Their mind/body/spirit was ebbing fast, only then, after reading that journal, I relived the trail of truth, and what happened to the hero of the past.
This became my entire interest in life, that never left, to follow the path at last, in good thought, things in life that had no sense of time..... this kind of listener I did grasp.
They traveled through old country paths. matted there like mats, even only catching a scattered caribou, artic hare, beaver, fishing, and living, three months in this ample depth of blue, with only basic necessities, too.
When the sun vanished, sometimes storms came upon, and then they rested in the camp to yammer, while repairing their cloths, for the next day’s light.
Then over the creeks, on the peaks, steady on their feet, traveling down the vale. Yes it's fair to say, they could only travel 30 miles a day, at their best, sometimes in fear of what lie ahead, before bedding down at night.
On that trail,a resolution was made with dignity, life then, did unveil,and found patted natural trails across Newfoundland, finely to Little Level, down through Coal Brook, crossed Flat Bay Brook, a fire, their mother, they’re for care, and a breath of fresh air, close to the great big pine. They made it to the Path End Trail, to the Big Marsh, and out across Dogs Town.
Finally two encampments, with lots of previsions, at the end of a long but worthy fall and to Seal Rocks in Bay St. George, one mile to go, then rest for ten, at Sandy Point, to tell all the tails of what he found.
When that all came to a halt, after the all time, number one , trail brightened our history pages, that started a chain of writing of time. .
No more trapping fur, or where parties meet, glad in a blur, where Sevester Joe met his friend, Gabriel, and fostered, Cormack to the very end.
We now fly those locations, and bring back antlers, jaw bones and meat, to show courtesy to our fellow man.
Those memories of our past began, for me to see, because it all started with those three courageous men.
None brought honor to those two Mi’kmaq that showed mankind it wasn’t any game/gain for them, it was only their home at any bend.
But it marked in History the Beothuks' sites and that what they saw was barren, yet fought passage through this great land and only found a settlement of a small band.
Yes, their journey on this earth, especially on this rock and our entire ken, is still alive in camps on mounds among the ground, and they tried to stay free from larger towns.
Indians of the past...... that’s all the Indians owned, and faded like glacial ice and stone.
Yes, they had no backup, but that’s RED MAN and that is how they survived..
The people’s arrow heads, made from chert, and their way of life, rooming the waters ways, you see.
There are many skills to fall big game... it’s only a laugh, for those Indians to lash, a caribou in a pond, or near a lake or on a river at dawn.
Then to make a canoe, that’s easy too, then they arrive back at their wigwam, and vanishe like eagles in the fall.
It is to tell no lie, I’m here, only one, piratical here and there, and forgotten soon after I’m gone.
Many before me wrote that it is worth someone’s while to right a song about the excursions and campsites across this isle, and leave the memories natural, where they belong.
HA, all the fame of man, in this land, can’t capture or come close to Cormack’s style, because the trails are still there, they are not gone!
Only partly covered by people’s lawns, and that’s a big enough bond.!.......,....
Composed, Dec.25, 05,5:15, at the break of this glories day. Victor James Muise Jr, 111th Pikto'l Sa'le'j Muise
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