West to the Bay

by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

  “Wow, did you see that?” he asked, amazed.

  “Yes, now all we have to do is catch it.”

  They were quiet as Little Bird dangled and bobbed her hook. Thomas was so interested in watching the life below he forgot his line. Finally he saw one grab onto Little Bird’s hook. He scrambled to throw back the blanket as, keeping the line tight, she rose to her knees and pulled the line and fish out of the water. The fish flopped on the ice until Little Bird grabbed the axe and hit it on the head.

  “That is one,” she said. “We need at least one more for supper.”

  They fished until she had caught another, and then gathered up their things. In spite of the fun he was having, Thomas was grateful they were leaving because he was already feeling the cold. Thomas carried the fish back to the village for her.

  “Would you like to stay for the meal?” Little Bird asked.

  “Is there enough?”

  “There is.”

  Thomas was not sure if it was spending more time with her or the thought of eating fresh, unsalted fish that made him decide to say yes.

  * * *

  The snow began again and fell steadily. Men were assigned to clear the walks, a path to the village, and to bring in the wood for the fires which were kept going all day and most of the night. Wood cutting and hauling took place every few of days.

  On the cold mornings of December Thomas’ bedding was frozen to the wall of the building. He pulled his bed away from the wall as the men in the other three corners had done.

  As the days passed, Thomas found it harder and harder to go into the mess for the meals which consisted mainly of salted fish and fowl, occasionally alternated with salted beef and pork. There were few ways for the cook to prepare the food except boiling or roasting, although he occasionally made a stew. That did not relieve the monotony, however. All the food was beginning to taste the same. Because of the good fish catch that year, and the two spoiled barrels of salted beef, salted fish was served every Sunday, Tuesday, and Friday.

  Thomas was not the only disgruntled one. More than once, men had stood and dumped their meals on the floor as a show of their displeasure. Peter usually was the first to do so and was followed by others.

  “There is little variety here,” Luke said, after one man had thrown his fish on the floor and left the room in disgust. “But all I have to do is remember trying to find something to eat, or beg some money for food on the streets of London, and this meal becomes a feast.”

  “Yeah,” another man at the table agreed quietly. Although they were not supposed to talk, occasionally something happened that had to be discussed. “Where I come from you were lucky to eat once every two days and only then if you stole it.”

  Thomas knew some of the boys who had left the Orkney Islands for the forts in the past had done so because they were near starvation and this was their only hope. Maybe that was why the men stayed on. It was better than going back to fighting for their food. But it was obvious not all the men here appreciated the fact that they had enough to eat, he observed, as another man stomped out leaving his half-eaten food.

  One night at supper, the grumbling about the provisions heated up. The men had been served salted duck, and they all knew the Factor and his officers were enjoying the fresh meat from a deer that had been shot. In loud voices they began to chant that they, too, wanted fresh deer meat. Some even began to bang the table with their metal mugs. Neither the cook, nor any of the officers, appeared to care about the protest and soon the men quieted down.

  * * *

  The temperature fluctuated between cold and very cold. On the clear days, the air was still. On the overcast, windy days the drifting snow disoriented anyone fool enough to venture outside the post. The swirling whiteness obliterated all buildings or bush that could be used as a point of reference, and it was easy to get lost just going to the Indian village, especially when the path blew in.

  Even with the cold weather, Thomas envied Henry and Francis being able to get out of the fort on their wood gathering trips. The men of the cutter’s trade were divided into two groups which alternated going out into the bush. Wood cutting was postponed because of weather, but only until the wood pile reached a certain level. When that happened, the men had to go out no matter what the conditions.

  Francis, Luke, and Jarvis were on the same team of cutters. One day, when Jarvis was sick in bed Thomas was asked if he wanted to replace him. He quickly agreed, needing a change from the stores. It was his first excursion outside the perimeter of the post and the village. He put on his outer wear and went outside where the others waited. There, he was given a pair of snow shoes.

  Thomas stared at the oval shaped wood with the strips of hide stretched from one side to the other. He had seen other men use them, but he had never tried them himself.

  “What do I do with these?” he asked Francis.

  “Strap them to your feet like this.” Francis showed him how to stand in the middle and tie the laces around his feet.

  “How do I walk in them?” Thomas tried to bend far enough to tie them on. “They are wide.”

  “It is a whole new way of walking. You have to keep your feet apart and shift your weight from side to side as you go.”

  Thomas tried his best, but he kept stepping on the sides of the shoes and tripping himself. Francis and the other men, who had gone through the same comedic act when they first learned, smiled at Thomas’ problems.

  Luke glanced up at the sky where clouds could be seen in the west. “It looks like more snow is on its way,” he said. “We do not have time to wait for you. Francis will stay and help you while we start out. He knows the way, and there will be our tracks to follow.”

  Thomas practiced under Francis’ guidance until he could walk without stepping on the shoes, but his forward movement was slow. They began to follow the snowshoe and sled tracks left by the other men. By the time they had gone a few hundred yards, Thomas was exhausted and sweating inside his skins from the exertion.

