SPRING was in the air, and the day of their departure arrived. It would take three days to convey both boats and all the passengers and baggage to the riverside. The third day was the time to take the remaining passengers: Rachel, Laura, and the children. They bade a tearful farewell to Peter (whose eyes seemed moist, too); all three children flung their arms around his neck and kissed him; Rachel and Laura promised to write as soon as they were settled—if it was still possible to get a letter through.
Once everyone was assembled at the riverside, with the boats successfully launched, Justin bade them farewell and wished them God-speed; then he set off back with the cart and the horses. The others prepared to set off: Benjamin and Laura with their children, plus most of the baggage, in one boat; Michael, Mark, Stephanie, and Rachel with the baby, in the other. Benjamin and Laura would row their boat, Michael and Mark the other, with Stephanie offering relief at times. Rachel was excused rowing duty since she was still nursing the baby: little William was now sitting up and showing signs of wanting to crawl about—although he was still too young to manage it—even so, he had to be watched carefully!
As it turned out there was little need of the oars since the river had a swift current, and they could just leave the boats to drift downstream, using an oar just to guide them away from the banks. Peter had estimated that it would take them a week to reach the coast—and hopefully a fishing-port—but Michael estimated that, at the rate they were going, they might reach it in five days.
For the first day everything passed smoothly, and in the evening they found a place under some trees to moor the boats and make camp. The children, of course, were absolutely thrilled by the boat trip, and it was as much as Laura could do to stop them leaping about and rocking the boat. Even little William seemed to be crowing with delight—and he had stopped keeping them awake half the night with his howling. Motion was clearly the thing to have a calming influence on him!
One the second day they had a bit of a scare. They were just tying up at the bank for lunch when they caught sight of a huge grizzly bear lumbering towards them. Mark quickly shouted to untie the boats and let them drift to the middle of the stream: luckily no-one had disembarked. They allowed the boats to drift about a hundred yards downstream, then they rowed into calm water and watched. The bear came down to the bank they had just left, and waded into the stream, peering into the water intently. Then it apparently changed its mind, returned to the shore and lumbered off.
“Phew!” exclaimed Mark. “It was just looking for fish—but we’d disturbed the water so much, it couldn’t find any. I know my grizzlies!—met a few on the hunt. The most untrustworthy animal you’ll find in Labrador: you never quite know when one’s going to attack. One of our farm-hands was killed by one when I was a boy. Worse than a cougar,” and he winked at Stephanie, who was remembering. “But we’re lucky,” he continued, “I think it was a male, and alone. If we’d met a she-bear with cubs, we’d have been in trouble!”
Rather shaken, they set off again and made another mile or two before mooring once again for lunch, without incident this time. But when the evening came and they set up camp, Mark insisted that they set a watch and keep the guns loaded. “Bears don’t usually hunt at night—but this is bear-country and we can’t be too careful.”
Nothing disturbed them, however, and the third day passed without incident. The river had widened into quite a broad stream now, and was noticeably slower, but they still made good progress. But, early on the fourth day, they ran into one of the problems that Peter had warned them about. The river had become narrower again, passing through forest. Stephanie, on lookout duty, reported seeing white foam breaking across the river, dead ahead. Mark instantly ordered them to make for the bank with all haste and tie up. He stepped ashore and walked forward to investigate.
“Rapids,” he announced when he returned. “I feared as much. We can’t risk the boats through them. I’ll go ahead and investigate, see how far they stretch. I shouldn’t be more than an hour, wait for me.”
But he was back in half an hour. “They seem to go on for about half a mile. We should be able to carry the boats past them and re-launch. But the ground’s too rough here: let’s try the opposite bank.” So they carefully rowed across the river. On the far bank they had better luck: Mark found a good path winding close by the river—evidently used by canoeists to get past the rapids.
“The Inuit probably made this path: they’re expert boatmen by all accounts—but even they wouldn’t risk running the rapids,” remarked Michael.
But it needed the strength of all four men plus Stephanie and Laura, to hoist each boat up to the path—and then, even after off-loading all the baggage, it needed three men to carry one boat down the path. So they had to make several journeys, and evening was fast drawing in, when they finally reached calmer water and were able to re-launch the boats.
