Footsteps in the Snow

by Carol Matas

  It was this pemmican that sparked all the trouble at The Forks. As we’ve been travelling we have heard more news as everyone shares what they know when we sit around the campfire. The Governor of Lord Selkirk’s earlier settlement, Miles Macdonell, proclaimed that no pemmican could be removed from the Red River Settlement. He feared his settlers would starve without enough pemmican. This angered the North West Company, who assumed this was all a ploy by the Hudson’s Bay Company to put them out of business — as Father told us earlier, they travel far to the west and north, and cannot do so without pemmican. And they fear that our settlement might drive off the buffalo altogether. Naturally, every night the talk turns to what our reception will be and whether we will be safe.

  As for me I think about the buffalo. I cannot wait to see these beasts. They sound like something out of mythology.

  October 1815

  October 1

  It has been nothing but portages and walking, crying children, and men and women with sore feet and backs. But soon we will reach a place called Oxford House and today we were back in the boats, crossing Holy Lake. It seemed like a gift from God as we sat and rested, instead of tramping over the dangerous ground. The sun shone and as we sat in the boat it seemed we had arrived in Paradise. The landscape has changed greatly. Shrubs and pines give way to majestic old trees: oak, elm, poplar and maple. The leaves are bright yellow with an occasional dash of red, and today I look through them into the deep blue sky, a colour blue I have never before seen, and I feel we are blessed by God.

  October 2

  We have reached Oxford House. It is another Hudson’s Bay Post. We are still in tents, as there is no room for all of us in the buildings, but tonight we are eating fresh fish, and tomorrow we can wash our clothes!

  October 3

  Clean clothes. Heaven. I spent the day mending and washing.

  October 10

  Ever since we left the comfort of Oxford House days ago, the wind has blown cold in our faces, the rain fell, the boats struggled to stay upright and we did not know if each moment would be our last. My only consolation as I prayed for the safety of my family was that if we were to die, I would see you, Mother, all that much sooner. It is getting too cold at night to write and has been too wet.

  October 12

  We have arrived at Jack River Post. Some of our company have relatives here who came out to meet us. A young fellow, Jim Dickson, had baked a maple sugar cake to present to his parents. He said it showed proof of the goodness of the country.

  October 13

  We had a wonderful party last night where we ate and danced reels and jigs. What a relief to be able to rest. But we must leave tomorrow, to begin our journey south, down Lake Winnipeg. It could take us weeks, they say.

  I do not expect to write again until we reach The Forks. It has become very cold at night.

  October 15

  It has become so cold my hand cannot hold my pen.

  November 1815

  November 3

  We arrived today at The Forks!

  We are ensconced in the main building at Fort Douglas, in a small room. I sit by the fire and on the rough wooden table is a cruisie lamp which gives me just enough light to see these pages.

  So much has happened since my last entry, and weeks have passed. Near the end of the journey we had to endure another trial. We ran out of food. The hunters were only finding small game, not nearly enough to feed such a large group. The pemmican was gone. We became weaker by the day as we subsisted on a watery stew of roots, some sort of wild turnip. Robbie became pale, and he shivered easily as he had no food inside him to keep him warm. (And dear diary, so did I, although I never would have complained and worried Father.) It seemed after a while that we would be travelling forever and never reach our destination.

  Being on Lake Winnipeg was once again like being on the sea, it is so large. Our boats had to hug the shore because the winds would have been too much for us out in the open. At times all I could think of was my empty stomach, and I’m afraid I barely noticed my surroundings. Finally, we had the good fortune to run into the boat party of Governor Semple, who had gone on ahead of us. We were told that we would be at The Forks within days. And when he saw the pitiful state we were in he opened his own personal rations of cheese and biscuits to us, which were enough to see us through the last couple of days as our boats travelled down what is called the Red River out of Lake Winnipeg. Winnipeg means muddy water, and the Red River certainly has a muddy look.

  This morning when we arrived at The Forks the sun shone and Jasper McKay played his bagpipes. On the rough wooden dock, waiting for us, were thirteen families — the only settlers who had not been driven away by the North West Company. Many in our party had relatives on that dock. In fact, the reason they had come to the New World was because of the urging of relatives who had come before. We leapt onto the dock as our boats pulled in. Everyone seemed to talk at once. We had no relatives there, but Father knew some of those who came from the Highlands.

  It was chaos as news was exchanged. Tears flowed, people called to one another. I looked around anxiously to get a good view of our new home, but it all looked similar to the landscape we had just travelled, trees, bushes and shrubs near the river, tall grass and shrub farther on. I could not really see beyond this so I was anxious to go exploring. I was about to suggest this to James and Robbie when Father hurried over to us and stated, “We cannot even unpack.”

  “But why not, Father?” I asked, dreading what he was to say.

