West to Grande Portage

by Joan Donadlson-Yarmey

  The rain began to abate and the men went looking for dry firewood. When they returned they piled the wood in three different places and lit the piles. The cook brought out his pot and set it on one of the fires. While he reheated the peas for supper each man cut off a long strip of deer haunch, poked a stick through one end and wrapped the strip around the stick. By turning it in the same direction they could cook the meat over one of the fires without it falling off.

  Like most of the residents of New France, Phillippe had grown up on wild meat as much as on domesticated livestock. He enjoyed the taste after all the peas he had eaten. He offered Andrew some.

  Andrew wrinkled his nose. “That is not a taste I have acquired.”

  When the men had finished their supper, the cook cut the meat off the front shoulders and ribs and put it in the pot to cook with the peas that would be for tomorrow’s two meals.

  The next day to make up the time they lost to the downpour, they paddled all day then in relays, all night.

  After eighteen portages and just as many shallow places they reached the Mattawa River. It was only thirty-five miles long but again they were going against the current. And as had happened on the Ottawa River the polers worked hard helping the paddlers by pushing the canoes against the swift current.

  The day they reached the calm waters of Lake Nipissing was a time for celebration. The paddlers stopped the canoes and with yells of joy went through the ritual of throwing away their poles. They did not need them anymore.

  Their smoke break was longer than usual. Then Pierre had them follow the south shore until they found a place to camp for the night. Phillippe was proud to be one of the first men out of the canoes. Instead of holding the canoe while others unloaded it, he began grabbing the bundles and carrying them to the river bank. He had seen his arm muscles increase in size over the past few weeks and his ability to lift and carry had improved. He was now acting like a voyageur, not just feeling like one.

  Once the canoes were unloaded and turned over and the cook kettle on the fire, it was time to relax. Phillippe enjoyed this part of the day. He was not as tired as he had been the first few days and he had made friends with some of the men. They sat around the fire with their pipes, singing and telling stories. He heard more tales about the inland fur trade from them. That life still sounded just as exciting as when he had listened to his Uncle Pierre’s stories.

  * * *

  It was a more relaxed paddle in the morning as they headed along the shore of the lake. There was no current and the lake was calm and clear. In places the bush reached right to the water, in others there was a beach. Pierre pointed out a doe and two fawns who had come down to the lakeshore to drink. They were standing on a rocky stretch of the shore. The doe lifted her head to watch them while the fawns skittered back into the bush.

  They stopped for breakfast and continued around the lake taking smoke breaks every hour. This time though, they did not have to worry about losing ground because of current. Phillippe was impressed with how well his uncle knew the water. Sometimes they paddled close to the shore because the water was deep enough; sometimes they had to move further out into the lake because of shallow water.

  After three days on Lake Nipissing they reached the French River. Again there was a celebration. They were now paddling with the help of the river’s flow. Phillippe was amazed at how fast they were able to travel. Because of the good time they were now making Pierre let them take longer smoke breaks.

  Soon after their breakfast stop on the second day of being on the river Pierre hollered. “Rapids.”

  The voyageurs began yelling as they raised their paddles in the air as a salute. They then held them above the water.

  “What are we doing?” Phillippe asked the man behind him.

  “We are going to run the rapids.”

  “What?” Phillippe looked ahead. He saw white foaming water swirling and splashing around rocks. They looked too dangerous to paddle through. The brigade had portaged rapids like these while going upstream.

  “Watch him,” the man said pointing to Francois.

  Phillippe saw Francois brace himself in front, his long paddle ready to push the canoe away from any rock they came close to.

  “We are all counting on his lightning thrusts to save us from a deadly crash.”

  Phillippe’s heart beat rapidly as he watched the five fragile crafts near the rapids. Fear, as thick and tangible as fog, overwhelmed him. This was the second time on the trip that he thought he was going to die.

  He looked at the other voyageurs. The seasoned paddlers had eager looks on their faces; the new recruit’s faces were full of dread and horror. Phillippe turned back to the swiftly flowing river as it carried them into the churning waters around the first rocks.

  The canoe dipped and rose, spun to the right and left, rolled sideways. The forward men on each of the canoes were hollering directions and waving their arms. The men leaned when necessary and some grunted and yelled encouragement at each other. Others just whooped with sheer pleasure. Phillippe got splashed with water, jerked from side to side, and almost lost his balance overboard. He thrust his paddle at rocks he thought they were going to hit only to have the canoe swing away from them. He leaned as the Francois pointed but always seemed one step behind what he thought he was supposed to do.

  Phillippe could see the calmer water at the end of the rapids. They were going to make it. Then Francois’ paddle broke as he drove it against a rock. The side of the canoe hit the rock scraping a hole in the birch bark. The canoe immediately began to take in water. The sponge was passed up to the man closest to the hole. He began to sop up the water but it came in faster than he could wipe it up. Another man began bailing with one of the kettles.

  The front two paddlers scrambled to direct the canoe around the remaining rocks of the rapids. Once they were out of the swirling water Pierre steered the craft towards the nearest flat area on shore. The canoes ahead did not see what was happening but the one behind followed them to offer help. Phillippe and the other men jumped out of the canoe to raise the ten inch gash above the water line.

