West to Grande Portage

by Joan Donadlson-Yarmey

  Phillippe wished he was in Montreal taking her out for walks and drives. He should be spending as much time as he could with her. He was going to be gone a long time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “My head hurts too much to ride this morning,” Pierre said. “We will stay here a while longer.”

  Phillippe held his reply. As far as he was concerned they should be on their way to the next town. They had to sign up more farm boys.

  Pierre found a wooden seat in front of the local smithy. Phillippe watched as his uncle groaned and struggled to sit down. His headache must be very bad. Pierre adjusted himself on the seat and eventually settled with one leg stretched out in front of him. Phillippe sat beside him.

  They watched the people walking by and when someone came near Pierre began his tales of the grand life of the voyageur. He stopped men and boys as they tried to enter the smithy or walk past it. By lunch they had only signed on two more boys about Phillippe’s age.

  “I have to get away from the farm,” Claude said. “It is so boring. You do the same thing day after day and year after year.”

  “I just want to get away from my father,” Jerome told them. “Ever since my mother died he does nothing but drink and beat us kids. If he finds out I am leaving I do not know what he will do.”

  At noon they went for lunch and a beer at the tavern.

  “Why did you jump into the river to save Jean-Luc?” Phillippe asked.

  “What?” Pierre appeared startled.

  “When Jean-Luc fell into the river, why did you jump in and try to rescue him?”

  “You never let someone die. If you can save them, you must. Because if you do not, it will rest heavily on your conscience for the remainder of your life.”

  The bar maid brought their order and Pierre began to flirt with her, just as he had done the night before. However, when they were finished eating, they finally continued on their way to the next community and the next tavern.

  It was another week before Pierre and Phillippe returned to Montreal.

  They walked into the Macleod Merchant House. Phillippe was proud of what they had done. He carried his head high. William would now know what a hard worker he was.

  Pierre slapped the signed contracts on the counter in front of William. “I told you I would get you more voyageurs.”

  William began to count them.

  “There are twenty-four.”

  “Well done,” William said. “I now have just enough men as long as everyone turns up.”

  Phillippe waited expectantly for Uncle Pierre to acknowledge that Phillippe had been a big help at getting them signed. At each tavern, after they had gone through their little performance to get everyone’s attention, Pierre had begun drinking and flirting. It had been up to Phillippe to encourage the men and young boys to sign a contract.

  “I have told you I am the best voyageur in Montreal. Everyone wants to paddle with me and learn what I can teach them.”

  Phillippe could not believe that his uncle would not give him some credit for the hard work he had done. He was seeing Pierre in a new light. He had lied about how Phillippe had been hired. He had not taken the hiring of the new voyageurs very seriously, preferring to drink and dance instead of getting contracts signed, and now he had not told William how much Phillippe had helped him.

  What had happened to the uncle he had idolized while growing up? Had he just not seen him for the person he really was? Did it matter?

  Pierre turned to Phillippe with a grin. “I have something for you,” he said. He reached behind the counter and pulled out a well-worn paddle. He handed it to Phillippe.

  “This is my paddle. Since I will not be needing it on this trip, I would like you to have it.”

  Phillippe stood with his mouth open. Paddles were sacred among the voyageurs. First they picked the type of wood they wanted, deciding if they wanted strength and durability or lightness of weight. Most chose cedar because it was strong and light. The paddles were hand carved from single pieces of wood according to the voyageurs specifications.

  “I sanded and painted it before we left.”

  Phillippe reached out and took the scarlet paddle in his hands. He held it as if he was paddling. It felt light and comfortable. He was not sure how it would feel in the water but right now, that did not matter. He looked up at his uncle. His hero was back.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Pierre ruffled his hair. “Just take good care of it.”

  * * *

  It was the evening before the brigades left. Jeanne had invited Andrew for supper and had been surprised when he accepted. Phillippe, who was staying with them and helping William with last minute necessities, had assisted Marguerite downstairs and to the table. The four of them and her parents had spent a pleasant evening talking about the fur trade with her father telling them about his experiences. Her heart dropped when Andrew responded with tales of his upbringing in England. He had not said anything more about wanting to return to England but she could hear the longing in his voice.

  After the meal Jeanne helped her mother clear the table and set out the fruit and cheese for dessert.

  “You look tired,” Phillippe said to Marguerite.

  “I am,” she nodded.

  “Let me help you to bed then I must get ready to go to the voyageur’s camp.”

  “Would you like to go for a walk?” Andrew asked Jeanne.

  Jeanne smiled and nodded. Her dream of him proposing before going west had not materialized and she had just about given up that it would. Maybe tonight…

  It was a warm spring evening and Jeanne slipped her hand in Andrew’s arm as they walked. He patted her hand then kept his on it.

  “Are you excited about going tomorrow?” she asked. Maybe now that the time had arrived, the adventure would begin to appeal to him. She knew how keyed up Phillippe was and she had seen the thrill on her uncle’s face for many years.

  “No,” Andrew said. “I have tried to tell myself that it will be a new experience but so far I have not been able to convince myself.”

