With Nothing But Our Courage

by Karleen Bradford

  Father swayed in the chair and I thought he would faint, but Grannie was quick to hold the cup of whiskey to his lips and he took a long drink. Then Mother helped him up and with his arm around her shoulders she supported him into their room. He has been lying down in there ever since, and Mother has been cooling his cheek with one of Grannie’s poultices.

  I am still feeling sick to my stomach.

  Poor Father!

  February 12th, 1784

  I am very very tired of being cold. It just keeps on snowing and snowing. My boots are wearing out and by the time I get to school in the morning my feet are wet and frozen. How I wish I could have knitted myself some new mittens. My old ones have holes in them and my fingers get frozen and it’s so cold in the schoolroom that they never warm up. Mother has given me a blanket to pin around my shoulders and wear when I have to go outside. I keep it on all morning while I am doing my lessons.

  I just counted up. I have not seen the sun for seven days.

  February 15th, 1784

  The dissatisfaction in the community at the thought of being forced to go upriver this spring to settle in wild and unknown lands is increasing.

  “There’s no one there but Indians and a few French trappers,” Uncle Andrew said when he was visiting last evening. “And all the land is heavily forested. We will have to be assured of plentiful supplies and help.”

  “Governor Haldimand is promising that very thing,” Father answered. “Besides, Andrew, the Regiment will be staying together. We will be with friends and we will have the officers to help us.”

  Uncle Andrew just puffed on his pipe and did not look convinced.

  February 20th, 1784

  I am in disgrace. Grannie is glaring at me even as I sit by the fire and write this. I’m trying to get back into her good graces by tending to the evening stew and looking very virtuous and industrious, but I do not think it is working. And all because of that wretch, Danny Snyder. This is what happened.

  When I got to school this morning I must admit I was not in a very good mood. I was cold and wet and it is snowing again. Still snowing, I suppose I should say, as it never seems to stop. I’m sure the weather was never this dreadful back home. In any case, when a snowball hit me on the head and splattered freezing wet snow all down the back of my neck, I was furious. I whipped around and there was Danny grinning like a great booby. Without stopping to think, I grabbed up a handful of snow and threw it back at him as hard as I could. How was I supposed to know there was a lump of ice in it? And that Mr. Mitchell had chosen just that moment to come out of the schoolhouse?

  Mr. Mitchell never saw Danny throw his snowball, just the one that I threw. It hit Danny square on the nose and the ice made it hard enough that it gave him a good thump and wouldn’t you know it, his nose began to bleed.

  Well, you’ve never heard such howling. I should think a big lump of a boy like that would be ashamed. Twice as big as me he is, and he cried like a baby. Terrified he was when he saw that blood streaming out.

  Mind you, I was a little concerned myself. For a moment I thought I’d killed him.

  Mr. Mitchell practically dragged me into the schoolroom. For a moment I thought he was going to strap me, but he didn’t — girls never get the strap. He did lecture me soundly, however, and made a point of walking home with me after school to tell the whole family about my “unseemly” behaviour. Grannie is furious, Mother says she is deeply disappointed, and Father shook his head.

  I do believe I saw just the ghost of a smile twitch at the corners of Father’s mouth when he turned away, though.

  February 29th, 1784

  As if this month hasn’t been bad enough, it would have to have one extra day in it!

  March 1784

  March 3rd, 1784

  Two days of sunshine! It feels splendid, even though it is still freezing, and the ice on the river is beginning to show soft spots. That brings its own worries, however. Mother has set me to watching Jamie like a hawk. He is not to go anywhere near the water. That is a nuisance, but I am feeling so light and happy that I can put up with it.

  Aunt Norah says Hannah might be able to come out for a short time tomorrow.

  March 4th, 1784

  It seems like those beautiful two days were just sent to taunt us. It is snowing again today and just as cold as ever. Hannah was even more disappointed than I, she had been looking forward to going out so much.

  March 10th, 1784

  The mood in the settlement has changed completely. Governor Haldimand announced yesterday that he had received word from England promising us all the supplies and assistance we will need. Now, instead of grumbling, people are beginning to make plans and even look forward to our journey upriver. We are to go as soon as the river is open — probably late April or May.

  Mother looked stricken when she heard the news. I think she was really still hoping that something would happen to prevent this. It is settled now, though. We are going for certain. I must admit to a queer little feeling of excitement inside me. What will it be like, I wonder?

  March 15th, 1784

  The sap is running! Mr. Mitchell closed down the school and the whole community turned out to help. I’ve always loved maple syrup making time. We’ve been working for days collecting the buckets of sap and lugging them over to the boiling areas where the big iron kettles are hanging over the fires. Everyone does what they can, even Jamie and the other small children. They can barely manage one bucket apiece, and not even that if they’re very full. I’m proud to say that I can carry two. That dim-witted Danny Snyder made me a wager that I couldn’t, but I did. I had to because the penalty was that I would have to give him a kiss if I couldn’t. As if I would let that happen! I only agreed to the wager because Annie Stanton and Flossie Hoople looked so horrified when he suggested it. Also, Grannie wasn’t anywhere around.