  “Is this the way it always is?” he asked, panting.

  “Only the first couple of times you go out, then you get into a rhythm and you can almost run in them.”

  “Run? Who would want to run in these?”

  “Some of the men are quite good at it and they race to see who can get to the trees the fastest.”

  “Can we stop for a while?”

  “Yes. The first time I tried them I was resting all the time.”

  They stopped, but it was not long before the cold penetrated through their layers and they resumed their laborious trek. Every breath sent a cloud of vapor in front of them and soon ice was hanging from the fur around their faces. Thomas was impressed with how well they were able to walk on top of the snow. In some places the drifts were so high they would not have made it across them without the snowshoes.

  After a two hour walk through the scrub brush that had grown up to replace the cut trees, the boys found the men busy sawing down trees, knocking the branches off, and cutting them into lengths.

  “You two load them onto the sleds,” Luke said.

  Thomas tried to carry the logs with his snowshoes on, but quickly followed Francis’ example and took them off. The branches lying on the snow kept catching in the webbing. The snow had been trampled down by the men and although they sunk a little, it was easier to move. When the sleds were full, the men threw their axes and saws on top. The wind was blowing and the snow had begun.

  “We had better hurry,” Luke said. “We do not want to be caught out in a storm.”

  Although Thomas and Francis started out with the men pulling the laden sleds, they soon fell behind. Thomas was still slow with the snowshoes and Francis waited for him. They tried to keep the men in sight, but eventually lost them in the falling snow.

  “What are we going to do now?” Thomas asked. It was the first time he had been away from the fort and he had no sense of direction.

  “As long as we can see their tracks, we will be okay
,” Francis said. “I have done it before.”

  It was easy for the first while, but the snow fall increased. They were both getting tired, Thomas more so than Francis because of his inexperience. They made frequent stops trying to rest and get their bearings. As the afternoon progressed, the storm grew in strength. The wind caught up the small, hard flakes. It slammed them against their bodies and whipped them in their faces. It blew them across the trail obliterating the tracks. Thomas and Francis were in a whiteout, unable to see the bush around them.

  “Do you recognize anything?” Thomas asked, on one of their stops. “Are we still on the trail?”

  Francis looked around. “It is like we are in a small room with white walls and ceiling and no door,” he said, shaking his head. “But I think we are on the trail.”

  “Should we keep walking or stop and wait until morning?” It was almost dark and Thomas did not believe they would find the fort now. He tried to calm his fears.

  “Do you think we would survive the night out here?”

  “I do not know, but I do not think we can go much further,” Thomas said. “We are just tiring ourselves and in the dark we might start going in circles. Did you bring a flint to start a fire?”

  “No,” Francis said.

  “Me neither,” Thomas’ fears began to rise.

  “I do not want to die out here,” Francis said, quietly.

  Thomas silently agreed. He looked around for something to use as a shelter. They needed some protection from the snow. There was nothing.

  “We must stay near the trail,” Francis said. “They will be coming back to look for us.”

  “Do you think so in this storm?”

  “Yes, they will,” Francis said emphatically. “We will lie down here and wait.”

  The darkness crept in and they talked to stay awake as the snow piled around them. Finally Francis gave up and fell asleep. After about an hour, Thomas drifted off to sleep also. The snow slowly covered the two bodies. Thomas woke once and pushed his hand out of the snow to make an air hole.

  Chapter 21

  Thomas jerked awake. It was dark and cold and he did not know where he was. Then he heard a faint noise and remembered. He and Francis had lost their way and stopped by the trail. He heard the noise again, this time louder. Maybe it was someone coming to rescue them. He struggled to sit up, but the weight of the snow pinned him. He pushed his hand out through the air hole and waved it as best he could. And he shouted. Francis did not stir beside him.

  Suddenly he felt the burden of the snow being lifted and then he was being picked up and put on a sled. We have been found, he thought as he went back to sleep.

  Thomas drifted in and out of consciousness. Once when he woke he was on the sled, then he was in the sick room at the post where he felt someone remove his furs.

  When next he woke his face and fingers tingled and burned. He heard a voice say. “This boy’s arm is frozen from the elbow to the fingertips. Better hope he stays unconscious while the freezing comes out.”

  “No,” he tried to say. “No. I can feel both my arms.”

  On his fourth awakening he managed to open his eyes. The doctor looked down at him. Behind him, Thomas could see Henry and Luke.

  “It is about time,” the doctor said. “I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”

  “How am I?” Thomas managed to ask through his swollen lips. His face still burned.

  “Your face and both of your arms were frostbit, and the four small toes on your left foot were frozen.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “Well, the frostbite areas will be sore for a while but they usually recover. As a rule the frozen parts get gangrene and have to be amputated.”

  “I will lose my toes?”

  “I am afraid so.”

  “Where is Francis?”

  “In the bed beside you.” He stepped away. Thomas raised himself so he could see Francis.

  Suddenly Thomas remembered the conversation he had heard. “His arm?”

