West to the Bay

by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

  “These buildings are the single men’s quarters. This one is where you will sleep, so set your bags on an empty bed.”

  The boys entered the large square room. Beds lined each wall and a stove stood in the center. The beds closest to the stove showed signs of occupancy and they had to walk to the far end to find empty ones. Thomas threw his bag on a bed in the corner.

  “May I talk to you, Mr. Manchester?” Francis asked, when they returned.

  “There is no time for talk. The supplies have to be unloaded.”

  “It is about my brother. He is not well.”

  “That is no concern of mine,” Manchester said, brusquely.

  “But he has been sick the whole voyage.”

  Manchester stopped and glared at Francis. “Your brother has been hired by the Company. If he expects to get paid he will have to do the work. Do you understand?”

  Francis nodded.

  Thomas felt sorry for Francis and Richard. It did not look as if their lives would be any better here than on the ship.

  Mr. Manchester led them back to the river bank. Some of the men waited down at the river, some on the bank above. Thomas went and stood near Master Givens where he watched the sloops with their heavy loads work their way to shore.

  Chapter 11

  As Thomas waited beside Master Givens he tried to think of a way to mention John. They had not spoken of him since the day of the storm. He also wondered if he should ask Master Givens to tell Martha Kirke how sorry he was about John when the master saw her in May, but before he could speak a man with a white powdered wig and walking cane strolled up to Givens.

  “How was the voyage, Master Givens,” the man asked.

  “We had one bad storm, Factor Smith. We lost four men, one of them a recruit, and some of the supplies got wet. There might be some spoilage.”

  “Did not you dry everything out?”

  Thomas looked at the man who was in charge of the post. He was short and his long coat could not hide his round stomach. Thomas felt an instant dislike for him, mainly because he seemed more concerned with his supplies than with the lives lost.

  “We did the best we could,” Givens said. “There was only so much we could spread out on the deck that would not get in our way.”

  “But we need every bit of food and trading items to be in excellent shape when winter arrives. Without the food we shall perish, and without the trade goods we will not be able to get the furs we need for the Company. I shall have to write that in my report.”

  “You still have your bird hunts and fishing to help you out.”

  “That is not the same. Do you have anything else to report?”

  “Just that we have had a hard voyage. My men have to rebuild the cookhouse and I would like to get underway as quickly as possible to return home.”

  “Well, you know that is not up to me. The clerks will have to check all the supplies to make sure we received what we were promised.”

  “And they will delay it as long as possible so you and your men here can extract every bit of gossip about what is happening back in London,” Givens said.

  “Tut, tut, Master Givens,” the Factor said. “I do not know why you begrudge us our bit of social activity. The supply ship is our only source of information of home and the only contact we have with the outside world.”

  Suddenly, the Factor’s demeanor changed. “Would you care to come to my office and have a sip of brandy? I would love to hear about what is happening in London. I also have some very fine wine, if you would prefer.”

  “No, thank you,” Givens said. “I have to see someone.”

  “Perhaps later, then?”

  “Perhaps.”

  The sloops hit the shore and Thomas followed the men to the river to help with the unloading. The barrels, sacks, bundles, and boxes, were carried up the pier where the chief clerk stood. He checked to see what each man had, then assigned the package to one of the storerooms. As the men walked past the seated Indians, one or two would rise and follow, trying to look inside their bundles. The men, apparently used to this, ignored them.

  The containers were heavy and the work backbreaking. Thomas saw that Richard tried his best to keep up. He grabbed the smaller packages when he could and Francis would help him carry them with one hand, while holding his load on his shoulder with the other. Manchester scowled, but made no comment. No one stopped to rest or speak until the sloops were on their way back to the ship for another load.

  * * *

  Little Bird sat with Spotted Fawn, Moon Face, and Patient Woman. They had heard the ship’s cannon and had hurried to the post, giving thanks that the ship had made it. Little Bird watched the sloop carrying her grandfather hit the shore and saw him climb out. They knew he had to speak with the Factor of the post first before he could visit with them.

  She saw the new boys get out of the sloop behind her grandfather. There was one who drew her attention, who seemed vaguely familiar. She stared at him, but there was no way she could know him. As if sensing her gaze he looked up. She smiled then lowered her eyes watching through her lashes as he and the others were led into the post.

  A few minutes later the boy returned. He stood beside her grandfather waiting for the boats to return with the new supplies. He was tall and striking in his white shirt and breeches. His hair was dark and tied in the back. Again he turned and looked at her.

  Spotted Fawn elbowed her and grinned. “You have made an impression.”

  “Father is coming,” Moon Face said.

  The women scrambled to their feet. This was what they waited all year for. This was why Spotted Fawn had not gone inland with her husband.

  Little Bird watched as her grandfather hurried up to the four women. He hugged Patient Woman to his chest and rubbed his cheek against her graying hair.

  “It is so good to see you,” he whispered.

