COMPANIONS – THE HARD DAYS!
“I feel so low Miguel. Day after day of cloud and darkness; and the rain, will it never stop? No wonder the Captain named this place Desolation Sound. I don’t care about some Northwest Passage. I don’t care about getting rich in the fur trade. I don’t care about claiming land for the King. I don’t care about the Spanish, the Russians, and the Americans. I am sick. My belly is on fire. The streets of London were hard, but living on this tiny ship in the middle of nowhere is driving me crazy. I want to go home!!” Simon rolled on his side as his canvas bunk swayed in unison to the currents of Friendly Cove on Vancouver Island.
Miguel, Simon’s young Cuban shipmate, spoke compassionately. “Things will be different when you feel better. I will talk to the Doctor.”
“NO! He will give me more of that castor oil. It makes me feel worse not better!”
Miguel understood. “I wish we were back in Cuba. My grandmother would know just what to do. She would look into my eyes and whisper, ‘this will make you my innocent little boy again – and get rid of your stomach cramps.’ She would make a soup with quartered pigeons and chickens, add carrots, sweet potato and plantain slices, tomatoes, strips of cabbage, pimentos, parsley and garlic cloves. When the vegetables were cooked, she would mash them to thicken the broth. She would call all my family and all my friends and make them sit in a round circle with me in the middle. Then my grandmother would serve the broth with small squares of bread fried in oil and butter. I would sleep and sleep. I always felt better the next morning.”
Relating his story gave Miguel an idea. “I wonder if Tyee’s grandmother can help you. Let’s go ashore.”
Simon felt so sick and so depressed that any idea sounded better than staying cramped in the fetid air of the lower deck of the Discovery.
Once in the Nootka village, Miguel found their Nootka friend. Language was difficult; so many peoples, so many languages. From the northern coast to the south included the Tlingit, the Haida, the Tsimshian, Bella Coola, Kwagiulth, Coast Salish, Nu-chah-nulth and small groups such as the Moachat and Ahousaht and Sto:lo. The most effective communication was through hand signals and mimicking.
Language did not prevent these boys from becoming good friends. Miguel pointed to Simon’s stomach and Tyee drew an imaginary curtain across Simon’s face to indicate the look of illness in his friend’s eyes. The young Nootka boy tugged on Simon’s shirt and pulled him towards a great wooden longhouse.
Miguel took a deep breath. “I love the smell of this cedar wood Simon. In my home, the fragrance of the palm hangs in the air. My people use the palm tree for everything; fibres from its trunk are dried and woven to make walls for our houses and fences for our yards. From the top of the tree comes 'yagu' the tough, insect-resistant bark which makes a useful wall plaster. Then the broad leaves of the palm are used to weatherproof our houses with a thatched roof. It gives us fodder to feed the pigs and wood for furniture and material for cords, ropes, baskets, and even sandals for our feet. The palm is the symbol of Cuba. It represents our dignity and determination. These Pacific coast people are like my people except the musky odour of cedar replaces the palm tree.”
They entered the longhouse through a massive center pole. Simon looked around. This was the home of the chief, forty-five metres long and twelve metres wide. The rich, damp smell of the temperate rainforest permeated the mighty cedar planks used to construct the solid roof and loose walls. The furniture consisted of simple wooden boxes, tubs, trays, bags, and baskets all made of the natural wooden fibre of the land. Their clothes were made of bark woven into a single garment like a loose cloak or skirt reaching to the feet. Shells and burnished cooper added a hint of colour but the predominate smell and feel was wood; not the palm that Miguel remembered but the cedar, pine, spruce, hemlock, yew, fir, alder, Maplewood, and cottonwood used to enhance every aspect of aboriginal life. The natural woods of the temperate rainforest were used to make tools, weapons, mats, baskets, fish traps, and cords and processed for glues, waterproofing agents, cleansers, perfumes, and medicine.
“My people use the palm of our jungles and these people use the trees of their forests.”
Simon nodded but his stomach was cramping again. Tyee took him to his grandmother. Miguel used his body to describe Simon’s symptoms. He rubbed his belly and spewed out his tongue to pretend to vomit. He sat on his haunches and rattled his tongue to sound like diarrhea. Grandmother smiled and began to undress the boy with her tender, leathery hands.
Simon resisted. “Don’t be embarrassed Simon. Look at Tyee, he is making a circle with his fingers. She is looking for the pox. You know how deadly smallpox is for these people. And don’t cover yourself Simon. She is checking you for syphilis.”
Despite his embarrassment Simon realized that the old lady was only protecting her people from the European diseases that were killing whole tribes along the coast.
Confident that his illness was flu, she laid Simon on a long cedar plank next to the smoldering fire. Water boiled in the hot embers and the aged woman brewed a fragrant tea using western hemlock bark. Before serving the tea she rubbed Simon’s lower belly with both her hands. As she increased the force of her massage, she sang and repeated certain phrases over and over again. The old lady bent down and blew away the evil spirits. Finally, she wrapped him in bearskin and fed the boy enough hot tea to make him sweat.
