West to Grande Portage

by Joan Donadlson-Yarmey

  It took six men to carry each of the canoes and soon all were lined up on the river bank. The canoes were checked for leaks then loaded and everyone climbed in. The songs began as soon as the paddling.

  This second day was the longest day in Phillippe’s life. Towards evening he noticed that his arms did not ache as much as before. They had gone numb on him during the paddle.

  When the canoes were unloaded for the evening, they were again checked for damage then turned upside down over the piles of goods. There was room for the men to sleep under them but most of them laid their blankets beside the fire. One man went to the bush and brought back branches with leaves on them. He laid them on a fire and soon there was a smudge of gray smoke. This smoke kept the mosquitoes at bay and the men stood in its path.

  Phillippe was so tired but swatting at the mosquitoes around the meal kettle kept him awake long enough to spoon some of the heated peas and fat into his mouth. The men ignored the mosquitoes as they ate. They were hungry. They had worked hard and had not eaten since breakfast.

  Phillippe wondered what he was going to do for protection during the night. He saw his uncle open a sack and give any man who wanted it a piece of gauze.

  “To cover your head,” Pierre said to him when he handed one to Phillippe.

  Phillipe gratefully laid on the ground and draped the gauze over his head to protect himself from the mosquito bites. He pulled his blanket up to his chin. The second night was the same as the first. He, Jerome, and Claude were asleep immediately.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Get moving, men,” Pierre bellowed. “We do not have time to waste.”

  And so Phillippe’s third day began. The canoes were put in the water and loaded. The men climbed in and began their paddling. Phillippe was surprised that his arms did not hurt as much. He was able to keep stroke with the men. At the first pipe, he rested and stretched his legs. They, too, seemed to have adjusted to being cramped for an hour at a time.

  Phillippe felt the first glimmer of hope that he would actually make a voyageur.

  “Decharge,” Francois yelled.

  The Montreal canoes pulled up to the shore and the men exited over the sides.

  “Only take out half,” Pierre called.

  Phillippe looked at the man behind him.

  “This is a shallow area in the river,” he explained. “We only carry some of the cargo on the portage.”

  The freight of each canoe was unloaded until the vessel floated higher in the water. Men on the shore began carrying the bundles on the trail around the shallow water. The men left in the water attached a cord to the front of each craft. Some pulled on the cords while others pushed/guided the canoe from behind.

  Phillippe was a pusher/guider. The ones with the ropes watched the river bottom, and pulled the canoe to one side or the other to miss rocks. They yelled back to the pushers to warn them where the rocks were so they could guide the canoe around them. The men walked on land when they could, in water when they could not.

  In this manner the five half-laden canoes were dragged through the shallow water. They met the men who had portaged the goods to the other side of the shallows and the canoes were filled again.

  * * *

  “You certainly look ridiculous in that hat,” Pierre said to Andrew as they glided over the water. He was in pain and irritable. Plus, he getting tired of seeing the back of the three-cornered hat when he looked down the length of the canoe.

  Andrew turned and peered back at Pierre. “It was my father’s.”

  “I know it was your father’s, but that was over in England,” Pierre sneered. “You should be wearing a knitted cap here.”

  “So you have told me many times.”

  “And it is true. You are in Quebec now. You should be dressing according to the life here.”

  “I am an Englishman,” Andrew said. “I can dress anyway I want.”

  “If you want to wear the clothing of an Englishman, go back to England.”

  “You have no right to tell me what to do,” Andrew said. He turned his back on Pierre.

  “I am not telling you what to do. Life is different here and you should dress accordingly.”

  “I have lived here long enough to know what it is like. I do not need you to tell me.”

  “Well, obviously you need someone. Oh, yes, that is right. You are marrying my niece. She will tell you not to wear that hat.

  “This is the hat that is making you money,” Andrew said over his shoulder. “This used to be a beaver pelt before it was made into a hat.”

  “You are the one making money. We voyageurs do all the work but you, your cousin, and his father make the money.”

  “You are being paid well,” Andrew said. “And that is for everything.”

  Pierre knew what Andrew was hinting at and he knew he should keep quiet. Phillippe was in the canoe and he did not want his nephew to know what he had agreed to.

  He saw that they had reached a section of river that was narrower causing the current to increase.

  “Poles,” he yelled.

  Two men in each canoe grabbed the saplings they had cut to use as poles, stood cautiously, and sunk them into the water. They pushed the poles down hard onto the river bed to propel the canoes against the swift current as the rest of the voyageurs paddled. It was an effort to move the canoes forward. When the river widened again, the poles were laid down inside the canoes and the paddling continued until Pierre called for breakfast.

  * * *

  Jeanne balanced the breakfast tray on her arm as she opened Marguerite’s door. Her sister seldom ate but she brought one up every morning hoping to entice her. Over the three days since they had gone to see Uncle Pierre and Phillippe leave on the brigade Marguerite had grown sicker. Her cough now produced a green sputum and her usual low grade fever developed into a high fever. She sometimes woke shivering and no amount of bedding could warm her.

  Then overnight her breathing became labored. The doctor was coming today to see her.

