from what he had on when he out to the thing. What’s on his head?” They said, “It must be chichikâwin [description of a hat] by the looks

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of it.” I don’t know what kind of a hat it was, but I suspect it could have been a hat with a wide brim. These hats were the first ones the Îyiyiu traded with the whiteman. The Îyiyiu had been given alcohol and told to share it with his fellow Îyiyiu. He also brought with him all the things he was given in exchange for his fur clothing. He brought with him the gun he was given. The Îyiyiu took turns trying out the gun. They were all very interested. The Îyiyiu shared his drink with the ones he wished to share it with. And he repeated all that he had understood the whiteman as saying. So that is how the post first came to be at Eastmain. All the Îyiyiu in these parts had to go to Eastmain to trade. It is said even those who were hunting around Clearwater Lake had to travel to Eastmain to trade. For a while Eastmain was the only post where the Îyiyiu could trade goods for their furs. Much later a post was erected at Richmond Gulf at a spot we call Âhûpâsich. matthew george

In the early days of trade at Eastmain, three groups of Îyiyiu from the Great Whale River region frequented Eastmain House. The easiest group to identify were the Pis’he’poce, people who summered at Great Whale River where they hunted the beluga whale. They, then, repaired inland or to the country towards the La Grande River to trap for the winter. They were known for the fine furs they brought to the post. A group known as the Ear’ti’wi’ne’peck’s (Yâtiwînipâkw, meaning “sea bay,” referring to Richmond Gulf people) came to Eastmain from the area southeast of Richmond Gulf. They hunted beluga whales at Little Whale River during the summer and spent part of their time at Richmond Gulf, caribou hunting and fishing. When caribou were not available they went inland to kill beaver, very fine beaver, apparently (HBCA B.59/a/15). The third group, the Nepis’cu’the’nues, hailed from the country to the northeast of Richmond Gulf.5 Their lands abounded with fish and caribou but were poor in marten and beaver. The furs 5

The names were given to the three groups of people by Potts, postmaster at Richmond Gulf at the time (Francis and Morantz 1983, 68).

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they endeavoured to catch—foxes, lynx and marten—they “tore up to mak them fine and keep them from the cold” (HBCA B.59/a/4). While a few of the Nepis’cu’the’nues made their way to Eastmain to trade, most found the distance prohibitively far. Instead, they preferred to trade with middlemen, often other northern Îyiyiu. The middlemen, then, brought their furs either to the English at Eastmain or to the French in the south. Leading some of the northern Îyiyiu to Eastmain to trade was the “northern captain.” In the early days of trading, the Hudson’s Bay Company conferred the title of captain upon the leaders of groups of Îyiyiu travelling to Eastmain.6 The northern captain usually arrived at Eastmain in the spring with a contingent of between two and nine canoes, depending on the year. He was rewarded for his efforts with presents of brandy and tobacco and a captain’s coat and hat; his wife was sometimes given a hat as well. With his presents came a reminder of his duties—to talk about and encourage trade amongst the Îyiyiu he encountered. According to the postmaster at Richmond Fort, Captain Cawpachisqua, from Yâtiwînipâkw (the Richmond Gulf area), was the name of the northern captain in the years immediately before the establishment of a post in the Great Whale River area, in 1750 (Francis and Morantz 1983, 46). Each year after going to Eastmain to trade, he returned to Little Whale River or to Great Whale River to meet and trade with the Nepis’cu’the’nues. What furs they had, he then brought with him to Eastmain the following spring. Not all the northern Îyiyiu came to Eastmain in the spring under the auspices of the northern captain. Many came in small groups; some came on their own. Several made the trip in the wintertime. Îyiyiu who lived further north had a hard time obtaining the quality of birchbark required to build canoes capable of travelling long distances. Instead, they engaged in a sled-borne trade and had to face the problems that went with it. An early spring made travel hazardous, sometimes impossible. Late winter travel over the long distances to the post often 6

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For a detailed discussion of trading captains see Toby Morantz, 1977, “James Bay Trading Captains of the Eighteenth Century: New Perspectives on Algonquian Social Organization,” in Papers of the Eighth Algonquian Conference, ed. W. Cowan (Ottawa: Carlton University), 224–36.

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resulted in snow blindness, rendering the afflicted person incapable of further travel until he could tolerate light. In March 1745, the first of the northern Îyiyiu arrived so snow blind they couldn’t trade. In addition to furs, the northern Îyiyiu had brought “deer” meat for the Îyiyiu who lived in the Eastmain area in return for ornamental robes (HBCA B.59/a/12). Since their loads had to be pulled, Îyiyiu who engaged in the winter trade usually only brought small packs of furs to trade and, consequently, didn’t buy much. By 1740, the Hudson’s Bay Company had learned of the existence of Richmond Gulf from the northern Îyiyiu. That year the captain of the Eastmain Îyiyiu was sent northwards to drum up trade. A year later a canoe laden with presents for the northern Îyiyiu was sent north to encourage them to trade. Finally, the Hudson’s Bay Company decided they should go for themselves. Guided by Mustapacoss, the captain of the Eastmain Îyiyiu, the Hudson’s Bay Company made an initial exploratory trip along the coast in 1744. At Great Whale River, they beat the drum and fired the gun to announce their arrival. Silence. The following day smoke signals were seen coming from the coast. There camping on the shore were 157 Îyiyiu, living in three tents, who had gathered to hunt the white whale. Mitchell, the ship’s captain and master at Eastmain House, knew many of them. The Îyiyiu, then, brought him “a great many good furs” (HBCA B.59/a/9) and he, in return, hosted a feast for all the assembled. In previous years, northern Îyiyiu had brought samples of lead to Mitchell, thinking they would be of interest to him. After the feast Mitchell asked the Îyiyiu to show him where to find the lead deposits. Local Îyiyiu took him to the place in the Little Whale River area where the samples had come from. By 1749, the Hudson’s Bay Company was anxious to incorporate the northern Îyiyiu more fully into its trading system. They had been prodded into action by the fear of competition from both the French and other English merchants. Northern Îyiyiu had mentioned to the postmaster at Eastmain that they had been in contact with Native people who traded with the French. And an Îyiyiu who hunted to the east of Eastmain reported he had been in the Richmond Gulf area where he had encountered Îyiyiu who were supplied with the necessaries by Indians

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who used the French to the south (HBCA B.59/a/4). In addition, the Hudson’s Bay Company feared other English merchants would begin to explore the region if they didn’t get there first (ibid.). Dreaming of mineral wealth, the Hudson’s Bay Company was interested in returning to Little Whale River to extract the lead and possibly other minerals. The prospect of developing the whale fishery was also of keen interest. So, in 1749, once again under the command of Captain Mitchell, the Hudson’s Bay Company set out in two ships to search for a good location for a post. They chose Richmond Gulf. With a small contingent of men, including three miners, they returned the following summer to establish Richmond Fort at Âhûpâsich on Mitisînukw (Cairn Island) just off the south shore of Yâtiwînipâkw (Richmond Gulf). The people of Whapmagoostui tell a story about their first contact with the whiteman in Richmond Gulf. Originally told by an Îyiyiu who had never seen a whiteman before, it is strikingly similar to the story about first contact at Eastmain. Not coincidentally, the same kind of story is told by Cree from a number of the coastal communities. Each refers to a prophecy anticipating the arrival of the whiteman. Later, looking out to sea, the people are struck by what appears to be a large tree coming closer and closer. As it nears the shore the people realize it is a ship. As in the Eastmain story, this narrative unfolds with one of the Îyiyiu conducting a shaking tent to obtain information about the people on board. Having been satisfied the visitors mean no harm, the same Îyiyiu goes out to meet them. Trading takes place, the Îyiyiu receiving a gun, alcohol and a new set of clothing to replace his own fur clothing, which the whiteman has taken. The next day, other Îyiyiu go to the boat where they, too, trade their clothing for guns and things to wear. The story ends with the whiteman departing, having promised to return to the same place the following summer for more trading. The following first contact story takes place in Richmond Gulf. It may refer to Captain Mitchell’s exploratory voyage, in 1749, along the east coast of Hudson Bay.

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First Contact at Yâtiwînipâkw— Richmond Gulf The Îyiyiu had never seen a whiteman before this time. One day the Îyiyiu heard something out on the water, a sound they had never heard before in their lives—a sound like thunder. There was no way for them to know the noise had been made by a cannon, shot from the ship to announce its presence. The ship fired the cannon in the hope that if there were people around here, they would hear it. The Îyiyiu said, “We should conduct a shaking tent. Mistâpâu will know what the sound is.” The shaking tent was erected. When it first started to move someone could be heard knocking about trying to come in. The people asked, “Mistâp, who is here?” Mistâpâu said, “It is the one you heard out on the water. He is looking for you. He means no harm. If you would go to him in person, he will give you the thing you heard [the gun]. This would greatly help you to catch the animals you hunt. Let him in.” The visitor came into the shaking tent and spoke, but no one could understand him because he was speaking English. He might as well have been banging on a metal object by the sound he was making with his speech. But mistâpâu was able to understand because he could understand English perfectly. “He [the whiteman] says you will be seeing him soon out in the water,” said mistâpâu. Later, it may have been the same day or the next day, they saw something out in the water that looked like a little island. The island was coming closer and closer. Soon they realized it had stopped moving. I guess it had anchored. It wasn’t a windy day that day so one of the old men said, “Son, I will go out to him myself. It must be him [the visitor] because mistâpâu told us we would see him out on the water. I will go to him and see what he does to me.” They watched him as he paddled towards the ship. “I wonder what story our father will bring back,” his sons said to each other. They watched him from the shore. He approached the ship not really having any idea what it was. When he got much closer and could see it more clearly, he noticed there were people moving about upon it. It must have

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been very high for it had sailed over from the other side of the ocean from Kâmichihchikimîch.7 He saw a lot of people walking and moving about on this thing. He stopped paddling when he noticed them. I guess he was feeling a little frightened. But, because the people on the ship started waving for him to continue ahead, he kept on going. As he got closer to the side of the boat it looked to him like a smooth stone cliff. The people on the boat leaned over the edge to motion him closer until he was almost right up against it. A ladder was thrown over and the boss climbed down to him. He had a rope in his hand. Tying the old man’s canoe to the ladder, the boss motioned to him to climb up. There were a lot of people on the boat, all of whom shook hands with him when he got on board. They liked what they saw. The old man’s clothes were made of fur. The boss guided the old man into his cabin. There he was told to take off his clothing and was given something else to wear. He thought he looked pretty good in his new clothes! Indicating that he wanted to keep the fur garments, the boss poured the old man a drink. He really liked it. The boss made sure he didn’t get drunk! Then he showed the old man a gun. He brought the old man onto the deck of the boat where he showed him how to use it. It is said of the first guns that the powder was placed outside the gun in a barrel. The old man watched carefully to see what he did with the round pellets and with everything else. The boss aimed in the direction of the water and the gun went off. The Îyiyiu could see where the pellets fell as they hit the water. He knew right away this would be a very good tool to hunt with. The boss fired the gun again and this time it went even further. The boss gave him the gun and some gunpowder. He indicated to him he was to take them home with him. The Îyiyiu knew that the boss was telling him that he should bring the other Îyiyiu to the ship as well. Somehow he understood that if the other Îyiyiu were to bring their fur clothing, they, too, would be given guns. He was also given a barrel of alcohol. In those days alcohol was kept in small barrels. The boss put the barrel in the old man’s canoe. He was told to give a drink to the 7

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Kâmichihchikimîch means “from the shore on the other side of the ocean.” Today we know it to be Europe: Emily Masty.

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Map of Richmond Gulf, 1749. On the map Richmond Gulf is referred to as “Artiwinipeck,” its Cree name. Richmond Fort is located at narrows between the mainland and Cairn Island (see arrow). [Hudson’s Bay Company Archives, Archives of Manitoba, G.1/18, William Coats.]

people he lived with. Through signs and gestures he figured out what was being said to him. He was still wearing the new suit and as he left a hat was placed on his head. He was given another drink. You know what happens when you start to move after having a drink. You feel the alcohol. Well, he felt really good! Never in his life had he drunk anything that made him feel that good. Thinking of absolutely nothing, he paddled home. He began to sing. He sang about the

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trading post the traders were soon to build. I guess he knew about it in his mind, in his thoughts. The people on the shore saw the old man coming and said, “Here comes father. We will soon hear about his experience.” They had been watching from the shore all this time. They heard him singing as he got closer. “Father is singing. They must have done something to him,” they worried. When he got closer they could see how he was dressed. They said, “What has happened to him. Just look at him. What is that on his head?” The others said, “It looks like chichikâwiniû.” The old man landed. He said, “Sons, the visitor who I went to see has caused me to feel happy. Look at how he has dressed me. He took my clothing.” He wasn’t totally drunk. He showed them what the boss had done with the gun. He aimed it towards the beach. They saw where the bullets fell. Everyone was excited by its possibilities. “From what I could gather,” said the old man, “for I could not speak his language, the boss wants all of you to go there with your clothing and he will give you this thing [gun] too. Tomorrow we will return with all your furs. He also gave me this. This is what is making me feel the way I do now. The boss told me to give you some of this.” So they drank and got drunk. [Noah laughs and says he wishes he could have been there too!] The next morning many canoes set out for the ship. They were given guns to hunt with. Their clothing was taken from them and they were given other things to wear. They were also told to come back to the same place, for that is where they would be looked for next summer when more things would be brought for them. The Îyiyiu understood what was being said to them. The next summer they waited for the boat to return. I guess they had a way of knowing what time of the year they were supposed to be there. I don’t suppose they had a calendar in those days! When the ship came back the next summer, it brought the wood to build a building. With it they built the store at Richmond Gulf. Much later a post was built at Great Whale River. noah mamianskum

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Plan of Richmond Fort. The star-shaped fort surrounded by a palisade conformed to the standard defensive type of design typical of early Hudson’s Bay Company posts. Richmond Fort was in operation between 1750 and 1756. Four Îyiyiu were employed to help take care of the post during the winter: Netap, Friday, Robinson Crusoe and the Old Fisherman. During the summer, they and other Little Whale River Îyiyiu hunted whales at Little Whale River. [Hudson’s Bay Company Archives, Archives of Manitoba, HBCA G.1/104, William Coats.]

Initially the Hudson’s Bay Company’s presence in the Great Whale River area was of very short duration, from 1750 to 1759. During this time, it established two posts, one at Richmond Gulf, the other, about eighteen kilometres away on the north side of the Little Whale River. The Hudson’s Bay Company’s interest in the region was whale oil, furs and mining. The first post, Richmond Fort, was constructed in 1750. Four Îyiyiu from Great Whale River, whom the postmaster referred to as Netap, the Old Fisherman, Friday and Robinson Crusoe, were employed to help take care of the post during the winter (Francis and Morantz 1983, 67). They fished, hunted, caught ptarmigan, made snowshoes and attended to the myriad details related to the maintenance of the post. Thomas Mitchell was in charge at Richmond Fort, but by the end of 1750 he was recalled to England in disgrace, accused of conducting a private trade with the Îyiyiu. John Potts replaced him. Potts also assumed charge of operations at Whale River House when it opened—first as a whaling station—in 1752. Robinson Crusoe, along with many of the Îyiyiu who camped at Little Whale River during the summer, was engaged for the annual whale hunt. Before long, to increase fur returns, a local Îyiyiu, on the threat of having his ears chopped off, was persuaded to go inland to convince the people Postmaster Potts referred to as Nashcoppi—probably the barren ground dwellers and caribou hunters, sometimes referred to as Naskapi— to come to Richmond Gulf to trade. The Îyiyiu returned the following summer with a group of Naskapi, who informed Potts they feared encountering the Inuit who lived in the vicinity of Richmond Gulf. A year-round post at Little Whale River, they said, would be more accessible and safer (Francis and Morantz 1983, 69). In response, Richmond Fort was closed in 1756, its trading operations transferred to Little Whale River. Despite Potts’s efforts, the mining activity met with little success. Unreliable weather rendered the whaling operation unpredictable. And the fur trade failed to thrive. Contrary to expectations, the post had not drawn the numbers of Îyiyiu the Hudson’s Bay Company had envisioned. The Hudson’s Bay Company hadn’t been able to convince the northeastern caribou hunters to give up hunting. And the Îyiyiu producing the most furs—the Pîsimwâhtâwiyiyiu—who wintered inland or towards

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Sketch depicting plans for the whale fishery at Little Whale River. Whale River House (1752–1759) opened initially as a whaling station. When Richmond Fort was closed, Whale River House was upgraded to a trading post to attract the Naskapi, who feared encountering Inuit in the Richmond Gulf area. Within a few years, Whale River House also closed because neither whaling, mining, nor the fur trade had met with much success. [Hudson’s Bay Company Archives, Archives of Manitoba, B.182/a/11,fo.26, John Potts.]

the La Grande River—continued to trade at Eastmain after Richmond Post opened. The people of Yâtiwînipâkw were the most important suppliers of furs to the post, but their trade proved insufficient to warrant the presence of the post. In addition, many of the Îyiyiu remained nervous about the Inuit, Whale River House having been ransacked, in 1754, by Inuit in search of guns and metal. In 1759, then, Potts packed up the trade goods at Whale River House and sailed away. Seme-tapano, a northern hunter, reported at Eastmain the following spring that the English had left Richmond Gulf for England, burning to ashes what remained of the factory before their departure (HBCA B.59/a/29). The Îyiyiu tell the following story about an incident that happened just before the post was closed at Richmond Gulf.

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The narrows at Richmond Gulf. Richmond Fort was located on the terrace in the foreground. Richmond Fort is said to have closed because of the drowning of the woman who tried to reach the post in the dead of night. [Francis Marcoux]

The Closing of Richmond Fort, Version I The post in Richmond Gulf was located at Âhûpâsich, which is on an island in a narrow bay. The island was very close to the mainland, but the water separating the two was extremely deep. Resembling the gizzard of a bird, the mountain on the island gave the island its name, Mitisînukw. The post, itself, was situated on the side of Mitisînukw facing the mainland.

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While some of the Îyiyiu were hunting at Little Whale River, two of their women decided to go to the store at Âhûpâsich. I guess some of the women went for the whitemen in those days too! They left at night, so it was dark by the time they reached the shore facing the store. One of the women said to the other, “Let’s spend the night here. They’re bound to come and get us when they see us in the morning.” “But friend, it’s nighttime, if we go now we can go to bed with them right away,” her companion replied. It was one of those very dark nights. According to the first woman, “My friend made a raft by herself. I did not help her. I pleaded with her not to go, but she pushed the raft into the water anyway. By the time she was halfway across I could no longer see her. That’s how dark it was. Suddenly she yelled to me, ‘I’m in trouble. My raft has broken apart.’ I had no way of helping her. Maybe if I had screamed and made a lot of noise the people at the store would have helped. Soon I couldn’t hear her at all.” When morning came the whitemen saw the one who had remained on shore. They went to her. She told them there had been two of them, but her friend had drowned. The boss was very unhappy about the death of the woman. Then, while trying to do the right thing, he did something that proved to be highly detrimental to himself. He wrote a letter to his bosses telling them the whiteman was not good for the Îyiyiu. He said the woman had died because of the presence of the whitemen. The following year, before the ship set sail [from England] for Âhûpâsich, the captain was told to gather all the Îyiyiu together and give them something to help with their hunting. Once that was done he was to burn down the building. “When you can no longer see land, throw the men [the Hudson’s Bay Company workers] overboard but bring the boss home where he will be killed,” the captain was told. Meanwhile, the boss sat on the ledge of Mitisînukw Mountain awaiting the arrival of the ship. There were no radios in those days, but he knew when to expect the boat. Soon the masts of the ship could be seen coming through Kwâhkuschiûn Pass. Once in full view, it could be discerned that there was no flag on the mast. There had always been a flag on the ship before. When it came around the point, a black flag

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was hoisted up the mast. The boss knew immediately the ship brought bad news. The ship anchored. Normally, the captain would come ashore and shake the boss’s hand. This time, ignoring his hand, the captain just handed the boss a letter. The boss turned around knowing he was being delivered bad news. He went into the building to read the letter. It was there he learned what was to happen to him. Meanwhile, the Îyiyiu were asked to come. They were told to remove their belongings because the building was to be burned down. They were given things to hunt with. My grandfather said the Îyiyiu could have saved the boss or the building if they had thought to protest or if they had made it known they wouldn’t leave the premises. They could have saved the boss if they had known what was going to happen to him. They should have spoken on his behalf. They should have said they didn’t want the building destroyed. At that time there was a chief, but I guess he didn’t know what was really going on. One of the Îyiyiu who was there at the time was quoted as saying, “After that I headed straight for Kâmichistâwâshâkâu [a place in Richmond Gulf]. I landed my canoe to make camp there. I took my gun and climbed the mountain. The ship had already left the gulf. I looked towards the buildings—there was just a bit of smoke left where the buildings had been. I remembered how much I had liked the boss and cried.” As soon as land was out of sight the workers were thrown overboard. I guess the boss was killed when he got to his land. That is how the story goes. noah mamianskum

The Closing of Richmond Gulf, Version II It is possible to see on the ground that there had been buildings at this spot. It looked as if the buildings were big. The buildings looked like basements. That’s what they looked like. It is here that some people made

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some mistakes to cause the buildings to be burned down by the owners. It all started because of two women. The two women tried to paddle over to the buildings and the raft came apart. It was then the boss sent a letter to his superiors stating the whitemen were bad to the Îyiyiu. That is what his letter said. It was the reason why the building was destroyed. matthew george

Indigenous people throughout North America had their own ideas about what constituted proper economic and political relations. As illustrated in the previous story, the Îyiyiu explained the Hudson’s Bay Company’s reasons for closing the post at Richmond Gulf according to their beliefs about how wealthy people should behave, as benefactor and protector. Logically, then, the postmaster at Richmond Gulf was punished because the woman had died under his watch. He had not fulfilled his responsibility as protector. To attract the Îyiyiu as customers and producers, fur-trading companies adopted practises that reflected their interests—gift-giving, credit, feasts, the trading captain system—practises that have been well-documented elsewhere. But manipulation did occur. Comments by the postmaster during one of the whaling seasons at Little Whale River reveal how he manipulated the Îyiyiu into working for him for the entire season. Despite the fact the Îyiyiu wanted to return inland to caribou hunt, he kept them at the post by refusing to pay them until the whale hunt was over. And, at various times, postmasters acknowledged that the Îyiyiu were being sold inferior goods. The Îyiyiu complained vociferously about deficient guns and hatchets to the postmaster at Eastmain in the mid-1700s, a complaint he was sympathetic to, knowing full well the Îyiyiu could take their furs to the French. Around the same time, several Îyiyiu had taken umbrage to the fact that the trade “was not carried on an equal balance” (HBCA B.59/a/18). The Îyiyiu were critical of these and other Hudson’s Bay Company trade practises, but, in the early days, the nature of their relationship allowed them the possibility of negotiation. That was usually not the case in their relationships with the kâchîmâhîchâsiu and pwâtich.

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K ÂC H Î M Â H ÎC H Â S I U C H By an accident of geography the Îyiyiu found themselves embroiled in hostilities between Cree from southern James Bay and the Inuit who came to Richmond Gulf in the summer to hunt white whales. The hostilities were fuelled by sporadic but deadly raids perpetrated by Moose River and Albany River Cree—kâchîmâhîchâsiuch—against the Inuit. Written records suggest the raids predate the first European settlement of the bay and continued through the eighteenth century. After the spring goose hunt, the warriors, some of them with their families, left their respective posts to go on an “Eskimo hunt.” Often stopping at Eastmain House to visit and deliver the Hudson’s Bay Company’s mail, they then continued northward to murder, scalp and, sometimes, take captives. The raids over, the warriors returned home in time for the fall goose hunt (Francis 1976). The raids were not for trade or territory, the southern Cree laying claim to neither Inuit territory nor goods. Rather, Hudson’s Bay Company records suggest they were revenge attacks for harm the Inuit purportedly had committed against the southern Îyiyiu. These Cree believed, as did the northern Îyiyiu, the “Esquimaux to be a nation of sorcerers” who, even over great distances, enchanted game and bewitched people. Through their powers the Inuit afflicted the Îyiyiu with disease and famine; they could even cause death. It has been suggested, then, the raids were revenge attacks, conducted as punishment for these kinds of misdemeanours (Francis 1976). It is no wonder the northern Îyiyiu feared the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch. For, if they did not find any Inuit, the raiders turned their murderous intentions against them. In the absence of Inuit scalps, the marauders tried to make their people believe the Îyiyiu scalps were those of the Inuit. Equipped with guns, the southern Cree were intimidating opponents for both the Inuit and the northern Îyiyiu, most of whom were not as well-armed. Hudson’s Bay Company journals from June 1738 indicate that nine canoes of Moose and Albany Cree stopped at Eastmain House on their way to war with the Inuit. The following June, at Eastmain, the captain of the northern Îyiyiu reported the loss of his countrymen. More than six families had been killed by the warriors because “they could not

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light of any Usqemes.” The devastation had left the captain “with little heart to hunt for goods” (HBCA B.59/a/3). He beseeched the Hudson’s Bay Company to prevent further raids. In August of that year, the captain of the Eastmain Îyiyiu went to Albany to lodge a complaint against the people who had wreaked such havoc along the coast. The raids continued, however. Hudson’s Bay Company journals from Eastmain report the comings and goings of the warriors and their families throughout the century. The following is a list of the war parties mentioned in the journals. Since Eastmain House was closed during the summer until 1770, it is possible that not all incidents were reported. Sept. 15, 1744: Several women and children related to the Moose River Îyiyiu who had gone to hunt the Inuit called in at Eastmain to report that their husbands had been gone so long they feared they were either killed or drowned. They had had nothing to eat since they had lost their fish nets, so the postmaster at Eastmain gave them some victuals: salt, geese and oatmeal. The raiders showed up at Eastmain thirteen days later (HBCA B.59/a/12). Sept. 6, 1748: Five canoes of southern Îyiyiu who had been hunting Inuit since the spring arrived at Eastmain with seven Inuit children, who had been taken captive. One was being suckled at the breast of one of the Îyiyiu women (HBCA B.59/a/17). June 25, 1755: Six canoes of Albany River Îyiyiu arrived at Eastmain on their way to the Inuit hunt (HBCA B.59/a/23). In 1754, Potts, the postmaster at Richmond Fort and Whale River House, had killed two Inuit after Whale River House had been ransacked, looted and one of its workers killed by the Inuit. Potts, in a move that could only incite further conflict, removed an ear from each body to send “to ye Indian Captains of Moose and Albany Forts” (Francis and Morantz 1983, 76). It should have come as no surprise, then, to see fifteen Cree, warriors from the Albany and Moose Rivers, arrive at the whale fishery at Little Whale River the next summer. They had been outfitted with ammunition at Richmond Fort. These were probably the six canoes that had stopped at Eastmain. Needless to say, they had a terrifying effect on the local Îyiyiu:

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The Albany Indians, 10 men & 5 Women, Came Over ye river & tented Close by Our Whaleing Indians, wch frightened Our Indians extremely, So Much that they wanted to go away, I did all I could to persuad them to Stay, I gave them Some Brandy to give to ye Eusquamay hunters and got them to give me all their Guns to keep wch made all things Easey, Our Indians tells me that its Common for ye Albany and Moose River Indians when they cannot find the Eusquamays they kill Our Indians, for their Scalps and Makes their country Men Believe their Scalps is Eusquamays. Robinson Crouseo tells me that his Brother and 3 More was kill’d by the Albany and Moose River Indians about 12 years ago and scalp’d. (HBCA B.187/a/7:43, qtd. in Francis and Morantz 1983, 77) 1757: Nine canoes of southern Îyiyiu showed up again, once more killing a number of Inuit and “teryfying our Indians by telling ym that if they did not See ye Eusquamays, they woud on their return kill and Scalp them, wch filld them wth dread that they deserted ye fishery sooner then they woud have done” (HBCA A.11/57:46; B.182/ a/9:36d, qtd. in Francis and Morantz 1983, 77). 1769: The following journal entry describes the ceremonial departure of the raiding parties from Fort Albany: At 10 o’clock this morning 25 men came dressed and painted to the Fort [Albany]. They said they were determined to go to war with the Esquemaes, on which they sang the war song, after which about 60 more, men, women and children, all home guard, came to joyn with them in the Begging Dance. They said it was usual for the Chief [the Hudson’s Bay Company postmaster] to give them great presents on such occasions, that they did not happen often, and that they expected I would do as my predecessors had done before. (HBCA B.3/a/59, fol.34, qtd. in Francis 1976) June 11, 1770: Seven canoes of Moose River and Albany River Cree stopped at Eastmain, complaining of hunger, on their way to the

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Inuit hunt. They were given victuals, tobacco and a gallon of brandy (HBCA B.59/a/39). June 18,1774: Five canoes of Albany Îyiyiu on their way to the Inuit hunt stopped at Eastmain. The postmaster claims he did all in his power to dissuade them but in vain. The ten of them returned in mid-September. They were given some tobacco and sent off (HBCA B.59/a/47). June 18, 1778: Thirteen Îyiyiu and part of their families stopped off at Eastmain on their way to hunt Inuit. They were given a treat of brandy and tobacco for bringing letters from Albany and York forts (HBCA B.59/a/52). July 19, 1782: While some of the northern Îyiyiu were at Eastmain, they were told by Moose River and Albany River Îyiyiu that a number of canoes were on their way to hunt Inuit. The northern Îyiyiu left in the dead of night and told the other Îyiyiu who were on their way to Eastmain. The northern Îyiyiu didn’t trade at Eastmain that summer. “This stops a great number of furs from coming to Eastmain,” commented George Atkinson, the postmaster (HBCA B.59/a/57). June 17, 1785: Îyiyiu arrived at Eastmain from Fort Albany to join the Moose River Indians, Inuit hunting. Through persuasion and presents—five gallons of brandy and six pounds of tobacco— Atkinson, the postmaster, convinced them to return home. Atkinson thought the Hudson’s Bay Company postmasters at the other places should “hinder them from going on such barbarous expeditions” (HBCA B.59/a/60). June 21, 1791: Five canoes of Albany Îyiyiu on their way to the Inuit hunt stopped at Eastmain. Postmaster Atkinson couldn’t stop them this time because they were carrying goods that they wanted to trade for leather with the northern Îyiyiu. They returned to Eastmain from Richmond Gulf in late August (HBCA B.59/a/67). June 8, 1793: Four canoes of Albany Inuit hunters came to Eastmain. As a result the northern hunters who would have left did not. They were afraid to go. The postmaster at Eastmain was convinced the Inuit hunters could be kept from such expeditions if they were not given credit by the Hudson’s Bay Company at their posts. “It is the homeguard who are the chief instigation of it and they can’t live

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independently of the Factories,” the postmaster wrote. “If they experienced real want, it would make them a little more tame” (HBCA B.59/a/69). They left the next day, not to return from the north until mid-August. July 8, 1802: A party of Albany River Îyiyiu arrived at Eastmain “on that murdering errand, the Esquimaux hunt as they call it.” They brought letters from Albany and Moose Rivers (HBCA B.59/a/79). The Hudson’s Bay Company should have opposed the raids, which interfered with trade up and down the coast. Bemoaning the consequences to trade of the first raid mentioned above, the postmaster at Eastmain House wrote in 1738: So theres no sine of ye trade increasing att ye Et. Maine as long as these Indians continues gooeing in pretence to war with ye Usquemes. These is not ye first that have been keild by ye aforesaid Indians according to our natives account and iff ye Factories of Moose River and Albany do not hinder these Indians from goeing to ware with ye Usquemes they soone will destroy all our northern Indians. (HBCA B.3/a/59, fol.34, qtd. in Francis 1976) Fear of encountering the raiders discouraged some of the northern hunters from going to Eastmain to trade. They made the Îyiyiu nervous at Richmond Fort and Whale River House. And, they made it difficult for the Hudson’s Bay Company to develop a trading relationship with the Inuit in Richmond Gulf. Yet, the Hudson’s Bay Company played a dubious role in the whole affair. While it officially condemned the raids, actions of its employees fuelled it. Sending the ears of dead Inuit captives to the Albany River and Moose River Îyiyiu was definitely provocative. Moreover, before they left on the raids, it appears the warriors received gifts from the Hudson’s Bay Company at Fort Albany. And, as they were travelling north, the warriors were sometimes in the service of the Hudson’s Bay Company by delivering the mail. Furthermore, despite admonitions from certain Hudson’s Bay Company postmasters, when they reached Eastmain and Richmond

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Gulf, the warriors were sometimes welcomed with brandy, presents and, occasionally, ammunition. In addition, at times, the women and children accompanying the warriors were left at posts along the way to be taken care of until the warriors’ return. It doesn’t require too great a leap to see why Whapmagoostui elder Matthew George would suggest the marauders had received their orders from “the whiteman in the south.” Hudson’s Bay Company journals identify the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch as Cree from the Albany and Moose Rivers, part of the “homeguard,” who hunted furs in the coastal areas close to the trading posts and who supplied the post with geese and other food. But while the journals identify the warriors as Indians, in several Whapmagoostui stories about the raids, the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch are called “a kind of whiteman.” They are described as part Îyiyiu, part white, living off the land like the Îyiyiu.

Wâmishtikûshîhkânich They were wâmishtikûshîhkânich [not fully white, probably Métis]. They were whitemen but did things like the Îyiyiu. They had always been out on the land like the Îyiyiu. It is those wâmishtikûshîhkânich who were sent to hunt down the Inuit and kill them. I suppose they got their orders from far away.8 The whitemen we called kâchîmâhîchâsiuch made trips to our part of the world. It is said they came from the south and travelled up north in their canoes. They would come to Whapmagoostui and then travel on up the northern coast. They are the ones who went looking for the Inuit up north. I guess they killed the Inuit wherever they would find them. matthew george

The Îyiyiu refer to the “homeguard” of mixed parentage as “white,” while the Hudson’s Bay Company journals call them “Indians.” Hudson’s Bay Company servants and managers of mixed ancestry were also often referred to in the oral tradition as “white” because “they had been made into whitemen” by virtue of their jobs. 8

Matthew is referring to the southern areas where the whiteman lives: Emily Masty.

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The Îyiyiu stories about the raids describe the kinds of battles the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch engaged in. Two of them highlight Sâkukinâpu, a kâchîmâhîchâsiu who, while merciless in his attacks on the Inuit, didn’t approve of the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch attacking the northern Îyiyiu. Not all relations between the Îyiyiu from the Moose and Albany Rivers and the northern Îyiyiu were contentious. According to the Hudson’s Bay Company records, Îyiyiu from Moose and Albany engaged in the “ancient custom of getting leather” from the northern Îyiyiu in return for birchbark and other goods, a practise that continued throughout this period. Sometimes the exchange took place at Eastmain, where the postmaster complained that “they [the Moose River homeguard] wait until they hear the guns fired for the northern leaders and they come in with the excuse of bringing birch rind” (HBCA B.59/a/70). One entry notes the Albany Inuit hunters couldn’t be persuaded to end their trip at Eastmain because they wanted to obtain leather as well as scalps on their expedition (HBCA B.59/a/67). These kâchîmâhîchâsiuch were probably less inclined to murder the northern Îyiyiu. The first kâchîmâhîchâsiuch story is about a particularly gory battle Sâkukinâpu fought with the Inuit. Facing opponents armed with guns and ammunition, it wasn’t long before the Inuit were vanquished. In the second story, Sâkukinâpu conducted a shaking tent to ask beings from the spirit world if he should battle the Inuit. As if he were preparing to hunt game, he consulted mischinâhkw. Also as if he were hunting game, when mischinâhkw responded he had not let the Inuit go, Sâkukinâpu knew the Inuit would be out of his reach and changed his plans. This time the Inuit were spared. The third story describes a fistfight at Great Whale River between some kâchîmâhîchâsiuch and two powerful Îyiyiu elders in which the elders, using their powers, out-manoeuvered their kâchîmâhîchâsiuch adversaries.

Sâkukinâpu Attacks the Inuit There was a group of kâchîmâhîchâsiuch headed by the kâchîmâhîchâsiu called Sâkukinâpu. Sâkukinâpu wanted to protect the Îyiyiu.

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When the canoes of kâchîmâhîchâsiuch travelled in our part of the country, they would try to kill the Îyiyiu also. Sometimes he travelled with the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch just to watch them, not to do anything to the Îyiyiu. He travelled in his own canoe with his group. They were all travelling up north. One time he had started out later than the canoe he had wanted to travel with. He met the other canoe on its way back down the coast. They met not far from here. The returning canoe of kâchîmâhîchâsiuch reported they hadn’t encountered many Inuit. He was living with only his son-in-law, who was called Ipihshîsh. Sâkukinâpu said to the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch, “Ipihshîsh and I will continue travelling up the north coast.” The other kâchîmâhîchâsiuch were already on their way south. The kâchîmâhîchâsiuch hadn’t left many Inuit for them to do battle with. Still, they continued on with their journey up the northern coast. Soon they came upon a camp of Inuit. There were many Inuit in this camp. They sat through the night to attack at dawn. There was an inlet that went way inland where the camp was situated. Overlooking the camp was a rock hill. Sâkukinâpu told his daughter to stay at this hill. He left her with the two guns and the ammunition. He left the ammunition already open so it would be easier for her to reload the guns. He readied the two guns by putting ammunition in them. Although she was hidden from it, she had a view of the whole Inuit camp. He said to her, “Shoot the Inuit when you see them trying to escape.” Just before sunrise, Sâkukinâpu said to Ipihshîsh, “Let’s go!” They ran down the hill. When they got within full view of the Inuit camp, they could see many dwellings, close together. When he saw the dwellings, Ipihshîsh said, “There sure are a lot of Ayischîmâu [Inuit]!” The next part of the story is Sâkukinâpu speaking. “I ran towards the Inuit village with my war cries. The Inuit poured out of their dwellings. The whole area was swarming with Inuit. We fought the Inuit, just the two of us. While I was doing battle with the Inuit, I thought I heard something. We had already had killed many Inuit. I heard my little daughter screaming. ‘I’m going to check on my daughter,’ I said to Ipihshîsh. ‘I hear her screaming. I will kill the Ayischîmâu who is doing this to my daughter.’

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“I ran up the hill and found my daughter flapping her arms like wings. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked her. She said, ‘Nothing. I was worried the Ayischîmâu had killed you.’ “‘Stay here and look out for the Inuit. Shoot them if you see them running away,’ I said and went back to the battle. Once in a while I heard my daughter shooting. Ipihshîsh was still on his feet. We were only using swords to fight the Inuit. After a while, there were no Inuit to fight. The Inuit blood ran like rivulets down to the bay. Suddenly, I felt faint. I was going to lose consciousness. I went to the blood that was streaming down to the bay and drank two handfuls.9 After I drank, I started to gain full consciousness. “‘Let’s stop looking for Inuit now,’ I said to Ipihshîsh. ‘It’s time to go home.’” Sâkukinâpu had been travelling with his mother but had left her before they entered Inuit territory. He took one dead Inuit boy with him, placing the stiff body of the boy upright at the bow of his canoe. He reached the camp where he had left his mother. When they arrived, his mother said something to him that he didn’t like. “What do you mean?” he said to her. “I did kill the Inuit.” Then she saw the body of the Inuk boy at the bow of the canoe. Picking up the body, she took it into her dwelling where, once inside, she started cutting it up. matthew george

Mischinâhkw Protects the Inuit from the Kâchîmâhîchâsiuch There were times when the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch couldn’t kill the Inuit. One time the Inuit were camping at Misipinikush, one of the bigger islands situated near the outside end of Mintûnikw Sound. On this island the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch found many Inuit dwellings. They planned to paddle over to the island to attack in the early morning dawn. During the night a tempest of a storm rose. By the looks of things a canoe wouldn’t survive on the water. It stayed like that for a long time. They 9

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couldn’t hunt. The kâchîmâhîchâsiuch got very hungry waiting out the storm. To quieten the storm they put something in the water, but each time they did, things only calmed down along the shoreline and then just for a short period of time. Sâkukinâpu conducted a shaking tent. He asked that they be given the chance to fight with the Inuit. Mistâpâu, the one looking for the Inuit responded, “I can not let you have them because it is not the time for me to let them go to you. The only thing I can give you is the same thing I give them when I have mercy on them.” It was mischinâhkw talking. To this, one of the kâchîmâhîchâsiu said, “It’s okay not to let us have the Inuit. We’re too hungry.” It couldn’t be any other way. The next day he went out before the sun came up and saw a polar bear walking along the shore. It was huge. They killed the bear when it was in front of their camp on the shore. The bear wasn’t afraid of them because mischinâhkw had already let the bear go so they would have something to eat. They had a bear feast. While they were eating, the storm started to quieten down. It had completely died down by the time the feast was over. But Sâkukinâpu knew there was no way he could kill the Inuit now because mischinâhkw had not let them go. He and his group started going home from there. His Inuit were forever out of his reach. matthew george

The Îyiyiu Resist the Attack by the Kâchîmâhîchâsiuch One time two canoes of kâchîmâhîchâsiuch were heading north to look for Inuit to do battle with. They paddled by here. There were eight in each canoe, as usual. They were quoted as saying, “The Wâpmâkushtûwîyiyiu [Great Whale River Îyiyiu] should be wary of us on our return from the north. We’re going to give them something on our way home.” “Woe is us,” the Îyiyiu said when they heard the threat. “They’re bound to do something terrible.” Amongst the Îyiyiu were two old men. In those days the Îyiyiu used to camp across the river near the mouth of the river, on top of the bank

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where there are now many trees. There were no trees at that time. No one lived on this side of the river before the post was built here. They were camped near the stream on top of the riverbank. One day the wind was coming from the west when the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch were spotted coming around the point to the north. Their sails were all black. They did this when they wanted to do battle. The old men were sitting at the edge of riverbank. One of them said, “I guess they really want to fight us.” The kâchîmâhîchâsiuch continued around the sandy point at the mouth of the river and landed their canoes. The lead kâchîmâhîchâsiu from one canoe jumped onto the shore. His canoe was ahead of the other. The kâchîmâhîchâsiu started running towards the riverbank where the camp was. The two kâchîmâhîchâsiuch leaders started running towards the Îyiyiu. The others followed suit. The two Îyiyiu elders were called Pichiskich. The two Pichiskich ran together towards the enemy. One slid down the riverbank, then the other. They had no weapons with them. When they were on the shoreline, they started running towards the oncoming kâchîmâhîchâsiuch. The old men couldn’t run very fast across the soft sand on the shore. The kâchîmâhîchâsiuch soon reached the old men. The kâchîmâhîchâsiu who had had the head start reached the old men first. He thought he would just kick one of the old men aside. The kâchîmâhîchâsiu lifted off the ground to kick the old man full force on the chest. The old man stepped aside hitting the kâchîmâhîchâsiu right on the chest. He landed far back, whipping sand up in the air where he landed. The other old man ran ahead of the first. The second kâchîmâhîchâsiu leader, complaining about how weak his friend was, thought he could do the same thing. He was kicked on the chest by the second old man. The kâchîmâhîchâsiuch picked themselves up slowly from where they had landed. The other kâchîmâhîchâsiuch stopped running. Back at the camp the Îyiyiu had seen the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch slowly getting up off the sand. They came to the two old men and shook hands with them. The kâchîmâhîchâsiuch boarded their canoes. They put on their sails again and were soon out of sight. The two old men went on home. “Grandfathers, what did you do to them?” the other Îyiyiu asked the old men. “They were so sure they would do battle with us. What happened to them?” One of the old

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men answered, “I had thought about twisting his neck if he had started shooting his arrows. But I saw him as a child, just starting to walk, as he came running towards me.” The other old man said, “I just followed your grandfather’s lead. I did what he did to them.” matthew george

P WÂT IC H Very negative images of the whiteman are associated with pwâtich. In the oldest stories pwâtich are presented as strangers or enemies and are not explicitly identified as whitemen. As stated earlier, pwâtich now refers to whitemen who lurk, bogeyman-like, in the woods. Their identity is not clear from the stories, although Îyiyiu speculate some may have been prospectors and surveyors. Unlike the perception of the Îyiyiu of the postmaster in the story about the closing of Richmond Fort and of the captains of the ships in the first contact stories, there was nothing charitable about pwâtich. Described as pale and hairy because of their beards, pwâtich were viewed with fear and suspicion. They did not conform to normal standards of behaviour. Their conduct was uncivilized, transgressing the bounds of civilized society. They attacked the Îyiyiu directly and stole from their nets, traps, caches and dwellings. All of this was considered unacceptable, even unconscionable. Conflict dominated the relationship between the Îyiyiu and the pwâtich, but as one of the stories illustrates, the relationship was redeemable, and alliances formed when the two parties were able to establish normal relations of exchange. Stories about being harassed by pwâtich date back to the time before all the Îyiyiu had guns and continue well into the twentieth century. Some of the older ones are included here. Like the Îyiyiu, pwâtich also had powers. Inevitably, Îyiyiu shamans felt obligated to summon their own spiritual powers to disarm and sometimes eliminate the pwâtich. “They were always trying to attack the Îyiyiu,” one of the storytellers said. “I had to kill them before they killed my grandchildren.” With only one exception, the reason for pwâtich aggression is never explained. In the case of the exception, the narrator

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of the story says the pwâtich attacked to avenge the deaths of friends who had been killed by the powers of other Îyiyiu. While stories about pwâtich inevitably highlight the Îyiyiu as victors, the pwâtich often fought ferociously, both physically and mentally. Pwâtich with supernatural powers used all the tricks in the book to overcome their adversaries. So, too, did the Îyiyiu. Encounters with the pwâtich were very dramatic. Stories about them include three featuring Kichunâu, an Îyiyiu warrior with many battles to his credit. In two, pwâtich are diverted when conjurors create dense fog to shield their people from attack. In another, a pwât dies having been mysteriously hit by a large rock. In yet another, an old man flies around spearing the pwâtich from the air. One Îyiyiu elder disposes of a pwât in the shaking tent. In another story, the pwâtich leader uses his highly developed powers to disappear into thin air. The chapter ends with a tale of betrayal and trust, in which pwâtich, at great danger to themselves, change sides and join the Îyiyiu.

A Pwâtich Attack Near Fort Chimo There is this story about an old man. The pwâtich came upon a group of Îyiyiu along the coast. I guess the Îyiyiu used their powers on them. Many rivers flow into the Fort Chimo area. The pwâtich reached a group of Îyiyiu as they travelled along one of these rivers. The old man knew the pwâtich would reach them. “Some pwâtich are coming our way. I have a feeling they mean us harm. It looks as if they were upset by something on their way here,” he said. A group of Îyiyiu the pwâtich had met up with along the coast had killed some of their friends through their powers. The next morning was beautiful and clear, like it is today. In those days every old man owned a huge pail where his feast food was cooked. The old man instructed the people to fill his pail to the rim with very hot water. “When this is done, put it outside between the wood pile and the dwelling,” he added. That is what he instructed his men. In those days the Îyiyiu had huge woodpiles in front of their dwellings at each camp.

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So that’s what the men did. They took his pail outside after they had filled it up with hot water. When hot water comes in contact with cold air, steam rises up. That is what happened to his pail of water. A huge cloud was soon formed out of his pail and spread over the land, up into the sky. Soon nothing was visible outside because of the dense cloud. The old man did this to ward off the pwâtich. The pwâtich didn’t even know the Îyiyiu were on the river they were travelling on. They passed the Îyiyiu in the dense fog that was caused by the old man. That is what one old man did to use his powers to ward off the whiteman. suzanne kawapit

A Pwâtich Attack at Great Whale River It is said the pwâtich always tried to use their powers on the Îyiyiu, but most of the time the Îyiyiu couldn’t be defeated. The Îyiyiu always seemed to defeat the pwâtich when it came to using their powers. I have heard that many battles with powers were waged right where we are, here in Whapmagoostui. One time an old man predicted the arrival of some pwâtich. In those days the Îyiyiu conducted a shaking tent to find out about things they urgently needed to know. So the son of the old man conducted a shaking tent. I guess he was already capable of doing this. The pwât he encountered through his shaking tent told him they were going to attack them. The son of the old man had a hard time with the pwât in his shaking tent. He kept passing out whenever the pwât entered his shaking tent. The pwât was saying all kinds of things about what they would do to them once they reached the Îyiyiu. The father of the man who was conducting the shaking tent said to mistâpâu inside the shaking tent, “Allow me to enter, Mistâp.” Mistâpâu allowed him to enter. The Îyiyiu could hear the pwât was very much beaten as soon as the old man entered the shaking tent. The pwât was heard saying, “Where did this visitor come from? I don’t know

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him at all. I don’t know how he managed to get into this shaking tent that I’m visiting also.” The old man said to him, “How can you not know me? I’m very close to you.” They kept on talking to each other. Prior to this the Îyiyiu had prepared for battle. I guess it was during the time when guns were available already. They readied their guns, but strange things happened. When they tried to shoot their guns, the pellets or the gunpowder would be gone even though they had been put there. That is what happened to their guns. The pwât said to the old man, “I’ll attack you in the morning. I’ll tell you exactly when I will be attacking you so you will not feel anxious before. The sun will just be coming over the mountains when I attack.” The old man responded, “The one thing I am certain about is that the sun will not be visible when it comes over the mountains. I’m absolutely sure about this.” The next morning, when the sun was just about to rise over the mountains, there arose a dense cloud blocking the sun. The sun was not visible at all because of the dense fog. Just before the time the pwâtich were to attack, the old man said, “I’m going out.” He went outside the dwelling. They didn’t know where he had gone or where he was. I guess he went to do battle with the pwâtich by himself. Much later he returned and entered the dwelling. He said to the Îyiyiu, “Don’t be afraid, they’ve gone. They got into their canoes and left. Go check.” The Îyiyiu had known where the pwâtich were through the shaking tent. The men went to check. They saw where the pwâtich had sat in waiting. They found a big rock where the leader of the pwâtich had sat. The rock was under the ground, only a little visible. It had hit their leader. They had dragged him to their canoe. His two feet had dragged on the ground, making two grooves in the sand. The leader was the one who had boasted about what he would do to the Îyiyiu during the battle. I guess the old man still kept an eye on them after they got into their canoe. The old man said, “The leader took his last breath when the pwâtich got around the point.” When the pwâtich realized he was dead, they put him over the side into the water. They put their leader’s body into the water. suzanne kawapit

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Kichunâu as a Captive This is one of the adventures of Kichunâu. It took place when he was in his prime, fighting battles with his enemies. There were times when, following a battle, Kichunâu was the only one left on his side and he was taken as a slave. This story is about when he was taken captive the second time. His father had been killed in this battle. Kichunâu was the only one left. He was enraged and vowed vengeance for his father’s death. But he had been taken prisoner. He was a slave among his enemies. He told this story: “I hadn’t been given any outside clothing to wear. I did have footwear, though. During the winter of my captivity, I overheard my captors saying, ‘We’ll have to make mûshkimî10 out of Kichunâu because our food isn’t going to last much longer.’ After a while, something—where I would be laid while being butchered—was brought in. An axe head to hit me on the head with was placed in its handle. “‘I will the ones outside to say something to get me out of this mess,’ I said to myself. Shortly after that someone outside said, ‘We’ve seen some grouse in the trees.’ This time I willed the leader to say, ‘Let Kichunâu kill some food for the last time.’ That’s exactly what he said. I was given a bow, one ordinary arrow and a more damaging arrow, and told to go get the grouse. I didn’t use the more damaging arrow. The ordinary arrow was all I needed. I shot at the grouse a few times. Then I walked straight away from my captors’ camp. I came upon a lake not far from the camp. When I got to the other side, I stood to listen for sounds of people coming after me. I knew they would. “It wasn’t long before someone came onto the ice from the other side. Hiding behind one of the trees, I shot him with the more damaging arrow as he walked by right in front of me. I took off his clothes, put them on and threw him in the deep snow. I came to another lake, not far from the first. Another one of my captors was coming onto the ice from the other side. I waited for that one, too, among the trees and shot him. I had taken the bow and arrows of the first one I had killed.

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By this they meant that they wanted to eat him: Emily Masty.

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“‘I think I have enough weapons and clothing to get to my people,’ I thought to myself. ‘I wonder where I should go first to find them.’ Having a general idea where they might be, I headed in that direction. I started walking, knowing my captors would try to do something to me. I knew they would put something on my trail that would cause me to have sore legs11 and keep me from walking. Fortunately I didn’t feel the effect for quite some time. After a while, I started to have sore legs. I hardly could walk. “I thought to myself, ‘It would help if I could wear otter skins on my legs.’12 I came upon a small lake where I saw two otters running along the shoreline. When they were in front of me, I shot them with the arrows. I took off their skins and wore them on my legs as stockings, with the fur touching my skin. I felt better right away. After a while, I didn’t feel my legs at all. When the soreness from my legs was gone, I doubled my efforts in my walking. Later, I was able to reach some Îyiyiu. Fortunately, there were a lot of them. I told them my story. “I knew the enemy would reach us. Another large group of Îyiyiu were living not far from us. Some people were instructed to go ask for help with the battle. “It wasn’t long before the enemy reached us. We started to fight. The others hadn’t returned yet. But then the enemy said to us, ‘Our arrows are almost all gone. Let’s stop fighting for a while. We can make each other laugh—referring to the battle—again, tomorrow!’ Everyone agreed. We said to the pwâtich, ‘Alright then. We’re waiting for the others to return. They should be here soon.’ Earlier the Îyiyiu had noticed that the leader of the pwâtich couldn’t be hit by our arrows, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. When we had returned from the battlefield, the Îyiyiu had said to each other, ‘We didn’t kill their leader. We couldn’t even hit him once.’ “Almost everyone in the camp said, ‘I want to be the one who kills him.’ Among the Îyiyiu was a young orphan who expressed the same desire. ‘What makes you think you can do it? Didn’t you hear the others saying no one could hit him? Which one of your arrows would you use?’ the others asked him. He took out his arrow, which he had coloured black, saying, 11

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He is referring to mischihchî, which was owned by men with supernatural powers: Emily Masty. Otter skins were antidotes to the effects of mischihchî: Emily Masty.

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‘I would shoot him with this.’ The sun was still high when the Îyiyiu and their allies reached the camp. While they were erecting their dwellings, the allies said to the others, ‘Let’s not wait to kill them until tomorrow. Let’s do it now.’ “They launched their attack right away. The pwâtich were almost finished panning the snow from where they wanted to build their dwellings. When they reached the pwâtich, the Îyiyiu pointed out the leader saying, ‘There’s the one who can’t be hit with an arrow.’ “In the meantime, nobody had noticed the orphan had sneaked off once he knew who the leader was. The Îyiyiu only realized what the orphan was up to when they saw him running towards the pwâtich leader. A pwât, seeing the orphan run towards their leader, yelled, ‘Watch out! Someone’s running at you.’ The leader saw the orphan coming but didn’t think he looked threatening enough. He decided to hit the child with his snow shovel. “Another pwât was wearing a wolverine-skin cape. The teeth of the wolverine had been kept intact in the mouth area of the cape. This pwât was getting some boughs up in a tree for their dwelling and throwing them down. Noticing him, an Îyiyiu said, ‘In the upcoming battle, I will the wolverineskin cape to bite the tree. I will the pwât not to be able to get down the tree.’ “The same Îyiyiu noticed the orphan was almost upon the pwât leader. Just as the leader was about to swing his shovel to hit him, the orphan let go his arrow. He hit him right in the eye. The Îyiyiu saw the pwât leader fall to the ground, swirling the snow about him as he fell. The orphan ran to the Îyiyiu’s side after he had hit the leader. ‘I’m disappointed I couldn’t do that!’ the Îyiyiu said to the orphan. He then ran at the pwâtich. The pwât with the wolverine skin cape was startled by the scream of his leader when he was hit. The wolverine skin bit the tree. The pwât couldn’t get down from the tree and just hung there by his cape. The Îyiyiu killed all the pwâtich.” matthew george

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Kichunâu Leads the Îyiyiu into Battle This is another of the adventures of Kichunâu. Kichunâu is telling the story. “One day I went porcupine hunting. I brought some home. At the time there were a number of dwellings at our campsite. Some of the other people from my dwelling also brought home some porcupine, but two of the men hadn’t come back yet. I served the porcupine that evening after they had been cooked, serving first the people in our dwelling. The two men had returned by the time I brought the leftovers for the people in their dwelling. No one was saying much inside this dwelling. “After they had eaten, one of the Îyiyiu said to me, ‘You must be wondering why we’re so quiet this evening. A huge group of pwâtich has been sighted. They have suggested we meet tomorrow to fight. Their leader is very important. He’s supposed to be a great warrior. We would like you to have the honour of leading the battle on our side.’ “Upon hearing this I sprang to my feet, pretending to be stabbing at something with my eating knife. ‘I guess I wasn’t told about leading the war party sooner because you have so much confidence in my abilities to do the job,’ I remarked. I broke camp in the morning to lead the trip to meet up with the pwâtich. I knew they would be on their way. We followed the trail of the Îyiyiu who had brought the message about the battle. “Along the trail in front of me was a thickly wooded grove of trees. On one side was a rocky hill with steep cliffs. Suddenly, from among the trees, came the leader of the pwâtich. The grove of trees wasn’t far from me. He stopped when he saw me, then picked up his bow and arrow to shoot. He missed. I took a shot at him with my arrow but missed, too. We took a couple of shots at each other, never hitting our target. “When the Îyiyiu of my group reached me, they said, ‘We’re done for! The pwâtich have surrounded us. Some are behind us already.’ They were right. Many were behind us now. I said to them, ‘We have no place to hide. Try to get onto the cliff.’ “The leader of the pwâtich and I continued shooting arrows at each other while the Îyiyiu scaled the cliffs. Then it was my turn to jump atop the cliff. As soon as I got hold of the cliff, I felt an arrow on my

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snowshoe. The arrow was attached to a cord, which the pwâtich were pulling. Naturally, I couldn’t pull myself up onto the ledge. They were pulling too hard. My fellow Îyiyiu were trying to pull me up, while the pwâtich were pulling me down. I felt as if I was breaking in half! “‘How am I going to get myself out of this mess,’ I wondered to myself. I tried to think of ways to free myself, but every time I had an idea the leader of the pwâtich had already covered it. He neutralized it.13 Finally, I realized he hadn’t thought of having the sun covered. Quickly, I tried to do something about it but then my snowshoe snapped! My fellow Îyiyiu pulled me up! Furious, the leader of the pwâtich jumped in my direction. I was ready to throw my spear at him, but he was so quick I had to stab him on his chest instead. He fell at my feet. I pushed him off the cliff and jumped down after him. “‘Let’s go!’ I yelled to my men. They followed me off the cliff. Even though there had been many pwâtich, we managed to kill them all. I was able to do the job I had been asked to do.” This was the beginning of his illustrious career as a warrior, retaliating against the pwât for the two times he had been enslaved by them. matthew george

Kichiunâu’s Last Battle This is another story about the Îyiyiu called Kichunâu. It happened when he was very old. One spring, during one of the thaws, his three sons had gone off hunting for the day. They were trapping the beaver lodges they had found earlier. The lodges were quite far from where they were camped on the shore of a huge lake. While they were chopping wood, the daughters-in-law, who had stayed behind with Kichunâu, saw a huge group of pwâtich coming onto the ice from the other side of the lake. From that distance the pwâtich resembled a forest of short trees. The women ran home and said to Kichunâu, “Grandfather, the pwâtich have reached us. There are lots of them.” 13

“He was trying to free himself with his supernatural powers, but the pwât had anticipated his every move,” added Matthew.

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“They’ll kill you all, especially since my sons are not here. Go! Follow my sons’ trail. Take their weapons with you. You’ll be safer. Your grandmother and I will stay here and get killed, if that is our fate. Go as fast as you can,” Kichunâu said. When his daughters-in-law had left, Kichunâu turned to his wife and said, “Mîyâ, Chikâwî [mother], fix my hair like you used to when I was still able to get about.” His wife combed his hair and greased it with animal fat. She placed feathers around his headband. He was happy with her work and thanked her. Then he put on a very tattered rabbit-skin coat. He picked up his spear, which he used to lift himself to standing position. Using his spear as a walking stick, he went outside. He was so old he could barely stand anymore. Armed only with his spear, he went to the shore where he sat down among the trees that hugged the shoreline. When the pwâtich were nearer, he called out to them, “I’m sure you’ve heard of me. I am he who is called Kichunâu. I wish I were able to get about. I hope you’ll try to make me laugh.” The pwâtich had heard stories about him, how he had been unbeatable whenever their people did battle with him. Some of the stories had angered them. Realizing how very old he must be, they figured it would be easy to kill him. They were falling all over each other to get to him so they could boast about how they were the ones who had killed Kichunâu. When they were very close, Kichunâu stood up. He lifted himself off the ground with his spear. He rose up in the air and flew around above their heads, his tattered rabbit-skin coat blowing about by the swirling wind. They shot him with their arrows but couldn’t touch him. When their arrows were almost spent, he flew among them, spearing them to death. As he flew at each one, he made a whistling sound before he stabbed them with his spear. After he had stabbed as many as he could, he flew up in the air again. His sons heard the whistling sound. Recognizing it, the eldest son said to the others, “Is that Father? Something is attacking them. That’s the sound he makes as he flies about in battle.” The sons returned home as quickly as they could. Halfway there they met their wives coming towards them with their weapons. The wives said, “It’s terrible! We’re afraid your parents might be dead by now. A huge party of pwâtich has come onto the ice of the lake.”

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“We’ll go back as fast as we can,” their husbands responded. “You come home slowly.” The sons ran towards their camp. Each time they listened for their father they were relieved to hear his whistling sound. They kept on running. When they could see where the battle had taken place, the sons saw a few pwâtich still about. The rest were dead, scattered over the ice where they had fallen. The sons ran onto the ice calling out, “Father, leave some for us!” Kichunâu heard his sons. He made a wide turn and flew back to the shore he had started from. When he reached the area where he had sat amongst the trees, he dropped to the ground and was almost completely buried in the snow. Only part of his tattered rabbit-skin coat could be seen. He had fallen deep into snow, softened by the spring thaw. His sons killed the rest of the pwâtich. After this they went to their father. He said to them, “Sons, tell my daughters-in-law to come and take me home on one of the toboggans. I can’t move!” He was completely drained by the ghosts of the pwâtich. That is the last known battle he engaged in before he died of old age. matthew george

Mîkiûchiu, The War Boss I will now tell the story of Mîkiûchiu. Mîkiûchiu was a battle leader or war boss. That was his job. One time people in Mîkiûchiu’s group, including his wife, were killed by his enemies. He had two little sons. When he couldn’t find their remains, he decided they must have been taken as slaves or prisoners. Gathering his people around him, he said, “Fan out in different directions, in groups. Find out where my sons are being held.” The Îyiyiu travelled far and wide. They didn’t see other Îyiyiu and they didn’t come across the enemy. The boys were nowhere to be seen. Each day upon their return the men said, “We haven’t seen a single trail again today.” Mîkiûchiu went on an expedition by himself. He went in a direction that hadn’t been explored by his men. At first he came upon his men’s trails, one after the other. They had walked far from the main camp

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each day. Finally, he didn’t see any trails made by people from his camp because he had walked farther than any of them. He kept on going. Somewhere along the way, he came upon a wooded area. Here among the trees he saw moose tracks. The moose had been running hard. He knew moose do not run hard when they aren’t being chased. But these tracks were so fresh he must have almost seen the moose go by! “Something has made this moose run hard,” he thought to himself. He snapped a treetop, sat down on it and waited. With a stick, he kept checking the moose’s tracks. He did this to figure out when the people chasing the moose would be along. He figured it out by the way the moose’s tracks on the snow hardened as the day went on. He kept testing the hardening of the snow inside the moose’s track. “It’s about time for someone who isn’t walking fast to be coming along,” he thought to himself. It was hard going because of the thickness of the snow. Soon he heard someone coming along the moose’s trail. He was in a tight stand of trees where the people chasing the moose would only see him as they came around a bend. And that’s what happened. The two pwâtich suddenly saw Mîkiûchiu sitting there in their path. “I sit waiting for the pwâtich. The kâchîmâhîchâsiu is mourning for himself,” the pwâtich heard him say. There were two of them. “Tell me your story,” he said to them. He told them who he was. They said to him, “We’re camping on the side of a lake. That’s where we started from. We’ve been there for quite some time because the fishing is good. Your sons are there, if you’re looking for them. They were still alive when my partner and I left this morning. There are two dwellings. One is big, the other is small. The smaller dwelling belongs to our leader. He lives alone with his family. That’s where your sons are.” Mîkiûchiu responded, “Stop your story for a little while. I’m going to follow the moose’s trail. I want you to follow my trail. I’m very grateful to you for telling me where my sons are. Do not stop following my trail.” And Mîkiûchiu walked off. Nothing could slow him down. Soon he caught up with the moose and chased it back in the direction he had come from. The moose crossed its trail. He chased it on. The moose crossed its trail again. Mîkiûchiu didn’t see it. The moose crossed its trail again. It was not far from here when he shot it with his arrows. The first thing he did after

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that was prepare a carpet of boughs around the place where he planned to make the fire. He chopped a great deal of firewood. Having done this, he lit a fire. He sharpened two roasting sticks. He then cut tender pieces of meat from the moose. He skewered the meat onto the roasting sticks. When he had placed the meat in front of the fire, he heard the footsteps of the two pwâtich he had met up with. They reached him. Mîkiûchiu said to them, “I would like you to finish your story. Tell it to me while you eat.” They said to him, “The only thing we harvest at our camp is fish. Our camp is situated at the north end of a hill on the side where the sun shines directly on the lake. The lake is quite big. The men check their hooks for the last time when the sun has gone down. We live in the big dwelling with the others. My partner and his family live on one side, by the entrance. I live on the other side with my wife. We usually go hunting together for a couple of days at a time. Whenever we do this, our wives sleep together on one side.” They told him on which side of the dwelling their wives usually sleep when the men were away. Mîkiûchiu said to them, “Your other fellow dwellers will be killed in the morning. If I am able to talk to your wives, I’ll tell them to come to you. So expect them some time during the night.” Mîkiûchiu started walking towards the area where the two pwâtich had said they lived. The full moon shone brightly. He reached the area. It was just as they had described. When he crested the hill, he looked down upon the lake where he saw columns of smoke coming from the two dwellings. Mîkiûchiu sat down to smoke. He had been given some tobacco. Earlier he had said to the two men, “Keep this moose for yourselves. No one will take it from you.” In the evening, he saw the other pwâtich coming onto the ice to check their fishing lines. The two pwâtich had said to him, “You might not be able to kill one of the men in our group. He can never be killed in battle. And he won’t try to kill you. He manages to get away from every battle even when all the others have been killed.” Mîkiûchiu saw the pwâtich on the ice go to their fishing lines. He noticed a man coming after the others. The man put his snowshoes ahead of him, adjusting them as he ran. He was heading straight to some fish lines that were further away. He had only been there a few moments when

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there was a fish was on his line. He was the last one on the ice and the first one to reach the shore. Mîkiûchiu thought to himself, “That must be the man they talked about.” They had told him what their leader looked like. He was tall, they had said. But the leader’s height was not as impressive to Mîkiûchiu as that of the other pwâtich. He looked back to the other one, deciding he was probably the one who got away from his enemies. When the sun went down, Mîkiûchiu moved closer to the camp. He moved closer still when it was getting dark. He dusted the snow off himself. The young men of the camp went out to meet with each other. They were going back and forth, talking in groups. Mîkiûchiu mixed in among the crowd of young men without being noticed. Sometimes the young men would peek inside the dwelling of their leader. Mîkiûchiu did the same. There sat the leader eating his roasted sturgeon on a stick. He threw the skin of the sturgeon to the other side of his dwelling. Mîkiûchiu heard his sons fighting over the sturgeon skin. It took a great amount of strength for Mîkiûchiu to restrain himself. “But if I attack now, some of them might get away from me,” he reasoned. The young men started going back inside the dwelling. Mîkiûchiu hid nearby. When he was sure they were all fast asleep, he said to himself, “It is time.” He crawled into the dwelling. He went to the side of the dwelling where the two pwâtich had said their wives usually slept whenever the men were away. He searched that side of the dwelling carefully. Detecting his presence, the women were about to say something when Mîkiûchiu said, “It’s me. Don’t say a word. I’ll kill you if you utter a sound. It’s Mîkiûchiu.”14 The women didn’t utter a sound. By this time Mîkiûchiu had worked his way inside the sleeping covers, between the women. He said to them, “It is not by chance I am here with you. I want to speak to you. You see, I met your husbands. I killed a moose for them. They’re waiting for you where the moose is. I had to speak to you because your fellow dwellers in this camp will all be killed in the morning. I’ve come to advise you to leave this camp in the middle of the night. You must be very careful not to be detected. Just take your most precious 14

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“They must have been frightened by this news,” Matthew commented.

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belongings. Carry the toboggan far down the trail before making your load. Walk in the night towards your husbands. The way is easy. All you have to do is backtrack along my trail. Your husbands are not too far away. In the morning the other camp dwellers will be killed. If you follow my directions, you will be spared. I will see to it my people don’t find you.” Then he crawled out of the dwelling and started for home. The women prepared to leave. Back at Mîkiûchiu’s camp, they wondered what was happening to him for he hadn’t returned home by nightfall. There were two dwellings in his camp. They waited for his return far into the night. They kept asking each other, “Is Mîkiûchiu back yet? He’s never this late—there must be a reason.” Sometime later the people in the other dwelling called out, “Is Mîkiûchiu back yet?” “He’s back now, but he hasn’t said a word since he came in,” someone answered. When he came in he had taken off his footwear and thrown it aside. He had then wrapped himself tightly in his sleeping cover and lay down in a sleeping position. “What’s the matter with him? Roll him out of his cover and hit his rear end! Why does he want to disappoint us?” Mîkiûchiu had two brothers. So it was his two brothers who carried out this request. The brothers were also told to make a black line across the top of his posterior. That’s what they did! Mîkiûchiu said to them, as he covered himself tightly and glanced at his brothers, “Your lives could be turned upside down, you who are having a good laugh now!” When they heard him say this, they ran outside and made war cries. The people in the other dwelling ran outside, too, asking, “What’s going on? Don’t disappoint us.” They were told what Mîkiûchiu had said. Mîkiûchiu got up. “Yes, I did see some people today,” he said. “The children are at their camp. They are alive, but barely. I’m afraid we won’t find them alive though. I want you to start walking towards their camp. Take something to keep them warm in. Take food also. Warm something for them to drink. Just backtrack along my trail. You will come to a hill. Down below is the lake where they are camped. You will find the dwellings on the side of the lake, where the sun shines directly. I’m going to sleep a while. I’m so tired, I can hardly walk.”