  “Because the settlers have not had a chance to rebuild since the attack. Nothing is ready for us. Apparently there is not enough food for us to spend the winter here. It appears that we will have to leave The Forks almost immediately, before it gets too cold for us to travel. We are to go south to a place called Pembina. It is about a 60-mile trip. Miles Macdonell has built a fort there, Fort Daer, just for the settlers. The buffalo roam near there in the winter and we must follow them if we are to have enough to eat over the winter.” He shook his head. “This group had to go all the way back north to Jack River. They returned in August and began to rebuild what the Nor’Westers burned, but winter has overtaken both them and us.”

  I cannot yet believe it even though I am reporting it in these pages. Such a long and difficult trip, only to discover home is still beyond our grasp. It is heartbreaking news that we must spend an entire winter away, and that it will only be in the spring that we can return, to begin our new lives here at The Forks.

  November 4

  Dear Diary,

  I have stolen a few moments to write. The party could not ready itself in time to leave today, so we leave tomorrow at first light. Our first night spent here at The Forks, or Colony Gardens as the first group of settlers call it, was happy enough. After writing to you, dear diary, I joined the festivities in the Fort’s big room. Bagpipes were played and people danced. The settlers here dance what is called a Red River jig. It is a mix of a Scottish reel and a Cree dance. George Dunn played the fiddle. A man and a woman face each other, balancing up on their toes. They dance back and forth, feet flying in fancy steps I could hardly note, they move so quickly, until one grows tired and another takes either his or her place.

  The men drank far too much and James was quite sick later on that evening. Even Father seemed to be coming out of his shell a little and he danced with Robbie, making him very happy.

  I met Alice Connor, who is thirteen — only a year older than me — and was very friendly toward me. She pointed out that there were some very good-looking young men in our party, especially my own brother James.

  “How old is he?” she asked me.

  “Fifteen,” I answered.

  She nodded as if she had made her mind up that he would be for her. And somehow she managed to get him to dance with her. I noticed that Kate would not dance. I suspected it was because she has no natural grace. But I had no time to worry about Kate. The night was a night to enjoy. We ate partridges that had bee
n cooked in a pit, making them tender and juicy. There was fresh bread because some of the grain had been salvaged from the vicious attacks; there was wild rice, which has an almost nutty flavour. It was heaven just to fill our stomachs, and the fact that it was so delicious was an added treat. This morning we were given maple syrup on top of fried bread. It is sap from the maple tree and is quite wonderful.

  The thermometer at the Fort said it was ten degrees below zero when we arose. I knew that the clothes we had with us would not protect us sufficiently on this trip to Pembina. I was especially concerned about Robbie. There was such a hustle and bustle it was almost impossible to find anyone, but I managed to locate Running Fox, who had helped me before. I pointed to his clothes and then to Robbie, and shivered as if Robbie were cold. Running Fox nodded and pointed to the silk kerchief I often wore around my neck. I understood right away that he wanted it. Mother, you had bought it for me last year when I turned twelve. I treasured it more than anything — anything except Robbie’s health. So I gave it to Running Fox and he returned with trousers made from deerskin, which fitted Robbie perfectly. He also gave me a small blanket to tie about Robbie’s shoulders with a piece of sinew. I thanked him and he smiled that foxy smile of his.

  It was then I heard the most dreadful noise: a horrible screeching, which made my teeth hurt. I turned toward the sound and saw the strangest sight. A large cart, taller than myself, was moving slowly toward me, pulled by a horse. Behind it came others, some pulled by the men of the colony, some by oxen. The carts have huge wheels, which are made entirely of wood. They were laden with goods.

  James came up behind me. “Two of our trunks are going on those carts,” he said. “Aren’t they strange? They’re called Red River carts. See how the whole thing is held together by strips of buffalo hide and wooden pegs? That’s because they had to invent a way to build them without using nails. Nails are so hard to find here that when the York boats finish their trips they burn them entirely just to retrieve the nails.”

  “What have you got there?” I said to James, looking down at something he was holding behind his back.

  “Aah,” he smiled. “I traded for this.” And with a flourish he brought out a bow and arrow. “Robbie wants one too, and I think he should have one before long. You and Father baby him far too much.”

  Robbie is ten years old now, that is true. I believe I was remiss and did not even mention his birthday in September. It must have been one of those days when I was unable to write. “He isn’t strong, though,” I objected.

  “He will need to be strong,” James insisted. “It will be good for him to get out and hunt.”

  I sighed and bit my lip, and tried to think what you would do, Mother. Perhaps James is right and Robbie needs to become stronger.

  “Look,” James said, pointing at his feet. “I also traded for these.” He was wearing a pair of moccasins like the Indians’. “They are much easier to walk in and they are warmer than our boots.”

  I looked down at my worn boots, one of which already has a hole in the sole. “I wish I could have a pair, and Robbie and Father too,” I added.

  “Do you have anything you can trade for them?” James asked.

  “I already traded Mother’s scarf for warm trousers and a blanket for Robbie,” I said. “I do have the necklace you made me last year.”

  James could see my distress. I hated to part with it. He had crafted me a necklace of smooth stones, a thing of beauty. James is very talented and can make rings, bracelets and necklaces.