  Marguerite’s eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell as she strained to breathe.

  “Marguerite,” Jeanne said softly. She set the tray on the night table. “Marguerite.”

  Marguerite’s eyelids fluttered but remained closed.

  Jeanne heard footsteps on the stairs. The door opened and her mother ushered in the doctor. Her father stood in the doorway. The doctor walked over to the bed and looked down at Marguerite. He touched her forehead, watched her breathing then picked up her arm and felt for her pulse.

  “You say her coughing now produces a green sputum?”

  “Yes,” Marie said.

  “She is very sick,” he said. “With her fever, her chills and the green sputum, I believe she has pneumonia. She must go to the hospital immediately.”

  “Oh,” Marie gasped. Her hands flew to her face.

  “I will harness the horses to the caleche,” Etienne said. He did not bother to say goodbye to the doctor as he dashed out of the room and down the stairs.

  “I will pack her some nightgowns, slippers, and a housecoat,” Jeanne said. She opened the armoire and pulled out Marguerite’s carpetbag.

  “Thank you, doctor,” Marie said accompanying the doctor to the door. “We will have her there as quickly as possible.”

  The doctor tipped his hat at Jeanne and he and Marie left the room.

  “Oh, Marguerite.” Jeanne sat on the side of the bed. Tears welled in her eyes as she took her sister’s hand. “Please, do not die. I need you to be one of my bridesmaids at my wedding.”

  Marguerite did not stir.

  A few minutes later Marie returned with a basin of water and a cloth. She wiped Marguerite’s pale face and hands while Jeanne folded Marguerite’s nightgowns into the bag. She set the Bible on top. Together the two women changed Marguerite out of her damp bedclothes into a clean and dry gown.

  Etienne returned and picked Marguerite up. Marie grabbed a blanket while Jeanne followed behind with the bag.
They went out to the caleche. Jeanne climbed in first and set the bag on the floor. She reached down and helped her father lift Marguerite into the vehicle. Her parents climbed in the front seat and Etienne flicked the reins. They started down the street at a fast pace.

  Jeanne could not quell her fear as they rushed to the hospital. She sat with her arm around Marguerite’s shoulders to hold her upright. Marguerite’s eyes were closed and her head lolled to the side.

  When they arrived at the hospital their father gently picked up Marguerite and carried her to the building. Sister Angelique met them at the door. When she saw Marguerite she pointed to the stairs.

  “Take her to the women’s ward,” she said. “There is a bed to the right of the door. Make her comfortable. I will be up shortly with some cool water and a cloth.”

  Jeanne and Marie followed Etienne up the stairs and into the women’s ward. Marie flung back the bedcovers on the bed and Etienne laid Marguerite down. Jeanne set the carpetbag on the floor. She removed the clothes and set them in the small dresser by the bed. She laid the Bible on top where Marguerite could see it.

  Then they waited. There was nothing more for them to do.

  Chapter Nineteen

  By the end of the first week, Phillippe was getting used to the fifteen to eighteen hours of paddling each day and not shifting position except at the pipes. He even welcomed the portages as they meant a chance to get out and stretch his legs. He could now carry one bundle using the net sling wrapped around his forehead. Singing the songs was a different matter. He found that he did not have a very good singing voice.

  As he paddled his mind was not taken up with his discomfort anymore. He felt good enough to enjoy the scenery and think about his family. Being on this great adventure he had not thought he would miss them. But he did, especially Marguerite. His thoughts went to her standing on the bank waving to him. Maybe he should have done like Andrew and asked her to marry him. But he was glad he had not. He would wait until he got back. It would give her something else in her life if she was not well enough to go to France.

  This time, when Francois called for a portage it was for the longest one yet and was divided into poses or put downs. When the canoes were unloaded the men grabbed the net slings. Two bundles were placed in the slings and carried about five hundred yards before dropping them.

  A guard was left to protect against an Indian raid and the rest went back for the second load. Some voyageurs, wanting to show off, ordered that three or four bundles be heaped in their slings. They staggered but made the distance to the put down area. Most of them only did that once then went to the two bundle carry. The men traded positions so that each one acted as guard and was able to rest. When the final load and canoes were at the first pose, the men lit their pipes for a quick smoke.

  Phillippe decided to try again. He lit up and inhaled tentatively. He immediately began coughing. When he quit hacking he stared at the pipe. What was it about smoking that made it so important on the trip? Was it a reason to stop paddling and give them a rest? And what was it about the tobacco that made his body react the way it did? No one else had trouble inhaling. Maybe it just was not meant to be. He was still a voyageur even if he did not smoke.

  Everything was carried seven hundred yards to the second put down. And so the day continued, carry cargo, smoke, carry cargo, smoke. Phillippe quit counting the number of times he set his bundle down and loped back for another one. He was glad when they finally reached the end of the eight mile portage.

  “We will stay the night,” Pierre said.

  Phillippe sighed with relief. He was not sure if he could have paddled any further after the long day of packing the cargo and canoes.

  A fire was started and the kettle of peas and pork heated. The canoes were checked for leaks and set over the piles of freight.

