Chapter XLIII: Appendix: Iii--Habitations

Their habitations are as rude as imagination can conceive. The hut of the woodman is made of the bark of a single tree, bent in the middle, and placed on its two ends on the ground, affording shelter to only one miserable tenant. These they never carry about with them; for where we found the hut, we constantly found the tree from which it had been taken withered and dead. On the sea-coast the huts were larger, formed of pieces of bark from several trees put together in the form of an oven with an entrance, and large enough to hold six or eight people. Their fire was always at the mouth of the hut, rather within than without; and the interior was in general the nastiest smoke-dried place that could be conceived. Their unserviceable canoes were commonly broken up and applied to this use. Beside these bark huts, they made use of excavations in the rock; and as the situations of these were various, they could always choose them out of the reach of wind and rain. At the mouths of these excavations we noticed a luxuriancy of soil; and on turning up the ground, found it rich with shells and other manure. These proved a valuable resource to us, and many loads of shells were burnt into lime, while the other parts were wheeled into our gardens.

When in the woods I seldom met with a hut, but at the mouth of it was found an ant's nest, the dwelling of a tribe of insects about an inch in length, armed with a pair of forceps and a sting, which they applied, as many found to their cost, with a severity equal to a wound made by a knife. We conjectured, that these vermin had been drawn together by the bones and fragments of a venison feast, which had been left by the hunter.

In their huts and in their caves they lie down indiscriminately mixed, men, women, and children together; and appear to possess under them much the same enjoyment as may be supposed to be found by the brute beast in his den, shelter from the weather, and, if not disturbed by external enemies, the comfort of sleep.

The extreme soundness with which they sleep invites jealousy, or revenge for other wrongs, to arm the hand of the assassin. Several instances of this kind occurred during our acquaintance with them, one of which was too remarkable to pass unnoticed: Yel-lo-way, a native, who seemed endowed with more urbanity than the rest of our friends, having possessed himself (though not, as I could learn, by unfair means) of Noo-roo-ing the wife of Wat-te-wal, another native well known among us, was one night murdered in his sleep by this man, who could not brook the decided preference given by Noo-roo-ing to his rival. This murder he several months after repaid in his own person, his life being taken by Cole-be, one of Yel-lo-way's friends, who stole upon him in the night, and put him to death while asleep. It was remarkable, that Cole-be found an infant lying in his arms, whom he first removed, before he drove the fatal spear into the father; he afterwards brought the child with him into the town. Yel-lo-way was so much esteemed among us, that no one was sorry he had been so revenged.

Being themselves sensible of the danger they ran in the night, they eagerly besought us to give them puppies of our spaniel and terrier breeds; which we did; and not a family was without one or more of these little watch-dogs, which they considered as invaluable guardians during the night; and were pleased when they found them readily devour the only regular food they had to give them, fish.