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The Îyiyiu started walking towards the camp as Mîkiûchiu had instructed. They took with them all the things he had told them to bring. He lay down to get a few winks of sleep but to no avail. He was too anxious to get going. He dressed to go and left, walking straight towards the camp. Dawn was just starting to break when he got to the place where he had looked down on the encampment of the pwâtich. His men were surprised to see him there. “Who is it?” they asked. “Is Mîkiûchiu here already?” There sat Mîkiûchiu in the snow, smoking his pipe. “Take the food closer to the dwellings,” Mîkiûchiu instructed his men. “Go by the shoreline. I want you to charge the bigger dwelling, while I charge the smaller dwelling, alone. You might hit the children by mistake.” They ran towards the dwellings. They heard a pwât sneezing in the bigger dwelling. “Alas, alas, I feel something. I will be startled. I should run away this early dawn,” the pwât said. Mîkiûchiu said, “It looks like he knows you’re here. I wonder how he plans to get away.” While the men ran at the bigger dwelling, Mîkiûchiu ran into the smaller one. There sat the leader of the pwâtich binding his footwear. Mîkiûchiu tore his head off. Picking up his sons, Mîkiûchiu ran to the place where the food and warm clothing had been stashed. He unrolled the warm sleeping cover and placed his sons in it. “It’s me, your father. Don’t move or you might get hit accidentally,” he said to the boys. “Here is food for you to eat and something for you to drink.” And he ran back to the battle. As he neared the scene, he saw the tall pwât come running down the trail. In one hand were his snowshoes. His spear was in the other. Mîkiûchiu’s men were shooting arrows at the pwât, but he just jumped over the Îyiyiu as he ran. “Mîkiûchiu! Do something! He’s getting away from us!” his men yelled. Mîkiûchiu decided to attack him with his bare hands. But the pwât jumped in the air, landing right on Mîkiûchiu’s chest. Mîkiûchiu fell to the ground with a great thud. The pwât had put on his snowshoes as he ran and was soon out of sight. Mîkiûchiu did the same. He ran after him. Mîkiûchiu was quite far from him when the pwât reached the other side of the lake. When Mîkiûchiu came upon the shore of the lake, the pwât was already in the middle. When he reached the shores of another

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lake, he just barely saw the pwât running into the trees on the other side of the lake. By the time he reached the shores of another lake, he couldn’t see him at all. He kept on running. When he reached another big lake, he saw the pwât’s spear standing in the middle of the lake. He walked over to it. There stood the spear in the middle of the lake. The pwât had carved the uchâkitihkw [a constellation of stars] on his spear to indicate that was where he had gone. The pwât’s footprints had disappeared. Mîkiûchiu took the pwât’s spear. Returning to his men, Mîkiûchiu said to them, “I couldn’t catch up to him. He has escaped from us completely.” Then he urged the men to take the children straight home. “I’m going to dig around in the snow for things you’ve forgotten,” he added. He was afraid his men would discover the two pwâtich couples he had spared. As soon as his men were out of sight, he started walking towards the area where he had left his new friends. They were still there. Fortunately, their wives were with them. “It’s just as you said,” he said to them. “One of them has escaped from us. The children are alive and are being taken home as we speak. My men must be far from this area now. Maybe they won’t detect you.” “Look for us in the spring time,” they responded. “We’ll be looking for you. Don’t worry about our intentions. We’ll let you know ahead of time we’re on our way to you. We’ll be with our friends and relatives. The person who escaped from you will be there, too. You will see a smoke signal first. You can tell by the smoke signal how far we will be from you. When we reach the river, you will be my partner and I will lead the procession of canoes. Our canoes will be side-by-side as we paddle down your river. We will display our roosters high up on the bows of our canoes. That will be us. There will be another canoe, just behind us. That will be the person who escaped from you. Just behind the Îyiyiu will be the rest of the canoes. Don’t worry, even if there are a lot of us.” When Mîkiûchiu reached his men, they noticed he had changed clothes. His new clothing was very handsome. “Where did you get the new clothing?” they asked him. He said to them, “I told you, you might have overlooked something. I found these clothes under the snow. They must have been lost in the melee during the battle.” He didn’t tell them

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his new friends had given them to him. He had changed his clothes right then and there. When it was time, Mîkiûchiu chose a place to wait for spring breakup. When the river was free of ice, someone reported they had seen a smoke signal. “It looks like we’ll have company soon,” they said. The smoke signal was much nearer by the next day. Someone said, “We will certainly have company. Maybe the one who got away from us told his story to the other people in his tribe. Maybe these people are coming to kill us.” They got ready in case this proved to be true. They made many battle arrows. They noticed Mîkiûchiu was not getting ready for battle. The next day the smoke signal was even closer. Mîkiûchiu still did not think to make arrows for himself. “What’s the matter with Mîkiûchiu. He’s never acted this way. We’ll be killed for sure.” Later in the day, they announced, “Whoever they are, will be here by tomorrow. Their smoke signal is not far from us now.” Mîkiûchiu was not getting ready at all. The rest continued on making their arrows. In the morning when the sun was halfway to noon, they announced, “The people are coming around the bend in the river now. There are many canoes of them. The river looks like it is littered with small, broken twigs. There are two canoes leading the procession of canoes. One canoe is behind the first but before the rest. Look at those first two canoes. They have really mounted their roosters high on the bows.” The procession of canoes was getting closer now. Mîkiûchiu went outside, saying, “Let me see these canoes full of people. Your description of these people closely resembles the people you did battle with this winter. You see, I spared two of them and their wives. They told me they would look for us in the spring.” Then he went down to the shore. The two canoes landed and the two men went to Mîkiûchiu. They shook hands with him. The others shook hands with him. All the canoes landed. Each time the men landed their canoes they would go to him and shake his hand. After a while, Mîkiûchiu was in the midst of them. That is what his own people saw as they watched from a distance. From then on this group of former pwâtich were part of his group. Now Mîkiûchiu had many warriors in his own group. matthew george

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THREE

A Fragile Peace

HO S T I L I T I E S B E T W E E N T H E Î Y I Y I U A N D I N U I T Power to Kill Mâshu [Wolverine] noticed that Muskrat Woman was very near her time to give birth. He took the baby muskrats out of their sacks. They looked as if they had been strung up one after the other in their sacks. After he had taken them out of their sacks, he placed them in a row. He grouped some, placing them to one side, saying, “These are the whitemen, these are the Îyiyiu and this group is Inuit.” He had divided the baby muskrats into three groups. “The whiteman will provide some things to the Îyiyiu and the Inuit,” Mâshu said. Then he made a shaking tent for the Îyiyiu and the Inuit. “These two groups [the Îyiyiu and Inuit] will know how to use the shaking tent. They will have to know how to use the shaking tent because they will use their powers to kill each other through it,” he said. matthew george

In the course of storytelling, Matthew George told many, many legends. Amongst them is a cycle of stories comprising the legend of Mâshu, the wolverine featured in the creation myth in the previous chapter. Matthew’s story about the creation of man traces hostilities between the Îyiyiu and the Inuit to the birth of mankind. We shouldn’t, however,

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exaggerate the extent of the enmity. Clashes occurred between the Îyiyiu and Inuit, but peace, when it came to the area, came quickly and relatively easily. Diplomacy and trade resulted in a more open and integrated world across the Québec-Labrador peninsula during the 1830s and 1840s. That being said, until that time, the relationship between the Îyiyiu and Inuit may be characterized as one plagued with chronic mutual distrust and deep-seated suspicion. The earliest documentation about the region records several violent clashes between the Îyiyiu and Inuit, clashes that were perpetrated by both sides. “The Îyiyiu and Inuit wanted to kill each other whenever they set eyes on each other,” said Matthew George. The conflict between the northern Îyiyiu and the Inuit was different from that between the Inuit and kâchîmâhîchâsiuch.1 It has been suggested that it resembled more the “intermittent state of war” that existed between the Innu and Naskapi/Innu and the Inuit in northern Québec and Labrador, a conflict that also continued into the nineteenth century. In both cases the groups shared common boundaries, overlapping hunting territories, overlapping access to hunting territories and certain economic pursuits. Unlike the raids by the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch against the Inuit, both sides were the aggressors in the Îyiyiu/Inuit clashes. The conflict seems to have consisted of skirmishes between members of small hunting parties who came across each other while out hunting, rather than the premeditated and organized attacks from a base hundreds of miles away as perpetrated by kâchîmâhîchâsiuch. And bloodshed was limited. There were, however, exceptions. A northern captain, Captain Cawmacy, and his group killed twenty Inuit they suspected had been responsible for murdering Hudson’s Bay Company personnel at Little Whale River in the winter of 1793–94 (HBCA B.59/a/71). In addition, in 1806 it was reported that Captain Cappisouiss’s gang killed a whole tent of Inuit, perhaps in retaliation for the prior murders of several Îyiyiu by the Inuit. Plans for an “Esquimaux hunt” were discussed at Fort George in 1819 (HBCA B.79/e/3). Despite the exceptions, 1

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For more information about relations between the Îyiyiu and Inuit see F. Trudel, 1990, “Les relations entre Indiens et Inuit dans l’est de la baie d’Hudson (1800–1840),” in Papers of the Ninth Algonquian Conference, ed. William Cowan (Ottawa: Carleton University), 356–69.

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describing these clashes as an “intermittent state of war” may be overstating the case. The stories from Whapmagoostui suggest the battles were very small scale, the Îyiyiu side usually involving no more than two people. According to Îyiyiu stories, hostilities developed over the use of hunting territories and resources, each side resenting incursions of the other onto their lands. The Îyiyiu also thought the Inuit, through the use of their highly developed spiritual powers, provoked some of their misfortunes. They suspected them, just as the Moose and Albany Rivers Cree had, of bewitching their people and game animals and, in so doing, causing illness and a scarcity of game. Îyiyiu attacks were, hence, often explained as a settling of accounts. At times, as Hudson’s Bay Company journals indicate, the Inuit were perceived by both the Îyiyiu and Hudson’s Bay Company as quite ruthless. As a result, altercations were sometimes inspired by the desire to avenge the death or injury of an Îyiyiu or Hudson’s Bay Company employee by the Inuit. Hudson’s Bay Company records also mention that in the early days of trade between the Îyiyiu and Inuit, a fight over the terms of trade resulted in the death of several Inuit at Little Whale River. Hostilities between the Îyiyiu and Inuit began before they had guns and continued well after the Îyiyiu traded furs for weapons. According to Whapmagoostui elder Matthew George, when the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch stopped their northern forays, “the Îyiyiu were given swords [by the Hudson’s Bay Company] to do battle with the Inuit, and they were very excited at the idea of this.” By having been given swords to do battle with, it may have seemed to the Îyiyiu that the Hudson’s Bay Company actively supported their side in the hostilities. The Inuit could easily have viewed the Hudson’s Bay Company as Îyiyiu collaborators as well. The fact the Hudson’s Bay Company also purchased Inuit prisoners from the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch could have reinforced this view. A number of Hudson’s Bay Company posts on James and Hudson bays served the northern Îyiyiu during this period.2 To better understand 2

Eastmain (1717–1837); Richmond Fort (1750–1756); Little Whale River (1752–1759 and 1851–1890); Great Whale River (1813–1816 and 1856–1870); Big River House (1803–1813 and 1816–1824), which later became Fort George (1837–1859); and Fort Chimo (1830–1843).

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This object was found at Little Whale River, where, for the second time, the Hudson’s Bay Company attempted to establish a post. The Hudson’s Bay Company had been hoping to attract the Îyiyiu, many of whom still preferred hunting caribou on the barren grounds to trapping for furs. After its employees were murdered here during the winter of 1793– 94, the company abandoned its plans to settle at Little Whale River. [Christian Roy]

the fear the Îyiyiu felt about the Inuit, references to Inuit violence have been culled from journals and correspondence written from these posts. Considering the time period and the geographic area involved, there are not that many examples of violence. Keep in mind, however, the journals and correspondence were written by people who were not necessarily well-informed about activities that occurred beyond the post. Also, not many of the northern hunters came to a Hudson’s Bay Company post annually, so it is possible, even likely, some incidents went unreported. Even with the likely gaps, one thing is very clear: the Îyiyiu and Inuit were terrified of each other. It is no wonder. 1747: Inuit killed three northern Îyiyiu (HBCA B59/a/14). 1754: A party of Hudson’s Bay Company servants encountered five Inuit just north of Little Whale River. The Inuit were part of a larger group camped on Knapp’s Island off the coast. In the days to follow, members of the group went to Richmond Fort where they were given presents and, through sign language, encouraged to start trading. Shortly after that, company servants at Little Whale River returned to the post after a day’s hunting to find the place ransacked, looted of iron implements and weapons; a young boy was gone. He was found later— dead. Anticipating another attack, the men retreated to Richmond Fort

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A forged nail, part of a yellow creamware bowl and a fragment of a clay pipe bowl. These objects were found at Little Whale River, and are thought to be associated with the post the HBC attempted to settle in 1793. [Christian Roy]

and waited. Before long three Inuit men arrived at the fort as if all were well. Feigning friendship, John Potts, the postmaster, welcomed them, then immediately bound two of them in irons. He sent the third back to the main group having promised to execute the two prisoners should the young boy not be returned immediately. The following day the Inuit prisoners seized two rifles that had been left within reach and tried to force their way to freedom. In the ensuing melee both were killed (HBCA B.59/a/22). 1793: Intending to challenge the presence of the competition in the Richmond Gulf area,3 the Hudson’s Bay Company began to rebuild Whale River House on the ruins of their earlier establishment, on the north side of Little Whale River. The fur trade had never really developed, many of the Îyiyiu still preferring caribou hunting to trapping beaver. George Jackman, the Hudson’s Bay Company’s representative at Whale River House, wrote, “I live however in hopes that this Winter may produce something if not from the Indians, most probably from the Esquemauxs” (HBCA B.59/b/13:2d). He was never heard from again. The following summer, an Îyiyiu trading at Eastmain House reported that “Mr. Jackman and all his people have been cut off by the 3

A sailing ship belonging to an opponent had been spotted in Richmond Gulf.

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Esquemauxs sometimes last Winter.…He says that he saw but one of their Corpse, everything was broken and riffled” (HBCA B.59/b/13:14). The attack could have been retaliation for the perceived Hudson’s Bay Company support of the Îyiyiu. Forty years later, an elderly Inuk woman claimed the deed was committed by twenty Inuit men intent on pillaging (HBCA B.77/a/14). 1794–95: Captain Cawmacy, a northern captain, destroyed about twenty Inuit who were said to have plundered the post (HBCA B.59/a/71). 1805: Several “far-off” Îyiyiu were killed by Inuit in the fall (HBCA B.77/a/1). 1806: The group associated with Captain Cappisouiss reported they had killed a whole tent of Inuit, ten people in all. The following winter, the Hudson’s Bay Company sent a present of tobacco and brandy to the captain. Interestingly, a year later, the captain came to trade accompanied by a young Inuk (HBCA B.77/a/2) who was being raised an Îyiyiu. The Inuk had probably been seized and taken prisoner during one of the battles between the Îyiyiu and Inuit. The Hudson’s Bay Company obviously felt it important to court this influential captain because, depending on the year, he brought in between ten and twenty-one canoes of Îyiyiu to trade. 1814–15: A family of Inuit was killed by three Great Whale River Îyiyiu (HBCA B.372/e/3). Contrary to appearances, by this time the Hudson’s Bay Company opposed the conflict between the Îyiyiu and Inuit, if only because it interfered with trade. The possibility of applying sanctions against people who engaged in these activities was discussed. Opinion about how to proceed, however, was split. While some thought the Hudson’s Bay Company should let the “Esquemaux murdering fellows” know their trade was unwelcome (ibid.), others felt differently. Writing to company officials in London, in 1815, about the recent murder of some Inuit by the Îyiyiu, Thomas Vincent, superintendent of the southern department at Moose Factory, complained, “the Hudson’s Bay Company has no control over the northern Inds since they survive on deer, the company has no sanctions to apply” (ibid.,1). He maintained these northern Îyiyiu didn’t care whether they were supplied with European commodities.

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1819: First there is a reference to a group that plans to go on an “Eskimaux hunt” (HBCA B.77/e/3), then there is the 1821 mention of the “Eskimaux murderers” of last year (HBCA B.77/a/8). According to the Whapmagoostui stories about disputes between the Îyiyiu and Inuit, the Inuit initiated the attacks. In the two oldest narratives, the Inuit attacked young Îyiyiu who were caribou hunting. In two others, the Îyiyiu were forced to take action because of Inuit foul play, in one case, causing an Îyiyiu to become sick and, in the other, stealing the game of the Îyiyiu. The fifth story, about an Îyiyiu avenging the murder by Inuit of his wife, describes behaviour that went too far. The storyteller expresses shock and revulsion when the Îyiyiu scalped his victim and ate part of the fat from his stomach area. While the kâchîmâhîchâsiuch raids on the Inuit involved scalping, this is the only reference in the stories to northern Îyiyiu doing the same thing. It is also the only reference in the stories to people eating parts of their slain victims. But, according to Alanson Skinner, who visited the east coast of James Bay in the early part of the twentieth century, “It was customary for the victor to eat a piece of fat cut from the thigh of the slain enemy” (Skinner qtd. in Francis 1976). As illustrated in the creation myth, it was thought the Inuit, like the Îyiyiu, had been endowed with powers that they used to fight each other. Even the Hudson’s Bay Company was aware of the propensity of both groups to use their shamans for the purposes of intimidation. In fact, Hudson’s Bay Company journals from Fort George refer to Îyiyiu and Inuit with “the evil eye.” And, the death of a powerful Inuit conjuror in 1842 was considered sufficiently noteworthy for it to be recorded in the journals of that year. With the exception of the story about the man who scalped his Inuk victim, Îyiyiu stories highlighting confrontations between Îyiyiu and Inuit focus on the spiritual battlefield where Îyiyiu invoked their powers to protect themselves from Inuit aggression. From the Îyiyiu perspective, the Inuit proved to be able opponents. The stories emphasize Îyiyiu victories, victories not easily won. For, although they claim to have won many of the skirmishes, the Îyiyiu stories reveal a respectful and fearful attitude towards the power of their Inuit enemies.

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The Soul of the Inuk Steals Off with the Game A long time ago, if someone was having a difficult time hunting, the soul of a person who had recently died was sometimes blamed for stealing off with the game. The absence of game was often linked to the recently departed. Cihtihutâu, which means going off with something on one’s back, is what we would say.4 Those with very great powers had the ability to see what the souls were up to and could also intervene to retrieve the animals. They knew how to recuperate the game the departed soul was trying to carry off. I don’t know how they did this, they just did.5 Kâ Mitâwit had that kind of power. If the people did not, or could not, intervene in this way they would suffer from a lack of whatever animal had been taken away. There would be a scarcity of that species. The story I am telling you is not a legend. It may sound like a legend because it’s so incredible, but it’s true. It happened in real life to a real live person. It happened to Kâ Mitâwit. The story goes like this: After the Inuk died, Kâ Mitâwit said to his friend, “Let’s keep an eye on him. He will start loading his komituks [Inuit sleds] as soon it gets dark.” They watched the departed soul going about its business.6 Soon it was dark, and before long the spirit of the dead man, who had been called Timothy, started loading up his komituks. They saw him putting all kinds of game onto the komituks. He was loading up everything he had killed during his life. Because his load was so heavy, he had to use polar bears as a dog team. “I was a bit frightened when I saw those huge polar bears with their tongues hanging down!” Kâ Mitâwit commented. The two men discussed what they could do to startle Timothy so all the animals would fall off the komituks and he wouldn’t be able to take them with him. “We aimed to shoot as Timothy was getting ready to go, using the polar bears as his dogs,” Kâ Mitâwit recounted. “We both took shot. I aimed at a middle-aged caribou. My partner aimed at some of the 4

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Cihtihutâu is used to describe the action of departed spirits when they make off with the game they have killed: Emily Masty. “Maybe it’s like having a dream while being fully conscious,” added Ronnie. I suppose we could say that he was “seeing” dead people: Emily Masty.

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other animals on the sled. The caribou I aimed at fell to the ground. We managed to startle Timothy and everything on his komituks fell out.” This way they managed to retrieve all the animals the Inuk Timothy had tried to take off with him. That fall the people travelled from Little Whale River along one of the routes the people still use to go inland. In those days the people gathered together in the summer and when fall came they all went back to their respective hunting areas. That fall, as soon as he had gone inland from Little Whale River, Kâ Mitâwit killed a caribou just like the one he had killed in the spirit world. He killed a wîsâshuhtâu. A wîsâshuhtâu is a caribou that is just shedding the fuzzy part of the antlers.7 What Kâ Mitâwit had killed in the spirit world was now becoming a reality. ronnie sheshamush

Escaping the Inuit One time there were two young men who were best of friends. They were brothers-in-law. They hunted together all the time. They were living way up north where there were hardly any Îyiyiu, or trees, for that matter. That’s where they were at the time of this story. It happened before there were guns in these parts. They were living with an older brother who was called Mutâsâsiu. He was called that because his socks were very long! One day, as they went about their hunting, they saw some caribou. The caribou they saw were on a peninsula. There were two caribou that we call wîsâshuhtâu. The young men got near them and killed the two caribou. The two young men had butchered one of the caribou when they noticed some Inuit lining up across the narrowest part of the peninsula. The Inuit were blocking their way out to the mainland. There was a hill just below the narrowest part of the peninsula and sandy beaches on each side. “It looks like we’re done for, friend,” one of the young men said to the other. “I bet our brother doesn’t know what’s happening to us. He could help us if he knew the predicament we’re in.” 7

A wîsâshuhtâu is at the stage where they rub the fuzzy part of their antlers on trees: Emily Masty.

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One of them said, “We better get ourselves get out of this situation.” “You’re right,” said the other. “I imagine myself as an apishâtihkush [a young caribou after it has lost all its baby fuzz].” “I believe you will live another day, then. I imagine myself as an atihkw â iyâskuwâsich.”8 “It looks as if you’ll live to see another day, as well.” “Well, we’d better try to get out of this mess.” They ran at the Inuit. They ran along one side of the peninsula. The Inuit ran to block them. When they got close to the Inuit, the Îyiyiu switched to the other side where they ran along the beach. All this time the Inuit were shooting at them with their arrows. The two young men looked like a blur as they ran away from the Inuit. By this time they had turned into the quick, young caribou they had imagined themselves to be. They ran to the hill, running diagonally along its side. When they were almost at the top, they stopped to look down at the Inuit below. Then they started running away again, their heads bobbing up and down as if they were dancing. Finally, they were out of the Inuit’s sight. When they reached their camp, they said to the older brother, “Some Inuit almost got us!” “Yes, I knew exactly what was going on,” the older brother replied. “We killed two wîsâshuhtâu that we were planning to give to you, but I imagine the Inuit have already taken them. There were a lot of them.” “I’m really disappointed. Anyway, go in the morning to see if there’s anything left of the caribou,” the older brother said. In the morning, they went with their older brother to the place where they had left the caribou. When they got atop the hill overlooking the peninsula, they said, “We killed the caribou down below.” They looked closely. The two caribou were still there. They went to the caribou. The caribou they hadn’t had a chance to butcher had been butchered exactly like the one they had already done. They also noticed 8

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A atihkw â iyâskuwâsich is young caribou that has lost almost all its brownish fur. It is quite big by now, having only small patches of the brownish fur still left here and there on its body. It is at this age when the young caribou is at its fastest as a runner: Emily Masty.

Mind's Eye

a marking the Inuit had left behind indicating where they had gone. It suggested the Inuit had gone far away to the north. I guess the Inuit were a bit afraid of them. The older brother forgot about the Inuit and ate the caribou he was given. matthew george

The Îyiyiu Flees from the Inuit There was an Îyiyiu called Nâpâuchîsikw. His father’s name was Kâschâchîu. This event took place when Nâpâuchîsikw was still young, before there were guns. They always hunted in the north. One day he killed some caribou, some ushkihû [caribou whose antlers have been shed] on a narrow peninsula. There was a rolling hill just before the isthmus. He had just finished butchering the caribou when he noticed a group of Inuit blocking the isthmus across its entire width. This is how Nâpâuchîsikw told the story: “What am I going to do?” I wondered. I retrieved one of my arrows from the body of the caribou, but it was broken. I tried to mend it as best as I could. Then I walked down to the beach. There was a sandy cliff just below the isthmus. Once I got onto the beach, the Inuit were out of sight. The beach was covered with pebbles. I ran along the beach expecting them to shoot at me with their arrows where I had seen them last. At the end of the sandy beach, I pulled myself over the cliff and onto the ground. I imagined myself as an apishâtihkush [young caribou when it has lost all its baby fur]. I thought of how fast and nimble it is when it runs. When I was almost at the top of the hill, I stopped to look at the Inuit. They were standing together in a group. Turning around, I ran off again. I was surprised by how quickly I ran and how high I bounded off the ground. I was moving so fast I didn’t feel anything. Nor did I hear from the Inuit again. The next day, I went back to the peninsula to check my caribou. They were still there. The Inuit hadn’t touched them! matthew george

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The Îyiyiu Fights the Inuit with his Powers This is a story about Wâchimishiu and his son, Chimântâmishiniu. It took place during the time when the Îyiyiu and the Inuit were still not very friendly with each other. One day, when the Îyiyiu were out, they saw the footprints of some Inuit. They were very unhappy that Inuit had come into their territory. In those days the Inuit, too, had powers. It turned out that one of the Inuit intruders was trying to harm the Îyiyiu. Before long he had succeeded in making Wâchimishiu ill. His leg was so badly swollen, he couldn’t walk. Chimântâmishiniu asked for a tanned caribou hide to make a string. To keep the infection from spreading, he tied the string around each end of the swelling. The swelling burst, releasing quantities of pus. Chimântâmishiniu decided to make a shaking tent for the old man. Each night they had been bothered by fire that had moved across the sky like lightning. They were determined to rid themselves of the menace. When the shaking tent was built, they had trouble persuading the old man to go in. He was terrified. When he finally went in, the shaking tent started to shake and crackle, throwing the old man about. He shouted in pain, soon losing consciousness. Lifting the flap on the tent, they took him out. When he came to, Chimântâmishiniu went outside. It was dark. Off in the distance came the sounds of war cries from the direction of the Inuit camp. When the sounds grew fainter, Chimântâmishiniu went back into the tent and told his father to do the same thing. His father was starting to feel better. The next night the sky was no longer lit by fire. Chimântâmishiniu suggested they make another shaking tent and, once again, asked his father go in. He did. And so too did his spirit helper. A visitor was trying to get into the shaking tent so Wâchimishiu advised the spirit helper to let him in. The visitor came in, crying. “Why are you crying?” they asked him. “What’s wrong?” The person responded in Inuktitut. The spirit helper translated, “I’m crying about my father.”

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Rupert George. [Courtesy of Elizabeth Dick.]

“What happened to your father?” they asked him. “He died from his gun,” the Inuk responded. “Why, what happened?” they inquired. “The gun that was standing nearby fell during the night. As it fell, it went off, killing my father,” the Inuk sobbed. “If your father had looked after his gun better this wouldn’t have happened,” they replied unsympathetically. The Inuk started crying again. They told him to stop crying and to get out of there. rupert george

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Mind Power Puts the Inuit to Sleep I will now tell a story about an Îyiyiu called Wiskâschikinish. This event took place at Richmond Gulf. Wiskâschikinish had one son. He was the eldest. I don’t know his son’s name. They were at the place called Nûchishûshâshiwânân [place where Arctic char is fished]. I suppose he already knew about the Arctic char. I guess he had started out from the post. He said to his son, “Portage the canoe. Let’s go to where the char usually are.” He was referring to an inlet on the south side where the char would go whenever the weather was hot. The Inuit saw them at the portage and hid. But the son had noticed the Inuit on the water as he had put down their canoe. “Father, are those people Inuit? Their kayaks are upside down in the water,” he said. “We’ll be no match for them. Take the canoe back along the portage. Let’s try to paddle away,” his father responded. The son took the canoe back to the bay where there were some small islands. They landed in a small cove on one of the islands. The wind was picking up. They were on the side away from the wind. His father told him to bring their canoe ashore. They made a fire and cooked their food. The Inuit saw their fire and came looking for them. There were two islands, one to the south. The Inuit headed for both. When one of the Inuit saw the fire, he called to his travelling companion who was closer to the other island. But he didn’t hear him. He stood up in his kayak, even though the waves were already huge, and called him again. This time he heard him and came paddling over to him. They paddled to the island where the Îyiyiu were. When they reached the calmer water near the leeward of the island where the Îyiyiu had landed, they stopped paddling. They fiddled with something in their kayaks. I presume they were putting their arrows close at hand. I guess they really thought these Îyiyiu would be easy kills. “Don’t do anything yet. I’m going to try to make friends with them first,” the Îyiyiu said to his son. The son readied his gun, saying to his sisters, “I’ll shoot the first one who tries to shoot our father with his arrow.”

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The Inuit were paddling quickly towards them. Wiskâschikinish went down to the shore to make friends with them. He didn’t have anything in his hands. He called out to the Inuit, who didn’t respond to his friendly greeting. He called to them again, but again there was no response. They were coming faster. “We were not expecting to be called out to by a being whose voice sounded like thunder,” the Inuit said. “That’s how loud the voice was.” The Inuit stopped paddling. The water was lapping on the shore. The Inuit’s kayaks came to the shore on their own and hit the beach. They didn’t seem to know what to do. My father got hold of the ends of their kayaks and pulled them halfway onto the shore. One of the Inuit took off his hat in response to his friendly gesture. The other Inuk did the same. My father gestured for them to go to the fire. The Inuit shook hands with him and approached the fire. My mother scolded him, saying, “Why are you bringing them to our fire? They’ll kill us!” “No, they won’t kill us now,” my father replied. “Give them something to eat and drink. Give them some mûshkimî.” I don’t know why, but the Inuit were very sleepy after they ate and drank. I guess the Îyiyiu was doing this to them. They went a little ways and lay down. Soon they were snoring. My father said, “Don’t mind them. Let them sleep if that is what they want to do. Let’s be on our way. Bring everything to the water’s edge and load the canoe. Take our canoe down to the water. Let the Inuit sleep. They will know when to wake up.” The Inuit’s kayaks were still halfway out of the water. People used to wonder if the Inuit ever did wake up from their sleep. Another speculation was that their kayaks had been blown away from the island. The islands were way out on the bay. But I imagine he killed them with his mind right where they were on the island. It is said that the old man called Wiskâschikinish was dangerous whenever he was angered by someone. But he didn’t hurt anyone who hadn’t done anything to him. Their kayaks had hit the shore quite hard even though they were not paddling. I imagine it was his doing. I suppose it was he who made them feel sleepy after they had eaten. People speculated that they must have slept forever until they died, or perhaps their kayaks blew away and they died of starvation. All their equipment was in the kayaks. Or else they

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might have drowned, if they had tried swimming ashore. If their kayaks had been spotted on the shore, they must have been taken for dead by their family and friends. Wiskâschikinish must have known what really happened to them but he never told anyone. matthew george

The Îyiyiu Who Went Too Far The old woman Wâsâyâkin lived at the time when the Îyiyiu were still warring with the Inuit. She had witnessed some of the killings. She used to tell stories about those times. She talked about how the scalp of the Inuit used to be cut along the hairline and removed. The scalp was then stretched as tightly as possible on a round stretcher like the one used for a beaver skin. The oil on the skin part was scraped off. It was made sure that the oil on the scalp was cleaned off very well. This old woman said, “After the scalp was stretched on the stretcher, I used to scrape off the oil on the skin part. When the woman who stretches the Inuk scalp has cleaned off the oil, she licks the oil on her scraper.” Her grandchildren asked her, “Come on, Grandma, did you really stretch Inuit scalps?” “Yes, I used to from time to time,” she replied. “Did you lick off your scraper, too?” “Yes, I did,” she said.9 It was said that if the person stretching the scalp didn’t lick off their scraper, the departed Inuk would take their soul with them into the spirit world. They would die if they didn’t lick off their scraper. That’s why they used to always lick their scrapers whenever they worked with an Inuk scalp. I presume they used the scalp with their powers. That’s why they took them in the first place. Wâsâyâkin’s husband said one time an Inuk made him very angry. He had two wives at the same time. One of them was Wâsâyâkin. I don’t know what his name was. The story took place at Little Whale River— or it could have been be at Nâstûpûhkûch. I think it was Nâstûpûhkûch. Oh, I’m not sure—perhaps they were at Little Whale River. The man and 9

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“She must have had a foul smelling mouth,” Suzanne commented.

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his wives had gone along the coast. The other wife was sick. I don’t know why they left her alone at the portage while they portaged their belongings. The portage they were at was very long. The old woman, who couldn’t even walk, was left at the portage. A small dwelling was built for her to wait in. They think some Inuit were watching them from afar as they were portaging. This was during the time when the Îyiyiu and Inuit were still enemies. The old woman lay inside the small dwelling. When everyone left, the Inuit ran to the little dwelling and killed her. The Inuit cut off her hand at the wrist and put it on a stick pointing towards the north. They showed great disrespect. The one who was married to the old woman—I just can’t think of his name—was very angered by what had been done to his wife. He was living with some other Îyiyiu. He said to the Îyiyiu, “Don’t come with me. I’m going to take a trip to the north.” He was saying this because he wanted to war with the Inuit. “I’ll be travelling to the north to kill an Inuk as soon as I see one,” he said. The other Îyiyiu didn’t go with him. He only took his other wife. This is what he said about his trip: “I didn’t see a single caribou as I travelled along, not one.10 Later, as I walked along caribou hunting, I saw—there was a high hill in front of me—I saw something bobbing up and down from behind the hill. I was right in the middle of a hollow where a caribou trail was, a summer caribou trail. There was a grove of trees nearby.11 “Along came an Inuk following the caribou trail. I moved behind the shrubs. The Inuk had to walk by very close to me because the caribou trail was right beside where I was hiding. I loaded my gun. I was ready for him! He came atop the smooth flat rocky area beside me. He couldn’t see me because I was hiding behind the shrubs. When he was right in front of me, I began chanting a song about him. I chanted my Inuk song. He stopped as if he were listening to something. I guess he had heard me. He realized my chant was meant for him. He began to dance to my chant. I shot him. He fell onto the rocky area with a thud. I went to him right 10 11

“I guess he lived on fish most of the time,” Suzanne added. “He meant a grove of low-lying shrubs that pass for trees on the tundra. The trees on the tundra are very low to the ground. They spread out over the ground. That is what they looked like,” explained Suzanne.

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away and pulled him face up. He had on a new sealskin coat. It was a beautiful coat. I opened him up.12 His heart was still beating, but not for long. I stabbed it. I took out his wîs [the fatty covering of the stomach]. His was large. I took his scalp also and set it aside.”13 The Îyiyiu talked of the vegetation that grows close to the edges of the smooth flat rocky areas and is easily pulled off the ground. “I lifted up the vegetation, pushed him under and covered him. That’s how I buried him. “I hadn’t seen any caribou all summer. I tied up the wîs along with the scalp and walked on towards home. I climbed a hill to look around from it. Naturally, it was flat and treeless in every direction. Down below stood a ushkihû [a male caribou during mating season]. I sneaked up, shot and killed it. I butchered it. It was very fat. I took the things that I wanted to take home with me including the wîs.14 I took the caribou legs with me, too. By the time I got home, Kûhkum [Grandma] had already finished putting up our dwelling. She had already put the poles across the fireplace. “‘Hand me my Inuk wîs,’ I said to her. I pushed the poles together to place the Inuk wîs on top of the horizontal poles over the fireplace. It was soon dripping with oil. When I thought it was cooked, I took it down and placed it on top of some split wood.” He ate the Inuk wîs first. “I put a piece dripping with oil in my mouth and then offered one to Kûhkum. She put it in her mouth, too. Having done this, I said to her, ‘Put the rest outside.’”15 After this, his wife cooked the caribou parts he had brought home from his hunt. “I stretched the Inuk scalp. After it had been stretched, I scraped it until it didn’t have any grease. You have to keep scraping off all the grease. Then the state of not being able to kill any caribou left me.” He was able to find and kill caribou after he had eaten the Inuk wîs. How could he have eaten it? How could he have swallowed it? It is said that he was like that, that he didn’t have much of a conscience. I wonder what his 12 13

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“He talks as if he were butchering a caribou,” Suzanne remarked. Suzanne expressed her disgust at this part of the story, saying, “What did he do that for?” “He now had two wîs with him,” Suzanne remarked. “I wonder why he didn’t finish it! He had said that he was hungry,” Suzanne remarked.

Mind's Eye

name was? I only know the woman’s name, Wâsâyâkin. That was the story about the man who was angered by the Inuit who had killed one of his wives. suzanne kawapit

T H E L A S T OF T H E I N U I T R A I D S AT L I T T L E W H A L E R I V E R Early in the 1800s, the Hudson’s Bay Company attempted a settlement at Great Whale River, but it proved a dismal failure and closed within three years. Determined to maintain their trade in whale oil, the Hudson’s Bay Company had dispatched a ship annually, from 1791 onwards, from Eastmain to Great Whale River, to obtain whale oil from the Îyiyiu. Then, in 1813, it established a post at the site of the summer whale fishery at Great Whale River. A building for the officers of the company was constructed as was a house for the men. A blacksmith shop and stable for cattle, a storage shed and boiling house were set up. The garden was planted and the cattle sent out to graze. In the meantime, gifts of rum and Brazilian tobacco were sent off to the old Îyiyiu men (HBCA B.372/e/2). But all was not well. Although tonnes of whale oil were poured and a highly satisfactory quantity of superior quality marten skins procured, Hudson’s Bay Company personnel were severely ill, suffering from scurvy and malnutrition. The woodcutters and sawyers threatened to suspend work until their wages were augmented (HBCA B.372/a/3). And the Îyiyiu were exceedingly critical of both the quality and quantity of European goods available to them. Writing about the affairs of the day, Postmaster Thomas Alder reports, The light Copper kettle too, are so very indifferent that the Indians are quite disgusted with them, as for the mixt Cloth, I hope no more will be sent here! The natives only redicule it and say they will clothe themselves with leather (to our great loss of Deer [caribou] Skin) rather than hunt furs to trade for so poor an article. (HBCA B.372/e/3)

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To justify the existence of the post at Great Whale River, new producers and consumers, in particular more of the Îyiyiu who hunted to the northeast, had to be drawn into the fur trade. Operating with insufficient inventory, the post had no guns, tobacco, kettles, twine and many other essential items. So when they did come to the post, the Îyiyiu severely chastised the Hudson’s Bay Company for enticing them to come all that way with their furs only to find there was nothing to buy. Desperate to secure the trade of the barren ground hunters, Hudson’s Bay Company personnel had even sold the blankets from their beds! Great Whale River post closed in 1816, the Hudson’s Bay Company shifting its operations back to Big River.16 Relocation had been recommended for a number of reasons, one of them being the Îyiyiu and Inuit continued to “molest” each other. Northern Îyiyiu were now told to bring their furs to Big River post. Later, when the post at Big River closed, many of the Whale Rivers Îyiyiu traded with the whaling ship, which continued to sail each summer from Eastmain to the Whale Rivers. Other northern Îyiyiu carried their furs to Eastmain. In 1851, the Hudson’s Bay Company reopened a post at Little Whale River—this time on the south side of the river—to more intensively prosecute the commercial whale hunt and to expand the fur trade with the Inuit (Roy 2008). It was the Hudson’s Bay Company’s third effort at Little Whale River, two other attempts having failed, in part, because of the Inuit. With the availability of a post at Little Whale River, most of the Inuit who traded at Fort George in the 1840s shifted their activities back to the north of Richmond Gulf, although some remained in the James Bay area. Little Whale River became the trading centre for the Inuit, between four and five hundred Inuit trading there each spring. In comparison, Îyiyiu associated with the post at Little Whale River consisted of the twenty to twenty-five Îyiyiu involved in whaling each summer. The Inuit arrived at the post by dog sled between March and May from the Belcher Islands and the coast north of Richmond Gulf. They stayed at the post for several days and then went caribou hunting. One or two remained to help maintain the post and supply the employees with food (Francis and Morantz 1983). 16

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Hudson’s Bay Company post, Little Whale River, 1874. This was the Hudson’s Bay Company’s third effort to settle a post at Little Whale River. By the end of the 1850s the little settlement consisted of at least twelve buildings. Although peace had been established between the Îyiyiu and Inuit, the trading store was divided into two parts, one for the Îyiyiu, the other for the Inuit. [McCord Museum, Montreal, MP-0000.391.18, James Lawrence Cotter.]

Included below are three versions of an event the Îyiyiu say took place at the time the Hudson’s Bay Company re-established its post at Little Whale River in 1851. The stories reflect the Îyiyiu’s continuing fear of Inuit violence. According to the storytellers, some Inuit continued to be a problem until they were confronted by a very tough postmaster.

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The End of the Inuit Raids— Report I A little while after the first contact between the Inuit and the whiteman, some of the Inuit attempted to kill the Hudson’s Bay Company manager and take all that was in the store. They tried to do this several times. Sometimes they succeeded, sometimes they didn’t. The Îyiyiu also tried to do this in the early days, again with mixed success. During one of the Inuit instigated raids on Little Whale River, a great number of Inuit gathered near the post for the attack. One of the old Inuit men advised his sons to have no part in the raid. The postmaster, knowing it was unusual for so many Inuit to come to the post at once, wondered what was going on. The old Inuk who opposed the raid managed to go, undetected, to the post where he informed the postmaster of the impending raid. By this time there was a person at the post, a person who was partly white, who spoke Inuktitut and could translate. Grateful for the warning, the postmaster invited the Inuk and his family to stay at the post for safety. They came under the cover of night. We have always wondered how they managed to leave their camp without being noticed because they had to harness their dogs to their sleds and dogs always yelp and bark while they are being harnessed. In any case, they got to the post where they were welcomed by the postmaster. Once in, they were told they would have to help defend the post. The guns were all loaded and ready to go. In those days the guns could only be loaded once. It is reported the Inuit consented to the postmaster’s request because they didn’t agree with the planned attack on the post. They believed the continued existence of the post served their best interest because they felt the things they obtained from the post enhanced their hunting. The following morning the remaining Inuit noticed the absence of the Inuit who had sought refuge at the post. Aware that their plans had probably been revealed to the postmaster, the instigator went to the post where he and the old Inuk had a long talk.

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“It is not right what you are trying to do. If you destroy everything, where are we to get the things we like to have? Who would bring more things here once you have done something like that? Look how far away these things come from, these things which make our lives a little easier,” the old Inuk said to the instigator. His words infuriated the instigator. To demonstrate his strength, he went outside and got a stone. Popping the stone into his mouth, he chewed it into tiny pieces. “This is what I am capable of doing,” the instigator warned. “I, too, know some tricks, but I do not seek to do that which is bad,” the old man responded. They looked outside to see that, suddenly, caribou were all over the place. Some were so close they were almost touching the post. The sounds of their hoofs could be heard from the pebble beach below. “This is what I know,” the old Inuk said to the instigator. Having been told he wouldn’t be able to get anything from the post because of the planned raid, the instigator returned to his camp. By then the other Inuit had realized that the post was not only ready for the attack, it was much better armed with guns than they were. They decided to drop their plans. Soon afterwards the Inuit were summoned to the post. Earlier, two Inuit had been spotted on the beach. They appeared to be looking intently for something. After their search had been going on for a while, the postmaster told the interpreter to go ask the men what they were doing. Assuming the post was closed because of their intent to destroy it, they were scavenging for used nails to fashion into fishhooks. They claimed they would have no food until they had found some. The translator informed the postmaster of his conversation. The postmaster then invited all the Inuit to the post where he asked them if they still intended to pillage the place. Most admitted they had changed their minds. The instigator also said that he, too, had had a change of heart. When the postmaster had been thoroughly convinced of their intentions, he said, “Now that you have changed your minds about plundering the post, I will be able to serve you again.” noah mamianskum

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Group of Inuit, Little Whale River, 1860s. By the 1860s, Little Whale River had become the trading centre for almost five hundred Inuit from the Belcher Islands and from north of Richmond Gulf. The Inuit arrived at the post between March and May, stayed for a few days and then went caribou hunting. [George McTavish Simpson. Library and Archives Canada, C-075911, G.M. Simpson.]

The End of the Inuit Raids— Report II In those days it was well-known the Inuit and Îyiyiu pillaged the posts once in a while. One time, while he was still in Kâmichihchikimîch [England], a man who wanted to be the postmaster of a Hudson’s Bay Company post is reported to have said, “If I were the manager of that post [at Little Whale

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River], no Inuit would be able to kill me no matter how hard he tried.” Of course, he was appointed postmaster. His bosses said to him, “We will be very happy if what you say turns out to be true.” “No matter how many of them there are, they will never succeed in killing me,” he repeated. He went to Little Whale River. That first winter he sent word to all the Inuit all over the north inviting them to the post to meet him. His invitation was heard far and wide. The Inuit flocked to the post where they were ushered into the residence. Through a translator the postmaster said, “I called you here to talk to you all. I have heard that you have looted the post in the past. That is not the thing to do. The post has been put here for you. Where else would you get your hunting equipment if the store were empty? Who would replenish the store if you kept killing the postmasters? You will not be given anything anymore if you continue to behave like that. I am here because I have claimed that you would never be able to kill me, no matter how many of you attacked me at once.” Here he looked down at the large soldier’s knife that he had placed in front of him. “Look at my knife,” he continued. “All I have to do is give the word to my knife and it will kill you in a flash!” The knife on the table turned over by itself. The Inuit were truly frightened by what they had witnessed. This was the beginning of the end of the raids on the post by the Inuit. noah mamianskum

The End of the Inuit Raids— Report III This story is about another time the Inuit wanted to destroy the post at Little Whale River. It is said that the Inuit destroyed the post twice. The third time there was a war boss at the post. He stopped the Inuit from ever destroying the post again. He warned them that if they ever did it

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again all the Inuit, every last one, would be killed. “I’m here to stop you from ever doing it again,” he had said. To this the Inuit responded, “We can destroy the post if we want to. There are a lot of us. You haven’t seen how many of us there are.” I guess a lot of them had assembled close to but out of sight of the post. The war boss said, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that! You’re not quite right. There might be a lot of you in this area, but this is the only place you are. The wâmishtikûshiw [whiteman] is not only found in one landmass. They are all over the world. There are many kinds of wâmishtikûshiw. It is not my idea, but I was told to tell you this: All the Inuit will be killed if you ever destroy the post again. Even though I’m alone here, I could kill you for the wâmishtikûshiw has many kinds of weapons.” At this the war boss uncovered his soldier’s knife on the table. “Look at this,” he continued. “This could kill you all.” The Inuit were amazed to see the knife turn back and forth by itself. They were very frightened by what they had seen. Amongst this group of Inuit was the Inuk who had warned the postmaster about the plan to raid the post again. Although he disagreed with their plan, he had accompanied the Inuit party to see what they would do. They gathered behind the point near the cove just before the post at Little Whale River, coming from the north coast. Then, when he knew all the other Inuit were fast asleep, he went to the post to let the postmaster know what was going on. The postmaster asked the Inuk to go back to the Inuit and tell them that he wanted to talk to them before they did anything. When the Inuit came to the post, this is what he said to them, “Who instigated this plan to destroy the post?” The Inuit pushed forward an Inuk who didn’t look like much! One of his eyes was so small from a defect that he was almost blind in that eye. They pushed him forward, saying, “He instigated the whole thing.” “Do you still plan on doing this?” the postmaster asked him. “Yes, I do,” he responded. “If you go ahead with your plan, I’ll kill you. But if you back down, I will spare you and all the Inuit will be given something.” The other Inuit had informed the postmaster that the Inuk’s father was still alive and that

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he, too, was against the plan. “Your father will be given something, too,” the postmaster added. “You will be the only one not to get anything.” matthew george

R E L AT ION S I M PROV E Not all relations with the Inuit had been antagonistic. To the contrary. Hudson’s Bay Company journals from Great Whale River dating to 1816 refer to an Îyiyiu, who was really an Inuk, who belonged to the settlement. He had been taken prisoner by the Îyiyiu when he was a young boy (HBCA B.372/a/1). A year later, a journal entry mentions that powder and shot had been sent to Samahono, the “Esquimaux man,” perhaps the same Inuk. He seems to have been fully assimilated. He lived and hunted with a group inland, received debt like the others and feared for the lives of his associates when they were starving (HBCA B.77/a/3). Before the “truce” between the Îyiyiu and Inuit, the Hudson’s Bay Company had in its employ another Inuk with whom the northern Îyiyiu got along well. Hoping to see the end of the Îyiyiu/Inuit hostilities, the Hudson’s Bay Company had re-established its post at Fort George in 1837 and hired Moses, an Inuk who had worked for the company at Churchill River as translator and mediator. Northern Îyiyiu had a great deal of affection for Moses; at times they lived and travelled together. Another Inuk, Oulibuck—also a translator—and his family travelled without incident with a group of Îyiyiu from Fort Chimo to Moose Factory. Relations between Îyiyiu and Inuit began to improve in the 1830s. Both parties had reasons to reduce tensions. Evidence suggests by this time the Inuit were anxious to obtain trade goods and hoped the Hudson’s Bay Company would broker a peace so their safety at trading posts could be guaranteed. By the same token, as the Inuit acquired trade goods—specifically, metal and weapons—the Îyiyiu, through fear of retaliation, were less inclined to acts of aggression. In Joseph Rupert’s words,

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Inuit people lived there too [along the coast] and they used to kill people when they came around.…When the Inuit were given guns for the first time, they said, “Let’s see the Cree people try to kill us now.” (Whapmagoostui Place Names Project 1993) .

In addition, the Îyiyiu admired the fine furs and caribou and sealskin clothing of the Inuit, and wanted to trade with them themselves. By this time some Îyiyiu and Inuit were already involved in a limited trade. Îyiyiu who had earlier played the role of middlemen between the Hudson’s Bay Company at Eastmain and the northeastern hunters had assumed the same role with Inuit who came to the Whale Rivers to barter. Trading may have occurred at other places, as well. For example, one of the Whapmagoostui stories describes trading at Lake Minto. It is likely trading also occurred at other places where the Îyiyiu and Inuit were in contact. During the 1830s, to further their own business interests, the Hudson’s Bay Company attempted to broker a peace on two fronts: in the Ungava Bay area, where they wished to establish new posts, and in the region of Hudson Bay and James Bay. As indicated by the written records and stories from Whapmagoostui, peaceful relations were indeed obtained, but with a certain amount of trepidation. By the end of the 1820s, the Hudson’s Bay Company was determined to explore Labrador for new hunting grounds and ultimately to establish new posts in the interior. In so doing it hoped to attract the Inuit and foster friendly relations between the Inuit and the Îyiyiu. Hudson’s Bay Company exploration depended on Îyiyiu guides, but the apprehension of the Îyiyiu of being butchered by the Inuit proved to be a great obstacle. In 1828, the Hudson’s Bay Company conducted an overland trip to Ungava. Descending the Koksoak River to the sea, the group saw signs of Inuit and the Îyiyiu refused to go further. Two years later, at Eastmain, the Hudson’s Bay Company once again had difficulty obtaining Îyiyiu guides to help their man, Finlayson, to Fort Chimo where he was to establish a post. The severity of the winters in that “inhospitable country” and its “ruthless inhabitants” explained their reluctance (HBCA B.38/a/1). Finally, the expedition proceeded.

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When Finlayson and company reached Little Whale River, they were met by several families of Îyiyiu armed with guns, axes, harpoons and bows and arrows, who had mistaken them for a brigade of Iroquois. At Little Whale River the travellers were encouraged by an “old Esquimaux hunter” to return from whence they had come. The land in Ungava didn’t produce enough wood to boil a kettle, the old hunter argued, and “the natives would eat them” (ibid.). In addition to the reasons cited, Finlayson suspected the “old Esquimaux hunter” had ulterior motives for resisting the Hudson’s Bay Company’s efforts to reach Ungava. It is likely he did not want the Hudson’s Bay Company to supply the Inuit with the means to retaliate against the Îyiyiu (HBCA B.38/b/1). Upon hearing the stories of the “old Esquimaux hunter,” Finlayson’s guides refused to go beyond Little Whale River. It should be added that this expedition was looked upon with great apprehension by the Hudson’s Bay Company labourers who were involved as well. They were equally terrified of the Inuit. The Îyiyiu finally agreed to proceed when they were assured they could turn back at the Kenogamisie River (also called Larch River). But well before they got there, they became nervous and distressed and were sent home. Despite the setbacks, in 1830, the post was established at Fort Chimo. Amongst its first visitors were Richmond Gulf Inuit, who inhabited the region between Richmond Gulf and Lake Minto. They said they had been forced to leave this area because they had often encountered Îyiyiu there who “make them deplore the loss of a friend or relative” (HBCA B.38/a/1). At this point, however, Finlayson thought the Îyiyiu would agree to peace since the Inuit now had easier access to guns (HBCA B.38/b/1). Still, the Inuit’s fear of encountering inland Îyiyiu prevented them from going into the interior in search of fur-bearers. And the Îyiyiu’s misgivings of the Inuit were such that none of the Îyiyiu who had accompanied Finlayson to Fort Chimo would stay anywhere near the post during the winter. In 1835, trappers from amongst the Richmond Gulf and Whale Rivers Îyiyiu were asked to adopt Ungava as their country (HBCA B.59/a/121). Despite the incentive of lavish presents, most were reluctant to go. Finally, five northern Îyiyiu, including Peesheesh and Cannawwappawmawgan, agreed to relocate. In the summer of 1836, an entourage of thirty canoes

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of Îyiyiu departed Little Whale River in the company of the hunters heading to Ungava. The former were leaving because of their fear of the Inuit with whom they had had skirmishes at Little Whale River during the summer. Nevertheless, it wasn’t long before Finalyson at Fort Chimo thought the “latent hatred” between Inuit and Îyiyiu was on the decline. Encounters between groups at the fort were amicable, individuals from both sides visiting each other and the children playing together. He did worry, however, about what might happen away from the fort. Meanwhile, back on the James Bay coast, northern Îyiyiu had been instructed to bring their furs to Fort George, which had reopened in 1837. Using gifts as incentives, Fort George postmaster Corcoran encouraged them to be friendly to the Inuit. That September, several Îyiyiu, including Skootaywappo and Oostinnedjue, arrived at the post with fox furs they had traded with Inuit during the summer at Whale River (HBCA B.77/a/11). Apparently, the Inuit were so anxious to obtain metal of any sort, they would pay any amount to do so (HBCA B.77/b/1). Amongst the Inuit was an Inuk the Hudson’s Bay Company called “the Adventurer,” who had been trading with Whale River Îyiyiu for “many years past”(HBCA B.77/a/14). The following year, in 1838, the Inuk Moses and several Îyiyiu were dispatched to the Whale Rivers to inform the Inuit the Hudson’s Bay Company planned to send a boat. Moses had been told to pacify Îyiyiu and Inuit with the “evil eye” (HBCA B.77/a/11). He was to have no scruples about intervening should acts of violence erupt as a result of crimes perpetuated in the past. Neetahwishkum, the leader of the northern Îyiyiu, accompanied Moses. The postmaster at Fort George had promised Neetahwishkum presents of tobacco, ammunition and rum if he could convince the other Îyiyiu to keep the peace. His cooperation was important since Neetahwishkum was considered by the Îyiyiu to be a “most wonderful prophet.” All the Îyiyiu who visited the Whale Rivers were said to acknowledge his supremacy (ibid.). Postmaster Corcoran then offered a reward to Îyiyiu who guided Inuit to Fort George to trade. Within a year—in 1839—the Îyiyiu Katasaytasit “delivered” the first group of Inuit to Fort George, amongst them the Adventurer (HBCA B.77/a/14). Having gone to the Whale Rivers to trade, the Adventurer now risked pushing deeper into Îyiyiu territory.

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Less than a year later, in February 1840, an Îyiyiu and his companion encountered a party of twenty Inuit, including the Adventurer, at Cape Jones. Another group of Inuit was spotted in the distance pursuing caribou. The Adventurer invited the Îyiyiu and his companion to his snow house, but they were too frightened to accept the invitation. Just over a week later, the Inuk Moses returned to Fort George with three Inuit lads, and the news that a party of Inuit with whom Moses had lived beyond Richmond Gulf the previous winter was expected at the post in a few days. This was Moses’s second foray in search of Inuit. Leaving Fort George in 1839 with offerings of light trade items, he had travelled from Fort George to Cape Smith to Ungava Bay and back to Richmond Gulf in time for winter. True to his word, on March 13, 1840, sixteen Inuit men accompanied by about fifty women and children arrived at the post to trade. The same number of Inuit awaited their return at the camping place on Horse Island. The Adventurer was with this group, as well, but most of his companions had never been to a trading post before (HBCA B.77/a/14). The reaction of the postmaster at Fort George to the presence of the Inuit is telling: If Moses had not been there as interpreter, “we would in all probability be under some apprehension for the safety of the place and perhaps ourselves from so many of this class being in our immediate neighbourhood,” he wrote (HBCA B.77/a/14). All that spring the Inuit came and went, seal hunting along the coast and bringing in blubber and skins for sale at the post. Usually in the early summer, immediately after trading, the Îyiyiu left Fort George for their winter quarters or the Whale Rivers. The presence of the Inuit that first summer prompted the Îyiyiu to delay their departure so they could get a better look at the them! They were intrigued by their kayaks and, later, by their snow houses. Just as at Fort Chimo, amicable relations were immediately established between the Îyiyiu and Inuit at the post. The lack of incident between the two groups inspired the postmaster to feel social intercourse could be established between these two peoples “whose language and habits are so widely different and who have been ever hostile” (HBCA B.77/e/10). From his perspective, they visited each other without fear or dread and vied with each other for hospitality. That summer Inuit families hunted whale at the Whale Rivers (HBCA

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B.77/a/14). And, almost immediately, some began wintering along the James Bay coast (HBCA B.77/a/15). That being said, rumours reached Fort George in 1841 that Îyiyiu from the Whale Rivers and Inuit had argued the previous fall at Nastapoka (HBCA B.77/a/16). That same year the Hudson’s Bay Company requested that additional Richmond Gulf and Fort George Îyiyiu move to Ungava. The Îyiyiu were assured that the Inuit seldom visited Fort Chimo in any numbers and that they never went up the river past Fort Chimo. In any case, these Îyiyiu were told they wouldn’t be required to go to the coast at all, the Hudson’s Bay Company preferring they remain attached to the interior posts. Thus they wouldn’t have to see any Inuit at all (HBCA B.77/b/3). The decision by the Îyiyiu was unanimous. Despite the fact the Hudson’s Bay Company had said the Îyiyiu who transferred would be paid 50 per cent more for furs they delivered to Ungava posts, none would go. As Weestayky said, “He preferred his own country to any other on the face of the earth” (HBCA B.77/a/15). In the end, Îyiyiu leader Yihitshin managed to convince sixteen families to move to Ungava with him (HBCA B.77/b/3). Their decision to relocate could have been inspired by the knowledge that, in the interest of preservation, beaver in the area of Îyiyiu trading at Fort George were not to be trapped (HBCA B.77/a/16). Regularization of trade with the Inuit at Fort George occurred throughout the 1840s such that by the mid-1840s it was host to a resident Inuit population. The post was like a magnet as large parties of Inuit from north of Little Whale River and the offshore islands, as well as mainlanders who wintered on the coast, converged at Fort George. The Inuit travelled south in the winter to James Bay to trade, some remaining on the coast to hunt seals. They arrived in March or April with their year’s hunt of fox furs, seal blubber and caribou skins. In April and May, they headed north before the sea ice began to melt on the coast. Several families stayed in the region for the summer and fall, in the Cape Jones area or on the islands along the northern James Bay coast. A few participated in the whale hunt at the Whale Rivers; most engaged in the traditional summer caribou hunt and fishing inland. “When the Îyiyiu decided to make friends with the Inuit, the password for letting the Inuit know the Îyiyiu wanted to make friends with them

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was châimâ [Cree version of chimo],” said Matthew George. As the stories from Whapmagoostui attest, the first friendly encounters between the Îyiyiu and Inuit were fraught with fear. The long history of hostility between the two peoples had resulted in such great distrust that when different parties of Îyiyiu initially approached the Inuit, they did so with their guns at the ready in the event the meeting turn sour. The stories record this nervousness, as they do the palpable terror of some of the Inuit involved. They then go on to describe how the encounters unfolded, with the giving of gifts and with singing and dancing, all expressions of happiness and goodwill. Sometimes trading ensued. According to the stories, the Inuit were thrilled to receive metal goods from the Îyiyiu, who highly appreciated the sealskin clothing they received in return.

A Nervous Peace One time the Îyiyiu started travelling from Little Whale River. That’s where the first post was situated. They travelled along the coast going north. They came upon a large camp of Inuit as they rounded one of the bends in Lake Minto. Lake Minto has many bends and coves on its shoreline. It was at the large part of the lake where they came upon the Inuit. There were many dwellings in their camp. As the Îyiyiu approached the camp, they could see the Inuit women running. The Inuit women were really afraid of them. At the time there were no men in camp. The Inuit women all disappeared into one dwelling. When they landed their canoes, the Îyiyiu heard some of them crying. I guess the Inuit didn’t fully trust the Îyiyiu yet, but they weren’t after them to kill them anymore. They had made friends with the Inuit before that time, but it hadn’t been that long ago. The Îyiyiu entered the dwelling where all the Inuit women had gathered and where the crying was coming from. All the women had gone to the dwelling of an old woman whose place was near the entrance of the dwelling. The Îyiyiu made signs that they were friendly and said what is said to the Inuit when friendship is extended to them.17

17

The Inuit word used was chimo or as Matthew says, châimâ: Emily Masty.

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Some of the Inuit women stopped crying and shook hands with the men and the women, but one of the old Inuit women was not totally convinced.18 She was still afraid and nervous about the presence of Îyiyiu in their camp. She reached over to her belongings and pulled out a large bag. The bag was made from caribou skins with the hair still on. The bag was filled with something. She untied the bag’s opening. It was filled with strips of caribou fat. She cut pieces of caribou fat and gave them to whomever she saw, including the women. She gave away all her strips of caribou fat. I guess this was what she used to make friends with the Îyiyiu. The Inuit women spoke to them about the whereabouts of their husbands. The Îyiyiu didn’t understand the language, but through their gestures they understood the men were out caribou hunting and were expected back that evening. They had been gone a long time. The Îyiyiu said, “We would like to see the men when they come back. We’ll make our camp along the shore not far from your camp.” The Inuit women seemed to understand what they were saying. The Îyiyiu landed their canoes where they wanted to make camp. There were many of them in that group. They set up camp. When the sun was just about to go down—it was totally calm—the Inuit men came paddling around the bend where the Îyiyiu camp was. There were many of them as well, each in their kayaks. They stopped paddling when they saw the Îyiyiu dwellings on the shore. They stopped paddling altogether and just stayed out on the water. Two Inuit women ran along the shore, calling to their men. They spoke for quite a while. When they had finished talking, the Inuit men started paddling again and landed their kayaks at their camp. After a while, the Îyiyiu said, “Let’s go greet the men.” They left in their canoes, bringing some metal with them.19 Their guns were covered up in the bottom of their canoes. They had said to each other, “We’ll keep our guns here in readiness in case they try to harm us. We’ll have to defend ourselves if they try something funny.” 18

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No doubt she must have heard or even seen wars with the Îyiyiu in her time, before peace was achieved between the Îyiyiu and the Inuit in this part of the country: Emily Masty. “I imagine they didn’t have much metal to choose from,” Matthew commented.

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Their wives had said to them, “But why are you giving them metal? They might use the metal to kill us with. They could make their arrow tips from it.” The Inuit came down to the shore when the Îyiyiu neared their camp. They started to say the word meaning friendship before the Îyiyiu had landed their canoes. The Îyiyiu returned the friendship word. When the Îyiyiu had landed their canoes, the Inuit shook hands with them, gesturing them to go to their camp. There the Inuit gave them food to eat. The Inuit had brought a lot of caribou skins back from the hunt. They were at their best for clothing, the hair being thin because it was fall. They had also brought back the caribou fat, which they had cut into strips. They fed this to the Îyiyiu too. The Îyiyiu gave them the metal they had brought with them. The Îyiyiu said they would be going on their way tomorrow and wouldn’t be able to see them again. Somehow the Inuit understood what they were saying. They all shook hands when the Îyiyiu left to go back to their camp. The Inuit gave them as many caribou skins as they wanted. The Îyiyiu were given most of the caribou skins. They had a lot of caribou skins all at once. That is how they met the Inuit on their way inland. matthew george

The Îyiyiu and Inuit Make Friends One day an Îyiyiu called Kâniwâkâpûshû and his family were camped on the shore of the bay at a place a little past Little Whale River. Before this time the Îyiyiu and the Inuit were enemies. Whenever they set eyes on each other, they wanted to kill each other. Kâniwâkâpûshû knew there were Inuit in the vicinity. He had a feeling they would meet up with them. Somehow he even seemed to know how the meeting would unfold. “My sons,” he said, “soon we will be meeting an Inuk. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling he doesn’t intend to harm us. I think he just wants to be friends. Let’s see.”

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A few days later they heard the sound of dogs barking from the ice. It was the Inuk. His heavy load was being pulled by many dogs. The Îyiyiu turned to his sons, saying, “Sons, I’ll go to the Inuk. Let’s see how he reacts.” His sons, all adult, were prepared to strike if anything happened. They readied their weapons. As soon as the Inuk saw the Îyiyiu approaching, he came forward to meet him. At the beginning when the Îyiyiu were first trying to make friends with the Inuit, the Îyiyiu would call out to the Inuit, “Châimâ, châiyimâ!” The Inuit would take off their hat if they wanted to be friendly. Not doing this signalled they intended to fight. “Châimâ, châimâ!” the Îyiyiu called out to him. The Inuk took off his hat. He came towards the Îyiyiu and shook hands with him. After shaking hands, the Îyiyiu sang a song about the Inuk. I know two Cree songs that talk about friendly Inuit. One of them is, “This is my friend,” the other is, “What I do when I want to be a friend is, I just turn around.” I don’t know which one the Îyiyiu sang but I imagine it was the first one. When it dawned on the Inuk the song was for him, he began to dance. After he had finished the song, the Îyiyiu gave the Inuk his pipe, showing him first how to use it. The Inuk took a puff. Liking the taste, he was soon blowing the tobacco smoke out of his nostrils! Speaking and using signs, the Inuk managed to communicate to the Îyiyiu that he wanted to be taken to see the whiteman: “I would like to see the whiteman [in this case, the trader]. I would like you to come with me,” he seemed to be saying. The Îyiyiu signalled his family to come. The Inuk also had sons. The Îyiyiu gave the Inuit gifts, some things they had bought from the whiteman. The old Îyiyiu woman gave her Inuk counterpart one of her cooking pots. She was delighted and cradling the metal handle in the crook of her arm, danced around with it. In return, the Inuk gave the Îyiyiu his caribou-skin mitts made like the Inuit make them, with the caribou hair still on the skin. He also gave them a warm caribou-skin coat, also with the hair still on.

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Preparing his komituk for the trip to the post, the Inuk indicated where the Îyiyiu should sit. “We will sit here and smoke the pipe together while my sons look after the dogs,” he signed to the Îyiyiu. Soon Little Whale River came into sight. “You go on ahead while I wait here. Let the whiteman know I want to see him,” the Îyiyiu understood him to be saying. The Inuit stayed on the ice while the Îyiyiu went by foot along the path to the post. Once there the Îyiyiu said, “I’ve brought an Inuk with me. He says he wants to see the whiteman. He has his dog team with him.” “Go and get him. By all means, bring him to the post,” the Îyiyiu was told. The Îyiyiu returned to the Inuit with the news and brought him to the post, showing him where to go. The Inuk and his family were taken to the residence of the trader where they were given alcohol to drink. The Hudson’s Bay Company also sold alcohol at that time. The Inuk liked the drink. Having first been shown how to use them, the Inuit were given a lot of rifles and other hunting equipment and were told to go far and wide distributing the rifles to as many other Inuit as they could find. They were to teach the other Inuit how to use the equipment. Above all, they were told to get as many foxes as they possibly could and to bring the pelts to the post the following year. The postmaster stressed he wanted as many fox pelts as he could get. Somehow the Inuk understood what was said to him. The Inuit left the post laden with goods. They went very far north, giving the guns and equipment to all they saw. When the following year rolled around, many Inuit accompanied by their dog teams showed up at the post at Little Whale River. So it was along our coast at Little Whale River where the Îyiyiu made friends with the Inuit. noah mamianskum

Trade between the Hudson’s Bay Company and the Îyiyiu and Inuit flourished during the last half of the nineteenth century, the posts20 buzzing with activity when the various groups brought in their furs. With the 20

Little Whale River, 1851–1890; Great Whale River, 1856–1870.

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exception of an event that occurred in 1858–59, associated with the shipwreck of the Kitty, relations between the Hudson’s Bay Company and Inuit were on the mend. The Kitty was wrecked in Mosquito Bay, and her crew escaped by boat to shore. There they lived in peace with an Inuit family until another party of Inuit arrived from the north and “either through fear of the Whites or from a desire of possessing their Property” murdered all the sailors (Francis and Morantz 1983, 141). Noah Mamianskum’s grandfather told a story about seeing an elderly Inuk at Little Whale River who, now repentant, confessed to having led a group of Inuit on a rampage, killing a number of sailors from a shipwreck. Since the story of the Kitty is unique and since the violence between whites and Inuit had been, in general, curtailed, the old man must have been referring to this event.

The Inuk Who Killed the Ship’s Captain This story is as my grandfather told it: “My brother and I had gone to the post at Little Whale River. I was very young at the time. There we saw a very old Inuk sitting inside the store. His hair was completely white. We said to the translator, the one called Kânistûhtihk [One Who Understands], ‘That is one very old Inuk!’ “‘Yes,’ he responded. ‘He is very old. He was brought here because he wants to be killed. A long time ago, when he was still very young, he helped pillage a ship that had been caught here by the winter. The ship had frozen to the ice. The other Inuit and he killed all the white sailors and took everything that was on the ship. After that he went into hiding in the far north. He has not seen a white person since then. With the passing of time he began to regret what he had done. Recently, he instructed the others in his group to take him to the whiteman.’ “‘Take me to the whiteman,’ he told them. ‘I want a whiteman to kill me because I killed a whiteman once. I’m too old to live any longer.’ “‘So he was brought to the post where he spoke of what he had done,’ the translator continued.

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“‘It was I who killed the captain,’ he confessed. “The manager decided to let him be, saying, ‘He’s very old and won’t live much longer anyways. We’ll leave him alone even though he has confessed to the murders.’” noah mamianskum

By the last half of the nineteenth century, Îyiyiu and Inuit lived and worked together at the post, the Îyiyiu even sharing their whale meat with the Inuit during whaling season. Still, the Îyiyiu continued to feel a certain ambivalence towards the Inuit. As illustrated by the next story, while relations at the post were peaceful, surprise encounters when the people were out on the land often resulted in fear and trepidation.

A Nagging Fear One day when we were living with the family of Mary Shem, her father had gone out in his canoe to look for beaver. He had not been gone long when he returned in a terrible state. He was running from something that had terrified him. He had just seen some Inuit! At the time we were living at the portage of Askûstâchinânûch Lake. Frightened by the news, we decided to fortify our dwellings. We covered them with small trees and treetops as well as with some big trees. That night I slept near the doorway. Knowing that I was scared, my father told me not to worry, that everything would be fine. “Alright,” I said, kind of believing him, but I snuggled closer to my mother anyways. Luckily for us, he turned out to be right. hannah natachequan

Occasionally hostilities erupted between Îyiyiu and Inuit. But, as discussed in the next story, at times the problem may have been one of duelling shamans and not ethnicity. From the perspective of the storyteller, the incident in the story could just as easily have arisen between two Inuit or two Îyiyiu.

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Hannah Natachequan [Courtesy of Elizabeth Dick.]

Mamianskum Fends Off an Inuk Shaman This happened to Great-grandfather Mamianskum and Ânischâyâpinwâskum, his son, while they were on their way to hunt caribou at Âchâkûnkâch. The story is told by one of Mamianskum’s sons: “Food had been very scarce at the place where we had been camping and we were hungry. We were heading for Âchâkûnkâch because we

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knew that whenever people went there to look for caribou, they usually found them. On the way Ânischâyâpinwâskum tried repeatedly to use his rifle, but it wouldn’t go off. He decided to use Mamianskum’s gun because he couldn’t hunt. Mamianskum’s hand had become too sore and swollen. All this was because of an Inuk called Kâkâchîsâchistûwât.” In those days both Îyiyiu and Inuit had special powers. Those endowed with these powers knew who else had them. People so empowered sometimes fought with each other. On a one-to-one basis, an Inuk would war with an Îyiyiu or with another Inuk. The Îyiyiu did the same thing with each other. Well, Mamianskum had an Inuk enemy through their powers. His name was Kâkâchîsâchistûwât. Kâkâchîsâchistûwât had tampered with the rifle and infected Mamianskum’s hand. Mamianskum knew he was being watched by the Inuk and tried to fend him off. “That night we camped at a place called Kâîhpitâukâu,” the son continued. “Knowing where we planned to spend the night, Ânischâyâpinwâskum had not travelled with us, electing instead to hunt along the way and catch up with us later on. In the evening, we saw him struggling, weak from hunger, to reach us. He fell twice in the short distance between the ice and our dwelling. Once inside he collapsed, unable to move. In the meantime, Mamianskum had put two fish lines in the water. Despite the state of his hand, he had managed to chisel through the ice. In the morning, my mother checked the lines but found nothing. I left to go hunting. I was in the prime of youth. I saw a lot of ptarmigan and filled my sack to the brim with them. I also got two rabbits. On my return, I noticed the big pot hanging over the fire and knew food was cooking. “‘The women have brought some food home. We’ll finally eat,’ my brother said. “In my absence the women had gone ice fishing and caught some very healthy, fat fish—about ten, I think! In the meantime, the boil on my father’s hand had also burst open, leaving a gash the length of his entire hand. Mother was busy boiling bark before pounding it to a pulp to make a poultice for the wound. Once the pus had drained out of his hand, Mamianskum felt a little better. “We had plenty of food now. The following morning the women got more fish, while I went ptarmigan hunting.

