Ilatsiak - 61 - More Strange Stories
Stormy weather had been raging for three days and life inside the small collection tents was beginning to become wearisome for the inhabitants. David had managed to catch up with this group who were also headed to the lake for the fishing season. They were a mixed lot, some he knew, but many people were new to him as they were Netsilik people who lived usually on the east coast of Boothia.
The weather forced everyone to remain inside the tents. The elders had told all the old stories at least a couple times and the children were starting to need things to do. Magical string figures, the game of catching a small weasel’s skull on a pointed stick to which it was attached by a short length of caribou sinew no longer held their attention for long. Still, venturing outside while the winds whipped up the unusual mid-summer snow into a blinding whiteness could be deadly. Children were scolded every time they moved in the direction of the tent entrances. Elders told them the stories about the unfortunate people who had ventured out just a few paces to relieve themselves. People who never returned, lost forever in the swirling winds and snow. In the white-out, blowing snow conditions they had not been able to find their way back the few paces to the entrance again and wandered about until they died. Blizzards could be very dangerous at any time of the year.
Some people began telling stories again, but this time a strange quietness lay over the audience. These were newer stories, stories which, because they told of dead people, were usually avoided and kept away from children’s ears. But, once again, the strange white people being seen in the area had brought these dreadful stories back to life and the older people began to speak of them as if to understand them, to explain them to each other. An middle aged lady told the story about her family’s meeting 40 or so of the strange white men dragging their boat along the southern coast of King William Island about a year or so ago. They must have come from the frozen-in ships as they were called. They were the only white people to have come in recent years and the only ones ever to have came here to these lands to the west. Oh, how miserable they had looked, how black their lips had been and how worn out their faces were. She told how they could not speak the Inuit language, but had gestered that they were hungry. She told of how the people had offered them a seal to eat, and that afterwards they had all camped together for the night, but how many people had been afraid of them. They could see the desparate look about these white people. They could not be sure what might happen, what these strangers might do. Nervous and fearing for their safety, the people made the decision to move further along the coast and wait to see what the ship people did. They would try and catch another seal and leave it for them to pick up.
So early the next day they quietly slipped away from the unfortunate ones who would surely die soon without more food. To the Inuit, it was clear that to stay and help them would have brought disaster to them all. There were strange men among them who seemed to be irrational and had to be restrained by the others for some reason she didn’t understand. They had yelled and shouted at them. She told of how frightened they had all been and that was why they decided during the evening that it was best not to stay to try and help the strangers too much, but instead to leave them alone. It had been last summer, she went on, when no summer had come, when hunting had been poor and many people were going hungry, especially along that coast. The group never did leave any food for the ship people, she said. They bearly caught food for themselves. No caribou had come across to Kikitarjuk during the summer and even the geese had not stayed long. Her story reminded them of how the cold icy storms had raged one day only to be followed by rainy weather and sleet the next, creating an unending season of misery for all. This summer wasa turning out to be little better, everyone agreed.
The adults in the tent listened quietly. No one wanted to hear the story, but no one was brave enough to stop the teller. They sat and waited for it to finish. David waited in the silence that lay over the people in the gloom of the tent after the lady stopped speaking. Everyone seemed to have their own memories of those times so recently passed. David couldn’t help but think of the overturned boat he had seen so recently. Was this the same group, he wondered? Then another man began to speak softly and slowly, often clearing his throat and stopping as the memories came back to him. He spoke of a later time, sometime during the early fall, after the woman had seen the strangers. He told of his going to the half sunken ship, one of the frozen-in ships belonging to the strangers which had got free of the ice and had came down to Ootugoolik to the west of the Adelaide peninsula. He had gone there with Kunana, a friend of Agayuq’s vaguely known to David, who had apparently been there several times to get wood to make a a sled and other things. He told of the wonders they had found there and of seeing a dead man inside the ship, big and heavy and dressed in dark strange clothes made from skins unlike anything Inuit had ever seen. Now that ship was gone, sunk when a fire started after a loud explosion. Many people had visited that ship and have wood and other things from it. Now it was gone, they were disappointed to have lost so many of the wonderful things it had contained.