  “I have missed you,” Patient Woman replied.

  After a few moments he turned to his daughter Moon Face, and then to his granddaughters and hugged them, too.

  “Where is Red Elk?” he asked.

  Little Bird felt a sadness for her grandfather. While his daughter was always glad to see him, his son had disowned him, refusing to visit with him when he came. But each year her grandfather always asked for him.

  “He did not come,” Patient Woman said, softly.

  “We have prepared a meal for you, Father,” Moon Face said. “Come and eat with us.”

  Little Bird and Spotted Fawn walked behind their grandparents and mother.

  “When are you going to tell him you are married?” Little Bird whispered.

  “Soon,” Spotted Fawn murmured.

  “What is all that whispering behind me?” Givens asked. He turned to look at them.

  Spotted Fawn blushed and said, shyly. “I was married last fall.”

  “That is wonderful.” Givens picked her up and swung her around. “Who is the lucky man?”

  “White Paddler.”

  “The young man who wanted to learn all about Indian life?” He set Spotted Fawn down.

  “Yes.”

  “Where is he? I would like to congratulate him.”

  “He has gone inland to trade.”

  “Too bad. His brother has come to the post this year.”

  “He has?” Little Bird thought about the boy who looked so familiar. Was he White Paddler’s brother?

  Inside the teepee, they sat around the pot over the fire and helped themselves to the meat and vegetables.

  “I have missed this,” Givens said. “It is so good to be sitting with my family again.”

  “How was your voyage?” Patient Woman asked.

  “It was bad. We lost three sailors and a new recruit in a storm.”

  Little Bird hated to hear stories like that. It meant her grandfather had been lucky to survive another crossing.

  “How long will you be staying?” Patient Woman asked.

  Little Bird smiled at the way her grandmother had w
orded the question, because what she was really asking was if this was the year he finally decided to stay with them? Little Bird had noticed a change in him since his last visit. His voice, while still deep, lacked its usual heartiness. His eyes had lost some of their sparkle. He was growing older and would soon need someone to look after him. She knew her grandmother hoped he would spend his final years with her.

  Little Bird saw her grandfather hesitate and held her breath. Was her grandmother’s wish about to come true? Was he going to stay this year?

  “I have to sail as quickly as I am able to get away,” Givens said.

  “Why?” Moon Face asked.

  “I... I just have to.”

  Little Bird sensed something was wrong. In past years he had stayed as long as possible before sailing, spending as much time with them as he could. Why was he in such a hurry this year? Had they done something wrong last year? She looked at the other woman and saw the same questions in their eyes.

  His words put a damper on their meal and he soon stood. “I have to get back to the ship. I will see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Patient Woman asked, also standing. “You are not staying here?”

  “No. I have to supervise the unloading.”

  “I will walk with you to the post then.”

  “Why does Grandfather not want to stay in the teepee with Grandmother?” Spotted Fawn asked, when they had left.

  “I do not know,” Moon Face replied. “But something is very wrong with him.”

  It was then that Little Bird noticed he had not brought his usual gifts for them. Nor had he brought Patient Woman her beloved tobacco.

  * * *

  The freighting of the cargo from ship to shore continued until nightfall. A feast had been planned and cooked, and there was a boisterous welcoming party for the recruits as well as the ship’s men. Fires were lit on the beach. A fiddle was played and dancing lasted well into the night, with many men carrying on till dawn, when it was time to resume work. The ones with little or no sleep were not hampered by that, working side by side with the men who had managed some rest.

  During the unloading and celebrations, Thomas studied the faces of every man he met looking for any resemblance to the boy he remembered of four years ago. He found none and no one recognized him either. Every chance he got he asked about his brother. Once he stopped on his way out of the storeroom to ask Mr. Manchester about his whereabouts.

  “You do not have time to worry about your brother,” Manchester said.

  “All I want to know is if he is here,” Thomas said.

  “Get to work!” Manchester yelled.

  The unloading continued all the second day finally ending on the third. Then the loading of the bundles of furs heading to London to be made into the popular Beaver hats began.

  Thomas walked into the fur room and stood in awe. Pelts of different sizes and colors hung from the rafters and along the walls. He had no idea which animals the furs were from.

  “Which ones are the beaver?” he asked one of the men who was directing the pickup of the furs.

  “All these bundles. Just grab one and carry it to the canoes.”

  “I mean, which ones on the wall?”

  “The one that looks like a circle.” The man pointed to a pelt tacked to the wall.

  Thomas walked over and looked at it. He felt it. He could not see what was so great about this one animal’s fur. In its natural state it was like all the other pelts. He knew, though, that once it was taken to London and made into a Beaver hat it would be a status symbol for its owner.

  He hefted one bundle onto his back and carried it to the ramp and the waiting sloops.