  “It is frozen.”

  “Oh, no.” Thomas fell back on the bed.

  “Are you sure it has to be amputated?” Henry asked. He was standing beside Francis’ bed.

  “I have been here for eleven years, and I have never seen a frozen limb that did not have to be cut off.”

  “He will not be any good with only one arm,” Luke said solemnly.

  Francis stirred and opened his eyes. It took a few moments for them to focus and then he smiled feebly. His lips moved as he asked faintly. “How is Thomas?”

  “He is fine,” Henry said. “He is in the next bed.”

  “Hi, Francis.” Thomas raised his arm and waved. “We survived. We made it.”

  Francis nodded, and then noticed the doctor. His brow wrinkled in a frown. “Why are you here?” he asked, his voice just a whisper.

  “To check you boys over,” the doctor answered.

  “Well, my face hurts,” Francis said.

  “That is the frost bite coming out.”

  Francis concentrated for a few moments. “My toes are sore, and so are the fingers on my left hand. They must be frostbit, too.” He paused then said. “And my right arm is very sore.”

  There was silence and no one would look him in the eye.

  “What is it?” Francis demanded, his voice strengthening with fear. He tried to raise his hand and when it would not move, he reached over with his left hand and touched it. “Why is it so cold?”

  “Your arm has been frozen,” the doctor said gently.

  “Frozen?”

  “Yes.”

  “When will it all thaw?”

  “It should be completely thawed by tonight, but it will be very painful.”

  “Yes,” Thomas said. “My toes are beginning to thaw and they hurt like hell. Worse than my face.”

  “There is nothing more I can do until tomorrow,” the doctor said and left the room.

  “I will get you both some food from the kitchen,” Henry said. He hurried off after the doctor.

  “I will get some gin,” Luke said. “It will help deaden the pain.”

  “What did the doctor say about my arm?” Francis demanded, after they had left.

  Thomas did not want to be the one to give him the news. After all, maybe the doctor was wrong in this case. He sure hoped so for the sake of his toes.

  “He said he would have to wait until the freezing comes out. Same with my toes.”

  Francis laid back and stared at the ceiling. “I know what happens to frozen limbs. Jarvis told me about a man who lost his leg to gangrene after it was frozen. The man was never the same in the head and had to be sent back to England.”

  “That will not happen to you.”

  “How do you know?” Francis asked, angrily.

  Henry returned with some food and Luke with the gin. They stayed most of the night drinking with Thomas and Francis. Thomas drank little, but for the first time since arriving at the post, Francis got drunk. He just lay in the bed and swallowed cup after cup of the gin. But it did little to deaden the pain in his arm. At times he held tightly to his bed post with his left hand, moaning as the freezing came out.

  “You go to the quarters,” Henry finally said to Luke. “I will stay here and keep the fire going.”

  * * *

  When Luke returned in the morning, he had Jarvis with him. Thomas and Francis were awake, but Henry had fallen asleep beside the stove.

  “How are your toes?” Luke asked.

  “They have red blisters on them and they feel strange,” Thomas said, holding out his foot for Luke to see.

  “What about your arm?” Luke asked Francis.

  Francis just turned his head away.

  Henry stirred and stood up. He picked up a piece of wood and put it in the stove. The doctor entered the room. He walked over to Thomas and examined his face then did the same with Francis.

  “They are doing fine,” he said.

  Then he looked at Thomas�
� toes and shook his head.

  “These have to be amputated.”

  “What happens if I do not agree?”

  “That flesh is dead. It will only decay and cause infection which will eventually kill you.”

  Thomas looked at Henry then back at the doctor. He did not want to lose his toes, but the alternative was worse. “All right,” he said. “When?”

  “This afternoon.”

  When the doctor tried to check Francis’ arm, Francis covered it up. “No,” he said. “You leave it alone.”

  “But I have to look at it.”

  “No.”

  The doctor shrugged and left the room.

  “You should let him see it,” Henry said.

  “And have him tell me it has to be amputated, like he told Thomas?”

  “He might not say that.”

  “It does not matter. He is not going to see it.”

  Thomas resigned himself to the amputation. There was nothing else he could do. He knew it would be painful, and he drank some of the gin. The surgeon came and had Henry and Luke hold Thomas’ leg so he could not move it and began to cut the infected parts off with a knife. In spite of the gin Thomas was not prepared for the tremendous pain. He cried out and tried to pull his leg away. Henry and Luke held firm until the procedure was over. The doctor took a red hot poker which had been heating in the stove and laid it on the site where the toes had been. Thomas screamed as the heat sealed off the blood vessels to stop the bleeding.

  Francis occasionally glanced over at the operation then quickly away. When the job was complete and Thomas’ foot bandaged, Francis struggled to sit up in bed.

  “I am going back to the men’s quarters,” he said, climbing off the bed.

  Jarvis put his hand on his shoulder to restrain him. “You are going to die from that arm,” he said.

  Francis reached up and flung his hand aside. “I am not going to be a one-armed man.”