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“That evening Mamianskum asked my brother, ‘Son, do you feel well enough to go hunting again?’ “‘Yes, I’ve had broth for two days now. I think I can walk a long way,’ he responded. “Mamianskum told my brother which way he should go to look for caribou. He headed north. Before long we heard nine shots ring out from the north, from the direction of the mountains. Then my brother did something stupid. He should have known better. He had just killed nine caribou, yet he almost died on his way home from lack of sustenance. He would have been found dead with the choice parts of the caribou still on his back!21 “My brother butchered all the caribou before heading home. But he hadn’t made a fire all that day. He hadn’t had anything to drink, much less eat. He was completely dehydrated. Remember, he hadn’t been in good shape to begin with, so when he sat down to rest he couldn’t get up again. Finally, he tore off a couple of pieces of caribou fat and ate them. Only then was he able to continue on his way. “All of us went back to the site to transport the caribou home. When we returned home, my father said, ‘Lately the food has been unkind to me, but things are finally looking up for us. Keep working with the bones. Make pimî. When you have finished we will have a feast.’ “‘Give me the gun,’ Mamianskum said. “He was referring to my brother’s gun, the one that wouldn’t fire. It had been hanging around, useless. My brother’s gun had two barrels. Mamianskum placed his mouth over the small opening for the mâhtis [flint] and sucked in. He spat two small cylindrical pieces of metal, like needles but shorter, onto his hand. Throwing them into the fire, Mamianskum said, ‘That’s the work of the Inuk. That’s why the gun wouldn’t go off. It’ll be fine now.’” noah mamianskum

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“According to custom, the Îyiyiu did not eat the choice parts of bear, caribou or moose outside. To show respect for the animal, these parts had to be cooked and eaten inside,” Noah explained.

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FOU R

The Life and Times of Kâ Mitâwit and Kâwîpâschikâtâshit With the assistance of his spirit helpers, Kâwîpâschikâtâshit could become as small as a mouse. Kâ Mitâwit could fly. Their lives spanned much of the nineteenth century. Stories about Kâwîpâschikâtâshit, the great-great-grandfather of Noah Mamianskum, have been lovingly preserved by his descendants. They were first told to Mamianskum, Kâwîpâschikâtâshit’s son, and then passed down to Noah. Kâ Mitâwit, meaning “he who has powers,” was a renowned shaman whose feats of wonder are recounted by many of the present-day storytellers. As men of their time, Kâwîpâschikâtâshit and Kâ Mitâwit grappled with the pressing issues of the day. Their experiences encapsulate all the themes that have dominated the discussion thus far: the use of power for survival and protection; relations with Inuit, the whiteman and other threatening visitors and so on. Up until now these subjects have been treated separately. With the stories about these two prominent men, the themes are integrated, illustrating how they came into play over the course of a lifetime. The stories about Kâwîpâschikâtâshit and Kâ Mitâwit also permit us to introduce subjects we haven’t yet broached: relations between the Îyiyiu and northern groups other than the Inuit, whaling and humaneating monsters called achân. Achân were giants, like man but much bigger, possessing both superhuman physical strength and magical powers. Symbolizing the heart of darkness, they inspired more fear in the Îyiyiu than any other living beings.

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Both Kâ Mitâwit and Kâwîpâschikâtâshit were endowed with considerable powers, as were several other members of the groups with whom they lived. Not surprisingly, the stories told about them give expression to these powers. They also make reference to people whose powers were on the wane. Some people start to lose their power when they get old. Their power gradually weakens or even goes completely, sometimes taken by a son where it gains strength. Technically, the son does not inherit the power of his father. Rather, because he has spent so much time in the company of his father, the son is familiar with his father’s spirit helpers. Towards the end of his father’s life, this familiarity may inspire the development of a more intimate relationship between the spirit helpers of the father and the son.

K Â M I TÂW I T Kâ Mitâwit was no ordinary man. He was an achân slayer. In the lands inhabited by the Îyiyiu, the climate was harsh, and, periodically, animal resources were sharply reduced and people perished from hunger and exposure. Yet, the Îyiyiu didn’t fear their environment. On the contrary, they loved the land and animals upon which they depended. Through the course of their lives they had honed the knowledge, skills and attitudes necessary not only for survival but for a rewarding life. The person who hunted long and got no food was poor, not afraid; if he was starving, he was very poor (Preston 1975, 257). He felt no fear because man was not thought to be at the whim or will of the animals or climate except as a result of sorcery or failure to show proper respect. What frightened Îyiyiu were the hostile actions of other humans and human-like creatures called achân. Except for humans, achân and insects, the Îyiyiu had no predators. They were rarely the hunted. Amongst their predators, those who engaged in acts of cannibalism were particularly terrifying to the Îyiyiu. Amongst the eastern James Bay Cree cannibalism manifested itself in the form of the wîhtikû spirit, which was said to possess people spiritually, making them become cannibals. Needless to say, eating people was

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taboo. Such a proclivity was believed to so irrevocably change a person, the cannibal would never like normal food again, surviving instead on a diet of other people. This went so far beyond the parameters of normal behaviour that people who engaged in cannibalism were considered crazy, their behaviour reflecting a complete loss of humanity. They had become the image of our darkest selves.1 An individual possessed by the wîhtikû spirit used his mistâpâu to overcome humans, as a hunter would game animals. Mustering his powers, he conquered the mistâpâu of a weaker person, then slew and ate him. It was considered the worst possible abuse of power. By having eaten as powerful a form of game as human beings, the cannibal’s mistâpâu grew so strong most people were afraid to attack him. Not surprisingly, those inhabited by the wîhtikû represented such a descent into the depths of madness, drastic action was required to deal with them. The wildest of instincts had to be mastered to preserve the social and moral order. The cannibal had to be killed. Because this kind of madness and badness rendered ordinary people defenceless, only shamans were capable of responding. The Whapmagoostui storytellers did not tell stories about wîhtikû, focusing instead on the monster achân, which also lived off human prey. Its presence prompted great terror. Unlike wîhtikû, achân was the personification of a giant cannibal, formed like a man but much bigger. Its superhuman physical strength enhanced its menacing demeanour. Like those possessed by the wîhtikû spirit, achân, too, had magical powers. It could fly, for instance. And, achân’s behaviour—irrational, ruthless and unpredictable—mirrored that of other maniacal cannibals. Known through rare but often tragic encounters, achân were not easily dispatched. The determined effort of a very powerful shaman was required to overcome them. He, however, couldn’t do it alone, requiring the assistance of his mistâpâu and all the spirit helpers he could muster. Sometimes at the end of the ordeal the shaman would return dishevelled, disoriented and in an altered psychological state. Kâ Mitâwit had a number of encounters with achân. According to the stories, Kâ Mitâwit lived during the time when the only items bought from 1

There were exceptions. For example, in a previous story an Îyiyiu ate the oil from the scalp of a slain Inuk enemy for it was felt that, under these circumstances, not to do so would empower the dead Inuk to take off with the Îyiyiu’s soul.

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the whiteman were guns, ammunition and tobacco, a time when the Îyiyiu gathered for the summer at one of the coastal gathering places to hunt whales, either at Little Whale River or Great Whale River. Stories abound about his exceptional powers. Kâ Mitâwit was not the only person empowered to accomplish feats of wonder; there were many who were psychically strong. What set Kâ Mitâwit apart was that in a world highly charged with psychic forces, his power exceeded that of the others.

Kâ Mitâwit’s Family Kâ Mitâwit’s father was called Nâpâuchîsikw. His father had two wives. Kâ Mitâwit’s mother was called Wâsâyâkin. That was one of her names; I don’t know her other names. Kâ Mitâwit had two brothers, Chachakwâpâu, who was the oldest of the brothers and Nischistikwan, the youngest. Kâ Mitâwit was in the middle. My grandfather Kâ Mûhyâwât [Matthew’s paternal grandfather], who was older than my other grandfather, said he remembered Kâ Mitâwit. He actually saw him. My other grandfather, my mother’s father called Chisâuchimâhkân or John Mamianskum, probably saw Nischistikwan, Kâ Mitâwit’s younger brother. matthew george

Kâ Mitâwit’s Birth Kâ Mitâwit is said to have remembered the day he was born. I don’t think many other people can actually remember the day they were born. To prove he could remember, he talked about details of that day: who was there, where the sun was, what side of the dwelling his family lived on, what kind of a day it was—small details like that. He described it this way, “I was born in the morning. It was such a beautiful day that the first time I was changed the rays of the sun shone down on me. My mother lived on the north side of our tipi.” The sun would have been directly overhead at this time because when the sun is midway it pours in through the top of the tipi.

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Kâ Mitâwit’s family knew he would be different because even as a child he sang in his sleep. If Kâ Mitâwit were alive today his old-age pension would come quickly because he definitely knew when he was born! A lot of the old people have a hard time getting their old-age pension because their exact age isn’t known. noah mamianskum

Kâ Mitâwit’s Special Powers There was a man called Kâ Mitâwit. He liked to use his powers. From the time he was young it was known he had special powers. For as soon as he was sleeping on his own, no longer with his parents as young children do, he had his own songs or chants. He could be heard singing in the night. The Îyiyiu of the past had songs about everything they had a mystical or spiritual experience with. Kâ Mitâwit could be heard chanting in the night when he was still very young. The other children also noticed him doing things with powers, like the adults did, whenever they played together. That is the reason why he was called Kâ Mitâwit [He who has Powers]. suzanne kawapit

Kâ Mitâwit’s Grandmother and the Achân Kâ Mitâwit was still very young when this event took place. He and his family were living with his grandparents at the time. Both his grandfather and grandmother were alive.2 They were all living together, waiting for spring break-up. They used to check their nets early in the morning. It is said of Kâ Mitâwit that he didn’t sleep very much, not like a normal person.3 He didn’t have much need for sleep, it is said of him. The story is told as if it were in Kâ Mitâwit’s words. 2

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In another version of this story the grandparents are not referred to as grandparents but as “an old couple.” The old man was called Wîskichân and the old woman was called Nâhatis. Suzanne laughed at her remark about Kâ Mitâwit. She made this remark for lack of a better word to describe this unusual person: Emily Masty.

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“Early every morning while the snow was still hard, my mother and I checked the nets. I always tried to go with her. We went very early in the morning because that was the only way we would have something to eat. I used to say to my mother, ‘Mother, wake me up when you go to check the nets. I’ll come with you.’ I always wanted to go with her because whenever possible she gave me my very own fish. This special treat from my mother made me very happy. I thought of the fish as my own. “Mother didn’t always have to wake me up, though. I kept on my mitts and caribou-skin coat with the hair still on it when I went to sleep so I would be ready when I heard her preparing to go. Sometimes I was awakened by the rustle of the entrance flap as she went out the doorway. Then I would bolt from my sleeping place and run outside to join her. “One morning Mother woke me, saying, ‘Get up, Son. It’s a beautiful dawn. Let’s go check the nets.’ The sun hadn’t yet come up. Without making the fire in our dwelling, we went out to tend the nets. Fog was just starting to appear as we left; it set in quickly. It was going to be one of those truly thick foggy days. The fog got thicker as my mother tended the nets. I was standing beside my mother as she worked the nets when I saw someone walking on the ice, a tall person with a very crooked body. “‘Look at that person over there,’ I said to my mother. He didn’t look like a normal Îyiyiu. He seemed to have a mound on his back between his shoulder blades and his body was crooked. ‘Mother, look!’ I said. ‘I wonder if it’s someone from our group who has gone out for an early morning hunt.’ Even though I was sure he wasn’t from our camp, I said it anyways. It looked more like an achân than someone from our camp. “‘Where is he?’ she asked, frightened by my words. “‘There he is, walking,’ I replied. “‘Someone from our camp?’ she said. ‘No Îyiyiu looks like that!’ The person walking was very huge. My mother dropped her net right away. She was in the middle of removing the fish. “‘Run home!’ she said. “We ran. My grandmother and grandfather had not been awake by the time we left our dwelling, but there was smoke pouring out of the

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smoke hole when we got back. Mother was absolutely terrified as she spoke to them from outside the dwelling. ‘Are you all still there? We’ve seen ‘someone’!’ she said to them. “My grandparents were up and had made the fire. When everyone else was awake, Mother told them what we had seen. They discussed what we should do. My older brothers and my father bolted from their sleeping places after hearing my mother’s words. They were quite startled. “Grandmother and Grandfather talked to each other about our dilemma. “There was a huge rock to the west of our dwelling where we played in the evenings. It was from there that the being called out. No one was prepared for the unearthly sounds of the creature.4 They were coming from the rock near the shoreline. My father, mother and siblings fainted, falling onto their backs when the awful sounds started. Falling backwards, I pretended to faint as well. The only ones unaffected by the sounds were my grandparents. “As they talked the old woman said to her husband, ‘Don’t tell me this is how our grandchildren will meet their end! Can’t you do something?’ By then the being had called out more than once. “‘Don’t expect anything from me. I can’t defend our grandchildren. I don’t have the powers I once had. I don’t have the power to fight this creature,’ the old man responded. ‘Try as I might, there’s nothing I can do. But what about you? Why don’t you try to do something for our grandchildren? I heard you saying just recently that you had had an experience with your powers.’ “I guess the old man already knew that his wife’s powers were stronger than his. “The old woman didn’t say anything after he said this. She just got up and started singing. I guess she was afraid the creature would come and attack us right away. She got up from her sitting place, singing, and walked around the fire three times. She threw open the entrance flap as she went out of the dwelling.5 The old man followed her outside. The old 4

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It is said that when a monster comes upon a camp, the dreadful sounds it makes sometimes scare the people to death. Some have even died of fright: Emily Masty. “You’d think the creature would have come running into the dwelling as soon as she threw open the entrance flap,” Suzanne remarked.

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woman was very small in stature. Once outside she lifted off the ground and circled the tipi. Before completing a second turn around the dwelling, she went high into the air. I could hear her as she flew around our dwelling three times. I couldn’t hear her after that. Shortly after this I almost lost consciousness myself. I heard something underground banging around making squawking sounds, like the sounds made by seagulls. I thought I heard the being running towards our dwelling. The quacking sounds from underground were getting closer to the surface. Finally, I heard a bursting sound. The sounds were so frightening I seemed to go in and out of consciousness. “The old man came into the dwelling. He went to my father and my mother. He started to revive them. He did the same to the other adults in our dwelling. As for me, I helped by reviving my siblings. I was fine. I hadn’t been afraid. The old woman was gone for a long time. I guess she had been really angered by the being. The sun was almost halfway down when she returned, singing, from her battle with the being. By then the sea gull-like sounds had stopped. “‘Get ready to take Kûhkum [grandmother],’ the old man said. The old woman landed above the top of the entrance flap of our dwelling. She slid down the flap onto the ground. My mother and others went to bring her inside. They took her to her side of the dwelling and cleaned her up. Her hair looked really awful. Strands of hair had twirled so hard it looked like it was braided in many places. But she was fine after she had been tended to.” That’s the story about the old woman who fought with the achân. Kâ Mitâwit was like that—not afraid—because even as a child he already had powers. It is said that when a monster is to be destroyed, it is pulled up into the air and sent far away. The person with the powers does not do the killing himself or herself. Their mystical helpers are directed to do the job. He or she would have to kill it on their own if they were taken by surprise by the creature and felt they would be killed first, if they didn’t eliminate the monster themselves. Generally, though, the creature was taken as far away as possible, flown away so that it wouldn’t know where it was going and then deposited in the deepest part of a lake or the ocean. That’s what the old woman did to the creature. suzanne kawapit

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Kwâhkutuwî Falls Kâ Mitâwit is said to have walked through Kwâhkutuwî Falls. He is not the only one; a woman is known to have walked through them as well. The falls are constructed in such a way that very little water covers its surface. The falls are steep, but the rock face itself curves inwards so that those who walked through were barely touched by the water. Kâ Mitâwit reported that one of every kind of animal, big and small, lives under the falls called Kwâhkutuwî. They live on the ledges under the falls. There is a whale, a caribou, a polar bear, a porcupine and all the living things used for food found in the water. All of them, the animals and the sea creatures, are bigger than they are in normal life. According to Kâ Mitâwit, amongst these animals lived a creature he didn’t recognize. It looked like a seal, but its skin was smooth and hairless. “I wasn’t afraid of most of the animals under the falls,” said Kâ Mitâwit. “For some reason, though, I sensed from its behaviour that the animal I didn’t recognize wished to harm me. The porcupine shielded me by pacing back and forth between me and it, ready for it, just in case it tried something.” The woman who walked through the falls had been abandoned by her husband there. While travelling inland they had had an argument at the place where the Îyiyiu used to land their canoes, on the âshtihtâkâm side of the river [the side where the rays of the sun strike the earth]. He wouldn’t let his wife back in the canoe. I guess the rest of the people in their group didn’t know he had left her stranded on the other side of the falls. Needless to say, she reached the camp early that evening and entered their dwelling, saying, “You should try to do what I just did, coming through the falls like that.” She had walked right through—she wasn’t going to let her husband get away with his little plan! noah mamianskum

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A Creature Bothers Kâ Mitâwit While He is Fishing One time, just north of Great Whale River, a creature accosted Kâ Mitâwit while he was fishing along the shore of the bay. He was drynet fishing. What you do is this. You set your net while the tide is way out. High tide covers the net with water so that when the tide is low again all you have to do is walk to your net and pick off the fish. This way you can fish with a net without needing a canoe. So Kâ Mitâwit was dry-net fishing when this awful looking, monstrous creature came upon him. Knowing he had to somehow destroy or get rid of the creature, Kâ Mitâwit lost consciousness. The first thing he remembered after this was being transported through the air by the side of the monster, both of them facing upwards. “The monster was too terrifying to even describe,” Kâ Mitâwit said afterwards. “It had scales where its skin should have been.” In the meantime, off they flew towards the north. To eliminate these kinds of beings, a person with power summons the assistance of mystical animals. Sometimes the person goes along with them too. To do this, he works through his mistâpâu, his spirit helper. The mistâpâu or spirit helper is the same one who does the talking in the shaking tent, informing people about what the visitors are saying, what is going on or what is about to happen. I wonder what a mistâpâu looks like! In any case Kâ Mitâwit’s mistâpâu was taking the being far away to the north and Kâ Mitâwit was going along for the ride.6 The next thing he knew, Kâ Mitâwit had regained consciousness and was on his way home. One or two nights had transpired. His moccasins were on the shore where he had left them before going to his nets. He put them on and returned to the family home unscathed by his adventure. I wonder where he was returning from! ronnie sheshamush

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Kâmitâut’s mistâpâu had taken over as soon as he realized Kâ Mitâwit was in danger. Because the creature was almost upon him when he summoned his mistâpâu for help, Kâ Mitâwit was swept off the ground with the creature when the mistâpâu intervened: Emily Masty.

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The Creature Kâ Mitâwit Encountered One summer day Kâ Mitâwit went caribou hunting. He got in his canoe and started paddling. He paddled to the end of the lake. There were low rolling hills on the side of the lake where he was paddling. It was slightly windy. “I will land my canoe there,” he thought to himself. This is how Kâ Mitâwit told the story: “I saw something behind a growth of willows near the shoreline. At first glance I thought it was a huge stone surrounded by low juniper bushes. It was only when it lifted up its head that I realized the huge stone was really a creature. As I went around the bend in the lake I actually saw it lift its head! It looked inhuman. I lost consciousness when I realized I was seeing one of those creatures. “I must have been blown ashore, for when I regained consciousness my canoe was against the shoreline. The sandy beach was littered with small pebbles. The sun had just come up when I paddled here this morning, but, by the time I came to, the sun had climbed halfway up the sky. I was still in my canoe. I had put my paddle across the width of the canoe and laid my head on it. I started paddling home. “When I got home I conducted a shaking tent. Then I told the Îyiyiu I could do nothing to ward off the creature. The Îyiyiu had no idea what they could do to hold it at bay. “‘The only way the creature can be attacked is to have it enter the shaking tent,’ mistâpâu said. Naturally, the shaking tent moved when the creature was about to enter it.”7 It is said that when the one summoned was about to enter the shaking tent, it would first go clockwise around the shaking tent in the same direction the sun goes across the sky and then enter. Well, the creature went the other way before entering. From inside Kâ Mitâwit’s shaking tent the creature was heard saying, “It will be easy to get something to eat in this place!” At this some of the Îyiyiu—especially the women—fainted. Kâ Mitâwit was heard saying, “Why did you let this thing in here? Have you ever seen anything like that being invited into a shaking tent?” 7

“Why did he let mistâpâu in?” Matthew remarked.

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The shaking tent moved. The spirit helpers of Kâ Mitâwit grabbed the creature, dragging it out of his shaking tent. It is understood that the creature was attacked once it was out of the shaking tent. The creature could be heard going away from the camp. It was heading north. There went the creature Kâ Mitâwit had summoned into his shaking tent. matthew george

Bothered at the Portage The following story about Kâ Mitâwit is told as Kâ Mitâwit recounted it to a grandchild. It took place when the people bought little more than ammunition and tobacco from the whiteman. At this time about the only heavy thing the people carried inland with them was dried whale stomach, which contained whale oil. That and the pack that held ammunition were the only heavy items carried across the portages. This is how Kâ Mitâwit told the story: “One spring we were [Kâ Mitâwit and his wife] travelling inland from Whapmagoostui. We had just portaged the last portage before Whapmagoostui, Mâhch Kipitâkin, when I decided to make camp for the night. Looking towards the rock hills just before the rapids, I saw a very huge ‘someone.’ It was watching me. Confident it wouldn’t try to bother us while there was still daylight, I went down the portage to collect our belongings. I still needed to pick up the whale oil. “By the time I returned, it was late in the evening. I helped your grandmother erect our small dwelling. That night I could tell that the person had come to our side of the river. I suppose it had swum across. “‘We’d better leave,’ I said to Kûhkum [grandmother, but referring to his wife]. Taking my gun with me, we went back down the portage trail. Eventually, we veered off the trail to find a place for the night. Soon I could hear the sounds of the person snooping around our camp. Not finding us, it started to search for us in the area adjacent to our dwelling. Later, from the sounds that it made, I realized it had taken off to the north. “Dawn came and I tried to reassure Kûhkum. ‘Don’t be afraid. It’s far from us by now,’ I said to her for she was very troubled by the experience.

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“We returned to our dwelling to find all the covers, with the exception of those at the top, had been strewn all around the area. Picking them up, we continued on our way. At our next camping place I decided to investigate a little. For some reason, I began to think of Âspâshuwâu, who took great pleasure in playing tricks on me. I discovered quite quickly that he was the one who had been bothering us, playing one of his pranks. He was just trying to have a good laugh!” In those days, some of the Îyiyiu with special powers took great pleasure in playing tricks on each other. The brothers of Kâ Mitâwit, in particular, loved to scare him just for a laugh. They played tricks on him in fun! noah mamianskum

A Practical Joke Another time Kâ Mitâwit felt something was stuck in his esophagus. He was very uncomfortable—so much so that he had great difficulty breathing. Nothing seemed to help. According to Kâ Mitâwit, “Because the darn thing was becoming more and more uncomfortable, I thought I should find out what was happening to me while I was still conscious. There must be a reason for it, I thought. Perhaps someone is doing it to me! I looked [with his mind’s eye] and quickly found the answer. There standing outside the dwelling was my brother looking at me with a big smile on his face. He removed the thing he had caused to get stuck in my throat, a piece of plant that grows in swampy areas and the bottom of the bay. He hadn’t intended it to harm me. He had played the prank in fun!” noah mamianskum

A Battle with Pwâtich One time while some Îyiyiu were conducting a shaking tent they realized pwâtich had reached their shores. This happened in Whapmagoostui when the Îyiyiu were here for the summer.

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The area below the bank where we used to draw our water doesn’t look the way it used to in those days. The Îyiyiu used to camp further to the east of the spring, where the old store used to be. There were a lot of willows growing on top of the bank where the spring is. There were a lot of willows all along the first row of houses nearest to the bank. The willows grew abundantly along the bank before the ground was broken up for the building of the military base.8 The person conducting the shaking tent informed the others the pwâtich were on the bank where the canoes are kept today. He said there were eight of them. Then he told them to leave them alone. Still, they got ready in case of an attack. For one reason or another the Îyiyiu knew they wouldn’t be able to use their guns in the fight. When they loaded their guns with gunpowder, the gunpowder would disappear. Or, if the ammunition didn’t disappear after the guns were loaded, it would be on top and the pellet, below.9 The ones who knew what to do didn’t bother to load their guns. They just blew into the barrel of the gun where the flint was. The others didn’t get their war weapons ready. “Since the guns won’t work, we’d better figure out how else to defend ourselves,” one of the Îyiyiu said. “Get ready, they’re about to attack!” When it was realized their guns wouldn’t work, one of them, Kâ Mitâwit, I think, carved a piece of wood into a paddle-like shape. The curious thing was that he carved both ends into the shape of a paddle and stuck it over his head between one of the poles and the cover of the dwelling. “This is what I shall use in battle,” he said. The one who kept watch [with his mind’s eye] on the pwâtich announced the pwâtich had decided to attack at sunrise the next morning. Among the Îyiyiu was an expert “looker” or “watcher.” He was called Nitâpâu. It is said that whenever he used his mind’s eye, he was able to “see”10 as well in the night as he could in the day. He was the one watching the pwâtich. He reported the pwâtich were sitting in wait on top of the bank where the spring was, at the edge of the willows. “They’re just behind the edge of the willows,” he reported. “They will move forward 8 9

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The military presence at Whapmagoostui is discussed in Chapter 8 and the Epilogue. This was during the time when ammunition was loaded down the barrel of the gun: Emily Masty. He was able to look and watch events that were happening beyond his ordinary range of vision: Emily Masty.

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stealthily and sit for a while. When they move again, they’ll come running towards the camp. In the meantime, they’re conducting a shaking tent. They’re tying the shaking tent cover to the strongest willow they can find.” Kâ Mitâwit, who was not afraid of them, said, “Keep an eye on them. I’ll visit them. I’ll go into their shaking tent.” The one who was keeping watch with his mind’s eye watched Kâ Mitâwit as he went off to visit the pwâtich. He told the others what was happening, “There walks our grandfather towards them. He appears to be getting bigger as he nears their shaking tent. They’re ready for him, though. He’s not entering the shaking tent. Instead he’s grabbing hold of the top of their shaking tent and throwing it away. The one who was conducting the shaking tent is now sitting out in the open!” This enraged the pwâtich. The pwâtich had planned to attack the Îyiyiu that morning at sunrise. The sky was to be clear so it wouldn’t be blocked by clouds.11 Meanwhile, the watcher told the Îyiyiu what the pwâtich were doing. As dawn broke he saw them getting their guns ready and testing them. “They’ve moved closer,” he said. “One of them has moved ahead of the others. He’s crouching there all alone. They’ll soon come running towards our camp.” The old men sat waiting further away from the camp. The other men were outside the dwellings. “Two creatures will come flying towards our camp and circle it. The two flying creatures will not be big. They will then return to the pwâtich. When the creatures are out of sight, the pwâtich will come running towards our dwellings,” the watcher told them. The father of the Îyiyiu Kâmîywâtâkushit [kind one] was called Kâmâskâpû [crippled eye]. When the first rays of sun were visible, Kâmâskâpû said, “Kâh! Let them kill me before my grandchildren are destroyed by them.” He started walking towards the pwâtich. No sooner had he left when unearthly sounds could be heard emanating from the river bank. Just then they all heard a bang as if something had fallen with 11

”After that experience with Kâ Mitâwit, I wonder why the pwâtich thought they could beat the Îyiyiu,” Matthew remarked.

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a huge thud. The ground reverberated upon impact. Those who were watching the pwâtich reported the pwâtich had turned on their heels. They were fleeing. The watcher Nitâpâu told the Îyiyiu what he was seeing. “They have started running away from us,” he reported. “They’re running over the rocky hill south of Loon Lake. They’re carrying one of their friends. He seems to be hurt!” After a little while he continued, “They’ve reached the beach where their canoe is. They’re getting into their canoe.” Later he added, “They hadn’t paddled for long when their friend died. Once they were way out in the bay, they pushed his body overboard.” Mistâpâu had thrown an immense rock, killing the boss of the pwâtich as fragments of the rock shattered on the ground. The pwâtich had raced to retrieve their boss and then run northwards where they clambered into their canoes and headed off to sea. Once they were well out into the bay, they anchored a big rock to the body of their leader and lowered him into the water. Later still, the watcher said to the Îyiyiu, “Would some of you go and take a look at the place where the pwâtich were waiting to attack us?” He told them exactly where they had been sitting, waiting for the right time to attack. Some of the men went to check on the area. Upon their return they reported what they had seen: “A huge stone hit the ground with such impact it is partly buried in the sand. By the looks of it, it slid for some distance before digging into the sand and coming to a stop. We saw the place where Nitâpâu saw the pwâtich leader, the one who was ahead of the others, by himself. The stone hadn’t actually hit him. We saw some of the chunks of rock that probably fell on him. We think he was fatally wounded by one of them.” The watcher said, “They’ve gone. We won’t hear from them again.” As the body of the pwâtich boss had hit the bottom of the bay, there arose a big storm. High winds churned up the sea. The day was blackened by swirling, menacing clouds. Caught by the storm, the remaining pwâtich perished when their canoe capsized, all of this the doing of the Îyiyiu who had hurled the rock at their leader. Later their shattered boat was found strewn over the shore.

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Afterwards when they were analyzing the battle, Kâ Mitâwit said, “My plan had been to run outside with the knife I had just carved, knowing it would be transformed into a really big knife once the battle was underway.” To this another old man added, “My fellow old man, I had a different idea. I had decided to turn into a huge bird and then grab the leader of the pwâtich with my claws as they advanced towards us.” matthew george

Avenging the Death of his Brother One time, the story goes, Kâ Mitâwit made a shaking tent. His brother had died earlier that year and Kâ Mitâwit was communicating with Îyiyiu to the south, the Pîsimwâhtâwiyiyiu. Through his medium or mistâpâu, a voice could be heard saying, “I’m the one who killed your brother. That’s why I’m in a bad way.” From inside the tent, the people on the outside could hear noises. Kâ Mitâwit was crying. All the sorrow he had felt about the death of his brother flooded back. The other people feared Kâ Mitâwit would become enraged when he realized who the visitor to the shaking tent was. Sure enough Kâ Mitâwit told the man he was furious about what he had done to his brother. And he said that he was outraged that he had come back to remind him of it. “This man infuriates me,” he told the other people. At that moment they knew he would avenge his brother’s death. Kâ Mitâwit said to his mistâpâu, “You must do something about this.” “Let me out of here,” the man implored, still talking through Kâ Mitâwit’s mistâpâu. “Don’t let him get away,” Kâ Mitâwit ordered his mistâpâu. Suddenly, the mistâpâu of the other man appeared in the shaking tent. Kâ Mitâwit had to get rid of it. “Throw this one out of here. It’s making this place too cold,” Kâ Mitâwit commanded his mistâpâu. Out it went. No sooner had it gone than Kâ Mitâwit exclaimed, “Wow, that was fast. My mistâpâu has the man’s heart in his hand already!” rupert george

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So Much Food it Scared Him This story about Kâ Mitâwit took place far inland. As you know, the Cree people have given all kinds of names to the places that are in their hunting territories—to the lakes, rivers and streams, to the mountains and rocks and to certain places on all of these. Sometimes a name is given because of how a place looks. There is a place inland, a rock called Kâsimitâpiskâu. It is called this because it looks like a person standing up. There is a little stream nearby called Kâsimitâpiskâshîstukw. It was at this place that a whole herd of caribou came to Kâ Mitâwit. The caribou were wîsâshuhtâu. The caribou are called that when they are at the stage where they rub the fuzzy part of their antlers on the trees. Kâ Mitâwit saw the caribou and killed them all. He must have had a gun by then. He mentioned he had an incredible amount of caribou fat after he had butchered the animals, so much so the quantity of fat actually frightened him. The fat part of the caribou is called utût. On a very big caribou it is called nânipitâhwâu. It is from the back of the animal. We always liked to cut it off and dry it. A long time ago people were very careful not to waste food or let it spoil. It was considered highly disrespectful to do either of these. You also had to handle the animal with care. Kâ Mitâwit said he had so much food it scared him. I wonder how much food it took to scare someone like him! ronnie sheshamush

W H A LI NG Kâ Mitâwit lived during the time when the Îyiyiu gathered at the Whale Rivers for the summer whale hunt. Traditionally, beluga hunting at the mouths of the Little Whale River and Great Whale River provided the Îyiyiu with valuable meat and oil. According to John Potts, postmaster of the first Hudson’s Bay Company post in Richmond Gulf, in the 1750s, the traditional hunt was conducted by the Pîsimwâhtâwiyiyiu, who hunted whales in the summer and wintered to the south and inland, where they trapped furs for sale at Eastmain (Francis and Morantz

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1983). The Yâtiwînipâkw (people of Richmond Gulf) also engaged in whaling activities. Potts lost little time before trying to convert the Cree pattern of whale hunting into a profitable commercial hunt, in 1752 engaging the families who usually gathered at the mouth of the Little Whale River. At this point, the Hudson’s Bay Company fishery relied entirely on Îyiyiu labour. By the height of the season, fifty families requiring twenty-five canoes were involved (Francis and Morantz 1983, 72). Within a few seasons poor weather put a halt to the commercial whale hunt. The traditional summer whale hunt, however, persisted long after the closure of the Richmond Gulf and Little Whale River posts at the end of the 1750s. Îyiyiu men hunted, while the women dried the flesh and rendered the blubber into oil for use inland during the winter. The Hudson’s Bay Company’s interest in the hunt was rekindled at the end of the 1700s. As mentioned in the previous chapter, beginning in 1791 the Hudson’s Bay Company sent a sloop each summer to Great Whale River to obtain whale oil from the Îyiyiu (Francis and Morantz 1983). Then, for three years, between 1813 and 1816, it operated a post at Great Whale River to be closer to the summer whale fishery. After the post closed, the traditional whale hunt continued unabated. In 1818, for instance, twelve families gathered at Great Whale River and thirty families at Little Whale River to hunt whales. So, just as before, every summer the whaling sloop was sent to the Whale Rivers, and the Hudson’s Bay Company spent from July to September procuring oil and furs from the Îyiyiu, who then dispersed inland. We only have one story about the traditional whale hunt. Since whale hunting in the choppy seas of Hudson Bay was risky business, Îyiyiu were very concerned about boats capsizing and their occupants drowning. The story we have is about what happened to a whaler who didn’t return from the hunt. As Potts observed, “some of the Most Expert Indians Strikes the Whales which when Struck Darts Out of ye River; with great swiftness they are then Joined by those Indians that stops ye River’s mouth; and ye fish Drags them Out to Sea Sometimes two or three miles before ye fish is dead and sometimes Over setts their Cannoes” (Francis and Morantz 1983, 72).

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The Traditional Whale Hunt There was a time before the whiteman was interested in whales in this region when the Îyiyiu hunted whales for food. The Îyiyiu hunted the whales differently from the whiteman. Îyiyiu whaling in those days was done with a spear. To the spear was attached a long cord made of caribou skin. This device was called an iyiyinihtuyi. The cord was kept carefully coiled at the bottom of the canoe until the hunter speared the whale. After it had been speared, the whale would dive to the depths of the bay to escape, while the Îyiyiu hung onto the cord as it unwound. It had been made long enough to reach the bottom of the bay. When the whale surfaced, it tugged the canoe along with it while the Îyiyiu pulled on the cord to get closer to the whale. In my time, the whale was shot in the head and then caught with a spear to which a blown-up sealskin had been attached. In this story about whaling a long time ago, Ûpischûnî is out whaling. He has just thrown his spear. As usual, two men are in the canoe—one to spear, the other to steer. Ûpischûnî spears the whale and ducks under one of the bars that traverse the width of the canoe to wind and secure the cord. Because birchbark canoes were much deeper than the canoes of today, I don’t know why he didn’t do this before spearing the whale. When he had coiled the cord, Ûpischûnî took it to the bow of the boat. By then the canoe was being pulled along by the whale. Other canoes had caught up with Ûpischûnî so the men could hang onto his canoe as it was being dragged along. The men noticed that for some reason the cord was taut, as if it went straight down. And, it was in the front of the canoe as the canoe was being pulled along. The whale, too, was behaving strangely; it never came up for air. “What’s going on,” the men wondered. By now the canoe had been pulled well out into Mintûnikw Sound, about midway between the shore and Mintûnikw, the first island. “Something is wrong,” they said. But still Ûpischûnî clutched onto the cord. Later, his partner, the man steering the canoe, said,“The whale Ûpischûnî speared looked very strange. It seemed to have hair, long flowing hair.”

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Tanks at Little Whale River that were probably used to store whale oil until the oil was transferred into barrels for shipment, with Willie Kumarluk. [David Denton]

“Let go of the cord,” the men urged Ûpischûnî. “Maybe it wasn’t a whale you speared.” Beg as they might, Ûpischûnî wouldn’t stop. He refused to let go of the cord. When they got close to Mintûnikw, the others encouraged Ûpischûnî’s partner to switch canoes. When he had done so, they let go of Ûpischûnî’s canoe. He was alone now. With his partner gone, the stern of the canoe lifted right out of the water. While Ûpischûnî headed straight for the island, the others returned to the campsite. They told the people in their group about their experience on the water, about the strange looking whale Ûpischûnî wouldn’t let go of. Days passed and then someone suggested they build a shaking tent—a conjuring lodge—to find out what had happened to Ûpischûnî. As soon as it was ready Ûpischûnî could be heard inside the tent. “Is that you, Ûpischûnî?” he was asked.

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“Yes, it is,” he replied. “I’m at the place where you last saw me [meaning, the island]. There are a lot of us here. There are also many people living at the last falls.” “Don’t do it, Ûpischûnî,” they pleaded. “Come back to your children.” “I can’t return,” he responded. “I’m married to another now and I like it here. I’ll stay here until I die and that will only be when the world comes to an end.” Some, especially the old people who knew about these things, thought that if the body of a person who had had an accident in the water was not found, it was because the person was still alive. They assumed the person had been taken by “merpeople”—mermaids or mermen—for merpeople were suspected of trying to lure land people away. It was said that once a land person had been taken by the merpeople, the land person would live until the end of time. This seems to be what happened to Ûpischûnî. noah mamianskum

As discussed in the previous chapter, in 1851 the Hudson’s Bay Company made a third attempt to operate a trading post at Little Whale River (1851–1890). Inspired by the success of whaling operations in the St. Lawrence River, George Simpson, governor of the Hudson’s Bay Company, had decided to revitalize the commercial fishery at the Whale Rivers.12 Simpson hired a successful whaler from Québec and a gang of twelve company servants. Some twenty to twenty-five local Îyiyiu—almost all the Îyiyiu who visited Little Whale River in the summer—were engaged to do jobs related to whaling: setting the nets, participating in the drives, shooting the whales, cutting up the blubber and cleaning the skins. An oil house with six furnaces was built and large numbers of barrels in which to store and ship the oil were brought in. A post was also re-established at Great Whale River (1856–1870) for a separate commercial whale fishery. The hunters arrived at Great Whale River in the spring, after the ice went out of the river, to trade and work for the company: some whaled, some were sent to gather hay and cut 12

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Recall that the Hudson’s Bay Company, at the time, also envisioned Little Whale River as the centre of an expanded Inuit trade.

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logs, others did odd jobs around the post. At the end of the whaling season, with the exception of the two or three families who stayed close to the post to work for the company, the Îyiyiu went back inland. Ronnie Sheshamush told a couple of stories about the commercial whale hunt.

The Commercial Whale Hunt Whale oil and skins were in great demand in the south at the time. So, attracted by the abundance of whales in our region, the whiteman got involved in a whaling operation here. The Îyiyiu were employed to do the actual whaling. My father told me that during the whaling season the Îyiyiu captured the whales, cut them up and processed the oil. Although the Hudson’s Bay Company manager was in charge, the Cree people did all the work. No actual money exchanged hands, but it was like having a job. The ones with large families were paid one adult male whale, while the younger couples without children were given a smaller one. The families were also given the heads, tails and fins of the whales the manager claimed for the company. The Îyiyiu liked to eat whale meat. I don’t know what the manager did with the meat of the whales he kept for the company. I presume the whiteman ate some of it. Perhaps some of the meat was also distributed to the Inuit families. It was the same deal when the whaling was done at Little Whale River, before the Hudson’s Bay Company relocated permanently to Whapmagoostui. Until they were cleaned, the whale skins were strung up and kept in the water. The women worked with the whale skins. They cut away the blubber and scraped the skin. The Îyiyiu weren’t paid very much for their labour in those days. The women were paid one dollar’s worth of sugar if they succeeded in cleaning ten whale skins a day. That amounted to a lot of sugar, though! In the past, if an Îyiyiu got a whale, he would give half of it to the Inuit. The Inuit would do the same thing for the Îyiyiu. The Inuit didn’t

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use the stomach of the whale as the Îyiyiu did. The Îyiyiu used it as a container for oil. The Îyiyiu used to cook the whale blubber to make oil, a process that could take a few days if you were rendering a whole whale. If some whale meat is cooked along with the blubber, it makes a very tasty oil. For the best results, you should use dried whale meat. Sometimes the Îyiyiu would buy lard, either cow or steer, from the store and mix it into the whale oil to make their own special blend called istûtâkin [a mixture of two kinds of animal oils]. We made another mixture by blending caribou lard with the oil from seal. We also mixed caribou lard with whale oil. These kinds of istûtâkin were really delicious! Freshwater seal oil mixed with caribou fat is also very good. ronnie sheshamush

Whaling at Night Much of the whaling was done at night. Clear nights were best. A large net with wooden barrels as floaters was laid across the bottom of the river at the narrowest part of its mouth. The net had to be big not to be carried away by the current. The huge stones to which the nets were attached were visible until recently. One person was stationed up the river on the north side, while the others assumed positions at the river’s mouth. To keep the whales from escaping back into the bay, once the whales had entered the river some of the Îyiyiu would ready their canoes to go out into the river to raise the net. The person waiting up the river advised the others, by signal, when the whales had swum to a point about midway between himself and the mouth. As all this was happening in the dark, he had to identify the location of the whales by ear. He gave the signal when he could no longer hear the whales blowing out water. This meant they had gone far enough and the nets should be lifted. To indicate to the others that the time was right, the person lit a piece of birchbark. Birchbark burns easily and brightly. There were no flashlights in those days! Upon seeing the signal those at the mouth of the

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river raised the nets, preventing the whales from escaping into the bay. Alarmed by the fire, the whales turned back only to find they were caught in the nets. In the meantime, though, everybody went home to sleep. When they returned to work in the morning they would look down upon the river, which was white with whales by then. ronnie sheshamush

After the whales had been shot, the skin and blubber were removed and carried to the oil house where the blubber was separated from the skin, cut into small pieces and boiled in kettles into oil. When the oil was ready, it was pumped from the kettles into barrels and shipped to England to fuel the streetlights. The skins were cleaned and salted, some to be used to package furs at Hudson’s Bay Company posts, some to be used in Europe as a leather substitute (Francis and Morantz 1983). By 1870, commercial whaling operations had failed to meet expectations and had ground to a halt at both rivers. Although the commercial whale hunt had experienced great success in the early 1860s, it had declined during the remainder of the decade. The season was brief and had to be exploited intensively to be successful. Once again, inclement weather often made this impossible. And, there were no whales. Frightened by human activity, the whales had become shy and ceased to enter either of the Whale Rivers. The post at Great Whale River was closed and relocated to Fort George in 1869. At Little Whale River, whaling was suspended in 1871, but the post remained in operation (Francis and Morantz 1983). Ronnie Sheshamush explains why the whales no longer entered the Whale Rivers below.

Why the Whales Were Shy Whales were numerous in the old days before the water in the river became oily from ships and outboard motors. In those days, they would swim as far up the Great Whale River as the first islet. The hunting of

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whales came to an end with the use of big ships by the whiteman. I guess the whales could smell the oil from the boats and decided to go elsewhere. It is said that there are many whales at Nastapoka River now, just as there were many at Whapmagoostui. People say the whales at the mouth of the Nastapoka River are so numerous they find them beached along the banks of the river. That’s where the Inuit sometimes get their food now. ronnie sheshamush

K ÂW Î PÂ S C H I K ÂTÂ S H I T In Kâwîpâschikâtâshit’s time, the activities of the Îyiyiu moved to a rhythm set by the seasons. Depending on their interest in European goods and the resources of their hunting grounds, the people hunted for caribou in the fall, then, once the rivers had frozen, trapped marten, beaver, fox and lynx. The “far off” northern Îyiyiu hunted much more than they trapped. Hunting was unproductive during the intense cold between December and February. At this time, the Îyiyiu looked for small game, mostly rabbits and partridges. Then, in about March, the marten began to move. The Îyiyiu trapped them until it was time to turn to beaver, otter and bear. With the spring came the ducks and geese on their way north for the summer. Fishing and, for many, the whale fishery provided an important source of sustenance during the summer. It also provided a good opportunity to get together with friends and family who had been dispersed over the land during the winter. Most of the stories about Kâwîpâschikâtâshit and the people with whom he lived focus on how they used their powers to deliver them from difficult situations. The following story took place in the early to mid1800s before Kâwîpâschikâtâshit was married, while he was living with his uncle. The family, living alone at the time, was in a terrible predicament. Through singing, his uncle acquired the knowledge necessary to amend the situation. Other stories document battles with pwâtich, a fight with an Inuk, problems with Innu shamans and games people played while gathered together for the whale fishery. The last story, which recounts the death of Kâwîpâschikâtâshit, is perhaps the most moving.

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Ronnie Sheshamush. [Courtesy of Elizabeth Dick.]

Learning to Lace Snowshoes with a Song Kâwîpâschikâtâshit is telling the story. During the autumn, just before winter, my aunt died. She was the only woman in the group, so she was the one who looked after us. My uncle, my cousins and I were left. None of us knew how to lace snowshoes. The lacing on the front and the back is fine and very close. Women usually do this part of the work. Men lace the middle part. We had just

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finished making the frames when my aunt died. We couldn’t go any further because we didn’t know how to do it. The frames just sat there. Night came and we went to sleep. My uncle sang in his sleep. He woke himself up with his singing and began to sob. I heard him making the fire and got up to keep him company. “Son, give me one of your snowshoes. I’ll try to lace it,” he said to me. I handed him the frame and he fastened it as a woman would. The snowshoe frame is attached to two sticks that have been firmly planted in the ground to prevent the frame from moving while the lacing is being done. I kept watching my uncle as he worked. Before long he was going in and out with the lacing. Then he completed the top part and was working on the other end. In no time at all he had laced the entire snowshoe! I then started lacing the middle part. Before nightfall we had finished my snowshoes. “Now you can look for ptarmigan, Son,” my uncle said. “I shall look after the snowshoes of your cousins.” When he had, we travelled on. In the meantime, I had found two porcupine and two beaver lodges. noah mamianskum

Pwâtich Threaten to Attack This event took place in Whapmagoostui. Expecting a fight, the Îyiyiu looked for the pwâtich and found them down where the canoes are kept. A shaking tent was built. The pwâtich were summoned into the shaking tent where they declared they would do battle the following morning. In those days, battles of this sort always started at sunrise. “You, a stranger, are threatening my children? These are not very nice words to be coming from a stranger. You say you will do battle when the sun comes up, but I believe that will not be so. The sun will not be seen as it is coming up tomorrow,” Kâwîpâschikâtâshit said to the pwâtich. It was a clear night. With nights like that it is almost certain that the following day will also be clear. The people designated to keep watch on the pwâtich didn’t sleep all night. It was nearly dawn when Kâwîpâschikâtâshit began to sing. I am unable to sing his song because I

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do not know all the words, but it was about how the water in the middle of the bay is very choppy where the river empties into it. As Kâwîpâschikâtâshit sang, wisps of clouds rose over the hearth in his dwelling and went out the door. The cloud spread over the land. It thickened into dense fog. By sunrise it was so thick the pwâtich had no idea where to even look for the Îyiyiu. The day wore on and the Îyiyiu heard nothing from the pwâtich. When by that afternoon the pwâtich had not appeared, the Îyiyiu concluded that the pwâtich had gone. They had realized it was futile to try and conduct a battle under those conditions. Kâwîpâschikâtâshit had created the fog to prevent the proposed battle. noah mamianskum

Kâwîpâschikâtâshit Fends Off a Pwâtich Attack An older brother of Mamianskum called Nâtwâyâkimhum was one of the Îyiyiu who could conduct a shaking tent. The brothers were Mamianskum; Nâtwâyâkimhum, who could conduct a shaking tent; and their older brother Chishâmântâu. The older brother was also called Sâchyûskimkwâpâu. Chishâmântâu had more sons than the others. Their father was Kâwîpâschikâtâshit. Kâwîpâschikâtâshit was living with his son, Nâtwâyâkimhum. Nâtwâyâkimhum conducted a shaking tent and announced the arrival of the pwâtich. “It looks as if something angered them somewhere along the way. I don’t think they’re going to be very friendly with us,” he said. A pwât entered the shaking tent. He told Nâtwâyâkimhum that they had been angered when they were here at Whapmagoostui. They were so indignant they [the pwâtich] were planning to attack them. “I will attack you in the morning. It will be a clear day. When the sun comes up, I’ll attack,” the pwât had said. Nâtwâyâkimhum couldn’t stay in his shaking tent any longer because the pwâtich were too close. They had already reached their shores. They were also more powerful than he was. But when he saw his son was in

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trouble, Kâwîpâschikâtâshit stepped in and spoke. “Mistâp [mistâpâu], bring in the ahchâhkuschîsh [the old used-up spirit],13 if it is still around.” Kâwîpâschikâtâshit had entered the shaking tent undetected. By the time the pwât realized he was there, he had already started talking. “What are you saying, you who is a visitor? You don’t sound very friendly. Don’t vent your anger on us. We’ve done you no harm,” he said to the pwât. The pwât wouldn’t be swayed. “Where is this person I’m talking to?” he demanded. “Don’t you know where I am? I’m inside, here, with you. Think about the reason why you can’t tell where I am even though I’m right here with you,” he responded. After this exchange with the pwât, Kâwîpâschikâtâshit started singing. “The middle of the ocean is boiling like a whirlpool,” he sang. The members of Kâwîpâschikâtâshit’s family heard something inside the shaking tent. It sounded as if a large kettle of water was boiling ferociously. The pwât was overheard saying, “I’m getting out of here!” The family deduced the pwât was leaving the shaking tent because of the boiling sound inside it. “Leave if you want,” Kâwîpâschikâtâshit said to the pwât, “but I have a feeling your predictions about the weather will not come true. I don’t think it will be clear in the morning.” It was during the time of short nights. That night Kâwîpâschikâtâshit’s family couldn’t sleep at all. They kept hearing the pwâtich’s shots ring out as they tried their guns before their attack. As dawn approached, his son went out often to check the sky. “It looks like it’s going to a cloudless morning,” he reported back. Sitting at the entrance of their dwelling, Kâwîpâschikâtâshit started singing. He heated his kischwâpitâkin [shaking tent]. When the clear sky turned red as the sun rose, he pushed the entrance flap to one side. The pwât had told them they would attack when the sun was just coming up. His family noticed steam rising from the bottom of the aspihtâsihtâkin [boughs or treetops tied together and placed on each side of the doorway to keep the air from entering the dwelling]. The ground started to 13

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steam up as if hot water had been poured on it. Steam started seeping out the entrance. Soon clouds filled the air. After a while the early morning looked like night because the fog was so thick. They could hardly see the pile of firewood in front of the dwelling. Kâwîpâschikâtâshit kept right on chanting. Naturally, they didn’t hear from the pwâtich. The pwâtich didn’t know where they were, so they couldn’t carry out their attack. He put away his kischwâpitâkin after he had finished singing. When the sun was halfway to noon, its rays could be seen coming through the thick fog. The clouds lifted not long after that. Soon the day was as clear as can be. As for the pwâtich, they must have been far from their camp by then because when they couldn’t find the family of Kâwîpâschikâtâshit, they had paddled off in their canoe. I guess the pwâtich were afraid and had decided not to attack. That was Kâwîpâschikâtâshit! matthew george

Most of the stories about the time the Îyiyiu were gathered at the Whale Rivers for the commercial whale hunt focus either on the games the people played in their spare time or relations the Îyiyiu had with nonNative company servants. While all kinds of games were played—checkers, wrestling, ball games—not surprisingly, considering the high value Îyiyiu placed on physical strength, stories emphasizing the physical prowess of particular players predominate. A typical example of this kind of story appears next. Without exception, the stories about relations between the Îyiyiu and non-Native company servants reveal antagonism between the two groups. As stated earlier, relations with the whiteman were complicated. Up to this point, the white people with whom the Îyiyiu had contact were primarily involved in the fur trade, mostly Hudson’s Bay Company employees and other traders. First contact stories document the satisfaction of the Îyiyiu with the early encounters. Stories from the commercial whaling period underline the opposite. In all of them, the Îyiyiu main character feels he must defend himself against an unprovoked attack by a whiteman—a company servant, not the manager. Endowed with superior physical strength, however, the Îyiyiu in

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question overpowers his adversary. The second story below is about the experience of Mamianskum, the son of Kâwîpâschikâtâshit; there are other similar ones.

Games People Played My grandfather told me that one of the things the people used to do when they were at Whapmagoostui for the whaling season was wrestle. This was when the people from Chisasibi would also come to Whapmagoostui to hunt the whales. One of the stories took place during the time of Kâwîpâschikâtâshit, my great-great-grandfather, the one who was the father of Mamianskum. At that time the people also played a game of ball during the summer. Some of the men were very strong. No one was stronger than Mamianskum, although Mamianskum’s brother, Amiskwâpâs, was also renowned for his strength. Both men were huge! The wrestling matches were organized. One team consisted of the people from Chisasibi, the other was comprised of Whapmagoostui people. On a clear evening the matches would go on until dusk. One evening when no one from the opposing team [the team from Chisasibi] could out wrestle Mamianskum, the whole team jumped him! Some of his teammates ran home yelling, “All the Îyiyiu are fighting Mamianskum.” Fearing the outcome, Kâwîpâschikâtâshit decided he should investigate. “Mamianskum is strong enough to kill one of those Îyiyiu,” he commented as he left. Accidents were known to happen in the heat of the moment. Kâwîpâschikâtâshit rushed to the scene. “Has he destroyed anyone yet?” Kâwîpâschikâtâshit asked when he got there. “You’d better let him be before he does any damage. He can be mean!” Afterwards, while describing the scene to Mamianskum, he said, “When you lifted yourself from the ground, you brought all the ones hanging onto you up with you. Some fell quite a ways when you threw them off. Then an Îyiyiu called Kâumistûtû came running towards you,

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taunting you. ‘Is this the one, is this Mamianskum, the one who no one can beat?’ he yelled.” Kâumistûtû jumped Mamianskum. Covering the area where the wrestling match was going on were high mounds of earth. Mamianskum dispensed with his assailant by tossing him from the top of one of the mounds and sending him rolling down the side! Another game was played with a small ball. Two holes were dug in the ground, their size determined by the size of the ball. The holes were the home base of the two teams and were quite far from each other. The game took place in the area between the bases. The object of the game was to score on the hole of the opposing team. The ball would be thrown up in the air. Both teams would scramble to get hold of it and maintain their hold until one of their members scored. While one team would try to protect their teammate with the ball, the opponents would try to wrest the ball away. With everybody holding onto someone else, both teams looked like a big human ball. This human ball gyrated back and forth in an attempt to get to one or the other goal. The Îyiyiu term used to describe the holding onto and the pushing of each other was pihkutâuchisimitûnânu. The players would try to get to the other team’s goal anyway they could, even if they had to crawl! One time Mamianskum was just coming up from the river’s edge where he had been tending his net when he saw the men playing ball. They were in the middle of a pihkutâuchisimitûnânu. The men from Chisasibi were on one team, Whapmagoostui men on the other. The teams were really big as there were a lot of men. Kânûwâîmikû, one of the men on the Chisasibi team, was a cousin of Mamianskum’s. Putting down his net, Mamianskum went over to the players and asked who had the ball. “Uncle Kânûwâîmikû has the ball. He’s under all the men,” someone answered. Mamianskum went to the players and pulled them off one by one. When he finally came to Kânûwâîmikû he told him to hand over the ball. Kânûwâîmikû did. This was no sooner done than all the men swarmed over Mamianskum. When he started crawling towards the goal, he dragged along all those clinging to his back. He made it to the goal and

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put in the ball. Once he had scored, the skirmish stopped and everyone got off. Everyone had a good laugh at the thought of all those bodies all over him! noah mamianskum

Mamianskum Fights the Whiteman At a certain point some of the whaling in Whapmagoostui was also done by the whiteman. The whiteman hired the Îyiyiu to cut up the blubber. It was seen as a salaried job. Interactions between Îyiyiu and the whiteman often resulted in conflict. Some of the whitemen were always trying to do something bad or mean to the Îyiyiu who had been hired to work. One time, one of them did something to Mamianskum. I’m not exactly sure what he did, but I think he wiped his greasy hands, oily from handling the blubber, on Mamianskum’s neck. This is Mamianskum’s version of what happened next: “Angered by what he had done to me, I washed the oil off my neck and resumed my work. People who worked with the whales and the blubber always had oily hands. Because of that we kept a supply of wet swamp moss handy to wipe our hands. One of our jobs, in fact, was to go to the swampy areas up in the hills to collect moss. “In any case, I got my hands really oily. I went over to the whiteman, who was bending down as he was cutting up the blubber, and grabbed his neck. Forcing his head lower and lower, I pushed his face into the blubber he was cutting up. Try as he might, he couldn’t escape my grip!” Another time, also during the whaling season, another whiteman threatened Mamianskum. I don’t know what had happened to anger him like that. In those days, there was a translator in Whapmagoostui who could interpret for the Îyiyiu and the whiteman. The translator said to Mamianskum, “He [the whiteman] says he’s going to hit you.” “Tell him to go ahead,” Mamianskum responded, rolling up his sleeves. The whiteman rolled up his sleeves as well.

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“You’ll really get messed up if you hit me,” Mamianskum thought to himself. “I’ll push his hand aside the second he tries to punch me. After that I’ll take him to the water’s edge and give him a big scare,” Mamianskum schemed. “Tell him to hit me if he wants to,” Mamianskum said to the translator. After the translator relayed the message, the whiteman rolled down his sleeves. “What’s going on?” Mamianskum asked. “That scared him,” the translator responded. “I told him he was picking a fight with the wrong Îyiyiu.” “He’s the strongest Îyiyiu here. You could die before he’s through with you,” the translator said he had told the whiteman. Since the whiteman was no longer threatening him, Mamianskum didn’t fight him. noah mamianskum

The Îyiyiu were part of a larger group whose productive and reproductive activity cast a wide net over the Québec-Labrador peninsula. Reference has already been made to relations with the Inuit. Not all contact with people from other groups was as contentious as it had been with the Inuit. The social universe of the Îyiyiu embraced the Innu and Naskapi/ Innu, peoples with whom they shared a number of fundamental characteristics. The Innu and Naskapi/Innu occupied the eastern and northern portions of the Québec-Labrador peninsula, from the north shore of the St. Lawrence River to Ungava Bay. The Innu primarily inhabited the forested areas, the Naskapi/Innu, the far northern barren grounds. Notwithstanding differences in dialect, the three groups of people spoke a common language. They manifested similar ways of living, patterns of behaviour and systems of etiquette. And, the way they thought about the world and the cosmos was mutually comprehensible. The quest for food in an environment that required people roam far and wide resulted in great interaction between members of these groups. Natural oscillations in the subarctic faunal resources combined with the

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migratory patterns of caribou and waterfowl meant the peoples came into frequent contact with each other. Trade also provided an opportunity for people to meet. Members of different groups often arranged to meet to trade or to travel together to the various trading posts scattered across the land. The Lake Manicouagan area, for instance, appears to have been wellknown to some of the northern Îyiyiu. At different times in the 1700s and 1800s there were trading posts in the region. But even when the posts were not open, large numbers of northern Îyiyiu often gathered at the lake during the summer. In the 1820s, Whale River district Îyiyiu mentioned to the Hudson’s Bay Company’s James Clouston that from Lake Manicouagan the people either went or sent their furs to King’s Posts on the St. Lawrence River.14 King’s Posts and trading stations in the Mingan Seigneury dotted the St. Lawrence River from Tadoussac to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. From their descriptions, it appears the Îyiyiu frequented several of them. In the same conversation, the Îyiyiu told Clouston they had followed the Manicouagan River to the coast at which point some of them went to the post referred to as “Wa wee ap pucko” (probably Godbout), just to the north. The others went to the post at Pisquamisk (probably in the area of Betsiamites and Îlets Jérémie) on an island to the south of the mouth of the Manicouagan River. Wapatick, a Whale River district Îyiyiu, was with them (HBCA B.133/a/9). He, like many of the other northern Îyiyiu, had covered a great deal of territory in his trading career. On occasion he had traded at Eastmain, Neoskweskau and Mistassini, but most often had gone to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Here, he said, King’s Post traders traded liberally. The tariff at Pisquamisk, for example, was three times higher than that paid at Mistassini. Îyiyiu also mentioned going to Mihtinicip (probably Port Neuf), said to be a trading station at the mouth of a small river to the south of Pisquamisk, where they felt they were generously supplied. Some northern Îyiyiu thought the quality of goods was better at King’s Posts, as well. Many had abandoned the post at Great Whale River (1813–1816) in disgust because of the lack of goods and their poor quality. Why, they wondered, should they walk all that way for nothing? Nichikun House

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King’s Posts or Domaine des Postes du Roi comprised a series of trading posts established in Innu territory on rivers flowing into the St. Lawrence. Prior to the conquest of Québec by the English, these posts were part of the Traite de Tadoussac.

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(1816–1822) was also so poorly supplied the Îyiyiu couldn’t even obtain twine (HBCA B.143/a/20). In addition to the more favorable rates at the southern posts, the northern Îyiyiu were attracted to the region for its birchbark, more difficult to obtain in their country. On their long treks to and from these posts, the northern Îyiyiu would have encountered their Innu and Naskapi/Innu neighbours. With caribou as their principal support, the Îyiyiu who hunted deep in the interior were very independent of European goods. As Clouston observed, They have some cloth, but mostly wear deerskins [caribou], with the hair on it made into coats. Their leather stockings and breeches are made of deerskins, the hair of which has been taken off. Deerskin thongs serve them for all their cordage and hook lines, and the bones supply them with hooks for fishing. (HBCA B.143/a/20 May 20, 1820) So, while some northern Îyiyiu went to the St. Lawrence River to trade, many remained on inland lakes where they traded with people who frequented the King’s Posts. “Canadian Indians” they were called by the Hudson’s Bay Company. One such place was Lake Waschayamiscow, east of Lake Bienville and relatively accessible to the people from the Great Whale River region. Lake Waschayamiscow, from the description provided by the Îyiyiu, was the site of a trade fair. In 1820, Clouston came across a group of about one hundred people living at the lake who said the previous summer two of their group had been sent eastward to ask Canadian Indians to trade with them during the winter. The latter supplied them with the necessaries: nets, guns, powder horns, hatchets and shot. Apparently, whenever these Îyiyiu were in want, they sent for the Canadian Indians, who, had been well-supplied for that purpose by Canadian traders (HBCA B.143/a/21). Although the Hudson’s Bay Company tried to tie hunters to a specific post, Great Whale River people, particularly those who hunted in the interior, had a great deal of contact with the Innu and Naskapi/Innu well into the twentieth century. Relations between the peoples were generally

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characterized by trust, hospitality and generosity. Not surprisingly people liked to visit back and forth between camps. Îyiyiu were often asked by Innu and Naskapi/Innu to hunt with them in their country and vice versa. Quite naturally these meetings resulted in deep friendships and the incorporation of individuals into the various exchange systems—food, information, marriage, adoption—of the other groups. Included below are three stories illustrating relations between the Îyiyiu and the Naskapi and Innu. Two emphasize the easy sociability between the peoples, one being about a visit between people who don’t know each other, the second about two shamans in conversation in a shaking tent. The third is about problems Kâwîpâschikâtâshit encounters with two Innu sorcerers who are part of a group he has been staying with.

Visiting with Îyiyiu from Other Areas In the old days the Îyiyiu travelled vast distances by foot and by canoe into the interior. They often met up with different groups of Îyiyiu who had come from the other shores of this land. Thinking that most of these people were friendly and kind, the Îyiyiu liked to visit with them. One time an Îyiyiu was way off in the interior, in the middle of Québec, when he came across the tracks of Îyiyiu from another group. Assuming that the other Îyiyiu was hunting in the vicinity of his camp, he decided to pay him a visit. He followed his tracks until he got to the shore of a lake that was ringed with footprints, some recent, some old. He saw signs of a net under the ice and then noticed a trail leading from the lake into the woods. It led to their dwelling. This is how he told the story: “I could see their campsite when I went ashore. The firewood was piled high and a raised platform outside their dwelling contained a lot of food. Knowing the customs of these Îyiyiu when one comes upon one of their camps, I stood outside the dwelling and waited. You wait for an invitation before entering. You don’t go in until you’re invited. As I

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stood there, I noticed a little child peering out of the dwelling. He quickly ducked back in. He peered out again, this time with a sibling. By then I realized the adults were out. “Just then a woman returned from tending the fish lines. She was coming along the path. Seeing me, she said, ‘You are a stranger. Unfortunately, you’ve just missed my husband, for he left yesterday to go to the post.’ That’s all she said before she went in. I waited outside. “Soon she stuck her head out the doorway and said, ‘It’s not much, but come on in anyways.’ “The dwelling was very rich looking.15 The woman had tidied up and spread something for me to sit on. I sat down. She treated me as one treats children when they come in from the outside. She took off my outside clothing—my mittens, coat and moccasins. She gave me water to wash my hands and face with and food to eat. “Knowing her husband had left the previous day to go to the post, I was surprised when she said he might return that evening. Later, at the sound of footsteps outside, she told her children their father had arrived and went out to greet him. I heard them talking. He came inside. “‘I’m very happy to see you,’ he said to me. ‘Why don’t you stay with us another day. This way I’ll be able to talk with you a little more.’ I agreed. “The man brought his load of supplies into the dwelling. He was very generous with what he had bought. After two nights I felt I should return to my family—they would be wondering what had happened to me! Fortunately, the man loaned me one of his toboggans for the trip home. He had given me so much stuff I couldn’t carry it all on my back!” noah mamianskum

An Innu Shaman One year while Nûtâchikwâu16 and his family were living with Nisâpîshin and his family, Nisâpîshin decided to use his shaking tent. 15 16

“As far as Îyiyiu richness was concerned,” explained Noah. Nûtâchikwâu was a contemporary of Mamianskum, son of Kâwîpâschikâtâshit. Amongst the stories in Chapter 8 is one about the hardships Nûtâhchikwâu and his family faced during the winter of 1899–90.

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This is how Nûtâhchikwâu told the story: “It was summer time and the shaking tent was built inside Nisâpîshin’s dwelling. It is said that as soon as an Îyiyiu goes into the shaking tent, it starts to shake or move as if it is being blown about by the wind. Mistâpâu could be heard inside the shaking tent. Soon a banging sound came from within. That kind of banging indicates that someone from somewhere else would like to enter the tent to speak with the person who built it. “‘Who’s doing that, mistâpâu? Is the person trying to harm us?’ mistâpâu was asked. “‘No,’ mistâpâu responded, ‘I believe this person is just coming for a visit. He comes from the direction I am facing, from the north.’ “‘Okay then, bring him in,’ mistâpâu was instructed.17 “From inside the shaking tent, the visitor could be heard to be saying, ‘I am a visitor. I have a feeling that you are Wâpmâkushtûwîyiyiu [Îyiyiu from Whapmagoostui].’18 “The people said to him, ‘It sounds as if you are a Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu.’ “‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that’s where I come from.’ “‘What’s your name?’ I [Nûtâhchikwâu] asked. ‘We might recognize it because we know many Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu.’ “‘I’ve been given many names in jest, but I am called Wîyâpimikutihkw,’ the visitor replied. “‘Are you also called Wîyâpihkîyû?’ “‘Yes, that’s me,’ he responded. “‘Visitor, tell us your story, you who frequently sees the caribou as they migrate,’ he was asked.

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“If mistâpâu is instructed not to let the person in, it won’t let the person in. This happens particularly if the visitor to the shaking tent is known to intend to harm the people involved. In this case, once the instructions had been given to let the visitor in, the shaking tent started to move around crazily,” explained Noah. “From his dialect he sounded as if he was a Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu [an Innu from the east]. It is said that once the visitor is inside the shaking tent, all present, men or women, may speak to the visitor. If one of the people around the shaking tent is addressed by name by the visitor, that person is meant to respond. Sometimes the visitor will tap on the covering of the shaking tent from the inside, in front of the person he would like to speak to. A person can do the same thing from the outside of the tent as well. The term for this is pâhpâwâchinimiwâu [visitor tapping on the shaking tent from the inside] and pâhpâwâchinimiwâu [tapping the shaking tent from the outside to speak to the visitor],” explained Noah.

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“Wîyâpihkîyû replied, ‘The caribou haven’t been seen all summer. They were only sighted once and that was when they were caught by the falls.’19 “Wîyâpihkîyû told a story about some people who had been hunting at the falls: The people began to spear the caribou as they were crossing the river. Some of the people were on land, others were in their canoes. Suddenly, somebody yelled out that two women in a canoe were about to perish because the current had caught them and they couldn’t paddle away. They were very close to where the falls plunged over the cliff. No one could paddle to help them because the water was teeming with caribou. “‘The women will die. They’ll fall to their death!’ someone screamed. “The women were dangerously close to the edge of the falls. Wîyâpihkîyû was on the riverbank. A lot of other people were too. They couldn’t do anything to help the women because there was no way to reach them. Wîyâpihkîyû ran down to where the falls swept over the cliff. After he reached the stand of trees at the edge of the falls, he disappeared into the bush. “Suddenly the people saw ‘someone,’ a bird, running on the water towards the women. Resembling a loon as it skims over the water before take-off, the creature ran straight to the canoe of the women. The people could see it grab hold of the bow of the canoe with its wing and drag it ashore. The women had been saved!” Nûtâhchikwâu said they found out much later that it was Wîyâpihkîyû who had saved the women. He had transformed himself into a bird, a detail he had neglected to mention in his description of the event. Nûtâhchikwâu said to him, “Thank you for the story, Mânit.20 Now for a little teasing: I haven’t seen many caribou this summer. I just want to say to you, send me some caribou!”

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“The falls he was referring to are called Wipitâmischîu. They are along the river we call Mistisîpî, the river that empties into Ungava Bay at Fort Chimo. The falls are very high and very steep. On their migration north and south, the caribou used to cross the river just above the falls. The Îyiyiu called the caribou that crossed the river on their journey south pâpihtâutihkw. We used to wait here for the caribou, getting a lot of them just with our spears. Women also speared the caribou,” explained Noah. This term was used when addressing the visitor or the visited directly: Emily Masty.