  “Don’t worry, Isobel,” he said. “In the spring I shall collect the most beautiful stones from the riverbed here, and make you an even nicer necklace for your thirteenth birthday. I promise.”

  The necklace was in a small bag of belongings that had not yet been put back on the York boat or the cart. I found it and looked around for someone to trade with. I could not find Running Fox, but I noticed a young Indian girl about my age. Perhaps she would like a necklace even better than Running Fox would. She wore a buckskin dress with beautiful beads sewn onto the front, a wide sash, and moccasins that reached all the way up her legs. I ran over to her and got her attention by saying hello, which she seemed to understand. I pointed to her moccasins and then counted on my fingers to the number 3, and then showed her the necklace. Her eyes lit up when she saw the necklace, shining red and purple. She nodded and motioned for me to wait. She returned not with moccasins, but with skins and sinew, which obviously was to be used for thread. Then she motioned as if she were walking and then as if she were sewing and then as if she were sleeping. I think she meant that she would also be walking with us, and that she would show me how to sew the moccasins at night. She had a nice face, round with black eyes and a big smile. For a moment I forgot that she was a savage, for she seemed a girl just like myself. I held out the necklace for her. She took it and gave me the skins and the sinew. I smiled and said thank you, and she mimicked my words and said thank you, but with such a funny accent I had to laugh. She looked sad then, as if I had hurt her feelings. I reminded myself that the savages are probably like children and must be treated kindly. I put a solemn look on my face and said thank you again and she said thank you again, too, her happy smile returning.

  I ran to find James. He thought I had done very well and I promised that by the morning the whole family would have moccasins.

  “Mother could not have done better,” he said to me.

  Tears came to my eyes. I know what he said is not true, Mother, but I am trying to take your place as best I can.

  November 14

  I write now for the first time since we left The Forks. It has been a dreadful journey, ten brutish days — but I get ahead of myself. It may take me a few days of writing to tell everything that happened. But at least now I sit by a fire and my hands are warm enough to hold my pen.

  We were finally ready to go on the morning of our second day, the thirteen families that had remained, and our entire group. We would be split into two groups, those walking behind the Red River carts, which were filled with goods, and those in the boats. A Métis or Indian was in each boat as a guide. All the young children were placed in the boats since they could not possibly walk so far. Robbie was among them, but I was deemed too old and so I was forced to part with him, which made me very anxious, until at the last minute I managed to squeeze onto the boat beside him. I know James says I baby him, but someone has to watch over him and Father was unable to go in that boat, as parents who had very small children naturally had to accompany them. Much to my dismay I quickly noted that Kate was also in our boat. I turned to her and said, “Why are you not walking? You are certainly strong enough.”

  Kate replied, “Listen to Miss High and Mighty! Why are you not walking?”

  “I have little Robbie to care for,” I informed her.

  “And I have myself to care for,” she retorted.

  “And where would your father be?” I asked. “Would he not want you to be with him?”

  Kate looked down quickly and it was the first time I had ever noticed that she seemed unsure of herself. “My father … my father … looks after himself.” She raised her eyes defiantly. “And I look after myself.”

  I was shocked by her reply. I thought back to what I knew of her father and could remember little. He seemed a quiet man, if dour, who never caused any trouble the way his daughter did. But when I thought about it I realized that I had never seen him discipline Kate over her behaviour; in fact, I rarely remembered seeing them together.

  Robbie pulled my attention away from her at that moment. “How do I look?” he crowed, showing off his new trousers. “As fine as the Indians?”

  “You look to me to be the finest young man in the New World,” I said, giving him a hug and kiss.

  I was glad he had his blanket pinned about him, as a cold north wind was blowing harder by the minute. The temperature, rather than rising as it should be, seemed to be dropping. Clouds scurried across a pale blue sky.

 
; The men rowed hard all day with only a brief halt for lunch. That night we stopped, but had to make camp without Father and James, who were with the other group and probably well back of us. In order to cheer up the older children, some of whom were without their parents, I led them in song around the campfire. We sang “The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomand.”

  Later

  This is a long story. But I want to record it here. I can imagine myself reading this to Robbie’s children one day, and them laughing at their dear dad. So I continue:

  When we awoke the next morning it was to a terrible sight. The river had frozen during the night and the boats could go no farther. We would have to walk. And me with a hole in my boot. Most of the boxes and trunks had to be left behind, as the fathers who had been rowing found themselves carrying their children instead. Robbie and I were the fortunate ones, our belongings being on the Red River carts travelling behind us with those on foot. Snow began to fall. It whipped into our faces. I regretted terribly that the Indian girl who had promised to help me make moccasins was walking behind us with the other group. I had the skins in my bag, but in the meantime my boots hurt and I could feel the cold coming through the hole. Robbie’s boots had no holes but they were worn and not as easy to walk in as moccasins would be. My cheeks began to feel almost numb. My skirts dragged, often catching on bushes or brambles. When we finally stopped for the night I was chilled through even though I had wrapped my shawl as tightly around me as I could. It was no match for the fierce wind. I understood why the deerskin would be so warm — it would keep out the wind.