Newfoundland Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

as a warning to other white men to stay away. That, however, was long in the past. The Rousells were not intimidated by the story or, indeed, even gave it much thought. They were both strapping men in the prime of their lives and fully confident in their ability to face whatever might confront them. In any event, the presence of Beothuk in this area was now a rare occurrence as the major portion of the Beothuk population had long since been driven inland where it was believed they congregated mainly around Red Indian Lake.
    On that day the Red Indians were far removed from John Rousell’s mind. His brief rest over, he returned to his work. Dipping a large salmon from the weir and placing it on the table, he proceeded to gut it. A slash across the gills and a long incision along the fish’s underbelly quickly exposed its innards, which he removed with one efficient motion before tossing the processed fish into the tub with the others. The whole procedure had taken only a few seconds. Long practise had perfected his technique to the point where he could do it repeatedly and automatically without much thought. He dipped his net into the water to get another one. It was then that he realized he wasn’t alone. On the bank of the river, not more than fifty feet away, stood three individuals. He recognized immediately that they were Beothuk, two male adults and a boy. They were regarding him intently.
    The men were tall, much taller than he was, and well proportioned. Their fierce appearance was heightened by the red ochre with which they had smeared their faces and bodies. They were armed with bows and arrows, and knives and hatchets hung from their belts. They had him cornered. Fear rooted Rousell to the spot. For a fleeting moment he thought about making a dash for his long-gun, which rested, primed and ready, against the tilt – seventy feet away. He knew, however, that he would receive an arrow in the back before he had taken more than a couple of steps. He was no match for them. They had all the advantages.
    As he stood there waiting for the Beothuk to make their move, his fear and dread gave way to an overwhelming sadness that swept over him and blotted out everything else. He was going to die. His death would undoubtedly be a brutal one, yet his thoughts at that moment were of the life and the undone things he would be leaving behind, and of Mary waiting for him back in Exploits. She might never know what had happened to him.
    Then he did something which he could never quite explain afterwards. It was a simple act, done instinctively without premeditation, a desperate last straw by a doomed man. He took the still writhing salmon from the dip-net and tossed it onto the grassy bank of the river in the vicinity of the Indians. He gestured toward the salmon-filled weir – a clear invitation to the Beothuk to take whatever they wanted. For what seemed like an eternity the Indians did not respond. Finally, one of the men nodded to the boy, who immediately sprang to retrieve the salmon before it could wriggle back into the water. A few seconds later, miraculously, the threesome melted back into the woods, leaving the shaken Rousell awash with relief – and still alive.
    He clutched the splitting table to try to steady his trembling knees and shaking body, resisting the urge to sink onto the soft ground. He was exhausted. The encounter had drained him, and his perspiration-soaked body wanted only to rest for a while. Finally he made his way to the tilt, where he reached into its uppermost regions and extracted an earthen jug and its precious contents of dark rum. As he drank, the fiery liquid coursing through his body gave him comfort. He knew that soon the trembling would cease and his body would return to normal. He stayed in the tilt all that day and into the night, his long-gun never more than an arm’s reach away, until finally, despite his efforts to stay awake, he fell asleep and did not reawaken