Buchan roused the party at 4 a.m. They ate quickly and each man was portioned a dram of rum as fortification against the bitter cold. By the time they came upon the place where they’d last seen the two Red Indians there was enough grey light to follow the tracks they’d left in the snow. Several of the marines complained of the cold and the party occasionally sheltered in the lee of the forest to get a few minutes out of the wind. The path of the sledge rounded a point of land and crossed to the opposite shore. The party was entirely exposed on the open ice and everyone cursed the weather and marched as quickly as their swollen legs and blistered feet would allow.
On the western shore they found a small sheltered bay where two mamateeks stood close together and a third within a hundred yards. The sun was about to come up. Buchan stopped the party and examined the firearms of each man and charged them all to be prompt in executing any orders that might be given. They stole up the bank in complete silence and Buchan motioned them into positions to secure the shelters. When everyone nodded their readiness he straightened where he stood and squared himself to attention. “Hello friends,” he called. “I bring greetings from His Majesty the King of England.” There was no other sound but the low whine of wind in the trees.
He motioned Bouthland forward and the marine pulled the skins from the doorway of the largest structure. Peyton stood beside Buchan and Cull near the entrance and they stared into the gloom where a group of men, women and children lay still. Peyton counted quickly: seventeen, he concluded, and an infant or two. No one in the mamateek moved or spoke or even looked through the open entranceway to acknowledge the presence of the strangers.
Cull said, “What’s wrong with them, do you think?”
Buchan suddenly remembered Butler and called him to his side. “Tell them they have nothing to be afraid of,” he ordered.
The marine did so. After a moment he said, “They don’t seem to understand, sir.”
“Well, damn it, say something else. Try another language.”
“Yes sir,” Butler said and he stumbled through the same words in Swedish, Finnish and a ragged version of German without success.
“All right, all right,” Buchan said finally and he forced himself to continue smiling at the frozen tableau of bodies in the dimly lit shelter. “We will have to make do.”
Peyton said, “It might help if those of us in view put our firearms away.” Buchan nodded agreement and Peyton and Cull set their rifles down and Buchan dropped his pistol and cutlass on the snow. He held his hands in the air and walked towards the mamateek and stood in the entranceway.
“I am Lieutenant David Buchan,” he said cheerfully, “of the HMS Adonis.”
The faces in the room turned slowly towards a man near the back of the mamateek who stood finally and approached the white man. He was fully six feet in height and dwarfed the lieutenant he stood before. His long black hair was coloured with red ochre, as were his face and hands and long leather cloak. Buchan extended his hand and the Indian accepted it and they exchanged words in their own languages. Buchan motioned Cull and Peyton forward and introduced them and the Indian returned their smiles and shook their hands. He turned and spoke to the people still lying about the fireplace and several of them stood and came forward to shake hands with the white men in their doorway.
Within minutes the entire camp was assembled — thirty-eight Peyton counted altogether — and greetings were exchanged among members of both parties. After an initial period of wariness, the women began examining the dress of the white men, touching the material and buttons, and talking loudly among themselves. All of Buchan’s party but Richmond had set their rifles aside. Handkerchiefs and small knives and other articles of interest the party had among them were gathered and presented to the Indians and half a dozen marten furs were given to them in return.
After the exchange of presents a cooking fire was kindled, a girl kneeling to strike sparks into a ball of tinder. Peyton guessed her to be around twelve years old. She looked up to see him watching and he smiled at her and nodded. He knelt beside her and cupped his hands to encourage the flame as it caught. The tinder she used was a tuft of down from the breast of a blue jay. The girl blew gently and added small shavings of wood to the fire. Their heads were so close together he could smell the oil in her hair.
Large caribou steaks were roasted, and sausages made of seal fat and eggs were presented to the white men. They sat about the fireplace and ate and talked among themselves while smiling and making gestures to their hosts to indicate how much they enjoyed the food and how full they were. They drank fresh water out of birchbark cups sewn with spruce root.
Corporal Bouthland spoke up to say the Red Indians were not as large as he had been given to believe they would be, the tallest among them being the first man to approach Buchan that morning, who seemed to have some sway over the group.
“They look more like people of the Continent than Indians, I should say,” Butler announced.
Richmond turned to the marine. “Do you get a word of what this lot are saying?”
“I’m afraid not, no.”