  “I suppose it is too late for William to go himself and you stay back.”

  “William does not what to leave Antoinette alone that long. And that was the reason I came over in the first place. It is my job.”

  They walked in silence. Jeanne sensed that Andrew wanted to say something to her and she was sure that he tried a couple of times.

  The first time he opened his mouth then closed it. The second time he said. “Um, I want… Uh, it is a lovely evening is it not?”

  “Yes, it is,” she agreed, wondering what it was he wanted. She thought about asking him but was not sure she really wanted to know. What if it was bad news?

  “Are you coming to the river tomorrow?” Andrew asked.

  “Oh, yes. It is a big day in Phillippe’s life. His parents are coming in the morning and we are all going to say goodbye to him. And I will be there to say goodbye to you, too,” Jeanne finished shyly.

  Andrew smiled at her. “I will like that.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Phillippe’s stomach had butterflies as he took his time dressing in his outfit. He was standing in front of the mirror in Jeanne’s bedroom so he could watch his transformation from a farm boy to a voyageur. As he had on his birthday, and many times since, he pulled his leggings above his knees and tied the strings to his belt. He donned his red shirt and wrapped his yellow sash about his waist. He set his red hat on his head at a jaunty angle and tugged his moccasins on his feet. Lastly, he draped his tobacco pouch over his shoulder.

  His uncle was right. He had not smoked his pipe since receiving it.

  Phillippe laid his soap, spoon, metal cup, an oilskin for rain, spare shirt, breeches, and leggings on his blanket lying on the bed and rolled it up. He stuffed it in his bag. He could bring up to forty pounds of his own gear but he did not have that much.

  For the past few days he had been helping William, Andrew, and Pierre pack the last
of the blankets, pieces of cloth, and other trade goods into ninety-pound bundles. Each bundle had ears in two corners for the voyageurs to use for lifting in and out of the canoes and onto their backs for the portage. Items such as thread, combs, mirrors, beads, axes, knives, and flints, that could not fit neatly into bundles had been wrapped up into packs and tied with rope.

  Then they hauled all the bundles and packs by cart to the tip of Montreal Island above the Lachine rapids on the St Lawrence River. That was also where the voyageur camp was situated.

  Phillippe stood tall as he stared at himself in the mirror. His new life was about to begin. He left the room and went to Marguerite’s bedroom. He knocked.

  “Come in.”

  Phillippe peeked around the door. She smiled then looked expectantly. He stepped in, stopping so she could see him in his full voyageur regalia. He turned around.

  “You look better than you did on your birthday,” Marguerite said. “You look more muscular.”

  Phillippe beamed. Maybe the cutting of trees had built up his muscles. Then he asked the question he had been afraid to ask during the meal. “Will you be there tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Mother has said she will help me up so I can come to the river and wave goodbye to you.”

  Phillippe’s heart jumped. She would see him paddle away from Montreal on his first trip. He wished he could take her himself but he had to be there to load the canoes. He had watched the men do it for the past two years so he knew what it entailed. He just hoped he was strong enough to work without getting in the way. He did not want to look like a fool in front of the town and especially not in front of Marguerite.

  * * *

  On the day of the brigade departure, most of Montreal came out to see the canoes off. Ladies and gentlemen, officers and soldiers, workmen and tradesmen, clerks and mothers and children, everyone who could get to the waterfront was there.

  In and out of the crowd moved the canoe men. Admiring glances followed the hardy, reckless men who spent their summers paddling up to the lakes and back.

  Phillippe swaggered as he walked beside his Uncle Pierre. This was his great day and he held his head high. He was mighty proud to be dressed as a voyageur. He even enjoyed the shy smiles of the young women as he met them on the street. He knew he was impressing them and he strutted even more.

  He wished that he looked more like his Uncle Pierre, though. Pierre had the broad shoulders that filled out the long woolen shirt he wore to just below his narrow hips. Around his waist he had tied yards and yards of sash with an arrow pattern in red, yellow and blue. His red knitted cap had the feathers of the Northmen. His leggings and moccasins were decorated in multicolored beads.

  “I was given them by my inland wife,” Pierre said, when Phillippe had commented on them.

  Phillippe and Pierre paraded around a while longer then it was time to get to work. They walked down to the water where the bales and other goods that belonged to the Macleod Merchant House lay in piles on the sand. All along the shore were similar collections from the other houses. Hundreds of voyageurs swarmed the beach looking for the merchant they had signed with. There was lots of talking and yelling. It was a constant, pulsating din.

  “Here, you will need this,” Pierre said, flipping a coin at Phillippe.

  “What for?”

  “You will see. Just do not lose it.”

  Phillippe slipped it into his tobacco pouch.

  “It is about time you got here, Pierre,” Andrew said when they reached the pile that Andrew was guarding.

  Pierre laughed. “I knew you could not manage without me.”

  “Oh, we can manage without you. It is just that you are being paid to be here and organize the loading.”

  Pierre shrugged. “Well, I am here now. Let us get to work.”

