Footsteps in the Snow

by Carol Matas

  August 24

  We have just survived the most dreadful storm. I could not write, as we were trapped in the hold as the ship pitched and rolled in the most terrifying way. Robbie was horribly sick, as were many others, and the smell became so bad that others became sick too, until the entire hold smelled of vomit and sweat, and that smell was enough to make the rest of us sick, as well. When the storm was finally over we had to clean up the mess. And every minute I became more and more aware of how close the quarters are until at times I felt I would certainly faint. I refused to allow that to happen; it would have given Kate too many opportunities to torment me.

  I am exhausted.

  August 27

  We have anchored at the mouth of the Nelson River. Father says we are only 20 miles from the Hudson’s Bay Company post called York Factory. It is on another river — the Hayes River — that also flows into Hudson Bay. A schooner will come to take us there. The ship’s cannon is firing as I write, to let them know that we have arrived. My heart is fluttering like a newborn chick getting ready to be pushed from the nest. I cannot wait to set foot on land, and yet I am nervous about what is to come.

  I know that I wrote little on our trip. I realize this is a bit of a muddle, this diary writing, but I have never before written in a diary and it must take me a little while to become accustomed to the proper form and to decide what is important to include. After all, I cannot write every single detail of every single day. But I will try to write what is important to me and hope that will suffice.

  August 28

  We are on land at last!

  I cannot express my feelings when we disembarked from the small schooner. I wanted to shout and whoop just the way Robbie and James did. Instead I simply stood for a few minutes and tried to get my bearings. I felt a bit odd, as if we were still moving. I decided the best thing would be to walk. And what a joy it was not to be circumscribed by the limits of the ship.

  I immediately took a turn around the Fort, which is constructed in an unusual octagonal form. The main building is two storeys high, and the roof is covered with lead. The buildings are made of wood and are surrounded by a stockade. We are on the north bank of the Hayes River and the Fort is built on low ground, surrounded by stagnant water, which lets off a rather unpleasant odour. Under normal circumstances I suppose I would have found the walk unpleasant, but I was delighted to be free!

  August 29

  These rooms are cold at night, because even though the days are still very warm the rain seems to trap the damp. Passageways that are narrow, and even colder, connect the rooms to each other. Our room has a grate made for burning coal. The bars have been removed so wood can be burned instead. Yet it seems to be constructed in a way that assures the heat will go straight up the chimney. The only warmth one can get is if one stands directly in front of the flames. The roof has been leaking terribly ever since it started to rain.

  Still, there is one discovery I have made that endears this place to me despite the lack of any cosiness — there is a library here! I have found a copy of all the plays of Molière and all the plays of Shakespeare. I hope I have time in between my work to do a little reading. What an unexpected treat.

  There is a hectic hustle and bustle everywhere, as the Hudson’s Bay Company employees stack the animal pelts so they can be loaded onto the schooner, which will take them to the Prince of Wales for its return voyage. We settlers have to try to keep out of their way. Robbie is particularly bad at that and I often hear the workers bellowing at him to make way. I try to keep him near me, but I am too busy myself. I must repack all our belongings for the next stage of our journey, so I am washing and mending as quickly as I can.

  Father says we are to go on big flat-bottomed boats called York boats, and are to travel south on the Hayes River, and then down the length of a very large lake called Lake Winnipeg. The Forks, where we will settle, is just beyond Lake Winnipeg, at the fork of the Red and Assiniboine rivers — hence the name. What astonishes me is that Father tells me our journey could take two months or more! I had no idea how vast this land was and the distances we would have to traverse.

  For this long journey I must pack our belongings in waterproof bags. Apparently there are places where we must get out of the boats and walk. We will be taken by men called Métis, and still others called Cree Indians. The Métis are descendants of French and Indian. They dress in deerskins and wear bright red sashes around their waists. There are even some men who are descendants of Scots and Indians. They are called country born. How strange that a Scotsman would marry a savage.

  Later tonight we are to celebrate the end result of those romances I wrote of earlier. There will be three weddings before we leave.

  August 31

  I sit in front of the fire as everyone sleeps (still here at York Factory) in order to impart this most terrible news. This evening Father came into the room with a grim look on his face. He sat down on the thin bed and told me to stop my sewing. James strode in behind him, and even Robbie looked up from the small wooden boat he was playing with, sensing that something was wrong.

  “Children,” Father said, “I have heard some very bad news. I myself am not sure exactly why this has happened, but it has. The settlement at The Forks has been destroyed.”

  I gasped and asked him how this could possibly be.

  “It is this feud between the Hudson’s Bay Company and the North West Company,” Father replied. “Remember even before we left Scotland, the Nor’Westers tried to discourage us from coming here? As best as I can tell, they see us settlers as a direct threat to their company. They do not want a settlement right in the middle of where they hunt for buffalo. They worry we will drive the buffalo away. They need the pemmican they make from the buffalo to feed their brigades, which go deep into the interior of the land. Because of this,” and here Father sighed and shook his head, “the Nor’Westers convinced most of the settlers already at The Forks to leave. They made them offers of land in Upper Canada and paid for their travel. After the settlers left, the Nor’Westers burnt down everything that had been built there, and even drove off the animals.”

