Highland Justice

by Larry Stuart

  For a moment Cameron was speechless. Then, looking very contrite, he stood up and offered his hand.

  ‘Captain Rousseau, I’d like to apologise for my attitude earlier…and on behalf of Mary and myself say thank you.’

  ‘You’re more than welcome. And before you go, may I just add my personal good wishes to you both.’

  As they wandered back towards the queue, Cameron was flabbergasted. They’d like to ‘extend their gratitude’, show their ‘appreciation’, their ‘indebtedness’. Incredible! If this was how people treated each other in Canada, then the future really did look promising.

  Cameron stopped and turned towards Mary, wrapped his arms around her, and gave her a quick kiss.

  ‘Cameron, stop that! We’re in public! This may be the new world…but I’m sure they still must conform to some rules of decorum.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said, with a grin on his face, as he turned to lead her back to the disembarkation area.

  After a further hour of watching the ship’s cargo and baggage being off-loaded and tons of lumber being on-loaded, Cameron and Mary were finally cleared by the port health authority. The doctor-in-charge quickly stamped their paperwork, after which he also passed on his appreciation to Mary for her help at Grosse Isle – it seemed the news about Mrs Stuart’s help had already reached Quebec City as well.

  Processing with Immigration was soon taken care of. The Canadian Government were still keen to receive settlers, and therefore kept the formalities to a minimum. Having cleared their final hurdle, Cameron and Mary moved towards the government information desk set up adjacent to the exit doors.

  ‘Well, Mary, I guess that be it. We now be officially residents. Doesn’t it feel good to know you’re wanted?’

  Before she could answer, two familiar faces appeared, making their way through the crowd towards them. James and Fiona had obviously been waiting for a while, as they’d already reclaimed their baggage.

  ‘Hello, Cameron. Hello, Mary…How’s everythin’ goin’?’

  ‘Pretty good, so far,’ replied Cameron.

  ‘That’s greet. Listen…we be catchin’ the steamer up to Montreal later on, so why not join us?’

  ‘Sure...that we’ll do. We already have tickets. And just so you know, I think you and everyone else on board have talked us into takin’ up farmin’, so we be just about to join that line over there to find out what we can about the land grants. We’ll see you on board later.’

  However, as Cameron and Mary soon discovered, even in the New World bureaucracy still existed. Due to their not having pre-registered for a land grant from overseas, they now had to apply at the Ministry of Agriculture in the city, before moving on to the district administration office in Montreal. And as it was now 4:00 p.m., the office was closed until the following day.

  As Cameron threw off the covers and swung his legs out to sit on the edge of the bed, the room began to sway. For a moment he wondered if this was all a dream, and he was still onboard the ship, but after quickly taking in his surroundings, it all came back to him.

  After the disappointment of the delay in their travel plans, he had arranged for most of their baggage to be put into storage in the arrivals hall. Then, with the help of the information desk, had located a room for the night at the Hotel Manoir, situated beside the old main gate into the city. Once settled in, he and Mary had left the hotel and strolled into the city, soon finding a cute little café for their supper. Two hours and a few drinks later, they had hurried back to their hotel, where a long night of passion ensued – their first since Cameron’s shocking revelations.

  Cameron’s ardour now re-ignited. Then, seemingly with almost a mind of its own, his hand moved deftly under the covers, coming to rest on Mary’s right breast. Taking her lack of response as a sign of approval, he rolled onto his side, sliding down the covers to reveal her slim, naked body.

  ‘All right, Cameron…that’s as far as ye go!’ said Mary, quickly sitting up. We be havin’ a lot to do before we catch the next steamer to Montreal.’

  A little while later, Cameron and Mary stood motionless in front of the hotel’s reception desk; their eyes fixed on the headline on the front page of the “Quebec Star”.

  * * *

  STEAMER LAURENTIAN CATCHES FIRE

  AND BURNS TO THE WATERLINE

  * * *

  It has been reported that out of the possible 300 passengers on board, at least 280 are feared dead or missing. The ship departed Quebec City yesterday afternoon for the 180-mile trip up the St. Lawrence to Montreal. At about 7 p.m., when passing Cap Rouge, 12 miles west of Quebec, a fire took hold in the boiler room, which could not be brought under control. Apparently, during the Captain’s attempt to beach the ship, it struck a reef well offshore, and subsequently burned to the waterline. Most passengers drowned whilst attempting to swim ashore. A list of the victims will be published as soon as possible.

  The Stuarts were speechless; and then, while Cameron stood at the desk settling their account, Mary rushed out the front door.

  A few minutes later, Cameron’s concern mounted when, on leaving the hotel Mary was nowhere in sight.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, interrupting a couple strolling arm-in-arm past the front of the hotel. ‘You haven’t by chance seen a lass dressed in a brown hat and coat, come rushing out of here…?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, we have. She almost knocked my wife down. I think you’ll find that’s her…sitting over there on the park bench,’ the man said, pointing to the other side of road.

