Even then, MaNuitu’sta had always counseled that a careful, quiet negotiation with any enemy, either the British or other tribes, brought his people better results than did angry confrontation.
That moderation came as a result of learning about others and noting that a gentler approach, mastering the paths but staying out of the way of raging, intemperate actions, always seemed to win in the long life of a survivor.
The Brits were here to stay, he reasoned, so it was smarter to preserve relationships and keep enemies at an observable distance rather than provoke and then justify hostile maneuvers. Early in his life, after observing the communication abilities of some of the pioneer black-robe missionaries, he realized the value of assimilating languages and became conversant with all the dialects along the coast.
He learned English, as well as some Russian and Spanish, and applied them to protect and enrich his clan.
Of all the tyees who had participated in the signing ceremonies, he alone had realized the discrepancies between what was being read aloud and what Antoine Bill, the Brit’s hired Metís interpreter, had conveyed to the assembled tyees.
He already had a suspicion of Antoine Bill because of the Suquamish’s guidance of a large contingent of bounty hunters out of Vancouver two years before that had resulted in wanton killing during a brutal takeover of Nisqually lands by coal-mining settlers. But not really knowing the details of that business, MaNuitu’sta had suspended judgment.
Antoine Bill’s dishonest actions during the signing ceremonies had confirmed his concerns, and he withdrew from the agreement, after unsuccessfully attempting to convince other tyees about the British deception.
The Brit gifts of blankets and copper and iron utensils were enough to persuade the other elders to ignore him, with some reasoning out loud that they could always take back what they had given. A few hollered him down, embarrassing him. So he simply withdrew from the discussions.
Despite that, however, he watched the ceremony, learning from it just how foolish his compatriots were.
Remaining in that encampment resulted in another event, when his youngest daughter became entranced with an American soldier, Captain George Pickett. MaNuitu ’sta had allowed his third daughter, Morning Mist, to be courted by the American, whom they all called “Pickett George.”
He had carefully observed Pickett and concluded, by his polite and respectful demeanor, that he was not like the others. He also knew that Morning Mist would never be dissuaded, as stubborn as she tended to be, so he simply consented.
He also presciently understood how rapidly the ways were changing, and also that Morning Mist likely would fare better in a community of whites protected by a white tyee.
Pickett George had proven to be reliable and fair, and he regularly sent supplies up to MaNuitu’sta’s clan. He also had travelled up north to personally deliver to MaNuitu’sta the news of Morning Mist’s death.
Thus, when a message arrived with Pickett’s markings asking the Bella Coola to help a woman stranger, MaNuitu’sta did not hesitate. He was old now and needed warmth in this time of his life, so he brought one of his sons, Napen ’tjo, his youngest and brightest, to act as a guide if that became necessary.
His people, the Nuxalk Bella Coola, being more of an inland clan, had worked the rivers to the interior of the region as their transportation pathways and, because they were superb hunters and trappers, were intimately familiar with the lands as far north as the Stikene River. As a result, they became indispensable companions for many of the trappers who supplied the Hudson’s Bay Company with furs.
Over the years, they had escaped much of the internecine predation that beset peoples who lived on coastal shores. Yet, they, too, knew about Anah and other terrors from the north.
Although the Russians and many other northern raiding tribes, decimated by a series of diseases, had not waged war for over a decade, Anah had kept the fear of sudden invasions fresh enough.
MaNuit’sta was well known and was held in high regard throughout the region by whites as well as aborigines.
But he was not allowed to enter the fort.
So, Emmy, escorted by Edween and two soldiers dispatched by the officer of the day, travelled out to meet him on a clear, flat river beach a few hundred yards beyond the front gate.
“Why did they make him wait outside the fort?” Emmy asked Edween, while walking towards the old tyee.
“Well, ‘es a heathen, after all,” said the innkeeper, who did not notice Emmy and Sarah’s reaction to that statement. “But ‘e came as soon as he received yer message, e’ did. Long trek for the old man in this weather, but I’m thinkin’ it was because his daughter was the wife of Pickett George, who wrote the note I delivered for you, Mu’m.”
Emmy, irritated realizing that Edween must have opened the letter she had asked him to deliver, responded
“Pickett George? You mean Captain George Pickett?”
“That’s what the Bella Coola call ‘im.”
“His wife?”
“Yes’m. Before she up and died, she did.”
Emmy did not say anything more as they neared the waiting chieftain.
As he waited, watching the white party approach, MaNuitu ’sta wondered what would compel Pickett George to make such a request. He had not asked for favors in the past. However, when he saw this Emmy, he understood—it was in her posture and in the intensity of her eyes, a way of looking that reminded him of Morning Mist—that Pickett George likely loved her and wanted to see her protected. That, he knew immediately, he could not guarantee, because from Pickett George’s letter, he learned she was asking to go into the dark mouth of death.
He watched the party approach, and when Emmy was ten yards away and had lifted her right hand, he extended his in the French manner and gently touched the top of her fingers, sensing, as he intended, that Emmy