  This is surely a disaster. All we have given up, only to find our destination in ruins?

  Father put his head in his hands. “What have I done?” he asked. “Your mother gone, and we headed to such an uncertain future.”

  “Ach, Father,” James said, throwing back his shoulders, “is that the attitude of a Highlander? Will we give up so easily?”

  “Mother would never be so quickly defeated,” I said, putting on a brave face in an attempt to follow James’s example. I steadied my voice. “And nor shall we be, Father.”

  “Don’t worry, Father,” Robbie chirped. “I shall learn to shoot with a bow and arrow. I will make us rich in no time!”

  Even that did not make Father smile. So you see, dear diary, that we go forward to an uncertain future. But Mother brought us all up to be unafraid, and even though a little part of me trembles, I must pay no mind.

  I forgot to mention that the leader of our own party of settlers, Governor Semple, has travelled with us to York Factory. He seems a cultured man, and Mother had told me that she had often read articles written by him in the Edinburgh Times. Of course, I saw him rarely on the ship, as he ate at the captain’s table, while we would be eating porridge in the hold. I hope he will be able to make peace with these North West Company men, because we still head for The Forks as planned, despite the troubles there.

  September 1815

  September 1

  Around twenty Indian men all dressed in their finest buckskins arrived at the Post this morning. Father told us that a fur trading ceremony was about to occur. I was thrilled to be able to observe this event.

  First the Indians were offered bear steaks, some liquor and some small trinkets. Everyone sat down to eat together. Although we settlers are so many, we were all included in the festivities. The food was delicious.

  The Indians produced some beautifu
l skins, which they gave to the Chief Factor. I was wondering when the trading would begin, or was the trading just everybody giving everyone else gifts?

  At that point the Indians and the Hudson’s Bay men sat in a circle, and a beautiful long pipe was lit by the man who looked to be the Indian chief. He wore a magnificent headdress of brightly coloured feathers. This pipe was passed around and they each took a puff. Then the actual trading began. A few Indians at a time went into a small room at the back of the Post. Father, who had questioned one of the Hudson’s Bay men, explained to me what was happening.

  “Now they will trade skins for different goods,” he said. “For instance, one beaver skin, if it is of good quality, could be exchanged for twelve needles. Or one beaver skin again could be exchanged for two hatchets or an unruffled shirt, or one pair of shoes, or one plain blanket. A striped blanket would cost more. Now, to get a gun an Indian would need to produce at least twelve good quality beaver skins. Apparently the most plentiful furs are beaver, marten and muskrat. But they also trade in black bear, fox, wolf and more.” I found it so interesting and pictured the wealthy people of England walking around in the very furs being traded today. This has been a welcome diversion as we wait for our guides to ready the boats.

  September 3

  Wish me luck, dear diary, on the next part of the voyage. I cannot say I like the look of those York boats — they seem very open to all the elements. And as it is now the end of summer, some days it is already cold. We are warned that it will become much worse. I worry about Robbie, who is small and has never had a strong constitution, unlike James and me. I intend to ask Father if we couldn’t dress Robbie in the animal skins we see the Indians wear. I think he would be far warmer.

  But now I really must take my leave. I have more socks to mend and I must do the final packing. Father says we may leave as early as tomorrow morning!

  September 6

  Dear Diary,

  After two days of travel, the first thing I must write about are the bugs. Such a profusion of dreadful creatures could not be imagined, and yet they exist! Our first day on the boats introduced us to almost all of these horrid things. There are small black flies, which find any little piece of skin that is not covered, and bite, causing a sharp pain. Then there are the mosquitoes that seem to arrive in huge clouds, especially in the shady areas as we paddle beneath the trees, and at dusk before we land for the night. These bloodsucking monsters leave huge welts behind them. Robbie in particular is suffering terribly from mosquito bites, each of which is swelling to the size of a coin. Mine have not swollen as badly, but the old ones seem to itch as violently as the new ones, until I feel like one huge itch. Sometimes, when no one can see me, I cry from sheer misery. But this is not the end of it. No, there are the big horseflies that buzz around our heads, and if they can gain purchase either on our heads or anywhere on our bodies, will bite. There are the yellow jackets and big wasps, and always the danger of tipping over one of their nests and disturbing them. This happened to James on our first day out. He was chased all the way to the river that evening after we had camped, and his only escape was to dive beneath the icy water. He has come down with a dreadful cold and chills.

  September 7

  One of the Indians motioned me over as I was bathing James’s brow with cool water this evening after we camped. I was nervous, as I know the Indians are savages, but I noticed Kate smirking at me so I held my head up and walked over to where the Indian stood, knife in hand! Was he going to slit my throat in front of everyone? Father was off hunting in the woods, as were most of the men. I was quite defenceless. He raised his knife and a cold chill ran down my spine. He put the knife against a willow tree and peeled some bark off, then handed it to me. He walked over to the kettle and pointed to the water, as if I should throw it in, which I did. And then he raised an imaginary glass as if he were drinking, and pointed to James. I understood it would make a tea. And when James drank it his fever dropped in almost no time! At home, Mother, you would take a thin rind of an orange, roll it inside out and place it inside the nostril of whichever one of us was ill, but here we have no oranges. I hope you feel I did the right thing.