  The men from both canoes quickly emptied the goods and carried the damaged craft up on shore. It was turned over for inspection. The bark on the canoe was dried while the extra pieces of birch bark and the spruce gum were found. The spare bark was glued over the hole.

  “We will catch up at the evening stop,” Pierre said to steersman in the helping canoe.

  The helpers climbed back in their canoe and continued on. The men on shore pulled out their pipes. Phillippe looked across the river at four crosses. He could understand how men could die here. There had been a couple of times when he had almost been thrown out when they dipped over a ledge in the water.

  He turned to look back at the rapids they had just come through. Uncle Pierre had talked about running rapids. He had said that since they were going in the same direction as the water at the rapids, the paddlers would stay in the canoes. The forward man would watch for hidden rocks and the steersman would propel the paddle back and forth at the signal of the front man. The paddlers would merely shift their weight as the forward man pointed so they would miss the worst of the rocks. This way they could navigate some of the rapids rather than take the time to portage.

  But Phillippe had not pictured the actual movements of the canoe and the efforts of the men. Now he had had his first experience. And he felt a sense of elation. He had survived another potential threat in this new life of his. Today there would be no cross put up here for him, nor for anyone else on the brigade.

  When the gum was dry, the canoe was loaded and they paddled to where the other men had set up camp.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jeanne dipped the cloth in the cold water, wrung it out, and laid it over Marguerite’s forehead. Her sister moaned and thrashed in her damp bedsheets as her body burned with fever.

  “Oh, Marguerite. Please get better.”

  Jeanne took the warmed cloth of
f Marguerite’s forehead and dipped it again. She had been going through the same motions since she had taken over from her mother. Marie had not wanted to leave but Jeanne had insisted. They had been through this many times since Marguerite entered the hospital and the fever had always abated.

  Eventually, the fever broke and Marguerite settled. Jeanne sighed. At last. Even though Marguerite was asleep, Jeanne rolled her from side to side so she could remove and replace her sheets with clean and dry ones. She also took off her nightgown, washed her, and dressed in her a fresh one.

  It was time for a cup of tea.

  As she gathered the dirty laundry, Jeanne heard soft footsteps in the hallway. She looked up at Antoinette peeking around the door, her face illuminated by the candle she carried. Jeanne waved her cousin in, wondering why she had come so late.

  “I figured you could use some company,” Antoinette whispered.

  Jeanne nodded. “Thank you. It has been a difficult night. I am going to the kitchen to have some tea. Would you like a cup?”

  “That sounds good.”

  Jeanne blew out the candle on the nightstand. She was surprised when Antoinette slipped her arm through hers as the two women walked down the hallway. There was a bounce to her step. Something was happening in her life. She waited for Antoinette to tell her the news. Instead Antoinette asked.

  “How is Marguerite?”

  “I think she is getting worse instead of better,” Jeanne said. This was the first time she had said the thought out loud. And that was only because she and Antoinette could tell each other anything. There was no way she would admit that to her parents.

  Jeanne put the sheets in the laundry room, then lit a lantern. Antoinette snuffed out the candle. Jeanne added some wood to the embers in the fireplace and dipped water from the pail into the teakettle. She set it on the grate over the fire.

  “What does the doctor say?” Antoinette went to the cupboard and took out two cups. She set them on the table.

  “He just keeps saying there is no change, but she seems be getting weaker and weaker. She sleeps most of the time.”

  “I am so sorry.” Antoinette put her arms around Jeanne. “It is not fair.”

  Jeanne shook her head as she wiped a tear from her eyes. “No, it is not. But it seems there is nothing we can do about it. She is fighting hard.”

  Jeanne poured the water over the tea leaves, then filled the cups. They sat at the table.

  Still Antoinette did not say anything and Jeanne could not wait any longer.

  “What is your news?”

  “What makes you think I have news?”

  “Because you seem very happy and excited. What is it?”

  Antoinette smiled. “I am with child.”

  “Oh, Antoinette, that is so wonderful.” Jeanne’s heart swelled with happiness. A baby in the family.

  “After William, you are the first to know.”

  “When are you due?”

  “Sometime in November.”

  “Is William happy?”

  “Oh, yes. He is writing to his father right now to tell him.”

  As they drank their tea, they excitedly discussed baby names, making clothes, and telling Antoinette’s parents and other family and friends. At last Antoinette had to leave. Jeanne reluctantly agreed. She was enjoying the talk and planning for this child. It was a welcome distraction from her worry about Marguerite. She walked Antoinette to the front door.

  “We have months to get ready,” Antoinette said as she left the hospital.

  Jeanne smiled, thinking of the children she and Andrew were going to have. She hoped Andrew wanted to get married as soon as he came back in the fall. And she wanted to become pregnant right after they married. She wanted her children to be friends with their cousins just as she and Antoinette had grown up friends.

  * * *

  Phillippe woke during the night to a wind tugging at his blanket. He pulled it more secure around him and went back to sleep. It seemed that nothing could keep him awake for long. In the morning the wind had increased in velocity so that the treetops whipped back and forth as the men loaded the canoes.