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Wîyâpihkîyû laughed and said, “I’ve never had that kind of job before! I’ll joke in return. In the morning, the sun won’t be concealed by clouds. When the second morning comes, head for the hill to the north and go to the top of it.” Wîyâpihkîyû began to sing. Then he said, “I’m returning home now, Mânit. I’m glad to have spoken with you. Before I came I saw you sitting in your shaking tent and decided to visit you. I was just lying down to sleep when I saw the shaking tent waving in the night. That’s when I decided to visit you. But now I must be on my way.” The shaking tent began to move again. By the time Wîyâpihkîyû left, it was shaking violently. We say shukâstinipîyû when the shaking tent moves like that as someone leaves. It means the visitor had a lot of power. Wîyâpihkîyû had a lot of power. noah mamianskum

Problems with Some Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu The Îyiyiu from our area used to meet up with the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu [Innu] as they travelled about the land. Sometimes the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu were reluctant to let the Îyiyiu from around here go when they wanted to travel back to their own hunting territories. The Îyiyiu from our area were sometimes anxious to get back to their own hunting territories and couldn’t visit with the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu forever. Îyiyiu from our area sometimes felt a certain amount of fear of a particular Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu. Once in a while the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu would try to kill them. This is a story of one such encounter between the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu and Kâwîpâschikâtâshit and his hunting group. They had met up with a large group of Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu sometime near spring. Soon the spring thaw began, with the snow getting soft but not melting. The Îyiyiu and the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu were travelling to another campsite under these spring weather conditions. In this group of Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu were two old men who were mitâu. Kâwîpâschikâtâshit’s group was resting on the ice. Travelling was good because of the hard snow. The Îyiyiu like travelling under these

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conditions because after the snow has softened during the spring thaw, when the cold weather sets in at night, the snow hardens. With these conditions the Îyiyiu don’t need snowshoes to travel and their toboggans glide easily over the snow. Under these conditions they can travel far, before the snow softens in the midday and afternoon sun. Kâwîpâschikâtâshit said to his group of fellow Îyiyiu as they rested on the ice, “I’ll be heading towards our territory. I’ll just have to see where I fall down dead.” The Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu who were mitâuch must have already threatened him. He got up and started travelling away from his group, with his wife. Kâwîpâschikâtâshit had travelled far when he decided to stop and make a fire, to eat and drink before continuing on. As they sat down before the fire, he said to his wife, “Let’s travel as far as we can before dark.” He had made a fire inside a small cove after rounding the point at the top of the cove. As they sat there, they saw an Îyiyiu coming around the point with his load. After he was completely visible, they could see another Îyiyiu. Then they saw a whole train of them coming around the bend. His entire group had decided to follow him back to their territory! “You made us yearn for our own territory, too, so we decided as a group to follow your lead and go home. We’ll go home, come what may. But from the parting words of our neighbours when they realized we were all leaving, it looks as if we’re in mortal danger,” they said to Kâwîpâschikâtâshit. “You have made a good decision,” Kâwîpâschikâtâshit said to them. With this group of Îyiyiu was Kâpischâhsikuhk’s father, Âspâshuwâu. Âspâshuwâu was a known shaman with great powers. There was another Îyiyiu with them called Chihkâpâsh, also a well-known shaman. They made camp in the late evening. That very evening they started to feel the presence of the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu mitâuch [the two old Innu men with powers]. Âspâshuwâu and Chihkâpâsh couldn’t sleep all night long, just trying to defend themselves from the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu mitâuch. Kâwîpâschikâtâshit slept soundly that night because he didn’t feel anything that he needed to protect himself from. It is said about Kâwîpâschikâtâshit that when people tried to harm him, they couldn’t because they couldn’t find him. The person who wished

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to harm him never had any idea where to look for him. “I just imagine myself as a small animal that is well camouflaged and fast, like a mouse. A mouse quickly runs for cover and then it can’t be found. This is how I think of myself as I go about my activities during the day and night. So when someone tries to harm me, they can’t find me.” This is what he said. They started travelling the next day again. They saw some caribou while they were travelling. They shot the caribou. While they were butchering the caribou, they once again felt the presence of the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu mitâuch. Kâwîpâschikâtâshit said, “One of the Îyiyiu was butchering the caribou near me. Suddenly, I heard him making strange sounds. I wondered what was happening to him. He came walking towards me, retching. When I realized there was something wrong with him, I walked towards him. As I got to him, he vomited blood. I grabbed him and touched his throat. His huge knife fell out of his mouth. He had choked on his knife. He vomited a lot of blood. He was fine after I had removed the hex.” That evening as the women were bringing in firewood before we all turned in, Chihkâpâsh saw the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu mitâuch enter the dwelling and go to one side. He and Âspâshuwâu looked for them inside. Finally, they found them and chased them out of the dwelling. Having done this, they said to Kâwîpâschikâtâshit, “Help us with these two. Do something to them. After all it’s your fault we’re in this predicament, you who was so anxious to start travelling home.” Kâwîpâschikâtâshit replied, “What should I do to them? They’re not bothering me and I’m not bothering them. I don’t feel anything from them. You do something. You are the ones who are bothered by them.” They started travelling again the next day. They travelled that whole day, making camp in the late evening. This was the third time they had made camp on their way to their home territory. The two Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu mitâuch continued to harass them. People were getting sick for no reason. Âspâshuwâu and Chihkâpâsh tried to ward off the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu themselves. That evening Âspâshuwâu said to Chihkâpâsh, “Let’s try to do something.” They instructed the people to put their children to sleep early that evening and for them to go to sleep early with the children as well. The

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Îyiyiu had made one big dwelling where they all stayed together so they could protect each other from the enemy. After everyone had turned in for the evening, Âspâshuwâu and Chihkâpâsh went outside. They walked all around the dwelling and beyond. Sometimes their footsteps faded away from the dwelling and then they would walk back to it. They walked around the dwelling again. After a while, Chihkâpâsh entered the dwelling. He picked up a piece of stone that had fallen apart because of the heat from the fire. Âspâshuwâu was heard picking up his ice chisel. Then they were heard walking away from the dwelling. The Îyiyiu didn’t hear their footsteps anymore. They were gone for quite a while. Just before dawn they could be heard returning. They had done away with the ones who had been trying to get them with their powers. They got rid of them the same way, with their powers. “They were trying to hide from us in every place they could think of,” they said to the group. “They tried hiding inside trees, inside rocks, everywhere. But when they got there, they found someone else already waiting for them. After a while, they couldn’t find a place to hide. It was then that the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu fused together to form one whole being to do battle with us. We killed them with the ice chisel and the rock.” Just before one of the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu died, he said to the other one, “I told you we could harm ourselves if we didn’t leave the Îyiyiu alone.” And then he died. The other one drew his last breath at the same time. They both died at the same time. That was the last time they heard from those Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu. They travelled to their hunting territory in ease and peace. That’s one of the stories about encounters with the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu. matthew george

The Death of Kâwîpâschikâtâshit Mamianskum’s son told another story about Kâwîpâschikâtâshit, about when Kâwîpâschikâtâshit was an old man. At the time of the story Kâwîpâschikâtâshit was living with his wife, his sons, including Mamianskum, and grandchildren. By then the old man’s hair was as

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white as rabbit fur. He was unable to hunt anymore. He had retired! This was the year Kâwîpâschikâtâshit requested he be left behind to die. The story is in the words of Mamianskum’s son: “One day as we were putting up our dwelling, Grandfather was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where’s Grandfather?’ I asked. I was told to be quiet. “It was only years later when I was capable of understanding that my mother explained my grandfather had been left behind. “‘Do as I ask or you will all die,’ Kâwîpâschikâtâshit had said to my father. ‘If you do as I say, you’ll live longer. You’ll be able to raise your children and you’ll see your mother for a longer time.’ “My mother and father made the little dwelling where he would be left by himself. They chopped some wood for him. ‘I made a little dwelling for him, a dwelling to fit one person,’ my mother said. ‘I chopped some wood and put as much in the dwelling as I could fit. Then I made him a stoking stick to use. When all that was done and before I left him, I told him how much love I had felt for him while I had lived with his family. I threw myself at him and sobbed.’ “‘Do not weep, my daughter [she was his daughter-in-law],’ he said to her. ‘You will see my son and grandchildren for a long time now.’ “‘Am I really going to leave this beloved old man here by himself?’ my mother wondered. “I guess he eventually died there. “Later on that spring, my father was pulling our canoe along on the sled when I noticed him getting out his rifle. I was walking with my grandmother. My father and mother were up ahead. I saw something walking on the ice ahead of my parents but had no idea what it was. “‘Grandmother, Father has taken up his gun and is running on the ice. There’s something walking on the ice in front of them,’ I said. “Trying to see better, she pulled her scarf back, ‘What does it look like, Grandson?’ she asked. “‘It’s black all over,’ I replied. “‘That, Grandson, is food. That is food,’ she said. “We caught up to my mother and brother. My brother, who was a bit older than me and could hunt, was setting his [fish] hooks in the open

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water. We walked ashore to make camp, putting our covers on the skeleton of a previous dwelling. It was still standing steady. We heard my father’s shots ring out. He shot twice. Grandmother was just making the fire when he returned. “He came back with his pispiskupiyastichikin [bear’s intestines that have been wrapped in boughs to make it easier to carry them] and gave it to his mother. She looked at it and began to weep. She must have been thinking of my grandfather who had died that winter, remembering how happy he was whenever food like this was given to them.” Kâwîpâschikâtâshit is not the only one to have requested to be left behind. A number of the people, men and women both, had the same wish when they were old. Some asked that they be killed. That was before we knew about the whiteman’s God. In those days, we lived out our days and then asked to be left to die so the others would have an easier time surviving. We did not know that it was wrong to think like that. Those were the days before it was known that there was another way of thinking about this. noah mamianskum

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S W E P T AW AY

Previous Photo: Lucy Kash, 1949–50. [John Joseph Honigmann Papers, box 32. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.]

S W E P T AWAY

“Many of the people died young and couldn’t finish the work they had to do on earth,” said Suzanne Kawapit. Suzanne was referring to the Îyiyiu who lost their lives during the late 1800s and first part of the 1900s when, scattered across the landscape in small, isolated family groups, countless people fought private battles against hunger and disease. And lost. So much had changed. But it was the decline in game animals that had the most profound effect on the Îyiyiu. On three occasions, the decline coincided with events on the world stage that also impacted on the people: a world economic depression between 1870 and 1890, World War I and the Great Depression of the 1930s. These crises hit fur markets hard, forcing a drop in fur prices and, hence, the income of the Îyiyiu. The nature of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s business operations underwent a transformation during the decades after Confederation in 1867. For one, the Canadian government forced the Hudson’s Bay Company to surrender its rights to Rupert’s Land.1 More significant to the Îyiyiu were changes in the fur trade. Although of vital importance to the Îyiyiu, by Confederation the fur trade was a spent economic force relative to the rest of the Canadian economy. In response to the economic climate, between 1870 and 1885 the Hudson’s Bay Company underwent 1

In 1869, the Hudson’s Bay Company surrendered its rights to Rupert’s Land in return for land and a large cash settlement. It had enjoyed proprietorship of an extensive realm since the British Royal Charter of 1670 proclaimed the Hudson’s Bay Company the “true and absolute Lordes and Proprietors” of that vast area of northern Canada drained by the rivers flowing into Hudson Bay. Lengthy secret negotiations preceded the surrender. In keeping with the terms of sale, the Hudson’s Bay Company retained ownership of its trading posts, but its status was reduced from a royally chartered British commercial company with judicial and administrative responsibilities to a private business operating under the regulations of Canadian law. While the company’s English shareholders were delighted with the deal, its demands were deemed greedy by Canadians who considered the company to be wealthy enough already!

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a transition from fur trade company to a diversified corporation with both commercial and land interests.2 Many of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s shareholders, however, felt the fur trade should be completely abandoned to allow the company to turn its attention not to retail but to its extensive landholdings. Because the fur trade still remained a viable part of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s operations, however, its board recommended that it be maintained. Arguing that revenues from fur provided a base from which the company could diversify, the board suggested the fur trade be reorganized rather than eliminated (Stardom 1991). In the process, credit, which the Îyiyiu had used to outfit themselves for the upcoming year and which they needed more than ever during times of game scarcity, was severely curtailed. Then, in 1926, another restructuring by the Hudson’s Bay Company resulted in further decreases in credit available to the Îyiyiu. Exacerbating an already precarious situation, the cost of goods had increased because of a tax imposed by the federal government. Following Confederation, Moose Factory was made an international port. Customs duties were then levied by the federal government on all incoming goods. At this time, everything sold by the Hudson’s Bay Company, whether at Whapmagoostui, Mistissini or Rupert House, came from England with Moose Factory as port of entry. By 1884, duties in the amount of $100,000 had been collected at Moose Factory, causing one observer to comment, “The people are taxed heavily and receive no benefits” (Borron 1890). During the 1890s, the federal government began issuing relief, but rarely in sufficient amounts to alleviate the destitution. With little in the way of sustenance, the Îyiyiu were highly vulnerable to the infectious diseases—the unintended consequence of increased travel to the region—that were to come their way. By the beginning of the twentieth century, contact with the outside world had accelerated with the arrival in the region of prospectors, surveyors, missionaries and more traders. They inadvertently brought with them pathogens that the Îyiyiu 2

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It opened a large, elegant retail outlet in Winnipeg, a move that surprised Canadian businessmen only by the fact it had taken the company so long to become involved in retail. People wondered why it had not done so earlier (Stardom 1991).

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were ill-prepared to fight off. Disease took a terrible toll on a people already weakened by hunger. Immediately after Confederation, to assert its territorial claim to the area and to identify the region’s mineral potential, the federal government had begun sending teams of geologists and surveyors to chart the rivers and shores of James Bay and Hudson Bay. The first expedition, led by Robert Bell of the Geological Survey of Canada, was in 1877 to Little Whale River. The extension of the Canadian Pacific Railway in 1886 inspired more intensive exploration, initially by A.P. Low, also of the Geological Survey, and then many others. Although it had got off to a rocky start, missionary activity along the James Bay coast also accelerated at the end of the 1800s. The interest of the Îyiyiu in Christianity was sparked by Reverend Horden and consolidated by Reverend Walton, both of whom worked assiduously amongst the people, tending the sick and producing numerous Christian texts in the language of the people. Their message struck a responsive chord, and the Îyiyiu became devout, loyal Christians, Christians whose faith provided quiet comfort and solace during many of the troubling times that punctuated this period. The positive aspects of the work of the early missionaries has been lost on many younger Îyiyiu, some of whom are both resentful and critical of the missionaries’ campaigns to rid their people of certain traditional practises. These are the same Îyiyiu for whom the legacy of the church is the residential school system. Their bitterness is borne of suffering at the hands of representatives of the cloth. But when missionaries first visited Great Whale River, the attitude of the people was quite different. Church services were held two and sometimes three times a day, and they were well attended. With annual visits by Reverend Walton to Great Whale River commencing in the mid-1890s, the Îyiyiu began to spend more time at the post in the summer, coming in to trade, to hear the minister and socialize. And from all accounts there was “a considerable amount of visiting, dancing and feasting” (C.K. Leith and A. Leith 1912)! It came with a price, though. For the longer the people stayed at the post, the more they were exposed to infectious diseases.

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All these ingredients combined—declining animal populations, reduced credit, a new tax and increased exposure to disease—produced a nasty, sometimes deadly, confection. Unlike the stories in parts one and two, those in part three are very personal. Hunger and disease were so severe, their effects so horrible, most of our storytellers concentrated on talking about their own experiences and those of the people they knew. These stories are less about the supernatural—the emphasis on personal power and being saved by divine intervention no longer dominate. There are some such references, but they are outnumbered by descriptions of hard times. Issues related to the use of personal power continued to be of abiding interest. Many Îyiyiu, however, had renounced their powers when they became Christians, and there was a growing ambivalence about making public statements about experiences that could be construed as unchristian. As a result, many of the stories deal with the travails of daily life as families wandered from lake to lake in search of food, the strongest pulling those too weak to walk, on toboggans. While desperately sad, these stories are included in the service of triumph, remembrance and commemoration, and not to reopen old wounds. They reveal the quiet heroism of ordinary people propelled by hope and hard work despite the hardships of daily life.

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FIVE

Mistwâhtin

At that time, there was a man called Nânitiwâpimâkin, who was very powerful. He wanted to please the minister—Reverend Walton—so much, he denied knowing anything about powers. One day someone mentioned mistâpâu to him. “Mistâpâu, what’s mistâpâu?” Nânitiwâpimâkin replied. Confused, the first man continued, “Why don’t you know what I mean? Your mistâpâu always used to talk to you when you were in your shaking tent.” noah mamianskum

Reverend Walton was not the first Christian missionary to preach to the Îyiyiu of Whapmagoostui, but he was the most influential. He exerted such command that Nânitiwâpimâkin risked his wrath, at the least, if he didn’t deny knowledge of his spirit helpers. By the 1890s, Christianity had gained a firm foothold among the Îyiyiu. Under the tutelage of Reverend Walton, a little man with a big personality who lived in the region from 1892 to 1924, it grew deep roots. “Mr. Walton’s influence was felt throughout the entire Bay, more than any other individual’s, and so greatly has it affected the people under his charge that they…seem to look upon him as almost infallible” (Curran and Calkins 1917, 118).1 That being said, with the Îyiyiu, as with indigenous peoples the world over, Christian beliefs were embraced, reinterpreted and recast. A profoundly spiritual people to begin with, the Îyiyiu simply placed God as 1

Curran and Calkins were members of a team prospecting for mineral deposits, in 1912, in northern Québec.

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supreme being at the top of the hierarchy of spirit beings. As we have seen, the Îyiyiu believed that special beings or spirits were in charge of the animals. This belief was transferred to the whiteman’s God when He was introduced to the Îyiyiu. Emily Masty explains, Today the young men and women are still taught they should do everything possible to take good care of the animals and not waste or allow the food from animals to spoil, otherwise, as in the past, the hunter will not have much success hunting. But now we think of God as today’s special being, the giver of all things, and it is to Him we are thankful for the things given to the hunter and his family. Rather than being converted, the Îyiyiu absorbed Christian teachings. In the process, complementary parts of Christian and traditional beliefs were interwoven. The result was an amalgam of Îyiyiu and Christian beliefs that infused, just as the traditional system had before, most aspects of daily life. But the incorporation of Christianity into the Îyiyiu belief system did not occur seamlessly. When Christianity was first introduced, some of the Îyiyiu were thrown into confusion over their relationship with spirit helpers. Also, from the outset, the attitude of missionaries towards the use of traditional practises such as the shaking tent and drumming provoked controversy, a controversy that continues to engage some Îyiyiu today, more than one hundred years later. Nonetheless, so anxious were many Îyiyiu to observe Reverend Walton’s teachings, most eventually relinquished the shaking tent and drumming. Many traditional religious beliefs, on the other hand, persisted well into the twentieth century.

T H E E A R LY C H R I S T I A N C H U RC H I N JA M E S B AY Despite the resounding success of Reverend Walton, the early Christian church in James Bay got off to an uncertain start. By the nineteenth

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century, the evangelical movement in England was in full force, giving vent to a flood of missionary activity the world over. Driven by the desire to draw the so called heathens out of “darkness,” the missionaries bore witness to an uncompromising and invincible Christian faith. Reverend George Barnley of the Weslyan Methodist Society was the first dispatched to James Bay. Stationed in Moose Factory in 1840, he made frequent visits over the next few years to Rupert House and Fort George.2 Reverend Barnley’s initial trip to Fort George was in 1840, the same year the Inuit first came in great numbers to Fort George to trade. At Fort George, Barnley encountered people we have already met, like Yihitsin, the Îyiyiu leader, who a year later, at the behest of the Hudson’s Bay Company, convinced sixteen of his countrymen to relocate to Ungava. While he met Îyiyiu from the Whale Rivers region during the trading season at Fort George, Barnley also made a five-week trip to the area to convert the people there (HBCA B.77/a/16). According to the postmaster at Fort George, by 1846, Barnley had “made a very great impression upon some of the hearts of the place.…Christianizing and marrying all those willing to enter as the flock of the church” (HBCA B.77/a/21). He had similar success at Rupert House. The Hudson’s Bay Company recommended that, at the posts he visited, Reverend Barnley be provided the assistance he needed, a recommendation the company soon came to reconsider (HBCA B.186/a/64). Barnley’s projects proved too ambitious for the Hudson’s Bay Company’s liking. Besides being interested in teaching the Cree to read and write, he wished to settle some on an agricultural station near Moose Factory and to establish a residential school. The Hudson’s Bay Company had no objection to people becoming literate. The last thing they wanted, however, was a large, permanent Aboriginal population, agricultural or otherwise. Postmasters were already complaining about their food supplies being depleted by people who stayed on at the posts after trading to listen to Reverend Barnley (Francis and Morantz 1983). Because of personal problems between the missionary’s family and officers of the Hudson’s Bay Company, Methodist Barnley was withdrawn from the region in 1846, only to be succeeded by a spate of others sent by 2

The post at Great Whale River was closed at this time.

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the Church Missionary Society, the proselytizing arm of the Anglican Church. The initial efforts of the Anglican missionaries did not meet with much success. In 1852, Mr. E.A. Watkins, accompanied by his wife and servant girl, established St. Philip’s mission at Fort George. The little cottage he constructed doubled as church and school. As the first resident minister in the region, his job was to attend to the spiritual concerns of the people in the North. From his base at Fort George, he hoped to convert the Îyiyiu of the Whale Rivers as well as the Inuit. Watkins must have inspired some interest, for twenty-one marriages and several baptisms were celebrated during his tenure at Fort George. But poor weather frustrated his efforts to travel north to the Whale Rivers to see the Inuit, and, despite his success in marrying people, he felt the Îyiyiu had little interest in his teachings (HBCA B.77/a/30). He was removed in 1856. Then, in the winter of 1859, Reverend Hamilton Flemming arrived at Little Whale River; he lasted all of four months. In the wake of its poor success, the activities of the Church Missionary Society in the North waned during the 1860s. Moose Factory was the only post along the coast with a missionary, Reverend Horden, in residence. Reverend Horden had arrived in the region in 1851, a year before Reverend Watkins, to take charge of the church’s activities at the bottom of the bay. He worked amongst the Cree until his death in 1893. Unlike his colleagues, he learned Cree. He trained Native clergy and, with the aid of his printing press, worked assiduously to produce Christian literature in Cree, using the syllabic script first devised by the Methodist missionary John Evans. His diligence paid off. The period between 1870 and 1890 marked a turning point for the Anglican church in James Bay. Renewing its activities with vigour, the Church Missionary Society appointed Reverend Horden first bishop of Moosonee. It also directed workers to a number of missions. Reverend Keen set up residence in Rupert House in 1875, a Cree from Rupert House was dispatched to Waswanipi to give the Anglican service and, in 1876, Reverend Peck went to Little Whale River to work amongst the northern peoples. Three years later the Church Missionary Society sent a little iron church from England to Little Whale River.

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All this time, Bishop Horden travelled the coast addressing gatherings at Fort George, Eastmain, Rupert House and Great Whale River. Conveyed by canoe, he visited both of the Whale Rivers in 1862 (HBCA B.77/a/32). In 1869, he was at Fort George (HBCA B.77/a/37). Two years later, in anticipation of his twice daily services, the Îyiyiu were waiting for him at the post at Little Whale River (HBCA B.77/a/38). Horden spent about two weeks at Fort George in 1874. As illustrated by Bishop Horden’s comments about his 1890 trip to Great Whale River—he visited again in 1892—the Îyiyiu appear to have been receptive to the teachings of the missionaries: “They [the Îyiyiu] exhibit much anxiety to be further instructed in the things of Christ and day after day assembled for that purpose” (Petersen 1974, 22). Reverend Peck left Little Whale River in 1884 for Fort George where he stayed until 1892. He was the first resident minister there since the departure of Watkins almost thirty years earlier. Either Peck or one of his envoys went north to minister to the Inuit and the Îyiyiu for brief periods in the spring and summer, but most of his attention was devoted to the Inuit. The absence of a full-time priest stationed amongst the northern Îyiyiu provoked Reverend Peck to request of Bishop Horden “a man stationed in Ungava…it is an important post and if we do not move quickly the Romanists will get a footing, and the poor people will be corrupted and destroyed” (Newnham Papers). Reverend Peck must have known the Roman Catholics were relatively unchallenged in the Waswanipi region. Emissaries of the Roman Catholic Church had been very active in the interior, erecting chapels at Waswanipi and Migiskan as early as 1846. By the 1860s, they were inviting the Îyiyiu of the Nichikun area for religious instruction. From Peck’s perspective, the wolves were at the door!

“HOW R E L IG ION C A M E TO T H E Î Y I Y I U ” The Anglican William Gladstone Walton (1869–1948) was the solution. More than any other clergyman, Reverend Walton helped implant Christianity in the hearts and minds of the people of Whapmagoostui, Fort George and Wemindji. “Mr. Walton was the first one to baptize

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the Îyiyiu. He brought the Bibles too. He told the Îyiyiu to study the Bibles. That is how religion came to the Îyiyiu,” said William Kawapit (Whapmagoostui Place Names Project 1993). Remembered with respect and affection as the person who “taught us how to pray,” Reverend Walton’s teachings made a long and lasting impression on the Îyiyiu. A sermon by the first black bishop of Africa had inspired the young William Walton to devote his life to the assistance and spiritual “education” of Native people. He was drawn to Canada’s North. Reverend Walton arrived in the region in 1892 and stayed for about thirty-two years. Based in Fort George, his first visit to Great Whale River was in the spring of 1893. Over the course of the next thirty-one years he visited the place annually, sometimes several times, the people assembling to hear him at the time planned the previous year for the next annual visit (Curran and Calkins 1917, 118). According to Walton family lore, in the course of his ministry in the area, Reverend Walton travelled two thousand miles a year by dog team and canoe in the service of the people (Schwager 2008). “The Îyiyiu called him Mistwâhtin,” said Emily Masty. “R and L, amongst other consonants, are not found in the Cree language. In those days, most of the Îyiyiu had never heard these sounds in their lives so Mistwâhtin was their way of saying Mr. Walton.” “Mistwâhtin came here in the summer by canoe, paddled by Îyiyiu from Chisasibi,” said Suzanne Kawapit. “They transported him here to baptize children and marry people who wanted to get married. He lived in Chisasibi. There were at least four men who would make the trip to bring him here by canoe. One of the Îyiyiu who brought him here was our grandfather Chishâ-Nûhchimîwiyiyiu. Another one was the old man called Benjamin. He was already an old man at that time. The other man’s name was Wishtikwânshîsh. He was an old man too. They were the ones who brought him here by canoe from Chisasibi to baptize and marry couples.” One of Reverend Walton’s first endeavours at Great Whale River was the construction of the little church. In 1895, the iron church Reverend Peck had built at Little Whale River was dismantled and moved by four

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Group of Îyiyiu, Hudson Bay, 1890. Bishop Horden visited Whapmagoostui in 1890, where he and other missionaries were received with great interest. The Îyiyiu felt that in many ways the missionaries’ message was similar to their own teachings. They took great exception, however, to the missionaries’ efforts to eradicate drumming, the shaking tent and their relationship with the animal world. [Jervois Arthur Newnham Fonds. Library and Archives Canada, C-073188.]

Inuit dog teams over the snow to Great Whale River. Construction took place slowly over the next few years. The Hudson’s Bay Company put its hands to work building the foundation and squaring the logs, work sometimes stopping for the year when the lumber ran out. Stovepipes were installed, inside walls lined with wood and moldings positioned, until, finally, in 1898, the pulpit was built.

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Like other activist priests, Reverend Walton’s reach extended far beyond the purview of the church. Four years after his arrival he married Daisy Spencer, daughter of Miles Spencer, the Hudson’s Bay Company district manager stationed at Fort George. Speaking Cree and comfortable with the people, Daisy was a great help to her husband. Reverend Walton’s presence in the region coincided with the terrible years at the end of the 1800s and beginning of the twentieth century when game animals were in decline and infectious disease on the rise. Death from starvation was not uncommon. Sympathetic to the privations of the people, Reverend Walton trekked miles through the wilderness to tend the ill and dying, Îyiyiu and Inuit alike. He responded to myriad requests for “someone with skill” (HBCA B.77/a/45) to help the people when their medical knowledge failed to do the job. Over the years his kindness, knowledge of medicine and willingness to provide comfort earned him a reputation as a healer. To help alleviate the poverty, he lobbied both church and government for help. He directed donations from the Church Missionary Society to the Îyiyiu. And his and Bishop Newnham’s requests to the federal government for financial assistance eventually resulted in an aid package—“sickness and destitute rations.” This, the first federal government program available to the Îyiyiu, was intended to provide relief, in the form of food and supplies, to the sick and destitute. Administered at the discretion of the traders, it began between 1895 and 1905. It did not, however, involve the infusion of very much money at Great Whale River: only $39.05 in 1905; in 1911–12, $347.75; in 1912–13, $1,559.39 (Morantz 2002). It was not enough. Despite these efforts, death from disease and starvation continued to be a constant preoccupation, one shared by Reverend Walton and his wife. While living in Fort George they, too, lost small children to disease, no doubt sharpening the minister’s sensitivity to others who had also lost loved ones. Hannah Natachequan told the following story about Reverend Walton’s reaction to the death from starvation of several Îyiyiu.

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Starvation The following fall Reverend Walton sent Sâkihtâyâshiu and Chishâmitikûshîu and their families from Fort George to Great Whale. He had asked them to go into the bush with the man whose family had died of starvation so they could help bury the bodies.3 By then everyone had been accounted for, with the exception of one young man who had gone hunting from Kâtihkâpushit’s camp and never returned. His body was never recovered. Sometime during the winter Sâkihtâyâshiu and Chishâmitikûshîu separated. Sâkihtâyâshiu and his family were never seen alive again. They were found dead by some people returning to Great Whale the following spring. Sâkihtâyâshiu had two daughters. They found Sâkihtâyâshiu sitting in his canoe, his head bowed as if in prayer. His canoe was full of fish. Not far away was one of his daughters lying where she had fallen while chopping firewood. Inside the dwelling was the mother of Sâkihtâyâshiu’s wife. His wife and little daughter couldn’t be found. We think they died earlier on. She was the sister of my husband. At the prayer gathering, Reverend Walton said how sorry he was that people he had loved so dearly had been taken by such a dreadful death, starvation. He wiped the tears from his eyes as he talked. hannah natachequan

Sympathy for the plight of the people inspired Reverend Walton to defend Cree rights and hunting practises. With the Québec Boundary Extension Act of 1898, the southern part of the James Bay territory up to the Eastmain River was transferred from the federal government to the province of Québec. The remainder of the Cree area and that of the Inuit, with the exception of the offshore islands, was transferred to Québec through the Québec Boundaries Extension Act of 1912. After the transfers, all Cree were subjected to provincial game laws, initially passed at the behest of sports hunters in 1895. Needless to say,

3

The story of their deaths is included in Chapter 7.

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the isolation of the Îyiyiu made it next to impossible for provincial authorities to regulate their hunting and trapping activities. The same isolation, however, made it easy for the American Wildlife Association to blame the Cree for a decline in game birds, an allegation that incited Reverend Walton to argue, in the 1920 Bulletin of the American Game Protective Association, that Îyiyiu hunting practises were not responsible for the decline. Then, in a stinging rebuke of provincial game laws restricting the right of Îyiyiu to hunt, he wrote, “that when human life is at stake, we will not keep the law” (Morantz 2002, 85). The people needed to eat. To assist the people in this regard, Reverend Walton successfully lobbied the federal government to arrange for three thousand Siberian reindeer to be trekked from Alaska to northern Québec, earning him the nickname “Reindeer Walton” (Schwager 2008). Unfortunately, the herd did not arrive, having scattered on Baffin Island. In the meantime, Reverend Walton worked tirelessly amongst the people. He preached and taught, often inviting the Îyiyiu into his home to discuss the Bible. But while he discussed Christian texts with the Îyiyiu of Fort George, Reverend Walton feared he spent insufficient time at Great Whale River to do a proper job there (Morantz 2002). To his delight, however, by the time he arrived in the region, not only could all Christian Îyiyiu read and write, they were anxious to read and hear the word of God. Their thirst for books proved an inestimable advantage to Reverend Walton who proceeded to produce, over the years, countless hymn books, almanacs, prayers for the morning and afternoon of each day of the week, and the gospels of the New Testament, all in the dialect of the northern Cree. The Îyiyiu responded enthusiastically. “They have become a praying people during the last 4 to 5 years…It is true that they first learned how to pray from some books I printed for them still they have made them so much more their own by altering them so they are more idiomatic,” Walton wrote in 1902 (Morantz 2002, 93). Other visitors made a similar observation ten years later. “The natives delight in attending church services as often as possible—they take vociferous pleasure in responses and hymns,” wrote the Leiths, who were moved by the hymns sung in

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Reverend Walton and Inuk mother and children. For three decades Reverend Walton, who is credited with bringing Christianity to the Îyiyiu, worked amongst the Îyiyiu and Inuit as both preacher and medical man. [Anglican Church of Canada, Diocese of Moosonee, Laurentian University Archives, PO32.]

Cree by their Îyiyiu guides at morning and evening prayers in the wilderness (C.K. Leith and A. Leith 1912, 46).4 Using printed materials as reference, the Îyiyiu began teaching each other prayers and hymns, bringing the materials back to their camps where they studied them all winter long. Reverend Walton wrote about an Îyiyiu who, in 1903, went to Fort Chimo where he learned new hymns: “By the time he reached Great Whale River everyone he met on the way set out and copied them so that I was quite surprised to hear the whole congregation start singing…‘In the sweet by and by’ after our service one Sunday” (Morantz 2002, 94). Word of Reverend Walton spread amongst the Îyiyiu and Inuit of the region, his fame apparently “carried by visiting Eskimos from place to place until it had finally reached the Labrador coast, from which many came [to Great Whale River] the previous spring [1911], a journey of at least 1,000 miles. The visitors were so pleased with Mr. Walton, they promised to return the next year with double their number” (Curran and Calkins 1917, 212). Then, in 1913, nineteen families from the Fort Chimo area came to Great Whale River to see him for the “new books” (Morantz 2002). Encouraged by the interest of the Îyiyiu, Reverend Walton continued to produce new materials, including a number of records of hymns he had arranged in Cree and Inuktitut for parishioners who had phonographs (Curran and Calkins 1917). The message of the missionaries had certainly struck a responsive chord. “The Good News gave purpose and meaning to their hardships and sufferings,” explained Bishop Newnham, successor to Horden as Anglican bishop of Moosonee. “None will undertake a journey without carrying with him his Bible, Prayer Book and Hymn Book in a beaded bag or wrapped in a silk handkerchief” (Petersen 1974, 28). The Îyiyiu came to believe in the Bible as deeply as they believed the messages conveyed to them through more traditional means. As an elderly woman from Whapmagoostui explained, “What Jesus said was just like our old Indian beliefs taught us.” Indeed, part of the message of Christianity was very familiar. Îyiyiu moral precepts and ethical concepts—like those of Christianity—stressed sharing, cooperation, 4

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The Leiths were part of a geological expedition to Hudson Bay in 1909.

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reciprocity, kindness, helping people and taking care of those in need. And there were other similarities. In Christianity, the Îyiyiu encountered a blend of the natural and supernatural—miracles—something with which they were very familiar. Both religions encouraged individuals to develop a personal relationship with their respective spirit worlds—the Îyiyiu belief system with spirit helpers, Christianity with God. And the traditional Îyiyiu belief system and Christianity maintained that direct communication by way of a messenger from the spirit world could result in visions and other forms of divine intervention. Methods of communicating with the spirit world, while not the same, seemed similar enough. Through Christian prayers and hymns, the Îyiyiu gave thanks and expressed hope just as they had done when drumming and chanting. Said one old man, “My father would sometimes sing from morning to the following dawn. He sang for good hunting. This song was heard by all the game. The Cree songs are our hymns.” Prayer provided a direct link to God in the same way drumming and chanting did to the spirit world. Christianity also fit into Îyiyiu ideas about mind power, prayer and faith, in the process providing the Îyiyiu with additional sources of power. In fact, some of the Îyiyiu used Christian prayers and the Bible to cement powers they derived from their relationship with their own spirit beings. Powers traditionally harnessed to find food and for protection from enemies were now augmented through communication with God and Jesus. In the traditional belief system, messages from the spirit world had great authority because of their source, their insight and prophetic qualities. Because of their source, Christian texts assumed similar authority. For example, just as words in hunting songs were believed to have come from spirit helpers, the Bible was understood as the actual word of God. The idea that the Bible was the word of God carried great potency. Its power of prophecy, such a familiar part of the Îyiyiu belief system, proved irresistible as well. These qualities—their source and their power of prophecy—imbued sacred Christian texts with a magical effect such that, according to Reverend Walton, “If you can

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show to the Indians that something ‘is in the book’ right there and then, he will believe (Sun qtd. in Morantz 2002, 93). The magic lantern, a device for projecting and magnifying images, further encouraged the Îyiyiu’s belief in Christianity. “Now we shall believe because we see what Jesus did is all true,” said a member of the congregation at Great Whale River where Reverend Walton used the magic lantern in church services (ibid., 94). An elder from Fort George commented that the illustrations in Bible stories were seen as comparable to calling people into the shaking tent. Having seen few, if any, photographs and illustrations, the Îyiyiu would not have known the images were based entirely on the imagination of the illustrator. With all his tricks and incantations, Reverend Walton may have seemed a bit like a shaman himself! The openness of the Îyiyiu to Christianity obscures the fact that Christianity contained concepts that were foreign—notions of heaven and hell and the holy trinity, to name two. Furthermore, some elements directly contradicted important traditional Cree practises. Interestingly, in the 1860s, the Church Missionary Society advised its missionaries to “respect the national habits and identity of their charges,” telling them to make Christianity more indigenous (Nock in Morantz 2002, 94). But the church was only prepared to go so far.

A B U S E OF P OW E R In general, missionaries attacked specific traditional religious practises and sought to alter others. Reverend Walton was no different, campaigning ardently against the most dramatic expressions of Îyiyiu religious practises—drumming and the shaking tent—and, by extension, to the use of mind power and spirit helpers. He had two major problems with these activities. He mistakenly concluded they were overt manifestations of devil worship. And he feared their potential for violence. As illustrated by the following comment and story, the Îyiyiu are quite candid about the abuse of power; they did not like it either.

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Misuse of Power Before the white religion came to the Cree people, there was no peace. I heard some people suffered. All bad things went to the side when religion came to the people. Peace was brought on by the religion. Somebody else said that people in the past used to try to hunt, but sometimes they couldn’t hunt properly because other people were trying to kill them. Sometimes they left whole households behind if they had been killed.… There were those who would kill these intruders, then, with no one to bother them, the hunting would improve. Today we don’t see that kind of thing anymore. We don’t have that kind of knowledge. These great powers were practised before the Anglican religion was introduced. The people gave them up when they heard about Jesus Christ from the missionaries for what some of these people could do was very dangerous. Although most used their powers wisely and not to do bad things, the full extent of this mind power was very scary. Not everyone wanted to have that much power because they were afraid of it, afraid of how they themselves might use it. They feared its potential for violence. frankie dick

Old Man Kâutiskâkuhpû As a group of Îyiyiu were travelling up his river, one of them announced they would be reaching the camp of Kâutiskâkuhpû the following day. Most people were afraid of Kâutiskâkuhpû because he was very nasty. After they arrived at the campsite the people congregated in the old man’s tent. Amongst the last to come in were several young men, including one with a small child. They stood in the entrance. Examining up and down the man with the child, the old man said, “My orphan sure got tall. I killed your father. I made you an orphan.” The young man was very upset by these words. Soon he couldn’t stand it any longer and had to leave. He convinced his brother-in-law to leave with him. That evening it was announced that a game—probably

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a game of ball—would be played. When games are held the old men sit down along the playing field to watch. The old man took his place. The young man said to his brother-in-law, “Nîstâ, the old man has really upset me. He killed my father. During the game I shall say something unpleasant to him.” “Nîstâ, no! You know his reputation. Don’t say anything to him,” his brother-in-law said, pleading with him to keep quiet. “I must,” the young man responded, “I’m not afraid of him.” The young man sat down across from the old man. He had purposely chosen the place because it was downwind from the old man. There was a slight wind. As soon as the young man sat down, he remarked, “Ugh! What’s that smell?” He was reacting to the skunk coat the old man was wearing. Realizing what he was referring to, the old man gave him a sideways glance. “This young man is being disrespectful. He will have to die,” the old man decided. The young man wouldn’t stop. “The smell of skunk is so annoying!” he continued. By now the old man was furious. Getting up, he demanded that the game be stopped immediately. “It can be finished later on,” he insisted. He was anxious to get on with the business of killing the young man. All those present quietly went home because they were afraid of him. Turning to his son, the old man said, “I would like to have the lard you made for me. Cut it up and make one of the pieces bigger than the rest.” The old man always had skunk pimî on hand. The old man placed the bigger piece on the boughs where, using his powers, he did something to it. Once again the people convened in the dwelling of the old man. Knowing what the old man was up to, the young man turned to his brother-in-law and said, “Let’s go in last. When you are given your piece, cut it into pieces. I’ll eat yours rather than the piece the old man intends to give me.” The two men entered the dwelling and, as before, assumed a place by the entrance. The old man handed the young man his piece of pimî uttering something over it as he did. “This is a big piece,” the young man

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said. “It should fill me up!” When no one was looking the young man slipped his pimî under the boughs. He started eating some of the pieces his brother-in-law had cut up. Not noticing how the young man had disposed of his serving, the old man kept glancing at him anticipating the poison would have an immediate effect. Nothing happened. He could see no sign of his magic working. The old man was greatly perplexed. Soon everyone, including the young man, left to go home. Later some dogs entered the dwelling scavenging for food. Noticing that the dogs were fighting over something near the doorway, the old man said to his sons, “Get rid of them—they’re fighting over crumbs of food.” His sons went to investigate only to find the dogs rolling a piece of pimî about on the ground. “Look, Father! Isn’t this the piece you were most interested in?” the eldest asked. “Well, imagine that,” the old man said, “he didn’t eat the pimî I gave him!” “Not eat it,” the eldest responded, “why should he have eaten it? Didn’t you say something unpleasant before you handed it to him? Everyone knows your reputation. You kill people whenever you please. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to retaliate.” His son had a feeling his father’s days were numbered. “But Son, you heard what he said to me during the game,” the old man said. His son replied, “What he said hardly justifies killing him.” “He insulted the way we make our living,” the old man complained. “He said, ‘How boring it is to smell of skunk.’” “That’s all?” His son was incredulous. “Yes, that’s it,” the old man replied. “Why are you so insulted by that? It’s true! We probably do smell of skunk since that’s what we live off,” his son answered. That evening it was announced that the people would continue their trip inland. “I shall leave you for the night,” the young man informed his brotherin-law, “and meet up with you in the morning. I have a feeling that the old man is not yet finished with me.” “Please, Nîstâ, don’t do anything,” his brother-in-law pleaded.

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“Yes, I must. I’ll only be gone for one night,” was the response. The young man was sure he could win the battle. But fearing that innocent people would be hurt, he had decided he should leave the group until it was all over. The young man and his family went on their way. They stopped for the night and put their only child, a son, to bed. Concentrating his thoughts the young man attempted to figure out how the old man planned to kill him. He knew that the old man’s arsenal consisted solely of Skunk and he called in his allies accordingly. Because Owl could see well at night, Owl was stationed at the top of the tipi. Goose took up position on the rod that traverses the entrance flap. Inside the tipi, just to one side, sat Wolverine. There was no way Skunk could come near the dwelling undetected. But he had forgotten that skunks are able to make long burrows under the ground, much like a wîniskuh [groundhog]. Thinking that all his bases were covered, the young man fell asleep. Skunk started to tunnel towards the tipi. Skunk got closer, soon making its way undetected into the dwelling. Startled awake, the young man saw it on the other side of the dwelling preparing to spray his deadly scent. “It’s time now,” he yelled out. But it was too late for Owl and Goose to be of any use. Wolverine sprung into action, blocking the young man off from Skunk and biting shut its sprayer. Wolverine pulled Skunk outside. Great tearing sounds were heard from the battlefield as Wolverine ripped Skunk apart. Meanwhile, back at the old man’s camp, the old man had suddenly become very sick. He was dead in a moment. He had been torn to pieces! The young man went to sleep when he didn’t hear any more sounds from Skunk. The next morning was clear and still. Off in the distance, from the camp of his brother-in-law, he saw a smoke signal. Smoke signals either mean death or that someone needs help. “I wonder what’s going on,” the young man said to his wife. “Let’s go see them.” His brother-in-law came down to greet them as they landed their canoe. “Nîstâ, we have bad news,” he said. “We buried the old man this morning. He didn’t last the night.”

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The young man responded sympathetically to the news.5 That is how the young man did away with Kâutiskâkuhpû, the old man who had killed so many people. noah mamianskum

I N DE F E N S E OF P OW E R Reverend Walton’s efforts to ferret out and eliminate contentious aspects of the traditional belief system were controversial. Most Îyiyiu are unanimous in their condemnation of flagrant abuses of mind power. In the hands of the wrong person such a talent could be very destructive particularly if, like Kâutiskâkuhpû, the person were provoked by trivial offenses or used his power to settle accounts. But not all Îyiyiu with power made a habit of violence. As illustrated in parts one and two, mind power had been employed from as far back as anyone could remember as a valuable—even vital—research tool, providing the Îyiyiu with important information for survival and self-defense. For “not all hunting trips were successful,” explained one elderly man. “My father would bring in a drum and things would change.” In fact, some compare the use of mind power to the use of radios and televisions. Some even maintain the actual idea for radios and televisions was inspired by the propensity of the Îyiyiu to use their mind’s eye to see things.

Nitwâpû, Radios and Televisions I remember the first time there was a radio. People talked about it when they came home from getting supplies at the post. The Hudson’s Bay Company manager at the time was called Kâyûwâpit. The people didn’t know what to call the radio at first. My feeling is that the general concept for radios and even for televisions came from the old people, from the powers they used to have. In the past, the old people could see things and find things that were really far away. They would search for them in 5

Noah remarks that he should have told his brother-in-law that the old man’s death was not surprising considering that Wolverine had torn him to pieces!

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their mind without ever leaving the place they were in. It was just like seeing a movie or watching television. What my grandfather used to do was cover his head with a cloth and then look into a metal or shiny object, like a glass or a knife blade. Then he was able to see what he was looking for. The people also found that they could do the same thing with a small sheet of the inner white bark of a tree. The Îyiyiu term for searching for information this way is nitiwâpiu. With this technique you could see if there were people wondering around in the bush or you could tell where game was located. Nothing could be hidden from people who had these powers. One time when an old man was searching the Chihkâskâu region, he actually saw a fox running along the shore of the bay. His eyesight must have been really good because that place was very far away! ronnie sheshamush

Doing Research In the past some people…only a few…had incredible powers, powers we today would call magic. They had the ability to see and know things as if they had their own special television or radio antenna. Nothing could be hidden from them. Many of these people channelled their power and knowledge into doing research. From their research they could often tell ahead of time if someone was trying to harm or even destroy people in their group. They would then use their power to protect the victim. They would disarm the aggressor and sometimes eliminate him completely. He would be killed. The same skills were sometimes used to protect a person from a threat posed by an animal. For instance, Grandfather Dick once killed a bear through his powers in order to save himself from being mauled to death. frankie dick

Finding Food These powers really helped the people who had them especially in times when they were desperately short of food. Pipâutihkwâu is the term used

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to describe the time when a person deploys his mental powers to find caribou. These powers were especially useful in helping them discover why they had been unable to get any caribou. They would make a shaking tent. “Someone” known as Pikutiskwâu, the female spirit of all the animals, would talk to them from the shaking tent and explain what the problem was and where they had gone wrong with the animals. In some cases it was because someone in their group hadn’t handled the game they had caught properly and with respect. She would tell them how unhappy this had made her and that she wouldn’t release any more animals. I guess, in some ways, the people of long ago were like the people of today because then, as now, some people are more meticulous than others about how they treat the animals. ronnie sheshamush

Looking For Food In those days a person used the shaking tent to find out something, especially if he felt the presence of something that could harm him or his group. Naturally, he used the shaking tent to look for food. This was referred to as pipâumîchimâu. Most of the time, the person conducting the shaking tent would ask for one kind of animal, either from the water or from land. He didn’t ask for all the food that lives in the water at one time. He wouldn’t ask for all the food that lived on land either. What used to happen was when the Îyiyiu were in a period of hunger, they used to contact Pikutiskwâu through the shaking tent. The person conducting the shaking tent would ask her for one of the animals that was in her care, usually caribou or fresh water seals.6 william kawapit (whapmagoostui places names project 1993)

6

The person could also have asked for beaver or fish: Emily Masty.

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Finding Food They were quite hungry as they made their way inland from here. My grandfather said to him, “Ask your brother-in-law to find out why we can not seem to get anything to eat.” He [the brother-in-law] responded, “I will try, but it has been a long time since I have conducted a shaking tent. I’ll try to find out why we are in this state.” In the evening after nightfall, the Îyiyiu conducted his shaking tent. After he had come out, he said, “There was a reason why we were like that, but it won’t be like that any more. In the morning we will get a beaver, a big fish and an otter. In the near future, a caribou will be killed. If these things come to pass, we will be able to catch fish like we used to before and will be able to get other kinds of game like we used to.” philip natachequan

Even today, many Îyiyiu feel they were not given the opportunity to defend the positive uses of mind power. They feel their use of drumming and the shaking tent should have been subjected to a more careful examination before being roundly rejected. Perhaps these practises could even have been seen as compatible with Christianity, for, as stated by an elder, “I hear the word of God through the drum.” But, blinded by his principles, Reverend Walton would not entertain so much as a discussion of the subject. Instead, Reverend Walton insisted that Christ, through God, would provide the people with all they needed. First, however, the Îyiyiu would have to give up the shaking tent and burn their drums. There would be no need for them.

Reverend Walton and Powers Reverend Walton, the first one to preach to us, thought it was wrong to use these powers now that we had religion. He claimed he couldn’t preach to those who continued to exercise these powers. I was about sixteen

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at the time. What he actually said was that he wasn’t really sure if mind power was all bad, but we should get rid of it anyways. “Throw away your power,” he insisted, “because Christ won’t accept you if you don’t.” He was especially against the shaking tent, arguing we didn’t need it anymore, that since God could do everything for us, we should depend on Him instead of it. We should love everybody no matter what, he told us. He was very convincing, so most of us stopped using our powers and didn’t hand them down to the younger people. Now it’s completely forgotten. rupert george

The efforts of Reverend Walton to expunge what to him were the most offensive manifestations of the traditional belief system were, by and large, successful. Although a few Îyiyiu continued to use them, drumming and the shaking tent stopped. Eventually. Ronnie Sheshamush’s story below is about how, despite Reverend Walton’s orders to the contrary, some Îyiyiu continued to use the shaking tent and drum to help with their hunting and finding things. And, despite admonitions from Reverend Walton not to use powers for violent purposes, Îyiyiu still recount stories of incidents involving the violent use of power. The difference between events in the more recent stories and those from pre-Christian times is that in the former, Christian elements were frequently marshalled to combat the aggressor. The second story below is about how one Îyiyiu, through a combination of dreams and Christian symbols, was able to resist an attack by someone with power.

A Shaking Tent During the Time of Reverend Walton It’s possible when the people were told not to use their powers anymore some people retained a bit of their knowledge. I, myself, didn’t live during the time when people used their powers. I’ve only heard about them. It seems they were very useful at times. Even in Reverend Walton’s day,

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during the time when the Îyiyiu were experiencing great difficulties finding food, they would sometimes ask the most gifted person in the camp to see where they could find animals to hunt. He might then do the shaking tent to obtain the necessary information, or he would listen to the beat of his drum. The Îyiyiu continued to use the shaking tent to find things. For instance, way inland from the post at Great Whale River is a lake called Wîminipîsh [Lake Fagnant]. I know the area between here and Lake Wîminipîsh very well. One time, while some people were living there, they made a shaking tent. In it they heard someone talking to them from the inland post at Nûhchimîu-Wâskâhîkin [Fort Mackenzie]. The two places are very far apart. The man from the inland post was inquiring about Rupert, a young man from their group who had gone to Great Whale River post and hadn’t returned. Spring had come before he was able to start back to his people. Now it was well into summer and he still hadn’t returned. It happened that the young man was staying with the people at Lake Wîminipîsh. Amiskwâpâs, the man from Nûhchimîu-Wâskâhîkin, talked to them via the shaking tent, saying, “Have you seen the young man who lived with me during the winter and went to get supplies at Great Whale River?” Rupert could hear the voice of the old man emanating from the shaking tent. The people said yes, that the young man was staying with them. The old man went on to say where and when they would wait for Rupert later on that year. The old man was at Fort Mackenzie. The others were at a lake thirty miles inland from Great Whale River. Figure out the distance between the two. Yet the people were having a conversation as if through a radio. That’s how great the powers of some of the people were. I know it sounds incredible but it’s true. They were able to do amazing things before they were told to stop practising. ronnie sheshamush

An Angel Appears in a Dream In 1958, when I was twenty-one, my father became ill and couldn’t go into the bush. He suggested I go inland with some of the other families. I

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did. In November, I got a beaver in my trap, the first and last one that fall. I had gone out hunting everyday and got almost nothing. I will never forget it. One day I was crossing a small beaver pond about three and a half miles away from the camp when all of a sudden I heard a terrible cracking sound. I had fallen through ice that was at least two inches thick! The water came up to my waist. Scrambling out of the water as fast as I could, I raced ashore to make a fire and dry my clothes. Luckily, I managed to get out before my clothes had been soaked right through. I really wondered why that had happened because I had walked on ice that was much thinner than that before. Once my clothes were dry I put the whole incident out of my mind—it was time to get on with the rest of the day. About a month later, I had a dream that made me think that something was going on. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was though. In my dream I was checking my traps as I did everyday. Approaching a beaver lodge where some of my traps were, I noticed a man bending over one of my traps. I dreamt that I went to him, pulled him back and sent him on his way. He had covered his face with his hands to conceal his identity, but I had a feeling who he was anyways. In my dream I said to him, “So you are the one who has been preventing me from trapping beaver all this time!” He said something like, “How do you know?” When I got up the next morning, I thought about the dream. By then I knew who the man was, but I couldn’t figure out why he was doing this to me. A month went by and I still couldn’t get anything in my traps. Then one night I had another dream. I dreamt that I was out doing what I always did after a big snowfall, cleaning out and checking my traps. As I walked through the forest from one beaver pond to another, I came to an open area. It was either a small pond or a swamp. I kept going until I was about halfway across when I heard someone calling my name. I didn’t see anything so I continued on my way. I heard the sound again, as plain as day. Again, I didn’t see anything. The same thing happened a third time, and for the third time I noticed nothing. Then I looked up and right there in front of me I saw an angel hovering above a tree.

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“Do you know who is doing this to you?” the angel asked. “Yes, I do,” I responded and said the name of the person who was bothering me. “You’re right,” the angel said. “He wants to kill you.” Through my dreams I had found out what was going on but decided not mention it to anyone. My hunting luck changed immediately, so much so that by the time I went back to the post I had trapped thirty beaver and twenty mink. After I had completed my business at the post, I left to visit my parents who were at Roggan River. Upon arrival I went into their tipi, took off my clothes and started to eat. While I was eating my father recounted the various incidents that had happened to me that fall. Somehow he knew! I wasn’t a bit surprised—he was just like that. frankie dick

I N DE F E N S E OF S PI R I T H E L PE R S According to people alive today, while Reverend Walton would not discuss the merits of the shaking tent and drum, the Îyiyiu engaged him in debates about other aspects of their belief system. For example, they successfully argued for the continued use of the ceremonial hide. The ceremonial hide was exposed to the first rays of the morning sun in a ritual that confirmed the close relationship of the Îyiyiu with the animal world. Apparently, this was acceptable to the minister because he saw the hide as playing the same role as a flag. The Îyiyiu and Reverend Walton disagreed, on the other hand, over the role that should be attributed to spirit helpers. Reverend Walton condemned as foolish the spiritual beliefs of the Îyiyiu about the animals. He did not have much appreciation for the rituals associated with expressing gratitude to the spirits of the animals either: putting offerings in the fire, decorating the head of the first goose hunted by a youth, decorating bear skulls and so on. His criticisms of spirit helpers, however, did not appear to have lasting impact. Successful in his attack on drumming and the use of the shaking tent, Reverend Walton

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Frankie Dick. [Courtesy of Elizabeth Dick.]

appeared resigned to the idea the people would adhere to their beliefs and many of the associated practises. “I am afraid that it will be a very long time before many of their ideas will be given up,” he wrote (Morantz 2002, 86). There is little indication the worldview of the Îyiyiu was greatly altered until Îyiyiu children were separated from their families and way of life by being sent to residential school, beginning in the mid-1900s. Until that time, unless they were sick or worked for trading companies,

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every single Îyiyiu lived off the land. Certainly, the Îyiyiu had become devout Anglicans and ardent churchgoers. Sunday, even in the bush, was observed as a day of rest and prayer. But in the bush, the traditional religion, based on the moral relationship between the Îyiyiu and the animals they hunted, continued to have great currency. Mistâpâu survived, as did a number of spirit helpers used in situations where ancient skills based on traditional knowledge were required. Out of respect for the land and its animals, Îyiyiu continued to sing songs or prayers of thanks for all that was given them. They continued to communicate with the spirit leaders of the fish and animals. And, from their perspective, the fish and animals continued to respond. By way of example, as we will see further on in this book, more than one hundred years after the arrival of Reverend Walton in James Bay, people still said that animals congregate in the vicinity of a hunter’s camp when he nears death. And they still said that animals congregate after he has died, as if the dead were sending food to the living. Dreams continued to be a source of inspiration. So, too, did many of the dayto-day observances based on traditional beliefs: acknowledgement of the first animals hunted each season; disposal of bones after an animal had been butchered; the proper sharing of food; and the decorating of clothing, hunting gear and animal bones and hides. Through each of these practises, Îyiyiu expressed their love, respect and gratitude to the spirit leaders of the animals they depended on for survival. Not to do so would have seriously impaired the hunters’ abilities to catch game the following winter. In fact, in some of the stories, in the next chapter, about the decline in the caribou population across the QuébecLabrador peninsula, Îyiyiu mention “singing” for caribou, “wishing” to catch fur- bearing animals and being in contact with Mischinâhkw, “boss of the fish and everything in the water” (Preston, Field Notes, 144). In the next story, Frankie Dick recounts how his grandfather deployed his powers to protect himself from a bear. In the story after that, Hannah Natachequan mentions Reverend Walton and the ceremonial hide and her uncles’ jokes about animal spirits. Note, as a sign of the times, this is the first reference in the stories to store-bought food.

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Grandfather Dick and the Bear This is what happened to him. My father told me this story about his father: “It happened in the early 1900s when my father was a full grown man but not yet married. They were living in the bush with six or seven other families. One day the men decided they wanted to go caribou hunting together. They didn’t see any caribou, nor did they see any signs of tracks. What they did see was a bear. By this time the wind had almost completely died down. The bear was not that far away so they sat down and watched it for a while. Finally, one of the elderly men told Grandfather Dick to try and sneak up on the bear. “‘I will try,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know how successful I’ll be. It’s so calm.’ “Although a bear has very poor eyesight, it has a keen sense of hearing. Those were the days before high-powered rifles. All they had for hunting big game like bear or caribou were the slugs in their shotguns. Grandfather Dick got up and made his way down the mountain towards the bear. When he got close he stepped on something that made a noise. Hearing the noise the bear started walking towards my grandfather. My grandfather stopped and watched. As the bear got closer to him, it started walking on its hind legs, its arms stretched out in front of him. Grandfather Dick seemed to know what the bear had in mind. He put his gun down and took off his coat placing it with the gun. Then he went up to the bear, all the time talking to it. The wind had died down completely by then so the other men who were still nearby could hear every word. “As he approached the bear, Grandfather Dick said, ‘If we’re going to fight, let’s not get mad.’ “Once they got hold of each other, Grandfather said, ‘Now! You try me first. If you can’t throw me down, I’ll try to throw you.’ “Three times the bear tried to throw him. And three times he failed. Grandfather took his turn, swinging the bear and throwing it on the ground. The bear lay there motionless. Grandfather Dick stood looking at the bear for a few seconds before he put on his coat and went to sit beside it. The men, who had watched the whole thing from the safety of the mountainside, went to Grandfather Dick and his bear. They saw that the bear was as dead as dead could be. Upon examining it, they saw that

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its spine had been broken by the throw. They went straight home with the bear. They hadn’t found any signs of caribou.” I guess that is one time that Grandfather Dick had to use his powers to get out of a wrestling match alive, otherwise the bear would have killed him. After my father finished telling me this story, he told me something else and I believed him. He said that when someone has powers like his father and he had, they had to be careful how they used them. It does not look very good in the eyes of God if they are used against another human being. When the Îyiyiu were desperate for food, mind power was sometimes used to assist in the search for food. They used various techniques, like looking into metal or shiny objects, manipulating the inner bark of a tree or conducting the shaking tent, to find what they were looking for. Others enlisted the aid of their spirit helpers in the actual hunt itself, instructing their spirit helpers to chase the caribou directly to them. frankie dick

BEARS Bears loom large in Îyiyiu thinking, a position they occupy in the belief systems of boreal forest hunters across northern Europe, northeastern Asia and northern America. All have developed rituals to govern the hunting, slaying, consumption and disposition of the remains of the bear. Amongst many groups, including Cree more to the south, bear is the animal most highly revered. Amongst the northern Îyiyiu, caribou was of singular importance, both as a source of food and spiritual inspiration, but next in rank was the bear. As mentioned earlier, Îyiyiu considered the relationship between hunters and animals to be based on love. Accordingly, animals were willing to be taken in hunting because they loved the Îyiyiu. To ensure continued self-sacrifice, animals killed for food were ceremoniously treated to rituals reflecting the love and respect of the Îyiyiu. A range of observances were applied to all animals. The people were to avoid the wanton slaughter of any animal. All animals were to be butchered and disposed

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of in a manner that avoided waste. And expressions of gratitude were to accompany the consumption of all animals. Additional attention, feeling and ritual, however, was directed towards caribou and bear. Before being hunted, the spirit of the bear had to be overcome by the mistâpâu of the hunter. Having accomplished this, it was up to the hunter to locate the bear and slay it. As Ronnie Sheshamush mentions in the next story, once a bear has been killed, the Îyiyiu place a pipe in its mouth for a smoke. Then, just to be sure, an offering of grease and tobacco was put in the fire. Ronnie refers to the pipe as a peace pipe, probably not coincidentally as, cognizant of the damage bears can inflict, the Îyiyiu didn’t relish the idea of an angry bear. Some groups have rules about who can skin and butcher a bear. In Mistissini, for instance, only married women could skin a bear, while men were responsible for cutting it up. Other gender-specific rules prescribed, under strict penalty, who could eat different parts of the bear; the head and paws, for instance, being the monopoly of the men. After the meat had been properly dealt with, the bones had be taken care of. In Rupert House, red ochre and black spots and bars were painted on bear skulls. Ronnie Sheshamush mentions decorating bear chins with beads, another expression of respect. In a final disposition of the bones, Cree throughout the region, including at Great Whale River, suspended bear skulls in trees, as they did the skulls of beaver and a number of other animals. Îyiyiu explain the privileged position of the bear in terms of its particular attributes, its great strength, its powers of endurance as proven by fasting through hibernation, and its agility, illustrated by its skills as a tree climber. They admire what they perceive to be human-like intelligence and wisdom, as well as human physical characteristics. The similarity does not end there. Like humans with powers, bears are thought to be able to will things to happen. Through their powers, bears are also believed to know when they are about to be hunted. In consequence, they either allow themselves to be overtaken and killed, or make an effort to protect themselves. Here are three bear stories. The first describes a little about people’s attitudes towards the bear. The second is about a young boy who was afraid of being clawed by the bear he and his father were hunting—a

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feeling many today may share! The third is about a young boy who was a glutton for bear fat.

About Bears Some people claim that because a bear once lived with a human child,7 bears can understand human language. They seem to understand what people say. They are very intelligent. Some people might say that animals don’t think. But a bear is always thinking, especially on clear days when it is possible that someone could be following him. When a bear makes his den, he won’t go inside immediately. Instead, he stays outside waiting to see if someone will find it. He lies outside the den, watching and waiting, often detecting the presence of a human long before the person notices him. According to George Shem, a bear expert from Chisasibi, if a hunter’s gun is not in its case, the bear will see the light reflecting from it and will take off. Normally bears go inside on cold or bad days, but they will run away if they think people are near. Everyone knows the bear is a good fisherman, but it also likes to hunt beaver. To do so, it breaks a hole in the beaver’s dam and, sticking its head in, bites the beaver when they come close. One of the good things about bears is the taste. They are very good to eat. I have eaten bear meat that didn’t taste so good, though. The meat was yellow and the fat tasted like seal meat. Even when we used the fat to make pemmican with powdered fish, we still found it had a strong seal taste. I couldn’t eat much of it even though I like to eat and tend to be greedy! I told George about the bear and he said that this bear must have been feeding along the bay. That’s what some bears do. Some go down to the bay area in the spring and feed there all summer long. When it’s time to hibernate, they walk inland. I was surprised to hear that because the bay was quite far from where that bear had been killed, but I believed him, for I have known more than one bear that had a seal taste. Of course, there are some inland bears that never go down to the coast. They taste very good. During the spring, after 7

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Ronnie Sheshamush is referring to a story in which the spirit leader of the bear took a young boy to live with him.

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freeze-up, you can see their tracks along the shores of the rivers where they have gone to feed. There is a destructive side to bears. They become especially annoyed when they see things made from metal or steel. George told me that bears hate metal and steel because it makes them think of guns and they know that guns kill them. They have also been known to destroy people’s camps if they can’t find the food they normally eat, if their own food is scarce. If it is hungry, it will eat anything, including what is on our caches and platforms of food. We think of it as such a proud animal, so I sometimes wonder why it will eat anything but.…People say it isn’t good to be greedy about bears. It’s not good, for instance, to horde bear meat. When a person takes more than his share, we say that he is mimâyisîu. Bears don’t like this. They have been known to destroy people’s things, for instance, their caches and platforms where food and equipment are kept, when a person has been greedy. Bears really like it when, after we have killed a bear, we place a peace pipe in its mouth so it can have a smoke. Of course, the bear doesn’t really smoke. It’s dead! Giving the bear a smoke is our way of thanking the spirit of the animal. They also like it when we decorate our pîhtisinân— the pouch for our shells and bullets—with beautiful, beaded designs. People still put a little bit of grease with tobacco into the fire to thank the spirit of the animal they have killed. They used to take the front part of the caribou and, cutting it into shape, decorate it with beads. We also decorated the chin of the bear with beads. When a young boy starts to hunt, people still take a part of the first animal of each species he kills and decorate it. We still place animal bones high in the trees, as well, as a way of giving thanks to the spirit of the bear. The other thing I’ve heard about bears is that people often get a strange feeling, or feel afraid for no reason, or can not sleep just before they kill a bear. Once there was a man who felt certain he was going to die soon. The feeling was so strong, he felt he should say something to his wife so that she would be prepared. His feelings about death got stronger and stronger everyday. One day he said to his wife, “Today is the day I shall die. Because I love to hunt on nice days like this, I’ll go hunting anyways. I’ll see what happens to me.”

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And so he left on his trip. It was a clear, beautiful day. If he was going to die, he would rather die outside, he had told his wife. As he was walking he saw a stream that was not frozen. Some streams, even very small ones, are like this, not freezing even during the coldest part of the winter if they come up from underground. This is the kind of stream that he saw. Floating on the water was the white lichen caribou eat and other debris. He wondered where the lichen and debris had come from. The water was also foamy, a bit dirty. He was baffled for a moment until he remembered someone saying that some bears have their dens under the water or over a stream, as was the case in this instance. He went to investigate and, sure enough, he came across a bears’ den. In the den were eight bears, amongst them some young ones we call wîtipimâkinishich (singular, wîtipimâkinish). Wîtipmâkinishichh is the name we give to the small young bears. A pitâwânsîsh is older than a wîtipimâkinish. Then there are adult bears, which come in all sizes, small, medium and large. The man killed them, dragged them out of the den and went home. The feeling that he was going to die was gone now. His wife was shocked to hear there were so many bears in the den. They moved their camp to where the bears were and prepared the meat so that it wouldn’t spoil. They had food all winter long. In fact, they had food for the whole year! ronnie sheshamush

The Boy Who Was Afraid of Bears One day we met a man called Wâchinâkinâpâu. He was a Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu [an Innu]. We lived and hunted with him. One day one of his daughters came to our dwelling with a message from her father. She said to my mother, “My father says to make lots of fish powder for pemmican because he’s going hunting for bear.” My mother replied, “Certainly, I’ll make some.” Soon afterwards the father went off hunting with his youngest son, Wîyâwashâhûkw. Before long they saw a bear, but the bear smelled their presence and ran away. The man ran after the bear, leaving his son

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behind him. Anticipating which way the bear would go, the man ran to meet the bear. Meanwhile, Wîyâwashâhûkw became afraid and started to scream. When Wâchinâkinâpâu heard the scream, he stopped his chase and returned to his son. “Why are you screaming?” he asked the boy. The boy told him he was afraid. Naturally the bear got away! The man complained to the boy that he had ruined his chance of getting the bear. “But let’s see if the bear has gone where I think it will go,” Wâchinâkinâpâu said to his son. So they went to look for the bear tracks and found that the bear had gone exactly where his father had expected. When they got home, the man told the story to his two other sons. They asked their brother what had made him so afraid. “I was afraid,” said the boy. “I was worried it would claw me.” john kawapit

The Late Night Snack In the past, as today, hunters were known for which animals they hunted the most. My father was known for hunting black bears. He was a bear expert. One year when even the fishing was bad, bear fat was the only thing we had to eat. I’ll sing one of his bear songs for you: “I am happy when I am watching a bear from afar and happy when I am trying to get close to it. I like to watch it going from patch to patch eating the berries. That is when I am the happiest.” One time I was hunting bear with my father. It was about 1940 and there were only three of us in the family then. My sister, the one who had been attacked by the dog, had been sent out to the hospital by plane. She was sent far, far away, much farther than Moose Factory and we never saw her again. This was before there were many planes around. She never came back after her treatment. She went to school and got a job. She stayed there all her life. She married there. Her children were born there. Then we heard that she had died. You know, I don’t even know the name of the place where she died.

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This story took place the first year she was not with us. I was about twelve at the time. As we were landing our canoe to go ashore, we saw a bear with two of her cubs. My father approached the bears. Shots rang out. I ran to him to find that he had killed three bears. Each of us got a bear. My mother got the biggest and my father and I, the smaller ones. We didn’t make much of a dent in our meat supply until another family came to join us. My father gave them some of the bear meat and, when later he killed another one, he gave that one to the man as well. By then each of the men had a bear stomach filled with bear fat. That fall, while we waited for freeze-up, we didn’t have much luck with our fishing. It snowed hard and heavy so the water was slow to freeze. Since we couldn’t go out onto the ice, the only way we could fish was by putting the nets in the water from the shore. Nowadays people might not eat in the mornings because they’re not hungry. In those days, if we didn’t eat, it was because there was no food. We were usually the most hungry in the morning! By then, the man who had been living with us had served us his bear fat for two mornings in a row—there had been nothing else. My father turned to me and said, “We must be eating up all of my brother-in-law’s bear fat. Go get mine.” Little did he know that I had been up to mischief the night before. I slept next to my father. It so happened that he kept the bear fat near the place where he slept. Beside it was a bag of powdered fish. The night before, when everyone was sound asleep, I felt around inside the bag where the fat and fish powder were kept. Tearing a hole in the dried bear stomach, I mixed the fish right in the bear grease and ate it. I ate until I felt sick! There was great commotion the following morning when my father noticed his fat had been broken into. It happened that the other family had a little dog, which hadn’t been tied up the previous night. They assumed the dog had broken into the bear grease and eaten it up. The poor thing was beaten mercilessly.8 I felt so queasy after my late night snack, I could hardly eat the helping that was given to me for breakfast! noah mamianskum 8

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An observer adds, “Why didn’t you say that you were the little dog!”

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AT W H A PM AG O O S T U I During the time of Reverend Walton, the population at Whapmagoostui swelled in the summer as the Îyiyiu arrived to trade.9 The settlement buzzed with activity. Feasts were held and marriages arranged. Hunting conditions were assessed, arrangements were made between hunting partners and travel plans worked out. Îyiyiu and Inuit found short-term employment in the many activities necessary for the maintenance of the post: woodcutting, carpentry, sawing, blacksmithing, gardening and haying. Canoes, toboggans, snowshoes, mittens, moccasins and clothing were made for the post and its employees. Missionaries organized their visits to coincide with the presence of Îyiyiu. While he was there, the minister gave religious instruction, performed marriages and baptisms and mourned the dead. Then, with the conclusion of trading and the prayer meetings, most of the Îyiyiu dispersed back onto the land. Just a handful remained to work, permanent year-round employees of the Hudson’s Bay Company. Not needing much in the way of consumer goods, the inlanders did not seek employment to augment their income until the difficult period beginning at the end of the nineteenth century. The situation of the coasters was quite different. Inhabiting areas that were not as rich in prime furs, they had long tried to make up the shortfall between their debt of the previous fall and fur production by providing services to the post (Morantz 1985, 93). Prior to the 1860s, the Hudson’s Bay Company paid the Îyiyiu for each task performed. After 1860, the Îyiyiu were hired for a month at a rate of ten or twelve made beaver per month.10 A gun cost ten made beaver, the equivalent of one month’s work (ibid., 94). Company servants were employed for a term of years at wages ranging from twenty to thirty pounds per year and a ration of food for one person. These wages were low. The servant could get by as long as he remained single. 9

10

The post at Whapmagoostui, which had reopened in 1856 for the commercial whale fishery, closed in 1870 due to the failure of the fishery. In response, Fort George was upgraded to trading post in charge of the northerly trade. Cree who formerly had received their debt and supplies at Whapmagoostui transferred their accounts either to Little Whale River or Fort George. Then, in 1878, the post at Whapmagoostui was reopened and remained so continuously throughout this period. Made beaver, based on the value of one prime adult male beaver skin, was the standard used by the Hudson’s Bay Company.