Miguel and Tyee left Simon to rest.
In the late afternoon, the two boys returned to check on their companion.
The sky was still overcast but as if signaling hope for brighter days, the hidden sun revealed itself for an instant. The rays snuck over the mountaintops, darted through the guardian trees, and bathed the shoreline in a soft glow. The vibrant white and purple lupine flowers provided a splash of colour, but the blanket of permanent clouds and mist returned to cool the temperature, hold in the dampness, and curl around Simon’s aching heart.
“Come.” Tyee used one of the few English words he knew.
The boys followed and Tyee led them along the water’s edge to the estuary of a wide stream. At this point, where the fresh mountain water met the salty Pacific sea, the stream was alive with fish and wild life. The salmon were returning to spawn. The fish’s bright pink bodies fish-tailed up the stream as they catapulted themselves over rocks and downed trees. Nothing but death could stop the young Chinook and coho on their quest to lay their eggs in the crystalline streams.
Miguel bent down close to the water to compare the smell of the cedar to the smell of the salt water. A solid chum salmon leaped into the air and smacked against Miguel’s cheek. The boy fell backwards and his friends laughed as a dark blue bruise began to form below Miguel’s right eye.
Tyee picked up a fishing spear. The boy knew exactly how to hold the long shaft and iron hook. He braced his legs and positioned his weapon just in front of the fighting fish. He thrust hard and caught the salmon behind the gills. Tyee bent his knees and twisted his broad back. He arched the spear out of the water and flung the flopping fish hard against the rocks. In three minutes he had three fish. Simon wanted to try the technique.
Tyee handed the sailor boy the long, solid fishing spear. The reflection of the water confused Simon and his first thrusts missed completely. He waded over to a swampy pool of kelp beds. The thick kelp slowed the fish and Simon focused all his energy on a fat coho. His spear flashed and the iron hook sank into the pink flesh.
The battle was not over. As Simon began to leverage his catch from the sea, air bubbles erupted on the surface of the water. A sea otter rolled onto its fur covered back. The creature dug its clawed front feet into Simon’s salmon. The animal was determined and strong. The rich, lustrous, black-brown fur of the sea otter may be ‘soft gold’ to the maritime traders of Russia, Spain and England but this pup was a determined warrior.
The otter had no intention of donating its thick, dense fur to the interlopers. It sunk its teeth into the fish and propelled itself into the deep water with its flippered back feet. The movement caught Simon unprepared and the spear slipped from his grasp. The boy fell backwards, landed hard and smashed his right arm against an unforgiving river rock. Tyee and Miguel winced in sympathetic pain as they heard the sound of shattering bone.
To add insult to injury, the dark threatening clouds of the last two weeks opened. A torrential rainstorm as fierce as the monsoon rains of Miguel’s West Indies drenched the boys. You couldn’t distinguish Simon’s tears of pain and anguish from the pelting wetness of the Pacific Northwest.
The break was bad but clean. Simon’s arm splayed out from his body. Tyee ran for help as Miguel comforted his friend. A moment later, Chief Maquina hovered over the boy. He motioned to one of his elders and they went to work on this frail, injured, white skinned boy. With practiced skill and confidence they eased the broken bones in place and wrapped them tightly with cedar bark.
Younger tribesmen had been searching for sturdy, broken branches. The elder used this wood to brace Simon’s arm firm against his body. They placed a piece of burl in Simon’s armpit for extra leverage and then wound long braided rope around the arm, the bracing, and Simon’s rib cage. Just before they covered him in warm bearskins, the elder poured a bag of salt water over the open wound to wash it clean. A hint of colour returned to Simon’s face as the powerful Nootka men hoisted Simon skyward on a cedar plank and began to carry him back to the ship’s longboat waiting at the shoreline.
Chief Maquina placed a shimmering abalone shell in Simon’s good hand and the crew of the Discovery rowed the boy back to the ship. The English doctor knelt down on the deck and examined the young sailor. There was nothing he could do to improve upon the dressing of the arm. The fracture was set precisely and would heal completely.
The doctor stood up and told Miguel and Tyee to ease their injured friend below deck to his bunk. The two boys begin to clear a path as Simon rested his head on the hard deck. He looked up at the black clouds still mocking him with spitting rain. A movement caught his eye and a red beaked tufted puffin soared into view. Simon watched as the bird circled the deck, swooped low and then deposited its thick white offal right on Simon’s forehead. The gooey mess oozed down the poor boy’s cheek. Miguel and Tyee laughed and laughed.
Simon didn’t share their amusement. His melancholy returned. He closed his eyes and relived the day through unspoken words.
“The pain in my belly has been cured by the Nootka. The otter, which we slaughter for trade, took its revenge on me. The very skies are pelting me with unceasing rain. Even the sea birds of this mysterious land insult me by crapping on my face. Do we really belong here?”
Simon didn’t sleep well that night.
