In Darkest Depths

The Armada

There were as many ways to make canoes as there were tribes to make them. Some did as the Nansusequa liked to do and hollowed out logs. Some built frames and covered them with hide. Others preferred bark. Nate King had even heard of a tribe that used planks and sealed the gaps between the planks with pitch.

Some tribes were partial to large canoes, other tribes only used small ones, and then there were those that relied on both. Some liked the sides of their canoes to be high to ward off enemy arrows and lances. Others constructed canoes that sat low in the water so it was easier to fish.

Even the shapes of the canoes varied. Certain tribes liked the ends to come to points. Others preferred rounded ends. Still others chose square ends.

All this came up in the days that followed the meeting. Winona and Blue Water Woman insisted more canoes be made. As Winona summed up their sentiments, “If the water devil had capsized your dugout, we would have had no way of reaching you in time to help.”

It was decided they needed at least four craft besides the one they had. Nate was put in charge of building what Shakespeare took to calling their armada. The Nansusequa offered to hollow out more logs, but Nate and Shakespeare tactfully suggested that smaller, lighter craft might be better. After their experience with the dugout, they would be damned, as Shakespeare put it, if they “ever used one of those floating death traps again. The only thing it has to commend it is that it can be chopped up and used for firewood.”

That left them the choice of hide canoes or bark canoes. Birch bark was highly touted, but the valley did not have many birch trees. Ash was a good substitute, but it would take hours to reach the nearest stand.

“Hide canoes will be easier to make than bark and less likely to sink,” suggested Nate.

“I am all for staying dry,” Shakespeare said.

The valley teemed with game, and they were experts at skinning and tanning. Shakespeare wanted to use deer hides since “there are so many damn deer, we trip over them every time we step out the door.” Initially, Nate disagreed. He thought elk hides would be better. But the elk were high up at that time of year, and when he factored in the time it would take to ride up into the high country after them and come back again, he went along with McNair.

“Deer it is.”

Over the next several days, the valley resounded with the boom of rifles. Nate, Shakespeare, and Zach all went deer hunting. After each deer was slain, they would tote it on a pack horse to the lake where the women and the Nansusequas took over.

At one point, Winona remarked to Louisa that she was surprised Lou had not gone with the men, as she loved to hunt as much as Zach did.

Lou looked down at her belly and replied, “I just don’t feel up to it.” She did not elaborate.

In Winona’s estimation, the women had the harder job. Skinning, curing, and tanning a hide took three days, and they had a lot of hides to prepare.

The skinning went smoothly, so long as the animal was freshly killed. The hides peeled off with little effort, much like the skin of the banana Winona once had when she visited the States.

Next came the soaking. All the hides had to be immersed in water for half a day. It softened them and made them pliable. Usually Winona soaked her hides in a large wooden tub, but since they had so many to get ready and they did not want to be all month at it, she proposed soaking them in the lake. They waded out until the water came to their knees, then weighed the hides down with rocks.

While the hides soaked, they fashioned frames for the stretching and fleshing.

At the end of half a day, each hide was taken from the water and wrung out. Then the hide was attached to the frame using cords spaced about a hand’s width apart around the outer edge.

Fleshing involved scraping away the fat and tendons. It was tedious work, but essential. Normally, they would also remove the hair, but since these particular hides would not be made into clothes and the hair would make the hides more resistant to water, it was left on.

Evelyn was put in charge of boiling the deer brains. She did not care for the task. The feel of holding a brain always made her vaguely queasy. But she did not complain.

Evelyn would crack the skulls and scoop out the brains. She then placed them in a pot over a fire, and once the water was at full boil, she took them out and put them in cool water for a while. Usually they were still warm when she picked them out of the cool water and worked them with her fingers to get rid of the membranes.

Finally, Evelyn gave the brains to Tihikanima and her daughters, and they rubbed the brains on the sides of the hides that did not have hair. They rubbed and rubbed until the brains were the consistency of paste.

Afterward, the hides were placed in the shade for another half a day, then soaked again. To further waterproof them, they were hung on a tripod over a fire and smoked.

All that was only the beginning.

The men built the frames, but it was the women who fitted the hides over them. It had to be done hair side out, with the women exercising great care that they did not accidentally puncture or cut each hide.

Twelve days after the meeting, they had their armada: four deer-hide canoes, in addition to the log canoe that Waku and Dega insisted on using.

It was a proud moment when they lined up the canoes on the shore and stood admiring their handiwork.

Shakespeare sobered them by shaking a fist at the lake and hollering, “We are coming for you, beast! It is either you or us and it will by God not be us!”

“I wish you had not put it that way,” Nate said.

“Your problem, Horatio,” Shakespeare responded, “is that you like your reality to be worry free.”

“I am not an infant.”

“I am only saying that we go from the cradle to the grave under the double grindstone of uncertainty and toil, and no amount of wishful thinking will change that.”

“Talk about a cheerful outlook,” Nate said.

The time had come.

The canoes, the paddles, the net, the special weapons—everything was ready.

They knew the creature fed at daybreak; Shakespeare had seen the teal taken with his own eyes. The next dawn found them on the west shore, preparing to launch their armada.

Nate and Shakespeare both had canoes to themselves. In the third came Winona and Blue Water Woman. Zach and Lou had the fourth. Last to launch were Waku and Dega in the dugout.