  Darting across the street, Cameron sat down beside Mary, placing his arm around her and squeezing her to his chest.

  ‘My God,’ sobbed Mary, burying her face into his shoulder. ‘Why is it so hard for people to build a better life? I thought the danger would be over once we’d crossed the Atlantic. It’s just no fair.’

  There were times when she was so strong, thought Cameron, holding her tightly. But then, there were moments like this, when she was just another vulnerable young girl struggling to make sense of life’s misfortunes. He had to admit, he’d never been much of a believer, but maybe at times like this faith did help people to come to terms with disasters, or at least give them someone to blame.

  Eventually, their shock gave way to numbness, and they both got up and slowly made their way towards the government’s offices. One thing was for certain, thought Cameron. He had no intention of setting foot in another boat for a very, very long time.

  As it turned out, the meeting with the land grant department was more than just a formality. It was a complicated process, and Cameron soon found that his lack of experience in farming put him at a distinct disadvantage. Thankfully, Mr LeBlanc, the civil servant dealing with their case, was very patient, and quickly summarised the options that were available.

  ‘If you agree to settle to de west of Winnipeg, and can prove to us dat you have erected a permanent residence with at least one ancillary building within 24 months, den you are entitled to a quarter-section of land…which equates to 160 acres. However, if you do not fulfil dis requirement, den you will be required to vacate de land or buy it from de Government at a cost of $2.00 per acre.’

  ‘But what if we settle in Quebec? My sister lives in the Eastern Townships and we would like to settle in that area…if possible.’

  ‘Well, de rules are different for Quebec. De grant only provides for ten free acres, with an option to buy further land at a cost of $2.00 per acre.’

  Cameron and Mary had already decided that they didn’t really have much choice. After all, they would need all the help that they could get, and living near Margaret really was their best option.

  Therefore, a little while later, with a stamped and signed “Requisition for Land” safely stored in Cameron’s inside jacket pocket, the new settlers left the government building, flagging down the first empty carriage that came into sight.

  Their first stop was at the arrivals hall in the port to retrieve their personal belongings,
after which Cameron directed their driver to the offices of The Quebec Steamships Lines, where he was hoping to refund their steamer tickets. As they rounded the corner of Main Street onto Pont-Neuf Road, their rig pulled up with a jolt, having nearly collided with a seething mass of people. Near riot conditions prevailed, and half a dozen policemen were struggling to control the crowd in front of the steamship line’s offices. While their driver slowly manoeuvred forward, Cameron saw a man exit the office door and proceed to a notice board on the outside wall of the ticket hall. The man quickly retreated, and when he did the crowd surged forward. Moments later cries of anguish soon turned into screams of abuse.

  ‘They’re all dead!’ someone yelled.

  Suddenly, the crowd became hysterical, and Cameron heard the sound of breaking glass.

  ‘We certainly no want to get mixed up in this,’ said Cameron, as he leaned forward to talk to their driver. ‘Take us to the station, will you?’

  As they drew away from the area, Mary visibly relaxed, her shoulders easing and her white fists unclenching.

  ‘Don’t fret yourself, Mary, we be safe now. I’ll try and cash in our tickets at the company’s head office in Montreal…assuming they still be in business when we get there.’

  Ten minutes later they pulled up outside the railway station; their horse puffing like a steam engine and shaking his head, as if he, too, couldn’t believe what they’d just been through.

  It took a while for Mary’s frayed nerves to calm down. However, after purchasing their tickets, checking in their luggage, and finding a place to sit down and have a drink, she began to relax.

  All trains were running late that day due to the railway’s sudden increase in popularity. But eventually, a locomotive bearing the livery of the Q.M. & O. and pulling six carriages, chugged into the station and screeched to a halt in a cloud of steam.

  ‘Hey, Mary, look at that! ’Tis an “American’ 4-4-0”!’

  ‘All right, Cameron. Calm down. That be in the past now…remember…we’re farmers now.’

  In less than twenty minutes, the carriages were filled, and the Quebec Montreal and Ottawa Railway service pulled out of the station.

  They hardly seemed to get up a full head of steam before the train began to slow for its stop at Cap Rouge. Suddenly, the good-humoured banter and jaunty laughter stopped. At this point on the route the tracks passed very close to the shore, and there for all to see was the price some had paid to try and improve their lives. Out in the river, stuck on a rock only a few hundred yards from shore, was the smoking shell of the paddle steamer “Laurentian”.

  What a terrible irony, thought Cameron. After leaving behind all their friends and

  family, putting up with deplorable mental and physical privations, and then safely travelling thousands of miles, their lives had been extinguished by fate and 300 yards of water.

  Mary’s long fingers sought the comfort and re-assurance of Cameron’s hands, as her emotions once more overwhelmed her and tears trickled down her face. All the while, her soulful eyes stared out the window at the smouldering monument to so many people’s hopes and dreams. And when the train eventually accelerated away from the horror, her lips could be seen to move as she silently uttered a prayer.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Four and a half hours later, the train crossed the iron bridge on the eastern side of the island and began to decelerate for its stop at Montreal’s, Bonaventure Station.