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Company servants with children, however, were condemned to a life of poverty. The single ration of food supplemented by that which his wife produced from hunting and fishing was rarely sufficient. “At the prices charged in this territory, the man’s wages will not go far,” wrote E.B. Borron (1890, 85). So few Îyiyiu were employed full-time by the Hudson’s Bay Company that, despite the low wages and the fact that Reverend Walton had told the Îyiyiu that their furs had made the white people in the south rich, stories from this time about relations with the Hudson’s Bay Company do not usually contain criticisms of company policy or of those in charge of the posts. Rather, as in the chapter referring to relations with the whiteman during whaling season, these stories about the Hudson’s Bay Company focus on relations with Hudson’s Bay Company employees and not with management. From the perspective of the Îyiyiu, white Hudson’s Bay Company workers continued to antagonize the Îyiyiu. Both stories below emphasize how the Îyiyiu used either their superior physical or mental strength to defend themselves against their white assailants.

Amiskwâpâs Subdues the Hudson’s Bay Company Clerk This is a story about Amiskwâpâs [the brother of Mamianskum] and Nûtâhchikwâu. One time, for one reason or another, Nûtâhchikwâu angered the clerk at the store. In those days the only way you could get things from the store was by trading furs. The Îyiyiu could buy as much as his furs were worth—nothing more. The store in those days was not like it is today where you can go in and browse, looking at what interests you. Then there was a counter barring the people from the things for sale on the shelves behind. The clerk or manager stood on the other side of the counter. Not knowing the words for everything in the whiteman’s language, the Îyiyiu would point to the merchandise we wanted to trade our furs for. Sometimes, but only sometimes, we were understood when we identified the items in our language.

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To return to the story, Amiskwâpâs, who was standing nearby, overheard the clerk threatening to hit Nûtâhchikwâu. The clerk leapt over the counter to get ready to attack. Amiskwâpâs caught him in midair and draped him over his arm. Holding him over his arm as one would a child, Amiskwâpâs asked him why he wanted to fight. He then reached over and deposited him back on the other side of the counter. The clerk appreciated his strength enough to settle down! noah mamianskum

An Old Îyiyiu Takes on the White Strongman This is a story about another fight between an Îyiyiu and a whiteman. It was a rainy day. The Hudson’s Bay Company’s boat had come in and was being unloaded. Those were the days when the men wore shirts made of short-haired caribou. During the unloading, a small old man went down to the boat. The rain had flattened his caribou shirt, making him look even smaller. Rumour had it that aboard the ship was a mighty, strong whiteman who was mean enough to kill someone with his punches. It was true that aboard the ship was a huge man, supposedly the man who was so strong. The old man boarded the boat to take a better look at the man. His curiosity had got the best of him! The large man uttered something to him, waving the old man off the ship. The old man paid no attention. He wanted to look around the boat. In the meantime, the whiteman had rolled up his sleeves as if he were preparing to hit the old man. The Îyiyiu watching the unloading from the shore remarked, “Our grandfather is done for now!” By then the old man had sat down on a box. The whiteman came towards the old man and let loose a hard driving blow. It made no impression whatsoever on the old man. Moving further back for a running start, the whiteman soon landed another punch. His arm bounced off the old man. Frustrated, he ran towards him for yet a third try. The old man finally intervened. He caught the whiteman’s arm

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and dragged him down even though he was still sitting down. Pinning his arms beneath him, the old man sat on the whiteman and tapped his face. These taps had a devastating effect. The whiteman’s face was completely cut open and his skin hung loose. Luckily for him, the captain of the ship came along. In those days, some whitemen caught on quickly to the Îyiyiu language. The captain said to the old man, “That’s enough, chisâyiyiu [old man].” He was well-aware of what the old man could do if he wanted to! The old man let go. The captain lectured the whiteman, saying, “See what happens for being disrespectful to an old man. You could have been killed if I hadn’t intervened. Now, look at the old man. See how poor his clothes are. You must give him a set of clothing to make up for your disrespect.” The whiteman complied immediately. [Noah laughs.] “Grandfather, we’re proud of you. At first we really thought that you were done for, but then it looked as if he couldn’t even budge you!” the onlookers said to him when he returned from the boat. “All the while he was hitting me I was imagining that I was an upright hunk of rock. What could he do to a large piece of rock with just his bare hands?” the old man replied. noah mamianskum

Small and isolated, the early trading posts in James Bay—including the post at Whapmagoostui—were separated from their British and Canadian ties “like lunar colonies” (Newman 1985, 19). The grand metropolis of the region was Moose Factory. Besides being an international port, Moose Factory was the base from which missionary activities to the northern Îyiyiu were launched. It played host to an Anglican cathedral and a contingent of conscientious church workers. And it was the main point of entry to James Bay for the surveyors and geologists. It was also the headquarters of the southern division of the Hudson’s Bay Company. Its Moose Factory operations included a battery of workshops employing blacksmiths, carpenters and coopers, as well as gardens and livestock, which provided fresh produce.

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Primarily from England, Scotland and Canada, the non-Native inhabitants of the posts sought with differing degrees of success to recreate the social worlds they had left behind. But communication with the outside world was difficult and most experienced their isolation acutely. Prior to World War I, there were no radio, telephone or telegraph contacts with the outside world. People received news by the mail packet, which arrived four times a year, by boat in the spring and fall, by toboggan during the winter. The annual ship from England carried the fourth shipment of mail. In its hold were all the supplies, food, clothing and equipment needed by the posts for the upcoming year. Its arrival was anticipated with great excitement. In fact, the arrival of the ship was the most exciting time of the year for the non-Natives at the post. As soon as the boat was seen on the horizon, shots were fired to announce her arrival; silence descended over the post as she left. Once the Îyiyiu had returned to their hunting territories, the stillness would be unbroken until the celebrations at Christmas and New Year. So starved was the non-Native population for news that postmasters from other posts often converged on Moose Factory to await the arrival of the mail. Their dismay was palpable when it didn’t arrive on time. As Bishop Newnham wrote, I am disappointed, sadly disappointed for we have received no Winter Packet from either Canada or England—it should have been here on the 4th instant. People have travelled many hundreds of miles to receive it and they must return to their distant homes without that gleam of sunshine which illuminates the winter darkness. This waiting is dreadful, the suspense and anxiety haunts me day and night. (Newnham Papers) The small contingent of non-Native inhabitants might have made the wilderness their home. Some, like Reverend Walton, even married and settled there, but many were profoundly lonely. “The wheels of our little society run smoothly,” wrote the first Bishop of Moosonee, “yet as the years roll on by we are still buried in the interminable forest” (Newnham

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Papers). And, from the Hudson’s Bay Company journal at Great Whale River came the following plaintive entry: Fri. Dec. 25, 1903—Xmas Day and G.W.R. is a damned place for a whiteman to spend it unless he is addicted to the opium habit—whiskey might do but I doubt it—+ it’s hardly worth while trying so as to find out (HBCA B.372/a/16:35d). Transplanted gentlemen of the Victorian era, many of the missionaries arrived with the attendant baggage of prudery, biases and prejudices. They took it upon themselves to impose the “proper” moral climate upon these little settlements. To that avail, they strove with differing degrees of success to control the conduct of all the inhabitants of the posts. Drinking, for example, was subjected to their scrutiny and came up wanting. Once again, in Bishop Newnham’s words: We had trouble with drink among the Hudson’s Bay Company servants. It led to a row, a fight, and almost a mutiny on our little schooner at Rupert House. Some of them got a hold of our spirits which they put into their berry juice and sugar beer. Either they are distilling privately, or... (Newnham Papers) Judging from the following comment, not everyone appreciated the missionaries’ interventions on this matter. Evidently, the postmaster at Fort George did not think there was much need for Reverend Walton’s exhortations. All hands went to church and as usual got it in the neck on the ‘Drink’ question. It is getting monotonous as a text for sermons at this place [Fort George] where there is less promiscuous drinking than at any Coast Post on the Bay, G.W.R. excepted (HBCA B.77/a/54). In true puritanical form, Reverend Walton also tried, unsuccessfully, to put a stop to dancing. “We almost dread the coming of summer,” he wrote. “Every one knows the evil results of this dancing but they

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want to persist in it because they say it is not a sin to dance and that they have known even ministers to do it” (Morantz 2002, 86). Even the federal government weighed in on the subject. Duncan Campbell Scott, deputy superintendent general of Indian affairs, writing to Indian agents in 1921, said that dancing was a “waste of time, interfered with the occupations of the Indians, unsettles them for serious work, injures their health and encourages them in sloth and idleness” (ibid.). Just as Christian and Îyiyiu beliefs quickly found a certain balance, the Îyiyiu seemed willing to observe some of the proprieties imposed by the missionaries. For instance, in an effort to make the Îyiyiu “respectable,” polygamous marriages were discouraged. In the following story, Hannah Natachequan refers to her wedding, which occurred during the time of Reverend Walton. Comparing the marriage arrangements of the Îyiyiu to those of the Naskapi, she implies the Îyiyiu occupied the moral high ground by not living together before marriage. According to Hannah, the Naskapi lived together before the wedding ceremony, something she appears to frown upon. Interestingly, the only reference to the sanctioning of monogamous marriages is in a story about an arranged marriage. Traditionally, Îyiyiu marriages were arranged. While many of these marriages worked well, not everyone liked the idea. As illustrated by the two stories below, disagreements sometimes occurred between children and their parents about marriage partners—young adults arguing, in defiance of conventional wisdom, that the choice should be theirs alone. Considering both stories focus on events that occurred at the beginning of the twentieth century, Reverend Walton appears to have had an immediate influence on marriage practises.

A Husband for Betsy Just before that time my sister-in-law Betsy was supposed to marry a man from Chisasibi. She was living with my uncle Mâtinwâskum and his family. So, too, was the man she was to marry.

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A double wedding at Whapmagoostui, early 1900s. Dressed in their wedding finery, couples were married in the summer when their families came to Whapmagoostui for supplies and church services. Babies born during the winter were baptized and weddings—often several at a time—were conducted. Marriages were usually arranged by the parents, a controversial custom even in those days. [A.A.Chesterfield Fonds. Queen’s University Archives, V007-W1, A.A. Chesterfield.]

“We had a lot of caribou to eat that year in the middle of the winter,” said Betsy, “so much that we had to make numerous trips ahead with the food. It was beginning to get warm, making it hard to travel during the day. In the morning, as soon as it was light, I would get up to chop the wood while the snow was still hard. Nobody else had any reason to get up so early. Soon, they said, the weather would be right for travelling

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back to the post. This made me very unhappy because I knew that meant that the marriage would soon take place. “I began to wonder what would happen if I ran away. That night I checked the snow. It was very hard. I thought about gathering up some food but decided against it, as I feared the others would hear me rattling around. As soon as it was bright enough I got up and loaded my things onto my aunt’s toboggan. Hers was the smallest. First, I carried everything away from our camp in my arms so that no one could hear me. I braced myself for a long trip. Luckily, the snow was hard so I didn’t leave any tracks. By the time the snow started to soften, I was far from our camp.” Betsy had an idea where her father was and that’s where she went. My sister Wâpistânskwâu used to laugh and tease her about this. Betsy said before she left she had checked to be sure everyone was sound asleep. “The man I was supposed to marry was on his back and sleeping very peacefully,” she recalled. “Why didn’t you slap his face before you left?” my sister inquired. “I couldn’t do that. I wanted to be gentle about the whole thing,” she responded. “Gentle,” my sister retorted, “you left the man!” “When the people I had left got up, they wondered where I was. At first, they just assumed that I was out getting wood but after a while they started to get suspicious. My toboggan was still there but my snowshoes were gone. What did it mean? When they noticed that my aunt’s toboggan was gone, they realized that I must have left the camp. But because they couldn’t see any tracks, they didn’t know what to do. They had no idea which way I had gone. They were very worried about me.” Many times they tried to marry Betsy off when they were with the Naskapi. She always refused. The men chosen for her were all well-to-do but she wouldn’t have anything to do with them. She always ran away. She was to marry one of my cousins and she wouldn’t have him either. She finally married the nephew of Jimmy Sandy. At that time we were all living in two big tents that we had joined together. One time the nephew brought her a present of a shawl. She was

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busy doing something and pretended not to see him. She wouldn’t look at him. “Take what is being offered to you,” her father ordered. “This time you will not be the boss! You’re going to marry this man.” Taking the shawl, she flung it to the other side of the tent. In the end, though, this is the man she married. She and I got married at the same time. A lot of us got married at that time, including a number of Naskapi couples. With the Wâpmâkushtûwîyiyiu, couples were promised to each other and then they got married. The Naskapi didn’t do it that way. They would live together first and then legalize the arrangement when the minister came around. When we got married [circa 1913–14] the women wore nicely made dresses tied around the waist with long ribbons, a silk scarf and a new shawl. After the ceremony we had a big feast with food provided by the Hudson’s Bay Company manager. The feast was held outdoors. There was a lot of food—there were piles of bannock all over the place! hannah natachequan

A Wife for David David Shem was thinking of getting married at this time. He had already picked out the woman he wanted to marry, but his father Chisâchîmî [old Jimmy] didn’t approve of his choice. He had another woman in mind for his son. David didn’t want to marry the woman his father had selected for him. “I won’t marry the woman you’ve picked for me,” he told his father. “I want to marry the woman I’ve chosen.” The old man didn’t reply immediately. He thought and then he said to his son, “Does that mean you want two wives? You will marry the woman I am telling you to marry. If you also marry the woman you have chosen, you will have two wives!” The old man wouldn’t give up. Finally David gave in. He married the woman his father wanted him to marry. john kawapit

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Annie Sandy’s first wedding, 1949–50. [John Joseph Honigmann Papers, box 32. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.]

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SIX

From Hunters to Fishers

Many couldn’t get enough food to keep themselves alive. It’s hard to imagine that now. In those days, the Îyiyiu were grateful to three kinds of game: fish, ptarmigan and porcupine. In those days, if all of a sudden you came across these things, you could be saved from starvation. noah mamianskum

In the early 1990s, the George River caribou herd was the largest in the world, nearly one million caribou strong. Part of the herd wintered in the hundreds of thousands between the Caniapiscau reservoir and the James Bay coast. Large numbers also wintered along the upper drainage of rivers flowing into Ungava Bay: the Caniapiscau, Koksoak, aux Mélèzes and aux Feuilles. They would even be sighted wandering close to Whapmagoostui. It wasn’t always so. The herd had been enormous in the 1870s, then suffered such a serious and protracted decline that in the 1950s biologists thought of capturing caribou to raise in captivity. They feared their extinction (Halley 1997). The caribou had declined in quick succession from west to east across the Québec-Labrador peninsula. The contraction in caribou herds—the most important source of fall, winter and spring food of the Îyiyiu—lasted for over half a century, making it the defining event in the lives of three generations of Îyiyiu. Since time immemorial, caribou had kept the people strong and healthy. Now, with no large game upon which to rely, the Îyiyiu had to change their way of

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life. For more than fifty years, depending on where they lived, the Îyiyiu survived primarily, sometimes solely, on fish. The collapse of the caribou population had a devastating and profound effect on the people of Great Whale River, Îyiyiu and Inuit alike.1 Eking out an existence became their main occupation. Both devoted their energy to finding food, struggling from day to day to feed their families. In the process, the Îyiyiu became fishers as they spread out across the land in search of the smaller remaining herds. Following the caribou north and eastwards, some were drawn deeper into the interior. Many starved to death on their way; others starved when the caribou were not where they were expected to be. Trapping intensified as the Îyiyiu tried to get enough furs to buy food to keep their families alive. The increased level of trapping came with a price, however, because, by the end of the 1920s, fur-bearers and most other game animals failed. Trading habits also changed. Many of the Îyiyiu who had formerly come to the post to trade once a year now engaged in midwinter trading for provisions. Winter groups adjusted in size as well. Group size had always been flexible, fluctuating according to the availability of food. With food so hard to find, people broke up into smaller groups, reassembling if they were lucky enough to catch, as Noah Mamianskum put it, “important food, like caribou.” And, out of necessity, winter groups were now more dispersed, more mobile than during times when caribou was available.

DE VA S TAT I N G DE C L I N E I N T H E C A R I B OU P O P U L AT ION When Europeans arrived in North America, caribou occupied a territory extending from northern New Hampshire to Hudson Strait. Caribou were still distributed throughout Québec by the 1850s, the herds now avoiding the towns and farming areas in the southern part of the 1

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The decline in fur prices during the 1870–1890 depression resulted in the Hudson’s Bay Company closing unprofitable posts, among them the one at Little Whale River in 1890. Îyiyiu and Inuit formerly associated with the post at Little Whale River had then transferred to Great Whale River post. Inuit from the Belcher Islands and from along the coast north of Richmond Gulf came to Great Whale River to trade.

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province. A.P. Low, a geologist in the employ of the federal government, travelled through northern Québec at the end of the nineteenth century. His accounts provide a snapshot of conditions in the region at that time. Informed by local Îyiyiu, he reported an abundance of caribou in northern Québec until 1870. Then, between 1875 and 1900, their numbers declined dramatically from south to north and, according to Elton, from west to east (Trudel 1985, 25). Low observed that by 1892 there was no sign of caribou from Lake St. John to James Bay, none in the country between the Eastmain and Rupert Rivers, none about Mistissini; he and his expedition only encountered them north and northeast of the Eastmain River (Low 1896, 86, 102). At that time, the Great Whale River Îyiyiu depended on three important caribou herds—the western, central and eastern herds, named after their location in the Québec-Labrador peninsula.

The Western Herd The drop in the population of the western herd came early and lasted at least until the 1920s. Usually summering on the coastal plateau of northeastern Hudson Bay, its winter range extended from Cape Jones in the south to Richmond Gulf, then north to Lake Minto. The caribou first disappeared from the coastal zone in the 1880s and 1890s. The situation was so severe that in the 1880s thirteen Îyiyiu families who traditionally hunted to the north of the Great Whale River relocated to the Fort Chimo area to hunt the caribou herd that wintered in the Ungava region. Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu, these Îyiyiu were called, meaning “people who were raised north of the Great Whale River near the barren grounds.”

The Central Herd In the winter of 1892–93, great destitution resulted in the death by starvation of a 150 people south of Fort Chimo (Morantz 2002, 52). The dead

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included nineteen Îyiyiu families who had starved to death “in a body and another six families [who] were totally lost” (Low 1896, 123). By the 1890s, the size of the central caribou herd had also plummeted, and the downward trend continued well into the twentieth century. Many of the families who had transferred to the Fort Chimo area gradually made their way back to Great Whale River. The first, Weasappisou, returned in 1892, having been at Fort Chimo since 1883 (HBCA B.372/a/12, fo.4d). A year later, “Crow, who had been at Fort Chimo since 1884” was back (HBCA B.372/a/12, fo.31d). A few days after the arrival of Crow, another of the Îyiyiu “visitors” to Fort Chimo, returned (ibid., fo.32). Then, in 1896, Motachequay and Skinny Boy’s son were back at Great Whale River, having traded at Fort Chimo for the eleven previous years (HBCA B.372/a/13, fo.59).

F I S H I N G F OR A L I V I N G The collapse of the caribou population wreaked havoc on the Îyiyiu. Both passion and necessity, caribou hunting was the Îyiyiu’s primary source of spiritual inspiration and material well-being. Not only did it provide food, but most of the basics. Clothing, dwelling covers, mittens, moccasins, the lacing for snowshoes, drums, toys—the list goes on and on—were made from caribou. Lack of caribou left the people without sustenance and jeopardized the trapping season because they now had to spend more time looking for food. Fewer furs to sell, in turn, reduced the spending power of the Îyiyiu, their ability to purchase food supplies and hunting equipment and, ultimately, to survive. The people were also more vulnerable to exposure as they now had insufficient quantities of caribou hide for clothing, dwelling covers, footwear and mittens—protection from the elements. To survive, caribou hunters became fishermen. The Îyiyiu fanned out across the land in search of good fishing lakes and hunted ceaselessly for small game like ptarmigan, porcupine and hare. Fish proved to be the most reliable: There were times when there weren’t even ptarmigan to tide him over until he got fish. In those days fish was the

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Snow-covered winter lodge, 1915. While the caribou population was in decline, the Îyiyiu were forced to winter in smaller groups. Families tried to camp within walking distance of each other so that when food was available they could stay together. In the meantime, they sought to establish their main camps at good fishing places. The women tended the fish lines and nets, while the men searched for food and fur-bearing animals. [Margaret E. Murie Fonds. Library and Archives Canada, PA-136297, O.J. Murie.]

top priority food for the Îyiyiu. But it was well-known that when an Îyiyiu didn’t have bait for his hooks, he was in deep trouble. Even if he had nothing else, an Îyiyiu could feel hope if he had bait for his hooks. (Whapmagoostui Place Names Project 1993) Before this time, large groups of Îyiyiu had gathered at strategic places along the northern rivers to hunt caribou on their fall migration. The fall hunt had been crucial. A successful hunt yielded the food reserves needed to sustain the people during early winter trapping. After the autumn caribou hunt, the Îyiyiu had split up into smaller groups of one or two families to trap marten or mink until mid-December or early January. They, then,

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reassembled during the coldest winter months, January and February, to hunt the caribou that had returned to the area. In the spring, the group dispersed once again, this time to trap otter, to fish, to hunt waterfowl. Traditionally, caribou hunting had been a highly social affair, done in family groups of between three and five households. A household consisted of parents and children and elderly parents, brothers, sisters and orphaned children. With the scarcity of caribou, those who ventured deep into the interior continued to hunt in the fall and midwinter and to trap in early winter and spring as before, but with a difference. The size of the groups assembling for the communal hunt was now smaller because the lack of large game animals discouraged the formation of big groups. Large groups of people were a problem if there proved to be no food, especially in the fall just before the trapping season. Now, if the caribou didn’t show up, families went their separate ways to search for food, particularly fish, and to trap. Îyiyiu who didn’t go after the caribou on the barren grounds led even more solitary lives. As Suzanne Kawapit put it, We travelled inland together in groups. We would spend freeze-up together as a group. After freeze-up the group would split up into families to tend to our traplines. We would come together again in the springtime. Before travelling down to the post we would often wait for hunters who had gone further inland. There are places where several canoe routes meet. We would sometimes wait there. Upon reaching their hunting grounds, these Îyiyiu established their main camps at good fishing spots, a hedge against the possibility, even likelihood, there would be nothing else to eat. Out of necessity, winters were now spent in smaller groups, often single-family groups—sometimes a family to a lake—a stark reminder the land couldn’t support more. Each family had its own location. The women, children and elderly tended the nets and lines, while the men combed the countryside for furs. Although people wintered in small groups, it wasn’t their preference. It could be dangerous, particularly if something happened to one of the adults. And

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Three young girls playing, Whapmagoostui, 1915. [Margaret E. Murie Fonds. Library and Archives Canada, PA-136294, O.J. Murie.]

it wasn’t the best way to hunt caribou should any come their way. So families tried to camp within walking distance of each other. When food was available, they stayed together. Moving from lake to lake, the Îyiyiu set their nets or put in their fish lines, many preferring the latter for their versatility. The Îyiyiu could line fish in both summer and winter. Fish lines could be put anywhere—in lakes, in coves and bends of rivers—and, depending on ice conditions, in any number. Thick ice, for instance, makes it difficult to chisel holes for the lines, and both spring break-up and fall freeze-up create hazardous conditions. While the Îyiyiu often stayed put for as long as there were fish, fish lines allowed them to harvest lakes and rivers away from their campsites and, hence, to cover a greater area in their search for food. “Never relegate fish to second place in your pursuit of game,” Ronnie Sheshamush’s mother says to her children in the next story. They, like most

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others at the time, owed their survival to fish, eating it morning, noon and night, day in and day out throughout the year. Fish was caught and dried to see people through freeze-up and later, spring break-up, times when it was both difficult and dangerous to move around. Dried fish provided sustenance during the coldest time of the year when the fish weren’t biting and animals were harder to catch. It nourished the people while they were on the move, and, most importantly, it allowed the people to hunt and trap. The Îyiyiu fished, then searched the land for fur-bearers whose pelts they could exchange for ammunition and a few staples.

Never Relegate Fish to Second Place “Never relegate fish to second place in your pursuit of game,” my mother said to us. My father had just died and we were living on the shore of the lake called Nimâpî Sâkihîkin, inland from Richmond Gulf. We were starving by the time we reached the lake. It was here our mother said to us, “Your father is gone now and it is up to me to teach you what you need to know in order to survive. Fish is very important. It is our staple food and it’s easy to catch. Now that we have found a good fishing lake, we should stay here and harvest as much as possible. We’ll harvest what we can and leave some here on a platform. Then we will look for another good fishing lake and do the same thing. In this way we will have food during the coldest part of the year when hunting is poor— we’ll have food to fall back on.” She was trying to teach us the importance of thinking ahead, of preparing as much as possible for the future. We stayed there while the fish were biting, my mother and sisters drying the fish and tying them in bundles. Soon we had three bundles of dried fish, then four and, finally, five—enough to allow us to move on towards our hunting grounds. When the Îyiyiu wanted to leave food and things behind they used to build a high platform between two trees that were close together. Meat and fish that have been thoroughly dried can be left for a long time if they are well protected by a waterproof cover. These caches gave us a feeling

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of security, knowing we would have food to go to when, or if, the hunting was unsuccessful, like during the coldest part of the year. So we left that place and headed west towards Âchikunipî, fishing and hunting as we went. We wanted to get as far inland as possible in our canoes before freeze-up. We stopped at the designated lake for freezeup only to find that the fishing was not good. We started to get hungry. At that point, we began to think of the bundles of food, including tea, we had cached along the way and realized that, despite the distance, we should head back. After freeze-up we headed down towards our platforms of fish. We took a different route in the winter—straighter than when we travelled by canoe. The family camped at a lake along the way, while I went on ahead to the place where we had cached the food. By then I was old enough to go on trips like that alone. All I thought of as I walked along was the meal of tea and fish I would make myself when I arrived. I had left on an empty stomach. We had cached the food on a high platform on a large island in the middle of a lake. As we had paddled away from the lake at the end of the summer, we could see the platform from the water. Now, approaching the island from the same direction, I had a sickening feeling that something was not right. Even from a distance I could tell the cache was askew. I could see right through the bars of wood that had served as the stage for the platform. Some of the pole supports were lying on the ground. Others precariously held the platform up. There was nothing on the platform. I was so disappointed. I was so hungry. Disheartened, I began poking around in the snow in the hope of retrieving the tea. I knew it was futile to look for the fish, but the tea had been in a metal container. Poking through the snow with my snow shovel, I eventually hit something. I panned the snow to see what it was. Sure enough it was the tea. “At least I will have tea to drink,” I consoled myself. By then it was evening and I was really hungry. At that time, I was not too skinny because up until then we had been catching enough to have a meal a day—enough to keep us going but not enough to satisfy! When I got home, I had to tell my mother what had happened. Of course, she was very disappointed about the fish. She concluded that a bear had probably smelled the fish from the mainland and

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swum to the island to get at it. It must have swum over before winter set in since bears hibernate. This was one time when a bear really disappointed us, eating and destroying the food we had left behind for hard times. We had left quite a lot of fish and pemmican at that place because it was an island. We felt that since it was high up and on an island it was out of reach. We didn’t get a single bite from the food we had left at that place. We all returned to the lake where our cache had been. It was just a day’s walk from where we were camping. After my mother had looked around, she said, “Don’t even bother trying to find the fish. What the bear couldn’t eat, it has hidden here and there for future meals. Let the bear have it.” She had heard from someone that the bear caches what it doesn’t eat, so we didn’t bother to look for its leftovers. Instead, we stayed and fished in the lake for two days. Fortunately, it was a good fishing area. It gave us the fish we needed. ronnie sheshamush

Fish were so crucial to survival that about seven hundred fish and fishing places—more than any other kind of place—were identified by the Whapmagoostui Place Names Project. Fishing spots are scattered throughout Whapmagoostui lands, but, until this terrible time, many were unknown; they had not yet been “discovered.” “When the animals were down, the Îyiyiu had to find more lakes to fish,” explained a Whapmagoostui elder. To this day, descriptions of many of the lakes and fishing places in Whapmagoostui territory include a reference to the person who first fished there “during the hard times when the Îyiyiu were looking for good fishing lakes.” Some places proved to be excellent. The fishery at Lake Bienville, at the mouth of the Great Whale River, was one of them. Suzanne Kawapit recalls, It was the only lake along the length of the Great Whale River where there was good fishing. There wasn’t much before then. Once you got there, though, there were plenty

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of good spots around the lake. South of the lake there were good fishing lakes, too. But on the river at that time there were hardly any fish. It seems that all the fish were at Lake Bienville so that when we travelled down the Great Whale River to the coast, when we put our nets in along the way, we caught only enough to keep from getting too hungry. Lake Bienville was so important some have called it their capital. In better times people had lived there year-round because of the availability of a wide range of resources. It continued to be important during the starvation period. As will be discussed below, caribou frequented the Lake Bienville area for a couple of decades after the eastern and central herds had declined. Then, after the caribou disappeared from the lake, people still lived there throughout the year. Because there are a good many fishing spots, in the fall the Îyiyiu gathered around the lake to spend freeze-up, disbanding soon afterwards to trap the lands in the vicinity. In midwinter, with open water in places all year, people didn’t have to break through several feet of ice to place their fish lines. And, it was a good place to live while constructing canoes for the return trip to the post in the early summer. In contrast, many other fishing places were seasonal. Some provided good winter fishing; others were productive in the spring or summer. Similarly, certain lakes furnished one kind of fish, others another. Travel had to be organized accordingly. Those who liked to line fish, for instance, first needed to find lakes with burbot, important as bait, before proceeding to the lakes they fished for food. When the fishery failed and there was nothing else, the people ate wâhkun (plural, wâhkunch), the rock tripe or lichen that grows on the rocks, using it as one would use oats to make flour or little thin cakes, as in the story below.

Eating Wâhkunch to Survive One time Wiskâschikinish’s son came across the camp of some people who were starving. A long time ago when people were hungry, they used

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to eat wâhkunch, the black lichen that grows on rocks. I ate it too. I remember my mother preparing it for us. We would make it into a broth. The mother [from the camp of the people who were starving] was out gathering wâhkunch when the son of Wiskâschikinish arrived at their camp. Except for the wâhkunch, they had had nothing to eat. For some reason, the old man didn’t seem terribly distressed. He said to the son of Wiskâschikinish, “Too bad you didn’t come yesterday. They picked a lot more wâhkunch yesterday and made them into kwâkunsâwânch [little thin cakes]. There was a whole row of them by the fire yesterday.” noah mamianskum

Mischinâhkw One time during a difficult period an Îyiyiu was out picking wâhkun when he was spoken to by “somebody.” It is believed this Îyiyiu “must have been one of the people who had a Mischinâhkw. He had the Îyâukâu Mischinâhkw, the spirit of the animals that are on dry land” (Whapmagoostui Place Names Project 1993). The spirit of the animals that live on the land, Îyâukâu Mischinâhkw, was first mentioned in the Introduction to help explain hunting success. Thus far we have heard primarily about the spirit of land-based animals. But during the time when the Îyiyiu depended so thoroughly on fish, those with powers sometimes appealed for assistance to the spirit of the creatures that inhabit the water, Mischinâhkw. The Îyiyiu talk about places where elders are known to have spoken to the spirit of the fish and then caught a lot of fish (ibid.). The following is a story about an old woman who was living at one such lake, Mischinâhkw Sâkihîkin.

Mischinâhkw Sâkihîkin They were very hungry because they couldn’t catch any fish in their nets even though the nets were always in the water. They were very hungry, as if there were no nets in the water. One night they heard it, Mischinâhkw. This is how Wâtâchikwâutu [Jacob Rupert, an Anglican lay reader] told

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the story about what happened to his wife Wâsipâpinûhkwâu [Maria Rupert]. I guess Mischinâhkw came to tell them they were not going to be hungry anymore. “We were not sleeping after we had bedded down for the night. Suddenly we heard something, a disturbance in the water. That’s what we heard first. Right after that something made a sound. Immediately, Wâsipâpinûhkwâu said, ‘Who is making that sound? Whatever it is sounds like Mischinâhkw. If it isn’t Mischinâhkw we have heard, the nets will be empty in the morning. But if it is, we certainly will see fish in our net.’ In the morning we paddled over to our net. Wâsipâpinûhkwâu hadn’t taken the pole that held one end of the net when she said she could already see fish. The net was full! She was the only one who knew what Mischinâhkw sounded like.” andrew natachequan, whapmagoostui place names project 1993

In his comments below John Kawapit explains how fishing success as well as success in hunting small game like partridge, hare and porcupine was governed by the same ethic of sharing as applied to caribou.

Mâtinmâkwâunu It is said, especially when food was scarce, that the fish caught in a day—whether it be ten fish, six or five—should be put together for everyone to eat. This was particularly done when big fish were caught. The fish were put together and everyone ate together. The action was known as mâtinmâkwâunu. This custom was done especially when food was scarce and there was a large group of people to feed. It was ingrained in us that all we caught be handled in a respectful way. In those days, food was scarce more often than not. Everything was scarce. Sometimes in a group there would be three dwellings of people. And sometimes it happened that only some people in one or two of the

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dwellings would catch food to eat. When the custom was followed, they put all the food together to share with everyone. This was the most ethical and right thing to do. It was one of the most important customs to practise. If a woman caught most of the fish, she would give it to one of her fellow women to have the honour of cooking the fish for everyone and having everyone eat together. When one woman does this, she inspires another to put more fish in the “pot.” The women who gave the fish show they want everyone to have something to eat. It was said that when the food wasn’t handled and treated according to custom, it wasn’t easy to catch more food. When it was seen [by the spirit of the animals] that these people were doing the ethical thing, it was easier for the people to be given more food to catch in the future. It wasn’t just fish that the custom was geared to. Other game like ptarmigan, rabbit, porcupine were also cooked for everyone to feast on. Naturally, the caribou was also cooked for everyone to feast on. john kawapit

“Where the Caribou Met the Îyiyiu” While fish kept people alive, quality of life was determined by access to caribou. By the end of the nineteenth century, caribou were extremely rare except in the far north and the interior, several hundred kilometres northeast of Great Whale River post. Finding the herds involved travelling through territory that furnished no food at all. This was especially true for the Îyiyiu who went to where the Naskapi—the Aushâwâwiyiyiu—hunted the barren grounds caribou, the eastern herd. But most people were reluctant to go that far. They feared starving to death along the way. That being said, the Îyiyiu mentioned a few places that were closer where caribou continued to congregate. North of Clearwater Lake is a place “where the caribou met the Îyiyiu during the time when there were not too many caribou. The people were so thankful the caribou always came back to this area” (Whapmagoostui Place Names Project 1993). Then there was Âmûsahâkinûshit, which translates as,

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Where its presence can be found [referring to caribou], even a little bit at least. If caribou couldn’t be found elsewhere, they were sure to find them here. The caribou always seemed to come to this place. Even when the caribou dwindled, when they couldn’t be found anywhere else, they could be found here from time to time. (Whapmagoostui Place Names Project 1993) The Pâîpitâukâuh area in the highlands north of Lake Bienville was another place where caribou could usually be found when they were “absent or rare in the surrounding areas” (ibid.). In general, however, because the caribou not always where they were expected to be, predicting their location was extremely precarious. In John Kawapit’s words, After David’s wedding we went back up to our hunting grounds. My father was sick and unable to walk, but he wanted to go where the Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu [the Innu] used to meet the caribou. This is where he hunted. This is where I was born. We travelled with a Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu called Kâpitâuwâu to the place in his hunting territory where he used to wait for the caribou on their migration along the river. We stayed and waited, but the caribou didn’t come. We had to live on fish. Fortunately, the lakes around there were full of fish. When, by late fall, the caribou hadn’t come, we realized they were not coming to this area like they used to. We left to look for a good fishing spot where we could spend freeze-up. Then, when the Îyiyiu realized the tundra caribou weren’t coming anymore, many of them stayed around the Lake Bienville area. With all this uncertainty the Îyiyiu felt safer at Lake Bienville because, as stated earlier, resources around the lake sustained them year-round. Prior to World War I, caribou could still be found in the Lake Bienville region. Lots of them. Liking conditions at the head of rivers, caribou were attracted to the Lake Bienville area, in particular, because its lichens

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provided them with food and its many islands provided protection from fire and predators. It was so popular that Naskapi and Îyiyiu from the Fort Chimo area used to meet with Îyiyiu from Great Whale at Lake Bienville for the spring goose hunt and caribou hunting. By 1915, however, caribou around Lake Bienville ceased to be reliable. South of the lake are other lakes where the Îyiyiu continued to look for caribou tracks in the coldest part of the winter. They also scoured the forested areas around the mountains to the south of Lake Bienville. In the central and eastern part of Lake Bienville are islands where caribou still fed in late winter, so the Îyiyiu looked there as well. This didn’t mean they found any. To feed themselves, just as elsewhere, the people fished with greater intensity, preserving the fish for use during the trapping season.

R E V I L L ON F R è R E S T R A DI N G C OM PA N Y The Hudson’s Bay Company’s monopoly over trade in the region was interrupted,2 in 1903, by the Revillon Frères Company, reputed to be the largest finished-fur manufacturer in the world. Based in Paris, Revillon Frères also had stations for the collection of raw furs in many parts of the world, including Asia, Europe and North America. In 1903, it set up shop in Fort Chimo, Fort George, Eastmain and Rupert House. The Îyiyiu called it the “French Company.” According to Hudson’s Bay Company journals for 1903, Revillon Frères might have been interested in establishing a post at Great Whale River at that time as well: Tues. July 28,1903—…They are waiting the arrival of a steamer which is to call here to establish a Trading post + then taking up Loudin [Mr. Landon] she goes on to Fort George, Moose and Albany for a like purpose—an ambitious project unless they have some good men on board to leave at the different places. (HBCA B.372/a/16:27&27d) 2

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After the surrender of Rupert’s Land to Canada, in 1869, the Hudson’s Bay Company had no official monopoly over trade in the region, but, because of inertia in the fur industry, it maintained a de facto monopoly for the rest of the century. Diminished interest in the fur trade and the slump in fur markets because of the depression had discouraged the involvement of other parties.

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“Establishing preliminary camp at Great Whale River, Revillon Frères, 1922.” The caption for this photograph suggests Revillon Frères, the largest finished-fur manufacturer in the world, had a presence at Whapmagoostui by 1922. The Îyiyiu who hunted deep in the interior would have been acquainted with the French company before this time because some of them went to Fort Chimo for midwinter supplies. Revillon Frères had established a post at Fort Chimo in 1903. [McCord Museum, Montreal, MP-1976.24.50, Samuel H.Coward.]

The quote refers to Mr. Landon, the Revillon Frères boss, who was awaiting the arrival at Great Whale River of the steamer, the El Dorado. Unbeknownst to Mr. Landon, the El Dorado had run aground off Fort George causing great excitement there, as well as great inconvenience to Revillon Frères. Honigmann (1962) suggests that a post was established at Great Whale River that year. Tanner (1978) disagrees, arguing instead that the Revillon Frères post at Great Whale River didn’t open until the early 1920s. Captions accompanying photographs taken by Revillon Frères personnel suggest the company was establishing a presence at Whapmagoostui in 1921–22. By 1922, it also had a post at Richmond Gulf. As Îyiyiu stories attest, the people who hunted deep in

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the interior would have become acquainted with the French company before this time having made midwinter trips for supplies to Fort Chimo where Revillon Frères had been established since 1903. Many of the Great Whale River Îyiyiu who hunted caribou on the barren grounds did midwinter trading at Fort Chimo where they benefited from the stiff competition between the two companies. To woo clients away from the Hudson’s Bay Company, Revillon Frères runners brought merchandise directly to the Îyiyiu camps. Its personnel intercepted the Îyiyiu on their way to trade at Fort Chimo. It launched a price war over food and furs and introduced a wide range of trade goods. These actions inspired the Hudson’s Bay Company to treat the Îyiyiu better. It, too, started to deliver the peoples’ purchases to their camps. And it raised the price of furs to render its goods more affordable. Revillon Frères then retaliated by purveying an unprecedented range and quality of merchandise. As H.M.S. Cotter, Hudson’s Bay Company postmaster at Fort Chimo, commented, in 1911, We have met with severe competition in buying furs from the Indians, the higher prices offered by the French Company together with a better class of goods suitable for the Indian trade has lessened our business. The opposition has duplicated nearly all our Standard English Goods, in some cases they have even better quality than we carry, for instance their Tartan woolen Shawls—of which there is a large sale—are much superior to ours both in texture and variety of design; these remarks apply to other goods and fabrics also. Nearly all their woolen and cotton goods were bought in from England and France this year, such staples as H.B. Duffle, white shrouds, swanskin, superfine cloth, tartan shawls, Crimean flannel shirts, copper kettles, ‘cone’ sugar, plaid, Etc., Etc. which could not be obtained in Canada of the same Quality they now have….There is a good demand now for men’s ready made clothing, boots, enamel ware, watches, women’s dress material, Savage rifles, 22 rifles and other articles introduced by the opposition. (HBCA B38/b/9:181-183 in Hammond n.d.)

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John Kawapit told the following story about the competition between the two companies.

Competition Between the Hudson’s Bay Company and the French Company The following summer we travelled to the post at Fort Chimo to trade. As we travelled down the Mistisîpî River we were met by some of the people who worked for one of the fur-trading companies. In those days, there were two companies [Revillon Frères and the Hudson’s Bay Company] for the hunters to trade with. The people who had come to meet us did so to persuade us to do business with their company. They gave us tea, sugar and flour. The women made bannock. I have to laugh every time I think of that day. The people from the trading company had a stove with them and offered it to the women who were cooking. The stove was outside. There were a lot of women and not enough room for all of them to cook their bannock at once. In those days, we didn’t know very much about the mechanics of stoves. One of the women put her pan of bannock on top of the stovepipe to cook. Smoke poured out the mouth of the stove. They couldn’t figure out what was going on until one of the people who owned the stove came over and took the pan off the stovepipe! The next day we continued on our journey to the post. As we got closer, a small boat came out to meet us. The people in the boat also offered us food and caribou meat that the Inuit had prepared. When my brother had gone to the post the previous winter he had done business with the Hudson’s Bay Company. When people came down to trade the Hudson’s Bay Company used to provide the hunters with a place to stay in one of their buildings. That’s where my brother and the men he was with stayed. While they were there the manager checked in on them often. My brother told us this story about that visit:

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“The manager came to check on us often. He gave us food to eat. One time a man who worked for the French Company came to visit us. He was a Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu [an Innu] called Sihskûmûnan. He came to see us in the hope that we would bring our furs to the French traders. We gave him a drink and something to eat. The Hudson’s Bay Company manager came in while he was eating. He immediately demanded that Sihskûmûnan leave. Sihskûmûnan said that he would leave when he had finished his tea. “‘That man sure is bothering me while I’m trying to drink my tea!’ Sihskûmûnan remarked. “The manager accused him of stealing, then grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him out.” The Hudson’s Bay Company and the French Company fought over customers, but the people were free to choose which company to go to. Usually they went to both. The two managers were always saying bad things about the other in order to convince us to go to them. They just wanted more customers on their side. When we finally reached the post the manager came out to greet my brother. The manager told him about the death that winter of Sihskûmûnan. “It was the first thing he said to me,” my brother remarked, “and he said it as if it made him happy.” We stayed in one of the Hudson’s Bay Company buildings while we were at the post but we didn’t stay long. There were no Inuit at the post while we were there. I guess they just came in occasionally to trade when they had furs to sell, too. john kawapit

WOR L D WA R I This period was also marked by the outbreak of World War I. Stories told by the people make no mention of any Great Whale River Îyiyiu actually going to war, although Ernest Renouf, a clerk working for the Hudson’s Bay Company at Great Whale River, did join the army in 1917 (Morantz 2002). Reference by the Îyiyiu to the war is made in passing, by way of mentioning the drop in fur prices, a drop that would have had an immediate

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effect on Îyiyiu who were trying to supplement their livelihood—already precarious because of the crisis in the caribou population—with revenue from fur trapping. “Because of the outbreak of war, we didn’t get much for our pelts,” said John Kawapit. Fur prices in the first part of the twentieth century, until World War I, had been good. With the safety of shipping routes compromised by the war, not only did the price of goods go up but their quality and availability declined. The Hudson’s Bay Company substituted Canadian made goods for the better made British goods they had previously sold. In addition, postmasters were told “to give out supplies sparingly and encourage Indians to live on country food as much as possible” (Morantz 2002, 135). Unfortunately, by this time, country food was in very short supply for many of the Îyiyiu.

FORT M AC K E N z I E — N Û H C H I M Î U -WÂ S K Â H Î K I N In 1916, to draw more people—including those who had retreated to the Lake Bienville area—into the interior and to intercept the trade that had shifted to Revillon Frères at Fort Chimo, the Hudson’s Bay Company opened a new post at Fort Mackenzie (1916–1948). The Îyiyiu called it Nûhchimîu-Wâskâhîkin. The Hudson’s Bay Company’s initiative was well-received. While the location of Fort Mackenzie provided the Hudson’s Bay Company with a competitive advantage, its function as a winter supply post gave the Îyiyiu some much needed security. More Îyiyiu travelled deeper into the interior, to where the Naskapi hunted the barren lands caribou. As one of the elders put it, “They followed the caribou east.” The Naskapi enjoyed the availability of caribou in larger numbers and over a longer period of time than most of the Îyiyiu. In fact, through the second decade of the twentieth century, Îyiyiu in contact with the Naskapi were impressed with how wealthy their Naskapi friends were in comparison to themselves. But, until the opening of Fort Mackenzie, most Îyiyiu had been reluctant to venture that far inland. “When people wanted to see the Naskapi, they would say, ‘Let’s go see the mushâwâusîpîutihkw [literally, “barren grounds river caribou,”

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referring to the George River],’” said Hannah Natachequan. Her story below about Great Whale people who did go that far mentions the relative wealth—and generosity—of the Naskapi. The story was told to her by her son, and she recounts it as he told it to her.

Hunting the Barren Grounds Caribou One time we [Hannah’s son and the people with whom he was living] were living way inland with the families of Achinâyâpimikû and Nichikunîwiyiyiu, the father of the David Sandy, who lives in Chisasibi. The men had gone hunting and the children were playing outside. Suddenly, the children yelled that a man was coming towards the camp. The women replied that it was probably just the men returning from the hunt. The children said it wasn’t. It was a man wearing a white coat. From this description the women decided the man must be a Naskapi from Schefferville. “They speak differently from us. I hope we can communicate with him,” one of the women said. The first wife of Wipstikwâyâuchishâyiyiu was with us then. She and her family had spent some winters with the Naskapi people. She thought she might be able to recognize the man and might be able to talk to him. The other women sent her out to meet the man and, sure enough, she did recognize him. He was the son-in-law of a man she knew. They exchanged news about their groups. The Naskapi man went into the dwelling where the woman stayed. All the other women followed them in. They listened as the two talked but they couldn’t understand a thing. When the men returned Wipstikwâyâuchishâyiyiu gave the man two bundles of caribou meat and a package of caribou pimî. The Naskapi man, in return, invited Wipstikwâyâuchishâyiyiu back to his camp with him. He agreed and asked Achinâyâpimikû to come with them. I went too. We left the following morning. As soon as we left camp we saw a lot of caribou. In this area there were hardly any trees—we were just below the tree line. Caribou covered the hilltops. Pointing to the caribou, our men asked if caribou

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were that plentiful where he came from. He couldn’t really understand them but said “yes” anyways. The men laughed! They called this man Chinwâskupît [Long Pete. His English name was Peter Sandy.]. When we reached the Naskapi camp Chinwâskupît called out that he had visitors with him. You could tell all the men were home because their snowshoes were outside their tents. Everybody came out to greet us. We could see they had killed a lot of caribou that winter, too. We were introduced to the people in the camp. As it turned out some of the people in their group were our cousins. One of our cousins invited me into his home. I was very young at the time and very shy—so shy I was afraid to go by myself. I turned to another person from our camp and begged him not to leave me! He assured me he would stay with me. My cousin spread a blanket for us to sit on. Chinwâskupît then gave his father-in-law the bundle of food from our camp. He was very grateful. Our host told his wife to make us some tea. We hadn’t had tea for such a long time. He also asked her to cook some meat for us. She had some ready on the stove. She served us tea with sugar and a big meal of caribou. Chishâ-Mânî [Mary Mamianskum-Sheshamush] was also there, visiting from her camp, which was not too far from where the Naskapi were. My cousin asked his daughter Nîkânâpinuhkwâu to make some bannock. She took a twenty-five-pound bag of flour that was still half full. Her father said not to use all the flour as he wanted to give the remainder to us. He said that earlier that year he had asked her to save some of the flour to have on hand for an occasion like this. “Now we are able to feed our visitors bannock,” he said. Chinwâskupît’s wife had given birth to a little daughter at this camp. The first half of the bag of flour had been used to help celebrate her birth. In the old days, the women saved special food for after the birth of their babies. Good food. The food was saved to celebrate the safe arrival of their babies. In gratitude because both they and their babies were well, the women also gave their pregnancy clothes to the old women for good luck. Before we ate, my uncle, the father of Chinwâskupît, said, “I can’t hear you talking over there. Wouldn’t one of my visitors come to my side and tell me some news.” Achinâyâpimikû went over.

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When our food was ready, my cousin said, “I want my guests to be full.” We were full alright—we couldn’t eat all they had served us! In those days, people from the various camps visited each other. One day Jimmy Sandy, who had been at our camp, announced he was going to visit his sister. While there he was given some caribou fat and flour to bring back to our camp. He was also given tea to take home. It had been a long time since the people at our camp had had tea. The Naskapi people seemed to have more tea, sugar and flour and for a longer period of time than we did. When it was time for us to return to our camp some of the Naskapi decided to accompany us. We brought back the food that had been given to us. We couldn’t shoot many caribou at that time because we were trying to save our remaining bullets. Once back at our camp my mother was given the flour and tea because she was the oldest person in camp. She drank and drank the tea—she was crazy about it! Our group stayed at this place for a long time. We exchanged many visits with the Naskapi, but we couldn’t go and camp with them because we had so much food it was too difficult to move. We spent the entire winter in that one place. And, even when it was time to return to the post, we left bundles of dried meat along the way. As we were preparing to go back to Great Whale, some of the men from the Naskapi camp invited me to go with them to their trading post. I had been living with Upistikwâyâuchisâyiyiu [Johnny Mamianskum] since my father had died and he said I could go with them. He told me to bring a pelt to trade for bullets. The Naskapi men said there was no need to make moccasins for me as their women would. They would also provide me with the food I would need. Upistikwâyâuchisâyiyiu suggested to Sheshamush that someone from his family go with me so that they, too, could buy bullets. But he said no, that he didn’t feel that he had enough time. He was afraid that if they didn’t start back soon, he and his family wouldn’t reach their canoe by break-up. We left to go for supplies at Ayischîmâu-Wâskâhîkin [Fort Chimo]. The Naskapi always used dog sleds on their trips to the post for supplies. Their sleds were long and they took turns making the trail for the teams.

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Upistikwâyâuchisâyiyiu or Johnny Mamianskum, 1949–50. [John Joseph Honigmann Papers, box 32. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.]

The Naskapi are very generous to the people they know. In Fort Chimo they bought all kinds of presents for my mother—a shawl, material and tea. We had tea to drink when we travelled back down to Great Whale. In fact, we had so much stuff we had to make many trips to reach our canoes, which were far away near Âchikunipî. hannah natachequan

Living Far Inland During the Time when Caribou were Still Plentiful We travelled far inland the year we were living with all my uncles. It was a good winter for caribou so a lot of families were with us. In our group was one of my older cousins who was very weak and not able to do very much. She could not string snowshoes much less make the strings from caribou hide. Her husband even had to carry her on the toboggan when she was pregnant. My uncles hoped that we would encounter their father-in-law Mischâkupît somewhere along the way. At one of the places where we had stopped to fix and put away the caribou we had hunted, the eldest son of my uncle Wihtiskumûsh left the camp to visit his father. He had not been gone long when he returned to tell us that he had found a bear. The men set off to the bear’s den, which was not very far from our camp. They brought the bear back. My uncle said that we could eat the bear immediately but that we should save the stomach, which we blew up and filled with the oil of the bear. It hardened into lard. “We will save it for our visit with Mischâkupît,” he said. On the next caribou hunt the men killed a number of caribou so we moved camp to be closer to the catch. Before we had finished setting up my uncle told the younger men to go get the caribou and bring them back. They had not been gone long before one of them yelled out that visitors were on their way. It was Mischâkupît and his party going after the caribou our men had just killed. Not knowing our men had already got them, they had seen the caribou tracks and decided to follow them.

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Before Mischâkupît reached our camp, my uncles said, “Don’t believe them if they say that they are in need of food. They tend to exaggerate! They probably even have store-bought food left, too.” Mischâkupît was the first to arrive. He addressed my oldest uncle, saying, “It’s you, my old man. We are in need of food. I say this knowing the food can hear me!” “Don’t believe him,” my uncles joked quietly between themselves. “The food won’t hear him because he is lying!” My oldest uncle invited Mischâkupît to his dwelling. While he was there the women came to see us and said they were sure Mischâkupît still had store-bought food. Meanwhile my oldest uncle said to Mischâkupît, “My old man, you must have some tea with you?” He denied it, but my uncle would not relent, asking him again and again. Finally Mischâkupît gave in, saying, “Okay, okay, get my bag and see what I have.” Sure enough, he had a nice bundle of tea and sugar with him. Mischâkupît was with his sons Rupert and David, and his brother Isâc. When they brought the bag in we saw that they also had bannock. My uncle made a feast with his caribou. He then told Mischâkupît that if he would wait for the caribou to be prepared, he could take some of it home with him. He agreed. Mischâkupît’s visit with us was long after Christmas, yet he and his group had not moved camp from the place they had set up at freeze-up. Usually, the people from Wâskâhîkinish [literally, “little house,” and could refer to Fort Mackenzie] waited together at a particular spot for freeze-up, then the families went on their separate ways to look for food around Christmas time. My uncle asked Mischâkupît if he and his group would like to come and stay with us. He said they would move to our camp after they had returned to theirs and removed their traps and nets. A date was set for when we should expect them. We prepared for their arrival. The day they were expected we cooked for them. And while they were eating, we—the young women—set up their dwelling. One of the old women from Mischâkupît’s group told her niece Maggie to help us because they made their homes differently from us. We also chopped firewood for them and melted snow for drinking water.

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We didn’t get water from a lake because we were too far inland. Their girl melted the snow for tea while we chopped the wood. Both the water and the wood were ready at the same time. It turned out they had a lot of whiteman supplies. Jane, the wife of Mischâkupît’s brother Isâc, gave us some tea to drink when it was ready. She didn’t have anything for us to eat, so we just stayed at her place and drank tea. I didn’t really like tea at that time! We drank well into the night when the old woman from their group came to see how we were getting on. She looked around her new home and commented on how well we had made it. She was very grateful. One of the children of Jane and Isâc was ever so small. Although she was two years old, she was still bundled up. She was intelligent, she was aware, she was very cute. But the old woman feared that she was too small and that they would lose her. Happily, she lived. The rest of the people from Mischâkupît’s group came over. The old woman said, “Look how well made our home is.” She asked Maggie if she had given us tea from her kettle yet. When Maggie said that she hadn’t, the old woman told her to do so. We had yet more tea to drink. We were really full of tea by the end of the evening! We stayed together for a long time, not leaving until all the caribou had been fixed—until the meat was dried and the skins tanned. We used to decorate the caribou skins very nicely. On nice days we would hang them outside beside the doorway. Mischâkupît’s people did it differently. They hung the hide as if it were walking. Once my brother Kâtihkwâhk asked the minister if it was alright to do this with the caribou skin. The minister said that it was alright, that it was like a flag to us because we did not have a flag of our own. hannah natachequan

After the opening of the post at Fort Mackenzie, the diaspora into the interior included Îyiyiu who had sought the security of Lake Bienville as well as some of the Îyiyiu who had formerly hunted to the south of Lake Bienville and to the south of the Great Whale River. They, too, now went to the barren grounds. The movement of these Îyiyiu out of the forest to

the barren grounds gave those who remained greater room to roam for food and made way for others. More families, then, moved into the Lake Bienville and Lake Caniapiscau regions. Amongst the latter were people who sought refuge from the coast, which for a distance of between fifty to eighty miles inland was bereft of all wildlife except fish and migratory birds (Tanner 1978). Before the opening of the post at Fort Mackenzie, Îyiyiu who had been hunting on the barren grounds had gone to Fort Chimo for midwinter trading because it was closer than Great Whale. Most of these Îyiyiu, as well as the Naskapi affiliated with Fort Chimo, abandoned Fort Chimo for Fort Mackenzie. They and a number of families from Great Whale River came to comprise the Fort Mackenzie band. Some Îyiyiu from Great Whale River also frequented the post at Fort Mackenzie during the winter for supplies, returning to Great Whale in the summer. Hannah Natachequan’s next story illustrates the sheer exuberance felt by the women, who, while living at Fort Mackenzie, are working night and day to preserve a haul of caribou and fish.

Too Busy to Sleep At the time of this story my mother-in-law and her family were living at Nûhchimîu-Wâskâhîkin [Fort Mackenzie]. Most of the people were living there then rather than near the bay. Only some of the Naskapi lived near the bay at that time. This is how she told the story: “It was here we would all gather for Christmas and then after that we would separate and go on with our hunting activities. When there were a lot of caribou we were busy all day and into the night preparing the meat and fixing the skins. The men, our husbands, would tell us to stop, to come to bed. “‘Go to bed, yourselves,’ we’d say, ‘we’re not in the least sleepy.’ How could we bother with sleep when there was so much to do. We did sleep a little, but as soon as there was light we would be up and at it again.

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“Michistikwânâkin and I first chopped wood and then, with pail, spoon and stone in hand, we went down to the river where the caribou were. We cut out the bones and then smashed them with a stone to make mûshkimî. The mûshkimî was undrinkable. It was just oozing with fat, which we skimmed off and poured into a pail of cold water to harden. “In the evenings we picked wîshichiminh [cranberries], the sour ones. We boiled the berries with the caribou fat to get a reddish-coloured lard when it all hardened. “The men decided they were hungry for fish and set their nets in the river. When the others in the camp saw that they had caught a lot of fish, they came running to ask for some, too. The same thing happened the next day. Thinking the fish would go bad, the men thought they should remove their net from the river but we told them to keep on. We wanted to make fish pimihkân [pemmican]. “We smoked and cooked the fish over an open fire, pounding it into a powder when it was ready. We made a lot of it. We stayed at this place for a long time, saving and drying the meat and the fish. At that time we had a really large dwelling. We were sharing our home with the family of the father of Jimmy Sandy, but we also needed a lot of room to hang the meat over the fire to dry. We sure had a lot of food at that time!” Hannah Natachequan

The post at Fort Mackenzie provided a number of short-term jobs: canoe building, hauling freight—voyaging—and carrying the mail. As payment the Îyiyiu received hunting equipment, clothing and supplies such as flour, sugar, lard and tea—a buffer against starvation should the caribou fail. Noah Mamianskum’s next story is about voyaging between Fort Chimo and Fort Mackenzie. Voyaging was backbreaking, dangerous work—canoes occasionally tipping over in choppy waters. As Noah’s story illustrates, portages over rough terrain could easily result in accidents as well. Voyaging involved everyone—men, women and children— the women being the workhorses on the portages. Women were paid according to the weight of the loads they carried over the portages, men for the number of days worked.

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Voyaging on the Mistisîpî One spring we were travelling down the Mistisîpî with our toboggans on our way to the “voyaging” canoes. The big spring thaw had already happened but there was ice in the rivers and lakes. The ice was still safe to travel on. As I was playing around I noticed a pool of water on one of the small lakes. “Maybe I’ll go swimming,” I thought to myself. I really liked to swim in those days so I started to undress. Just as I was walking into the water, my uncle Paul yelled out, “Just where do you think you’re going? Who swims in the winter time!” My uncle had been out hunting and just happened to walk by on his way back. I pulled my clothes on quickly. When I got home my mother gave me a piece of her mind, “Son, one of these days you’re going to kill yourself! Nobody swims at this time of the year.” We left the Mistisîpî and travelled down one of the smaller rivers. Land travel was now impossible because the snow had all melted. So we took to the ice, portaging our belongings whenever we had to. The canoes were being pulled on the toboggans and then carried over the portages. It was getting to be dangerous to travel on the ice. The breakup of the ice on the river was expected any day now, but we were in a hurry because my father was supposed to start work right after breakup. His job was to help bring the supplies to the inland post at Fort Mackenzie during the summer time. The rivers in this area are very fast moving because the land slopes down in quite an incline all the way to the bay. The force of the water during break-up piles the ice high as it sweeps by. It is very dangerous. That Saturday the people predicted the ice would break-up sometime during the day. We made camp in the early afternoon. The ice broke up that evening splitting the river down the middle. Within minutes huge slabs of ice had been rammed against the shore by the water freeing itself of its icy shell. We moved our canoes further back. We were worried that the ice would be pushed up to where we were camping on a low hill. When it was safe to travel again we left that place and headed back to the Mistisîpî River. A supply canoe was waiting for us at the place where

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we expected it. Before the ship arrived at Fort Chimo in the late summer, each of the supply canoes made one trip up to Fort Mackenzie, the inland post, and then back. The Îyiyiu called Fort Mackenzie, NûhchimîuWâskâhîkin. On the second trip, they carried goods, usually nicer things, back to Fort Mackenzie from the ship. The supply canoes were very big paddling canoes. Ours comfortably held the five families in our group. Whole families used to go on these trips, perhaps because the women and children helped with the portaging. The men were paid for every day they were gone. The women and children were only paid for the portages. All those who were able worked. After all the supplies had been transported, the canoes were left at Nûhchimîu-Wâskâhîkin and people returned to their hunting territories from there. Some of the people also spent spring break-up at the post, but we didn’t. That is why a canoe was sent down to meet us as we came from our hunting area. Once we had reached the supply canoes, there were only three real portages along the rest of the route to the post. The first rapids at Âshchispitâhmîchâchîûch didn’t need to be portaged. We didn’t even have to remove the supplies. The canoes were pulled along with a rope from the shore instead. There was no cliff on these rapids so at high tide even a small boat could go up them. Kishchâkâu, the second rapids, has very high cliffs. These cliffs are said to be higher than anything comparable in the Whapmagoostui region. The water plunges down with great force as the river surges over the ridge. There are more falls further on at Mintuwî. A wagon was kept at Mintuwî to help with the portaging. It was pulled by human power, often the women. The path was quite good, being mostly flat, so we would load it to its fullest. Sometimes it took ten women to pull it. Once a child was almost killed along this path. William Ennish was playing in the middle of the path at the part where the path sloped. The incline and the weight of the load combined to make the wagon move very quickly at this point. We were so busy trying to control the load that nobody realized that William was in the way. Then someone yelled out, “That child will be killed!” There was no way the wagon could be stopped in time. It barrelled on until it came to a stop on the flat ground beyond the slope. We looked

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behind us to see William getting up from the path over which the wagon had just travelled. He had had the good sense to lie down in the middle of the path so the wagon wouldn’t touch him! With the heavy load the wagon was carrying he would have been killed, flattened completely, if a wheel had rolled over him. There is a very interesting rock formation in the rapids at Mintuwî. The rock has deep troughs in it, troughs that hold water much like a pail might. It is said that they were the pails of the “merpeople,” mermaids and mermen. That is why it is called Mintuwî, because of the presence of the minitû-aschihkw [merpeople pails]. The next falls along the way are called Kishschâkûsh. This was the third and last portage. The women were paid after the last portage, those with the heavier loads being paid more than the others. An Îyiyiu was in charge of this part of the operation. When all the supplies had been delivered to the inland post, we, the workers, could buy what we needed. We bought on credit, the cost of the goods being deducted from the pay we would receive at the end of the work season. The money made in this way really helped us because, in addition to our pay, before we went off hunting and trapping we were advanced credit for the winter. That’s how it worked in those days. The fishing is not very good where this post is situated. I suppose it’s because the water around there has been dirtied from the activities related to the post. The people would often go on overnight fishing trips to the source of the lake where the river comes in, where it’s best for net fishing. When it was time to go hunting and trapping again we used to be taken down river to the place where we had left our canoes in the spring—the place where we had picked up the supply canoe. From there we would go up the Âskwâtâskûpîch River. Tundra is on the north side of this river, trees on the south. That is why the river is called Âskwâtâskûpîch [where the trees end]. One of the places where we used to stay in this region was at Uchâshûmâkw Pihkwâuhîpanân. We used to fish uchâshûmâkw [Arctic char] that had swum all the way up from the bay to spawn here. This is one of the places where we would stay when it was time for the men to bring their furs to the post in return for supplies. We liked to be sure that the women and children were left at good fishing spots. Before

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they left, the men would set up the hooks and the nets. The women would tend them while they were gone. My father went to the post from this place many times. I remember one time while most of the men were gone—my father had stayed behind that time—we ran out of bullets. There were a lot of ptarmigan around but we had nothing to shoot them with. Kâmwâtihkwâu, one of the other remaining men, made himself a bow and arrow and went ptarmigan hunting. It had been a long time since guns had replaced bows and arrows and most of the men were not very good at shooting with a bow. Not so with Kâmwâtihkwâu. He came back with a lot of ptarmigan that he had killed with his arrows! noah mamianskum

Noah’s story gives us an idea of the vast distances people travelled over the course of the year. They were extremely mobile. In the early part of the twentieth century, John Kawapit’s group, for example, spent September and October around Upper Seal Lake and Lake Bienville. They moved beyond the height of land in the early part of the winter, returning after Christmas to the Caniapiscau River. Winter travel was determined by the anticipated location and availability of game, particularly the barren grounds caribou. Mid-winter trading was done at Fort Mackenzie once it opened. Those who wanted to trade at Great Whale River post in the spring returned to the western watershed in March or April (Taylor 1978). After trading in the summer, the Îyiyiu returned to their hunting grounds, hunting and fishing as they went and trying to get as far as possible before freeze-up. With nothing but their legs and arms to propel them, they travelled lightly and quickly, living by the skills of their ancestors. Canoes were not very big so, even if the previous season’s trapping had been successful, the Îyiyiu did not carry much. The lucky ones brought along a little flour, sugar, tea and tobacco. Those who did not bring much managed if they were able to catch fish or hunt game along the way. Those who could afford to also cached supplies of flour, insurance against starvation should they run into hard times during the winter. If not, all the better; food was available for their return trip to the post.

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T H E ROA R I N G T W E N T I E S The Îyiyiu enjoyed a little break during the 1920s, the Roaring Twenties. But while the term aptly described the dynamic economy in Europe and parts of North America during most of this decade, it did not apply to northern Québec where, according to Reverend Walton, in 1921, caribou “had disappeared from the country except in small isolated herds leaving the people in a pitiful condition” (Morantz 2002). The Roaring Twenties got off to an inauspicious start. A recession following World War I had resulted in a slump in the fur market in 1920. The market rapidly recovered, however, heating up to such an extent that by 1922 both the Hudson’s Bay Company and Revillon Frères had started to expand their operations. As stated earlier, in 1921–22 Revillon Frères was becoming established at Whapmagoostui. In 1921, the Hudson’s Bay Company reopened a post at Richmond Gulf, on Cairn Island, on the same site as its original settlement in the 1750s. A year later, Revillon Frères also built a trading post at Richmond Gulf, next door to the Hudson’s Bay Company post!3 In the early 1920s, James Bay proved to be one of Revillon Frères’ most profitable regions. It sold its furs for twice as much as it paid for them and, even with the competition from the Hudson’s Bay Company, enjoyed high profits on the goods it sold (Harris 1976). The Îyiyiu benefited, too. The proliferation of new posts resulted in the availability of more jobs. With demand escalating in Europe and North America for luxury goods—especially white and silver fox fur—and with the rivalry between trading companies, prices for furs soared while the cost of supplies at the posts decreased. The Îyiyiu trapped with great attention. Unfortunately, they weren’t the only ones. Throughout the decade mobile trappers—most of them non-Native and many of them amateur and incompetent—swept through northern Canada, clearing out the beaver before moving on to fresh areas (Weinstein 1976). Needless to say, the intensive trapping had serious consequences— a downturn throughout the Québec-Labrador peninsula in fur-bearing and almost all other game animals. “First the caribou were gone, then 3

By 1922, Revillon Frères also had posts at Rupert House, Eastmain, Nemaska and Fort George. And soon after this it set up at Waswanipi and Neoskweskau as well.

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fur-bearers started to be scarce and then marten were scarce, too,” said Suzanne Kawapit. “When marten were gone, mink were sought but they’re difficult to catch.” By this time, the eastern caribou—the herds the Naskapi followed— had also diminished in size. And, in the southern part of the Îyiyiu territory, overhunting had resulted in the depletion of the beaver population. Rupert House, which at one time had been the centre of one of the richest beaver areas in the world, experienced such a decline that in 1928–29 only four beaver pelts were traded. By now, almost all areas of northern Québec and Ontario were reporting a serious decline in fur-bearers. Then, in 1929, the stock market crashed. During the period that followed—the Great Depression—beaver prices hit rock bottom, as did the price of lynx, mink, otter and fox. By way of example, silver fox that had fetched $125.79 in 1924–25 averaged $24.34 between 1934 and 1944. In the meantime, the aggressive competition between the Hudson’s Bay Company and Revillon Frères had taken a toll on both companies. In 1926, the Hudson’s Bay Company acquired 51 per cent of Revillon Frères’ stock. While the new arrangement permitted the continuation of Revillon Frères posts, the Hudson’s Bay Company underwent a restructuring process that resulted in several cost-cutting measures at its trading posts. Most important for the Îyiyiu, jobs were eliminated and credit—a contentious subject since the beginning of trade relations—reduced (Morantz 2002). Postmasters were told that an Îyiyiu’s credit could not exceed 50 per cent of his previous year’s hunt. And no credit was to be given if the previous advance had not been repaid in full (ibid.).

T H E G R E AT DE PR E S S ION Conditions could not have been much worse. Hunters were totally at the mercy of world fur markets and animal resources, all of which had collapsed. Caribou herds across the Québec-Labrador peninsula and other food animals were in decline, fur-bearers were scarce

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“‘Asian cook’ and Cree girls at Whapmagoostui, early 1920s.” While the world economy heated up during the Roaring Twenties, the Îyiyiu continued to suffer terribly from the lack of caribou. Those whose hunting lands were rich in fur-bearing animals, however, benefited from the brisk competition between the Hudson’s Bay Company and Revillon Frères, which resulted in an increase in the prices paid for furs and a reduction in the cost of supplies. [McCord Museum, Montreal, MP-1976.24.92, Samuel H.Coward.]

and revenue derived from furs, meagre. Credit advanced to hunters had been cut and debts no longer forgiven. Save for voyaging goods between the inland post at Fort Mackenzie and Fort Chimo, opportunities for employment were scarce. The three worst years in the James Bay district were between 1929 and 1932 (Morantz 2002, 110). In Suzanne Kawapit’s words,

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We faced hard times because there was no caribou at this time. Everyone was poor because of the scarcity of food and because there was nothing to hunt. There were not many land animals. There were times when even the fish were not biting. Like most of the Îyiyiu, during those hard times, we were constantly on the move looking for furbearing animals. With so few jobs available, Îyiyiu couldn’t make a living at the post. In fact, Îyiyiu who lived at the post were even poorer than those who hunted and trapped. So widows, widowers, single parents with young children, almost everyone, spent most of the year in the bush. Îyiyiu who lived close enough made frequent trips to the post during the winter for supplies. As Suzanne Kawapit remembers, visits to the post, however, did not always have positive results: Some people didn’t stay that far from the post. They stayed quite near, one or two days’ travel. They went to the post for supplies from time to time. These people were very hungry at times during the winter. Even if they told the post manager they were hungry because they couldn’t catch any food, they wouldn’t be given anything. In those days, no one was given any food if they didn’t bring in furs. That’s what it was like in those days. Driven to the post by the ache of hunger or fear of impending food shortages, once the lucky ones had trapped a few furs, they brought them in to obtain supplies and equipment to keep them going while they hunted and trapped some more. In contrast, those who lived further afield stayed away from Great Whale River for as long as they could. In Suzanne Kawapit’s words, There were times when the store was out of both food and supplies because the boat only came in once a year,

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in the summer. We tried to plan our trip to coincide with the arrival of the boat. If the boat was delayed by bad weather and we had to wait around, we didn’t like it. People didn’t want to hang around doing nothing. There was no reason to stay around the post because there was nothing there to help us survive. As soon as we got our supplies, we headed inland, reaching Lake Bienville long before freeze-up. Some years were better than others, some places richer in resources. Noah Mamianskum recalls, There were some years when we caught a lot of fish. Once in a while we were even surprised by a caribou and then we could eat important food. In general though, we had to go very far to get enough fur-bearing animals to support us. You were very poor if you weren’t able to catch them. There were no jobs at the post so we needed furs to exchange for hunting equipment and food. “Killing animals was very important because it was the only way to get supplies and ammunition. Without furs the Îyiyiu were very poor,” an elder explained. The next story reveals how utterly disappointed Ronnie Sheshamush was when he didn’t succeed in catching the otter he was after. Following this story, another story describes caribou hunting with the Naskapi, including Chinwâskupît (Long Pete). When we last met Chinwâskupît, the Naskapi were better off than the Îyiyiu, but now the herds the Naskapi followed had also diminished in size. As the story below illustrates, when the herds the Naskapi hunted failed to show up at their usual places, some Naskapi came to hunt with the Îyiyiu on rivers in Îyiyiu territory. At this point, the Îyiyiu were struck by the poverty of their Naskapi friends. Even their snowshoes looked poor.

