Footsteps in the Snow

by Carol Matas

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Aboard the Prince of Wales, bound for Rupert’s Land, July, 1815

  Gazing Toward the New World

  July 1815

  August 1815

  September 1815

  October 1815

  November 1815

  December 1815

  January 1816

  February 1816

  March 1816

  April 1816

  May 1816

  June 1816

  July 1816

  August 1816

  September 1816

  October 1816

  November 1816

  December 1816–July 1817

  Epilogue

  Historical Note

  Images and Documents

  Credits

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Books in the Dear Canada Series

  Aboard the Prince of Wales, bound for Rupert’s Land, July, 1815

  Mother is dead.

  As I write in these pages for the first time I worry that I will be left with nothing but smudges and ink blots if I cannot stop my tears.

  As Father and I were going through Mother’s trunk to find a dress to bury her in, this diary fell out from the folds of her grey silk — her very best frock. I picked it up and handed it to Father.

  He read the opening page, all Mother had a chance to write. Before I could stop him, he ripped the page out, crumpled it and tossed it to the floor. Then he threw the diary into the corner of the room. I hurried over and retrieved it and picked up the single sheet as well. “I’ll take the diary, Father. I’ll carry it on for her.” Father didn’t seem to hear me. But somehow I thought that if I could save the diary, I could save part of Mother.

  As I write that here it almost sounds foolish, but I do not think either of us was thinking clearly at that moment. I do believe, however, that this can be a way for me to talk to Mother, so I will write of our journey in these pages.

  Here is what Mother had written. I copy it for posterity:

  I begin with such hope in my heart. Within the week we will be sailing over the great sea. I will be gazing toward the New World, gulls swooping overhead, my heart soaring with them because I know we go to a land that is vast and noble, a land where we will once again be proud and be able to stand tall.

  We did bury her in the grey silk. I remember the stories she told me about that dress — how she had worn it on festive evenings when her father would entertain the neighbours in their grand house. I can imagine her now — red hair close about her face, blue eyes shining and her mouth always curled up as if she were laughing at some private joke, the ballroom bright with the light of chandeliers, the orchestra playing, and Mother the delight of all.

  But what a terrible writer I am! I just realized that I have not mentioned that I am writing this from a ship called the Prince of Wales. And I have not even noted the date and the time. In fact, I am not sure what the exact date is. I will ask one of the sailors and put it in the next time. I promise I will try to improve, as Mother would expect me to do my best.

  July 1815

  July 15, 1815

  Robbie is lost without Mother. At nine years he is old enough to accept that she will never return, but not old enough to understand it. Mind you, I’m not sure any of us understands. James, being such a good older brother, tries to cheer him with his never-ending wit and humour, but all his attempts seem to fall flat. The companionship Robbie normally shares with Father is also taken from him, as Father is too sunk in grief to notice anything.

  Father sits listlessly on his bunk all day. I have to practically drag him up on deck. He speaks to no one.

  I remember the day, just after my twelfth birthday, when Father came home looking fit to burst, with the news that would change our lives forever. A more different man than the one I see before me I cannot imagine. His eyes shone with excitement. He could barely stand still. “I have met with a fellow who represents the Earl of Selkirk,” he said. “He is recruiting men to leave Scotland to settle in Rupert’s Land in the New World! It will mean a long sea voyage. But in the New World we will own our own land. And the Red River, apparently, is in a fertile valley, with a growing season long enough to bring in a good crop. This is our chance,” Father had declared. “This is our chance to make something of ourselves. To start over. To become landowners. To rise in the world. And not always live in servitude.”

  Mother had laughed with delight. “You need not convince me, William,” she said. “We will go on the biggest adventure of our lives.” At that she tossed the sewing that was in her hands up in the air and Father caught her in his arms and they spun around and around as if they could hear the music and they were dancing in a ballroom filled with candles and flowers.

  I pictured us living in a grand house in the New World, with servants to wait on me and young men coming to call. I wasn’t frightened, not at all. Of course, I was sorry to think of leaving my friends, but in a way I had known all along, my whole life, that I would be leaving. I was destined for a better life. And now it was coming true.

  July 17

  Today I spent some time sewing, altering some of Mother’s dresses so they would fit me. Father came across me doing so. He lifted the sleeve of one dress, dropped it and then finally spoke. “Have I told you, Isobel, how your mother and I met?”

  I have heard it numerous times, of course, but was so happy to hear Father speak at all, I simply said, “Please tell me, Father.” I put down my sewing and waited while he settled himself beside me.

  “When your mother was only eighteen, her father lost all his money on some scheme he had invested in. Your mother, along with her three sisters, was forced to find employment. And in a way that was a lucky day for me, because she became a governess in a big house in the south of Scotland, where I was working in the stables taking care of the racehorses.

  “I fell in love with her the moment I saw her, and she loved me too. But we could not marry, being of such different stations. We would meet secretly when the family went away and we could walk together and talk. Finally we decided to run away. I remember that day. It was cold and a hard rain fell, but we felt like it was the sunniest day there had ever been. We …” Here his voice trailed off.

