THE INVISIBLE PEOPLE

Recently I painted a picture. (See painting at right and below.)

I could sense our people, the People of the Dawn , in it, but I was unable to capture them in my painitng. They remained invisible to me. This saddened me.

And so it is in our modern society.

The M'kmaq people have almost disappeared. They have become almost invisible, and inaudible as well...having no substance and no voice. Both have been taken.

Our people have been absorbed into modern socity, sucked into it, assimilated, and we have been spit out again...almost carbon copies of everybody else.

We exist , but are losing ourselves, as we relinquish hold upon our heritage and traditions.

With the loss of our ways and our cultural traditions , we become invisible...and it will be as if we never existed. Our essence will be destroyed.

It is with joy that I notice that the last two decades have shown a rebirth among our people.

With the revival of our culture, our heritage, language, and traditions we are again finding ourselves.

My painting, "The Invisible People" symbolizes the journey of the People of the Dawn.

It represents the time that we were a Great Nation, the time when we almost disappeared, and the time when we reclaimed our right to again become visible in this world.

Our downward spiral has been reversed as we are reborn into our transformation.

We are back...We never left....We are visible.

TRAILS OF YESTERDAY

At the hub (Main Gut) of Bay St. George at present time, 2005 holds one historic site of natural ecological starting points ,off trails that lead to the interior of southwestern Newfoundland. First I’ll take you on a journey that will encompass this whole area, leaving in mind you have to think of this country years ago and I’ll write of only the trails that I know of in legend. Also, where people hunted and fished, gathered food, and those trails were the only economic bases of survival.

To begin there is one trail leading from St.George's River on to George's Lake, across to Grand Lake into central Newfoundland. Another is leading to Burgeo, a natural and common lead encompassed by roads of pavement today, and old paths still exist along those roads. The other is to Coone River that never opened doors to new land. It was always there, the traditional country trails of the South.

Harries River to the North side of the Gut, and onto Grand Lake,also lay ahead to a natural trail to the East. A well named South West Brook, one of many Capital Path’s to the enterior head waters to Lloyds Lake, onto Annieopsquatch Mountains, (I avenged this mound of fog and mist, the chill of the air in mid summer sensed my departure), then leading sout west in a clock-wise Caisson, as did the Indians traveled for long encounters in trapping. Then to Portage Lake. Here separates the last Lake of Fischels River to the second last lake or pond of Flat Bay Brook, the divide, people would call this area.

I worked guiding with my uncle George and Gordon Muise, then encamped along this country for caribou, moose, bear, and in later years I prospected most of the rivers and country of this area.

Ben Alexander, courtesy in interest of knowing different minerals in the area, took me to his hunting lodge, by air, two different times. At Portage Lake my accommodation was in his care, being there, and not my first, helped me in preparing this book.

I could see between those two Lakes is the Ancient Trail. Old Joe Paul traveled this area and met my grandfather John at this site, and many more Mi’kmaq, that trapped in Old Country Pond area.

Now on to little level, across Flat Bay Brook at Mandiewage, (one area), then to Bear Pond, across Sheep Brook, out to the Big Marsh, then to St.George’s. Only a few trails off many coming to light in my memory today.

I could write a book on this area itself, on my footprints in the western turf, but it would take another lifetime. (The Country Trails of Western Newfoundland). Those endless trails are the life in mind, body and spirit, only but a reflection of my kin of the past.

Old Joe Paul told me he knew the trails like the veins on the back of his hands but there are many, but dare not attempt by myself.

"Sake" he’d call me "Joe is getting too old, I need to rest my bones and prepare another journey in life".

"When the sun reaches the West, like my kin friends of the East", I told him. "Times have, changed Joe". "The money has changed every thing.. everything now is fading away, because there no one left trapping, only hunting caribou some time." he said.

"And them bully moose. Get my pipe Sake we will smoke in friendship, and you will learn the ways of our people, but you have to be quiet and listen to the silence."

Those moments in my life bonded me with my own journey in the heart of another. This man held much wisdom. Frankly, I’ve never came upon another. People thought he know little but the Holy Bible could not hold as much peace as Joe held in his heart.

For centuries Mi’kmaq people traveled these trap lines, only to live year by year with no security for when they could not travel any longer. They traveled up South West Pond, on to Peter Stride's Pond, then to Portage Lake, to Old Country Pond, and John Mary Pond, an encamping area that one could stay with plenty of natural previsions to survive, even at harsh winters.

Grandfather John and his wife Mary would talk of this area in a passionate manner and many other lakes and ponds of the Western country, those out to Bay St. George. There was no end to trails and no end to memories of such area of natural shops, even our gulls' shop those places that are not tampered with by humans of today.

Old Joe Paul and old John Muise crossed paths here many times, Joe told me. It’s where the separation of two great rivers flow into the Bay St.George, and separate the women/men from boys/girls. I scouted those worlds, and many times returned to this area, only to find remains of campsites of years long gone and looked at the rugged paths of the past.

On one trip I sited 38 caribou grazing off the tundra, three Moose funning about, three bears in a 30 mile radius, two foxes not knowing us dodged on, 40 or more partridge, many ducks, two geese, and a number of mice scampering about the country. Only once have I seen a hare hopping about with delight. This reminded me of our forefathers when they footed these mounds long before my time.

It was told many times.... I would salmon fish with Peter Stride, Jr., Ralph Muise, Murdock Jesso, at the Dan Pool (a dam put there by Hayes, Old River Drive.

"During the times of the railway, with logging before confederation, saw mills were set up along this place, down from the Path End, having a mug up and a lunch with caribou buns".... said Joe Paul.

"John Muise, Jonnie Oliver and I many times traveled this country, Trapping, Hunting, gathering medicine on our trap grounds, and people from Burgeo, Conne River too." he said. "Many hard times we encountered".

No one today could ever exalt the excitement and strength I received from those frank moments listening to Elders.

There has been an oversite of the natural form of livelihood that stood upon those frontiers, in our history that unfolded decades of change to the Mi’kmaq way of life in social, economic struggles that lead the foundation of three generation of history.

I can only manage trails, gravesites, settlements in those days of depression but never a documentary in manuscripts to honor or to promote Mi’kmak, (the artist of the interior).

Maybe 500 years from now, when society takes another change in progress, their names will flow with the dignity of the FIRST PEOPLE OF THIS LAND.

PLEASE VISIT "TRAIL'S END"

There have been few posts in the past weeks. It has been a busy summer. There was the Pow-Wow. Also the Elder participated in many fasts, as well as Vision Times. In the coming weeks of Autumn posting may not be frequent, but it will be regular.....