  I balanced a yoke over my shoulders and let a bucket hang down from each side of it. It was hard work, especially forging through the snowdrifts, but I’m very sturdy.

  We made syrup and sugar as well and there will be enough for all of us. Grannie could not help herself — she turned up to oversee the boiling. She fancies herself the best judge anywhere of when the syrup has reached the right stage. It had been boiling all day and we watched it slowly change from a pale, watery sap to a rich, dark golden colour. Grannie was there with her ladle to test it and when she dipped it in and a long, stretchy thread hung down from the ladle, she pronounced the syrup done.

  The best part as far as I’m concerned, of course, is scooping the syrup out of the kettles and throwing it onto the snow to harden into taffy. We all just munched and munched on it — even the adults. I saved the biggest piece I could for Hannah.

  March 20th, 1784

  Would you believe it? We are having another snowstorm! But I don’t even care because we are going to have a quilting bee. Mrs. Livingstone and her daughters have finished piecing together the top, and many of the women in the settlement will get together to help quilt it to the batting and the backing. I am practising like mad so that I will be allowed to help, and rubbing my hands with goose grease every night so they won’t be too rough and scratchy. Up until now I’ve only been allowed to thread needles. This time I’m going to quilt!

  March 25th, 1784

  The weather has turned sunny and all the snow is dripping and melting. I heard a bird singing a lovely spring song this morning. Hannah came out today to sit in front of her cabin and we just soaked up the sunshine. It is still chilly of course, so we kept her well bundled up, but it was such a joy to see her outside. The quilting bee is the week after next, and she will be able to go so we practised our stitches.

  I am terribly afraid that she is neater than I and her stitches are tinier. Oh, what if she is allowed to quilt and I am not?

  April 1784

  April 6th, 1784

  The quilting bee was yesterday. I couldn’t write about it last night because it was so late when I finally tumbled into be
d. Now I must write everything down so I won’t forget it. As if I could! I’ve been to bees before, of course, but never was one so special. And so welcome after such a long hard winter in this strange new place.

  I’m sitting outside in the sunshine and even though my fingers are cold and there is still a chill breeze blowing, I am determined to stay out here. I have found such a delightful spot to write in. It’s in back of our cabin where a little grove of cedar trees makes a kind of secret place. I just discovered it yesterday. No one can see me here. It is so peaceful. There is nobody else around — just me and the birds who are singing their hearts out. Mother is watching Jamie and I have a great swatch of time all to myself before I must go and help with the noon meal.

  This is what happened at the bee.

  When we arrived, Mr. Livingstone had just taken Mrs. Livingstone’s quilting frame down from where she hangs it from the roof above her bed. He made it for her and was very proud of it. Mr. Livingstone walks with a limp because he was wounded in the war, that is why they came up here so early on. He could fight no longer and their neighbours were set to hang him for a traitor if he stayed. He just barely escaped with his life, and Mrs. Livingstone had to follow him and bring the children with her all by herself! Janet and Betsy told me all about it while we quilted. And yes! I was allowed to quilt with the women. So was Hannah. But I’m getting ahead of myself. It is so hard to write things down in the proper order. My quill just wants to race ahead and get it all down as fast as possible.

  We pushed the table aside and made room for the frame, then set benches all along the sides. The boys were shooed out of the house and Mr. Livingstone disappeared to do some work outside. He is an excellent carpenter and much in demand here. Aunt Norah is hoping that once we are settled he will be able to make a new loom for her. I held my breath while the women took their places and set the younger girls to threading needles. Some of them were charged with taking the smaller children out to play. Hannah and I just stood there. I was feeling very shy and I know she was, too.

  “You girls, come and join us,” Mrs. Livingstone said then and made room for us. “According to your mothers, you are both accomplished stitchers by now. I’ll welcome your help.”

  Well, I’m certain my face almost split in two I was smiling so hugely, but I sat down beside Hannah without a word and took up a needle.

  We worked for the whole day and finished the quilt off by late afternoon. The women chatted the whole time — talk of babies and recipes and such. No one chose to speak of the war. I was seated next to Mother and for the first time since we were forced out of our home, I saw her face relax and soften. She loves to quilt but it has been so long since she has had a chance to do so.

  “My fingers will have forgotten how,” she said at first, apologizing, but she needn’t have. Within minutes her hands were fairly flying over the quilt and I declare her stitches were the tiniest and most regular of them all.

  Only when the talk turned to the coming journey did her fingers falter but, surprisingly enough, most of the women were making their plans to move with very few qualms.

  “It will be a blessing to be in my own home again,” Mrs. Livingstone said. “We hewed our home out of the woods in Albany when we were first wed, and I see no reason why we cannot do so again.”

  The words were so brave.

  “Do you not wish ever to see your own home again?” Mother asked, her voice not much more than a whisper.

  “Many a time,” Mrs. Livingstone answered. “But it is not to be. Canada is my home now.”