  “What then, Father?” I urged him, even though I could have recited the story myself almost word for word. I wanted to keep him talking, hoping that it would help his grief. And also, I must admit, just to be with him. I feel so lonely without Mother, and now, in a way, without him.

  “We rented land in the Highlands, but we always had bigger dreams. We imagined owning our own land, giving you children a better life. That’s why Mother insisted that you speak English at home, not Gaelic. That’s also why she taught you all that fancy needlework.”

  “And how to pour tea like a lady, and how to walk straight and tall as if balancing a book on the top of my head,” I added.

  He nodded and then without another word got up and wandered off, seeming to forget all about me again.

  July 25

  We have sailed past Greenland and are heading into The Davis Strait. Two of the sailors have scrambled into the crow’s-nest and are using spyglasses to look for icebergs. This afternoon they spotted whales, and all the young people crowded the railings to get a good view. What a magnificent sight it was, seeing the huge beasts break through the water and then crash back in again, tails slamming the surface, sending waves and spray every which way.

  July 27

  This morning I taught the Bible class, as Mr. McBeth has become ill. Apparently the adults are unhappy with his tutoring and ha
ve asked young John Matheson to take his place, which he will do tomorrow. Then classes will be held regularly from 11 until 2 daily. I have been asked to be an assistant, since my English is so advanced compared to the rudimentary English of most of the others on the ship.

  I read from Exodus. And I could not help but think of Mother, who will never reach the Promised Land, just as Moses was kept away by God himself.

  She was so excited as we packed. She couldn’t wait to go on such an adventure. And she cared little about leaving things behind. She did take the good silver that she had been given from her father’s estate when it was liquidated, but only in case we needed to sell it at some point. Other than that it was all practicality. We packed our warm clothes, shawls, stockings, gloves and sturdy boots. “It will be a hard life at first,” she warned me. “Hard, backbreaking work. Don’t be dreaming of servants and an easy life, my little Isobel. Be prepared for what will come. It may be your children who will see the easy life, not you at all. Remember, we will not own the land right away; we will have to work for it.”

  “I know that, Mother,” I assured her.

  “The Hudson’s Bay Company has granted this land to Lord Selkirk and your father says that it is not to be all smooth sailing. They are a fur trading company, and already a rival fur trading company — The North West Company — has been sending men to discourage us from sailing. They warn of all sorts of trials in Rupert’s Land.”

  “I don’t give a trifle for that,” I scoffed. “One day we will own our own land. And then we can build a grand estate, the envy of everyone.”

  At the same time, I was sorry to say good-bye to Helen — it is hard to part from your dearest friend since childhood. There is talk that soon everyone in the Highlands will have to leave because the land is to be given over to the sheep. But that has not happened yet in our area, and we hope for the sake of the people we are leaving behind that it will not.

  July 28

  Just when I think I am getting better, I find myself suddenly and unexpectedly weeping. I try to find a private place because I don’t want to worry James or Robbie. However, James discovered me this morning, huddled in a corner, and tried to cheer me up. The boat was rolling quite a bit — the wind was up.

  He said, “Do you know what I tell anyone who is feeling seasick? I tell them to put a coin in their teeth before they lean over the side. If that doesn’t prevent them from being sick, I’m not sure what will!”

  I smiled a little through my tears.

  “I know you miss Mother something terrible,” James said, patting my hand. “I do too. But she would want us to be happy.”

  “To be sure, she would,” I agreed. “It isn’t easy, though.”

  “McTavish broke his arm,” James said, with that serious look on his face that meant he was about to tell another joke.

  “Did he?” I said, trying to get into the spirit.

  “Oh yes, and he was distraught. Terribly upset. He said to the doctor, ‘Doctor, will I be able to play the bagpipes after my arm has mended?’ ‘Of course you will, man,’ the doctor snapped. ‘Really? Isn’t that amazing,’ McTavish marvelled, ‘since I couldn’t play them before!’”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at the silliness of the joke. James felt he’d done his duty and went in search of Robbie.

  August 1815

  August 1

  The ship is navigating through ice fields and the boat lurches from one mountain of ice to the next, the sailors pushing it with their long poles and every once in a while the bottom of the boat making a dreadful sound as it hits the solid ice below.

  I have made an unpleasant discovery. The longer we are on board the more closed in I begin to feel. I have never experienced this feeling before. Of course I have never been closed in before. It’s true that our little house in the hills was small, but I always knew that if I felt shut in, which I often did, I could simply go for a long walk, something I did in all weather. I would breathe deep of the smells, flowers and trees, and sometimes I would run, just to feel the wind against my face. I often stand on deck so I can feel the wind, but as I look about me all I see is the great ocean, and right now the ice, and I know I am trapped on this small ship. I must not dwell on these feelings because that will only make things worse.