Also, please note that the Elder has a new blog, called "TRAIL'S END". This new blog will be a place of more personal expression of his art, poetry, and prose. It will also be a place of sharing of Vision Quests and Dream Walks. .

It can be accessed by clicking on "TRAIL'S END" under "IMPORTANT LINKS" at the right. The URL is http://elders-visions.blogspot.ca . Please visit this new virtual home.

ARRIVAL: PART 2

Arriving By Sea or Land: PART 2....

Upon arriving at the bay either by sea or land, naturally people were concerned with survival, and found the basic necessity in life, (Food, Shelter, Clothing).

At the same time, they had little security and were living off the land with its earthly rich natural life, that sustained them for many centuries.

Their family's emotional stability was generated among the clans and built their self esteem. I think this was reached from the forerunners of ancient times. That would be the people/settlements on the inland country, after accruing goods for winter, (the long March month), and to hackle years that follow in the same destiny that attract humans of other countries of the worlds to start an empire.

There were different clans who traveled in different directions, probably from Nova Scotia, Quebec, Labrador or by sea from other parts of the world. They paddled/walked to the main areas and where there were, lots of caribou, bear, beaver and to the shores, cod, ells, salmon all summer long, nice and warm with a small shelter for there children they lived.

Harry's river and Southwest Brook, Barachois Brook, Flat Bay Brook, Fischles River and Robbinson's River led to the interior of the country and they set up base sites for survival. There are other areas but these will be talked about in later chapters. Winter’s close arriving, so they must travel the inland waters to survive harsh storms and have a good wood supply, and lots of fur animals. Perhaps they left strong women and men to look after older people and stayed along the shorelines, but not very likely?

Scouts combed the country for caribou herds, where the caribou crossed in migration the Indians stayed.

Their main campsites were set up near that area. The coastal shores where summer homes and accrued goods for the winter season. All in the light common places had to be set up where Food, Shelter, Clothing was and essential for survival in winter. Only that level of life was set in a society in those days many years ago and not known to other countries of the world, because very little was written in history of those days.

To understand the ancient people and survival one must fall back 500 years,ie: no paved roads, trains, cars, or modern boats, shops, no money system, no social department /government and no homes, (only huts/ wigwam’s) and on the country paths. The Island of NEWLOUNDLAND was the People’s Kitchen, no one could get lost in their own Kitchen, and they know where food was and how to survive.

Structural traditional teachings on life and how to survive was a must factor and a important part of social and economic development in settlements. Closely knitted families had to work hard together and face reality but since kept their dignity as a people.

Survival normally suggests food, shelter, clothing and on the balance of probability I have reason to conclude that, the areas, of the Main Gut, Flat Bay Valley, Barachois Brook, Fishels for easy accesst on dog team to the country, are the main short-term settlement with a clan of two to five Families in each area lived.

Coming together for gathering/pow wow at start of each season and to meet in center of Bay St.George, the main Mi’kmaq population that existed down through the centuries.

Keeping in mind the 1808 census that there were 102 inhabitants...there were no count of Mi’kmaq wandering or living inland were taken in Bay St. George. In 1871 there were 150 people at Flat Bay area. In 1894 Bank Head had 35 people. In 1894 Main River 32 people still at large. I can go on, on, and on but my interests lie years before those times because we only have general knowledge and little is written of trails, settlement, and bones of this area. ...

ARRIVAL

Arriving by Sea or Land : Part 1....

On arriving in Newfoundland on the Southwest side, the first humans here did not come here by planes, so they either came hear by sea in small shallop boats and walked, or used dog sleds to cross in winter on area such as Northern Peninsula. That leaves two possible ways people arrived regarding this area of the Island Bay St.George, Western Newfoundland.

Bay St. George the third largest bay in North America, is defined by its banks that are eroding from warbling waves bulging by the great Atlantic ocean and mountain ranges extending as far as the eye can see, battered by prevailing winds, separated from the basin, in an early setting by the entrance to the harbor. In the far East Steel Mountain rises, highlighted by the beaches on the foot of the bay, the Main Gut and surrounding area.

In 1970 I sailed with Upper Lake Shipping Company in Ontario and stood in the wheelhouse on one of their ships of Ontario Power, to dock at Turf Point for a load of gypsum in St.Georges before sailing to our neighboring country, USA.

Before entering on the north side of Sandy Point, noted in history to be the oldest settlement in Bay St. George, I could see to the South East extended valleys and water-ways of those great river systems, and trails placed there by natural landsides , showing us direction of the ice retreated from glacial movement, that took parts of the earth out to sea, and could see on all corners of the bay from the wheelhouse.

To the southwest, rolling mountain ranges, peaks 3000 thousand feet above sea level, the forest battered by prevailing winds 130 kl per.hr, passing places like Wreck House, before entering the Port au Basque area, where many ships ,like the William Carson, docked at one time before it’s departure to North Sidney, NS.

Beyond to the most northwest end entering the bay, the tip of the ancient Cape St. George, Port Au Port peninsula and rigged layers of shale, some miles of cliff bedding to the north end.

To the North, Loyola’s Hills, mid summer still snow capped before entering Corner Brook country and countless mounds shifted by glacial movement billions of years ago.

I then imagined on to the great Northern Peninsula,separating Labrador southern shores and define a crossing by canoe and dog team in winter on the land of the forgotten.

This Island once was attached to the massive land areas of Labrador, approximately 112,000 square miles, where Indians piloted, at ease, crossed the trails that were already there and now by natural waterways, in the land called New Found Land. The sea that separates this land was connected for caribou herds/people that migrate and live along banks of the great rivers that flow too the ocean.

But those waterways were there and their harsh velds that led people to the interiors, to an unknown land call the Rock, yet they worked and then stayed at their destiny, on the greatest Island known in history of today.

Now at the entrance, miles of untouched beaches, "Little Florida" I called it, but the climate much cooler in winter averaging 20 degrees below freezing.

In summer it's glorious picture plant, I yearn to hold, (after being away for some months), holding fresh secret water that symbolizes life in the natural world and animals to nourish this unknown kingdom, tempter’s reaching 80 degrees in the height of the season.

The forest looked like billions of ants resting upon stone.

The homes near the Gypsum Dock, at Seal Rocks, shaded beneath the sand doom ledges, and TCH passed through. This area lay an end to history's longest trail, known to this land, when Cormack crossed the Island in 1822 and rested there with his two Mi’kmaq guides, before departing to Sandy Point, that no longer exists....