Evelyn, Tihikanima, and the Nansusequa girls stayed on shore.

Zach King was glad his sister was not going. She had wanted to, but their parents had insisted she stay behind. Zach was not so glad about Lou tagging along. He could not bear the thought of harm befalling her. It was bad enough she had been acting strangely of late; she was often withdrawn and distracted, and a moment of distraction out on the lake could have dire consequences.

Now, stroking powerfully, Zach looked back at her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?” Lou absently replied while matching her rhythm to his.

“You looked a little peaked when you woke up.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Maybe you should have stayed in bed,” Zach said. “I can manage on my own.”

“It’s nothing!” Lou repeated irritably. She had not told him about her queasiness.

“I can take you back to shore,” Zach offered, hiding his surprise. She was rarely cross with him without cause.

“I am fine, I tell you.” But Lou did not feel fine. The motion of the canoe was doing unpleasant things to her stomach. She closed her eyes for a bit, and when she opened them again she felt a little better.

Over in his canoe, Nate King overheard their exchange and did not like it. He remembered the romantic tryst they had taken up to the glacier a while back, with the express aim of starting a family, and he marveled that Louisa had not put two and two together. Increasing his speed, Nate brought his canoe alongside McNair’s. In his haste, they nearly collided.

“What the blazes?” Shakespeare exclaimed. “If you are trying to send me to the bottom, you are off to a good start.”

Nate gazed about to be sure no one would hear and said quietly, “I think Louisa is pregnant.”

“She isn’t sure yet,” Shakespeare replied.

“You knew about it?”

“I know everything.”

“Why didn’t you say something? She is my daughter-in-law.”

“Didn’t you hear me say she isn’t sure yet? I will be happy to tell you when she is.”

“You are particular about your gossip. That is rare for a biddy hen.”

Shakespeare snorted like a incensed bull. “You prattle something too wildly, Horatio.” He regarded the canoe bearing Zach and Lou. “If she is, she should not be with us, but since she is here, we must take special care she is not placed in harm’s path.”

Nate nodded. They had already decided that when the creature was sighted, Zach and Lou were to move in close and while Lou handled the paddle, Zach would cast one of their special weapons. “I will go in first when we spot the thing instead of them, Nate said.”

“Why you and not me?” Shakespeare demanded.

“I said it first.”

“I was born first.”

“That’s a ridiculous reason.” Nate used his paddle. “I will go tell Zach and Louisa.”

“Don’t let on why.”

Nate angled his canoe to intercept his son and daughter-in-law. They were so intent on the water ahead that they did not notice him until he was almost on them. “There’s been a change in plans.”

“Pa?”

“You and Lou will hang back and help Waku and Dega with the net.”

“But we already talked it out. I want in on the kill,” Zach reminded him.

“Be ready in case we miss.” Nate paddled away to avoid being quizzed. His son sounded disappointed, and he did not blame him. All Zach’s life, he had lived for the thrill of counting coup and the challenge of the hunt. Then Zach married Lou, and her love had blunted his bloodletting. But deep down Zach was still Zach; he still relished the excitement of pitting himself against any and all comers.

Soon they were well out on the lake. The sun was half up, casting the sky in hues of yellow and pink. The waterfowl were astir. Ducks quacked and flapped, swans arched their long necks and raised their large wings, gulls squawked in raucous irritation. A pair of storks winged in low and alighted with admirable grace given their ungainly appearance. Fish were beginning to jump.

Nate straightened and scanned the lake from end to end. If Shakespeare was right, the thing would soon rise out of the depths to feed. They must be ready, or they would miss the chance. He checked on the others. Winona and Blue Water Woman were to his right, Shakespeare to his left, the others trailing.

Once the creature was sighted, Winona and Blue Water Woman would swing to the north of it, Shakespeare to the east, Zach and Lou and the Nansusequa to the west, and Nate to the south.

“We will surround the varmint,” Shakespeare had proposed. “The only way it can escape us will be straight down.”

Now, Nate stopped paddling and placed the paddle crosswise across the gunwales. The smell of the water, the lap of the wavelets against the canoe, and the shrieks of the gulls brought to vivid mind his last encounter. He hoped to God they fared better this time.

Nate did not like having the women along. Not because he felt he was any better at handling a canoe, or any tougher, or even because he was a man and they were women. He did not want them there because he cared dearly for them, and what they were doing was terribly dangerous. He gazed across at Winona and Blue Water Woman. Winona noticed he was looking at them, and smiled and called out.

“Is everything all right?”

With a lump in his throat, Nate smiled and nodded.

“Be careful, husband.”

“You too, wife.”

The part of the lake in their vicinity was still and serene. A few geese were to the southeast.

Closer were nine mergansers, the males black and white, the females a dusky gray. The flock swam past Winona’s canoe without breaking formation, their heads held high, their tails twitching.

Nate glanced down at the special weapons in the bottom of his canoe. Shakespeare had insisted that one weapon was not enough, so each canoe had a pair. He fingered one, praying his cast would be true.

The mergansers started making a racket.

Tensing, Nate looked up. The surface showed no sign of a disturbance below.

Squawking louder, the mergansers broke rank.

“What’s going on?” Louisa wondered.

Suddenly the mergansers scattered. Several frantically flapped their wings to get airborne.

That was when the monster struck.