  Mother fell silent but her mouth did not tighten as it usually does when we talk about never returning home again. Just then the baby began to cry and Janet moved to pick her up.

  “Here,” Mother said. “I’ll hold her for a while.” She reached out her arms and Janet placed the baby in them. The baby quietened immediately. I was stunned. And then — oh my dear journal, how my heart glows to write this down — and then, I heard my mother sing. Softly, quietly, an old Scottish lullaby. The stitches blurred before my eyes and I had to duck my head so that no one would see the tears that suddenly flooded my eyes. A few dropped in spite of myself, but I do not think they did the quilt any harm.

  I am being called. I will finish this tonight in bed.

  Later

  It is night now and I am tucked into my bed, with a tallow wick to give me light. Jamie is snoring companionably beside me.

  Now I can write about the rest of the bee.

  When we had finished quilting, we tidied everything up and all headed for a sort of community hall that has been built here for our gatherings, carrying the pots and dishes of food we had brought with us. The men and boys were waiting for us there. We served the supper. Then, no sooner had the dishes been emptied and the tables pushed back, but the fiddlers began to play and the dancing began. The whole hall was packed and shaking. I really did believe the walls would fall down. But what fun! Hannah and I danced together until her mother made her stop, then we just sat and watched the others. Her sister Molly was obviously popular with the young men there, but she didn’t seem to favour any one over another. Hannah whispered to me that Molly kept talking about Angus and hoping that she will see him again when we all meet up in the spring. Hannah thinks she is besotted with him.

  Grannie was mightily pleased when Uncle Allan Ross said her squirrel stew was the tastiest dish there. And then, would you believe it — he had her up to dance, too! I’ve never seen her so spry!

  My wick is about to go out. I think I will just lie here in the dark and remember every moment of the day and night.

  I was happy again. I was really, truly happy! I did not think that would ever be possible.

  April 10th, 1784

  Spring has definitely arrived! The birds are nesting, the sun is warm warm warm! I saw robins today.

  April 14th, 1784

  The ice on the river is beginning to break up. Mr. Mitchell is having a terrible time trying to keep order in school. We all have spring fever!

  And what do you think — we have moved Grannie’s lilac bush outside and there are fat green buds on it! It has survived!

  April 26th, 1784

  The river is almost open now and we are to leave next month. We are to be taken in boats up the St. Lawrence, past Montréal, to a town called Lachine. There we will transfer into more bateaux and set off farther upriver. (If it is one boat it is a “bateau.” If it’s more than one it’s “bateaux.” Father taught me that. There. Do you see, my journal? I am writing in French!) The families of the men and officers of Sir John Johnson’s Regiment will be established in a new settlement which has been called Johnstown in his honour. They say it should take us about ten days to get there.

  I am so excited!

  April 30th, 1784

  A letter from Angus! The first we have heard from him since the winter. He says all is well with him and he is looking forward to seeing us all again, but he was terribly sad to hear the news about baby Margaret. His battalion will be disbanded in June at Cataraqui and then he will be free to join us at Johnstown.

  Mother got very quiet when she read his words about Margaret, but she is so happy at the thought of seeing Angus again. I begin to hope that she has even resigned herself to the fact that we will not be going home.

  I wonder if Duncan will go to Johnstown as well?

  May 1784

  May 2nd, 1784

  We are to be out of here by May 10th. After that all supplies will be cut off and this camp will be closed. I cannot say that I will be sorry to see the last of it. A sorry, grimy place it is.

  Mr. Mitchell has given up trying to hold classes. The boys have all deserted and those of us who are left are far too agog to settle down to lessons.

  May 5th, 1784

  Next week. We go next week!

  May 9th, 1784

  Tomorrow! We are packing what little we have and this small cabin is in a turmoil. I know I will not sleep a wink tonight.

 
May 12th, 1784

  Lachine, near Montréal

  We have come as far as Lachine and here we sit, waiting for boats to take us upriver to the Johnstown settlement. The river still has some ice in it and the trip so far has been frightening. At one point I thought the small boat we were packed into would founder. One boatman had to fend off huge chunks of ice with a pole while the other rowed with all his might. The current is fierce.

  There are thousands of people gathered here, from military settlements as far downriver as Québec City, and the confusion, noise and general disarray is truly alarming.

  Jamie and the Ross boys, of course, are doing their best to add to it. How three small boys can get into so much trouble I do not know. They disappeared for most of the afternoon and had us all looking frantically for them. We only found them because I heard Laddie barking. They had been searching for garter snakes — George wanted one as a pet — and had managed to get themselves away over on the other side of the encampment. They did find one poor unfortunate snake sunning on a rock but Laddie barked at it (that’s when I heard him) and scared it away. That at least was a mercy. I cannot see trying to carry a snake along with us!

  Laddie, by the way, was very unhappy at having to travel in a boat again. He just sat all hunched up between Jamie’s feet with his ears drooping and his tail between his legs. He can look more mournful than any other dog I’ve ever seen.