Centuries before, this bay was sailed by many ships/people and they anchored to seek refuge to this part of the Island and called it their home....

Now docking at one of the older settlements, I could feel the fresh scent of mother earth entering my nostrils and a breeze of air gently blowing through my hair, that’s freedom at its best....

THE BRAVEST OF BRAVES

The Bravest of Braves Captured by withering seeds of death, two men attempted and did accomplish a mission, to cross the middy wilderness, searching for people that left mankind.

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

A TRAGIC FIRE

The twelfth of December, eighteen hundred and eighty, commenced as any ordinary winter’s day. It was cold and frosty and snow covered Middle Brook and the surrounding areas. George Young, his wife Susanne Madore and their two children lived in a bungalow house situated on a flat open field near the brook. Susanne was eight months pregnant at the time and she had a servant girl staying with her to care for her and her children. Her husband ,George .was away on a hunting trip and wasn’t expected to return for a few days. Although the day had started out bright and sunny, the clouds began to darken as if foreshadowing the tragic events that would take place later that night.

Snowflakes began falling late that evening and darkness had already set in. The lanterns were lit. Susanne, her children and the servant girl ate supper and then Susanne rested while the children played and the servant girl completed her chores for the evening. A visitor came to the house afterwards although no one remembers whom it was. Apparently, the visitor stayed with the family that night.

Sometime during the night after everyone was asleep fire broke out at the Young’s residence. Susanne woke up in a panic when the odour of smoke filler her room. She raced frantically through the thick smoke to save her children. She grabbed the youngest child and she put him outside a then made her way upstairs searching for the other child. But the smoke was so thick it was choking her and then the entire house was engulfed in flames. There was no escape from this burning inferno and everyone perished in this tragic fire.

Funeral services for the family took place on December fifteenth, eighteen hundred and eighty. The remains of the victims were buried on the exact location where they perished. The gravesite remains visible today after one hundred and twenty-five years. The people who travel the shoreline and have knowledge of this tragedy always visit the graves. Mother Nature provides different varieties of flowers on the gravesite annually. Susanne’s husband George was left alone with one child in Bank Head and later in years, he remarried and started another family.

A SACRED PRAYER

Creator,  Kwe..

Look upon your children as protecters of Mother Earth.......That the sod and water of Mother Earth  will remain pure for the next seven generations that follow. AND as a people   may we follow the foot steps of our forefathers and only take from her  what we need to survive.

In Honour and Respect we ask the blessing to embrace our courage and strength,  to undo any wrong doing ,

 As Mi'kmaq people we have to find a way to bring back our Language that is hidden under every leaf and rock,  and  also all our core values that are within  the tongues  of all Creation.

For this is  our duty ,  our sacred burden to  our CHILDREN....

Pikto'l Sa'ke'j Muise..VJM..(Ancient Spirit of the White Wolf )

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LEN'S FAVORITE SALMON RECIPE

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Len’s Favorite Salmon Recipe

I always remember my early years of growing up in St. George’s, Newfoundland. We lived on the outskirts of town ,on Steel Mountain Road, on the top of what we called “The Hill” by the other sections of town called “Dog’s Town” . Up until the 1960’s most people living on “The Hill” kept hunting dogs. At that time we were nearing the end of our traditional hunting and trapping lifestyle because most men were now working away from home with companies that paid wages for work. My family still partook in a token traditional lifestyle because up until I finished high school and left home in 1966, we still had a few cattle.

In summer , for me 1955-1965, we children used to go into Hell’s Gulch which was our traditional summer camping site. Hell's Gulch was a valley located on the banks of Flat Bay Brook River which was situated eight miles southeast of St. Georges.

 We went to cut firewood for the winter months and to make hay for our animals ......sheep, cows, goats, and horses. We also picked berries, hazelnuts; pine cones, fern stocks, and collected lots of other plants and animals. We  caught and salted upwards to ten barrels of salmon for the winter. Hell's Gulch was used by the Muise family as a winterhouse [a winterhouse was a safe place to live during the winter months because of the availability of wood, wild game and easy access to trapping grounds]. We usually camped for upwards of two weeks with the older children taking care of the younger ones. My grandfather had a cabin and several barns but we children usually stayed out into one large tent or on hot nights we just sleep under the stars. In the camp were  young teenagers and younger children , as young as seven or eight, there were always older adults around the area that would check on us from time to time.

Food was always a problem because we were such a large family [my parents had nineteen children] so very often someone would drop into our camp with a fresh salmon, a piece of recently killed moose or caribou, some freshly baked bread or some recently cooked wild apple pie. If you can visualize this camp then you will understand this cooking story which started when our close cousin, Walter Drake and his friend David Jesso, brought into our camp a very large twenty-five pound freshly caught salmon.  

How do you work all day and them cook something as big as the salmon that the boys brought into our camp? Walter and David said that we should bake it because it would be easier to prepare other things with the salmon if it was all baked together. My older sisters Doreen, Odelle and Cecilia helped me with preparing this dish. I was around eleven years old at the time. We decided to bake the salmon wrapped into birch bark. We had no salt or pepper so we used a little fresh butter [which was made very salty back in those times] on the outside of the fish. Into the salmon’s belly we placed a couple of handfuls of juniper berries, some freshly cut dandelions, a few fresh onions, potatoes cut into circular thin slices, and a couple of half-soft turnips cut into cubes. On top of that mixture we put some bread crumbs mixed with half-ripped blueberries. We then tied the salmon with thick cod-line [a white line about 2-3 millimeters thick] and wrapped it into the birch bark.

That night we dug a shallow hole [about fourteen inches deep] just the size of the wrapped salmon, about two feet away from our nightly, very large campfire. When we were ready for bed the fire coals were blood-red. We moved the live coals [by sticks] over the buried salmon. There were at least a foot of hot coals lying over the large salmon. Then we went to sleep with strong visions of a great breakfast just waiting for us in the morning. 

In the early morning we kicked the spent coals away from the buried salmon and dug out the now perfectly cooked fish. The combined smell of birch, juniper, and cooked vegetables was mouth watering. The fish was cooked to perfection. We ate that cooked salmon with its varied stuffing for the next two days. I often cook salmon with stuffing, and sometimes I still bury it, but today I just use foil wrap. The taste is not the same and I always wonder if it’s the foil wrap or the fact that I am getting too modernized ?

