The Indian women and children picked up stones and threw them at the animals. The constant noise, and rocks hitting them or splashing beside them, confused the animals. They could not flee, nor could they defend themselves. Soon they grew tired from the nonstop swimming in the icy water.
From the opposite bank, and down from the women, the Indian men, armed with spears and sticks that had been sharpened, paddled out to the caribou. They worked their way up beside the animals. The paddlers controlled the canoes while the men with the spears aimed for the unprotected kidneys of the animals, driving their spears in and twisting. The caribou churned up the water as they tried to escape, and soon the river ran red with their blood.
Thomas stared at White Paddler steering one of the canoes. He and the Indian with the spear worked as a team. White Paddler propelled the craft around other canoes and through openings in the herd. When they came close to an animal, White Paddler paused, holding the canoe still against the current, while the Indian stood and drove the spear into its back.
Thomas had to admit that White Paddler was good with the canoe, and he understood now why he had been given his name. The only difference between his handling of the canoe and that of the many Indians on the river was that he was better.
When the slaughter was finished, the men of the post stood to leave. “The show is over,” one of them said.
“Looks like a good kill,” Luke said. “We will have some fresh caribou tomorrow. That should keep the men happy for a while.”
Thomas liked the idea of fresh meat. Living on salted meat was not to his liking. “Why do they give some to us?” he asked.
“They did not need to kill the whole herd to feed themselves. So, they will be bringing over the extra meat to trade.”
“Do they do this often?” Francis asked.
“Whenever a herd is close by.”
Thomas stayed at his vantage point after everyone else had left. He watched as the Indian in White Paddler’s canoe took over the paddling while White Paddler grabbed the antlers of a dead caribou. They paddled to the beach. White Paddler jumped out and pulled the animal up on shore near where Spotted Fawn stood. She smiled at him, and then began slitting the belly of the animal. The rest of the Indian men also pulled the animals by their antlers to the shore. Some brought them right up to their women, while others just deposited them on the beach. The current of the river claimed some of the bodies but the majority were skinned.
Thomas envied his brother. He was living the life Thomas had pictured, the kind of life Thomas wanted. Thomas hoped White Paddler would not return to Stromness.
* * *
Thomas had just left the stores when White Paddler came up to him.
“I am going to speak with Factor Smith. Do you want to come?”
Thomas hesitated. “The Factor and I had some problems when I first came here. I do not know if he will be glad to see me.”
“Yes, I heard you asked him about me and attacked the cook.”
“The cook deserved it. He hit Richard.”
“I heard that, too. But come anyway. He probably has forgotten about it.”
Thomas followed White Paddler into the Factor’s office and closed the door. Smith sat at his desk writing in his journal. He looked up and frowned at Thomas, then closed the journal.
“I believe you have met my brother, Thomas,” White Paddler said.
“Yes. Is that why you have come, to introduce me to your brother?”
“No. We have to talk.”
The Factor sighed. “I suppose it is about setting up posts inland.”
“We need them.” White Paddler leaned on the desk. “The French are taking the best of the furs.”
“We did all right this year.”
“Have you looked at how rich and thick the furs are that I brought back as compared to the ones brought here by the Indians. All you get is what is left over after the French have picked through them.”
“The Company does not want a fort inland.”
“But the Indians do.”
“The Indians have been coming to the bay to trade with us for eighty years. They will continue to do so.”
White Paddler shook his head. “The Cree, who act as middlemen between us and the Indians who trap the beaver may continue to come, but only after they have traded the superior furs with the French. We need to set up posts farther to the west where the Indian trappers are and where the best pelts are.”
“But then we will have to make long voyages taking the trade goods and supplies to the forts and bringing back the furs. It is better for us if the Indians make the trips.”
Thomas could see the look of exasperation on White Paddler’s face. He began to pace the room. “Why should they come here, when all they have to do is meet the French at their Fort Bourbon on the big lake called Lake Winnipeg?”
“We have cut our prices for their furs. They know they will get more goods if they deal with us.”
“The Indians trade their finest furs for the French brandy and smaller items that the French can carry in their canoes,” White Paddler argued. “Then they come here with the left over furs, and trade for the bigger, cheaper goods we have.”
“They prefer our Brazilian tobacco to the Frenchman’s. They will come for that.”
“That is true,” White Paddler admitted, stopping in front of the desk again. “The Indians claim the French tobacco tastes like sawdust. But tobacco is not the only trade good the Indians want.”
“We will not build a fort inland,” the Factor said.
White Paddler walked to the door and opened it. Before leaving he said. “The men who run the Company in London have no idea what is happening out here. The trade business is changing, and the Company has to change with it or they will lose everything.”
Thomas took one look at the Factor before he went out the doorway. Smith had returned to his journal as if what White Paddler said had no importance. Thomas had to increase his pace to keep up with White Paddler as he crossed the compound.