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The Otter That Got Away We stayed at that place a while longer to fish and then went back inland to Lake Kâkûpîs. We made camp at the good fishing spot on the lake, then I went out to look for animals. Before long I noticed signs of porcupine. I went looking for the porcupine just by following its signs, as I usually do. Soon I saw that its tracks led to a cave. Some porcupine live in caves during the winter, others live out in the open in the trees. Cavedwelling porcupine come out to eat but go back into the cave when they’ve finished. No matter what though, whether a porcupine lives in a tree or in a cave, it won’t leave that area all winter long. Hoping to find a porcupine living in a cave, I always took a trap with me when I went porcupine hunting. This time was no different. I set the trap at the entrance of the cave, covered it up and then returned home to tell the others. The following morning I returned to check the trap. A small, fat porcupine was in it. While I was out some people from inland had stopped by our camp. We were happy to be able to give them a nice meal of porcupine before they continued on their way to the post for supplies. Shortly after that, we headed south to a place that was good for net fishing. I wanted to get suckers for bait for my fish lines. If I have bait, I prefer fish lines to nets—most people do—because they can be put anywhere in the lake and you can put out as many as you want. Lines also allowed the people to fish in lakes away from their campsites so we could cover more area. Of course, there were times when I didn’t have bait for my fish lines. While at that lake I went hunting just to the north of where we were camped. From the trail on the river I realized that an otter had been to the open water, where there was a fast current. Sitting down, I patiently awaited the otter. Hunting and trapping was the only way we made a living in those days, so I was always after fur-bearing animals. The tracks around the open water suggested the otter had made frequent trips to the river. I expected it to show up soon. Sure enough, before long it burrowed its way out of the snow. I shot at it and missed. It rolled about in the snow then scurried back into its burrow. I was deeply disappointed. The day was warm. The snow too deep. There was no way I

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could go after it. Upon arriving home I told my family the news. They, too, were very sorry I hadn’t got it. Before that I had placed two traps at a place where the water from a small lake empties into a stream. It looked like a good spot and I had seen mink tracks nearby. I went to check my traps and found a mink in each. “Good,” I said to myself, “now I can go to the post for some supplies.” Before leaving for the post I got another mink and an otter—four pieces of fur in all! It was a good thing because I could see by the way things were going that tough times were ahead. The fish were not biting and the land animals could not be had, at least not many of them. ronnie sheshamush

The Old Lady’s Caribou We had been hungry for a while, then the old lady—the one who had become senile—sang. I’m telling this story rather reluctantly because I don’t want to be disrespectful to her memory. But she really made the people laugh that time. One night we heard her singing, singing as most of the old people did. In her song she was asking for food. “Our Father, feed us,” she sang. It so happened the following morning a small, young caribou came our way. The people laughed when they saw it. “Her Father didn’t give her much to eat, did He!” they joked. I was a young man at the time and loved music. I brought my accordion on our travels and warmed it up after every trip as soon as the fire in the dwelling was made. If I wasn’t going to be there when my mother finished making the dwelling, I would ask her to put it inside. The day after the old lady’s caribou came to us we moved to join some people who were camped near a river. Their group consisted of two dwellings of people. When we arrived they told us that caribou tracks had been sighted. David Shem had just killed two and some of the group had gone to get them. When they returned David gave one to his aunt and the other to us. My father—a caribou expert—was invited to hunt with the men who were preparing to leave on another expedition. I stayed behind

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to ptarmigan hunt with one of the other young men. Ptarmigan were all over the place. We shot them with our arrows and caught quite a few. At nightfall the hunters returned with the news that they, too, had killed some caribou, eight in all. It was decided we would break camp the following day and trek over to where the caribou were. Charlie Niquanicappo’s wife Amy was born the next day at the new campsite. We had visitors at the new camp. Naskapi cousins of my mother had walked from the inland post at Kâîychisâkâkimâu [the lake Fort Mackenzie is on]. One of them was Sâns. The other was Chinwâskupît, so called because he was very tall. It had been such a bad year for them that even their snowshoes were poor. My mother told me to give them a pair of mine. I had two pairs. “It looks like they could use them!” she said. Before long another caribou expedition was planned. This time I was invited to go along. We wanted to hunt in the Nâtwâhkimî River region. The Nâtwâhkimî is one of the rivers that flows to Fort Chimo and is very good for fishing. That particular winter there had been little snow, so little we barely wore our snowshoes to make our dwelling by the river. The ice on the river, however, was extremely thick. It took such a long time to chisel through with our ice picks that each of us only managed to put in one fish line. As we were finishing our dwelling two men who were also caribou hunting reached us. It was Jacob Rupert with a Naskapi man from Schefferville. John Kawapit got two caribou while we were there, one of which he gave to the Naskapi, the other to a person in our hunting party. After we had caught a lot of big fish on our fish lines, we decided it was time to return to the main camp. Pulling the caribou on our toboggans, we spent one night out before reaching our camp. Our dwelling that night was very small and very crowded. The stove had to be put outside to make room for all the sleeping bodies! We brought the stove inside in the morning to warm up. Shortly after that we moved again, this time to the river where there were a lot of ptarmigan. At that point, it was the ptarmigan we were interested in, as well as caribou. A caribou hunt was organized as soon as we got there. A large group of us headed off to a lake we knew

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would provide us with fish, food for the expedition. We set up a camp at the lake. Nîpinwâskum, an old man, stayed in camp to look after the fish lines while the others split into two groups to look for caribou. I was with my father’s group. From their behaviour I could tell that the men had spotted some caribou. The caribou seemed to have sensed our presence before we noticed them, though. Shots rang out. Niwîchishûmâkin’s son and sonin-law had done the shooting. They missed. I don’t know why! I left the trail to see where the caribou were heading and noticed two running away. I ran across the lake and up onto a hill. There were no trees on the tops of the hills. I figured that unless the caribou had changed direction they would be on the hill in front of me. Sure enough, they were. I could see them clearly and knew I could count on my gun to shoot far. “Why not?” I thought. I shot and hit the one I was aiming at. I shot again and got the other. My sight was perfect in those days. The others came running. One of them, one of the men who had taken the first shots, said to my father, “Nîstâ, both caribou have been killed. I’m grateful that we have something to eat. I’m glad someone got them because I couldn’t hit them myself.” “Nîstâ,” my father said to him, “one of these caribou is for you. I’m giving it to you even though I didn’t kill it myself.” The second caribou was given to another person in our group. We went back to our camp after we had butchered the caribou. Nîpinwâskum, who was still there, had caught enough fish to feed us well. Then we returned to the main camp to our families. sam atchynia

Marten Rebounds “Marten first made a comeback in the Lake Bienville area,” said Suzanne Kawapit. With marten on the rebound, people, like Sam Atchynia who trapped around Lake Bienville, began to feel that life was less difficult than it had been. Îyiyiu who were able to buy supplies even began to feel well-off! For Sam, the turnaround occurred in the 1930s after he

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had married. At that time marten was the best “cash crop,” favoured because it fetched a better price. Otter, beaver and mink were trapped as well, even though they remained low in price. The fortunes of Revillon Frères deteriorated during the 1930s to such an extent that in 1936 their Canadian fur-buying operations were bought out by the Hudson’s Bay Company. Despite the depressed world economy, however, the takeover did not eliminate competition in the James Bay area.4 Independent traders, some of them former employees of Revillon Frères, opened their own operations. By the mid-1930s, new stores had been opened at Richmond Gulf, Cape Jones, Roggan River, Fort George and Old Factory. George Papp was the independent trader at Richmond Gulf. The Îyiyiu called him Atimâpîsim-Atâwâsiu. George Papp arrived in in the area around 1938 and established a post on the mainland along the south shore of Richmond Gulf. The presence of independent traders not only forced the Hudson’s Bay Company to maintain a presence in Richmond Gulf—in fact, the Hudson’s Bay Company opened a store immediately beside that of George Papp’s— but to open a post at Lake Nichikun and another at Old Factory. Their presence also meant the Îyiyiu received better prices for their furs than they otherwise would have—a little break in an otherwise bleak economic climate. Ronnie Sheshamush and Noah Mamianskum tell the following story about Atimâpîsim-Atâwâsiu.

Two Trading Companies In those days, there were two trading companies at Richmond Gulf, the Hudson’s Bay Company, which was run by an Inuk, and the one operated by a wâmishtikûshiw [whiteman] called Atimâpîsim-Atâwâsiu. Both were located at Mâsimâkus Pichistihwâhkin. The buildings of the two companies flanked their respective sides of the stream, the stream that runs down to the gulf. Both served a Cree and Inuit clientele. 4

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While unemployment in Canada was high during the Great Depression, the decrease in the cost of consumer goods—including luxury items—meant that those with jobs could afford to buy fur.

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George Papp (centre), the independent fur trader at Richmond Gulf, 1946. Revillon Frères closed in 1936, its fur-buying operations in Canada another casualty of the Great Depression. George Papp, known to the Îyiyiu as Atimâpîsim-Atâwâsiu, filled the void at Richmond Gulf. This photograph depicts him at Moose Factory where he has brought his collection of fur. The constable is tagging the fox skins. [S.J. Bailey Fonds. Library and Archives Canada, PA-093115, S.J. Bailey.]

People could go to one company or to the other, the people who could get credit, that is. They went to the store of their choice. Just as before when the French Company was here, the companies fought for furs and customers. Although each of the companies did have some faithful customers, most people chose to go to both companies. The people who hunted north of Great Whale, even if they spent the summer at Great Whale, stocked up on supplies from Richmond Gulf

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before heading inland. They felt they could get more credit there. There was a portage going inland from the post at Richmond Gulf. Some of the people carried their canoes on their backs over that route until they reached lakes to travel on. Others, the Îyiyiu who were going further north, headed off by canoe from Richmond Gulf and then went inland. I helped the summer the Hudson’s Bay Company dismantled one of their buildings to build a bigger store at Richmond Gulf. The original store was too small. We moved the wood up by boat. Because there was no dock at Richmond Gulf, we anchored as close to the shore as possible and floated the wood across. The other supplies were transported from the boat by canoe. We left to go inland after the boat had been completely unloaded. The Îyiyiu travelled inland for a while, then parted to go to their favorite hunting areas. Before parting each group informed the others where they planned to spend freeze-up—usually near a good fishing lake. The Atâwâsiu constructed his buildings from the trees around Richmond Gulf. He didn’t have wood transported from another place. He was very good at building things. The only time I saw him use already cut wood was when he made a boat. His buildings were made from logs. He stuffed mud between the logs to keep out the draughts. They were very warm. He also built a separate building that he kept well-supplied with wood to house, free of charge, customers when they came in from inland. The Îyiyiu helped him with the construction, which was good for us because we were paid for the work. The Atâwâsiu really liked to hunt. He also went into the bush in the fall taking his dogs with him. In those days, dogs were still valuable. He used to spend freeze-up at a place across the gulf called Nûchishûshâshiwânân, only returning after Christmas. His wife ran the store in his absence. He hunted seals and caught fish to use as dog food. He lived like the Îyiyiu did. ronnie sheshamush and noah mamianskum

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The men went off trapping all winter long, sometimes for days at a time. “Bannock was the main thing on my mind as I trapped,” commented Samson Masty. “I knew that if I could trap something, then I could buy flour and make bannock!” In the meantime, the women checked the traps closer to the main camp. Sometimes women set their own traps and did a little trapping of their own. Girls learned to do everything, lest they found themselves alone or responsible for the care of their camps. Living mostly in single-family groups, when the men were away hunting or trapping for indefinite periods of time, they had to be able to take care of their families.

Women’s Work When I was a young girl, I was often sent ahead to see what I could hunt along the way. My brother, the one who raised me, had taught me how to do everything a man does in the bush. I had my own gun and traps to get pelts. I hunted fox, otter, mink and marten. I didn’t trap beaver. He had pushed me to stand on my own feet, to be able to look after myself. He had told me to learn as much as I could. “If, when you are older, your husband should ever become ill, it will be up to you to support your family,” he said. Little did he know that his words would come true. Now I don’t know how we did it. We fed our families when times were tough. When we couldn’t catch fish, we would look for ptarmigan. When there were no ptarmigan, we would comb the woods for porcupine. Often when the men had gone out big-game hunting, they wouldn’t get back to the camp at night. Then the women would check the traps. I would go out alone with my baby on my back to check them. It really helped when a woman set her own traps, as well. Some winters I got ten marten on my own. Other women did the same thing, helping their husbands with the trapping and doing a little trapping of their own at the same time. Suzanne Kawapit and I spent one winter together and we would be gone all day looking after our traps. maggie sandy

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Maggie Sandy, 1949–50. [John Joseph Honigmann Papers, box 32. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.]

The Îyiyiu tell a few stories about going to the post at this time. Most are anecdotes, little vignettes about daily life: Christmas at the post, or two girls chuckling over how they kept warm one night when an unforseen blizzard forced them to seek shelter. The third gives a broader picture of how people made a living. Judging by Noah Mamianskum’s comments in the latter, credit was a very important topic to the Îyiyiu. Recall that, in 1926, when it became the majority shareholder of Revillon Frères’ stock,

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the Hudson’s Bay Company slashed the credit that had formerly been available to the Îyiyiu. As mentioned earlier, the Cree word for leader was uchimâu, derived from the verb “to give away,” reflecting the high value placed by the Îyiyiu on generosity. The Hudson’s Bay Company manager was also referred to as uchimâu. By this time, and for the rest of this period, the Hudson’s Bay Company manager would be characterized as anything but generous. The Îyiyiu even wondered how fair he was, particularly in dispensing credit. For reasons unclear to the Îyiyiu, the Inuit seemed to have an easier time obtaining credit, even though they trapped less fur.5 Noah tells a story in which Sam Atchynia, who trapped in the Lake Bienville area—an area known to be rich in a wide range of resources in normal times and which enjoyed an increase in fur-bearers earlier than many of the other regions—wasn’t even able to obtain enough credit to outfit himself. His companions were very upset about this.

The Post at Christmas Time Another fall we were camping near the route most of the people took when they were travelling to the post at Richmond Gulf. We placed two tree markers along the path to let people know we were nearby. This way people would know help was available while going to or from the post. We stayed there for a long time. We didn’t want to leave because it was the first place we had caught a lot of fish all fall. Besides that, Christmas was near and we had decided it was a good place to be at Christmas. While we were there people passed by on their way to the post. They invited me to accompany them saying they were going for the Christmas feast and festivities. I declined the invitation because I didn’t have any furs to trade. “Come,” they pleaded, “come see what happens at the post at Christmas time.” We reached the post the next day, Christmas day. There were two companies at the post so there were two parties. A lot of people came 5

Honigmann reports the opposite for 1949–50, stating that more credit was given to the Îyiyiu than to the Inuit (1962, 23).

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in for the festivities and the dance. The three of us joined in. We had a great time! After three days it was time to go back inland. A lot of people were going our way. Some, like the widows who had stayed at the post during the fall, were heading to an inland lake where they wanted to fish. We carried their loads so they would have an easier time walking. We hadn’t gone very far when they decided to make camp for the night. I stopped to help them and then continued on. I had been gone a bit too long and was getting anxious about my family. My toboggans broke as I made my way home, but rather than taking the time to fix them, I left their contents behind. At that point, fixing them would have taken too long. I chose a few things to carry on my back and headed home. I planned to return for the rest of the load later. I reached our camp late that night. They were very relieved to see me, for I had been gone longer than expected. I told them what had happened—that I had been waiting for the people I had gone down to the post with but had finally decided to leave them behind with the others. Fortunately, my family hadn’t been hungry in my absence. We hadn’t had much fish all fall yet somehow they had managed to catch a lot while I was gone. ronnie sheshamush

Sleeping with a Warm Rock When I was young, girls did hard work, just like the boys. Agnes, Philip Natachequan’s wife, and I used to be the ones to make the trips to the post in the spring, when it was not too cold. On one of our trips, when I was about sixteen, all we brought with us was a small piece of dwelling cover and a blanket. During the day, the dwelling cover was used to wrap the supplies on the toboggan. We left for the post on a beautiful day, knowing that we would sleep somewhere along the way. We had been told to make a dwelling on exposed ground, from small trees. We spent the night at Âpâskûhskâsich, so called because of the mounds of earth there, and left for the post bright and early the next morning. We arrived soon after.

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Kâpishûhtât and Wâpistânskwâu, two old women who lived at the post, gave us something to eat and drink before we went to trade. We had brought two beaver skins, two mink skins and another pelt and were able to buy quite a lot. A twenty-five-pound bag of flour only cost three dollars in those days. Since our purchases were completed by the afternoon, we decided to load the toboggan and head back. The days were getting much longer by then. There was much more daylight. We stopped for shelter at Ikûmunâns. From the looks of the sky we could tell that a bad storm—biting winds and lashing snow—was brewing. Retrieving the poles from an old camp, we constructed a small dwelling for ourselves. The temperature dropped as the wind got stronger and stronger. It was already mid-April so we weren’t expecting anything like this. We made an open fire inside our small dwelling to keep warm. We really laughed when we went to sleep. We took a hot stone to bed with us, a long stone that we placed between us! We had used our blanket to make the shelter so all we had to sleep in were our coats. Falling asleep with the stone between us—it kept its heat for a long time—we managed to stay nice and warm! By morning, the weather had cleared up and we continued on our way. We pulled the toboggan over the ice before heading inland. The sun came up, melting the snow and making it so difficult to walk that we decided to stop for the day when we reached the mountains. We couldn’t go any further because the snow was too soft. In any case, it was already evening and we needed to dry our footgear. The next day we made our way back to camp with the supplies and news from the post. Daniel Petagumskum’s parents and his brother Thomas had just died from the sickness that was going around that year. My brother Steven was heartbroken. He and Thomas had been very good friends. Two days later, my sister Caroline asked me to come with her to set the net. By that time, I had been fishing for a long time, since just after my father died. I was about seven years old when he died, too young to pull my own load when we travelled. By the rocky hill where I had gone to get a rock to anchor the net I could see that some of the trees had been eaten recently by a porcupine. Interested in the prospects, I walked around in

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search of its tracks. No tracks led away from the trees. I looked under a rock I had noticed nearby and saw a burrow. In it sat a big, fat porcupine. I went back to my sister with the anchor rock in hand. A stone is attached to the net and then placed at the deepest end of a lake or river. It is called pûnisinâchikin. I told my sister about the porcupine. After she had set the net she collected her axe and snow shovel—she hadn’t brought a gun with her—and headed towards the rock where I had seen the porcupine. The tunnel was partly under the rock, partly under the snow. Caroline said, “This is the porcupine’s spring home. After the thaw in the spring the porcupine leaves its winter home and moves elsewhere to feed. They’re just like people. They move camp because they get tired of always living in the same place and because there is no longer enough food around.” She panned away the snow to get closer to the porcupine. She killed it with one blow and placed it on the toboggan to bring home. Everyone was delighted to see it. ann masty

Credit Old Jane Kawapit was still very energetic despite her age. She was even able to pull a toboggan from camp to camp on trips. One day, as we travelled along the south side of the river, we decided to stop for a rest and a drink. It was snowing heavily. I think the wind was blowing off the land. In any case, it was so snowy we couldn’t see very far in front of us. That was the day Jane lost her way. She had been the last one along the trail. According to Îyiyiu custom, the oldest person in the group walks behind the others, possibly because it’s easier for an older person to walk on a well-trodden path. We walked until it was time to make camp for the day at a place on the opposite side of the river from where we had stopped to rest. When the old woman hadn’t shown up by the time the dwelling was finished, we were afraid she was lost. Her stepson went to look for her. He returned alone. “She went right by here,” he announced. “Her trail leads down the river but I can’t follow it. We’ll try to find her in the morning.”

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The old woman had been carried by the wind. The wind on her back had pushed her along. She knew she had veered off the trail. She even realized she was lost, but she kept right on walking. It came to her, as she headed ashore, that she had completely overshot the place where they were to have spent the night. She knew where the day’s trip was to have ended. “I’ll make a little dwelling for myself,” she said. It happened that she was carrying some dwelling covers on her toboggan. In the morning—it had cleared up by then—she placed markers on the ice pointing to the shore to indicate to us where she was. She didn’t settle for one marker, either. She put four of them out there. Markers were all over the place! We had no trouble finding her. When we reached her she was perfectly fine. We dismantled her dwelling, made up her toboggan, and she continued on her way with us. She was old and very fit! At our next camp we put our hooks in the coves and at the bends in the river and set our net at the place where we camped. We usually chose camping places that were good for net fishing. We set the net as soon as we arrived. I remember the day clearly—it was beautiful that evening—for shortly after we got there we saw some Îyiyiu coming across the ice. It was the men from our group who had gone down to the post. One of them sped up as soon as they noticed us. It was only by going to the post that the Îyiyiu got news about other members of their families and their friends. On this occasion the men had been told that my grandfather Sheshamush had died the previous summer. We waited at our camp for two hunters who had gone inland to join us. We had arranged to travel down to the post together. These were the times when a hunter sometimes had nothing to trade at the post, when he had no pelts if there had been nothing in his traps. Sometimes, if the trapper told the manager of his plight, the manager would give him a little something anyway. This time Sam Atchynia hadn’t succeeded in catching anything. Hoping that he would be given something, we insisted that he come with us for this was to be the last trip to the post before going back inland. In those days, many of the Inuit were poorer than the Îyiyiu, but for some reason the Inuit could get a lot more on credit. With just a dollar’s credit, they could outfit themselves for hunting. Sam said that although

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the manager gave him three dollars’ credit, it wasn’t enough to get the things he needed. Overhearing what Sam had said, my grandmother was angry the manager hadn’t been more generous. “Don’t worry,” she consoled him, “you’ll have better luck this spring. You will catch some otter.” In those days, when an old person wished that someone would catch a fur-bearing animal, it almost always seemed to happen. Sam Atchynia travelled back inland with us. He was a widower and a single parent. One of his sons was travelling with us, too. My grandmother’s wish came true, for Sam brought home an otter almost everyday as we moved along. My mother skinned many of the pelts for him, taking care not to nick them. A woman who is skilled in skinning doesn’t nick the pelt. Nicks made by a knife are taken into consideration when the manager appraises the pelt. They diminish its value. The skins prepared by my mother were always as smooth as anything. Two of the families headed back inland while we made our way towards the post. We headed down river with old man Kâtihkâpushit and his family and with the old woman Jane Kawapit. Along the way we set up a camp. Three of the men went trapping from there. My mother stayed to look after the old people—the old man and his wife and Jane. “Betsy, take care of our mother—Jane was my mother’s step-mother, too—she’s already been lost once!” my uncle said to my mother before the men left to set their traps. There were some marten around at this time. My father got three and I got some mink. In those days, things were a lot cheaper than today. You could buy quite a bit with a couple of pelts. There was nothing in the traps of Sam, the other man. We were very hungry on our return trip to the main camp. We had killed three ptarmigan along the way, but it wasn’t enough. By the last day of our trip out we felt sharp hunger pains. For some reason, if you haven’t eaten well for a while the pain is particularly acute first thing in the morning. In desperation, when we stopped to make tea—we still had some tea left—I cooked the intestines of the ptarmigan. I knew they were bitter but I had to eat something! In those days, we lived on fish. Unfortunately, the people at camp had not caught many in our absence, but they did have some food for us to

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eat. While we were gone, the old man had left to join another old man, the man called Atwân, at a lake nearby. He had left saying, “I’m going to see my fellow old man!” Atwân was staying there while his sons were out setting traps all over the area. Like us, they were often gone for days at a time. Their main camp was just on the other side of the portage. My father and I then left to get our canoe, which we had left at the place where we had spent freeze-up, way south of the river. We left without eating. There had been no food at our camp except a little tea and sugar. We only brought fishhooks with us. My father planned to set the hooks when we reached the river. While he set the fish lines, I picked wîshichiminh [cranberries] on the exposed ground on the side of the hill where the sun shone. We mixed the berries with the healthy, fat river trout he caught. He kept going to his lines and finding fish, mostly pike, big pike. We really ate at that place! The next morning, we continued on our way, my father burying the remaining fish in the snow for our return trip. Very late that evening we reached our canoe. The following day my father took a day trip to collect the traps he had left somewhere the preceding fall. Then we dropped the canoe off at the place where we planned to meet the people we were to travel to the post with later on that spring. That done, we were ready to return to our main camp. noah mamianskum

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SEV EN

In Memoriam

Many of the people faced difficult and sorrowful times. Truly, truly—the things that happened to them were absolutely horrible. I’ve heard many stories about people who died of starvation. I’ve heard of times when Îyiyiu came upon whole dwellings of Îyiyiu who had all died together because of starvation. There were times they would find a whole group of Îyiyiu like this. They all perished. They all starved to death. Very sad and painful things happened to people then. That’s how it was in those days. suzanne kawapit

The Îyiyiu have several words for hunger. Noah Mamianskum explains, When you’re young, you don’t know what it means to be tired. I certainly didn’t. But I learned what it was to feel weak, not from fatigue, from hunger. We had a number of words to describe the kinds of hunger we experienced when I was young. Nipowomen was used to describe the hunger people felt when they couldn’t eat what they wanted to eat, like when they couldn’t find caribou or fish. Another word, nûhtâshin, referred to the hunger and weakness a person felt because he didn’t have anything to eat at all. This state turned into pâunîu when the person had had no food for a long time. For a large chunk of the twentieth century, the Îyiyiu were well-acquainted with all of these conditions.

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In addition, during this period, waves of contagious disease—whooping cough, influenza, pneumonia, measles, mumps and tuberculosis—washed over the region. The devastating consequence of the increased presence of traders, missionaries and geological surveyors, these diseases had a terrible impact on the people. From the time of their first arrival, visitors and immigrants to the Americas had brought with them infections, some of which had a long history in Europe but were rare or non-existent amongst indigenous people. Lacking immunity, many succumbed. Until then, the geographic isolation and nomadic lifestyle of the Îyiyiu had protected them from many of the diseases that had plagued other First Nations peoples. But this time, it was different. The long reach of “civilization” now extended to the Îyiyiu. Increased travel to the region coinciding, as it did, with a decline in the diet of the Îyiyiu accelerated the transmission of disease. By the early 1950s, the Indian agent considered the Great Whale River band the most poverty-stricken and disease-ridden band in his territory (Walker 1953). The stories in this chapter describe the terrible ordeal suffered by many of the people because of the onslaught of disease and decline in game and fur-bearing animals. Suzanne Kawapit knows a multitude of such stories. Thanks to her and a number of others in the community, the names and experiences of many people whose lives were lost to illness and starvation at this time are not forgotten. We tend to equate bravery to men with guns, dauntless in the face of battle. The accounts below bear witness to a different kind of bravery, to an enduring courage that inspired people to forge on regardless of the odds against them.

S IC K N E S S While references to contagious diseases punctuate the Hudson’s Bay Company journals, illness did not usually bother the Îyiyiu, who spent most of the year living in small, isolated groups on their hunting grounds. Here, as long as food was in ample supply, the “habits of life and the country tend[ed] strongly toward developing and preserving good health” (C.K. Leith and A. Leith 1912, 61). However, the preservation of good health was greatly compromised by the decline in country food and

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overall poverty of the Îyiyiu. With the increased presence of missionaries, geological surveyors and traders, trips to the post now exposed the Îyiyiu to a litany of communicable diseases. Malnourished and underdressed, many of the Îyiyiu were ill-prepared to fight off infection. The new diseases spread like brushfire through the camps and trading posts. The measles epidemic of 1902 is an example. By the time the late-summer supply boat from Moose Factory reached Great Whale River post, in 1902, the entire crew and some of its Îyiyiu passengers had been afflicted with measles. In the end, this particular measles epidemic took the lives of one hundred people at Great Whale River and Fort George. Two hundred people are thought to have died along the coast. As Reverend Walton, whose eldest child was amongst the victims, wrote, “There is mourning in every tent along the coast…it is a pitiful sight, in two or three tents, to see the motherless children almost quite naked, and quite helpless to get anything for themselves” (Walton qtd. in James 1985, 13). The Hudson’s Bay Company journal for Great Whale River provides a glimpse at the speed at which measles swept through the little community. The journal was kept by David Louttit, labourer temporarilyin-charge at Great Whale River, until October 26, 1902, when he, too, succumbed to the epidemic. His death was preceded by that of his daughter just fifteen days earlier. Inuit and Îyiyiu, alike, were affected. One of the first people mentioned in the journal is W. Flemming, also referred to as Bill. Bill Flemming, an Inuk Hudson’s Bay Company employee, lost three children in the measles epidemic. His eldest son was left partially deaf and totally blind (C.K. Leith and A. Leith 1912, 157). Bill’s brother Nero, the Inuk who in his spare time worked under the direction of Reverend Walton, also lost several children. Thurs. Oct. 2, 1902—The Boat from Moose and W. Flemming with his Boat Came home from hunting…they did not arrive here till dusk as…the Moose Crew is all on the Sick List. Bill had to give them 2 of his men to help Bring the Boat here today. If Bill didn’t go to hunt it is hard to say when that Boat might get here. There was 10 men in the boat with the Clerk when She arrived here…2 Indians Came in the boat as passengers, one of them fell sick + the other worked his way here (HBCA B.372/a/16).

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Sat. Oct. 4, 1902—Harold, Samuel + 3 Indians on the Sick List. Harold and Samuel just about over the worst part of the measles. But the 3 Indians Seem to be Bad. I am also Sorry to say my Daughter and Samuel’s wife + Little Boy who were at Fort George is very ill in bed with the measles (HBCA B.372/a/16). Thurs. Oct. 9, 1902—Sad to say my dear Daughter Maria who was at Fort George to See her Brother Came Back in the Boat…past away forever from this life (HBCA B.372/a/16). Fri. Oct. 10, 1902—Hard day for me I had to make my dear daughter a coffin in A.M. in P.M. we Had the Burial (HBCA B.372/a/16). Wed. Oct. 15, 1902—Thomas Lame Boy died. Harold, Samuel + an Indian helped me bury him though they are very weak yet. All the rest are very bad. David Louttit, his son + Mrs. Louttit are not well so I keep his journal till he gets well again (HBCA B.372/a/16).1 Fri. Oct. 17, 1902—Bill’s wife had a child born a fortnight ago is now dead. The Burial in the afternoon (HBCA B.372/a/16). Tues. Oct. 21, 1902—Samuel’s wife had a child about 3 weeks ago + it died this forenoon (HBCA B.372/a/16). Wed. Oct. 22, 1902—Peter Kapeal died about noon and we buried him in the afternoon. It is drifting very hard. The sick are slightly better (HBCA B.372/a/16). Sun. Oct. 26, 1902—I am very sorry to say that David [Louttit] passed away to night about 10 o’clock. He had been pretty bad yesterday and towards evening his breathing became very difficult but I had no idea he was going to pass away (HBCA B.372/a/16). Mon. Oct. 27, 1902—We made David’s coffin this forenoon and the burial was in the afternoon. The Eskimo woman Mikeatlie died about noon we buried her after poor David (HBCA B.372/a/16). Mon. Dec. 15, 1902—Johnny Mukpullo and Nepenoscum arrived here from Fort George with bad news about what the measles have caused amongst the Indians (HBCA B.372/a/16:6-12d). Tried and true Îyiyiu medicine, based on remedies derived from plants and animals in combination with practises inspired by Îyiyiu spiritual beliefs, was no match for the virulence and frequency of the epidemics 1

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Lewis Maver made the journal entries when David Louttit became ill.

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that struck the people in the twentieth century. Neither, unfortunately, was the non-Native medicine of the day. The following is a sample, by no means exhaustive, of some of the other sicknesses that raged through the region at this time. Whooping cough killed many at Moose Factory and Rupert House in 1895. Having been brought in by the crew of the supply boat, the Mink, whooping cough killed a child the following year at Great Whale River. Another child died from whooping cough during the summer of 1897 (HBCA B.372/a/14). In 1898, scrofula (tuberculosis of the lymph glands) and chicken pox spread through the district. Influenza, blamed on mining prospectors, took the lives of at least twenty-nine people in the northern part of the district (including Fort George and the Nichikun area) two years later. It is thought that so many people died of the latter because they were also battling scrofula. That same year (1900), a measles epidemic was reported at Rupert House. Then, in 1902, the big measles epidemic, referred to in the excerpts above, swept the coast. Two years later, in 1904, influenza came to Fort George with the winter mail (Morantz 2002). In 1908–09 an epidemic of “la grippe and pneumonia” killed thirty people at one post (C.K. Leith and A. Leith 1912, 60). They are probably referring to the “violent pestilence” that broke out that year at Rupert House. In 1913, the mail boat carried a deadly cargo, flu, killing people at both Fort George and Fort Chimo. The following story is about an illness the people got at Fort Chimo, in 1913.2 Considering the timing, it is likely it was the flu brought by the mail boat. As Ronnie Sheshamush said, “It followed the people home.”

Too Sick to Hunt A little earlier some of the people from the other group had gone to Fort Chimo to get supplies. We hadn’t been able to go. Most of them became ill while they were there. They were so sick that the others, the ones who were not sick, had to go back to their camp to get help to carry the sick ones home. They joined us shortly after that. 2

This was before the post had opened at Fort Mackenzie.

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John Kawapit. [Courtesy of Elizabeth Dick.]

Nearly everyone came down with the illness they brought back from the post. There were three big dwellings at our camp. From each dwelling only one person was able to chop wood for the fires. That’s how sick everyone was. My father wasn’t sick and neither was I. But most of the men were too ill to hunt for fresh food. They couldn’t even do that. My father and I left to check his traps, satisfied there was enough dried caribou for the people to eat. He had set traps for marten all along the way from where we had spent freeze-up to our present camp. He wasn’t afraid that we would get sick. He was fearless. We had been gone two nights when

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we saw caribou tracks. We followed the tracks a little ways and saw that they went out on the ice of the lake. My father told me to go around the lake behind the caribou and to chase the caribou to him. I did so. As the caribou ran towards him, I heard shots ring out. By the time I reached the shore of the lake, my father was standing over the caribou he had killed. He had killed eight. He told me which caribou would be given to which person. He was anxious to get the food back to the people in camp. The people felt better after they had eaten fresh meat. They all got better. My father and I left again after a few days. On our way we came across a marker on the lake pointing to a dwelling on the shore. My father said, “That must be the home of Kâutâshit.” Kâutâshit and his family had left our group while we were out caribou hunting. As we went ashore, Michistikwânâkin, the wife of Kâutâshit, came out to greet us. She told us that both her husband and Thomas, their son, were very sick. Thomas appeared to be the sicker of the two. We stayed with them for the day, continuing on our journey the following morning. We checked the traps and then headed back to our cache of food. Before we had left the cache my father had set a trap—a wooden wolverine trap. “If we don’t get it first, it’ll break into our food. The wolverine likes to steal. If it finds food, it’ll take it all and hide it,” my father told me. I went ahead to check the wooden trap and sure enough, it held a wolverine. We continued on our way. As we went along, we saw an otter in open water on the other side of the lake. It was evening, so we went ashore in front of where we had seen the otter. It wasn’t there anymore. We waited but the otter didn’t come up again. The sun set so my father decided to spend the night there, confident the otter would come around in the morning. He made a place with boughs for us to sleep in. At dawn we got up to wait for the otter. It was still dark when we saw it in open water. My father shot at it and missed. He said the otter would come around again when there was more light. We waited. The otter returned. This time my father got it. Moving on, we came to a big lake where we saw the tracks of a man. He was walking towards us. It was my brother coming to tell us that while we were gone Kâutâshit had died from his illness. john kawapit

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And so it continued throughout this period. More epidemics of flu, measles and pneumonia. Bouts of the mumps. More influenza.3 In the meantime, respiratory disorders, colds and bronchitis were chronic. Stories told by the people are replete with references to incidents where the whole camp was rendered completely non-functional because of sickness. Conditions were often so bad the very survival of the group hinged on meeting up with someone who could hunt and take care of them. Included below are two stories, one about a group whose survival is attributed to the timely arrival of help. The other is about a group for whom help arrived too late.

Mumps I used to wonder what would have happened to us if we had not met up with John Mukash. We were travelling with two other families when we became ill. John was the only one who didn’t get sick. The Îyiyiu used to get sick when people who had gone down to the post brought an illness back to camp with them—it seemed that sickness followed the people home. Then everyone would catch it. Some years were worse than others. This time it was the mumps—our faces and throats swelled out to our chins. We looked as if we had been beaten up! I felt so sick I couldn’t move. My wife felt the same way. The children kept the fire going in our dwelling. We couldn’t hunt. John Mukash announced that he would go to the post for supplies for us. He took my mink with him. I couldn’t go with him. I don’t think I could have made it down to the ice, even if I tried! He brought back enough supplies—even my mother’s widow’s food allowance—to last us until we were on our feet again. And then he fished for us and kept us fed. Some people died from the epidemic, although all the people in our group slowly recovered. The Catholic Fathers in Richmond Gulf,4 who knew a lot about disease and medication, knew what kind of sickness it 3

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Thirteen Great Whale River Îyiyiu died from influenza in 1946, and an epidemic of mumps struck the Îyiyiu the previous year (Honigmann 1962, 11). Oblate priests came to Richmond Gulf in the 1940s.

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was, but said there was no medicine for it. They sent us something to rub on our skin and told us that we would just have to let the sickness take its course. ronnie sheshamush

The Death of a Family of Six Utikintwâmis is buried just upriver from here. We see the lake where he and his family are buried whenever we fly up to our camp in the fall. We see the lake where they died. They must have been so miserable. Their eldest, a son, must have died first. They were able to bury him. Then the woman’s husband must have died second. We think they died from an illness. There was an illness going around at the post when Utikintwâmis last came in to get some supplies. In those days, the Inuit sold fresh seal blubber to the manager at the post. He gave it or sold it to those Îyiyiu who wanted it. Seal blubber is a good nutritious food to eat, especially when it’s fresh. In those days, the Îyiyiu liked seal blubber and oil. They particularly liked ptarmigan fried in seal oil. Nâchuwâhkwâhmanî said that Utikintwâmis had taken home a lot of seal blubber on his toboggan, so I imagine that they had food to eat for quite some time. Utikintwâmis had left saying he would be back soon. They were suspected of dying from an illness because there was seal oil left in a small pail. There was still quite a bit of it. After rendering the blubber into oil, they had put the oil into a small pail. Also, there were fish in the lake where they were. Sheshamush saw the dwelling first. I guess the post manager was getting worried about this family because the man didn’t show up for a long time. He asked Sheshamush to go check on them. He gave Sheshamush some food to take to the family. Mitâpâu, the father of David Sandy, said it was Easter Sunday when Sheshamush went to see about this family. We were inland as usual on that day, that Easter Sunday. There was a heavy snowfall that Easter Sunday, like in the fall when the trees are covered with snow because of the heavy snowfalls. That is what the trees looked

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like. They were all covered with snow. Their dwelling was found in the same condition as those trees, all covered with snow. When Sheshamush saw the dwelling, he said, “The way the dwelling looks really worries me. It shouldn’t look like this at this time of the year.” It was completely covered with snow. I don’t know if they had been using a stove or an open fire. “I panned the snow away to look for the entrance and then opened the flap to look inside,” Sheshamush said. I guess he looked towards the side where the woman was laying. Her youngest child was still in his wâspishûyân [Cree bunting bag]. “The child’s arms were out of his wâspishûyân. He was laying in his mother’s arms. I was overcome with such sorrow and pity when I saw this sight. He was all snowy on his face and arms. It was such a horrible sight,” said Sheshamush. They couldn’t move the bodies from the dwelling. Mitâpâu had gone with Sheshamush. All they could do was cover the bodies with boughs. As for the daughter, they didn’t find her inside. I guess they didn’t see her outside either, but her body was there. It was found later. She was found outside their dwelling. I guess she was trying to chop some wood. They probably didn’t see her because of the heavy snowfall. She was only found in the summer, just outside their dwelling. At that time, there was a minister here in the summer time. He wanted to see where this family died. Two canoes went with him to this place. There were women on this trip, too. He saw the bodies. He gave instructions about how they should be buried. I don’t know how he said they should be buried, but I think he said to bury them in one place, in one hole in the ground. The bodies were already very badly decomposed. Not all of the Îyiyiu could or wanted to see the bodies. The man had been wrapped, so they surmised he had died before his wife. She had wrapped her husband. There was another son, who lay beside her. The little boy was already quite big. Two of their children were inside with them. These were the youngest ones. Then there was their daughter who was found outside and their son who they had buried. They had four children in all. Then there were the two adults. Six of them died together. [The last sentence is inaudible.] suzanne kawapit

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A terrible toll was also exacted by tuberculosis, a highly communicable bacterial infection caused by the tubercle bacillus, primarily, but not exclusively, affecting the lungs. By the end of the 1800s, tuberculosis was the leading cause of death in the world, responsible for the deaths of one-third of adults in their middle years (James 1985, 3). Although tuberculosis went about its deadly business with great disregard for geographic boundaries, occupation, race, sex and class, the worse the living conditions were, the more widespread the disease was likely to be. Undernourished, inadequately clothed people, inhabiting crowded dwellings, were highly vulnerable. Since few reports deal in detail with this time period, it is uncertain when tuberculosis became a big problem in this area. Information in the Hudson’s Bay Company journals indicates that by the late 1890s tuberculosis posed serious problems for the people trading at Rupert House. And the Leiths, whose geological explorations brought them to the region in 1909, mentioned that tuberculosis was prevalent along the coast (C.K. Leith and A. Leith 1912, 60). Unfortunately, the Leiths do not specify exactly where along the coast tuberculosis was prevalent. Considering the state of poverty along the Great Whale River coast at this time, however, it is likely the Leiths’ comments included that area. With regard to the people who hunted caribou deep in the interior, it is thought that the coughing of blood was rare before Fort Mackenzie commenced operation in 1916. After this, more and more Îyiyiu exhibited symptoms of the disease. William T. Watt, who assumed charge of Fort Mackenzie in 1922 from Isebesti, recalled that Isebesti’s wife had died from tuberculosis (Hammond n.d.). By the late 1920s, Renouf,5 wrote about the desperate need to check the spread of tuberculosis (Morantz 1985). References to tuberculosis increase during the 1930s such that by the mid-1940s church records indicate it was the most persistent cause of death amongst the Îyiyiu. It hit the Inuit hard as well. A tuberculosis study conducted in 1950 shows that 13.7 per cent of the Great Whale River Inuit and 10.1 per cent of the Inuit at Richmond Gulf had tuberculosis. By 1964, 20 per cent of the Great Whale River population had been hospitalized for tuberculosis for at least one and a half years (Wills 1984). 5

A Hudson’s Bay Company employee who had worked at Great Whale River but was now at Fort George.

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“Patients lived in crowded tents…and work up to the limit of their capacity…working without murmur to the best of their ability. They literally die in the harness,” wrote the Leiths (C.K. Leith and A. Leith 1912, 60). Like many others, Long Pete (Peter Sandy), highly respected by both the Îyiyiu and Hudson’s Bay Company personnel, died from tuberculosis, in 1938, in exactly such a manner. Long Pete was known to the Îyiyiu who hunted on the barren grounds as Chinwâskupît. Hannah Natachequan’s son Philip was living with Chinwâskupît at the time of Chinwâskupît’s death, recorded in the annals of the Hudson’s Bay Company as follows: Job and Paul Mamianskum arrived this p.m. to report the death of Long Pete on 27 Dec.…Long Pete was our second best hunter and a very good all around man and a considerable loss to the post.…Long Pete was confined to bed for eight days before he died but has been in failing health for the past two years [because of tuberculosis]. He leaves a widow and two young children, another burden on the government a/c [account]. (HBCA B.436/a/6 fo.38-39) The first story below recounts events surrounding the death of Long Pete. The second describes the experiences of another family facing similar circumstances.

The Death of Chinwâskupît One time, when my son Philip was still very young, he was asked by his uncle Chinwâskupît if he would like to go to the post with the men to get supplies. Chinwâskupît had also said he wanted to take him for good when they returned from the post. We agreed on condition that he promise to take good care of him. Chinwâskupît replied that he would look after him well and that he would make sure that Philip saw us, his parents, from time to time.

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Philip Natachequan. [Courtesy of Elizabeth Dick.]

Chinwâskupît died while the men were away. He had been coughing up blood. Before the men had left for the post, the people had arranged to meet at a particular lake. Prior to relocating, some of the boys had gone on ahead to set the nets and place the fishhooks in the water. Chinwâskupît had been told to avoid strenuous activities but, much to his wife’s dismay, had insisted on not only accompanying the boys but ice picking as well. Ice picking was hard work. That night he was very sick.

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The following morning they had to move camp. He died the first night they were at the new place. He had been coughing a lot. The men returned the following day to learn the bad news. Philip was shocked and upset. His aunt, who had many children—all girls—was crying her heart out. Although it was bitterly cold, they had to move on to another camp the next day. It was a long trip. Along the way, Philip was told to make a fire and boil some tea. As he did so, he heard his little cousins crying as they came along the trail. He knew they must have been cold so he prepared a place for them by the fire. He gave them tea and fed them the bannock he had been given to serve them. He felt so sorry for them. Although Philip lived with John Kawapit for the remainder of the trip, his cousins always invited him over to their dwelling. There he often found that his aunt had cooked him something special to eat, or that she had made him some clothes or that she had knitted him some socks. Despite all her problems, she was very good to him. hannah natachequan

The Day Father Died I remember the day my father died. I was only six at the time. They still carried me on top of the toboggan for part of the way on long trips. We had just gone inland from Mâtâwâu, north of the Great Whale River. My brother carried my father from the post to the cove after the first point. We then paddled from there to Mâtâwâu. My brother carried my father over all the portages on our trip inland. There were no clinics at the time [1935], the only medical person here being the manager. My father had tuberculosis. The manager told us that he was going to die soon, that all we could do was look after him as best we could. I remember being very sad. I used to cry a lot. On that last trip inland with him, my mother used to feed him a soup she made from fish and from the lichens that grow on rocks. She mashed the lichens and blended them with the fish to make a soup. This was the only thing he was able to eat. We stayed in a beautiful place blanketed in white caribou moss. There was plenty of firewood around. Upon arriving there, my brothers Steven

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Ann Masty. [Courtesy of Elizabeth Dick.]

and Ronnie and sister Edith went off to check the nets. Edith steered the canoe while the boys handled the nets. Caroline and my mother made the dwelling and I sat with my father. He slept soundly. We stayed here for two days while my mother smoked the fish on a little platform over the fire. They were so big, she had to handle each one individually! We moved on to a place called Ânâtwâyâch. This lake always had fish. My father died here. Upon arriving at Ânâtwâyâch, my mother made a fire to warm some broth for him. He fell asleep while she was doing this. Suddenly, while still asleep, he pushed his blankets aside and

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sat right up. He hadn’t sat up on his own for a long time. My mother tried to restrain him because, from the looks of how he was moving, he was about to stand up. Holding him in her arms, she asked him what was the matter. “There’s nothing wrong,” he responded. “I’ve just had a dream.” And he went on to describe his dream. He said that he dreamt two angels were in front of him, angels that had come for him. They were so bright, they outshone the sun. Wanting to go with them, he was about to get up and leave. He died that night. I was too young to be of much help. Steven, Caroline and Edith did all the necessary things. Steven measured my father and cut trees from which to make planks. Two planks were placed at the bottom of the grave, an additional two on top of him. They then put earth on top and filled up the grave. We left that place after we had placed a cross with his name on it on top of the grave. That’s how we buried him. I was too young to understand about death and refused to leave my father behind even though he was buried. I kept asking why we were leaving father behind. I had to be carried to the canoe and placed inside it by my brother Steven. I was told I was making a big scene. It was up to my mother to teach me everything I know because I was so young when my father died. ann masty

S TA RVAT ION Sometimes I think about those days and remember how many Îyiyiu had miserable deaths because of food. One of the most miserable deaths you can have is starvation. We who are living today can’t imagine the misery and suffering the people experienced then. Many couldn’t get enough food to keep themselves alive. It’s hard to imagine that now. noah mamianskum

The Îyiyiu attribute the lack of food to two things. The most obvious was the decline in country food, first, caribou and, later, all game animals. The

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second was poverty. Caught in a vicious cycle, people could not trap before they had found food. But without furs, they lacked the funds to repay their debts and purchase supplies and ammunition for the upcoming season. The consequence of a decline in caribou, particularly a lack of caribou meat is self-evident. But caribou hide was also very important. As Suzanne Kawapit explains, There were times of hardship when there were not enough skins available to use for all the things for the Îyiyiu needed them for: clothing, dwelling covers, snowshoes, snares. There were some people, as there are today, who were much poorer than others. Caribou coats were the warmest thing to wear during the cold winters, but they had to be replaced each year. The previous year’s coat was just not warm enough. It was so worn, the hunter would get cold. During the winter, the men needed an outside coat and an inside coat. The outside coat was made from caribou skin with the hair still on it. The inside coat was made from caribou skin without the hair. Women’s dresses were made by tying together long pieces of tanned caribou skin. They slipped the dresses on over their heads. In the wintertime, they wore dresses made out of caribou skins with the hair still on, the short, fine hair. Two caribou skins were required to make the dress of an adult woman. With its layer of hollow hairs, no other material could compete with caribou skins for warmth, but once caribou were difficult to find the Îyiyiu had to find an alternative. Considered the best of what was available at the turn of the twentieth century, duffel, moleskin and stroud cloth replaced animal hides for clothing (C.K. Leith and A. Leith 1912, 167). But, not everyone could afford these items. Reverend Walton wrote of “almost quite naked children whose clothing (which had to be worn day and night) did not last through the winter” (James 1985, 52). Indeed, many Îyiyiu were too poor to buy any of life’s necessities, whether food, clothing or ammunition.

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Not surprisingly, most deaths occurred during the winter, the most difficult time. Weakened by hunger and sickness and numb with cold, people died, having fallen in their tracks while seeking help or searching for food. When people went out to scour the land for furs or food, those left behind often lived in fear the person would not make it back. Countless sleepless nights were spent worrying about loved ones who had not returned to camp and possibly never would.

The Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu Reverend Walton talked about eight hunters who starved to death, in 1892–93, after the collapse of the western caribou herd. There could have been others; we just don’t know about them. He wrote: “The deer have utterly failed along the coast.…In my first year a party of eight hunters went to look for them, and never came back; they were starved to death” (James 1985, 52). That same year, 150 people died of starvation south of Fort Chimo (Morantz 2002, 51) after the collapse of the central herd. Our stories commence with events that occurred about a decade later. According to Suzanne Kawapit, especially vulnerable to starvation, were the people whose hunting grounds were north of the Great Whale River in the northwestern part of the region, the Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu. Although Îyiyiu throughout the region suffered terribly, the situation of the Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu was particularly precarious because, compared to the area south of the river, lands to the north were poor in fur-bearers, providing the people who hunted there almost no opportunity to make a living once caribou were scarce. For many, hunger was a constant companion. We have several stories about events involving Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu. The first is about Nûtâhchikwâu. The tragedy that befell Nûtâhchikwâu and his family in the winter of 1900 was recorded in the Hudson’s Bay Company journals for Great Whale River: Sat. Feb.17, 1900—Indian hunting was brout to the Post Sum time in the Nite by 2 Esqx. Jam Crow and Nero brotherlaw with their dogs it

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Nûtâhchikwâu, a respected and prominent hunter. In the winter of 1900, Nûtâhchikwâu and his wife lost two children to starvation when the caribou failed to appear. [A.A.Chesterfield Fonds. Queen’s University Archives, W-4, A.A. Chesterfield.]

Touskumekapo. Touskumekapo arrived at Great Whale River with Nûtâhchikwâu and Nûtâhchikwâu’s brother Kash to trade in June 1904. [A.A. Chesterfield Fonds. Queen’s University Archives, L-25, A.A. Chesterfield.]

was Notachquana and family Nero was off Hunting deer when he came upon them Just a bout not able to walk 3 of them dead with Starvation Boy, Girl, 1 child (HBCA B.372/a/15 folio 12d). Nûtâhchikwâu, a respected and prominent hunter, was a true Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu, having been raised near the barren grounds where he hunted all his life. Many years after his death, people talked about how the Îyiyiu had treated him “like a chief” (James 1985, 77). When the western herd was in decline, Nûtâhchikwâu and his family went to the Seal lakes region, where caribou could sometimes still be found. In the winter of 1900, however, they did not succeed in killing any. The results were devastating. Undernourished, cold and exhausted after a fruitless search for food, Nûtâhchikwâu and his family attempted the arduous journey back to the post. He sent three of his children ahead to seek help from another group of Îyiyiu who were thought to be living at a particular lake. The children reached the lake only to find it deserted. Too weak for the return trip, the eldest son remained there to die. On their trip back to join the group, the other children were faced with yet another agonizing decision. The youngest no longer had the strength to walk and her sister was too weak to carry her. The child was left on the trail. Nûtâhchikwâu’s wife managed to reach the child before she froze to death. Finally, the group came upon two Inuit men—one of them Nero, the Hudson’s Bay Company servant who did missionary work under the direction of Reverend Walton—who provided them with much needed food and a ride to the post with their dog team. But it was too late for Nûtâhchikwâu’s youngest child, who died as they were loading their belongings onto the sleds.

The Deaths from Starvation of Nûtâhchikwâu’s Eldest Son and Youngest Daughter This is a story about the family of Nûtâhchikwâu during that time. It’s about when they almost all died from lack of finding something to eat while they roamed around in search of food. Nûtâhchikwâu hunted to

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the far north of here. That is where he and his family stayed and that is where this story happened. They were in the Seal lakes region when they decided to come down to the post. That particular year Nûtâhchikwâu had had a hard time with his hunting. The story is told by one of Nûtâhchikwâu’s daughters: “We were waiting for freeze-up. My father had already made our snowshoes and toboggans. We were very hungry so my father decided we should try to get to the post as quickly as we could. As we travelled along my eldest brother—the one who always led the way on our trips—kept stumbling. His toboggan kept tipping over. We found this odd because my father always made sure he had the best toboggan. “As the days slipped by, we got hungrier and hungrier. Finally, we reached Mintûwâkwh where we saw signs of a porcupine holed up in its cave. We put out traps to catch it, but it wouldn’t come out. It finally came out a week later and only then did we have something substantial to eat. That porcupine was the only thing of importance we ate on our entire trip. “Still heading for the post, we came to Lake Wakaikins, a place known for caribou. We came upon some caribou tracks. They were very recent. We made camp right away. “‘I’ll go look for them,’ my father said. My brother was still with us, but he couldn’t go with my father because he was too weak from lack of food. Not long after my father had gone, we heard his shots. We heard many shots. After a while, the shooting stopped. Then we heard my father returning, sobbing. I guess he was crying because he knew something bad would surely happen to us. “He came in and said, ‘I couldn’t hit any of them even though they were very near. I didn’t even see where my bullets went even though I shot many times.’ We continued on our way down to the coast.” Nûtâhchikwâu knew some Îyiyiu who were staying at a particular lake. He sent some of his children to go and tell the Îyiyiu about their predicament. He sent his son, along with his daughter Pîyâshîskwâu—who had children already—and a younger daughter. The younger daughter was called Susan. They were gone one night. They didn’t find the people who usually stayed at that lake. They didn’t see their trails anywhere. Their brother couldn’t go back home with them. When they knew they

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couldn’t convince their brother to return to their camp with them, the others went home without him. They didn’t have a toboggan with them. They had to leave without him. He never returned. He, who had always led the way, was now gone. When they were very close to home, Susan couldn’t walk anymore either. Pîyâshîskwâu had to leave her there because she didn’t have the strength to carry her home. When they got home, their mother went back for the younger girl. She was able to get to her before she froze. She carried her daughter home on a toboggan. Nûtâhchikwâu’s daughter continued: “We headed for the shore of the bay desperate for food. Once in a while my father got a ptarmigan, while my mother searched for ptarmigan droppings inside the burrows in the snow where the ptarmigan had slept at night. We drank the broth she made from the boiled droppings. One stormy day, as we were travelling on, we were spotted by two Inuit men.” Quite a big stream comes down to the coast at the place called Kâîchishâkwâu. This stream is used as a route to and from inland. Nûtâhchikwâu and his family were travelling along the stream. He had gone ahead of the others to make trail and to see if he could catch some ptarmigan. He was also to choose the spot to set up camp for the night. He had just missed the Inuit. Nûtâhchikwâu’s daughter continued: “As we were travelling, we lost his trail at the place where the stream had overflowed and turned to ice. It was a snowy day. We waited for Mother when we couldn’t see his trail anymore. “Our mother was following behind carrying our sister on the toboggan. When she reached us, we told her we had lost our father’s trail. Suddenly Susan said, ‘Look! Look at those Inuit coming towards us.’ “We looked and sure enough some Inuit were coming towards us. I guess they could see that we needed food. One of them was the man called Ayischîmâu Ayimihâuchimâu.6 He was the minister whenever the real minister [Reverend Walton] was not at the post. He was one of them. He spoke a little bit of Cree. Seeing our wretched state, the Inuit expressed great sympathy for us. 6

Îschîmâu Ayimihâuchimâu, meaning “the Eskimo minister,” referred to Nero Flemming.

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“‘Is there a man with you?’ he asked. “‘Yes,’ we replied. “‘Who is it?’ he asked. “‘Our father Nûtâhchikwâu,’ we answered. “Upon hearing his name, the Inuk uttered some words of surprise and happiness, saying, ‘My brother-in-law Nûtâhchikwâu.’ “Our mother said to them, ‘He must have gone down that way. The place to set up camp can’t be very far.’ “The two Inuit took our toboggans and pulled them along for us. They only had their sealskin backpacks. Not far from where we had met them, we saw the area where my father had indicated to set up our dwelling. “‘This is where we will make our dwelling,’ my mother said to them. ‘Can you shoot so he will know that you are here with us?’ “They shot one shot. They made a fire and shovelled the snow from the place where our dwelling would be. They helped my mother put up our dwelling. You know how quickly the Inuit work when someone is in need of help—well, this was no exception. “The Eskimo minister said to my mother, ‘Do you have a pail?’ “My mother had a pail that was used for tea whenever we had it. They asked for the pail. They put water in it to make some tea with it. They didn’t have much food either, but they gave us the little they had, a whole bannock, a bit of seal meat and some tea. They didn’t have sugar. They gave the whole bannock to us. “In the meantime, my father returned with some ptarmigan. “‘We have to go home now,’ the Inuit men said, ‘but in the morning we would like you to travel to the shore of the bay where it is easier for our dogs to pick you up. We’ll take you to the post with our dog team.’ “By morning we felt better and made our way to the coast. We had finally had something to eat. We could hear the dogs barking in the distance as the Inuit came to fetch us. Then, while the Inuit were loading our belongings onto the komituk, my baby sister died. We had finally eaten, but it was too late. She had been hungry for too long. The Inuit buried her the Inuit way, covering her body with a pile of stones. We left for the post after the burial.

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“The dog team ran at top speed. Thinking we would stop for the night, my father told the Inuit where he wanted to make camp. But they said we could make it to the post that very day! Familiar places along the coast slipped by until, finally, the houses at the post came into view. The dogs raced on inspired by the sight of the post. It was night when we reached the post. There was a building near the house where Wâmishtikûshîsh lived.7 This building was used to house Îyiyiu who needed a place to stay when they came to trade. That is where we were taken. The manager’s wife came to greet us as soon as we were inside the building. We told her of the deaths by starvation of my brother and sister. That year was a time of many deaths, deaths from starvation. “By the time we arrived the daughter of Pîyâshîskwâu was close to death. She almost died from the cold. The wife of the manager tended to her. Her jaw was shut tight. She pried her jaw open. When she was able to open her jaw, she poured some warmed milk into her mouth. When she had poured a fair amount of liquid into her, she started to move. She started to warm up. We stayed at the post for quite some time. Even with the dog team, we had barely made it to the post alive. We ate well while we were here. Some Inuit brought some caribou meat. This is what we ate. “Ptarmigan were plentiful near the post at that time. There were also a lot of ptarmigan along the river. When we were quite well again, the manager suggested that rather than returning inland, we camp at Âîhiypâstâsich. Here we could catch ptarmigan for sale to the post. In those days, ptarmigan were traded at the post. The manager gave my father shells to use to hunt the ptarmigan. Nûtâhchikwâu made a bow and arrow for the ptarmigan and saved the shells for the spring duck hunt. That was what we did most of that winter. We lived at Âîhiypâstâsich almost until break-up in the spring, when it was time to move a little inland. Even then we didn’t go very far. When we were all quite well from our ordeal and had our strength back, we moved inland to the lake called Wîminipîsh [Lake Fagnant].

7

Wâmistkûshîsh, meaning “little whiteman,” was the Cree name for Harold Udgârten, who worked for the Hudson’s Bay Company through the twentieth century until his death in 1950.

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“It is almost certain our whole family would have died if the Inuit hadn’t found us and taken us to the post when they did. At the time we were found, we were unable to do much hunting for ourselves. Nûtâhchikwâu had no ammunition by then, but he was a very good marksman with an arrow. That is what he used to hunt for ptarmigan when he didn’t have any ammunition. It is said that he was very good at shooting ptarmigan with his arrows. It is said that he was the best shooter of arrows among all the men who were still using arrows to hunt at that time. I guess that’s the reason we survived that long even though he had ran out of ammunition.” suzanne kawapit

A note in the Hudson’s Bay Company journals suggests Nûtâhchikwâu and his family recuperated at Great Whale for eleven days. After regaining his strength, Nûtâhchikwâu hunted for the post. Hunters who found themselves in a similar situation were sometimes employed to hunt or fish in the vicinity of the post to fill the post’s larder. Then, outfitted with ammunition and supplies in payment for services rendered, they resumed their normal activities on the land. The experience of Nûtâhchikwâu and his family was not unique; apparently, there were many deaths from starvation that year. Yet, the Hudson’s Bay Company recorded outstanding success at Fort George and Great Whale that trapping season. So, while hunting provided a precarious existence to those who made their living on the northwestern barren grounds, trapping to the south proved to be highly productive. In the early twentieth century, some credit was available to Îyiyiu hunters, but mostly to those who were a good debt risk, immediately excluding many of the Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu because their lands were so poor in fur-bearers. Theirs was an uncertain future once they left the post in the fall. The only thing that saved many from death was the care and consideration shown them by people they encountered on the land. In the case of Nûtâhchikwâu and his family, it was a chance meeting with some Inuit. The Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu in the next story did not have that good fortune. They left the post one fall, never to be seen again. With

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their clothes in tatters and little chance of obtaining hides to replace them, with no food and no ammunition, their prospects were slim. Since Suzanne Kawapit (born 1905), the storyteller, remembers seeing the people the summer before their deaths, the events in the story must have taken place after 1905. Although just a child, she was struck by how destitute members of the group looked.

Ten Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu Die of Starvation One winter, a lot of Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu starved to death near Little Seal Lake because they didn’t have any hunting equipment. Wâpinuhkwâu [Maggie Dick] had many siblings. Both of her parents, all her siblings, her first husband Jacob and one daughter starved to death that year. She had two daughters at that time. One survived. Addie’s husband, her daughter and a son also starved to death. Addie had three children, and only one of them survived. More than ten people from their group starved to death that winter. So many died that winter. When the camp was found, all that was left were bones. Someone had tried to bury them, but they were so weak they could only cover them with branches. The Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu were always so poor because they didn’t have much in the way of pelts to trade with, so they lacked most things, like hunting equipment, food and clothing. They were the ones who died of starvation. I mentioned Wâpinuhkwâu’s father. He was povertystricken when I last saw him, the summer before the winter he starved to death. I have never ever seen anyone as poor as he was when they arrived that summer. That was the last time they came here. His clothing was so poor. I’ve never seen anyone wearing such tattered clothing in all my life. I imagine he didn’t take much with him when he and his family left for the bush that year. So many of them died because of the cold and lack of food. We were not so poor because we stayed in an area where we could trap fur-bearing animals. suzanne kawapit

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A Family Starves Near Little Seal Lake A whole family starved to death near Little Seal Lake because they didn’t have a canoe to fish with. They had been too weak to carry it, so they had left it behind. whapmagoostui place names project 1993

The events in the next four stories about the Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu took place in the Clearwater Lake region. The stories speak of three families and one father dying of starvation. Many years later, Îyiyiu talked about how one winter between fifteen and twenty Îyiyiu from Richmond Gulf starved to death “during the time Revillon Frères only gave small loans to the people.” As mentioned earlier, loans or credit decreased dramatically after 1926 when the Hudson’s Bay Company became the major shareholder of Revillon Frères’ fur-buying operations in Canada. Since Revillon Frères was completely absorbed by the Hudson’s Bay Company in 1936, the deaths to which the Îyiyiu were referring probably occurred between 1926 and 1936, perhaps in 1931–32. Seventeen deaths were reported at Great Whale River in March 1932, the result of a combination of sickness and starvation (Morantz 2002, 110). The next four stories could be about some of these people.

Maggie Mamianskum’s Husband Starves to Death People almost always used to camp on the north side of Atkinson Island in Clearwater Lake. The man called Pitâyâpu starved to death at this place. He had been sick and not able to hunt. His wife was the late Maggie Mamianskum. They had three children, one boy and two girls. It is said that in those days there were always some caribou around Clearwater Lake. The caribou that used to stay in the south would go

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north in the spring and out onto the ice of the lake. By this time, though, her husband couldn’t move at all. After her husband died, Maggie wanted to get away from that camp. She must have had such great sorrow. I used to think that losing your husband when there were no other people around was one of the hardest things to face. This happened to women in those days. It’s hard enough when this happens even when you have many people around you. I guess her husband had told her what to do when he died, which direction to take when she travelled out of there. They had been living with a young girl at that time, but I don’t know who she was. Her son Paul was the only one who could walk when they were travelling. She was still carrying her daughters on her toboggan. Her youngest daughter was born in the autumn. Her husband had told her where to go after he died. I guess she buried him and started travelling right after that. Her husband must have known that area. He must have known where other Îyiyiu might be at that time of the year Maggie said, “I travelled to the place where the Îyiyiu usually travelled down from. My husband had told me to come this way. We headed inland. I cried most of the time as we walked along. I couldn’t look about me as I walked because of my tears. As I walked and cried, I used to hear a voice saying to me, ‘Don’t cry. You’ll be happy soon.’ That’s what I used to think the voice was saying to me. Then on the second day, we were walking right in the middle of a small swamp when a man saw us.” Someone—it was Louisa Mamianskum’s father—saw them and brought them to his camp to the southwest of the lake. The man was called Chishâ-Chûsip [Joseph the Elder]. Chishâ-Chûsip was a very close relative of her late husband. Her late husband was the man’s potential son-inlaw [in the Cree kinship system], which means that her husband had been the son of Chishâ-Chûsip’s elder sister. That is who she had been married to. She heard a voice as she was walking and crying, but she thought it was the voice that she had been hearing. Instead it was Chishâ-Chûsip. Maggie continued: “As I walked, I thought I heard someone talking to me. I thought it was the same voice I had been hearing. I looked towards the area where I thought the voice was coming from and saw an Îyiyiu coming towards

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me. He must have already known what had happened to me because he was crying as he walked towards me, before I had told him my story. We sat on the ice and talked and cried together. It was not a very cold day that day. After a while, he said to me, ‘Let’s go into the trees where I’ll make you a dwelling for the night.’ He began to pan the snow away from a stone where the fire would be made.8 “He panned the snow away from the stone, placed the first layer of boughs and put the dwelling poles around them. He chopped firewood for us, enough for the time we would be there. After he had finished our dwelling, he said, ‘I will go home now. We don’t live far from here. My son will come and see you. [He meant his older son.] He’ll bring you something to make broth with.’ He and his family were not hungry. They were eating caribou at that time. His son reached us that day. He brought food that his mother had cooked, some tender caribou meat and crushed caribou-bone broth. “There are high mountains near there. The caribou were still on the mountain. Chishâ-Chûsip shot some caribou on top of these mountains. He gave me two of them. I was so very sad as I made trips to transport my caribou back to camp because I could see the area where my husband’s burial place was. I couldn’t keep from crying before I continued on.” She must have had great sorrow and misery. But she was never hungry that year after she met these Îyiyiu. suzanne kawapit

The Family of a Brother of Petagumskum Dies A brother of Petagumskum and his family also starved to death on the same island, Atkinson Island, in Clearwater Lake. Two of the sons made it either to a camp near Richmond Gulf or to the post at Richmond Gulf, where they met up with Petagumskum. The sons were afraid to go back, but Petagumskum insisted they return to help their family. Later, the 8

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bodies of the family were found in their camp, but the bodies of the two sons were never found. whapmagoostui place names project 1993

Mîyûwânu’s Family Starves to Death Six other people died at another starvation camp located on Atkinson Island, in Clearwater Lake, the old man called Mîyûwânu [the uncle of Shâshâmîyûs], his wife Uchimâchikwâu and their two daughters and two sons. whapmagoostui place names project 1993

Another Family Dies of Starvation About twelve kilometres south of Clearwater Lake is a lake where another family died of starvation. The only one who survived was the mother. whapmagoostui place names project 1993

Mistikwân Dies of Starvation You must remember Joseph Petagumskum’s mother, Mary Petagumskum. Her nickname was Kâminiksâwît. She was married to Mistikwân at the time of his death from starvation. They hadn’t even been married for a year when he died. He starved to death. Her next husband was Daniel Petagumskum. But she didn’t get married for a long time after her first husband’s death. Daniel also had been married before. suzanne kawapit

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Near Great Whale River Post As mentioned in the previous chapter, except for fish and migratory birds, there was no wildlife in an 80 to 130 km strip along the coast (Tanner 1978). People whose hunting grounds were in this area had a very hard time. So, too, did people who were travelling through on their way to the coast for help, some of whom died of starvation within a stone’s throw of the post. Others died not far from the post having tried unsuccessfully to get help from the trader. Aid, in the way of food, was distributed at the post at the discretion of the trader and in the amount determined by him. From the perspective of the Îyiyiu, some traders at Great Whale were extremely parsimonious in dispensing food, providing little or none to people who did not have furs to trade. With reduced larders of their own, perhaps the traders faced the horrible dilemma of having to choose whom they could feed, their employees or the Îyiyiu hunters. On the other hand, some traders could have been stingy. Whatever the reasons, hungry people were denied food, sometimes with dire consequences. Other Îyiyiu, then, had to face the horror of digging their bodies out of their silent, snow-covered dwellings. A Great Whale River resident reported a family starved to death about thirty kilometres from Great Whale River after they had asked the Hudson’s Bay Company for help three times (Wills 1984, 6). Perhaps this is the family featured in the first story below. Or maybe it happened more than once.

People Dying Near the Post Some people didn’t live that far from the post. Some stayed quite close, reaching the post in a short time [one-or-two-day’s travel]. They would go to the post for supplies from time to time. We heard that these people were very hungry at times during the winter. Even if they told the post manager they were hungry because they hadn’t been able to hunt any food, they still weren’t given anything to eat. In those days, you weren’t given any food if you didn’t bring in furs. That’s what it was like then. For example, not far

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from here, an Îyiyiu and his whole family died of starvation. I don’t know how many children he had. He and his wife and children were found dead at their camp after a trip to the post. When summer came, he didn’t show up, and people started wondering about his whereabouts. The wife of Wishikush [Jimmy Sandy] told me the story. She said: “We had come down to the post at about the same time the Îyiyiu did. He told us where they were camped. It was quite near here. I told him where the good fishing areas were. He told me that they hadn’t gone to all the lakes that were good for fishing yet, but that they would try to. It was the last time he was seen. Later, we found out that his whole family had died of hunger. When the post manager realized they were late in coming to the post, he told some men to go check their last known camp. The men found their whole dwelling covered with snow. Two of the children had died while either he or his wife was still alive. Someone had managed to bury them. A daughter was found outside. I guess she didn’t make it back inside after she had been outside. The Îyiyiu, his wife and two of their children were found inside their dwelling. The man had died before his wife because she had straightened his limbs and wrapped him in something. I guess she died last. The baby was found at her breast. That’s how one whole family died from starvation.” suzanne kawapit

A Man Dies on the Trail to the Post I have heard many stories about Îyiyiu who died from starvation. One Îyiyiu fell as he walked because he just couldn’t go on anymore. He just sat down on the trail on their way to the post, he and his younger brother. He was so close to the post but he couldn’t go any further. He sat down when they were at the second beach north of here. I guess the younger brother wasn’t even able to make a fire for him. The younger brother said to him, “I’ll go on to the post and send someone to come for you.”

