The Canadian Highland
Page 33
Chapter 23
“The drifting man, the man always moving, is quite common in literature,” started Doctor Edwards, making conversation while rowing close to the shore. “Think about your Bible stories in fact. When Abraham’s wife finally gave birth to a son, Isaac, it made his other bastard son Ishmael not needed or wanted. Ishmael was cast aside, made to drift through the world like a free roving nomad, while Isaac became a man settled. What have we been these many months but the kin of Ishmael, forced to wander this cold land in search of our settlement? Yet, in time, we will live the life we are working towards, the life of Isaac, a life of contentment and peace.”
“You mean the life we left in Scotland?” snorted my uncle, suffering from a hangover. The entire time we spent at the Norway House fort, a bottle was always grasped in his hand with the open end continually pressed to his lips.
“Ahh William,” you have much to be mad about, but remember where we are going we will be free. The land is Selkirk’s to ration out as he sees fit, and he has seen fit to give a portion to you and your kin. There will be no landlords here who will force you out of your homes in the name of profit.”
“What of the fur traders from the North West?” Mr. Docherty asked, joining the conversation. “Are we not putting up roots on land others use to trap buffalo? Are we not acting like Isaac in a land God has seen fit to give to Ishmael, for are not fur traders nothing more than wandering nomads?”
“An excellent, well phrased, question Robert,” Doctor Edwards exclaimed. “The men of the North West Company do roam through these lands, but MacDonnell has been assured safe passage and settlement for all those who have been sponsored by Lord Selkirk. The grant of land he has been given is quite large, more than enough for all men, both Isaac and Ishmael, to share equally.”
Everyone is excited being so close to the settlement. I can’t wait to leave the York Boat behind in exchange for a wooded hut on land that does not move with the pitch of the waves and whims of the wind.
“Are you alright Molly?” my mother asked. “You look like you are dreaming with your eyes open.”
“I’m fine,” I replied. “I guess I’m anxious to finally be done with the travel once and for all. I want to make Red River a new Highland.”
“I know what you mean. All we have known for so long is movement, the anticipation of what lay in store for us. I would be lying if I did not also admit how nervous I am about ending this journey. We have worked so hard, but I think even greater challenges lay ahead for this family. Doctor Edwards can talk all he wants about stories from the Bible, but it is the family Fraser that concerns me.”
“Me too,” I replied as I grabbed my mother’s hand to give it a little squeeze.
We sat in silence as the scenery floated by quietly and softly. To my left, the banks of the lake sloped gently up, and the trees covering the landscape were green and thick with leaves. Like most days, the sky opened up to a fantastic blue, with only little wisps of cloud seen far off in the distance. To my right there was nothing but a great expanse of water, as far as the eye can see. This part of the journey along Lake Winnipeg reminded me of our ocean travel, which now seems like a lifetime ago. On this day, thankfully, the water is still, but I will not be fooled by it. We hug the coastline for a reason. If at any point the wind picks up the York Boat can easily make shore while a tempest passes by. Everyone knows this as we creep along, making it to the final leg of the journey.
“Look ahead,” exclaimed Doctor Edwards. “We have now reached the mouth of the Red River, the final distance to cross before finishing at our settlement.”
“Tis a fine sight indeed,” my father yelled.
“Look at MacDonnell’s boat,” Willie commented. “You would think the journey was finally over.”
The men of MacDonnell’s boat were attempting to lift their oars into the air as a sign of celebration. Although I could not see the expressions on their faces from this distance, I could swear one or two of them had flasks in their hands, making a toast towards the sky. Thankfully, that kind of a celebration was not happening on our boat.
Pulling the boats ashore, everyone was in a joyful mood. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, thicker than any horde of mosquitoes. We were almost there, and this led men once again to the bottle- any excuse to drink.
“Congratulations to all,” bellowed MacDonnell who found a large boulder to stand on to address wearied, yet contented colonists. “We are but one day’s journey from our promised land. Passing the mouth of the Red River, I would say we are but fifteen leagues from where the Red and Assiniboine create a fork. We have spent many days travelling together, and soon you will see that all of your efforts, all of your exertions, will be worth it. Further up the river, there is but one more portage to make, but compared to what we have been through, this is simply a mere nuisance before we reach our final home.”
“I for one will be glad to finally settle,” MacDonnell continued. “Fifty four days journey from York Factory is quite enough. Once we reach our settlement, provisions of farm tools and pemmican will be provided for all.”
“Excuse me sir,” Mr. Docherty interrupted, “But some of us do not know what this pemmican is you are talking about.”
“Ah, quite right. We have had discussions on our boat, but the news has not passed on to others. Pemmican is the food of this land, one of the many things collected and traded by the North West Company. It is the food of the natives in the area, made by the meat of Buffalo. It can be stored for long periods of time, and its consumption can assist in keeping a person alert.”
“I hope this food is a little better than Spruce beer,” my uncle exclaimed to the assembled crowd.
“Fraser, you always seem to find a way to dampen my spirits,” MacDonell responded, clearly annoyed with the comment. “With fish from the river and our own provisions, there should be no need for us to make a natural tea this winter. As for the taste of pemmican, it is a dry meat, tough to bite into, but also mixed with dried berries to help with the taste. It has been quite a while since I last ate it, and I am looking forward to it. That’s enough, however, of these foolish questions and comments. We will make our camp here for the evening, and look forward to our final day on the river. You are the first, but not the last, to settle in this area. History will look upon your adventure and deem it worthy of story and of song.”
I let those last words sink in for a while. I knew we were doing something special, but worthy of song? A story others would tell their children in the same way Papa used to tell stories to Liam and I when we were younger? Until this moment, the thought had never even crossed my mind. Yet, with everything that has happened to me, all the sadness and all of the joy, perhaps a character in a story was not a strange idea. I just pray and hope the story will have a happy ending…