“Twice now I have tried to persuade the Company to set up a post inland. I have told the Factor about the loss of furs to the French and encouraged him to write to headquarters in London.”
“What do you want them to do?”
“I want them to give me permission to build a trading post along the great river called the Saskatchewan River. It is on this waterway that the French have set up a trading post. And the best furs stop there. But it is no use speaking with Smith. Maybe I should become an independent trader when my five years of service is over.”
“What is an independent trader?” Thomas asked.
White Paddler stopped by the gates. “Many of the French traders are independent. They buy the goods in Montreal and take them inland to the Indians to trade for furs. They then travel back to Montreal to sell the pelts to the fur houses.”
“Could you do that?”
“Well, I know what the French have for goods and what they were priced at. All I have to do is offer a little more for the good furs and when Smith sees the luxurious pelts I bring back, he will pay well for them. That is what many of the French traders do when they return to Montreal.”
“Would the Company deal with you?”
“If they do not, I could go to Montreal.”
“What about returning home?”
“I have thought it over but I know I would never be happy there. I am used to working for the Company, living the Indian way of life and travelling great distances without running out of land.”
“What about going for a visit?”
“I would lose three years of trading and maybe my standing with the Indians. They know and trust me now. I would have to regain that trust if I was gone for so long. I will be staying here.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Thomas said, fervently.
Chapter 18
“Tomorrow is November 5, Guy Fawkes Day,” Luke said, rubbing his hands together in front of the stove.
“Yo
u celebrate Guy Fawkes Day here?” Thomas asked. This, he had not expected. In England the whole country celebrated the hanging of Guy Fawkes back on November 5, 1605. A group led by Fawkes resented the government persecution of people of the Catholic faith. They hatched the Gunpowder Plot, planning to blow up the English Houses of Parliament when King James I was to be present. They were caught and hanged. Ever since the hanging, an effigy of Guy Fawkes had been burned on November 5th.
“We do. The tailor has spent the week making a figure to be hung outside in the yard for everyone to see. The cook and his helpers are preparing a huge feast, and all the Indians from the village are invited to take part in the festivities in the Bachelor’s Hall.”
Thomas looked over where Richard should have been bundled in his bed. It was late evening, but he was not back from his shift at the cookhouse.
“Is that why Richard is late?”
“Yes. The cook has probably had all his helpers working hard today and he will again tomorrow.”
Just then Richard stumbled in with barely enough energy to reach his bunk. Francis hurried over to help and covered him with his blankets.
“I am going to talk to the cook tomorrow,” Francis said, coming to stand beside Thomas. “Can he not see Richard is in no condition to be working so much?”
Thomas glanced at the inert form. Richard was paler than when he first arrived and he had lost more weight. His skin was stretched over his face, his eyes like dark hollows.
“I would not do it tomorrow,” Luke said.
“Why not?”
“Because the cook will be too busy to listen to you.”
“But tomorrow is going to be hard on him if he has to help with the meals and also with preparations for the feast.”
“And if you bother the cook about him, it might be harder.”
“Has he had any more trouble from the cook?” Thomas asked.
Francis shrugged his shoulders. “He has not said, but then he does not have the energy to speak anymore.”
* * *
The festivities started early in the long, high ceilinged Bachelor’s Hall with the Indians coming for the special meal. The food was set out on long tables and the men, women, and children, helped themselves then found a place to sit along the walls. Thomas was standing against the wall with Francis and Henry when he saw Edward, Spotted Fawn, and Little Bird, arrive. He waved and called out to get their attention but the noise in the hall drowned out his voice. He wondered if he should go over to them or stay with Francis and Henry.
Edward saw him and beckoned him over. When Thomas reached him Edward leaned close to speak. “Little Bird has told me about when she met you. Would you like to sit with us?”
“Yes.” This was just what he had been waiting for, a chance to really meet Little Bird. He smiled at her as he sat down. Again he was startled by her blue eyes.
“You are surprised by my eyes,” Little Bird said.
“Yes,” Thomas admitted.
“Master Givens is my grandfather.” she said, quietly.
“Oh,” Thomas said. He did not know what else to say. Little Bird and Spotted Fawn were part of the family Master Givens had mentioned, the family he had told Martha Kirke about back in Stromness.
“Let us get in line for the food,” Edward said.
As they worked their way up to the table, Thomas saw Richard leaning against the doorway, holding a large platter of meat. His eyes were almost closed and he looked as if he might faint. Thomas rushed over and took the platter from Richard’s hands. He set it on the table then helped Richard over to a chair.
“What happened?” Francis said, kneeling in front of Richard.
“He came close to fainting,” Thomas said.
“I will take him to the quarters.”
Richard’s lips moved, but neither boy could hear what he said. They moved closer. “I have to get back to the cookhouse,” Richard said, his voice just barely above a whisper.