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The only one who spoke Cree at the post was the man the Îyiyiu called Wâmishtikûshîsh [Harold Udgârten]. The manager could speak a little Cree also. The younger brother told Wâmishtikûshîsh about his brother. There was an Inuk who stayed at the post all year round. He worked for the post, providing firewood. Wâmishtikûshîsh told the Inuk to go get the man with his dog team. When they got to the man, he had already died. That’s how it was in those days after the caribou were gone from the area and when people depended on the post for supplies. Many Îyiyiu died from starvation because they couldn’t find animals or fish. The other reason was because they didn’t have ammunition to hunt with. These are the reasons some Îyiyiu died of starvation. suzanne kawapit

Mamîyâmapinû and his Family Starve to Death Several families were staying together near this lake not far from the Great Whale River, about ninety kilometres upriver from Whapmagoostui. Mamîyâmapinû and his family were one of them. He was asked to stay with the other families but he declined, preferring to go to an area where there were porcupine. The whole family eventually starved. He and the children passed away at the rapids. His wife managed to keep on going, but she died while trying to make it to Whapmagoostui. Some Îyiyiu saw bowls used for cooking and the bones of his wife at another place. If he had stayed with the others, the family wouldn’t have starved because the other group was fine that year. whapmagoostui place names project 1993

Travelling to the Caribou Deep in the Interior The following series of stories—all related—describe events involving a number of families who had gone in search of caribou beyond the Lake

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Bienville area, to the range of mountains “that reach Fort Chimo.” Their challenge was twofold: to get to the mountains where the caribou were expected to be and then to find them. On the way, they hunted and fished but to little avail. Small game was in short supply and they had trouble getting fish. Lichen was the mainstay of their diet. Tragically, it wasn’t enough. They were not able to reach the caribou in time to prevent the deaths of two of the most vulnerable people in the group, a breastfeeding baby and an old man. Judging from the age of Sam Atchynia (born 1913) at the time of the first story, the events might have taken place before the Hudson’s Bay Company opened its post at Fort Mackenzie.

Ichinâyâpimku’s Infant Son and an Old Man Die of Starvation It was at that time that my baby brother also died of starvation. He was still a nursing baby feeding from my mother’s breast, but my mother was not well enough nourished to produce enough milk for the baby. I was very young myself. We left the camp where my little sibling had died in a very sorrowful state. I was able to do a little bit of walking, but most of the time my mother pulled me along on her toboggan. We were far from here at Apishikimîsh [Lake Bienville], near the mountains where people used to go if caribou or other game were scarce in the area where they were hunting. The mountains to one side of Apishikimîsh are called Pâîpitâukâuh. They’re about thirty miles long and they’re almost treeless. Near them is the range of mountains that reach Fort Chimo. It is in this mountain range that the rivers flow the other way to Fort Chimo. This is where we were when my baby brother died. An old man died of starvation at that time, as well. When my little brother died we had had only one fish to share with my family and the other family—that of John Mamianskum—we were with. When people decided to travel to those mountains, they called it “travelling to the caribou.” A long time ago people could always find caribou in or around these mountains. John Mamianskum and his family decided to go on ahead to look for game. He left a note at one of his abandoned

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campsites saying that he had gone to investigate a trail he had spotted from a distance, a trail made by the caribou, he hoped. We decided to spend the night at his abandoned campsite, putting our fishhooks in the lake as John had done before us. There was little other game, hardly any porcupine. If you didn’t catch any fish, you would be very hungry. The only thing we had eaten for a long time now was lichen—the lichen that grows on the rocks. After washing it to remove the sand, we would crush it, then boil it until it had thickened. This made a tasty broth. Weak from hunger, my father left to look around for game. He was an expert in the ways of the caribou, but he hadn’t eaten or had much to drink (mûshkimî) in a long time. When I was old enough to hunt caribou, he would teach me about the caribou. From a distance he could tell whether they were male or female and what age they were. He always seemed to know what they would be doing next. He taught me everything I know about caribou. Everybody said that he was an excellent marksmen. As for myself, in my day I also hit something once in a while, mostly by accident I suppose!9 My father killed two caribou that time. He butchered them and covered them with snow, bringing home only the liver and the heart. The moon was full that night. They boiled the heart and the liver, but my grandmother instructed us just to eat a bit. A lot of food would make us sick, she cautioned. She had seen other instances of starvation in her day. sam atchynia

While the next story illustrates the degree to which friendships were tested during this terrible period, it is also a testament to people’s ability to understand and forgive. The winter after the two people in Sam Atchynia’s group had died of starvation, Sam’s family went inland with a group of Îyiyiu who had the means to buy enough supplies to cache food and bullets for their return trip. Scarred by the memory of their recent losses, Sam’s family removed the contents of all the caches, leaving the other group in a very precarious situation. 9

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Sam Atchynia. [Courtesy of Elizabeth Dick.]

The following winter, the latter group travelled all the way to the Fort Chimo region to hunt the barren grounds caribou. On the trip back, everyone died with the exception of four people, Wâpistânskwâu, Kâtihkâpushit and two of their children. With so many dead, the survival of Wâpistânskwâu and Kâtihkâpushit wasn’t a given. Nourished only by their faith, each night, as they went to bed, they prepared for death. What finally kept them alive were bundles of food, the flour, tea, sugar and lard that had been left in trees for someone else, someone who had already perished from hunger.

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A story told by Hannah Natachequan in Chapter 5 describes how Reverend Walton sent two Îyiyiu and their families to help a man bury the bodies of family members who had died of starvation. Kâtihkâpushit was the man they helped. Recall that, following the burial, the families sent by Reverend Walton went their separate ways, one never returning to the community. Like so many others, their lives were lost to starvation as well.

Kâtihkwâhk, his Son and Two Daughters and all Wâpistânskwâu’s Children Except Two Starve to Death Ichinâyâpimku [father of Sam Atchynia] was with my sister’s group that winter. They had travelled inland together during the fall, leaving caches of store-bought supplies and bullets along the way. After freeze-up, as soon as it was safe to travel on the ice, Achinâyâpimikû announced that he was ready to travel back down to the post. The others wanted to stay put for a while. Following the route the group had taken to go inland, he and his family took all the bullets and food that had been stored along the way— all of it, even things that were not his. “That’s why we were so hungry, almost starving,” my sister said afterwards. The first time my sister’s group came across an empty cache, they didn’t make much of it. Seeing the second cache empty, they realized what was going on. This was unfortunate because their group was very hungry by now. They saw Achinâyâpimikû later on when they got back to the post. They mentioned it to him and then forgot about it. They forgave him. They had made it back to the post safely, afterall. Achinâyâpimikû had suffered enough, having lost his little baby to starvation earlier that year. My brother Kâtihkwâhk [brother of Hannah Natachequan] got sick and died sometime after that. He had two daughters and a son called Sandy. Wâpistânskwâu, my sister, had a number of children, including a

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little boy, William, who was born on the same day as Sandy. Sandy was unconsolable when his father died. Kâtihkwâhk had had a big Bible filled with pictures of Jesus. After his death, the two boys spent hours pouring over the pictures. “I wish we were with my father, who is where there is no pain or sadness,” Sandy was overheard saying to William. The two little boys died on the same day, together. They died of starvation. So, too, did Sandy’s two sisters and all of Wâpistânskwâu’s children with the exception of two. After the deaths, Wâpistânskwâu and Kâtihkâpushit, her husband, decided to try to make their way to Great Whale, although they were so weak from hunger. They thought each night was their last. When they reached the river the people travelled along to the post, they always made camp at portages. Unsure whether they would wake up the following morning, they fastened the door of their dwelling securely each night. Kâtihkâpushit had a Bible that he kept in a little box. On the box he wrote to whoever found them, “Whoever sees this Bible, please take it.” One day, as they were travelling along, Kâtihkâpushit saw a marker on the river pointing in a particular direction. They followed it to find people had left a bundle of food—flour, tea, sugar and lard—in a tree. With the food was a message saying that a brother had died. They cried when they read the news. They ate a little then continued on their way. Soon they reached the place called Yâchisâkuhch, where they noticed there were fish nets on the ice. People had been there recently! The trail was fresh, and before long they reached the people. In the meantime, my husband and I were following the river down to the post with my mother-in-law and brother-in-law. It was very crisp the day we reached Yâchisâkuhch. A man on the ice came towards us when he saw us arrive. It turned out to be my brother. When he was within hearing distance, he called out to say that he had very bad news. He told us about my brother and about my brother’s children and about the children of Wâpistânskwâu. We stayed on the ice for a while, talking, before going to his camp. My mother cried when she saw us. She had worried that she would never see us again. hannah natachequan

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Meeting Wâpistânskwâu and her Husband on the Trail At that time we, too, were very hungry. We finished putting up our dwelling and only then were we able to eat. All we had was one ptarmigan. That is how poor we were. Achinâyâpimikû and his family were living with us. One of his sons had died of starvation earlier that winter. Those were very hard times. Today, I sometimes think that life is so much easier now because food is easier to obtain. Nîpinûhkwâu didn’t have the strength to make more than one hole in the ice for her fishhooks. My brother couldn’t even manage one. Nîpinûhkwâu caught one fish with her hook. After we had eaten the fish, the four adults put a net in the lake. We stayed there for a while catching fish, but only sparingly. From time to time, we got a ptarmigan. We decided to slowly make our way back to Great Whale. One day, Achinâyâpimikû went out hunting. We worried when he hadn’t returned by nightfall. We were afraid he would never be back. His mother started to cry. My brother tried to console her, saying that he was alright, that he was just late. He would look for him as soon as it was light, he told her. None of us could sleep. Finally, he did come back—very late that night—with some of the caribou he had just killed! That was a very hard year. During the winter we had left the group of people we had hunted with earlier, only to learn that most of them had died of starvation. Maybe you have heard of the woman called Wâpistânskwâu. She, her husband and two children were the only survivors from that group. They were so weak that they left messages at places along the river thinking that, if they died, the people travelling that way in the spring would read the message and know what happened to them. The note said they were following the river downstream. It said that should the reader see a dwelling along the way, they would know that its occupants had died. The note also mentioned that all the other people they had been hunting with had died, as well. Not knowing that we had left that group before tragedy struck, my mother’s group had seen the message. Following the information in the note, my mother

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said that they looked for a dwelling but soon couldn’t even find signs of campsites. They were absolutely grief-stricken. They thought we had died, too. But we had left the main group earlier on to try and look for game elsewhere, while we still had some strength. We, too, had almost died of starvation, but we got some food and were able to recover. It was Kâmichâpâut’s wife, my father’s oldest sister, who had left the bundle of food that Wâpistânskwâu and her husband had found. Kâmichâpâut’s wife had left it for her son David but he had already died. By the time we left Wâpistânskwâu and her husband, I was so weak from hunger I could barely walk. My brother and his wife took turns pulling me on their toboggan as we walked. During the night they would check to see if I was still alive. They were afraid I would die in my sleep. That’s how bad it was. Later on, Nichikunîwiyiyiu, one of our hunters, managed to kill some caribou. On our way to transport the caribou back to camp, we saw two people sitting on the trail. It was Wâpistânskwâu and her family. We didn’t recognize them at all. They were just skin and bones. Kâtihkâpushit addressed me, “Is that you, Maggie?” “Yes,” I said. “This is what is left of us, of the group of people I was with and hunted with. Just my wife and two children. That’s all.” He cried as he took me in his arms. He then said to go back to camp and tell the others who we had seen. We ran back to camp to get help to bring home the people we had found along the trail. When everybody got back to camp, we cried and cried. It was a terrible time. I used to wonder if the people would ever get over their grief. maggie sandy

More People Die in Wâpistânskwâu’s Group Kâtihkâpushit [Wâpistânskwâu’s husband] and Kishânâpâu and their families were living together at that time. There had been many of them in

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this group, Kâtihkâpushit’s mother; his many children; a young man and his mother; as well as the cousins, William and Sandy, who had been born on the same day. There were many of them in this group. Only four of them survived, Wâpistânskwâu, Kâtihkâpushit and two of their children. They were so hungry, they barely made it to us. They got to us just in time. They had seen our trail and followed it. We were part of a large group. There were a lot of us. We were with Jacob Rupert’s father and all his siblings and his brother-in-law called Chiwân Kwâtum [John Quito]. Atwân’s [Edward Natachequan] family and his mother were also there. That is who we were with when these starving people reached us. I was quite young at the time. We didn’t recognize them when they arrived. Kâtihkâpushit’s mother hadn’t been living with them for a long time when this happened. She had been living with the Naskapi. He hadn’t seen her since he was married. He travelled to Fort Chimo to see her and she came to live with them. They had travelled back to this area. This happened to them that year. The caribou were still abundant then. He had met up with his mother in the area where the caribou were being waited for. He had met up with his mother there. I was just thinking about how things are today. There’s so much food today. There’s a lot of caribou today, too. But there were times in the past when the people couldn’t kill anything to eat. It’s no wonder that some people were so poor! Sometimes game couldn’t be found. The only place the caribou could be found in those days was over there near the Fort Chimo area. Herds of caribou called the mushâwâusîpîûtuhkw [barren grounds caribou] arrived there every year. But there were years when the caribou didn’t come at all. It was during these years when the caribou herds didn’t come that the Naskapi starved in massive numbers. Many of them starved to death. That is one of the reasons why the Îyiyiu starved in massive numbers, too. When the Îyiyiu from this area realized that the caribou weren’t coming anymore, they didn’t go there anymore. They didn’t starve as much. They stayed around this area [Lake Bienville] and hunted along the Great Whale River area. That’s how we came to hunt in the Lake

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Bienville area. It was when we started to learn to hunt, Luke—my sibling younger than me—and I. I [born circa 1905] was the oldest amongst my siblings. Luke was next oldest. We learned to hunt and trap at an early age. We learned early because my father taught us intensively what and how to do things. We also learned early how to fish and what to do. I was good at using a gun, too. I had my own gun. We used to go ptarmigan hunting with our guns. My father used to say to me, when we were getting hungry, “It is up to you to decide what you will do in the morning—if you want to hunt ptarmigan or if you want to tend to your fishhooks. You decide.” Sometimes I preferred to go ptarmigan hunting. I was also good at looking for porcupine. Our grandfather—my father’s father—said that he thought we were good porcupine hunters. He was very proud of us, my brother and me. During this time, the fur-bearing animals were hunted with great attention. suzanne kawapit

Besides providing much needed employment, the presence of the post at Fort Mackenzie meant the Îyiyiu did not have to travel so far to get help when hunting failed to provide them with the necessities of life. The next story is about a whole family who, not knowing the post had been established, perished on their return trip to Great Whale River. Their experience underlines the extreme vulnerability of families when first one and then the other parent dies. In this incident, the young children press on, only to die at the place where they had expected to find help.

Sam Sheshamush, His Wife Anne and Their Three Daughters Perish Sam Sheshamush was another person who died because he didn’t have any food. Actually, I’m not sure about that. No one really knows what

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happened to him. His body was never found. The bodies of his wife and children were not in their dwelling either. They had been travelling far from this area [Great Whale River] and had been plagued with hunger all that winter. They had barely made it back to this area. They had travelled near where the Aushâwâwiyiyiu [Naskapi] lived. That is the area where they had travelled back from. It was during the time when the Îyiyiu had to travel long distances in search of caribou, the time the caribou had dwindled down. I suspect they didn’t know that there was a post [Fort Mackenzie] near the place where they had turned back. It would have only been a walk of about a day to reach this post from where they turned back, if they had known where it was. On their way inland, they had met up with David Shem [Sîyâkâshum]. David was not too badly off. He had food. Your grandfather Shâshâmîyûs [David Sheshamush] was a very good friend of David Shem. They [David Shem and David Sheshamush] were very close. Your grandfather Shâshâmîyûs told the others he wanted to stay with David Shem and his family for quite some time because David had saved them from starvation. Your grandfather didn’t want to leave his friend. But Sam didn’t think the same way his brother [David Sheshamush] did. He [Sam Sheshamush] left them to go on his own. It was thought that he had tried going to the post, but didn’t make it and died along the way. This was just a thought. People have speculated that he had tried going to the post for some supplies. He might have had an accident along the way and his wife kept waiting for his return. He might have killed some caribou, it is said. These were the thoughts the Îyiyiu had about him at that time. Someone saw signs of where someone, maybe Sam, had been. I remember that time. When we went up inland, the river route we took was the same route Sam and his family travelled down that winter. His wife was pregnant. Her time was very near when he was last seen. The days were already getting longer when he and his family were last seen. Spring must have been near, by that time. The baby was probably born soon after the Îyiyiu left their company. There were signs of them along the way as they travelled on the ice of the river, as they made their way down to the coast. There

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was a dwelling site where their child might have been born. They had heated many stones for a heat treatment. In those days, the only thing that was done to a woman after her child was born was to give her a heat treatment with stones. This was done to make the blood flow uncomplicated and easy. That is the reason this was done. The woman was heated all around her waist area. When she was heated thoroughly, through to her insides, she felt well very soon after childbirth. But if all the blood that needed to flow out didn’t flow out, the woman didn’t get well fast. Then recovery time from childbirth was long and slow. No one really knows what happened to the family, but there has been a lot of speculation. One summer, a number of years later, traces of fire were found along the canoe route. It was thought that Sam had made a fire there. Peter [Sandy] was very young at that time. His mother was already married to Achinâyâpimikû. It was Peter who found something there. Achinâyâpimikû said, “We landed our canoes on that point. While we were there, Peter [and someone else, probably a sibling] came running with a bone. Peter said, ‘Father! Look at this caribou bone!’ I noticed right away that it wasn’t a caribou bone. I realized it was a human bone.” The Îyiyiu thought that Sam had cut himself badly with an axe. They [Achinâyâpimikû and his family] had seen a place where a fire had been made. A sharp axe was found there. It was speculated that from the look of the sharpness of the axe, he must have cut himself really badly. If he had bled badly, he might not have been able to get up from this place where he had made fire. Perhaps he bled to death there beside his fire. His wife and children must have travelled down when they realized that something had happened to him. All along this river [Little Whale River] there are many rapids and falls. There are some areas where it is very dangerous to walk, especially during the springtime. Chûsipihsh [little Joseph] and others looked for signs of them all along the travel route where they thought Sam’s wife might have travelled. Later, they found signs of where they had travelled down that river. They found an area where a small tent had been pitched on top of a hill, where the

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sun would have exposed the earth in the springtime. They think it had belonged to Sam’s wife. She was the kind of person who did not always think things through. The signs they saw of her trail indicated that she didn’t seem to know what she should do after her husband didn’t return home. Maybe they walked around some falls or rapids that didn’t freeze solidly in the winter. There is only one place where it is safe to cross below these falls. It was speculated that they had tried to cross the river at a dangerous place. She could have fallen through the ice. Nobody really knows. We’re just guessing from the signs along the way. It was not too far from the Little Whale River post where it was thought she had put up her dwelling. It was deduced that the children continued on the journey themselves. They were the last ones alive, if their mother had gone through the ice. That is what was thought happened to them, the old ones, that is. I don’t know how many children Sam had. When their mother died, they took some of the dwelling covers and some of their other belongings. The daughter had taken some needles, thread and scissors and bundled them up in a small piece of dwelling cover to take with her. I guess she was thinking of what she was doing. This girl was the same age as me. Then she and her brother must have started walking towards the post. There at the mouth of the Little Whale River, on the west side, is the mountain that leads to the point. On top of this mountain is where some Inuit women found the bodies of the children. They found the bodies of the girl and her brother during the summer time. That year the Inuit were not at the mouth of the Little Whale River as they usually were. It was thought that the children might have reached the Inuit at the mouth of the river, if they had been there. The Inuit usually stayed at the mouth of the river to fish. It was suspected that the Inuit were not there at the time the children reached this area. That is what Wâmishtikûshîsh said. The Inuit women found the children’s bodies when they went berry picking. Their bodies were found when the berries had ripened that

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summer. No one really knows if they had all starved to death, or if the children just lost their parents for other reasons, to cause the girl to take off with her sibling like that. But it was thought that the girl was still with their mother when the signs of a small tent were found. It was later on, after this campsite, that the children lost their parents. Another possibility was that both parents fell through the ice and drowned. suzanne kawapit

Parents, Son and Grandson Die of Starvation David Shem and his first wife had two daughters and one son. They had three children when his wife died. The girls grew to be adults and were married. But the son died at a young age because of food. He starved to death, along with his grandparents and an uncle. After the death of one of his grandfathers, the young boy would not live away from his grandmother. He was really attached to her. His grandfather and his mother had died the same year. He must have thought of his grandmother as his mother. Whenever his father saw him, he tried to take him with him but the boy didn’t want to go. He cried a lot whenever his father wanted to take him to live with him. This whole family died from starvation. There were the two grandparents, the young boy and a son of the old couple. There were four of them and they all died of starvation. Their bodies were not found, as was the case sometimes. Their dwelling was only found many years later. The dwelling was so old there was no way of knowing if all the bodies were in the same area. A lot of grass had grown over the area by the time their dwelling was found. I think it was Chisâuchimâhkân and his family who found their dwelling. Chisâuchimâhkân was Chisâchîmîs’s father [James Mamianskum’s father]. suzanne kawapit

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South of Lake Bienville The movement of people out of the more forested areas into the Fort Mackenzie region made way for those who had traditionally lived closer to the coast and allowed those who remained in the forest a larger area over which to roam for food. But, even then, there wasn’t always enough to eat. The next two stories are about problems that confronted the family of Nichikunîwiyiyiu. Before embracing Christianity, Nichikunîwiyiyiu had been a powerful shaman. Wâpistânskwâu, who was featured in the series of starvation stories included earlier, told her son about the last shaking tent performed by Nichikunîwiyiyiu. According to the story, a group of Îyiyiu, including the families of Nichikunîwiyiyiu and Wâpistânskwâu, had been travelling along the river. They were very hungry. One of the Îyiyiu asked Nichikunîwiyiyiu to do the shaking tent to ask for food. He obliged and asked Pikutiskwâu (spirit leader of the caribou) for something to eat. Sometimes people asked Pikutiskwâu for things she was not willing to give, but Nichikunîwiyiyiu’s request was well-received. Pikutiskwâu told him that by the next day they would kill some beaver, fish and otter and that, in the days to come, there would also be caribou. Pikutiskwâu was true to her word. Her generosity was so great, the group enjoyed a highly successful season.

Nichikunîwiyiyiu’s Shaking Tent Nichikunîwiyiyiu was asking for beaver when he conducted the shaking tent. They were very hungry at the time. He didn’t do anything evil with his shaking tent. He only used it to pipâumîchimâu [look for food in his shaking tent]. This was the last time he used his shaking tent. Shortly after this, the time came for all Îyiyiu to receive baptism. He was told [by Reverend Walton], “If you give up your shaking tent you can be baptized but if you do not, you can not be baptized.” He agreed to give up his shaking tent. So this was the last time he used it. He was baptized after that. I guess that is why he met the kind of fate he did, because he

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couldn’t do anything after renouncing his powers. It is said he starved to death. I guess he didn’t think to try to save himself through his shaking tent even though he suffered a lot and knew he was going to die. I guess he made a decision to keep true to his baptism.…They were very hungry when they were at this place where he died. He had no energy left to do any kind of hunting. He had three children at the time of his death. Therefore, there were five of them altogether. There came a time when he could no longer do anything.…He must have always remembered his baptism for him not to use his shaking tent to save himself from starvation. It is presumed that he read his Bible all the time before he died. His New Testament was found opened on his chest where it fell from his hands. That is how his body was found. william kawapit (whapmagoostui place names project 1993)

Not only was this the last shaking tent performed by Nichikunîwiyiyiu, it was the last one ever witnessed by several members of the group with whom he was living that year. According to William Kishânâpâu, son of Wâpistânskwâu, the following year, Nichikunîwiyiyiu was baptized. And in exchange for accepting Christ, as William Kawapit explains, He put aside what he could do [with his powers]. After that he didn’t live for many more years. He passed away because of what he had done [given up his powers]. He knew he would die of starvation.…He starved because he couldn’t go back to what he was doing before [using his powers to locate game]. (Whapmagoostui Place Names Project 1993) Nichikunîwiyiyiu starved to death one winter, when small game had become difficult to find. He and his family were hunting south of Lake Bienville at the time. Because it was common knowledge that there was no game for miles inland from the coast, the family had cached a large

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bag of flour on their way inland that fall, for their return trip to Great Whale. When hunger hit, the family found themselves alone, Îyiyiu who could have been of assistance having gone to hunt the barren grounds caribou. Their insurance policy—the stash of flour—was too far away to save the lives of Nichikunîwiyiyiu and two of his children.

Nichikunîwiyiyiu and Two of his Sons Die of Starvation The one whose name was Nichikunîwiyiyiu was also called David. He died of starvation, like some people did. He stayed in this area [the Whapmagoostui area] after his mother and younger brothers went back to Nichikun. He didn’t leave this area. He didn’t go back with them. He had married a woman from here. I guess he tried staying here while his wife’s parents were still alive. The old woman whose daughter he married was already widowed at that time. They lived with the old woman. He died not far from here, not far from the place where we stayed last year.10 The place where he died was further up a ways from where we were last year. His wife left him there when he was so hungry he couldn’t walk. Upstream from a place called Nistûchûn is a portage. On their way inland that fall, they had left a whole bag of flour. In those days, the bags of flour were quite big. When her husband could no longer walk, the woman started out to get the bag of flour. The woman was called Mina. Her husband had instructed her to try to get the bag of flour. One of their sons was almost an adult at that time. He could still walk. Their youngest child was still very small, and she carried him on her toboggan. The three of them left to get the flour. You must have heard of the man called Wâpushuyân Sandy who lives in Chisasibi. He’s the one who was carried on the toboggan by his mother on this trip. His mother was named Mina. Her husband told her to go get the bag of flour with their son. It must have been a long trip.11 “I chopped a lot of firewood before I left,” the woman was quoted as saying.

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They stayed about 110 km from Whapmagoostui. The bag of flour was 80 km away: Emily Masty.

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Mina left on her journey. She took a gun with her, but she didn’t kill or even see a single ptarmigan during the entire trip. I don’t know how many nights they were gone before they reached the place called Chinûshâsh. But when they reached Chinûshâsh, her oldest son could no longer walk. He died before morning. She continued on. She kept on walking. She was getting closer to her destination. Once she got to the bag of flour, she stayed there. She didn’t move from that place once she reached their cache of food. No one knew what she was thinking. She must have felt that it was too much for her to walk back to where she had come from. It is true, it was a long way from where she had left her husband. She must have thought she wouldn’t make it back in time to save her husband and that she and the baby wouldn’t make it to the post with the amount of food they had, either. One son had died along the way. Perhaps that’s why she didn’t know what to do once she got to the food. In those days, some Îyiyiu lived at the post during the winter time. No one lived in the area close to the post. As for us who used to stay to the south of here, we were all at the place where the Aushâwâwiyiyiu [the Naskapi] used to hunt the caribou. We were all hunting the mushâwâwâusîpîutuhkw [barren grounds caribou]. Sometimes the Îyiyiu from here used to travel there to hunt caribou. I guess that’s one of the reasons why there was hardly anyone where the Îyiyiu used to be, closer to the post. Usually, there were people living around Wîminipîsh [Lac Fagnant] because the Îyiyiu would walk by there on their way to the post. So it was that there was no one around when these things happened to them. I guess that’s why she didn’t go back to their dwelling. She might have been able to get back in time, though. She had chopped a lot of firewood before she left. It was known that her husband had killed some ptarmigan after she left, for when their dwelling was found later, the knife had blood on it, and there were some ptarmigan feathers about. And all the firewood had been used up. One of their sons was with him. It is said that in those days a person who was too weak to chop wood would go after the dried branches on the trees. They would snap off the branches or chop them off with an axe to use for firewood. From the signs of things, he had been doing that for a long time. He had been taking branches off the trees surrounding his dwelling for

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quite some time before he had died. He had been snapping, not chopping, the dried branches from the trees. Perhaps they had left their axe somewhere. When the woman realized she couldn’t make it back to their dwelling, she started walking to the post. It was closer. She must have known the winter route people would take to go to the post for supplies. She reached the post from the other side of the river. She was seen coming onto the ice from across the river. When she got here, she told her story: The family had spent freeze-up near Apishikimîsh [Lake Bienville] and to the south of there. That’s where they spent freeze-up. The woman said that during the fall her husband had found some porcupine from time to time. There were quite a lot of porcupine in those days. “He found quite a few porcupine that fall. But there came a time when he couldn’t find any anywhere even though he would sometimes see the porcupine tracks. He told me this after his outings. After a while, he didn’t bring home anymore porcupine.” That’s what the woman said. I guess that’s why they were in such a terrible predicament. If they had tried to make their way closer to the post after freeze-up, before there was a lot of snow, they might have made it in time. There’s a place called Nâsâkâu. They must have been still quite fine when they were there because it was seen that he had cut down some poplar trees to make cooking utensils. His wood shavings were seen at the site of their dwelling. They were quite far from there [Nâsâkâu] when he could no longer walk. They might have been fine if they had started out from there sooner than they did, before it was so cold. Mina and her young son made it to the post. She was able to keep them alive after she reached their bag of flour. A bag of flour can last quite some time when not too many people are eating from it. She erected a dwelling at the place where the bag of flour had been cached. It was seen that she had lived there for a long time. There were many wood chips where she had chopped her wood while she lived there. She must have lived there a long time by the amount of wood chips at the site. After all this, the people began thinking of what she could have done differently to save all of them. One of the best things she could have done was to go back to their camp as soon as she had got to their cache,

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leaving bundles of flour along the way. This way, even if she didn’t get there in time to save her husband, she would still have had something to fall back on when she decided to return to the post. suzanne kawapit and william kawapit (whapmagoostui place names project 1993)

Nichikunîwiyiyiu’s decomposing body was found after spring breakup by a group of Îyiyiu who were heading down the river. Covering their noses and mouths because of the stench, the Îyiyiu who found him dug a hole and buried him (Whapmagoostui Place Names Project 1993). Commenting about Nichikunîwiyiyiu’s death, William Kawapit said, “The men usually died of starvation first because they were the ones who had to walk and hunt every day, as long as they could. They had to walk outside looking for food.12 That’s what usually happened in the past, just like what happened to my grandfather when he starved to death.” The next story also takes place in the Lake Bienville area. Emphasizing the importance of finding a lake that was easy to fish in the winter time, it, too, ends on a sad note. Another whole family died of starvation.

Kâmishikât and his Family Die of Starvation A man named Kâmishikât and his family perished in this area, on the southwest side of Lake Bienville. It was thought they had died of starvation, but the family was never found. They were last seen at Lake Bienville where they had been living with Kâmishikât’s brother Petagumskum and his family, at the place where the lake empties into the river system. This particular place is easier to fish in because some areas of the lake remain open year-round. There is good fishing in the open areas where the ice is not thick. It was easy to fish in these areas 12

Because of their hunting and walking, they expended more energy: Emily Masty.

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on the lake where the ice was not too thick. The fish seemed to come to these areas and they would take the fishhooks. Once my father knew about this area, he came here, too. Kâmishikât’s family and Petagumskum’s had been hunting together. They decided to split up when they were getting hungry. Kâmishikât’s family was never seen again. I don’t know how many people there were in Kâmishikât’s family but I think there were quite a few of them. He had a number of children. Nobody knows exactly where the family perished. I imagine they all died in their dwelling. Not long ago some people found an old campsite. Something about the axe marks around the camp suggested the people who had lived there had been very weak. It is thought that this might have been their starvation camp. suzanne kawapit

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E IG H T

The Kindness of Others

After a while we came to realize the animals had been swept away. The Îyiyiu wondered what had happened. Why were the caribou so scarce? We wondered where they had gone because we never found them dead. noah mamianskum

DI F F E R E N T E X PL A N AT ION S Biologists and Îyiyiu alike are perplexed about why the caribou declined in such numbers over the Québec-Labrador peninsula. Both have their theories. The Îyiyiu suggest two possible explanations, but do not seem totally satisfied by either. And biologists, having offered a number of possibilities, disagree about which should take precedence.

The Îyiyiu According to Îyiyiu conventional wisdom, when empirical evidence fails to provide a satisfactory or complete explanation, one seeks recourse within a paradigm that explains phenomena in terms of the personal relationship between hunters and the natural world. This automatically results in very specific kinds of conclusions. Since man and animals are irrevocably intertwined through personal relations, the ability to hunt is a function of how hunters treat the animal world. Explanations for

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unsuccessful hunting, hence, inevitably gravitate to the spirit leader of the caribou and the legend about how caribou populated the north.

Caribou Mountain Have you heard the story about the caribou that lived in the mountains? Well, every kind of animal, whether caribou, beaver or bear, has a spirit leader, something like the government in Ottawa! [The people in the room laugh!] The spirit leader of the caribou comes from the Îyiyiu woman who married a caribou. Her babies were all caribou and they lived inside the mountain. One day, curious about the caribou spirit inhabiting the mountain, an Îyiyiu decided he wanted to see what the spirit looked liked. He went into the heart of the mountain. I don’t exactly know how—he was a powerful shaman. A bright light filled the cavern illuminating the thousands of caribou he saw milling around. Sitting in their midst was the woman. He talked to her. “Now that you have seen me, you shouldn’t come back again,” she said. “Go now and take some of my children out of the mountain with you.” That is how caribou populated the North. This mountain, in the George River area, is the home of the caribou that roam the land. To the naked eye it appears to be white. Some think it is covered with snow year-round. Others have suggested it is white because it is so thoroughly littered with caribou hair and caribou bones. We’re not quite sure because Îyiyiu are not supposed to go right to the mountain. We can look at it. We can even try to get a clearer view through our binoculars, but we shouldn’t go to it. Go there, even by mistake, and you risk never returning. The one exception was that shaman who had enough power to protect himself. Even if hunters are far off in the distance, all they need to do is look at the mountain and the caribou will come to them. The shaman who visited the mountain reported the presence of all kinds of game in the vicinity of the mountain. “The insects are bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. Houseflies are the size of Canadian grey jays, mosquitos as big as birds. I’ve never seen squirrels and foxes that

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big before, either,” he said. He knew all this because he had flown over the whole area. When those who were powerful enough to approach the mountain reached the mountain, they were lifted up into the air. They went about their business from the air. From this vantage point, they could see animals swarming over the mountain. From the air, this shaman saw the path leading into the mountain, and, because it was so well lit, he saw caribou in the thousands milling around inside like little ants. john kawapit

In 1819, east of Lake Bienville, Hudson’s Bay Company explorer James Clouston encountered a group of Îyiyiu who also talked about the mountain home of the caribou, which was “guarded by ants as large as common frogs, by frogs as large as common foxes, by foxes as large as ordinary wolves, and by wolves and bears all proportionately bigger” (Davies 1963, 56). These—the foot soldiers who kept the curious at bay—were purported to devour Îyiyiu who approached the mountain. According to the story told by this group of Îyiyiu, the spirit leader of the caribou sent the caribou every year to the barren grounds west of the Caniapiscau River to feed in the summer. In the fall, they were driven back to the east, to their mountain home. Here they remained all winter sheltered from the weather. Normally, in the fall, the spirit leader didn’t find all the caribou, so some remained on the barrens and in the forest all winter for the Îyiyiu to hunt. Should, however, the Îyiyiu show disrespect for the caribou, it was believed the spirit leader of the caribou would be so annoyed she would search the country and not leave any caribou for the offending Îyiyiu. If, for any reason, a hunter displeased the spirit leader, she withdrew the benefits of her largesse and none of the animals in her care were permitted to fall victim to the hunter. Under normal circumstances, this logic made perfect sense to the Whapmagoostui Îyiyiu. Everyone knew that breaking the covenant between man and animals came with a price and could cite examples of people who had paid dearly for it. Daniel Bearskin talked about an incident that occurred before there were guns:

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You really have to watch how you hunt. We heard of some Cree people who, before there were guns, speared many caribou. They over hunted this one time. They killed more meat than they could eat. An elder told them to stop killing so many because they couldn’t use all the meat. If you are not careful with how you hunt, this will happen to you as what happened to them, that the caribou didn’t come back for a very long time. And Noah Mamianskum talked about some people from Fort Chimo who, having killed too many caribou after they had purchased guns, had a difficult time with their hunting. This view strikes a chord with Îyiyiu-Innu throughout the QuébecLabrador peninsula. For instance, in 1930, George River people reported that a slaughter of caribou had resulted in great heaps of untended bones. According to them, appalled and offended by the smell, the remaining caribou retreated to their mountain home where they informed their spirit leader of the infraction. The hunters should only have killed what they needed to feed themselves and to renew their tents and apparel. In retaliation, the spirit leader herded the remaining caribou into the sanctuary of the mountain, refusing to release them (Speck 1977, 87). In the opinion of the George River people, the caribou had been swept away, leaving the people to starve. To explain the protracted decline in caribou, opinion amongst Whapmagoostui Îyiyiu is divided. Consistent with traditional Îyiyiu thought, some wonder whether the “caribou had been scared out of the land” because the spirit leader of the caribou had reacted to overhunting by withdrawing the herds. They were returned from whence they came—back into the mountain—and there they stayed. According to this view, the spirit leader was clearly and understandably upset by the treatment of her “children.” The normally sympathetic spirit leader responded to the abuse of her generosity with dire retribution—hunger and starvation. Support for this explanation, however, is not unanimous. Other Îyiyiu suggest the caribou had actually been killed off as a result of people

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having access to the first high-powered rifles and “killing lots of caribou until they didn’t see anymore.” The Îyiyiu were puzzled, though, that there wasn’t empirical evidence to support the notion of overhunting. There were no known large-scale massacres of caribou. So, while Îyiyiu feel hunting parties might have been overly zealous, they do not see how they could have been responsible for the slaughter of the entire caribou population. Whapmagoostui Îyiyiu suggest that, regardless of the reasons for the decline, while pockets of caribou could be found here and there, the caribou, in general, had withdrawn to their mountain home in the George River area. They remained in the northeastern barrens, not venturing south or west despite efforts of some Îyiyiu to perform the proper rites— drumming, the shaking tent, chanting—with the hope the spirit leader of the caribou would yield a few of her flock. By this time, however, fewer Îyiyiu had the powers of their predecessors. In deference to their new Christian beliefs, people were not “looking” for animals through the shaking tent to the degree they had in the past and no one possessed the powers of the shaman who had not only penetrated the heart of the mountain, but had left with gifts of caribou following him.

Biologists and Naturalists Biologists and naturalists have their own conflicting explanations for the drastic decline in the caribou. The subject has been under their lens since the 1940s, resulting in a vast body of literature. A full exploration of their studies is beyond the scope of this book. Suffice it to say that, just as there is a range of explanations amongst the Îyiyiu for the decline in caribou, so too opinions are divided amongst biologists and naturalists. In general, explanations in the earlier studies identify Native hunting either as the primary cause of the decline or as a factor in combination with environmental causes (Trudel 1985, 35). The Native hunting argument is split between specialists who maintain that the caribou were decimated with the introduction of guns and those who claim that forest fires set by Native people either from negligence or to influence caribou migration

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routes were the source of the problem. Proponents of the overhunting argument are in the majority. The one exception is Jacques Rousseau, who argues that the principal reason for the decline should be traced to natural causes. Because the emphasis on overhunting in the early studies relies on the same frequently repeated anecdotes rather than on actual evidence, Pierre Trudel considers their conclusions not only unsatisfactory, but a reflection of prejudice more than fact (ibid., 36). More recent explanations have focused on environmental factors, particularly the availability of vegetation. Serge Couturier, a biologist with Québec’s ministry of the environment, has suggested that changes in temperature, involving increased precipitation, made it more difficult for the caribou to move around and impeded access to lichen under the snow (Halley 1997). In contrast, recent research by Bergerud, Luttich and Camps proposes that the population of large caribou herds is regulated by the amount of food on the summer range, not the winter range. Large herds reduce the forage on the summer range. Reduced vegetation then affects the body weight and growth of caribou in the herd, as well as pregnancy rates and the survival of the calves (Bergerud, Luttich, and Camps 2008). Interestingly, Noah Mamianskum reported that, “at the time the caribou were becoming scarce, they were also getting skinnier and skinnier,” which suggests that access to food could have been an issue.

T H E K I N DN E S S OF OT H E R S There had been declines in game animal populations before, some local, others regional. This was different. The decline in game animals through the first half of the twentieth century affected the Québec-Labrador peninsula in general. If the numbers of stories about this time are any measure, the collapse in the caribou population, much like the Depression in Canada in the 1930s and World War II in England, was the defining event in the lives of several generations of Îyiyiu. The rigours and hardships it imposed left an indelible mark on those whose lives spanned the first part of the twentieth century. No one was spared.

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Judging from the tone of the stories, people want the time remembered as one where a combination of heroism and generosity informed their behaviour. Time and time again during this period, when human life hung by a thread, it was the kindness of others—of friends and family— that made the difference. In 1876, through the Indian Act, the government of Canada was granted absolute legal and administrative control over Aboriginal people. Then in a two-step process in 1898 and 1912, and unbeknownst to the Îyiyiu, their traditional lands were transferred to the province of Québec. For the most part, despite the scope and severity of poverty and disease, there were few federal government programs to cushion the blow; there was no safety net. With the taxes it imposed, the federal government might even have been a hindrance. While the provincial government also imposed taxes and game laws, it deserves credit for setting aside lands for beaver preserves, which were effective in the restoration of the beaver population. As for day-to-day life, the Îyiyiu were almost entirely on their own.

Federal Government—Relief and Health Care “When Mr. Walton first came the people didn’t get relief. He met with the government and said they should get relief. At first it was very small” (Thomas F. qtd. in Wills 1984, 48). Troubled by the effects of poverty and sickness on their congregations, by the end of the nineteenth century, Reverend Walton and Bishop Newnham lobbied the federal government to assume greater responsibility for the care of the Îyiyiu. So did E.B. Borron, an Ontario magistrate. In 1890, Borron argued that the $200,000 in import duties the federal government collected from the James Bay region more than justified expenditures that could help alleviate the suffering of the people (Borron 1890). Late 1800s and Early 1900s: Because of reports of widespread starvation in James Bay and Hudson Bay, in the late nineteenth century, the Canadian government began issuing rations through the Hudson’s Bay Company. Administration and distribution of the aid was extended to

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other traders—Revillon Frères and independent traders—when the federal government realized the Hudson’s Bay Company was using aid as a trade lever (Morantz 2002). Known as “sickness and destitute rations,” relief consisted primarily of small amounts of food (flour, sugar, tea, oats and salt pork) and hunting supplies like ammunition and twine. In 1905, relief payments to people at Great Whale River amounted to $39.95. In 1911–12, relief payments came to $367.00; they went up to $1,559.39 the following year (ibid.). As illustrated by the number of deaths from starvation, government relief available to the Îyiyiu proved woefully inadequate. Reverend Walton, writing in 1921, continued to plead to the Canadian government for help: I have told the story of their [the people of Fort George and Great Whale River] brave fight for existence, of the diminishing supply of natural food, of their inability to get suitable and sufficient clothing for the rigourous climate in which they live, of their lack of medical attention, of their inadequate equipment in guns, ammunition, bedding, fishing gear, boats. (Walton qtd. in Wills 1984, 47) Borron had pointed out, in 1890, that while the federal government taxed the goods the Îyiyiu purchased, it provided no services in return. Then Reverend Walton reminded the minister of the interior of another tax imposed upon the Îyiyiu, who had “become contributors to the Canadian treasury through the imposition of a tax on every skin that is sent to the markets of the country.” Furthermore, he added, the Îyiyiu produced “large quantities of furs that minister to the comfort and adornment of fellow Canadians in the more favoured portions of the Dominion” (Walton qtd. in Wills 1984, 46). Reverend Walton recommended the government provide the region with an itinerant doctor, as well as a central hospital with satellite hospitals in outlying posts (Morantz 2002). Borron, thirty years earlier, had also recommended the construction of a regional hospital, at Moose Factory, to help deal with the high rates of disease. Similarly, the need

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Waiting for rations, Revillons Frères, Whapmagoostui, 1921. After repeated pleas for help from Reverend Walton and Bishop Newnham, the federal government began issuing small amounts of relief to alleviate the suffering in the North. The rations were administered by the trading companies at the discretion of the traders. Despite the harshness of the conditions, traders who were generous with relief were frowned upon by representatives of the government. [McCord Museum, Montreal, MP-1976.24.59, Samuel H. Coward.]

for medical services was repeated by all the geological surveyors working in the region, who were shocked there was nothing available beyond the first aid provided by the traders and missionaries. After their 1909 trip, the Leiths admonished both the federal and provincial governments for their “failure to provide adequate medical attendance at the posts” (C.K. Leith and A. Leith 1912, 60). William Curran, leader of another geological expedition to the region, this one in 1912, also wrote about the need for health services. Indians and Inuit of the region should have medical attention at short intervals, he wrote, and there should be a central place, for instance a hospital at Fort George, for more serious cases (Curran and Calkins 1917, 121).

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The 1920s: Their comments fell on deaf ears until the 1920s. Despite the years of sickness and starvation, it was only then that the federal government recruited doctors to sail with the Hudson’s Bay Company summer supply ship to the northern coastal settlements in Hudson Bay, Labrador and the eastern Arctic. The federal Department of Health had been created, in 1919, under pressure to provide health services for Canadians in both rural and remote communities. The deterioration in the health of Native people had also aroused some sympathy (Morantz 2002). Sending a doctor, who served a dual role as Indian agent, for a short annual visit was the government’s response. Pleas for the construction of a hospital were dismissed. Initially, the government might have been loathe to invest more in health care because it was distracted by World War I and then, later, by paying off the high debts that had been incurred by the war effort. Even during the more prosperous 1920s, however, the government thought the Îyiyiu were too nomadic to benefit from land-based services, a position it maintained well into the twentieth century. The government deemed it a waste of money to provide services to people who, having received them, would just return to the bush. It also ignored requests for an increased presence of medical personnel even though, in the late 1920s, Ernest Renouf wrote about the desperate need for a doctor or nurse to help check the spread of tuberculosis (Morantz 1985). The people—Îyiyiu, missionaries and traders—handled disease as best they could. In the bush, the Îyiyiu turned to traditional medicine to respond to health problems. At the posts, either the post manager and his assistants or the missionary attended the sick. Their “equipment” consisted of a small stash of patent medicines—even at this time, Perry Davis’s Pain Killer was a favourite, the Îyiyiu bringing a supply of it with them when they left the post—and a family medicine book. When the Leiths visited Great Whale River, they noticed the medical book at the post had been published in 1787 (C.K. Leith and A. Leith 1912, 60)! During his tenure at Fort George and Great Whale River, Reverend Walton was the primary “physician” in the area, constantly ministering the sick. After his departure, there was very little missionary activity at Great Whale River either to bear witness to the terrible suffering of the people or to provide help; a full-time missionary only arrived in 1940.

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The 1930s: Far beyond the expertise of missionary and postmaster, however well-meaning, were diseases like tuberculosis, as illustrated by the following journal entry made by Fort Mackenzie postmaster Charles N. Stevens in 1933. Recall that at this time, many Great Whale River people made trips to Fort Mackenzie during the winter for supplies. Dec. 4, 1933—the trouble seems to be an advanced case of T.B. We have been giving him Creo-Terpine and Bland Pill which seem to help…. We could tell by the usual symptoms like coughing, loss of weight and apetite. Advanced cases were easy to tell and there was nothing we could do to help them….When I saw that a native was likely to have T.B. all I could do was make sure he had his own drinking mug and other eating utensils, telling him also to get as much sunshine as he could and not lie in the tent breathing smoke and snuff (HBCA B436/a/4 fo.26). The poor state of Îyiyiu health did not appear to trouble the Canadian government. Its lack of interest in the well-being of its citizens was not uniquely applied to the Îyiyiu, however. The social welfare role of the state had not yet been elaborated in Canada, and, by the 1930s, the Canadian government was sorely strapped for funds because of the Depression. At the beginning of the Depression, for the sake of fiscal restraint, government expenditures across the country for relief, medical assistance and education were reduced. Then, in 1932, the federal government slashed funds to its Department of Indian Affairs, reducing the monies available for the sickness and destitute account. The money was diverted to tend to the grinding poverty in southern Canada (O’Neill 1981). This was the same year, as stated earlier, thirty-two Great Whale River Îyiyiu died of starvation. Eventually, the hardship caused by poverty during the 1930s inspired the Canadian government to at least appear responsive. It promised to launch a range of social services for all Canadians. But its promises did not amount to much. In the south, responsibility for the sick, the elderly and the unemployed continued to be the domain of the municipalities, most of which were already bankrupt because of the pressure put on them for food, clothing and shelter (Taylor 1978). Instead, federal relief was channelled into generating jobs, “not handouts,” while private charities raised money for the “deserving poor” (Morantz 2002). In the North in

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the 1930s, relief consisted of sickness and destitute rations, albeit reduced, and “widows rations”—a little flour distributed weekly to widows. During the 1930s, the federal health budget per capita for Native people was half the amount available to other Canadians. In the north, the onus was on the churches to provide health care. At Moose Factory, Letitia Newnham, the wife of Bishop Newnham, had built a small hospital, staffed by a trained nurse, at the beginning of the twentieth century. With support from the Missionary Society, the Anglican Church built a new hospital in 1937. In contrast, at Great Whale River during the 1930s and 1940s, with Reverend Walton now gone, medical services were limited to the short annual visit by the doctor/Indian agent. He was sometimes accompanied by a constable, who also assumed medical duties. The first hospital on the east coast of James Bay was established in Fort George by the Oblates in 1930.1 While the Oblates had little success in converting the Îyiyiu, the Îyiyiu appreciated the kindness the Oblates showed them when they were sick. The 1940s and 1950s: Between 1944 and 1948, Îyiyiu and Inuit deaths exceeded births (Honigmann 1962, 5). Reports of the difficult conditions in the North continued through the 1940s until, finally, the federal government was forced to change its attitude towards the care of its citizens. In a rebellious mood after World War II, Canadians had compelled their government to do something. They had suffered enough. Many had endured a precarious existence during the Depression, and, after years of toil and deprivation for Canada during the war, they had decided their efforts should be rewarded (Taylor 1978). The general public imposed a greater sense of responsibility upon the government. The result was the expansion of the welfare role of the state into social services, including medicine. A number of social assistance programs were created. Allocated as universal benefits, family allowance was issued for the first time in 1945, followed by the old-age pension in 1952. The Department of National Health and Welfare, charged with maintaining a basic level of health care for all Canadians, including Indians and Inuit, was created in 1945. With the creation of this department, Indian agent and doctor 1

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They founded several other missions along the coast as well: at Old Factory in 1937, at Eastmain in 1938, at Rupert House in 1943 and at Richmond Gulf in the 1940s.

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became separate roles. A welfare program was established and a national health program was presented to Parliament. This is the context in which nursing stations were built in northern Native settlements, including some of the Cree communities. In 1946, a nursing station was established in Fort George and Mistissini; Great Whale River had to wait until 1962. Established with the primary goal of eradicating tuberculosis, the early nursing stations provided tuberculosis inspection, maternity care, inoculation and home visit services. The government finally built a hospital at Moose Factory in 1940, rebuilding it in 1950 mainly as a sanatorium. By the late 1940s and continuing into the 1950s, the annual supply boat, now equipped with X-ray machines, patrolled the coast of James Bay and Hudson Bay in search of people with tuberculosis. These unlucky souls were plucked from their families and sent south to hospital, several to the one at Moose Factory, where some disappeared never to be heard from again. They may have died from the disease, but no one informed their families. During the 1940s and early 1950s, more than half the Great Whale River Îyiyiu did all their trading at Richmond Gulf, where independent trader George Papp offered higher prices for furs (Walker 1953). Also, Richmond Gulf was closer to the hunting territories of some of the Îyiyiu, making it more convenient than Whapmagoostui to people who hunted around Lake Bienville, the Seal lakes and Clearwater Lake (Wills 1984). Regardless of where they hunted, however, all the Îyiyiu were very poor. Low demand for furs during World War II had kept market prices down. Prices recovered immediately after the war, but they plummeted again in 1946–47. For instance, beaver, worth seventy dollars in 1945–46, was valued at thirty dollars the following year (Morantz 2002). Supplies were prohibitively expensive relative to the income people received from the sale of furs. Moreover, apart from trapping, by the end of World War II there were few possibilities for employment in Native communities across North America. Great Whale River and Richmond Gulf were no exception. A few Îyiyiu and Inuit worked during the summer,2 mostly for 2

The Inuit population along the coast north and south of Great Whale River had increased as Inuit from the west and north migrated to the area. Some Inuit, assisted by the RCMP in 1942, had transferred from the Belcher Islands. By 1950, the Inuit population, which had numbered 150 in 1910, had grown to two hundred “without an increase in the supply of country food” (Wills 1984).

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Francis (Dick) Sheshamush, daughter of Maggie and Jacob Dick, 1949–50. [John Joseph Honigmann Papers, box 32. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.]

Geordie George, 1949–50. [John Joseph Honigmann Papers, box 32. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.]

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the Hudson’s Bay Company and George Papp, and sometimes for the mission. They cut, rafted and stacked wood, hauled water and unloaded the annual supply ship. All were low-paid, part-time positions. The Hudson’s Bay Company paid two dollars a day or twenty-five cents an hour (Wills 1984). Some Îyiyiu continued to work as voyageurs on the canoe brigade between Fort Chimo and Fort Mackenzie. Then, in 1948, the Hudson’s Bay Company post at Fort Mackenzie closed, eliminating the canoe brigade, one of the only sources of employment available to the people who hunted deep in the interior. It was at this time that caribou was considered extinct in all but the northern fringe of the territory of the Great Whale River Îyiyiu. Born in 1931, Andrew Kawapit reports sighting caribou for the first time in his twenties. He did not see a single caribou throughout his entire childhood. With caribou almost extinct and bear primarily confined to the southern parts of the territory, beluga whale was the only big game available to some of the Îyiyiu. Whaling was still practised in the early 1950s. The best time was in July, just after dawn, when expeditions consisting of about three canoes, each carrying between three and six men, went out to try their luck. Unfortunately, whales were in the vicinity for less than a month a year. Poverty-stricken, Îyiyiu increasingly looked to the missions and government for support. The meagre income from family allowance and the old-age pension—for those who qualified—and from trapping and summer jobs clearly wasn’t enough. The Îyiyiu insisted on their right to further assistance by quoting the Bible. Reinforced by the teachings of Christ, the Cree belief in the value of sharing led them to question the uncharitable behaviour of whites who could have dispensed aid (Walker 1953). And older Cree argued, much as Walton and Borron had, that with all the money the government had received from the furs of the Îyiyiu, the government should share more (Wills 1984). After World War II, the manager at the Hudson’s Bay Company post at Great Whale River had been authorized to issue extra relief. But obtaining access to relief was complicated. While technically the federal government was prepared to help families avoid starvation, there had always been a ceiling on the amounts of relief available, amounts not necessarily responsive to conditions in the north. From the beginning, the government had

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Sam Crow (back row, second from right) and family members outside the Hudson’s Bay Company’s warehouse at Richmond Gulf, 1949. The Inuk Sam Crow was manager of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s outpost at Richmond Gulf. At this time, more than half the Whapmagoostui Îyiyiu traded at Richmond Gulf. Prices were better and Richmond Gulf was closer than Whapmagoostui to their hunting lands. [S.J. Bailey Fonds. Library and Archives Canada, PA-110861, S.J. Bailey.]

made stringent efforts to control, and sometimes reduce, relief payments. It feared either the Îyiyiu wouldn’t make an effort to support themselves or the companies administering relief would use it to their own advantage to lower the debts of the Îyiyiu (Morantz 2002). In addition, the federal government sometimes interfered with the kind of merchandise people could obtain with their relief payments and family allowance. By way of example, in 1949, a government order forbade the customary issuance of

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Adam Mamianskum (left) and Moses Sandy, 1949–50. [John Joseph Honigmann Papers, box 32. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.]

flour and sugar to Inuit families at Great Whale River, instructing them instead to purchase ammunition to increase their food supply, a food supply greatly circumscribed by the lack of animal resources on the coast. A few years earlier, a similar directive had disallowed flour to Inuit and coastal Îyiyiu at Fort George (Honigmann 1951). Access to relief was further complicated by the role played by the postmaster. The Hudson’s Bay Company manager at Great Whale River at this time held considerable power. Îyiyiu and Inuit were dependent on him for the sale of their furs, for employment and credit. Similarly, government agencies relied on him to provide them with information and to execute government procedures with regards to the Inuit and Îyiyiu. All government programs, policies and directives at Great Whale River were

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Louisa (Napash) Dick and Charlie Dick, 1949–50. [John Joseph Honigmann Papers, box 32. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.]

administered by the Hudson’s Bay Company manager; the Indian agent sometimes did not even make an annual visit to the post. Not only was the manager a salaried employee of the Hudson’s Bay Company, then, he was also an agent of the federal government (Honigmann 1951). In this latter capacity, he “watched over health.” Even during the 1950s, medical services provided by the federal government were distributed through the dispensary of the Hudson’s Bay Company by the wife of the manager, a highly inadequate situation considering the rate of disease. The manager also issued relief, family allowance and the old-age pension—at his discretion.3 Throughout the North, stories of Hudson’s Bay Company men who had been generous with government money 3

In 1948–49, relief payments to the Îyiyiu at Great Whale River amounted to $4,500.00 (Honigmann 1962, 59).

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were circulated by colleagues and superiors with thinly disguised disapproval. So, even though the manager at Great Whale had been authorized to issue extra relief, he was often reluctant to do so. Despite the terrible conditions—extreme poverty and disease—aid wasn’t always forthcoming. Attributing Îyiyiu hunger “to desultory hunting,” the manager ignored many of their requests for help (Honigmann 1951).

Provincial Government—Trapping Regulations Appalled by the destitution of the Îyiyiu, Oblate priests attempted to acquaint the provincial government with the situation in northern Québec. In the early 1930s, a priest based at Fort George wrote to the premier of Québec describing conditions there: Many in Fort George were so poorly clothed that they dared not venture from their tents for fear of freezing to death. They had no covers to sleep in outdoors in winter and as a result could not attend to their traplines. The hunting was poor and if it were not for fish the greater part of these people would have died of starvation. (Harris 1976, 152) The 1930s and 1940s: Québec responded to the situation by adopting measures to improve the productivity of trapping. Intervention, initially impotent, began in the early 1930s when the provincial government decided to regulate Inuit and Îyiyiu hunting and trapping and to completely ban non-Native hunting and trapping. The size and isolation of the territory made enforcement impossible. More effective and more important was the implementation of beaver preserves. Devised as an experimental means of restoring the beaver population, preserves were the brainchild of James Watt, Hudson’s Bay Company manager at Rupert House during the 1920s and 1930s. Greatly concerned about sending people into the forest where there was very little—sometimes nothing—to eat, he had first asked the Hudson’s Bay Company for permission to increase credit to the hunters. In response, Watt was advised to “tow the straight

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line we have laid down or [you] will be discharged from the Hudson’s Bay Company’s service” (Anderson 1961, 121). Watt then sought the company’s support in the creation of a beaver preserve to permit the conservation of the beaver population. The Hudson’s Bay Company responded that the company wasn’t interested in zoological experiments! Undeterred, his wife Maud decided to appeal to the Québec government for assistance. To make her case, she bundled up their two children and set off on foot, first to Moose Factory and then to the train at Cochrane, for the trip to Québec City. She returned to Rupert House with a clear lease to 7,200 square miles of land (ibid.,141). Thus began, in 1932, the first of the beaver sanctuaries in the Cree territory. Québec’s contribution to beaver preserves was its orders-in-council setting aside lands for the exclusive use of the Îyiyiu. Great swaths of land necessary for the successful restoration of the beaver population were first leased to and administered by Mrs. and Mr. Watt, and then to the Hudson’s Bay Company and the federal Department of Indian Affairs, depending upon the preserve. In response to a request from Waswanipi’s Chief Saganash, the Nottaway beaver preserve was set up, in 1938, to include the northwestern group of Waswanipi territories. It was followed by the establishment of a preserve in the Wemindji area in 1941 and the Fort George preserve in 1942. Administered through the Fort George preserve, a smaller and separate sanctuary was set up later at Great Whale River. Some of the lands of Îyiyiu who hunted to the south of the Great Whale River were included in the latter. In 1948, the remaining Waswanipi lands, as well as Mistissini hunting territories, comprised yet another preserve. The Hudson’s Bay Company purchased its first beaver, about two hundred pelts—from the Great Whale River beaver sanctuary in 1950–51 (Morantz 2002, 169). As for those Îyiyiu who lived north of the Great Whale River, including the many people who traded at Richmond Gulf, where beaver had never been a key resource—their lives continued very much as before. There were no programs to replace or enhance the resources upon which they had for so long depended. In the 1940s, the Québec government introduced a system of registered traplines to prevent hunters from encroaching on the beaver on other people’s lands. Until then, lands in the beaver preserves had been

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Constable Van Blarcom discussing the possibility of developing a muskrat conservation area in the Whapmagoostui district, 1948. Resulting in the restoration of the beaver population, the most important government programs implemented during this difficult time, however, were beaver preserves. Beaver, about two hundred pelts, were first trapped from the Great Whale River preserve in 1950–51. Despite the efforts of Reverend Walton in the 1920s, there were no comparable programs for the restoration of caribou, the primary resource of the people who hunted north of the Great Whale River. [S.J. Bailey Fonds. Library and Archives Canada, PA-0276440, S.J. Bailey.]

managed by the head of the family identified with a particular area. He became known as the tallyman. With the establishment of registered traplines, the tallyman was given exclusive license to trap beaver on the land with which his family was identified.

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Friends and Family “The successful hunters helped the others stay alive. Often families were saved by other families who had had better hunting because they gave the less fortunate family food, or even some fur, to take to the post to get the things they needed to live and hunt with,” said Noah Mamianskum. The first story below exemplifies the spirit of helping that people consider characteristic of the time. It describes how a family, cold, hungry and not far from death, was found and nursed back to health in the Lake Bienville area. The Îyiyiu are quick to condemn those amongst them who did not manifest the kind of qualities to which Noah was referring. The man in the second story below was such a person. His behaviour was considered so highly immoral everyone, including his own daughter, found him repugnant. Îyiyiu etiquette suggests that when caribou are killed, neighbouring groups be invited to share the proceeds of the hunt. Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu not only flagrantly disregarded this practise, he knowingly, even purposefully, allowed people to starve to death while he enjoyed the benefits of a successful hunt. Such reprehensible behaviour was beyond comprehension. Fortunately, Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu was one of a kind.

The Feeling of Being Followed One day my mother had an uncanny feeling we were being followed. It was spring and we were in a hurry to get to the post. We had a long way to go. Passing the place where people start to follow the river, we reached our cache of belongings and kept right on going. We didn’t even make a fire there. We made camp at sundown and ate a meal of fish. The next day we got to Lake Bienville where we cooked the ptarmigan we had caught along the way. I left the insides of the ptarmigan on the snow. We continued on. Later that day my sister-in-law sent me on to see if I could catch up with my brother, her husband. He was way ahead of us. My mother had told her that she was very tired and couldn’t walk much further. I caught up with him just as he was reading a message that had been left along the trail.

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“Let’s go a little further, there are people up ahead,” he said after reading the note. “I don’t think we should. Mother is so tired she can hardly walk,” I told him. “I was sent to tell you to make camp.” When the others caught up to us, my brother tried to convince them to walk on. “We could reach the others if we walked into the night,” he said. “I don’t think I can make it,” my mother responded. “I feel quite strange. I’ve never felt this way before. But I think someone who needs our help is following our trail. We should stay here.” “I think we should do what your mother says,” my brother’s wife said to him. “Maybe she’s right.” We stopped to make camp. Later, as I was carrying wood back to our tent, I heard strange noises—whimpering sounds—as if someone was trying to talk. Looking towards our trail, I saw a man standing there. I couldn’t understand a thing he was saying. I ran to the tent and told my mother. She and my brother hurried out to see him. My sister-in-law and I waited. “He can’t speak,” they called out to us. It was so dark they couldn’t see who the man was. My brother lit a match. It didn’t help. They still didn’t recognize him. Once again my mother asked him to try to say his name. He did. It was our cousinbrother Âpishîshîu. We lit the stove, while my mother and brother put him on the toboggan and brought him to the tent. My mother told us what to do for him. After we had laid him down and kept him warm, we fed him a light broth made with flour. In the meantime, fish soup was prepared for him. When it was ready we fed him. Then he started to cry and cry. My mother went to him. He was crying, he told us, because he was worried about his family whom he had left at Wâwâshashâchimâu. Luckily, it wasn’t too far away. We had no supplies, so my brother went immediately to the camp of the people he had wanted to reach that night. Sam Masty was one of the people at that camp. As soon as he heard the story about the starving people, he left to bring them food. He passed by our dwelling on the way, stopping only to ask me to return to his group for more flour for the hungry family. Sam reached the dwelling of the family—there wasn’t even firewood outside—and called out. He heard someone trying

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to speak. He went in to find the people barely alive. He chopped some wood and made them a fire. He fed them broth. One of them, the son, was in such bad shape. Sam wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t got there when he did. While my brother continued on to the post for supplies for the people, we brought the man back to his family. My mother and sister-in-law pulled him on the toboggan. He still couldn’t walk. I was sent ahead to see what I could hunt along the way and managed to kill two ptarmigan. My brother, who raised me, had taught me how to do almost everything a man does in the bush. I had my own gun and had traps to get pelts. I hunted fox, otter, mink and marten. I didn’t trap beaver. He pushed me to stand on my own feet, to be able to look after myself. He told me to learn as much as I could. “If, when you are older, your husband should ever become ill, it will be up to you to support your family,” he used to say. Little did he know that his words would come true. In the meantime, Sam had killed an otter and some ptarmigan for the people. He fed them until they got some of their strength back. He saved them from starvation. God will look upon him favourably for that. My brother left for the camp of the starving people as soon as he got back from the post with their supplies. By then, I had also returned to our camp. He told me to come later during the day with additional supplies. When I arrived, he told me to cook and serve the people. They still weren’t able to help themselves. They stayed at that place all spring, not able to walk, not able to hunt for themselves. The old man couldn’t gain weight. I don’t know how they would have made it if we hadn’t found the man on our trail. When he was well enough, the man told us the story of how he came upon us that night. He had seen our trail and had been impressed by how energetic our strides had looked. These people are not in need of food, he had reported back to his family. He informed the others in his camp that he was going to follow the trail. Everyone else was incapable of moving by then. They were dying of starvation. Lichen was all they had had to eat. He started to walk, eventually reaching the camp where we had cooked the fish. Finding two fish heads, he cooked them and ate them. This gave him the energy to carry on. At Lake Bienville I had cooked ptarmigan and left their insides on top of the snow. In desperation he ate them too. All he

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had were the bits and pieces we had left behind, but without them he would have died. Thank goodness we found him on the trail later that night. We helped these people as much as we could. That is how it was in those days. We were taught—even pushed—to be like that. maggie sandy

The Story of Âkâ Kâ Wâpihtihk Do you remember hearing about our grandmother Âkâ Kâ Wâpihtihk, the one who was married to Moses, Chisâmûshûsh, that is? This story is about her. She abandoned her husband and all her children. I think there was another family with them as well. While she and her husband were hunting for some ptarmigan, they had seen the trail of another Îyiyiu. Her husband was able to hunt with her that day. Her husband sent her to…I guess she was the most able person among them. Our grandmother was very strong and energetic. She could walk as well as any man on long trips, without tiring. Some women were like that. They were very energetic and had great strength, like men, when it came to walking on long trips and expeditions. They could take on any man for any kind of job, even jobs that were considered men’s work. Âkâ Kâ Wâpihtihk was one of the women like that. Her husband sent her to try and reach these people to tell them of their predicament. She found the people the same day she left her family. But she didn’t go back to her family. I don’t know why. I guess she just didn’t want to go back to them. I don’t know how many children she had, but her oldest child was a girl. She was a youth by then. Another of her children was still in swaddling clothes. She left that one too. She was later quoted as saying, “When I was ready to go, my daughter came out and said to me, ‘Try to make it back home, Mother.’” The same day she left home, she found Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu and his family. Do you know him? He was my husband’s father. Only the wife was home when she got to their dwelling. People have said that Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu did things as if he had no conscience. He was an immoral man, it is said of him. He came home and saw the woman Âkâ

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Kâ Wâpihtihk there. His wife told him the woman’s story, about how the men in her group could no longer hunt for the family. They didn’t have the strength to do so because they hadn’t eaten well in a long time. I believe there were two other men in Âkâ Kâ Wâpihtihk’s group and her husband’s mother. Quite a few people! I just can’t fathom why she didn’t think that she could save at least one person from starvation and go back to her family’s group. When Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu came home that day, he had killed some caribou. I don’t know exactly how many. He didn’t think to go and see about saving the people from starvation. He could have saved some of them. Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu and his family were not in need of food when Âkâ Kâ Wâpihtihk came upon them. The daughter of Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu was called Betsy. She was the mother of Noah Mamianskum. When she was older and understood what kind of person he was, she used to tell stories about her father because she didn’t like or approve of some of the things he did to others. The vast majority of the Îyiyiu were shocked and horrified at his behaviour. And they couldn’t understand why Âkâ Kâ Wâpihtihk hadn’t gone back to her family, especially once Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu had given her the two caribou. After all, she had a small baby. It was certain that most of her family and the other Îyiyiu would have been saved from starvation if she had gone back with some of the food, or if he had thought to go and see the people. Instead, all the Îyiyiu died together in their dwelling. Betsy said, “I remember the day she reached us. Earlier we had travelled with them up the river to go back inland. Along the way her son was born. I had a baby sibling at the time she came to live with us, after leaving her family. She would cry after holding my baby sibling.” Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu gave Âkâ Kâ Wâpihtihk two caribou from the caribou he had killed the day she reached them. I guess the reason why he didn’t go and see about the starving Îyiyiu was because he wanted Âkâ Kâ Wâpihtihk as his wife. I guess that is the reason why he didn’t think to save her husband from starvation. He came back to the post the next summer. It was the last time. When he went back up inland, he never came back here again. He became an

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Aushâwâwiyiyiu [a Naskapi] for good. He stayed around that area for the rest of his life. The Îyiyiu were appalled with Âkâ Kâ Wâpihtihk’s decision not to go back to save her family. Her father was still alive. When they [Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu’s group] arrived at the post, she didn’t go back to live with her father as was expected of a widow. I guess she had made up her mind to live with Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu. After this, Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu and all his family stayed around the Aushâu area for the rest of their lives, except for Âkâ Kâ Wâpihtihk. When Wâpimâkushtuwiyiyiu died, she came back to Great Whale. Both her parents were dead by then. This happened when the caribou were no longer in this part of the country. During this time, when the caribou went away from this area, the Îyiyiu faced a lot of hardships such as these. I presume that these kinds of things didn’t happen when the caribou were still plentiful in this area. suzanne kawapit

For families living in the bush, even in the best of times, there was scarcely a day when close cooperation between husband and wife wasn’t necessary. To cope with their strenuous lives, marriage was a partnership, a partnership in which men and women had well-defined tasks. All the necessities of life had to be taken care of: making clothes, mittens, moccasins, snowshoes, canoes, tools and dwellings. Men hunted and trapped, while women prepared the food and pelts. Firewood had to be cut and water drawn. Children needed love and care. The following story is about how two brothers with young children tried to cope while their wives were hospitalized, for two years, for the treatment of tuberculosis.