  Phillippe was eager to start. He had watched the loading in the past, now he was going to be part of it. He was glad to see Claude and Jerome from the boys he and his uncle had signed. Both boys had on the dress of the voyageur. Phillippe noticed that Maurice was not there. Phillippe looked around wondering what had happened to him. It had sounded like he wanted to get away from his family’s bakery. Maybe something had changed his mind.

  He saw Florian. Everyone knew that Jeanne had refused Florian’s offer of marriage. He had thought that Florian might cancel his contract with William and go to another merchant house. Apparently, Florian had not. Phillippe also saw Bernard and Francois, Uncle Pierre’s friends and he recognized a few of the men they had signed up. But he did not remember their names. He would get to know them all before the end of the trip.

  Over the past week the birch bark Montreal freight canoes had been checked for leaks and any leak found had been repaired with pine or spruce gum. Some of the canoes were up to forty feet long, six feet wide in the middle and weighed as much six hundred pounds empty. Each of them could carry sixty-five bales of goods, plus the men and their bags. These canoes were needed on the trip from Montreal to Grande Portage because they were large enough to carry the cargo of trade goods and provisions going from one place to the other and for bringing back the fur pelts. Also, they were necessary to handle the dangerous waters of the Great Lakes.

  But not every canoe heading west was that large. Some were smaller with only six to eight paddlers, while others had four or five. These could go faster than the larger canoes but were much more fragile in bad weather and rough water.

  The Macleod Merchants freight canoes were thirty feet long and weighed four hundred pounds. Phillippe joined the other voyageurs as they gently pushed the large canoes into the river so that, as they were loaded, they did not rest on the sand. Some of the men were still drunk from the farewell parties the night before and stumbled as they waded in the water. Two of them fell and had to struggle to stand again. When they were in hip deep water they stopped.

  “Phillippe and all the young boys will hold the canoes,” Pierre called.

  Phillippe felt a little disappointed that he had been relegated to just holding the canoes. He knew that his uncle was protecting him and the other boys. They were not strong enough to handle the bundles especially in front of their family and friends. Hopefully, by the end of the summer they would be.

  Phillippe and Jerome held their canoe while the other voyageurs made trip after trip carrying the large bundles out to the canoe and stacking them along the sides for balance and then on the bottom. They had to steady the canoe after each bundle was set in place. Pierre oversaw the loading, making sure the packs were evenly distributed throughout the five canoes.

  Phillippe scanned the crowd hoping to see Marguerite. He was beginning to worry that she was not well enough to make it. If she was not, then he would not see her again until he came back.

  “Where is he?” a voice yelled on shore. “Where is my damn son?”

  Phillippe looked over and saw a man running up and down the beach.

  “Oh, no,” Jerome said. He ducked until he was almost flat in the water.

  “Who are you looking for?” Pierre asked.

  “My son, Jerome. He signed up without my permission and I want him home.”

  Phillippe could hear the anger in the man’s voice. He looked over at Jerome whose head was barely above the water. He saw the fear on Jerome’s face.

  Pierre scanned the boys in the water. His glance stopped at Phillippe. Phillippe barely shook his head.

  “Well, he is not with us,” Pierre said. “Go look somewhere else.”

  The man stomped to where the next merchant house was loading their canoes. Phillippe watched as he gestured and yelled at the clerk. The clerk shook his head. The man carried on.

  Jerome stood up, his shirt dripping with water.

  “Your father?” Phillippe asked.

  Jerome nodded. “I saw what you did,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Phillippe shrugged. “He did not know?”

  Jerome shook his head. He looked at the retreating figure. “He had heard that you and your un
cle were around signing up boys and he told me not to even think about leaving. I snuck away yesterday while he was in town so I could get here in time this morning. I did not think he would figure out where I was and get here so fast.”

  Jerome kept his eyes on the shore. “I had better watch that he does not come back and see me.”

  Phillippe had heard of new recruits who had signed on and then at the last moment had wanted out. They knew the merchants would not release them from their contracts so they had not shown up. Others actually came to the river, then just walked away when they saw the canoes and realized how hard the paddle would be. Jerome obviously wanted to go as much as Phillippe did.

  Once the packs were loaded, then any item that could not be put snugly into a bundle or sack was placed in any opening and along the sides of the bundles. These included kettles, cases of iron works and guns, bags of leaden balls and shot, kegs of sugar, gunpowder, brandy, and canvas for sails.

  Other articles that would be needed each day, such as rations of liquor, oilskins, rope, tarpaulin for a sail, or to cover the bundles when it rained, spare birch bark for repairs, the cooking pot, and a large sponge to be used to sop up any water from rain or leakage were also laid where there was room.

  When fully loaded, each of the Macleod canoes could hold two tons before the men climbed aboard. There was a crew of eight or ten and each man also had his own gear.

  Then it was time to say goodbye. Some of the boys wept as they bade farewell to their parents. The seasoned voyageurs talked loudly still basking in the attention they were receiving. They kissed their wives and children and waved to their remaining relatives. Some had no one to say goodbye to and went to stand in the water at the canoes.