  On the water the wind was mainly at their back but sometimes gusted and came at the brigade sideways. It was mid-afternoon when Pierre called “rapids.” Phillippe looked downstream at these rapids. They were wider and rougher than the first but seemed shorter. This time he knew what to expect. He braced himself, ready to shift his weight as needed.

  As they neared the churning water, the wind whipped Andrew’s three cornered hat off his head. Andrew almost fell out of the canoe as he made a grab for it and missed. The hat flipped a couple of times in the air then landed in the water out of his reach. Phillippe tried to pick it up with his paddle but the canoe moved sideways and he just touched it.

  “Grab it,” Andrew hollered at the men in the canoe beside them.

  They ignored him, concentrating instead on the upcoming entry into the rapids.

  Out of the corner of his eye Phillippe saw Florian in a canoe slightly behind them swat at the hat with his paddle.

  “Stop,” Andrew yelled angrily.

  Florian grinned and hit the hat again. This time the hat sunk.

  “No.” Andrew’s cry was anguished as, heedless of the danger, he jumped into river just as the canoes surged into the rapids. He was immediately swept away in the roiling water.

  Phillippe’s instant thought was of his uncle’s words. “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.”

  He looked at the river and then at Andrew who was struggling to keep his head up as he was bounced off rocks and twisted in the turbulent waters. Phillippe laid his paddle down and was about to follow Andrew into the river.

  “Stay, Phillippe,” Uncle Pierre roared.

  Phillippe turned. “But…”

  “He cannot be helped. You will only die yourself.”

  Phillippe abandoned all thought of helping with the canoe. The canoe rose and dipped and rolled but he did not take his eyes off Andrew. Andrew was still fighting and it seemed as if he was going to make it out the other side alive. But, with a mighty heave, the turbulent river threw Andrew against a large rock and he went limp. His body was now like a rag doll, his arms and legs moving according to the whim of the rapids.

  When the brigade was in calmer water, Pierre steered their canoe over to where Andrew floated face down. Pierre and Phillippe slipped over the side into the water. They were able to stand on the river bottom. Pierre lifted Andrew’s head; Phillippe supported his body. Two men reached down and pulled Andrew into the canoe. They laid him on the bales. Phillippe watched from the bow of the boat but did not see Andrew take a breath. Pierre hauled himself up and over the side. He shook Andrew. No response. He leaned down and held his cheek to Andrew’s mouth. After a few moments he looked at Phillippe and shook his head.

  Phillippe felt his jaw drop. Andrew was dead? He could not believe it. Everything had happened so fast.

  Phillippe looked at Florian. “You killed him,” he yelled.

  Florian shrugged. “It was just a hat. He did not have to jump in the water.”

  “You knew how he felt about his hat. You could have picked it up for him instead of hitting it.”

  “We do not have time for an argument,” Pierre said. “We will bury Andrew and continue.”

  The canoes pulled to the shore and moored. Phillippe and three other men found shovels and climbed to a knoll above the river. They quickly dug a hole in the sandy ground. Someone had gone through Andrew’s possessions and found his blanket. They wrapped his body in it and carried him up to his burial site, the rest of the men following in a procession.

  “Wait a minute,” a voice at the back called. Bernard hurried up the hill past the line. In his hand was Andrew’s hat. He set it on top of the body.

  All the men gathered around the grave.

  “Here we lay to rest
Andrew Macleod, clerk of the Macleod Merchant House. He is survived by his cousin William, family in England, and his fiancé Jeanne Chabot.”

  The men laid Andrew’s body gently in the hole.

  Phillippe, alone, shoveled the sand over him. The other men seem to sense that he needed to do this. One man made a cross using tree branches. He pushed it in the sand and all the men crossed themselves. They trooped down to the water. Phillippe hung back.

  “I am so sorry, Andrew,” Phillippe said, his voice breaking. “I will tell Jeanne that you loved her deeply. I will give her the letters you wrote and the mementoes you have been collecting for her.”

  He wiped his eyes as he went down to the canoes. It was a subdued group that paddled away from the burial site.

  * * *

  Pierre rubbed his back as he steered the canoe. Over his fur trade career Pierre had fallen into the rapids twice. Both times his strength and quick thinking had saved him. He had twisted around until he was going feet first. This way he could watch ahead for the rocks, tensing his legs for contact and then pushing off. He had ended up with cuts and bruises and, during the second one, a broken finger. But he was one of many who survived the rapids outside the canoe.

  Pierre decided to make the men paddle for more than an hour before calling the next smoke break. He hoped the extra time would use up some of the angry energy he had felt. He especially hoped that Phillippe would have time to deal with what had happened.

  He had known that Florian would be trouble on this trip. He just never imagined that his stupid actions would cause a death. He had thought he just had to watch for his pranks and his stealing.

  And, he had another problem to deal with. Andrew had been the clerk for the merchant house. He had the ledgers with the list of goods on them in his box. He was supposed to record the transactions of what was traded and for how many furs.