NO-SEE- UMS

No-See-Ums


Legends of the People


The darkening sky looks ominous as monstrous claps of thunder roars in the near mountain range. Huge bolts of sinister, sinuous lightning shoots outward into the meandering river valley. Sheets of icy, horizontal rain lash the partially unclad torus chest of the man. But the earthly elements in their savage attack on everything standing are unnoticed by the medicine man as he clumsily vaults the last few paces up into the narrow, poorly lit, rock crevice. He was a man with such an acrimonious decision to contemplate that to him nature=s undiluted fury was like a singular grain of sand on the ocean floor. In fact, his turbulent thought processes were not unlike the raging storm, whose ferocious onslaught he was now freed from as the minute cave, an often frequented sanctuary, offers some protection.

What unearthly forces had caused this proud, influential leader to be in such a precarious predicament? Was it that the GREAT SPIRIT had been angered by him or one of the people? Why had this unforgivable, negligent act occurred? Would he be the fearless, undaunted medicine man at the appointed time? All these monumental questions stir within his tormented brain as the stark realism of his tribal duty forces itself into his aching consciousness. With a primal cry of utter despair the once fiercely proud leader decides; He has no choice. His son, Wijaw, must be punished for his negligent act. He must banish Wijaw from the people, forever.

Once this disheartening decision surfaced in the leader's rational mind he briefly recalls the events leading to this troubled moment. Wijaw was his only off-spring; A young man, in his twelfth summer, eager to prove his worth to the small, inland tribe and to his doting father. It was this fallacious pride in his son=s ability that had induced him to select Wijaw as a night guard for the tribe on their recent coastal walk-a-bout.

Wijaw was honored at this distinction granted him by his father. His youthful pride prevented him from admitting to tribal elders the fact that he had become debilitated after the arduous, all day walk. He did not want people to think that the son of the tribal medicine man was not yet prepared to take on the full responsibilities of manhood. As the humid, brackish, cloud filled night lingered along like two snails crossing a mud puddle, the young man had succumbed to his primeval need for sleep. It was at the moment of Wijaw=s deepest slumber that the enemy had attacked.

The leader looks out into the raging storm but all he sees with his mind=s eye are the grossly mangled bodies of his people. In the time it had taken Wijaw to react to the deadly, surprise attack five people lay dead. The elders deliberated for several days but centuries old practices had to be followed. Tribal law was quite clear. When an individual threatened or caused harm to the group that person had to be banished from the tribe. There was no leeway or forgiveness on matters of this magnitude. The devastated medicine man cries out from his lookout sanctuary into the violent storm front. AOh GREAT SPIRT, give me guidance in this my hour of need. It was my destructive pride that caused this calamity to my people. Wijaw is but a boy. Please allow him to live.@ The sobbing wails emitting from the prostrated leader sounded like far away thunder. Hours later the broken hearted man falls into a semi-conscious sleep.

A bluish-grey timber mouse looks sternly into the reddish eyes of the dormant leader and softly starts talking to him. Your cry for guidance has been heard, and the boy will not be banished, Oh Honored One. But the ways of the people are sacred, and the law must be followed. I will cause a new insect to evolve which will be smaller than the eye can see. It will have the bloodthirsty bite of creatures many times its size. This mosquito will prevent night guards from falling asleep during their watch, and over time will become known as No-See-Ems. They will become a constant reminder of the concealed enemy, unseen but always ready to attack.

The leader sits unpretentiously on the cold floor of the open ended cave overlooking the river valley. Like his father before him he often comes to this placid hideaway during thunderstorms to deliberate on issues affecting his people. The roaring thunder gives him reverence towards the GREAT SPIRT. It humbles him as a man to witness the gigantic forces of the universe. Today he recalls his father=s violent death, on this very spot, many seasons ago.

Wijaw now realizes that his father ceded his life so that he would live. The lightning bolt which penetrated the once proud medicine man had consumed all the parts of his father=s body except one hand which was holding a timber mouse. The frightened mouse scrambled away when the elders had entered the cave that day. They realized with shocked acceptance that tribal duty had been followed to its ultimate end.

The ways of the GREAT SPIRT are indeed strange.

Written by Eagle Catcher,FOR (Ancient Spirit of the White Wolf ) June 2004

THE UNKNOWN FORCE OF NATURE

Children’s Grave Site – Oct. 23, 2005 [Breaches Brook]  ...THE  UNKNOWN FORCE OF  NATURE


It is not known to but few. The strangest film came  over my entire  body. My Spirit lifted in the sunlight and a million energy radii circled around me . This is a source for the more important me  to inter into that field of the spirit world. It captured me in a vision  that I still don't believe.

Breaches Brook is 2 km from Seal Rocks NE where the Mi’kmaq people used the waterways and  main trails in the country. Families have been living here since 1700 even before.

Many stories were told of a family of three children that died of starvation and were buried 3 miles from the southern side , up from the railway trussel in Breaches Brook, up the river. [To the east].

An elderly lady, 90 years old,  in 2005 told her son that she was three years old when their family moved from Sandy Point, because of the great storms in winter months and it was hard to survive them. So their family decided to move to Breaches to shelter themselves in winter and it was easier to obtain fresh caribou from the Indians that would travel the western country in winter by dog team.

She said in 1930 – 1940, times were tough for all the people and sometimes tunnels had to be dug to get to their outhouses, snow about four or five feet above them. She said they lived in extreme conditions and winter months took toll on many of the families in the whole of Bay St. George.

She knows many stories but  I dare not  see this woman to remind her of these days. I visited this area in the fall of 2005 and said a few words in condolence for those children and left the site undisturbed , and not to reenter this site ever again.

Pikto'l Sa'ke'j Muise.

(Ancient Spirit of the White Wolf)

TRAILS OF TIME

Trails of Time

My brother, Len , and I wandered the  Sheep Brook area, approximately three miles east of St. George’s in the great Val of Sheep Brook, a  journey on Mine Road, that brings my thoughts back in time, to the eighteen hundreds. 

This is where Grandfather John Muise carried loads (lode) of iron ore from the Bishop Mine, (founded in the 1880’s by local prospector), with his pack on his back, for 10cents a day on a trail that lead the St. Georges. This natural trail was used to hike from Helch Gulch, Shack Town, and small settlements along Flat Bay Brook. This trail still exists and  is visible to humans, who want to travel  these parts of our forgotten past.

On the east of Sheep Brook lies beading of gypsum, leading to the ore body at Flat Bay Gypsum Plant. People say  this has  one of the richest percentage  in the world. This plant no longer exists.

We arrived at the forks of the paths in Sheep Brook, one path leading to the Path End, that is to the south near the river bank, a settlement that was established there for a long, long time.