  Phillippe was getting used to eating the bubbling peas and pork for both his morning and evening meals. He was too hungry after three hours of paddling to complain about it for breakfast and by the end of the day he would have eaten anything.

  This evening after the meal, he did not fall asleep. He watched as the cook took the ten gallon kettle to the river and filled it with nine gallons of water. He placed it over the fire then added nine quarts of dried peas. When the water was boiling and the peas were well burst, he dropped in two or three pounds of salt pork, cut in strips.

  The cook saw Phillippe watching him. “This will simmer all night,” he said. “It will be ready for when we stop for breakfast in the morning.”

  So that was how he always had a meal ready when it was needed.

  Phillippe went to the smudge and fire where most of the men were sitting and sang songs with them. During a lull in the singing some men told stories about the scars they bore from fights with Indians or other voyageurs.

  Phillippe, Jerome, and Claude had noticed one man with only a partial nose. They had discussed how he may have lost it. Phillippe had tried to not stare at him during the week but as he watched the light of the fire flicker across his scarred face now he wondered what had happened. The paddler saw him looking.

  “You are wondering how I got this way,” the man said.

  Phillippe nodded, embarrassed that he had been caught.

  “It is the result of me being drunk and stupidly thinking I could fight a man who was bigger and stronger than me. When I could not beat him using my fists, I pulled out my knife. I took some swipes at him before he grabbed it from me and cut off half my nose.”

  Another man with a long scar down his arm explained that he had fallen onto a branch while carrying a bundle. The branch went in near his wrist and came out at his elbow. The other men could not pull it out so one had cut through his skin to get to it.

  One man’s brother died from a fever after cutting his hand with his knife while skinning out a deer. And so the stories went. It seemed each man had some sort of tale of injury or death to tell.

  Phillippe looked over at Andrew’s tent. Andrew had little conversation with the paddlers during the day and each evening he usually entered his tent after eating. Occasionally, he wandered the area around the camp as if looking for something. Phillippe went over to the tent to see if he wanted some company.

  “Andrew? It is Phillippe.”

  Andrew pushed the flap aside. “It is small in here but there is room for you to come in.”

  Phillippe crawled in and sat on the narrow bed beside Andrew. He realized he did not know what to talk about with Andrew. Finally he said.

  “I am so glad you asked Jeanne to marry you. Why did you leave it until just before we left?”

  Andrew blushed. “I have been wanting to ask her for over a month but I knew that Florian also wanted to marry her. I thought she would accept his proposal because she has known him for years and he was born here.”

  “But she refused him.”

  Andrew nodded. “I did not understand why.”

  “She obviously was waiting for you to ask her.”

  Andrew smiled. “I really hoped that was the reason, but it took me a long time to raise my courage. And then sitting in the canoe, knowing that I would not see her for months, I grew scared that someone else might step in while I was gone. After all, I had never told her that I loved her.”

  Phillippe grinned. “Well, you certainly proved it by asking her to marry you in front of most of Montreal.”

  Andrew cocked his head to the side. “I hope so. Because it is something I really want to do.” He paused then reached for the box. He opened it and took out some papers. “I think I have loved her since meeting her at William’s and Antoinette’s wedding. I was never able to express those feelings to her in person so while sitting here in the evening I have been putting them into words for her to read when I get back.”

  “Why do you not just tell her?” Phillippe asked.

  “I am afraid I will not be able to say the words out loud with the finesse that I can write them with my pen. I want her to really know that I love h
er even though it took me so long to tell her.”

  Andrew reached into the box again and pulled out a feather, a dainty pink flower that he had pressed between two pieces of paper and a rock that sparkled with pyrite.

  “I know these are silly but I want to take her some mementoes of my trip. I can describe the places where I found these to her.”

  “I am sure she will like them,” Phillippe said.

  They sat in silence for a few moments.

  “Why is the hat so important?” Phillippe asked. He had never understood the demand for the furs.

  “A person’s place within the social structure in England is defined by their hat. To own a beaver hat proves one’s high standing in society. A person who does not have one is hopelessly out of style. The hats have different shapes and meanings from plumed ceremonial models to tri-corner pointed toppers like mine. They are so valuable that they are passed from father to son and that is why this is so important to me. My father got sick and lost just about everything before he died. He left me this hat and a little money in his will. I used that money to come over for William’s wedding. I did not like it here and returned home. But I could not find work there so when William wrote and asked me to come back here as his clerk, I accepted.”

  “I am sorry that Pierre picks on you about your hat.”

  “Me too. I know that Pierre hates the British for winning the war and that he blames the British for taking over the merchant businesses. But it was not William’s or my personal fault and I wish Pierre would realize that.”

  “Yes, he can be a little hard headed,” Phillippe admitted. “I am surprised that you do not speak out about it.”

  Andrew smiled ruefully. “He is Jeanne’s uncle and I do not want to argue with him. I do not want to do anything to jeopardize her love for me now that she has accepted my marriage proposal.”

  Phillippe yawned. “I better get to sleep. Uncle Pierre gets us up so early in the morning.”