The Canadian Highland

by Ken Busato

Chapter 13

  Everyone is huddled together in our log hut. There are five other dwellings just like ours. Without a window, it’s always dark, although there are cracks where a little light and cold air comes in. Anything is better than the tents that were first pitched here, miles away from the trading post up the river.

  It’s hard to tell the time of day in this wilderness. We have spent over a month on the banks of the Nelson and Hayes rivers, about five miles distance from York Factory. The nights come so quickly, and day hardly has a chance to cast its light before it’s dark again. The lights of the night sky are beautiful, filled with colours of blue and green. Yet, the light only adds to the loneliness, to the cold, to the feeling of loss in this northern land. The sky is beautiful, but the land is anything but.

  When we first arrived here, on that cool late September day, I remember thinking how odd it was for there to be snow so soon in the season. At the time, it was the coldest day I had ever experienced, so difficult that if my very bones could speak they would scream in pain. How I now wish to have that day return! I have been given lodging, and I am clothed like the people of this country, yet I have not experienced winter like this before, and every day it feels like our log hut is becoming more like a coffin…

  The first few days, although difficult, were spent in a warehouse used for storing fur. The scent was something rather odd, a mixture of cedar and dead animal. All seventy-three of us from the hold of the Edward and Anne, Irish and Scottish alike, were packed into this room like pigs entering a pen. The floors were cold, yet at least there was no rocking motion. It was good to be on land, and even though it was not comfortable, the factor did provide some small scraps of fur to help people keep warm.

  I found it hard to get any sleep in the warehouse. At times, it felt like I would suffocate if I did not get out. No sooner would I finally doze off than I would hear the stifled cries of a woman, or worse the moans of a man sounding like an animal caught in a trap. Although my nights in the York warehouse were difficult, my mother slumbered peacefully with Calum at her breast. The smell and crowded conditions did not seem to bother her at all.

  Uncle Willie, however, did not share the same sense of peace. All through the voyage across the ocean, my uncle, always loud, had been surprisingly quiet. I asked Papa once if anything was the matter. He said Willie did not want to get into trouble. We were all quiet on ship, more concerned with simple survival and our own thoughts, but my uncle has always had an opinion on even the smallest of things, and he was never afraid to speak up. Willie would never let anyone get the better of him. And yet, on ship, hardly a word?

  On land, however, it only took a little time for old Willie to come back. Before long, he was arguing with some of the factory workers, even though some of them could not understand him. The few who work here are not used to colonists, let alone one with a terrible Scottish temper. On the second night, the factor gave us some alcohol to celebrate our ocean crossing, and all it did was leave my uncle with a black eye and some dried blood on his shirt.

  “What happened to you?” Mama asked Willie when she saw him the next morning after the factor’s gift.

  “Nothing happened to me,” said Willie, with an eye so swollen he could barely open it. With a little smile on his lips, he turned to me and said, “I’m just getting to know the good people here is all. And I thought to myself a good Scottish hello would be just the thing.”

  Yes, my good uncle was back!

  The use of the warehouse as a lodging was only temporary. Although I hated the warehouse, I prayed for the sake of my mother we would not be moved, but like most of my prayers of late, they were not answered. The factor sent all of the colonists miles away up the Nelson River where tents were pitched. I have no doubt the drunken actions of my uncle helped to speed Governor Cook’s decision to move us as soon as he possibly could.

  Tents in the wilderness! The mere thought of spending many miserable months in tents would be insane to almost anyone. I had heard whispers of how angry Mr. MacDonell was with the factor for moving everyone so quickly to our new home up the river, the Nelson Encampment. This anger was nothing compared to his anger with us though.

  Papa and Uncle Willie are good workers, strong and sturdy men from the Highlands. Along with other colonists, they got to work as fast as they could to build cedar huts. And yet, they did not seem to be doing the job expected of them from our leader. Strong Scottish and Irish know how to work, but not in for MacDonell.

  “You men are much too slow,” cried MacDonell about two weeks into our stay. “For goodness sake, a small pack of natives and half-breeds could get this job done in half the time it would take you. Or do you like the warmth a tent can provide?”

  Papa had to calm Willie down. “Now Willie,” Papa started one night, “I too don’t like the things our leader is saying, but it will do you no good to start in on him. You have to have patience. Let’s get these cedar logs built, and not worry much about what MacDonell says or thinks.”

  “Start in on him? Why does he have to start in on us? We’re here already, what do we need him for anyway?” responded Willie in anger.

  “Willie, think of the family. You can’t go off on every man you have a problem with.”

  “It’s worked in the past, ain’t it?”

  “It’s too different here. We’re all alone. And we do need him, even if he thinks he doesn’t need us. It’s not just a simple matter of build the huts and spend the winter. We have to survive this place, and I don’t think it’s as easy as you or some of the others might think.”

  “Come on now Willie,” my mother started in. “We’ve been through so much together, this poor family. We all have reason to be just as angry as you. For the sake of Calum, Liam, and Molly, you have to be careful. Once we get to our new home, things will change, I’m sure of it, but here, we have to listen to what we’re told, even if we don’t like it.”

  Mama made a motion to grab Willie’s hand. At first, he resisted her touch, but soon enough, she pulled him close to her. Sometimes, I forget my uncle is a grown man who has missed the touch of a woman. Once we settle, maybe he can settle as well. Hopefully Willie will get a chance soon to start a family of his own…