 I found an apple tree, (three hundred years old), on the north side where there’s remains of a grassy field approximately  four acres of farmland. Years ago, this was a good size farm, the apple tree still bearing fruit.

Here is  a trail leading to the Big Marsh, St. Georges. I walked this trail. It was like a T.C. H. There was another trail leading to Muddy Hole, Flat Bay. Across the brook from this small farmland lies another place (O'Reiley's  Peace), people would call it, and those people would stay here when cutting pulp in 1930 , and south a trail leading to Little Level for trappers, before the pulp wood days.

The other path leads to the east, on the North side of the new road, (in 1995 ore was mined  to be brought to HIBERNIA for there rigs bales, east of the Grand Banks oil riggs  near St. John’s.) The trails of mine lead was never established. It was always there, used by many trappers and hunters with dog team of yesterday, (another ‘Main Trail” to the SW. country from Bay St. George area).

Just ahead, south- east, at the back of the great Steal Mountain, on top 1200 feet above sea level, is the remains of a Mound or Carom, used there  by surveyors and navigators that could use it as a conical pile. Who erected the Mound?

 Old William Young or Cooke (some Mi’kmaq even yet today are not sure of their sir names) told me one story, It was told to him. James Cook used this land mark in 1767 to survey this area of the island. I then took pictures of the existing trails, mountain and Gypsum. I never did do any research on the stories that William told me, and not many people know the real truth of this land. I firmly believe that statement of his.

We foraged on a little farther  glancing at the natural surroundings. But, Old Eagle Catcher (My Brother Leonard) was worried that day. He had this thing with eagles.  We left the spot where he and Timmy Drew (born in Conne River, and a very close friend of mine), caught /saved a hurt eagle. We then cracked a few rocks mostly Anorectics with iron and traces of platinum. We were near the contact zone from the Anorectics part of the Long Range Mountains and the base rocks of the bay, where the ocean at one time covered this earth.

We had a mug up, then decided next to go see our sister ,Gladys, who lived at Journois. When we got two miles from Flat Bay Junction, again Len saw another eagle flying over the old country trail that led to the Path End and led to the Big Marsh, St George’s where Carmack ended his travels across NFLD.

 We drove on and talking about his times with eagles, I could not under stand what he was saying, but I know the Eagles had left this area for a long time and now they are back. Anyway we turned right and drove on.

On arriving our sister Gladys and her husband , Mike Kindle, greeted us with a scoff of ribs and chicken, the works, and as usual, we had a  discussion on the old days.

Then an elderly lady  arrived.  She addressed herself as "King",...she was beautiful , dark complection, average  beauty, and very smart to the past events of Bay St. Georges . She was only 72, she stated. She told me that the generation before hers young girls/boys would walk from Fischels /Journeys to attend dancing on Flat Island when the ships would dock to bring supplies to the settlement. She said, " That has all ended, all our young are leaving there ."

There is  no work. There are only 200 people left up here, and only eight small children. The Gypsum plant is gone,  everything is gone. Every one has their say, but I listened to the Elders. (Stories I heard are through out this book, but lie in the minds of quite a few people.)

After some time,  I drifted out from my sister’s cottage. I walked a small road that leads me to the seashore where Journais’s Brook dips into the salt water. As I stand on the bank of the ocean at ease, the land beneath my feet, the river gently flows.  My senses tell me why the Mi’kmaq called this their  home, of the ancient one’s ,and a gravesite to me appeared. I returned to fetch my brother as the hairs on my eyebrow stiffened with mist from the middy sea.

Upon finishing our feast/visit we drove slowly down to Flat Bay, (Young’s Cove).  This is one of the greatest Historic Sites I’ve ever seen. Right then I knew that Indian, other than fur traders, dare not enter this neck of the sand.

 We stopped at the Gap, an area where  one could walk  to Sandy Point, an healthy some seven miles.  It was  known to Spanish and Basque whalers, who obtained food here . That lead to nothing  but a rare bird that George Kitchen and I talked about thirty-two years ago.

 Sandy Point provides habitat for many birds that frequented the whole of Bay St. George. It was once the main center of settlers from many countries, people that arrived centuries  ago. There is  so much history in  one area. The ancient ones  knew the Piping Plover, the American Widgeon, Black Duck, Green-Winged Teal ,etc..

 A salt marsh, graves, and stories,....that’s what remains.

"The rise and decline as the sea covered the land,
Only our friend’s pebbles stuck with this sand,
 He then shows us woe’s the leaders of man."

A valley directly across the Gap, Flat Bay to the (south) would be an area to journey on the country by dog sled and reestablish another trip of fur. Another ancient path along the oceans banks, to Journey, Middle Brook, Fischles River to the southwest, where Indians wandered about. My old friend, Gus White's house still remains  and most of his family  is in this area.  Many memories dodged  through my mind and I could look back at the good old days.

As we departed from that area we stopped and got some crestless gypsum at the remains of a plant that no longer exists. It had been started in 1952. Once it was  the main economic base for Flat Bay and St. George’s. This plant changed the economy and way of life for many people in the area of St. Georges. Jimmy Renoir worked all his life here but stayed at his cabin in  Flat Bay Brook .

I also worked ,but not on shore ,but with the Upper Lake Shipping Company ,four years after I left school.

 The plant is now barren. Now it’s the oil coming on stream in 2005. For me this is centuries ahead, and poison to our environment. Yet they say this is progress. The human race, minds are prone to intelligence, yet our bodies need natural substance to survive and another 10,0000 years another human form could be created on earth.

Then we departed and decided to see our old Indian friend who lived directly across from our old home stead , Dog's Town. It got it's name from  the Mi’Kmaq and their dogs.  Each family had kept two or more dogs . It was part of survival. It is now called Old Mill Road

We arrived at his home and met his wife Karen, (Bennett, was the family name). She told us that he was at the fire in the bush, near his home in the backfield. We walked down a trail of memory for both Lin and me. Proceeding to the fire we were greeted by the CHIEF, Violet Bennett, in the Mi’kmaq custom along with Melvin White. I called him "Old Memento". So we gathered around the fire for a mug up, to which we were accustomed, tea steeped three times and drank black. We all had a spell to talk. Many topics arose. One was on trails and I listened.  I could feel the spiritual strength around the fire, and the strength from the women. Those moments with Mi’kmaq people still exists in our society of today.


I felt kind of exiled with the whole ordeal and the moment of that day. My mind ebbed when Melvin’s dog barked , reminding me of years long ago in 1962 when I was only young boy.