“We’ll camp now,” suggested Mark: “we’ve lost a day over this but we should still reach the coast before the week’s out.”
So the next two days passed, luckily without any more rapids, and then the river suddenly broadened out into a sea-inlet, nearly half a mile wide, with steep hills, cliffs almost, rising on either side. “A ‘fjord’,” Michael remarked, remembering having had the word explained to him by Peter. “But it could still be several miles before we reach the sea.”
They continued seaward. The river-current was no help to them now, but there was a strong tidal flow. When the tide was against them, it was only by strenuous rowing that they prevented themselves being driven upstream again—but on the ebb-tide they were able to make good progress. At last, on the following day, they caught sight of a cluster of rude wooden houses and huts ahead—and, what was even more promising, a couple of fishing-boats moored by the waterside. Thankfully they tied up their boats and ventured into the village.
There was a group of men loading cargo into one of the fishing-boats: all Inuit by their appearance—and another man standing close by and barking orders to them, all in a strange language. Michael presumed it was one of the Inuit tongues, of which none of them knew a word. Nevertheless, he approached this man and asked: “Can you carry us to Newf? Or anywhere near?” He repeated the words slowly and tried gesturing, first to his companions, and then to the fishing-boat.
“No—carry. No—carry,” was the reply, with a shake of the head. Clearly the man understood his gestures, but spoke hardly any English.
“Is there anyone I can ask for passage? The other boat perhaps?”
“No—carry,” the man repeated. “You wait—Shaman. Shaman—he—speak—you.”
This sounded more hopeful. Michael returned to the others and they spent the time waiting for ’Shaman’—whoever that might be—in unloading the boats and drawing them up onto the strand. Michael thought ‘Shaman’ meant ‘captain’ or ‘chief’.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Eventually another man appeared: someone with more authority, it seemed. The man Michael had spoken to said something to him and pointed to Michael and the others. The Shaman approached.
“You want passage? You want passage to where?”
“Newf, if that’s possible.”
“Long voyage. We already carry many people there—people afraid. People attacked here in Nunavut—Labrador you call it. But long trip. Not good for children,” and he pointed at the three girls.
“We are all under attack in Labrador. Please can you carry us?”
“All right. I carry Black man. I carry half-black children, I carry white mother of half-black children,” and he indicated Benjamin and his family. “But I no carry rest of you. You ordinary people. You not being attacked.”
“But we are,” pleaded Rachel.
“How you attacked? You look normal Labrador folk to me.”
“We’re telepaths,” said Michael. “You know what that word means?”
“Aha! Yes I know ‘telepath’. Other people come here, say they telepath too, ask passage. Think it impossible to prove otherwise. But some are lying. We know how to test. Come with me, you four people. Others wait please. Can you leave baby with other mother?”
“Of course,” said Rachel, passing William, who had burst out crying, to Laura. As Laura rocked him to and fro, he conveniently fell asleep again. The four of them, Michael, Rachel, Mark and Stephanie, followed the Shaman to a row of huts.
“You go inside there, but wait first,” said the Shaman, indicating Michael and pointing to the first hut. “You other, each go into separate other hut. What name?” he asked, pointing to Michael.
“Michael.”
“Good. You other, I show Michael many card with shape on them. He try tell you what shape is, you draw shape in same order he tell you. I give pen, paper, put in hut, you go in, I lock door.” After this was done, “Now, Michael, you come with me.”
Michael followed the Shaman into the first hut. There, the Shaman showed him a pack of cards, each with a simple shape drawn on them. There were five different shapes each repeated many times and distributed randomly: circles, crosses, wavy lines, squares, and stars.
[https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/29/Zener_cards_%28color%29.svg/1280px-Zener_cards_%28color%29.svg.png]
“Now I shuffle card, I pick up and show you one by one, you try tell friend what shape is. If they draw each one right, that prove you telepath.”
“Seems ridiculously simple,” said Michael. “Is that all there is? I was expecting a much more complicated test.”
“This good enough. This used by Old People, so wise men say. Called ‘Zener card’, one tell me. I think Old People try prove there are telepath with them. But they fail.”