Taking Care of the Children About that time we were at Witchîh Kâ Ûhtiwikâwich, the mountain that resembles a head with prominent ears. It was here that my brother Joseph kâ îyâskitât porcupine. Yes, kâ îyâskitât. Let me explain what

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that means because I realize there are probably a number of people in town who might not be familiar with the phrase. What it means is that, sometimes, while tracking game, you find you just can’t get to it because it walks or runs faster than you do. Often you decide to give up on it because you haven’t even succeeded in catching sight of it. This happened to my brother Joseph during one of the years when our wives were in the hospital. They had been sent away for about two years. Both of us decided we would go hunting and trapping even though our wives couldn’t be with us. We brought our children. Each of us had two little ones. My youngest was too small to walk on his own and needed to be pulled on the toboggan. His older brother could walk but not for long distances, so I pulled him along as well. We couldn’t stay in town because there was nothing there to help us make a living. The people who stayed in town were poorer than those who went hunting. We didn’t want to stay there doing nothing. Our wives were taken away during the summer. In the fall, we headed inland, starting off with groups of people from the post. My mother helped us as best she could. We spent the winter far from the post, travelling to the places where we had lived in years past. Joseph kâ îyâskitât the porcupine on our return to Great Whale River post. We had trapped quite a few mink, but were only slowly wending our way to the post because the postmaster was rarely there. The plan was to get closer to the post and then to dispatch someone to make a quick trip for supplies. I was in front making trail when I saw tracks off in the distance. I wasn’t expecting to see a porcupine at all but that’s what it turned out to be. I waited to show the tracks to my brother. At that time of the year, porcupine have a tendency to stay put—they don’t go far—so I suggested that Joseph try to track it down. I assumed he would have no trouble at all! Instead, he came back empty-handed, reporting that the porcupine was still going strong by the time he [Joseph] had reached the top of the hill overlooking the river. The porcupine was heading for the river when Joseph decided he should turn back. I’ve never seen a porcupine walk so far! I wonder how far it had already gone by the time our paths met. We continued on our way, finally camping by a stream about two days’ walk from the post. Joseph volunteered to go for supplies. By then we

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hadn’t caught much fish and were very hungry. He left while it was still dark. It was our custom to leave while it was still dark. Of all the jobs I had to do, going to the post was the one I was the most anxious to get on with. The night before leaving I would be too excited to sleep, then I would leave well before dawn. High on nervous energy, I would have my first cup of tea at dawn. By then our camp would be far behind me. Joseph checked the fish lines before he went. But there wasn’t anything for him to eat. He left with several fishhooks to set at designated places along the way in the hope that fish would be on the lines by the time we got there. We would pick them up on our way. We continued slowly along his trail, the pace being set by the children.…We caught ptarmigan along the way. We finally reached the post at Richmond Gulf, where we traded our mink pelts for supplies.… Soon after that my brother and I went back inland with our children. We headed for some good fishing lakes, travelling slowly to make it easier for the children. We had quite a few store-bought supplies, which we rationed carefully. That was the beginning of some very long treks. While we were gone, I started thinking about my wife and about Great Whale River where I had seen her last. Her mother lived there. I thought I would go there. Her mother was very strong and healthy at the time and I hoped she would help me look after my sons. I was not doing so well and was worried they were not receiving the care they deserved. I mentioned this to my brother who thought it was a good idea. He said he would go back with us. He knew that because of the children we couldn’t travel far with people who otherwise would have given us help. We just couldn’t keep up with them. My eldest son could walk part of the way on a day’s trip, but the youngest had to stay on the toboggan the entire way. When the eldest tired, he climbed on top of the load. We travelled along the bay ice. My children kept asking, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” They had never been to Great Whale before. I had to explain that it was a place with buildings, like Richmond Gulf. Along the way we met some Inuit who were very nice. They were on their way to the post, too. I hunted for ptarmigan along the way and then after a while we went into the trees to make camp. The children were too young to help.

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Because we were so alone, I was very conscious of not hurting myself or having an accident. The next day was beautiful. It was March, a very nice time of the year to travel because the toboggan slides so easily across the snow. Ptarmigan were everywhere. Soon my toboggan got heavier and heavier from the combined weight of children and ptarmigan. Exhausted from breaking trail all day, we made camp early, then left first thing the next morning. It was still early in the day when we reached Little Whale River, where we expected to run into some of the Îyiyiu and Inuit who hunted and travelled in this area. It was going to be a beautiful evening. The next day was Sunday—not a travelling day—so we settled in. While getting firewood, I noticed a tree whose bark had been eaten by a porcupine, by a female porcupine. Male and female porcupine eat the bark of trees differently. The females are much neater eaters! I set out to find it, remembering that my father used to say that the porcupine near the bay are very fat because they are not cold. I instructed the children to stay inside because I thought I would be gone for a little while. Fearing a fire in my absence, I placed a bucket of water where they could reach it and told them what to do with it in case of an emergency. I hurried home as soon as I had killed the porcupine and removed its intestines. The children had already acquired a taste for porcupine and were thrilled with my catch. I singed the quills and fur and prepared the meat the usual way. It looked good and tasted good. We all ate well! We camped at three other places along the way, at Âministikâpiûch, Wîmin Âtât and at Âwâsihâch. We neared Great Whale [and] eventually crossed over and went into the tent closest to the church. It was my wife’s mother’s tent. She took her grandsons into her arms right away. We stayed with her for a while. ronnie sheshamush

“In those days it was a great loss when someone died in the prime of life, especially when they were good workers and hunters,” said Suzanne Kawapit. While Ronnie Sheshamush and his brother were not widowers,

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Ronnie’s story describes the vulnerability of single parents—widowed or otherwise—and their children in the absence of the other parent. They had to figure out how to cover the vast distances involved in trapping and finding food, with little children in tow. With just one adult to pull their belongings and children often too young to walk long distances on their own, travel slowed right down. And then there were all the other details of daily life. People had to count on the kindness of others. Samson Masty talked about how he and his family managed after the death of his mother: “My grandmother, the mother of my mother, looked after us after the accident, but she only lived one winter and one summer after my mother died. From then on, my father raised us alone. He never remarried. Sometimes we travelled and hunted with other families. Sometimes we were on our own.…My grandmother made our clothes after my mother died. There were no clothes in the store, only yards and yards of cloth. After she [the grandmother] died and while we were still young, other people made our winter clothes when they gathered at the post in the summer time. Eventually my brother Isâc and I learned how. We had to. There was no one else to do it! Our father taught us. Isâc would cut out a pattern and we would make our pants, duffle socks and moccasins. We made our winter coats, the ayischîmâwikuhpih, which are very warm especially when worn with the flannel undershirts that we also made.”

SAY I N G G O ODBY E A Great Loss My brother died just before the birth of Susan, my second child. He had seen my first baby, a little girl who died before her first birthday, but never got to see my second. His death overwhelmed me.…He had raised many children who were not his, for instance, your aunt,4 Mitâpâu and me. I thought of him more as a father, and loved him as much as anyone could love their father. He had been very good to me.… 4

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Maggie Sandy is referring to the aunt of Emily Masty.

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That evening when I went out to get water, I had heard people crying. I returned inside suspecting it was the boys who had gone with my brother. They followed me in and went straight to Thomas, the father of William Kishânâpâu. Certain that my brother had died, I fainted. It was impossible. He had been fine that very morning. I slipped in and out of consciousness. Thomas tried to console me, tried to convince me I had the strength to go on. During my lucid moments I told myself to take his advice, to try to accept what was in store for me. I told myself I had to be strong since my baby was due soon. I didn’t want to lose her, too.… My mother grieved for a long time after that. When we first met after his death and I took her in my arms, I thought she would die of grief. To help her, I said, “Try to be strong. If I can do it, so can you. According to the Bible, we will face all kinds of difficulties, but with God by our side we will make it through.” I felt so sorry for her. I was really sad when it was time to return to our trapline, sad because I couldn’t look after her anymore. My sister Maria Rupert then looked after her. We had to go back to our traps. maggie sandy

The Îyiyiu believed that even in death some people maintained a connection with friends, family and animals on earth. While there was a good side to this, it was not always problem free. People in heaven sometimes felt sorry for those they had left behind and sent food in the form of a successful hunt to them. On the other hand, some felt lonely for their friends on earth and went to great lengths to draw them up the “stairway to heaven.” Unless these efforts were resisted, death of the desired friend was the likely outcome. It was also thought that some people could predict their own deaths, an ability that was not felt to be unique to humans. Animals were thought to know when one of their human friends was about to die, as well. As if to say goodbye, when death was imminent, animals would hasten to the place where the person lived.

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The Unhappy Caribou I remember once flying over the camp of my late uncle John Kawapit. There were a lot of caribou around the camp. Right away I became unhappy about all the caribou that were around his camp. I understood why they were sitting there. That night I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard a voice telling me this would happen. The voice I heard said this would be the last time the elder ever came to his camp. The caribou knew the elder really well. They were like when you lose somebody—they were unhappy. That’s why they were sitting around his camp. The caribou were so unhappy because they knew the elder would never come around them again. When we went back to the community, his life was over. andrew natachequan, whapmagoostui place names project 1993

Animals Say Goodbye In the past, it seemed to be easier to get game just before a person died, as if it were known that it was the last time that the person would be eating food. My father had a strange experience just before my mother died. Even though it was still summer, my father caught a lot of beaver. He killed several bears and he caught a lot of marten and mink in the immediate vicinity of our camping area. Earlier he had removed his traps from further out in his hunting area because he had seen no signs of furbearing animals. The only place where there were tracks was around our dwelling. They couldn’t even go out to check their fish nets without finding a mink in their traps! My father gave one of the bears he killed to my mother. She said then it would be her last bear. She was already in poor health when we returned to the bush that summer. She needed to be carried when we travelled. By the time we reached the portage at Wîminipîsh Kipitâkin, she couldn’t walk at all. She knew the exact day she would die and told my father. That day she was able to sit up even though her health was very poor. Knowing we needed to set the nets, she

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said to us very nonchalantly, “Hurry back. This is the day I will die.” We set the nets as quickly as we could and hurried home. Upon our return, she lay back and died. She had breathed her last breath. noah mamianskum

My Father’s Bear One of the things the people used to do after someone died was put a piece of the choicest part of a big game animal into the fire, at the same time saying pâchipâwâh to the departed soul. I haven’t actually seen this practise myself. I have seen something along the same lines, though, for people say the same thing when they visit the grave of a dead relative. My father is buried along the route the people take when they travel inland. One time when a family was passing by, they decided to stop to visit his grave. The group included the old woman Kawapit and Lottie Quito, my wife’s mother. At my father’s grave, they said, “Pâchipâwâh chisâyâkw” [Send a bear our way]. They got back in their canoe and continued on. At the next place they killed a very big bear. The women were certain my father had sent the bear to them. I used to wonder how he could have sent food their way since he was dead. I really don’t know how it worked, but the people noticed that it made a difference when they made such requests to their departed friends and relatives. ronnie sheshamush

“M A K I N G T H I N G S R IG H T ” Îyiyiu stories about first contact with the whiteman focus on the beneficial aspects of the relationship. Stories describing relations during the time of the commercial whale hunt are quite different, emphasizing the hostility Îyiyiu felt from non-Native employees of the Hudson’s Bay Company. Those about events that occurred in the mid-twentieth century are different again. The Îyiyiu have always been receptive to innovation. From the time of early contact, European goods that

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Corporal Jim Davies and others travelling by dog team on a trip to Whapmagoostui, 1946. The James Bay district was patrolled by members of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, headquartered in Moose Factory. Jim Davies was in charge of the local detachment. This is a photograph of Davies on the trail during an eleven-hundred-mile trip to and from Whapmagoostui. [National Film Board of Canada. Library and Archives Canada, e010692572, Bud Glunz.]

eased life on the land were greeted with great enthusiasm. New things, technological and social, also presented innumerable opportunities for humour. Not surprisingly, the major transformations in the North in the mid-twentieth century provided fertile ground for myriad “first experience” stories, first experience with trucks, with airplanes, with jobs, with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.…

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The Ones Who Tie People Up The other thing that I was scared of in those early days were the police. I guess they were Mounties. At that time they were called mimâhchikwâpiskuhuwâsiuch [the ones who tie people up with metal or chains]. Once when I was on my way home from the store, I noticed that a policeman was coming towards me on the same path I was on. I purposely left the path to avoid him. When he got near me, he said “hello” to me, but I had no idea what that meant. I ran away as fast as I could. I was terrified! When I got home, I told my mother that I had been frightened by a policeman who had yelled at me! noah mamianskum

Airplane or Loon That spring [1940], we saw something moving through the sky. I had gone out hunting with my father and John. John’s two daughters, Martha and Lucy, had gone cranberry picking. When the girls returned, Martha said, “Today Lucy was terrified by something that came flying towards us while we were berry picking. It was very calm out. Out of nowhere, coming from the east, we saw something flying towards us just over the treetops. It was all black. ‘Lucy,’ I yelled, ‘look at that!’ She screamed. It moved to the side and away to the north.” We decided that whatever it was must have come from the whiteman. It must have been an airplane! I remember the first time I saw an airplane flying in the sky. I thought it was a loon! noah mamianskum

The Thing in the Sky There certainly were no planes when I was growing up. They hadn’t come around here yet when I was growing up. You see, I was already an adult when the first plane came here. I was already an adult. I already

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had had some of my children when the first plane came here. The post manager who was here and had been here for a long time told us that a plane would be coming here. He spoke Cree quite well, so did his wife Emily. The Cree called the manager, Kâyûwâpit. He stayed here a long time. I don’t know if you’ve heard of the man called Kâhkiyâhkwâu, who was in Chisasibi. His daughter Emily was the one who was married to the manager. They stayed here a long time. The uchimâskwâu [wife of the uchimâu or manager] liked the Îyiyiu very much. The uchimâu had said, “A plane will come flying here. Don’t be afraid of it.” In other places where the Îyiyiu gathered, some of the Îyiyiu had been really afraid of the plane when they first saw it or heard it. That’s why he told us not to be afraid. In those days, the women made trips across the river in canoes to gather firewood. That’s what I was doing that particular day when the plane came here. I was with a couple of women. We had gone upriver in a canoe to get some firewood. While we were there, I suddenly heard a sound. It was coming from the sky. There was a hill nearby. I climbed the hill to take a better look. I saw it coming over the horizon from the south. “Look at that thing in the sky,” I said to the women I had gone with. “It must be the plane that was being talked about.” “That must be it,” they agreed. It glided down to the river and came to a stop where we usually landed our canoes. We didn’t go there. We were very apprehensive. Instead, we landed our canoes where we usually drew water, where the spring is. suzanne kawapit

Trucks and Airplanes Not far from Great Whale I started thinking about what we would see there. This was the year when there were a lot of white people building the place. Up until that point, I had never seen a motorized vehicle moving around on dry land. I had never seen a truck. I had heard about them, though, and began thinking I would soon see what the people had been talking about.

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“An elderly woman at Great Whale River who is interested in looking at an airplane without getting too close,” 1948. One of the goals of S.J. Bailey, the photographer, was to document the benefits of the federal government’s family allowance program. Bailey was a member of the Eastern Arctic Patrol, which included medical personnel. [S.J. Bailey Fonds. Library and Archives Canada, PA-093125, S.J. Bailey.]

As we neared Great Whale, I began to hear things, machines, I guessed. I had never heard anything so loud! I heard something that seemed to be getting louder and louder. “That must be a plane,” I thought. I had heard about planes from some of the others. Then I saw the plane that, I later found out, was called the Hercules. It went over the hill, disappearing from sight, so I figured it must be landing. I had heard that a place had been built for landing planes.

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When I was within sight of the village, I heard all kinds of sounds I had never heard before. But first, moving along in front of me where the airstrip is now, was the Hercules. Its size and appearance amazed me! I had never seen anything quite like it before. And then, where the roads are now, I saw some things moving very fast up a hill. What kind of thing is that, I wondered. I soon came to know that they were trucks. It was the first time I had seen a truck! I proceeded along the usual way to the village until I reached a road. When I saw a plane sitting there, I thought that planes went down the road. I didn’t know. I was wary about crossing the road to get to where the Cree people stayed. ronnie sheshamush

The unfamiliar drone of vehicular activity at Great Whale River post was the work of the Canadian military. After World War II, new towns sprang up across the North in response to Canada’s military commitments and new thirst for raw materials, oil, minerals and wood. Remote settlements became the sites of enormous capital investment as personnel and equipment were moved north. Great Whale River was one such place (Honigmann 1981). Traders and missionaries had been the non-Natives with whom the Îyiyiu had had the most contact and even that was limited since the Îyiyiu spent most of the year inland. By the early 1950s, the population of Great Whale River and Richmond Gulf numbered approximately 171 Îyiyiu, 193 Inuit and six non-Natives, including the Anglican minister, the Hudson’s Bay Company manager and his wife, and a government weather and radio operator and his wife and son (Wills 1984). Permanent buildings at Great Whale were limited to a church, store, warehouse, a small wharf, five houses and several smaller buildings (Honigmann 1952, 512).

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Mid-Canada Defence Line bases were located along the 55th parallel, between the DEW Line and the Pinetree Line. Conceived during the Cold War, the Mid-Canada line consisted of a line of radar installations, intended to provide a second line of detection in the event that enemy aircraft penetrated the DEW Line into the heart of North America.

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Woman chopping wood at Richmond Gulf, 1927. In the mid-1950s, poverty drove the Îyiyiu who had been associated with Richmond Gulf to Whapmagoostui in search of employment. Jobs had become available for the construction of the military base. With the Îyiyiu gone, the Hudson’s Bay Company closed its outpost in Richmond Gulf in 1956. [L.T. Burwash Fonds. Library and Archives Canada, PA-096678, L.T. Burwash.]

Then the military arrived to begin construction of a Mid-Canada Defence Line base, in 1954 according to the Îyiyiu.5 Overnight, what for eons had been a summer whaling spot and a trading post settlement was transformed into a modern town. Between 1955 and 1967, when military operations were phased out, it was a radar control base; following that, a regional administrative centre for the federal and provincial governments. Very quickly the number of non-Native residents in the community was forty times what it had been before the military base arrived (Wills 1984). Construction of the military base resulted in an influx of Îyiyiu and Inuit from the north in search of work. All the Îyiyiu left Richmond Gulf for Great Whale in the hope of obtaining employment. Desperately poor, they needed jobs to stay alive and to subsidize life on the land.

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Having lost its producers and clients, the Hudson’s Bay Company post at Richmond Gulf closed in 1956.6 The people, Inuit and Îyiyiu alike, turned to the employment possibilities provided by the military to alleviate their hardship. “Prosperity” came first to the Inuit. They were the first to be hired, the Îyiyiu having gone to their hunting grounds at the time the hiring was done. By February 1956, all the Inuit and only a few Îyiyiu had jobs. Initially, the Îyiyiu thought it was because they couldn’t speak English, but eventually more Îyiyiu were hired (Wills 1984, 9). At times, “everyone who could work had a job,” said Noah Mamianskum in the first story below, greatly relieved to have found work. “The military made things right” [meaning, it provided jobs]. The construction phase of the base resulted in between one-to-three years of employment for some; for others, part-time jobs were available during the summer. Most of the people returned to the bush for the winter. Despite its rigours, living on their hunting grounds was what Îyiyiu preferred, many using the income from work to buy hunting equipment and supplies. As Matthew George said, I worked when they were constructing the buildings for the military base in 1954. I worked for two years. I didn’t go into the bush during these two years. I left when I decided I had worked enough. I wasn’t fired. I wanted to hunt. When I was younger and in good health, I preferred to live off the land and hunt. The presence of the military provided the Îyiyiu their first experience with regular employment. Most had never had a job before.

Making Things Right The whitemen came in 1954 to build the military base. Inuit, three or four of them, were the first people to be hired. The Îyiyiu had all gone back into the bush by the time the hiring was done. That was the year 6

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The independent trader George Papp had already closed his store, having sold his operation at Richmond Gulf to the Hudson’s Bay Company in 1954.

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the first big ship anchored here. In its hold were the materials for the construction of the army base. Wâmishtikûshîsh [Harold Udgârten] had said the whiteman was going to come here. He had also warned us they would mess the place up when they got here. He was right. Before they tore up the land to make the airstrip, the boss ordered that the cemetery be fenced in to prevent the graves from being unearthed by mistake. The Îyiyiu chopped the logs for this. Then they began to rip up the earth for the airstrip. It was completely torn up and destroyed. That’s why the village is so sandy. Before that, the ground was covered with vegetation. It was beautiful. The military made things right, but they destroyed the land. After the airstrip was constructed, the soldiers moved in. The construction of the base took place over a period of two years. Everyone who could work had a job. Some Inuit even came down from the North to get work. Once the base had been built, though, there were no longer many jobs to be had. My first job at this time was crushing stone for the roads. I worked at that for a year. The rock was dynamited, making extremely loud explosions. Even though the place where they were dynamiting was quite far from the village, the ground shook so much that everything in our homes trembled. A cup sitting near the edge of the table, like this one is, would have fallen off. Pregnant women didn’t appreciate the loud explosions. The Îyiyiu felt that pregnant women should not be frightened or startled. To help the people brace themselves for the blasts, the Îyiyiu were given a warning just before the dynamite was detonated. The explosions always occurred at exactly the same time, twelve o’clock noon, after a loud siren had been sounded. Huge rocks, much bigger than any which could be handled by human manpower, were airborne as a result of the blasts. The Îyiyiu worked with the explosives. A whiteman drilled the holes in the rock and we stuffed the holes with dynamite. My job was to attach the wires that were connected to the dynamite and the main switch. No wonder the explosions were so loud! We started work at seven in the morning and spent the entire time between then and noon filling the drilled holes with dynamite. Imagine how much dynamite that was! I had a little instrument—it looked a little like a compass—that indicated if the wires worked. If a wire wasn’t properly attached, the needle would not move and I would readjust the wire.

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When the siren sounded, we were driven away by a truck that had been waiting for us to scamper down off the rocky hills. Our boss remained behind to plug in the switch. Everyone was warned to stay away when the explosions occurred. The children and hunters were told. Everyone had to know. And everyone heeded the warnings. It was just as well, for no one could have survived the impact of the flying rock. I didn’t hear of a single person being hurt as a result of the blasting. Our ground is very soft—soft sand—so a lot of stone was needed to make good roads. A lot of rock was blasted and crushed. I worked for a year doing that and then was sent out to the hospital for a year. When I came back, I started work in the kitchen where I stayed for five years until I got sick again. My next job after that was for the people who were interested in knowing things about the earth, moon, sun and stars, the people from the National Research Council of Canada. The first wâmishtikûshiw [whiteman] to work for the National Research Council here told me all kinds of things about his work. “The planet we are on,” he said, “is not the only planet. There are others as well. Although the whiteman studies everything, he doesn’t know how many stars there are. He can count the ones that are visible to the eye from earth, but he knows the universe is so vast that many stars are invisible.” The other thing the wâmishtikûshiw studied was the northern lights. Because of the interest in moon travel at the time, he wanted to know the season during which there would be less activity from the northern lights. He said that, for some reason, the northern lights were bad for the flights going to the moon. I worked for the National Research Council of Canada for just over nine years. noah mamianskum

My First Job There was an epidemic of measles during the time when the military was here. Everyone in my family got it. My mother told me about the measles epidemic that had occurred in her day, the one in which so many people died. This time no one died. We might have felt like dying, we felt so bad,

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but no one did. During the measles epidemic that affected me, the government people and the nurses looked after us. They took good care of us. At that time, the people were all living in tents. The nurses suggested that the sick be moved into a heated building. They feared complications would arise if we got cold. We took their advice and moved in for the duration of our illness. There we were looked after by the people who had not been hit with the disease. I got a job after the measles epidemic. Although they were not permanent, I found odd jobs here and there and they helped me. I took anything that came my way. The first jobs came with the arrival of a lot of white people here [in connection with the army base]. They hired me without asking many questions. All they asked was, “What is your name? Do you speak English? Are you married?” The person who interviewed me said they would hire me if I understood English. My brother Joseph, another man and myself were the first three Îyiyiu to be hired. At first, not only did I not know how to do the jobs, I didn’t know how to behave on the job, either. I had never had a job before. Whenever I felt I had worked enough, I would go home! I didn’t know I had to work a certain number of hours before I was free to go. It was all very strange! I went back inland to hunt when it became hard to find a job. ronnie sheshamush

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Epilogue— Taking Charge

FA M I L I E S R E T U R N TO T H E L A N D Jobs available to the Îyiyiu through the military proved temporary. By 1957, with the completion of the construction phase of the military base, only a few positions remained. It was expected the Îyiyiu and Inuit would resume their lives as hunters and trappers. Fortunately, certain animal populations—not caribou—had increased during the years in which the people were employed. Between 1957 and 1959, then, the number of Îyiyiu in the community declined steadily as families returned to the land. They went back to the land, but differently from before. In contrast to earlier times when they spread out over the territory, the Îyiyiu now concentrated in the southern part of the region along the Great Whale River—closer to the village, closer to help in the event of an emergency. Worried about starvation and about not being able to get back to the community if they got sick, they were loathe to go further (Wills 1984,19).

“ W E D ON ’ T T R A P A N Y MOR E” Before long, the Îyiyiu were facing another crisis. By the early 1960s, once again, there was a shortage of most fur-bearing animals. And the caribou herds had still not recovered. The Îyiyiu responded by staying in the community year-round, by not returning to the bush in the fall. In 1963–64, for instance, only twenty-three Îyiyiu trappers and their

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Îyiyiu winter camp at Whapmagoostui, 1956. With the money they made during the construction phase of the military base, the Îyiyiu were able to return to the land, where the animal populations—with the exception of caribou—had recovered. By the early 1960s, however, fur-bearing animals were in decline again. Fearing starvation, most of the Îyiyiu responded to the crisis by staying in the community yearround. The photograph was taken during the northern tour of Governor General Massey. [National Film Board of Canada, Library and Archives Canada, e010770489, Gars Lunney.]

families left Great Whale River to trap, and they left later in the year than they used to.1 The others did not trap at all. The Îyiyiu reported that the current dearth of animals was comparable to their scarcity during the time of Reverend Walton. This time, however, activity associated with the military base was thought to be responsible for the absence of game along the coast. According to the Îyiyiu, the fish had been driven away by outboard motors, whales had been scared off by the noise of the ships and the geese flew higher. Even ptarmigan had been frightened off by the base and houses (Wills 1984, 12). Inland, the concentration of Îyiyiu in the southern part of the territory had resulted 1

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The Îyiyiu population at Great Whale River was 238. The Inuit numbered 455, while there were between 200 to 250 whites.

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in the depletion of all fur-bearing animals with the exception of beaver, which still could be found in a small area to the south of the Great Whale River (ibid.,13), an area not large enough to support the number of Îyiyiu who needed to make a livelihood. In response to the crisis, government officials wanted the Îyiyiu to hunt and trap as they had in the past, hundreds of kilometres from the community where there were fur-bearing animals. But the Îyiyiu did not feel healthy enough to make the trip. The endless years of hunger and disease had taken a toll. “We get sick so easily,” said one of the people. “We’re sick all the time,” commented another (Wills 1984, 13). The Îyiyiu reported the people got sick about five or six times a year now compared to once a year as they had in the past. Because of tuberculosis, 20 per cent of the Îyiyiu had been hospitalized in the south for an average of one and a half years. After their return, they found heavy work very difficult. A few years earlier, with improved finances due to jobs related to the construction of the base, the Îyiyiu had started chartering airplanes—a godsend for those weakened by disease—to travel to and from their traplines. Now, however, incomes had fallen drastically. Beaver was the single most important source of fur and, by extension, fur income. But the twenty-three Îyiyiu who trapped in 1963–64 sold a total of 367 beaver to the Hudson’s Bay Company. At fourteen dollars a pelt, each of the trappers only averaged $223.00. There had been a considerable decline in fur prices since World War II, and credit available to hunters was also low. With the increase in costs associated with hunting—air travel was very expensive—and with revenue from trapping so low, many people could not afford to leave the community to trap. Other families stayed at or near Great Whale River because of sickness, as in the following story.

Better Than the Alternative When my husband became ill—he developed breathing problems—it was up to me to look after my family. We moved back to the post where I made money by chopping wood for the manager and others and by

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tending my traps. We lived alone, across the river. My youngest son, David, was in swaddling clothes, and Moses, the eldest, was still too small to do anything. The first thing I did was build a mihtukân [winter cabin] for us. In the summer, we lived in a tent. I had to go far to set my traps, so far that often it was nighttime before I returned to camp. I made a long line from where my husband was lying to David’s hammock so that my husband could swing the baby when he cried. Often, he would still be in his hammock when I got home at night. Marten was scarce at the time. I got mostly mink, but sometimes I got nothing at all. I would think fondly of the times my husband and I trapped together. I really missed that kind of life. I felt lonely and bored. To cheer me up my husband would say, “If you think this is dull, imagine how boring it would be to be starving in the bush!” maggie sandy

While families like Maggie Sandy’s remained near the community because of illness, the majority were there because they needed jobs. Opportunities for employment were extremely limited. None of the Îyiyiu were employed full-time by the Hudson’s Bay Company, although some found temporary employment in the month of July unloading cargo from the Hudson’s Bay Company ship. The older men were paid $1.00 per hour, the younger men $1.50. In 1961, ten men had been employed for the construction of the nursing station. In 1963–64, seventeen Îyiyiu had steady jobs.2 And, for part of the 1960s, a number of the Îyiyiu were involved in a carving program through which they had produced and sold carvings. There were other jobs in the community, but the Îyiyiu were ineligible for most of them because very few Îyiyiu spoke English and even fewer knew how to read.3 No one had had a formal education because the public school, which went up to grade five, had just opened in 1958.

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3

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Five Îyiyiu worked for Crawley and McCracken, the catering service on the base; one for Nordair, an airline company; another for the nursing station, which had been constructed in 1961. Several worked for the mines in Richmond Gulf area. Between 150 and 200 non-Natives were employed by Canadian Marconi to maintain the Mid-Canada Line operations. About fifty others worked for the Hudson’s Bay Company; the two airlines, Wheeler and Nordair; the Anglican and Catholic mission (which showed movies and ran the co-op); the public school; the nursing station and other administrative facilities (Wills 1984, 28).

Epilogue —Taking Charge

Unloading the ship at Whapmagoostui, 1949–50. After construction of the military base was complete, opportunities for the Îyiyiu for employment were few. There were almost no full-time jobs, and seasonal jobs, like unloading the boat, were limited. Levels of poverty were so high some felt that, without relief, most of the people would die. [John Joseph Honigmann Papers, box 32. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.]

In general, as Noah B. said at the time, “It is just like the past, when the people were very poor. We don’t trap anymore. Without relief, most people would probably die” (Wills 1984, 12). Some went on two-week hunting expeditions for birds, fish and porcupine, but that is not what kept them alive. Rather, they subsisted on government assistance— family allowance, allowance for widows and the elderly, and rations for the sick and their dependents—sharing their relief payments so everyone could survive.

TA K I N G C H A RG E The impending economic disaster provoked some Îyiyiu to question the relationship between Îyiyiu and non-Natives and to assert their right to “take charge of the land” (Wills 1984, 73), topics that have driven the agenda between the Îyiyiu and the federal and provincial governments ever since. As early as 1964, the Îyiyiu wrote to the federal government stating the Îyiyiu should be in charge of the land in the Great Whale River area. They felt non-Natives should pay for the land they used, as well as for the right to hunt and to start mines on their territory. Moreover, they argued that the chief and councillors should be paid since they helped the people, just as the federal government and the Hudson’s Bay Company did. They also argued the chief should be allowed to solve problems— especially those related to hunger—through the administration of relief and that more Îyiyiu should be hired for prospecting and mining. Earlier arguments advanced by Reverend Walton and E.B. Borron for government relief for the Îyiyiu had stressed how the government had benefited from the taxes it had imposed on the furs hunted by Îyiyiu. The Îyiyiu now maintained that requests for additional relief could be justified in terms of “payment for land it [the government] took from the Indians, who were here before anyone” (ibid., 73). To encourage Îyiyiu “who haven’t been trapping to start trapping again,” the additional relief was to be used to underwrite the cost of air travel to the people’s hunting grounds (ibid., 73).

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Hydroelectric Development Defending Nature: By the 1970s, the caribou population had fully recovered. Finally. In fact, during the 1970s and 1980s, there was such a population explosion amongst the caribou that the birthrate reached between 15 and 20 per cent. It was now the largest caribou herd in the world (Halley 1997). But all was not well. In the early 1970s, the Cree—including the Whapmagoostui Îyiyiu—found themselves embroiled in a fight with the Québec government and Hydro-Québec over plans to dam all the major rivers in their territory to produce electricity. Initiated without prior consultation with the Cree, the James Bay project, the largest hydroelectric power development scheme in Canada, proposed three massive projects for northern Québec. The first, the La Grande project, was to divert seven rivers into the La Grande River, which empties into James Bay at Chisasibi. The second, the Great Whale River project, would divert water from another four rivers into the Great Whale River. The third involved the Nottaway, Broadback and Rupert rivers, the NBR project. The government of Québec, which required the electricity to fuel its industrial strategy, promoted these projects in concert with HydroQuébec, an agency of the provincial government, and numerous industrial and labour groups. Initial forays by geologists into Cree territory, beginning at the end of the nineteenth century, had resulted in the creation of mines in the southern part of the region, a development that opened the area to further exploitation. Roads were built, and towns established to service the mines. The roads, in turn, provided access to the forests, and forestry companies quickly moved in and clear-cut entire traplines. Cree living in the southern part of the region were displaced by the destruction of their lands by forestry operations, mining and the establishment of towns. With Québec’s plans to develop all the major rivers in the Cree territory, the net of industrial expansion was about to be cast over the entire region. In their effort to fend off the “encroaching industrial machine,” the Cree became famous for defending nature (Richardson 2001).

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At the outset, the Cree were unified in their opposition to all the hydro projects. They felt the destruction of rivers and drowning of lands by dams and reservoirs was a direct attack on all they stood for. Completely consistent with traditional Îyiyiu values, the response of the Cree stressed protection of the environment and the Cree way of life. Their response was also driven by practical concerns, concerns about their hunting, fishing and trapping-based economy. They resisted the destruction of their lands, home to the animals they continued to depend upon: caribou, black bears, marten, beaver, lynx, otter and a multitude of migratory birds. They resisted the contamination by mercury of their lakes, rendering fish—still a staple—too toxic to eat. And, for emotional reasons, they resisted because of what the land meant to them as “home,” as a relationship with the animal world, as a source of identity. Finally, people were troubled by the thought of grave sites of loved ones being disturbed as waters rose in the flooded areas. Frustrated by Hydro-Québec’s work on the La Grande project, Sam Masty, who had been chief at Whapmagoostui in the 1950s, commented, If we had the same kind of power as Mukash did, or some of the other people from a long time ago, the whiteman wouldn’t be able to do what he is doing now if we didn’t want him to. We could stop the James Bay power project without anyone being able to figure out what had gone wrong! Not even the police. They wouldn’t know what was going on either. Nobody would get hurt. Instead, rather mysteriously, the equipment would always be breaking down—so much so they wouldn’t be able to dam our rivers. But nobody has the power of Long Legs Mukash now!

Long Legs Mukash The story about Long Legs Mukash was told to me by my grandfather, who raised me. It happened in Great Whale River more than a hundred years ago when my grandfather was still a young boy. There were no

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settlements north of here when this story took place. I will tell it as he told it to me: A number of people had gathered in Great Whale for the summer. One of the hunters who had come into the post from the bush had given an old man a present of caribou fat. The old man had had it for a while when he decided to have a feast. He told the people to break up the fat and cook it. Just when everything was ready, the meat cooked and all, they noticed a canoe coming around the point at the mouth of the Great Whale River. The old man said the feast would begin when the visitors had come ashore. The young boys and I went down to the shore to greet the visitors. I soon realized it was my cousin-brother Long Legs Mukash and his wife. They didn’t have any children then. When I saw it was Long Legs, I ran to tell my mother the news. She was really happy, for he was just in time for the feast. I told my father as well. The old man who was hosting the feast said to bring Long Legs to him. Long Legs came ashore and was taken to the tipi where the feast was to be held. The servers served the meat and the fat. Everyone ate. When the feast was over, a drum was brought out. The old man sang with the drum—an Îyiyiu song—and then my father sang. The old man then asked Long Legs to sing. Long Legs sang his song with tremendous emotion. I had never heard it before and found it quite strange, rather amazing, in fact. He told us the song was based on a recent experience he had had on his way to Great Whale. I didn’t really understand it but my father did. He asked Long Legs why he had sung the song the way he did. “Tell us what happened to you,” I pleaded. “You couldn’t have made that up!” He just teased me, implying I probably wouldn’t be able to understand the story. My father knew all the usual stopping places between Chisasibi and Great Whale. Long Legs described a place where he had stopped along the way to do some net fishing—a cove along the coast known to be very good for fishing. He walked into the water to put in his net. The water was shallow so he didn’t need to use his canoe. He knew the net would be covered that evening when the tide came in. That evening, at high tide, he went in his canoe to check for fish. Fearing a storm, on his return he

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pulled the canoe right up near their dwelling. He didn’t want the canoe blown out to sea. His wife cleaned and cooked the fish. They went to bed right after supper. It was already late. They must have had a small tent because there were just the two of them and they were only to be there for one night. Long Legs slept near the fire. “I fell asleep right away,” Long Legs said, “then I woke up because I felt a pain on the bottom of my foot. It turned out there was a deep cut on my foot. I must not have covered my feet when I went to sleep. I woke my wife and asked her where she had put the axe and knife. I showed her my foot. She showed me where the knife was—nowhere near my foot— and said her axe was outside where she had chopped the firewood. I was quite perplexed. “I bandaged my foot thinking the cut must have been made by a rock or stone. But neither were nearby. Then I got suspicious and decided to find out what had happened. I told my wife to go back to sleep. She fell asleep very quickly.4 Covering myself with a blanket, I sat up and used my flint to see outside.5 “I looked towards the bay where I saw two big canoes of whitemen heading towards us. In the hand of one of them was the knife—a pocketknife—that had cut my foot. The smaller blade had been used on my foot. I realized then they meant me no good. I watched them. When they came ashore, one of the men took a box from his canoe. Two others came towards our tipi and made a groove in the ground, aimed at our doorway. One of them took something from the box and put it in the groove. “Whatever it was raced along the ground towards the tipi. Luckily the thing stuck where the groove ended. The man came to examine it. I thought it was broken. He made the groove wider and longer. This time it went faster than the first time. I was afraid it would explode once it reached our doorway. It stopped near my doorway, this time plunging deep into the ground. The man came to retrieve it but couldn’t because it had penetrated the ground too deeply. The men returned to their canoes with the box. All the others had been watching the man and his helper. I presume the man was their leader.

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“He probably made her fall asleep,” commented Sam. Flints were used as a medium: Emily Masty.

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“The man returned a second time, this time with a gun in his hands. Now I was really convinced he wanted to kill me. “‘What are you waiting for?’ I yelled to him. “My wife didn’t hear any of this because she was still sleeping. As I called out, a big bird came and settled on top of the tipi, his wings completely covering it. The man was fixing his gun. “I called out, ‘Now!’ “The bird swooped down at the man. I saw the man’s head fly off his body. The same thing happened to his helper. The rest of their crew ran frantically about picking up the bodies, retrieving their guns and cramming everything into the canoes. They grabbed their paddles and took off screaming. They seemed to be completely unaware of the bird. My wife slept on. “The men escaped out into the water with their canoes. They were heading for an island out in the bay. When they were far out to sea, I saw them lower the bodies of the two dead men overboard. In the meantime, the bird had come back and resumed his position on the top of the tipi. I gave another command to the bird. The bird flew off to the north, not towards the men. Suddenly, there was a fierce storm. The men tried to return to the shore but their canoe capsized in the waves. That was the last I ever saw of them. “I looked to see where the bird was. It was still heading north. I told the bird to be good until it reached its destination, meaning, it wasn’t to touch anyone unless called upon to do so.” Before Long Legs’s wife woke up, he went down to the shore to bury the heads of the dead men and to conceal the blood. He couldn’t do anything about the footprints. When his wife woke up, she said, “I wonder why the people who stopped here didn’t say hello to us.” Long Legs replied they would probably catch up with them somewhere along the way. He didn’t want his wife to know what had happened during the night. That’s the kind of power some of the Îyiyiu had a long time ago. sam masty

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Getting Things Done In those days, it was very scary. People could really put their power to work against you. Mukash didn’t use his power for just any old thing, though. He knew those men intended to kill him so he sat and waited until they started to bother him. And then his spirit helpers went to work on them. Since we have had the Anglican religion, I have never had an experience where I was afraid of something or someone harming us while my family and I were alone in the bush. On occasion, I would get a feeling that someone was trying to get at us or that something bad was near, but I would pray and the feeling would go away. Reverend Walton told us to give up the kind of powers that Long Legs had. He said we wouldn’t need them anymore for, according to the Bible, after the flood everything was supposed to be good and new. Everyone was supposed to love one another. The problem was Reverend Walton didn’t understand enough about power. He preached hard against it even though he didn’t think it was all bad. He said that it was bad to use the power to kill or harm people. But my grandfather used it wisely, as did my father and the eldest son of my uncle. If Reverend Walton had understood it better, we probably still would have these powers today. Maybe they would be weaker but, depending on how we used them, strong enough to get a few things done! sam masty

When plans for hydroelectric development were first revealed, Sam and his contemporaries were the traditional leaders, unilingual and thoroughly at home in the bush. Their authority rested on their wisdom, their generosity, their knowledge of the Bible and the way they conducted their lives. They were “good men,” but they had had no formal education and little experience with non-Native society. While many had made their way across the Québec-Labrador peninsula by foot and canoe, they had no idea how Québec society worked. To Sam, weaned on the political discourse of his forefathers, power usually reflected an individual’s ability to influence the forces that impinged upon his hunting group. Traditional sources of power as realized through the shaking tent

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Sam Masty. [Courtesy of Elizabeth Dick.]

and drumming were no longer accessible, however—few people, by then, having witnessed a shaking tent and most having given up drumming. Nonetheless, even if the old hunting magic were still extant, response to Québec’s plans for hydroelectric development demanded a completely different approach. With the heavy arm of the state bearing down upon them, it was no longer a question of one man pitting his spiritual weight against the another. New tools or weapons had to be adopted. The Îyiyiu fought vigorously to establish control over their way of life and to protect the land and animals. Spearheading opposition to the hydro projects were members of the first generation of Cree to attend residential school, many of whom were barely out of high school when

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news about hydroelectric development in James Bay was announced. At that time, the Cree were told by Québec that they had no rights, that they were mere squatters on the land clinging to a dying way of life. The Cree sought to prove Québec wrong. They lived in poverty, in tent-frame shacks with neither running water nor electricity. There wasn’t a single university graduate amongst them. The telephone system barely worked. Before 1971, there had never even been a meeting between Cree leaders to discuss common concerns. Still, they prepared to take on the state and Hydro-Québec, its most powerful agency. Determined that their rights to the land be recognized and protected, the principal tools employed by the Îyiyiu in the battle over the first hydroelectric project, the La Grande project, were the courts and negotiations. The Cree entrusted their case to the Indians of Quebec Association until 1974 when they formed the Grand Council of the Crees. The Grand Council of the Crees was the first regional Cree organization, the chief of each of the Cree communities, including Whapmagoostui, amongst its founding fathers. The first grand chief was Billy Diamond. Since its inception, the Grand Council has worked assiduously to promote and defend the interests of the Cree. From the beginning, however, promoting and defending Cree interests extended well beyond the level of the individual hunting group to include the welfare of the people as a whole, hunters or otherwise, community development and nation building. The story has been well told elsewhere. Suffice it to say, initially the Cree attempted to terminate the James Bay hydro project through a court injunction. The court was swayed by the moving and convincing testimony of Cree elders and trappers, and, with the judgement of Justice Malouf, for the first time acknowledged Cree rights to the land. As if the government and Hydro-Québec were too powerful to be stopped, the Malouf judgement was overturned a week later by the Québec Court of Appeal. The Court of Appeal had been persuaded by the “balance of convenience” argument, which maintained that the needs of Québeckers came before those of a few thousand Cree (Grand Council of the Crees 2001, 11). In the process, the Cree lost their rivers but gained acknowledgement of their rights.

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With work on the project well underway, the Cree felt they had no choice but negotiate the best deal possible. The initial success in the courts with the Malouf judgement gave the Cree some leverage in the lengthy negotiations with government that ensued. Negotiations culminated in 1975 with the signing of the James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement, the first comprehensive land claims in Canada. Signed by both the provincial and federal governments, the James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement established the foundation—a kind of blueprint—for the political and economic development of the Cree Nation. It was the first of many agreements with government the Cree would make to be recognized as full and active participants in the governance of northern Québec (Grand Council of the Crees 2011, 22). Through the James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement, the Cree addressed issues that impinged directly on their lives as individuals, as community members and as members of the Cree Nation. With regards to the welfare of the people and community development, employment opportunities would increase for those who remained in the communities year-round, through the numerous entities created to implement the agreement. Trappers and their families would benefit from the mechanisms that were established to protect and enhance their hunting and trapping way of life. In the interests of all Cree, people gained access to education, health and social services in their communities. Also in the interest of all Cree, the agreement required that environmental and social impact assessments be conducted prior to the implementation of further development projects in their territory. At the level of nation building, in addition to gaining recognition of their rights, Cree established a more formal relationship with the provincial and federal governments. Moreover, they acquired exclusive jurisdiction over certain categories of land, as well as control over health, education and social services in Eeyou Istchee. The Grand Council of the Cree would have to devote the next three decades battling both levels of government to honour their obligations under the agreement. In 1986, plans for the Great Whale River project, the second of the hydroelectric projects proposed for northern Québec, were revived. Four

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rivers in the region, the Great Whale, the Little Whale, the Coats and the headwaters of the Nastapoka, were to be dammed and diverted into the four reservoirs that were to feed three generators along the Great Whale River (Grand Council of the Crees n.d.). While attempts were made to justify the Great Whale River project on the grounds that it was required to meet domestic demands for energy, the 1980s was a period of slower economic growth. The development of new markets for energy were key to the success of the project. Québec focused on the New England states, Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire and New York. By 1988, Hydro-Québec had signed a $17 billion contract with the New York Power Authority to export electricity over twentyone years. In response, the Grand Council, in concert with the people of Whapmagoostui, mounted an intense campaign in the media and the courts. And they lobbied influential politicians about the negative environmental, social and economic impacts of the project. The most notorious of the media campaigns was the voyage from Hudson Bay to the Hudson River of the Odeyak, launched by the Cree and Inuit to draw attention to the consequences of the project and to persuade New Yorkers not to buy the power from Hydro-Québec. The Odeyak was a large freighter canoe, but its stern was covered in canvas like a kayak, hence its name, a combination of “ode,” meaning “canoe” in Cree, and “yak,” the suffix for the Inuktitut “kayak.” It was the creation of a well-known Inuit boatbuilder. The journey of the Odeyak down the St. Lawrence River, through Lake Champlain and on to the Hudson River was such a success that, when the Cree and Inuit crew of the Odeyak disembarked at New York City on Earth Day in 1990, they were treated like heros (Posluns 1993). In addition to public relations stunts, the Cree lobbied internationally. They took a leading role in defense of indigeneous rights at the United Nations in New York and Geneva, through the Working Group on Indigenous People. They participated on the International Water Tribunal in Amsterdam and debated about environmental issues in Australia. They also filed lawsuits against Hydro-Québec, Québec and Canada both to prevent the construction of the project because of its

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social and environmental impacts and to ensure a fair public review of the project. Cognizant that concern for the environment and the Cree way of life would not necessarily inspire the general public to oppose the project, the Cree also launched a public education campaign to explain how the project did not make good economic sense. They argued that with the current recession and interest in energy conservation, it was uncertain how much energy demand would grow in the succeeding years. They also that maintained cheaper prices would render other forms of energy more competitive. Then, in an appeal specifically to the people of Québec, the Cree asserted that the financial risks associated with the Great Whale River project would be passed on to the Québec consumer, making it a very bad deal for the ratepayer. Times had changed since plans for hydroelectric development in James Bay had first been unveiled. The public was now more sympathetic to the plight of Aboriginal people. And, by 1986, some of the negative impacts of the La Grande hydro project on wildlife, the affected traplines and the people of Chisasibi, the community most affected, were known. Moreover, there was greater concern amongst the public for the environment and environmental issues. Furthermore, the James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement included procedures requiring an environmental and social impact assessment and review of large-scale development projects in their territory. The Cree quickly found allies among environmental groups in Canada and the United States, and their efforts inspired people in the northeastern United States to become vocal opponents of the Great Whale River project. But it was probably the direct lobbying of American politicians that yielded the most fruit. In 1991, Cree Grand Chief Matthew Coon Come met with Mario Cuomo, then governor of the State of New York. A few months later, Governor Cuomo, after conducting feasibility studies about alternative sources of energy and the consequences of cancelling the multibillion-dollar agreement with Hydro-Québec, directed the New York Power Authority to cancel the contract in favour of energy conservation and purchasing power from other sources. Consolidated Edison followed suit shortly afterwards.

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The government of Québec suspended the Great Whale River project in 1994 indefinitely. The new markets for energy had evaporated with the cancellation of the contracts. In addition, the project had just been subjected to further delays because of inadequacies with HydroQuébec’s environmental assessment. Meanwhile, growth in the domestic demand for power was continuing to slacken. The campaign to stop the Great Whale River project had cost the Cree $8 million (Grand Council of the Crees n.d.). Bolstering the Foundation: The relentless rush for resources in Eeyou Istchee continued unabated; forestry companies logged more Cree hunting territories, and Québec pressured the Cree to agree to yet another hydro project, this time on rivers in the southern part of their territory. The image of the Cree as defenders of the land was shaken in the fall of 2001 when plans to redirect the water from the middle parts of the Eastmain and Rupert rivers into the La Grande River were revealed in an agreement in principle, signed by Grand Chief Ted Moses of the Grand Council of the Crees and the premier of Québec. With the agreement in principle the Nottaway-Broadback-Rupert (NBR) hydro project, the third of the three projects announced in 1971, was abandoned permanently. The trade-off was the smaller Eastmain-1 and Eastmain-1-A/ Sarcelles/Rupert diversion projects, which involved less destruction of territory than the NBR. Negotiated in secret by the senior Cree leadership and top officials of the Québec government, the agreement in principle appeared to contradict much of what the Cree had been fighting for up until then. Many Cree were shocked by it; yet, in a referendum held prior to its ratification, 69 per cent voted in its favour. As with the two previous hydroelectric projects—the La Grande project and the Great Whale project—issues surrounding the third struck to the heart and soul of the people. But since the signing of the James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement, the federal and provincial governments had thwarted its implementation, forcing the Cree to be entangled in constant battles to oblige the governments to honour their obligations. Over twenty lawsuits had been filed. In the meantime, Québec was withholding monies owed to the Cree pending resolution of some

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of the court cases. Of great concern were funds Québec had frozen for community and economic development. Cree leaders felt they needed a change in their relations with Québec. They needed to break the impasse. So, in return for Cree consent to drop the many lawsuits against the province and for Cree consent to the Eastmain-1 and Eastmain-1-A/ Sarcelles/Rupert diversion projects, Québec agreed to fulfill commitments that had been defined in the James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement. For one, as stipulated in the agreement, Québec promised to honour its obligation to provide the Cree with the financial means to pursue community and economic development: $3.5 billion over fifty years. The new agreement, the Agreement Concerning a New Relationship between the Québec Crees and the Québec Government, was also known as the Paix des Braves (Peace of the Braves) in honour of the desire of the signatories to bring peace to the two nations—Québec and the Cree Nation. The Cree leadership considered the Paix des Braves another step towards greater Cree control over Eeyou Istchee. It included provisions for a new forestry regime and the management of faunal resources to better reflect the needs of the trappers. It also assured the Cree ownership of a share of the region’s natural resources, electricity, minerals and forests (Grand Council of the Crees 2002, 6). By the time the Paix des Braves was signed in 2002, circumstances in the Cree communities were quite different from 1975 when the James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement was negotiated. The Cree population had more than doubled, having increased from six thousand to thirteen thousand. Most were under the age of twenty-five. Most of the youth were unemployed. And they didn’t trap. While hunting and trapping as a way of life continued to anchor the communities, grounding the people both culturally and spiritually, it employed only about one-third of the labour force. Another one-third was unemployed, housing was in short supply and social problems rampant.6 The money offered by Québec through the Paix des Braves was seen by most of the Cree leadership as necessary to kickstart the local economies and, in particular, to provide badly needed opportunities for the youth. 6

Public administration employed the remaining one-third of the labour force, while an insignificant number of Cree had jobs in mining, forestry and the hydro projects. There were very few local enterprises.

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With it, the Cree felt they could become developers of the territory, establishing forestry and mining operations and, in the process, ensuring these operations were compatible with the Cree way of life. The hope was that, with the new agreement, hunters could continue their traditions while other Cree participated more fully in a non-hunting-based economy. The high percentage of Cree voting in favour of the Paix des Braves belied the fact its endorsement was lukewarm, even reluctant. Some voted for it because they were afraid not to; in selling the settlement to the people, the Cree leadership had told them it was the best deal they would ever be offered. But not everyone trusted Québec, remembering how readily the province broke the promises made in the James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement and wondering why it would keep them this time. Most people who supported the Paix des Braves, however, did so because they hoped it would benefit the youth. Traditionally, the land had represented security—emotional, physical and spiritual—and in trading their land for the financial benefits associated with the Paix des Braves, Îyiyiu hoped future generations would also be assured security. Only this time security meant jobs. The river was sacrificed for the longterm benefit of the youth. It was a huge gift. The decision to permit the flooding of the river wasn’t made lightly or easily. This became abundantly clear in the 2005 elections for grand chief of the Grand Council of the Crees, contested by Matthew Mukash, a former chief of Whapmagoostui and a leader in the struggle to stop the Great Whale River project, and Ted Moses, the incumbent grand chief and chief Cree negotiator of the Paix des Braves. Matthew Mukash won. He had always opposed the Paix des Braves and had campaigned to be grand chief on the promise of undoing it. His election reflected the conflict people felt about hydro development in the Eastmain-Rupert rivers area. For, although the Paix des Braves was signed on the basis of the 69 per cent approval rating it had received in the referendum, only 53 per cent of eligible voters had actually participated in the referendum. During the elections for grand chief the people voiced their disapproval.7 7

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Grand Chief Mukash, a great-grandson of Long Legs Mukash who was featured in a story included earlier in this chapter, worked to promote the development of alternative sources of energy, particularly wind power, but the dictates of being in office required him to abandon his promise to undo the Paix des Braves.

Epilogue —Taking Charge

Until the beginning of the twenty-first century, the Cree had been united in their views about the land and by common beliefs about how best to protect it. The debates involved in the referendum for the Paix des Braves, however, revealed fissures in the body politic regarding the path Îyiyiu think Cree society should be forging. Opinions are divided about how best to prosper from Cree traditional territory. That being said, people are fully behind the efforts of the Grand Council of the Crees in their quest to secure a share of control over resource development and regional government in Eeyou Istchee. The Paix des Braves ushered in a decade during which, through the negotiation of subsequent agreements, the Grand Council has attempted to accomplish just that. Some of the good intentions in the Paix des Braves about expanded Cree control over their territory were undermined around the time of its signing, when powers held by the province were transferred to the nonNative municipalities in the region. Following the 1971 announcement of the James Bay hydroelectric project, the Québec government had established the Société de développement de la Baie James (SDBJ). While its primary mandate was to promote the development and exploitation of natural resources in the James Bay region, the SDBJ served as the de facto regional government. In late December 2001, the province transferred powers from the SDBJ to the newly reformed Municipalité de Baie-James, consisting of the non-Native towns in the region (Municipalité de BaieJames n.d.). The transfer restricted the influence of the Crees to their communities, thereby excluding them from the planning and development of the territory. The Cree, who formed the majority in the region, felt they were being marginalized (Grand Council of the Crees 2011). The Cree saw an opening in 2009, however, when Premier Jean Charest unveiled the Plan Nord, his legacy project promoting resource development in Eeyou Istchee. The Cree said there would be no Plan Nord without their involvement in the governance of the region. Insisting that Québec abolish the Municipalité de Baie-James, the Cree suggested it be replaced by a new power sharing arrangement—a regional government composed of Cree representatives and representatives of the nonNative municipalities. Details were elaborated in the 2012 Agreement on Governance in the Eeyou Istchee James Bay Territory, signed by the

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government of Québec and the Cree Nation. This historic agreement allows for the creation of a new regional government, one in which the Cree and non-Native James Bay residents have an equal share of the vote. Just as the Cree had proposed, the new regional government replaces the Municipalité de Baie-James, and expands the power of the Cree over lands and resources in northern Québec (Canadian Press 2012). The Whapmagoostui elders told their stories not only to transmit knowledge but to inform contemporary behaviour, to address real questions. With fierce pride, the elders described the knowledge, skills, beliefs and values that guided life on the land. But is any of this relevant today? Indeed it is. As illustrated by events that took place in the years following the announcement of the James Bay hydroelectric project, the Îyiyiu used the knowledge and tools available to control forces impinging upon them, quickly applying new tools and strategies to address new situations. Forty years ago, theirs was a hunting-based society comprised of small isolated groups—typically extended families—spread over the land. The exercise of power was usually organized around the needs of the hunting group. The Cree as a group were all but invisible to the outside world. There has been a seismic change since then, as the Grand Council of the Crees has gradually and systematically cemented the position of the Cree as a major player in northern Québec. The consistent effort over the years to maintain control over Cree traditional lands, animals and other resources is a reflection of the continued commitment to the interests of the trappers. But now exerting control over land and resources is seen as integral not only to the well-being of the hunting group, but to community development and nation building. While the world is much different from that of the past, the need for visionary thinking by present-day Îyiyiu, for the mind’s eye to “see” Cree solutions, continues. The stories provide a vehicle for thinking about ideas that are deeply rooted in Îyiyiu culture. Through them the past becomes present. Beyond the magic of the oldest stories lie fundamental ideas about the Îyiyiu’s relationship with people, animals and the land. And fundamental ideas about character. As revealed in the more recent

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stories, despite the devastating experiences the Whapmagoostui Îyiyiu had when game was in decline, the key to their survival was their spirit of independence, interwoven with a moral compass that stressed respect, hardwork and determination, sharing and cooperation, and humour and hope—qualities that are timeless.

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G L O S SA RY

achân. Cannibal, formed like a man but much bigger, with superhuman physical strength and magical powers. ahchâhkuschîsh. Old, used-up spirit. apishâtihkush. A young caribou after it has lost all its baby fuzz. âshtihtâkâm. Sunny side of a body of water; the north shore. aspihtâsihtâkin. Boughs placed on each side of the entrance to a dwelling to keep air from entering the dwelling. atihkush. A young caribou. atihkw â iyâskuwâsich. A young caribou that has lost all except a few patches of its brownish fur. It is quite big. Caribou of this age run the fastest. Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiu, plural: Atimâpîsimuwiyiyiuch. People raised north of the Great Whale River near the barren grounds. Aushâwâwiyiyiu. People who live on the barren grounds, referring to Naskapi/Innu. Ayischîmâu. Inuit. ayischîmâwikuhpih. Winter coat, “Inuit coat.” châimâ. Said by the Îyiyiu to let the Inuit know they wanted to make friends with them [from Inuktitut, chimo]. chichikâwin. First kind of hat the Îyiyiu traded with the whiteman. Also: chichikâwiniû. chihchiwitâu. Caribou of a particular age. chihtûtâu. Absence of game attributed to the soul of a person who has died recently and has gone off with the game on his back. chikâwî. Mother. chisâyâkw. Bear. chisâyiyiu. (1) Old man. (2) Grandfather. chîwîpûmikûn. Someone is trying to shoot you with an arrow, or someone is trying to throw something at you.

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Înû. The people, referring to Cree living in the inland Cree communities. istûtâkin. Mixture made of two kinds of animal oils (caribou lard with seal oil, whale oil with beef lard etc.). iyiyinihtuyi. Spear attached to a long cord that was used by the Îyiyiu for the traditional whale hunt. Îyiyiu. The people, referring to Cree living in the coastal communities on the east side of James Bay. kâchîmâhîchâsiu, plural: kâchîmâhîchâsiuch. People from the west side of James Bay—from the Moose River and Albany River region—who went on “Esquimaux” hunts in the 1600s and 1700s. kâ îyâskitât. While tracking game, the animal walks or runs faster than the tracker so that the tracker can not catch up to it. Sometimes the tracker is not able even catch sight of it. kischwâpitâkin. Shaking tent or conjuring house. komituks. Inuit sleds. kûhkum. Grandmother. kwâkunsâwânch. Little thin cakes made from wâhkunch (black lichen). mânt. Term used when addressing a visitor or a person one is visiting. Short form of mânitâu. mâtinmâkwâunu. Custom in which food was put together for everyone to share, done especially when food was scarce and a large group of people needed to be fed. mihtukân. Winter cabin. mimâhchikwâpiskuhuwâsiuch. The ones who tie people up with chains or metal, referring to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. mimâyisîu. When a person takes more than his share of food. minitû-aschihkw. Merpeople pails, sometimes called giant kettles or potholes. mischihchî. Owned by men with supernatural powers. When mischihchî was put on the trail, it caused people to have sore legs. Otter skins were used to counter its effects. mischinâhkw. Spirit master in charge of the fish and other creatures in the water. Îyâukâu mischinâhkw. Spirit master in charge of animals living on dry land.

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mistâpâu, plural: mistâpâuch, short form: mistâp. Spirit helper that acts as an intermediary between individual Îyiyiu and the rest of the spirit world. mitâu, plural: mitâuch. A person who handles a lot of power. This power was used mostly to find game, communicate with others over long distances, change the weather and to locate people and lost objects. It was also used to protect people from harm, although in some cases it was used for sorcery, to do harm. mushâwâusîpîutihkw. Barren grounds river caribou, referring to the George River. mûshkimî. Broth, in which meat has been boiled, that was drunk as a beverage before the introduction of tea, milk and fruit juice. nânipitâhwâu. Fat on a very big caribou. niminâhûnân. We have killed something to eat (have a successful hunt). nipowomen. The hunger people feel when they can not eat what they want to eat, for instance, caribou and fish. nîsta. A form of address. nitiwâpiu. While searching for information using mind power, seeing and finding things that are far away. nûhtâshin. The hunger and weakness a person feels because he hasn’t had anything to eat at all. pâchipâwâh. Asking the deceased to send food to the living: Pâchipâwâh chisâyâkw (Send a bear our way.). pâhpâwâchinimiwâu. Tapping the outside of the shaking tent by the audience to get the attention of the spirit visiting the tent. pâpihtâutihkw. Caribou that crossed the Mistisîpî River at Upitamischiu Falls on their migration south. pâunîu. When a person has had no food for a long time, when they are starving. pihkutâuchisimitûnânu. The holding and pushing of players in a ball game. Pikutiskwâu. Female spirit leader of the caribou and all the game animals and the highest power in the world of animal spirits. pimî. Made from the marrow of crushed, boiled caribou bones and fat. piniu. Caribou of a particular age.

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pipâumîchimâu. Using the shaking tent to find food. pipâutihkwâu. When a person uses his mental powers to find caribou. Pîsimwâhtâwiyiyiu. Îyiyiu who live south of the Great Whale River. pispiskupiyastichikin. Bear intestines that have been wrapped in boughs to make them easier to carry. pitâwânsîch. Pouch for bullets and shells. pitâwânsîsh. Bear that is older than a wîtipimâkinish (young cub). pûnisinâchikin. Stone attached to a net that is placed at the deepest end of a lake or river. pwât, plural: pwâtich. Strangers or enemies who threatened and sometimes attacked the Îyiyiu while travelling through Îyiyiu lands. shukâstinipîyû. The movement the shaking tent makes when the visiting spirits leave the tent. uchâkitihkw. Constellation of stars. uchâshûmâkw. Arctic char. uchimâskwâu. Wife of the Hudson’s Bay Company manager. uchimâu. Leader or “boss,” also applied to the Hudson’s Bay Company manager. ushkihû. (1) A caribou that has shed its antlers. (2) A young caribou during mating season. utût. Fat on the rump of caribou. wâhkun, plural: wâhkunch. Black lichen that grows on rocks (rock tripe). wâmishtikûshîhkânich. People who were not fully white—Métis—who lived on the land like the Îyiyiu. Wâmishtikushîu. Whiteman. Wâmistkûshish. “Little whiteman,” referring to Harold Udgârten, an employee of the Hudson’s Bay Company through the twentieth century until his death in 1950. Wâpinûtâwîyiyiu. People to the east, referring to Innu/Montagnais. wâspishûyân. Cree bunting bag. wîhtikû. Cannibal that possesses people spiritually such that the person also becomes a cannibal; smaller than an achân. wîniskuh. Groundhog. wîs. Fatty covering of the stomach.

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wîsâshuhtâu. Caribou at the stage where they shed the fuzzy part of their antlers by rubbing them on trees. wîshichiminh. Low bush cranberry or lingonberry. wistimânû. It has been sighted, said when caribou tracks have been seen. wîtipimâkinish, plural: wîtipimâkinishich. Young bear cub. Yâtiwînipâkw. Sea bay, referring to the region of Richmond Gulf.

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R EFER ENCE S

Primary Sources Audio Tapes Atchynia, Sam. 1974. Tapes 1A,B; 2A,B; 5A,B. Interviews by Lucy Turner. Translations by Emily Masty. George, Matthew. 1990. Tapes 1–14. Interviews and translations by Emily Masty. George, Rupert. 1974. Tapes 23A,B; 24A. Interviews by Lucy Turner. Translations by Emily Masty. Kawapit, John. 1974. Tapes 32A,B; 33A,B. Interviews by Lucy Turner. Translations by Emily Masty. Kawapit, Suzanne. 1991. Tapes 1–12. Interviews and translations by Emily Masty. Mamianskum, Noah. 1986. Tapes 1A,B–14A,B. Interviews and translations by Emily Masty. Masty Sr., Ann. 1986. Tapes 1A,B. Interviews and translations by Emily Masty. Masty, Sam. 1974. Tapes 20A,B; 21A,B; 25A,B; 26A,B; 27A,B. Interviews by Lucy Turner. Translations by Emily Masty. Masty, Samson. 1974. Life History 1. Interview by Lucy Turner. Translation by Emily Masty. Masty, Samson. 1986. Tapes 1A,B; 2A. Interviews and translations by Emily Masty. Natachequan, Hannah. 1974. Tapes 16A,B; Tape 17A,B. Interviews by Lucy Turner. Translations by Emily Masty.

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Natachequan, Philip. 1986. Tapes 1A,B. Interviews and translations by Emily Masty. Sandy, Maggie. 1986. Tapes 18A,B; 19A,B. Interviews and translations by Emily Masty. Sandy, Peter. 1974. Tape 31A. Interviews by Lucy Turner. Translations by Emily Masty. Sheshamush, Ronnie. 1986. Tapes 8–15. Interviews and translations by Emily Masty. The transcribed 1974 interviews by Lucy Turner are at the Museum of Civilization, Hull, Québec.

Manuscript Sources Cree Regional Authority, Nemaska, Québec, and Whapmagoostui First Nation, Whapmagoostui, Québec Whapmagoostui Place Names Project 1993 Hudson’s Bay Company Archives (HBCA), Provincial Archives of Manitoba, Library and Archives Post Records: B.186 Rupert House Post B.372 Great Whale River Post B.436 Fort Mackenzie Post Library and Archives Canada, Ottawa Church Missionary Society Records: Newnham Papers Museum of Civilization, Hull, Québec Ethnology Service: Harvey Feit, 1981–1983, Waswanipi, Interviews Richard Preston, Waskaganish, Field Notes

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References

Whapmagoostui First Nation, Whapmagoostui, Québec Transcribed stories told by Charlie Dick

Photograph Sources David Denton, Val-d’Or Elizabeth Dick, Whapmagoostui Hudson’s Bay Company Archives, Winnipeg Library and Archives Canada, Ottawa Francis Marcoux, Val d’Or McCord Museum of Canadian History, Montreal National Film Board of Canada/Library and Archives Canada, Ottawa Queen’s University, Kingston, ON Christian Roy, Montreal Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC

Secondary Sources Adelson, Naomi. 1992. “‘Being Alive Well’: Indigenous Belief as Opposition Among the Whapmagoostui Cree.” PhD diss., Department of Anthropology, McGill University, Montreal, QC. Anderson, J.W. 1961. The Fur Trader’s Story. Toronto: Ryerson Press. Bergerud, A.T., Stuart N. Luttich, and Lodewijk Camps. 2008. The Return of Caribou to Ungava. Montreal and Kingston: McGillQueen’s University Press. Borron, E.B. 1890. “Report on the Basin of Moose River and Adjacent Country Belonging to the Province of Ontario.” Sessional Papers of Ontario. 87. Warwick and Sons. Brousseau, Kevin. 2010. Trilingual Lexicon of the Fauna and Flora of Iynu Asciy. Waswanipi: Cree Research and Development Institute. Canadian Press. 2012. “Quebec Gives More Power to Cree Nation.” Globe and Mail, July 24, www.theglobeandmail.com/news/politics/ article4438763.

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Curran, William Tees, and Harold A. Calkins. 1917. In Canada’s Wonderful Northland. New York: G.P. Putnam and Sons. Davies K.G., ed. 1963. Northern Quebec and Labrador Journals and Correspondence, 1819–1835. London: Hudson’s Bay Record Society. Eastcree.org. Cree–English–French Dictionary. http://www.eastcree. org/cree/en/dictionary/. Feit, H. 1978. “Waswanipi Realities and Adaptation: Resource Management and Cognitive Structure.” PhD diss. Department of Anthropology, McGill University, Montreal, QC. Francis, Daniel. 1976. “An Historical Chronology of Eastern James Bay, 1610–1870.” Paper presented to Direction de l’archéologie et de l’ethnologie, Ministère des Affaires culturelles, Québec. Francis, Daniel, and Toby Morantz. 1983. Partners in Furs: A History of the Fur Trade in Eastern James Bay, 1600–1870. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Grand Council of the Crees. 2001. “An Interview with Ted Moses: A Discussion of the Agreement in Principle.” In Eeyou Eenou Nation, 8–12. Grand Council of the Crees (Eeyou Istchee) / Cree Regional Authority. ———. 2002. “An Interview with Ted Moses.” Eeyou Eenou Nation, 6–8. Grand Council of the Crees (Eeyou Istchee) / Cree Regional Authority. ———. 2011. “Cree-Québec Relations.” Annual Report 2010–2011, 22–35. Grand Council of the Crees (Eeyou Istchee) / Cree Regional Authority. ———. N.d. Cree Legal Struggle Against the Great Whale Project. Grand Council of the Crees (Eeyou Istchee) / Cree Regional Authority. Accessed June 28, 2012. http://www.gcc.ca/archive/article.php?id=37. Halley, Patrice. 1997. “La longue marche des caribous.” Géographica. In Actualité, Sept., 4–9. Hammond, Marc. n.d. “Why Did the Naskapis of Quebec Quit Their Life on the Land?” Unpublished paper. Montreal. Harris, Lynda. 1976. Revillon Frères Trading Company Limited. Fur Traders of the North, 1901–1936. Toronto: Ministry of Culture and Recreation.

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Honigmann, John J. 1951. “An Episode in the Administration of the Great Whale River Eskimo.” Human Organization 10 (2):5–14. ———. 1952. “Intercultural Relations at Great Whale River.” American Anthropologist 54 (4):510–22. ———. 1962. Social Networks in Great Whale River: Notes on an Eskimo, Montagnais-Naskapi and Euro-Canadian Community. Anthrolological Series 54. Bulletin 78. Ottawa: National Museums of Canada. ———. 1981. “Expressive Aspects of Subarctic Indian Culture.” Subarctic, edited by June Helm, 718–38. Handbook of North American Indians. Vol. 6. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution. James, William. 1985. A Fur Trader’s Photographs: A. A. Chesterfield in the District of Ungava, 1901–1904. Montreal and Kingston: McGillQueen’s University Press. Leith, Charles K., and A.T. Leith. 1912. A Summer and Winter on Hudson Bay. Cartwell Printing Co.: Madison, WI. Low, A. P. 1896. Report on Explorations in the Labrador Peninsula along the Eastmain, Koksoak, Hamilton, Manicouagan and Portions of Other Rivers, in 1892–93–94–95. Annual Report. 8. Ottawa, Ontario: Geological Survey of Canada. Morantz, Toby. 1977. “James Bay Trading Captains of the Eighteenth Century: New Perspectives on Algonquian Social Organization.” In Papers of the Eighth Algonquian Conference, edited by William Cowan, 224–36. Ottawa: Carlton University. ———. 1985. “Ethnohistory.” Archaeology and Ethnohistory of La Grande Complex Region. Cree Regional Authority for Société d’énergie de la Baie James. ———. 2002. “The White Man’s Gonna Getcha”: The Colonial Challenge to the Crees in Quebec. Montreal and Kingston: McGillQueen’s University Press. Municipalité de Baie-James. n.d. Historique: Le projet du siècle et la création de la Municipalité. Accessed July 16, 2012. http://www.municipalite.baie-james.qc.ca/html/historique.php. Newman, Peter. 1985. Company of Adventurers. Markham, ON: Penguin.

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