Footsteps in the Snow

by Carol Matas

  March 10

  Weather has been cold, too cold to write. I plan to wait until we return to Pembina before I write again.

  March 21

  We have returned! There is a thaw in the weather appropriate to the first day of spring, and I find myself quite comfortable wrapped in my tartan shawl. I am determined to make up for the long absence in these pages and will try to be more dependable in my writing. In a way I am glad to be back to the relative comfort of Fort Daer, but I already miss the fun we had living with the Indians, if not the backbreaking work. And, of course, Kate and her father are living with us again, and Kate is as bothersome as ever.

  March 22

  I am sitting by the fire writing because I feel so helpless I do not know what else to do. James went out hunting with White Loon’s brothers. Late this afternoon the sky suddenly darkened. White Loon came by our cabin and said there was a big storm coming and that she hoped the boys would be safe.

  I went outside with her and gazed at the sky. It was dark and a wind was blowing up from the north. It bit at my cheeks and I could feel the temperature dropping even as we stood there. “Are they in danger?” I asked her.

  She shrugged and said, “It will be bad.”

  I ran to find Father, who was just returning from a trip to the small store. He had a large bag and he smiled when he saw me and said, “Oatmeal.” I was glad to see that he was regaining his sense of humour — oatmeal, was, after all, the only thing we had to eat besides what the men could hunt, but he held it up as if it were gold. I hated to worry him, but I had no choice.

  “Father, White Loon says a storm is brewing and James has gone out hunting with her brothers.”

  Father’s face fell and he looked at White Loon as if she could make the bad weather disappear. She hurried over to him and spoke softly and his face seemed to relax a bit, as if she had said something to make him feel better. I wish I knew what it was because I feel no less anxious. I suspect it was only her manner that reassured him — perhaps she said something about her brothers and how they have survived worse than this.

  The storm blew in a few hours later and now we are shut up, trembling at its power. Outside, you cannot see your hand in front of your face. And inside, the wind howls through the cracks in the wood so fiercely that I am forced to end this writing as the pages of the diary are flapping even as I try to hold them down. I pray for James and, of course, for White Loon’s brothers.

  March 23

  It is my birthday. Father and White Loon gave me a beautiful Indian necklace. My only wish is to have James home safely. All celebrations are forgotten.

  Evening

  No news. The storm worsens, if that could be possible. How will they survive?

  March 24

  Daybreak. No change. The wind continues to howl. We almost froze even with the fire going all night. Dread fills me.

  Afternoon

  We have been reading from the Bible and praying.

  Kate is past annoying. She babbles on and on about James being foolhardy enough to go out with savages. They are his only hope. Can she not see that?

  Evening

  Still nothing and the storm rages on unabated.

  March 25

  I awoke this morning to an eerie silence, the likes of which I have never experienced. We all stirred at about the same time. I would not have known it was morning except for the fact that I could see a little stream of light coming in through the cracks in the wood. Father said he would go ask White Loon’s father, Black Bear, if he knew anything about the hunters. I suspect he was anxious to get out and form a party to go looking for them. But when he went to open the door it would not open, not an inch. He threw his weight against it and so did Kate’s father (who had managed to spend two days with us without saying more than two words). Still it would not budge.

  We were trapped by the snow.

  “We will just have to wait patiently,” Father said. “I’m sure the Indians will be able to get out of their tipis, as they have no wooden doors to stop them. And they will be able to travel on their snowshoes. We must hope that they will dig us out.”

  It was a horrible wait. I made oatmeal for everyone. We ate, but said little and spoke little. We were too worried about James. Even Kate managed to hold her tongue, perhaps realizing that no one would have patience with her today. And as each minute passed I felt more and more hemmed in until at times I felt like screaming.

  Finally we thought we heard something. It was as if our hut were really a cocoon because it was so quiet we could barely hear, but at last it was apparent that there were definite sounds of scraping. I could see the snow was being cleared as more and more light broke through the cracks. And then there were sounds by the door. Finally the door opened just a bit. And then inch by inch it was pulled outward. John Lawson and Peter MacDonald stood there, faces red with exertion. Just behind them were a number of the men from the Indian band. We all ran to the door and peered out.

  What a sight! The sun hurt my eyes so much at first that I could barely see. Father wrapped himself in a blanket and went to join the men in order to dig out the other huts. Black Bear was among the Indians and I saw Father go over to speak to him. Father’s face fell. He looked back at me and shook his head. No news.

  If I had not known there was a settlement around me I could never have guessed. The snow had drifted up to the rooftops in places. Indians were travelling on snowshoes, but each time Father took a step he sank well over his knees, sometimes up to his waist, and had to be pulled ahead by Black Bear. They were trying to make small trails from one hut to another, but they had to do it with their hands and the rough shovels that the Indians brought. Kate and I pulled the door shut. I sit by the fire and wait.