  August 5

  We are held fast by the ice. As we settlers have been put in cramped bunks in the forward hold — a dank, dark and cold place I have come to dread — we are trying to spend as little time as possible down there. I have organized games for the children to keep them busy when we are not studying. We play hide-and-seek, of course, and that is by far the most popular game with the young ones. We also play hopscotch and marbles. And we play a game called tippy fingers. I taught them to play it using Robbie the first time: He stands with eyes closed, and hands behind his back. Then another child touches Robbie’s finger with his own. Robbie has to guess which child it was and then say how far the child must run. The first time he did it he said ten times around the deck. But Robbie guessed wrong, which meant he needed to run the ten times himself! The children loved it, and it certainly kept my mind off my feelings of discomfort.

  August 12

  Robbie has been very naughty. He was playing near the fishing equipment and I insisted he stop. I couldn’t help but worry that he might cut himself on one of the sharp edges. He says he needn’t listen to me and that God is bad, so he shall be bad too. I don’t know how to answer him.

  Is life here on earth really good? Mother always said, “God is good, kind and loving.” If that is so, why has God taken Mother away from us? Would not a good, kind and loving God want a mother to stay with her children? Just to think this might be blasphemous, and yet how can one explain such pain?

  And it was such a silly thing that took Mother from us. We were in Helmsdale, ready to embark on our voyage, and suddenly with no warning she became ill. The doctor in Helmsdale told us that her blood had become infected from a cut — we all remembered that she had cut herself on the trunk as we were packing, days earlier — and there was nothing he could do for her. I nursed her and tried to cool her fever, but it was fruitless. She told us that we must go to the New Land even if she could not. She said that she was going to a better place where she would dance with the angels until Father came to claim her, and that we too must carry on to our better place. And then she died.

  So, naturally, I worry over Robbie and try to keep him from any harm at all.

  August 14

  Jasper McKay is playing his bagpipes and some of the men and women are dancing. I cannot. I remember he played his pipes as we left the port of Stromness, where we had travelled after Mother’s death. The mournful sound of the pipes went right to my heart and I felt I was leaving Mother behind, as well as the country that had been as a mother to me.

  August 15

  We are finally free of the ice! My feelings of being shut up have been getting worse and worse until I was beginning to fear I could not bear another day. And, of course, the longer we were stuck the longer the voyage would be.

  As the time dragged on, I became more and more aware of the other settlers — one in particular who is past annoying, Kate McGilvery. I have not mentioned her or written about her before in these pages, but I suppose I can talk or write about anything in this private book. She is hardly worth a mention, except for the fact that she seems to think I somehow put myself above all others. It is most annoying. She has taken to calling me The Princess or Your Highness. I cannot help the fact that I hold myself well, that my dresses are well-made, that I speak English as well as Gaelic. She is a short, thin thing with dark eyes and dark hair — quite different from me, with my height, my hazel eyes and my reddish hair. She is eleven years old, just a year younger than I am.

  Well, I must admit that she got the better of me one day when I let her goad me into a rash act. We were drifting by a huge iceberg, an iceberg so big that many of the men travelled from our ship onto it. First they attached it to the ship wit
h hooks and after that went to collect fresh water. “I dare you, Little Princess,” Kate said to me. “I dare you to go across.”

  All the other children stared.

  “I am not frightened,” I said, “of anything.”

  The sailors had descended to the iceberg by rope ladders. Quickly, before anybody could say anything, I leapt onto the ladder and dropped myself onto the iceberg. And I was so thrilled with my daring and with the expressions on their faces that I began to dance and skip and generally show off. Plus it was wonderful to be off the confines of the ship, if only for a few moments. I felt quite giddy — until I realized that most of the sailors had all climbed back up the ladder. One of the last ones to ascend grabbed me in a very unceremonious way and pushed me up the ladder. Fortunately Father saw none of this.

  Still, I am not sorry that little Miss Annoyance should see that there is nothing she can scare me with. But for some reason my actions, instead of stopping her fascination with me, seem to have encouraged her. Everywhere I turn there she is, always with an irritating word. It seems no matter what I say, she implies that I am putting on airs, even if it is just to say hello or good morning. “Ooh, doesn’t she speak fine!” Kate crows.

  “I merely said hello,” I retort.

  “Merely,” she says, eyes rolling upwards. “Merely.”

  As if uttering that word alone is some sort of crime.

  August 17

  We are entering Hudson Bay. We get closer to land every second!

  August 18

  Kate has begun to keep a close eye on the burgeoning romances that seem to be developing between the single men and women on the boat. Anne McKim is the plainest young woman I have ever seen, but a gentle spirit with pleasing manners. She is the eldest of five, and lately Nichol Johnston, a fellow whose pitch-black hair sticks straight up as if he’d just had a terrible fright, has been following her around like a puppy. Kate is never far behind them, taunting under her breath with rhymes like: “Roses are red, violets are blue, the waves crash about us, and I love you.” She is merciless in her teasing and the poor young couples can find no peace from her.