Dogs were an important part of travel  generations before me .I could recall my aunt Loretta and I taking the team of dogs to the Black Brook, a small stream running across what they call Steal Mt. Road,. It was seven hundred feet down Muise's  Lane. My sister ,Doreen, many tines helped fetch water in this manner.

Some time you would see Math Garner and Donald Perrier pass our trail heading to the Path End and farther to the country on hunting trips. Another trail 220 feet directly West led to the Big Marsh.  Old Mose Muise  resided along side of the trail.  That’s where Bishop Neal Ma Neal (the first Bishop of the Diocese of St.George’s), put a Mission Cross  at the height of St.Georges in 1910, reasons are unknown. I think it’s to mark  a battle zone, for the dead buried there. This was the oldest trail on Steal Mt. Road. It led  to the cemetary  and to the Catholic Church built in 1904 assisted by old Mose Muis. He had a forge and did all the steal work for the Bishop to build the church. The Bishop had his own sawmill and himself was a great carpente. All members volunteered their time to this historic event. The Court House was built after that. (The memories of the Mi’kmaq people remain as the Indian Band Council in1993 took over this part of St. George’s history under the Direction of Chief Victor James Muise (SAKE) .

There was a fork in the road, now called Court House Road. The trail then lead through the center of the cemetary, then cut across what is now Steal Mt. Road, down through Harview's Lane called today, and to Molly Ann's Brook),Seal Rocks, where ,mountaineers after the harp seals, settled in years gone by and then Mi’kmaq. I guess these would be the same people? There is the  only fresh water creak in the area, draining to the west into the sea where before the railroad was put through a settlement was established.(Settlement meant one or two house , a total of  seven to twelve people).


As departure came the sunlight fell at a 16-degree temperature that day, and an  ease of silence arose as we went on our way.

The Big Marsh  was a place every person knows, south of a pond called Hayse's Pond. There’s a path leading down  the Dribble. Dribble Brook flowed into Flat Bay Brook approximately  2 and half kilometers from it’s mouth. Along this river there were paths leading everywhere, One leadto the Path End, I used to carry potatoes from the Path End to Steel  Mt. Road. Liveries built huts up the river. VictorMuise had two, one cabin and  one barn for storing hay in winter, also a cellar to keep vegetables in. My dad cleared four acres with his brother Walter before he went to war. This land was cleared, worked, and planted each spring.... tilling the soil with a pick ax and shovels, throughout summer making hay and then mending broken handles, healing muscles, sores,  and blisters. The land is located up from Dribble Falls, used as a swing area for liveries from St. George’s. Joseph Muis and Jim Blanchard  had cabins also up North from  the present bridge, Jim stayed here in his last years of his life. I travelled here many times, picking apples along the way.

Still, in my mind I never forget the two war guns .I sold mind for tobacco.  Walter,  my cousin,  and I found them on the North side of the Big Marsh, just south west of Melvin White's house. I guess it was  some sort of battle field I would imagine .

 After all, in 1858 there were warships from England and France patrolling the Bay St George area with an uncertain ownership.

I also noted from the Provincial Archives  that five families, amounting to thirty-two individuals, have withdrawn from the settlement under fear of want for winter.

Also I noted from church files, that in 1862, in the woods about 12 miles from civilization, nine persons perished from hunger. A funeral service was held for these persons. They were all Indians. A brother of the father brought the news.

Inspired by these hardships  are uncertain questions that I dare not ask...... but times were tough. Only the strong survived, and  the weak withered away.

(Ancient Spirit of the White Wolf) Pikto'l Sa'ke'j Muise..

SPIRITUAL GATHERINGS

    Kwe ,

Spiritual Gatherings  should specialize only on Sacred Ceremony and on sacred grounds . These are  all that lives  and exists , in the  air, on  land and sea, in the oceans,streams and fields . The Creation  gives all for nothing .

In return Mother Earth asks....such as: Sweat Lodge Cleaning. That was adopted from other nations that entered in our Traditional Territory,.  The Mi'kmaq  Nation which was divided into seven Districts.

 For countless generations the Mi'kmaq governed their own affairs, and flourished as a distinct society of aboriginal peoples within the context of tested tribal values , societal norm, and tribal territory, as one of the many aboriginal people which inhabited the North American continent, and travailed the eastern sea board by their water ways with ease.

  Except for sporadic contact with European fishing fleets of early 1500's , Mi'kmaq religious belief, social conduct, economic, political and territorial sovereignty remained in BALANCE WITH BOTH THE PHYSICAL / SPIRITUAL  WORLD  AND MAN MADE ENVIRONMENT OF THEIR LAND.

  There were  sacred Gatherings ,  AFTER which  came   the first permanent European settlement on the North American continent at PORT POYAL in the early 1600's to approximately the 1700's .

The influence and treatment of the Mi'kmaq by the French, was largely based on mutual respec,t as to the sovereignty of both societies, with no impact upon religion.

 The adoption of Christianity , and the life style  change,  as influenced by European tools, and dress. (As to all other elements of Mi'kmaq society) the period of the French, did not undermine the political and territorial sovereignty of the Mi'kmaq Nation.

Their Spiritual Gatherings,  such as feasting , was a normal every day Ceremony.

 Pipe Ceremony ,as the sun rises to the Eastern door,  was the biggest responsibly  until sunset on that person,  mostly women.

 Sweetgrass Ceremony , from SUNRISE, was also   any time of day until sunset (Wabanaki).

People of the DAWN ceremonies:

......Feasting every thing in the Creation of the Creator.

....Talking Circle with different age groups,  was an every day event 

.....Healing Circle with shaman, medicines women and men.

In my vision participants transform to  a more selective and respective atmosphere and recognize the life of our ELDERS and  SHAMANs.

Women and the importance of our youth  are holding on to  both sides of cultural values ,  and customs, for future generations. 

Before the SPIRITUALITy  of our people almostno longer existed. Many died practising their  SPIRITUALITY.

They were at this time cast out of European  society and the Mi'kmaq Medicine women and men, were sadly put to death.

 As I  write this belief  in the Infinite  World: who is to judge? 

Our Mikmaq people almost became extinct  as our SISTER'S and BROTHERS the Beothics.

 The  so called Red Indians that still exist and roam  the country are slowly bringing back their Spiritual Cultural that was a void in their inner soul........now wanting  to exist as a proud and noble People of the Dawn.

  As I write  I shed tears, not blood or hate,  but tears of the lifting of our youth's  teachings for the next seven generations…

I have researched and lived through my life.  I humbly offer  my words,  spoken from a sacred breath of TRUTH.