  Most of the people in Cameron and Mary’s carriage had long ago given up chattering, and those not staring out the windows were snoozing, sitting upright in their seats with their heads hanging down and their arms folded across their chests.

  The peace was soon cut short as the door between their carriage and the one ahead banged open, and in walked the uniformed ticket inspector.

  ‘Next stop Bonaventure Station. All passengers for Ottawa remain on board. Those passengers leaving the train in Montreal please be sure to have your baggage claims ready to give to the porters on arrival.’

  With the high-pitched grinding of pinched metal, and the lingering hiss of escaping air, the train came to a standstill adjacent to a long, covered platform.

  Cameron and Mary didn’t have long to wait for help. The moment they disembarked, uniformed porters vying for their custom assailed them. Picking one out of the melee, Cameron handed over his baggage claims. And once the porter had retrieved their baggage, he and Mary followed him to the main concourse.

  ‘Carriage, Monsieur?’ their porter enquired, while with great dexterity, he manoeuvred his trolley through the mad throng heading for the station’s main doors.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Cameron replied, while hoping the man spoke more English than he did french. ‘We don’t really want to take all of this with us just yet. I don’t suppose there be some kind of storage around here?’

  ‘Oui, bien sur. Just down ’ere on de right.’

  In no time at all, they had checked in most of their belongings at a left-luggage office, and then followed their porter to the carriage pick up point.

  ‘Do you know where we might get a reasonable hotel for the night?’ Cameron asked as he handed over the porter’s 25-cent fee.

  ‘Most of de ‘otels are on Rue St. Paul. Bien sur your driver can find you what you need.’

  The early morning sun sneaking through a narrow crack in the curtains managed to find its way directly into Mary’s eyes. Rolling over, she gazed for a moment at Cameron, softly snoring beside her.

  I guess he isn’t all bad, she thought, staring at his strong chin, rugged unshaven face and tousled, dark hair. And hopefully he’s left all that stupid Stewart family nonsense behind us.

  ‘Come on you layabout! We’ve got a new life to get started,’ she said, digging him in the ribs.

  ‘Huh…what…Christ, Mary, can a person no get any rest around here?’

  He never did get an answer, as Mary had already leapt out of bed and was heading for the bathroom. For the first time in their lives, they had the luxury of an en-suite bathroom, as it was the only room left in the hotel by the time they’d checked in; and Mary was determined to make the most of the extra 40 cents per night that it had cost them.

  What Cameron didn’t as yet know was that Mary had some ideas of her own, when it came to the next few days’ schedule. She had never been to a big city before, and now couldn’t wait to get out and do some exploring.

  For the next hour, Cameron listened as from the bath, she told him what she had decided they were going to do that day. Although he huffed and puffed, deep down inside he was actually relieved he’d gotten off so lightly. There were really only two matters he wanted to deal with, and as far as he was concerned the rest of their time in the city was just part of a relationship mending exercise, so he was quite happy to accede to her wishes.

  After a stop in the brightly decorated café in the lobby for their morning cup of tea, they left the Hotel Blanc. Both laughed like children as together, they tried to shuffle through the strange revolving door; and after finally being ejected onto the sidewalk, Cameron took Mary’s arm, leading her to the left down the Rue Rivoli. One of his necessary stops was not far from the hotel so, arm-in-arm, they headed for the offices of the Quebec Steamship Lines.

  Thirty minutes later, they strode cheerily towards Rue St. Jacques – the main street in Montreal – three dollars richer. It seemed the steamship company, not wishing to have any more adverse publicity, was more than happy to refund their tickets.

  The rest of the day was spent gazing in wonder at the goods on display, and marvelling at the architecture of the huge buildings. It was quite normal nowadays to see four and five story buildings, but here in Montreal, interspersed amongst these were other huge structures – some eight storeys high! Nearly all their facades were stone, with their windows ornately arched and divided into sections by wrought iron.

  The roads looked familiar with their springtime mixture of mud and puddles. But they were wide, and neatly b
ordered by wooden sidewalks at least twice the width of any they’d ever seen before. Rue St. Jacques, or as the English called it, St James Street, was now turning into the country’s main financial district. Banks from Canada, England and the United States all had major branches on this street, and various insurance companies were now making this their home as well.

  Cameron and Mary stopped to have lunch at a small French restaurant, sitting outside in the warm, spring sunshine. At the far end of the street, they could just make out workmen in the middle of the road, swinging their pickaxes and filling their carts; and on almost every street corner, boys in flat caps stood yelling out the headlines as they tried to persuade each passer-by to part with a few coins. Beautifully dressed ladies sporting colourful parasols, hurried from shop-to-shop, while at the same time men in dark suits strolled purposely along, stepping aside and tipping their hats to the pressed women.