  The same Indian then showed me how to rub mud on our skin to ease the pain of the bites and to prevent new ones. (This gave Robbie relief almost immediately and I am very grateful.) He is a tall man whose name, according to one of our Métis guides who speaks English, is Running Fox, and he looks a bit like his name, having a sharp nose and a thin face, and he moves quickly as he goes about his duties. He has a severe look about him, but when I hesitantly went over to him and said, “Thank you,” he smiled — showing very sharp teeth!

  September 8

  It is not easy to take the time to write. We are up every morning by 7. We make camp at around 4 if the day has been particularly hard, or as late as 6 or 7 if we must keep going before we can find a place to camp. The light is gone by the time camp is set up and it is not easy to write by the fire, although I will attempt it if I cannot ever write in daylight. Today the hunters shot seven geese and I can smell them cooking as I write. I am famished.

  I am quite in awe of the men rowing these boats. They go for hours at a time without a break, in a feat of endurance I would not have credited had I not seen it with my own eyes.

  September 9

  We are still on the Hayes River. It rises, apparently, from here on, so we are going upstream, and today was our first taste of what that means. There is a series of small falls and rapids, and since we are going against the current it has become too hard to row. Our guides and the strongest of the settlers, which, of course, includes James and Father, tied ropes to the boats and had to pull them along the shore. The rest of us walked. The terrain is quite flat. Father says it is called tundra, but we are warned that it will soon become more rugged and more difficult to traverse.

  We are twenty to a boat, and Kate somehow ended up in our boat. She is travelling with her father, her mother long dead. She has a brother already in the New World, although she says little about him. Now that we are walking the girl never leaves my side. She is like the pesky bugs, hovering about me constantly!

  September 10

  This morning I slipped on a rock and Kate, who is always nearby, grabbed me. I was forced to thank her, and she smiled in that annoying way she has and said, “Well, you are lucky I was there. Good posture is no help on this trip, is it?” I think she did it just so she could lord it over me and continue with her ceaseless teasing.

  September 15

  The boats were emptied of their cargo today and the women and children were told to carry as much as we could. We are beginning what is called a portage where the boats are moved by land, as there is no possibility to row them any farther in the water. The guides tie a thick band over their foreheads, and the larger bundles are attached to this band. The packs, or pieces as they call them, are massive and heavy and I marvel at the strength needed to carry them. The boats are then placed on log rollers and pulled by rope. This is a long and difficult process and the men appear to hate it. As happy as they were to row these huge boats, they are unhappy during this stage of the trip.

  And they are not the only ones. We must carry heavy loads up and over huge craggy rocks. Father and the other elders had no idea this trip would be so difficult, and I hear quite a lot of complaining at night around the campfire.

  There is one bright spot. As the weather cools off, especially at night, the mosquitoes at least are diminishing.

  September 17

  Kate never misses an opportunity to make me miserable. Father tells me to ignore her and will not let me retaliate. And I know, Mother dear, that you would not allow me to utter a mean word no matter what the provocation. I try very hard not to respond to her. But last night I was unable to quell my anger.

  I am not a squeamish person, but one thing I cannot abide, and that is a snake. I made the mistake of shrieking when one crossed my path as we were walking. Kate, as she always does, wa
s walking just behind me. She immediately recognized my fear, and last night I was woken from a deep sleep by a snake slithering over my face. I leapt up screaming and woke the entire campsite. I saw her laughing and knew she had been the cause of my humiliation. I took a step toward her and almost slapped her, only stopping when James caught my wrist.

  All day today the Indians made signs with their hands as if they were snakes, and grinned when they saw me. The younger boys teased me mercilessly. What a devil that Kate is.

  September 25

  The Métis speak French and the Cree speak their own language, so it is often confusing to try to follow their orders. But we try.

  Little Justin Mackenzie broke his leg today when he slipped on wet moss and leaves. The men used a tree branch to set it, but then Justin’s older brother Evan had to pull him on a makeshift stretcher.

  September 27

  I should describe a little about our camp.

  When we reach our final destination of the day we are given tents to set up. We cover the ground where we sleep with an oilskin and over that we place a deerskin. This combination keeps us dry and there are many blankets to keep us warm. We cook over an open fire. I mix flour, water and a little lard to make fresh bannock. The boatmen put pemmican in a pot, with some water and whatever roots they can find. They call this rubaboo. It has an odd taste, sometimes bitter depending on the roots, but Father assured me that it is nourishing. He makes sure we eat every drop of the stew we are offered — even Robbie, who swore he would never touch the stuff the first time he smelled it. The pemmican itself is made from dried buffalo meat, fat and berries. It is easy to pack and lasts forever and is very important to the fur traders, as it is their staple diet.