The Canadian Highland

by Ken Busato

After two days, the infection in Redden’s arm became so bad Dr. Edwards had to cut it off. He needed men strong in body and in spirit, since an operation of this sort was not something you could assist with if your constitution was weak. My father and Mr. Docherty, along with four other men, volunteered to help the doctor by holding the patient still so the work could be done as quickly possible.

  With his hands still firmly pressed against his ears, Liam asked “Is it over Molly, can I let go?” Looking at him with genuine concern in my eyes, I shook my head, and then brought him forward and cradled his head to my chest to provide the kind of comfort an older sister is supposed to.

  All was quiet in our cabin, except for the crackle of fire in the corner and the occasional angry outburst from my baby brother. Mrs. Docherty and Mama tried to keep busy, but they could not concentrate on their work. The sounds from outside were increasing in strength, and with every blood curdling scream, I felt my own body shudder, as if I were experiencing the same agony myself.

  After about five minutes, the sounds started to quiet down. All of a sudden, Papa and Mr. Docherty burst through the door, with tears in their eyes and blood covering their arms, hands, and clothes.

  “Good God,” yelled Mrs. Docherty, “Are the two of you alright? You damn well look like you have been to hell and back.” You could see the tears start to well up in her eyes.

  “We’ll both be fine,” Mr. Docherty started, “Although I did not know a man could be that strong. I was merely holding on to his leg, but it took every bit of strength I had to keep him still.”

  “Is that poor man going to be alright?” Mama inquired.

  “Only time will tell,” Papa said. “Doctor Edwards had to cut two inches above Redden’s left elbow. He has lost a lot of blood.” While he was speaking, Papa pulled out a whisky bottle from the shelf, uncorked it, and helped himself to a generous drink. He then passed the bottle to Mr. Docherty who did the exact same thing.

  “I did not know a man had that much blood in him,” Papa continued. “Doctor Edwards gave him almost a half a pint of whisky to dull the pain, and then he made him bite down on a piece of wood, yet the yelling and cursing were louder than any I have ever heard. Many of us were holding him down while the Doctor did the cutting. I thought for sure the poor bugger was going to die right there on the table.” I could see Mr. Docherty nodding in agreement.

  “John,” Mama interrupted. “Perhaps you should not talk about these things in front of the children.”

  “Fiona, you’re right, but the kids are getting older, older beyond their years in this place, and this may not be the last time when something as tragic as this might happen. So much suffering… is this to be what is now normal?”

  Mama let out a huge sigh, returning the love in her eyes for her husband, this man who has been so strong for her, for us. “I don’t think this is now the way of things,” Mama started. “We must remember to be careful, and to hold on to what is important.” She grabbed Calum from the floor and held him close. “I have heard this accident was caused by a man drunk with dulled senses. Once again, the evils of alcohol have played a part in the hardship of our lives.”

  Mr. Docherty handed the bottle back and Papa put it back where he found it. “Alcohol did play its part in this tragic story, but even more is the inexperience many have living and working in this area. Some men are using a gun for the first time.”

  “Can’t the natives help us?” I asked.

  “The natives will sometimes help,” Mr. Docherty responded, “But their language is strange, and all too often men walk away because they cannot understand what is being said. Europeans who work for the Company will sometimes help us when they can, but the natives of the area tend to stick with their own.”

  “So, what is now to become of Mr. Redden from Dublin?” asked Mama.

  “If he lives, there is no doubt he will not make the journey with us down the river. What is a man to do with only one arm? Back home, from time to time, I would see people without an arm or a leg in the village square begging for scraps. Alas for Mr. Redden. He might live, but his life is certainly over.”

  Mr. Redden will never be the same again. If he survives the next few days, his life will be one of hardship and misery. But what about us? I know it’s selfish to think about myself when my heart should go out to someone else, but hardship and misery has been our lot ever since we started on this adventure.

  Is not our Scottish life over? Can we truly make a Highland life here in Canada? Lord Selkirk seems to think so, and the only reason we’re here is because we believed his vision, his dream. You can be Scottish in Canada, but could it be possible to do what Selkirk and MacDonell want: to bring Scotland to Canada?

  As I wrestled with these thoughts, the cabin started to quiet down. Papa and Mr. Docherty were trying their best to clean off the blood from their clothes and hands, while Uncle Willie, quiet for the entire time, sat in the corner staring intently into the fire. We are Scottish in Canada, I continued to think to myself. Is there anything else we have to give up before we can call this place home?