(Sa'qewei-wjijaqamijl wipe's paqt-sm) Ancient Spirit of the White Wolf …Pikto'l Sa'ke'j Muise..VJM..

 POST SCRIPT: (Mandiewagque) Some older people called this place Skull Valley ,or place of many holes or ancient Burial sites.....It's up Flat Bay Brook..

THE WAMPUM BELT

 The Wampum Belt,  also called Peag:

Beads made from the interior parts of  shells often  were worked into belts and necklaces. 

Formerly used as currency by North American Indians, the beads were either black, dark purple and white. The dark Beads had double the value of the white.

From the archives of FNI website:

The Newfoundland Native Women Association gave a presentation to the Federation of Newfoundland Indians (FNI) Board of Directors at the Holiday Inn on September 21, 2002. It was of cultural significance to the Mi’kmaq people,which made the presentation all that much more meaningful.

The president of the Newfoundland Native Women Association, Ms. Dorothy George, gave the Board of Directors a brief background of how the project originated. 

Doreen Swyers spoke to the directors about the Wampum belt which was made by many Mi’kmaq people under the direction of an elder Ms.Jessie Alexander (Nee Muise).

The belt represents the plight of the Federation of Newfoundland Indians for the past 30 years in their attempt to

obtain federal recognition with the Department of Indian & Northern Affairs on behalf of the Mi’Kmaqmembership.

It reminded us of the struggle of the Mi’kmaq people to get to where we are today and it refreshed the hopes the Mi’kmaq people have for  tomorrow.

Ms. Alexander presented Brendan Sheppard, president of the FNI, with the belt. Mr. Sheppard thanked her and all

those involved and praised them on their cultural and creative idea displayed in the Wampum Belt.

The belt consisted of aboriginal symbolism to demonstrate aboriginal culture from the beginning of time through

today.

Sheppard vowed to keep the belt and preserve it for future generations to come ,to ensure people can see and understand the Mi’kmaq people’s way of life of yesterday and today.

Pictures to follow...Pikto'l..

This is the picture of the Wampum Belt.

Holding the belt  (from left) is ELDER VICTOR  MUISE, ANCIENT SPIRIT  OF  THE WHITE  WOLF .

The ELDER is a teacher , speaker, activist,  Shaman, Spiritual Warrior, and Leader.

Also present are the Elder's sister, Doreen, his Aunt Jessie,  Brenden Shepard , and Dorothy George

NUMIK: THE FIRST NEWFOUNDLANDER

Numik, The First Newfoundlander

NEWFOUNDLAND LEGEND ABOUT FIRST MOTHER EARTH STORYTELLER 

The Great Spirit stopped the large ice fields from creeping over the frozen, distant island located at the end of the ocean. After the mountains of ice went away creatures did not returned to the rocky island at the end of the world. The Great Spirit asked Glosscap, his spirit world helper, to arrange for different creatures to inhabit the place where the sand blows, that large island at the end of the world. Glosscap tried several times to keep creatures alive on the island. He first sent eel, walrus, seal, salmon, mussels and other water creatures but the waters around the island were still too cold from the melted ice and they perished within an eye-blink. Next he sent different birds, bear, beaver, caribou and other land creatures but there was nothing for them to eat; no grasses, scrubs, or small trees. All the animals perished within several moons except one. That creature left alive on the island was none other than “Niskan tal Mumin” who is spirit bear of the People. Unknown to Glosscap, the Great Spirit have sent Niskan tal Mumin to this remote place as an observer to find out first hand why living creatures could not survive on that faraway island nearly at the end of the universe where the natural world and the spirit world meet. Some call that sacred place the “crack between worlds “ but nothing else will be mentioned here about that particular place because this is another story.

 Niskan, the Spirit Bear, reported back to Great Spirit that no living creature could survive on the island until Mother Earth warmed herself, thereby allowing grasses, trees and other plant life to start growing on that distant island. Only then could living creatures, especially the People, survive in that place so remote from where the People currently lived with Mother Earth.  Glosscap was disappointed about the apparent failure of his latest venture; he would have to try something else in order to have the island inhabited with living creatures. He promised himself that next time things would work out so that Great Spirit would be proud of his accomplishment.  

A long, long time passed and the isolated island at the end of the world began to show signs of life because Mother Earth started to warm herself by basking in the sun that now showed itself each day. Grasses, flowers, and other scrubs began to flourish all over the island. Soon afterwards a small assortment of different type trees began to grow. It was soon time to introduce insects and animals and shortly afterwards the People to the isolated island haven located at the end of the world. 

Glosscap was somewhat hesitant to try sending more insects, animals and then People to the island. He had failed several times in the past and Great Spirit only gave so many chances before using someone else to complete a special assignment. Glosscap believed that he needed help to solve this problem so he went to visit Niskan tal Murnin in his den one cold, winter night. He recalled that long, long ago Spirit Bear had spent time in that faraway place. Niskan was a little upset from been awaken during his winter slumber but Glosscap was an old friend with a problem so Niskan welcomed Glosscap into his winter den. 

Niskan told Glosscap that the solution to his problem was very simple. All that was needed was a special person to lead all the creatures at the same time across the sea to that land at the end of the world. For simplicity sake every creature, along with the different groups of People, would travel on a great pan of winter ice. The chosen leader had to be very agile and persistent because keeping all those different creatures together while crossing the sea on a single ice pan could result in a lot of different problems. After much discussion, Glosscap with the help of Niskan tal Murnin, came up with a failure proof plan that would help get all the different creatures and many different families of People to that distant place.

 Glosscap, with the help of Niskan tal Murnin, would turn into a human and disguise himself as one of the People. This Glosscap like person would lead the group across the sea; Glosscap named this newly made leader “Numik” which literally means the eyes and ears of the people. Glosscap figured that Numik would need exceptional sensory perception; perfect hearing like Niskan, the Spirit Bear and faraway vision like Gitpu, the Spirit Eagle. Numik would also have advanced sensory perceptions for touch, smell and taste. Glosscap also gave Numik a generous spirit, one that was compassionate and kind. He also placed in Numik’s memory all the stories and legends of the People. Not only would Numik become the leader of his people but also their top storyteller. The knowledge entrusted with Numik could be passed on to the People by Numik at appropriate times in their new home across the sea. All these special, spirit derived traits would be necessary to a leader with the momentous task of leading a large group of different animals and people across an ocean on a large ice pan.