“Well, I suppose for ordinary people it would fail,” said Michael. “All right, let’s go.”
The first card was turned up. It was a cross. Michael sent “cross” by thought-shape, and got acknowledgements from Rachel and Mark. Stephanie was silent, but he hoped she’d picked it up. The second card was another cross, and Michael repeated the procedure. Then came a star. And so the test continued, until the Shaman had turned over about twenty cards.
“Enough!” said the Shaman. “Now we look at answer.” And he unlocked the other three huts, and the other three came out carrying their pieces of paper. Rachel and Mark had attained perfect scores: every symbol was correct. But not Stephanie: she shamefacedly produced her paper with many gaps in it, and other symbols incorrect. She had tears in her eyes.
“Stephanie,” said Michael, indicating her, “she’s not a very good telepath: she’s still developing the ability. But she is one of us, she is Mark’s wife. She must come with us!”
“I am sorry: she no telepath, so she no Mutant. We try to save Mutant only—and those who attacked by men thinking they Mutant. Like my people. Like Black people.”
“But I am a Mutant,” pleaded Stephanie, kicking off her shoe and holding out her foot. “Look!”
“Aha! So you physical Mutant! Why you no show us that at beginning? Save us much trouble. All right, we take all of you. But in second boat: first boat full already. First boat sail tomorrow, high tide. Second boat sail few day later. And you must take care children. You all right wait?”
“We’ll wait. Of course we’ll wait. We can’t tell you how grateful we are. But—how much will the passage be?” said Michael, wondering whether they had enough money to cover it.
“We no take money. We do this for favour. Many people Labrador need safety: many have no money. But I look at your boats please.”
The Shaman followed Michael to their small boats, and examined them. “These not very good boat. We make better boat. But we can use them.”
“We built those boats ourselves,” Michael retorted, rather crossly.
“Aha! Why you no say? So you build those boat your own hands. For non-Inuit folk, you do very well. I am sorry. I thank you. We keep them.”
So it was all settled, and within a few days the whole party was safely aboard the remaining fishing vessel and it was sailing down the fjord and out to open sea. The Shaman was not coming with them, but the captain of the boat spoke a little English. The boat was not very comfortable for passengers, but some benches had been fitted across the deck and they all sat tight. Laura had issued strict orders to the children to keep still and not run about—and they obeyed—for now.
The captain had said that the voyage would take about a week to ten days, if the weather remained fair. There was little space for sleeping, but they would have to make do. He would set them down at Gand, on the north-east coast of Newf. “You know Gand?” he said, in his broken English. “No? It big seaport, nearest point of Newf. We put you off there, then you on your own. And we go catch fish. Plenty fish in sea off Newf! You lucky people! Fish not so lucky!”
Michael did not enjoy the voyage. Nor did Laura or Benjamin. The sea was choppy once they were out in open water, and the fishing-boat pitched and rolled far more than a large ship would have. They were sea-sick almost the whole time, all three of them. Mark, Stephanie and Rachel fared better, as did the children. Indeed, without Laura able to keep charge of them, the girls were soon romping all over the boat, exploring down below, running up to the wheelhouse, being a general nuisance. Finally the captain, really angry, took a hand. He said, if they didn’t return to their bench and keep still, he’d toss them overboard. That quietened them down! Stephanie promised to keep a tight control over them while Laura was indisposed. And of course, little William was bubbling over with delight. He had been sick once or twice, but for a baby that didn’t matter.
At last, after what seemed like an interminable voyage, the gentle slopes of Newf island came into view, and the fishing-boat slowly made its way into the harbour at Gand. Michael and the others thanked the captain and crew profusely, and stepped ashore rather unsteadily, carrying what was still left of their baggage. Those who had suffered during the voyage were thrilled to be on firm ground once again. The air of Newf smelt clean, fresh and inviting. And people were friendly here! No persecution of ‘deviants’. They spotted a Black couple, middle-aged man and woman, strolling along the waterfront. Benjamin turned to the others and grinned.
“We can make a future for ourselves, all of us, here. At last!” he said.