  * * *

  At the evening meal that night, the boys were set at different tables called messes much like on the ship. Each mess was made up of four men. And as on the ship, the officers of the Company had a separate section and different mess procedure from the Company servants. Their food was served to them on a plate by a steward, while the servants dished up their own food from a large, collective tub. If anyone was late for a meal, he went hungry.

  Talking was not encouraged during the meal and when Thomas tried to ask questions he was quickly hushed.

  “But I only want to find out if anyone knows about my brother,” Thomas protested.

  “Not here,” one man at his table said sternly.

  “Why not?”

  The man looked around then leaned towards Thomas. “We are supposed to eat, not talk.”

  Thomas looked over at Manchester who was sitting at the officer’s mess. He glared at Thomas and shook his head. Thomas looked down at his plate. After the meal, the men went outside. They sat on the sidewalk or leaned against the walls of a building. The ones who smoked lit their pipes while the others discussed the day or looked up at the stars.

  Although it was growing dark, the evening was unusually warm. The new boys sat together. With the unloading of supplies, and then the loading of the furs to go back to London, there had not been time to make friends.

  The man who had told Thomas to keep quiet during the meal walked up to them. Another man was with him. Although they were called men, they appeared to be only a couple of years older than the new recruits. Like all the men at the post their hair was long and scraggly and their clothes more patches and holes than original cloth.

  “My name is Luke, and this is Jarvis.”

  “I am Thomas, and these are Henry and Francis.” The boys nodded.

  “What is your brother’s name?”

  “Edward Gunn,” Thomas said, hopefully. Maybe he would find out something at last.

  Luke nodded. “He is the one the Indians call White Paddler because he is so good with the canoe. What do you want to know about him?”

  “Where is he?” Thomas promptly asked.

  “He went inland this spring,” Luke said.

  “What does that mean?” Thomas asked.

  “He took a bunch of goods and supplies and paddled west to trade with the Indians.”

  “Why? I thought they came here to trade.” Thomas was perplexed.

  “The French have set up some posts so that the Indians stop there first with their furs. They get all the good pelts and we get what is left over.”

  “How many men went with Edward?”

  “I do not know,” Luke said. “But there were about fifteen canoes.”

  “How many men in each canoe?” He had heard about the small ships the Indians used to paddle the rivers.

  “Three or four if the canoe is small, more if it is large.”

  “So there are sixty more white men who will be coming back to the fort?” Henry asked.

  Luke shook his head. “Only one white man goes and the rest are Indians. They know how to paddle the canoes and which rivers to take.”

  “Is it not dangerous to go inland?” Thomas asked. “What if they drown in a river?”

  “Then we will find out about it eventually.”

  “When will they return?”

  Luke looked at Jarvis who shrugged. “Should be this fall,” Luke said. “But you will have to ask the Factor about that.”

  “I am going to talk to him tomorrow.”

  Jarvis who had been silent so far spoke up. “The Factor does not like to speak with the Company servants, and especially not with the new ones.”

  Chapter 12

  In his determination to have more news to send to his family about Edward, Thomas ignored Jarvis’ advice, and the next morning he tried to stop the Factor as he walked across the yard to his office.

  “Excuse me, Sir,” Thomas began.

  Factor Smith looked straight ahead as he walked past Thomas, his head in the air. He took small, mincing steps with the help of his cane. He wore his wig over his hair and his jowls hung over the ruffles of his shirt collar. Thomas fell into step beside him.

  “Excuse me, Sir. I am Thomas Gunn and I am looking for some information about my brother Edward so I can send a letter to my parents.�
�

  The Factor did not reply and at his office he opened the door, stepped inside and shut it in Thomas’ face. Thomas grabbed the handle but found that Smith had locked the door from the inside. He pounded his fist on the wood.

  “I just want to...” Thomas began to yell, and then felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face Mr. Manchester.

  “It is time to get to work.”

  “But I just want to speak....”

  “It is time to get to work,” Manchester repeated, emphatically.

  “Can you tell me about my brother, Edward?” Thomas pleaded. “He went inland this spring and is supposed to be back this fall? Is that right?”

  Manchester shrugged. “I would not know.”

  Thomas’ hopes sank. He wanted to see Edward, talk to him, so he could write a letter home to his mother. Now what did he do? What could he say? Edward is here and still alive, but I did not see him and might not until this fall or next spring. What good would saying something like that do? It would be of no comfort to his mother.

  * * *

  Once the furs were loaded, the new boys were quickly informed of their positions. Richard was sent to help the cook. He had to serve the food and clean up afterwards. Francis and Henry were laborers, and put in with the woodcutters. Thomas, also classified as a laborer, was assigned to help the apprentice clerk, Alexander Wemple, in the storeroom.

  At first he thought he had been given the best of the jobs, but he soon found out otherwise. The clerk and assistant clerk had to sort through and count the hatchets, ropes, candles, axes, hammers, socks, quills, muskets, shot, powder, and hundreds of other utensils and equipment they had been sent. Then they had to check that number against the list of the ship’s tallyman.