David said nothing as he listened to these stories, but he was curious that everyone seemed to know so much about the ships and their crews, yet he had learned so little. Were people keeping the truth from him? Once again, he decided to get Agayuq to open up and tell him all he knew when he found him, hopefully at the lake.
The weather forced everyone to remain inside the tents. The elders had told all the old stories at least a couple times and the children were starting to need things to do. Magical string figures, the game of catching a small weasel’s skull on a pointed stick to which it was attached by a short length of caribou sinew no longer held their attention for long. Still, venturing outside while the winds whipped up the unusual mid-summer snow into a blinding whiteness could be deadly. Children were scolded every time they moved in the direction of the tent entrances. Elders told them the stories about the unfortunate people who had ventured out just a few paces to relieve themselves. People who never returned, lost forever in the swirling winds and snow. In the white-out, blowing snow conditions they had not been able to find their way back the few paces to the entrance again and wandered about until they died. Blizzards could be very dangerous at any time of the year.
Some people began telling stories again, but this time a strange quietness lay over the audience. These were newer stories, stories which, because they told of dead people, were usually avoided and kept away from children’s ears. But, once again, the strange white people being seen in the area had brought these dreadful stories back to life and the older people began to speak of them as if to understand them, to explain them to each other. An middle aged lady told the story about her family’s meeting 40 or so of the strange white men dragging their boat along the southern coast of King William Island about a year or so ago. They must have come from the frozen-in ships as they were called. They were the only white people to have come in recent years and the only ones ever to have came here to these lands to the west. Oh, how miserable they had looked, how black their lips had been and how worn out their faces were. She told how they could not speak the Inuit language, but had gestered that they were hungry. She told of how the people had offered them a seal to eat, and that afterwards they had all camped together for the night, but how many people had been afraid of them. They could see the desparate look about these white people. They could not be sure what might happen, what these strangers might do. Nervous and fearing for their safety, the people made the decision to move further along the coast and wait to see what the ship people did. They would try and catch another seal and leave it for them to pick up.
So early the next day they quietly slipped away from the unfortunate ones who would surely die soon without more food. To the Inuit, it was clear that to stay and help them would have brought disaster to them all. There were strange men among them who seemed to be irrational and had to be restrained by the others for some reason she didn’t understand. They had yelled and shouted at them. She told of how frightened they had all been and that was why they decided during the evening that it was best not to stay to try and help the strangers too much, but instead to leave them alone. It had been last summer, she went on, when no summer had come, when hunting had been poor and many people were going hungry, especially along that coast. The group never did leave any food for the ship people, she said. They bearly caught food for themselves. No caribou had come across to Kikitarjuk during the summer and even the geese had not stayed long. Her story reminded them of how the cold icy storms had raged one day only to be followed by rainy weather and sleet the next, creating an unending season of misery for all. This summer wasa turning out to be little better, everyone agreed.
The adults in the tent listened quietly. No one wanted to hear the story, but no one was brave enough to stop the teller. They sat and waited for it to finish. David waited in the silence that lay over the people in the gloom of the tent after the lady stopped speaking. Everyone seemed to have their own memories of those times so recently passed. David couldn’t help but think of the overturned boat he had seen so recently. Was this the same group, he wondered? Then another man began to speak softly and slowly, often clearing his throat and stopping as the memories came back to him. He spoke of a later time, sometime during the early fall, after the woman had seen the strangers. He told of his going to the half sunken ship, one of the frozen-in ships belonging to the strangers which had got free of the ice and had came down to Ootugoolik to the west of the Adelaide peninsula. He had gone there with Kunana, a friend of Agayuq’s vaguely known to David, who had apparently been there several times to get wood to make a a sled and other things. He told of the wonders they had found there and of seeing a dead man inside the ship, big and heavy and dressed in dark strange clothes made from skins unlike anything Inuit had ever seen. Now that ship was gone, sunk when a fire started after a loud explosion. Many people had visited that ship and have wood and other things from it. Now it was gone, they were disappointed to have lost so many of the wonderful things it had contained.
David said nothing as he listened to these stories, but he was curious that everyone seemed to know so much about the ships and their crews, yet he had learned so little. Were people keeping the truth from him? Once again, he decided to get Agayuq to open up and tell him all he knew when he found him, hopefully at the lake.
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