Numik, with the help of Great Spirit, assembled on the ice pan all the different creatures and many couples of People. Immediately they encountered their first problem.  All the creatures and People including Numik had gathered on one section of the very large ice pan. This caused the ice pan to tilt very dangerously in one direction. Numik, because of his special powers bestowed on him by Glosscap and Niskan, quickly came up with a solution. He separated the people and creatures making them all spread out equally to different sections of the ice pan. Each section now held some people and at least one set of each creature that was present. 

The next problem created by separating the big group was that Numik could only be in one place at a time and all the different groups of people and creatures want Numik to be with their group. Confusion was rampart throughout the entire ice pan with every section crying out for Numik to come with them. Glosscap, who was watching at a distance [because he wanted everything to work out just right] quickly came up with a solution. He thought that if each group had their own Numik things would work out and the different groups would settle down in their section of the large ice pan waiting for the right wind to start blowing towards that distant island far out at the end of the sea. He quickly conjured up many, many Numiks, one for each group. Each new Numik had exactly the same powers and disposition as the original Numik. The ice pan was so large that each group could not see anything else except their own immediate surroundings so that only Glosscap, and of course Great Spirit, knew about the many, many Numiks. Maybe Niskan tal Mumin, the spirit bear of the People also knew about the Numiks; but bears are very secretive beings and it is not certain if Bear Spirit knew for sure. 

Later that night, while everyone was asleep, the Great Spirit created a very, very strong wind that billowed in the direction of the distant island. The large ice pan started to gradually move away from the safely of shore into the deep, cold waters of the sea. Now that the creatures and different groups of People were dispersed over all the large ice pan all that wind was not needed to move the ice pan forward. The result was that the ice pan with its treasure of sleeping travellers moved at extremely dangerous speed into the huge waves created by the big wind. The ice pan started to break up into smaller pieces. Throughout the night all sections of the ice pan containing both creatures and People were separated from one another; each with its own Numik. Different groups had different experiences that night; many did not survive the cold, dangerous sea. It is not exactly known how many different groups made it safely to some landform. But it is known that one group with the help of Glosscap, made landfall on that sandy, rocky island at the end of the world because their descendants still live there today.

 If you come to visit that far away island at the end of the large ocean you will hear stories from the descendants of that very first Numik who passed on all that he was told by Glosscap many, many years ago. Glosscap, Niskan and of course Great Spirit are still living nearby in the spirit world just on the other side of the crack between the two worlds.

Written by Elder Eagle Catcher:For (Ancient Spirit of the white Wolf) December 22, 2012

ANONYMOUS GRAVE

Anonymous Gravesite

There are several gravesites situated in Journios Field next to Journois Pond.  There was no record kept of these deceased individuals.

A cabin boy ,aged twelve, died of smallpox on a slope,  in the early eighteen hundreds and was carried up the hill by crew members and buried in a place called  the Gulch,  which was situated between Fischells  and Berry’s Brook.  However, this hillside has foundered since then and most likely; this gravesite went out to sea.

Information collected from generations to generation related stores of passengers who died from smallpox while aboard sailing ships passing through the areas from Fischells to Bank Head.  These victims were laid to rest on the hillsides along the shorelines.  The elders in these communities remember being told as children about several babies and young children who were carried by the crew members up the hillside on Haynes’s in Bank Head and laid to rest.  Today, this information would be impossible to prove because the majority of hills in these areas have foundered and the remains washed into the sea.

A BABY's GRAVESITE

Pikto'l Sa'ke'j Muise... A Baby’s Gravesite
For centuries, people have been intrigued with the mysteries revolving around the location where they reside. Today people are still curious to know who lived in their location generations ago. How they survived, if any extraordinary events occurred and the location of their burial grounds. Newfoundlanders search endlessly for stories involving their ancestors and they investigate the facts they accumulate to acknowledge whether the information is fact or fiction. The most perplexed data to process is the names, dates of birth and deaths of the deceased members of the ancestors who were buried on their own land.

The people who lived along the shorelines and later the railway beds in Journois, Middle Brook, Berry’s Brook and Fischells on the west coast of Newfoundland never kept a record of the births and deaths of their loved ones who were laid to rest on their own land. A record of births, marriages and deaths were recorded in the church registry with the exemption of unbaptized persons, individuals who were living common-law and suicide victims. However, stories were told orally and passed down from generation to generation. The story I am going to relate to you was narrated orally to my children by their great grandmother Jane King, who was eighty years old at the tim

When Jane was a little girl she was captivated by one story her father recited to her frequently. It was about a pirate ship sailing the high seas and one summer evening to settlers’ astonishment the ship was sailing towards the shore.

The captain of the pirate ship had recently married a very young attractive girl. They had a baby and the captain decided to take his young wife and child with him on this journey to ensure their safety and well-being. However, during the long journey the baby fell ill with a very high fever and died. The captain and his crew found themselves in a serious dilemma. The young wife was hysterical with grief over the death of her baby and she requested her husband to go ashore where they could provide their baby with a proper burial and be able to have a gravesite they could revisit whenever they were in this same area. The captain was apprehensive about leaving his ship unattended being aware of other pirate ships in the areas.


The pirate ship was between Bank Head and Journois. The captain searched for a landmark he could use in the future to remember the exact location where the baby was to be buried. He noticed a gigantic rock protruding out of the sand near the shoreline. This was King’s Rock and the fisherman of the community used it as a landmark when they set their lobster pots and their fishing nets. Straight across from this enormous rock is a hillside. The captain decided they would all ascend the hill and bury the baby properly.


They began the ascent up the hill and the wind carried the sound of the young mother’s weeping and wailing. One of the crewmembers carried the lifeless baby. The baby was wrapped in a cloth. The captain held on to his wife comforting and consoling her. The remainder of the crew followed behind carrying the tools needed to dig the grave. When they finally reached the top of the hill the grave was dug quickly and the baby was laid to rest. They descended down the hill and when they reached the foot of the hill the young mother gazed intently at the top of the hill sobbing and telling her baby that she would be back soon to visit.

A dew day’s later news of the fate of the captain, his wife and the crew reached the people along the shoreline. After they boarded their ship and set sail they were overcome grief and sorrow, they had let their guard down of impending dangers. Late that night another pirate ship sailed up next to them, boarded the ship and massacred everyone. They threw their bodies overboard and began searching the ship for treasure. Unable to find any treasure the pirates burned the ship in there stoke of rage.

The people in the area believed the treasure was buried with the baby. The grave was never tampered with and yet another mystery goes unsolved.




VJM.....Pikto'l