“You cannot work,” Francis said, firmly. “You are going to bed.”
Thomas looked over to where Little Bird was dishing food onto her plate. He wanted to return to her side, but he knew he had to assist Francis.
“I will help you.”
“Where is that lazy whelp?” The cook’s voice could be heard above the din in the room. “Is he lollygagging while I have to do his work for him?”
Thomas saw Richard cringe at the sound.
The cook put a plate of bread on the table and stomped over to where Richard sat. “Why have you not come back for more food?” he demanded.
Francis stood and faced the cook. “Can you not see he is sick?”
“He is always acting like he is sick. All he needs is someone to force him to do his work, someone who does not let him get away with his nonsense.”
“I am taking him to his bed.”
“He has work to do.”
While Francis and the cook glared at each other, Thomas, who was still kneeling beside Richard, caught him just as he fainted and almost toppled off the chair.
“I think he has to go to the quarters,” Thomas said.
He and Francis picked up Richard and carried him out of the hall. It was almost dark as they crossed the yard to the men’s quarters. They laid him on the bunk. Francis sat on the edge of the bed beside his brother.
“I will get the doctor,” Thomas said.
Francis nodded.
Thomas rushed back to the hall. He went up to where Edward, Spotted Fawn, and Little Bird sat.
“I am sorry, but I do not know when I will be back.”
“Yes, we saw,” Edward said.
Thomas smiled at Little Bird then went in search of the doctor.
“What happened to Richard?” Henry asked, coming up to him.
“He fainted. I am looking for the doctor.”
“He is over in the corner. Shall I come, too?”
Thomas shook his head. “We got him to bed. There is nothing else to do.”
Thomas told the doctor about Richard and the two went back to the quarters. After he examined Richard, the doctor looked grave.
“I do not think there is anything we can do for him. He does not seem to want to live.”
“Who can blame him?” Francis said, fiercely. “Look what his life is.”
After the doctor left Thomas sat awkwardly on his bed. He did not know if he should leave or stay. Did Francis want company, or would he rather be alone with Richard?
“You can go back to the party,” Francis said.
“I will stay if you want.”
“No. I would like to be alone with my brother.”
Thomas returned in time to see everyone file out of the hall and over to where an effigy of Guy Fawkes hung by the neck. It was dark and some of the men carried torches to light the way. Thomas stood beside Little Bird in the gathering crowd. Factor Smith, holding a torch, made a speech about the enemies of the country and how they should all be hung. He then held the fire to the feet of the hanging figure. The crowd cheered and clapped as the flames slowly rose up the stuffed body until it was totally engulfed. Once the neck had burned through, the body and separated head fell to the ground. Some of the men ran over and kicked at the blazing shape. When the flames had finally died and the figure was little more than some smoldering rags, everyone trooped back into the hall where the dance began.
It was not until the third dance that Thomas got up enough nerve to ask Little Bird to accompany him onto the crowded floor. They tried a jig, but kept being hit by other dancers. Finally Little Bird pointed to the door. Thomas nodded. She pulled her skins around her shoulders and Thomas put on his coat.
They walked and slowly their conversation grew. Little Bird told Thomas about her grandfather working at the post and taking a country wife. And how he had left for many years, then began returning every year on the ship. Thomas told her about his life on the farm in Stromness and why he left. The moonlight lit their way and soon they were at the Indian village.
Thomas looked at the tall teepees in the moonlight.
“Have you ever been inside a teepee?” Little Bird asked.
Thomas shook his head.
“Would you like to see inside ours?
“Would your mother mind?”
“No.” Little Bird lifted the flap.
Thomas hesitated then stepped inside. A small fire still burned in the center and the Indian teepee was warmer than the buildings at the post. Around the outer edge were mats where everyone slept. A middle aged woman lay on one of the mats. An old woman sat on the ground beside the fire. She held a clay pipe to her chest as she rocked and crooned softly to herself.
“She is my grandmother,” Little Bird whispered. “She mourns the loss of my grandfather.”
“Why? He is not dead.”
“He will not be returning to us,” Little Bird said, with a catch in her voice. “He has a white woman he wishes to marry.”
Thomas knew who she was talking about. He wondered if he should tell Little Bird about John and his mother, and the man who had helped them for many years.
“She is the mother of my friend, John,” Thomas said.
“Grandfather said her son was dead.”
“He is. He died on the supply ship.”
“He was coming here with you?”
“Yes.” Thomas glanced at the old woman, hoping she would listen to his story as he told Little Bird about the voyage. He found it was easier to talk about John. Much of the pain had subsided.
“And you saw the waters take him?”
“Yes,” Thomas said. He had recalled the moment so many times and with so much heartache. This time as he saw the wave crash on the deck and sweep John away there was an emptiness, but also an acceptance. No amount of regret, or anger, or grief, would change the fact that John was gone.
West to the Bay Page 14