Secret Vaults of Time: Psychic Archaeology and the Quest for Man's Beginnings by Stephan A. Schwartz

Author:Stephan A. Schwartz [Schwartz, Stephan A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nemoseen Media
Published: 2013-07-31T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER VI

CHILDREN OF THE CHANGE

Garrad and Reid

Charles Garrad had been digging by himself for days, searching for a Canadian village he was sure was there. "By four o'clock on Thursday I had reached my limit of exhaustion. I was totally alone. Very cold and very tired. It came at the end of the day, when my physical exhaustion, mental exhaustion, and hunger all hit me at once. I got utterly fed up with the situation and became enraged, my fury boiling over. Whether that caused it or not I cannot say."

Garrad's area of specialty is very specific—a single segment of southern Ontario known as the Collingwood Blue Mountains, a single band of Indians known as the Wyandots (Samuel de Cham¬plain called them the Tobacco People, Nation du Pétun), and a single period of time-1600— 1650 A.D. For years he had been trying to sort out the various Wyandot villages to determine which ones the Jesuit missionaries had recognized by name, which ones Champlain had visited, which ones had been the sites of mission sta¬tions, and which ones had been attacked by the Wyandot's sometime enemies, the Iroquois.

By that fall of 1972, although he was a nonacademic archaeologist, Garrad had developed a fairly conclusive interpretation of his area of interest, one that his fellows in the Ontario Archaeological Society recognized as authoritative. There were still loose ends, however, and he had taken a week off to try to tie some of them up.

By late afternoon it seemed the week's work had been for nothing, and so, with rage driving him, Garrad walked back a short distance from where he was digging to what he thought of as the middle of the village, and looking carefully around to make sure that nobody was likely to overhear him, shouted out, "Look here, you goddamned Indians. I'm tired, and I'm cold, and I'm bloody hungry. What do you think I'm here for anyway? It's certainly not for profit. Who wants to spend his bloody holiday this way? You'd better give me something in five minutes or I'll quit!"

Stumbling back to where he had left his shovel, Garrad picked it up and tried to thrust it into the ground. He missed. The shovel glanced off, waving over the soil top and blowing up some dust. "But while the dust was lifted, I plainly saw in the ground several [smoking] pipes, and then the dust settled and the pipes were obscured from view."

To Garrad, it was astonishing. In all the years of his archaeological career he had never found, complete, a ritual pipe used by the Wyandots and other Indians in their ceremonies. Then, suddenly, at the spot where he had been digging for days with no luck whatever, there was not one but several pipes.

With a strength recharged by adrenalin, he began to dig again.

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