  I realize I have not written very much in these pages about James and that I have been terribly remiss not to do so. It is just that he is such a good brother that I have few complaints about him. I now recognize how much I have taken his presence for granted. While I have tried to take on Mother’s role, in many ways James has taken on Father’s, for Father is often too sunk in grief to do the things a father normally does. On that most difficult trip from York Factory it was always James who exhorted us to carry on, who tried to take our fatigue away by making jokes, and by kind words when they were necessary. James never seemed afraid. But that is not to say he is not refined. He will never show me the poetry he writes that I know he keeps secret. Sometimes he will recite one of his finer pieces, but only if he thinks it is fit to be listened to. He does not like to fight, that is sure. And some boys think he is less of a man for it, but I think he is more of a man.

  I know one thing to be true. Father could not survive one more loss. I am not sure I could either.

  Evening

  James is alive! He was carried into the hut by Black Bear just as evening drew near. He could not walk by himself because he is blind! I have wrapped him up and fed him oatmeal and hot tea. I notice that his ears are white and that worries me too, as I do not know what it means. Father has led us all in a prayer thanking God for James’s return.

  March 27

  Alice’s mother has managed to make her way over here by one of the small trails the men have dug out in between the huts. Father went to fetch her in the hope that she could help James. She says that his blindness will disappear. It is called snow blindness and is not a lasting affliction. She’s more worried about his ears and has told us that the white means that they were frozen and he must always keep them protected from the cold from now on so as not to develop an infection. James has slept and slept and has not yet been able to tell us what happened.

  March 28

  I shall try to write down as closely as possible James’s account as he described his harrowing adventure. He and White Loon’s three brothers, Fire Owl, Jumps and Small Beaver, all decided to go out on their own for a hunt. They were not looking for buffalo but rather for deer and to set traps for rabbits. James had become friends with these three boys j
ust as I had become a friend of White Loon’s. Fire Owl and Jumps are older — closer to the age of White Loon, but Small Beaver seems to be close to James’s age. He and James spend much time together and James is becoming familiar with their language.

  They began tracking a family of deer and they moved farther and farther away from the camp. James did notice the sky was beginning to darken, and he believes Small Beaver did as well, for he spoke to his older brothers about it, but they were intent on the hunt and did not listen. The wind began to blow up, the snow began to fall, and the deer tracks were becoming harder and harder to follow. It was then that the brothers realized that they had to get back to camp. But the storm came on so quickly it soon became apparent they would never reach camp by nightfall, or rather the storm would reach them before they reached camp. The boys knew that there was a small cluster of trees not too far distant and it was to this that they made their way.

  It was almost dark when they arrived. Quickly they pulled down branches from the trees and stoked a fire, but within hours the wind had picked up to such a degree the fire could not hold. They lay flat under the trees and covered themselves with branches for what little protection they offered. They remained there in that spot all that night, all the next day, and all the next night. The wind did not hold steady but picked up and dropped off, and whenever possible they started a fire. They were sure that is what saved their lives — a few hours or even minutes of warmth. When the storm ended and the day dawned bright and clear they tried to walk home, but were weak from not eating, and every step they took they sank into the snow. By the time Black Bear found them James assured us he could not have taken one more step. His eyesight was almost gone and Jumps was leading him. Small Beaver was also affected and could not see. Black Bear had brought snowshoes for them, but imagine how difficult it is to walk on them in the first place, and in the second place to walk on them without your sight.

  And here despite the gravity of the situation James soon had us all roaring with laughter as he described himself blind and stumbling on his snowshoes, Jumps and Fire Owl mercilessly teasing both him and Small Beaver, probably to encourage them to go on.

  April 1816

  April 5

  I have had no time to write as I have been nursing James. At night I read to him rather than write in your pages. The weather continues sunny, but bitterly cold. We can now travel between huts, but we are getting very short on food because the hunters cannot get out. And the store is almost out of all provisions except oatmeal.

  April 8

  As I was sitting with Alice at her hut sewing I overheard her mother and father talking about the North West Company and their plans to drive the settlers away from The Forks again. Apparently Colin Robertson, who took charge of Alice’s group after they were driven away from Red River, approached Duncan Cameron in February and told him to stop spreading rumours that would frighten the settlers — as he had done so successfully before, scaring away all but these thirteen hardy families. It seemed at first that Duncan Cameron was amenable to his suggestions, but as the months went by that assumption proved to be untrue. Only a month ago, in March, Duncan Cameron returned to Fort Gibraltar wearing his British regimentals and boasted that he could drive the settlers out once again. That means us. (Have I mentioned, dear diary, that Fort Gibraltar was the North West fort near Fort Douglas, also at the junction of the Red and Assiniboine rivers?)

  So Colin Robertson decided to seize Fort Gibraltar. He confiscated all the correspondence he found there. In Cameron’s correspondence he discovered letters from the North West Company urging the Métis to attack all of us. In particular there was a letter that talked of uniting the Métis to drive their enemy — us — from the land. On the basis of these letters Robertson arrested Duncan Cameron there.

  Apparently Colin Robertson believes that when we return to The Forks we should stay at Fort Douglas for our own protection, but Governor Semple disagrees and believes we will be safe to go and farm the land. It is true that some of the men have learned how to handle guns this winter when they were hunting, but they have never fought. How would we defend ourselves?

  Alice and I looked at each other. I wanted to ask questions, but it was obvious that we should not even have overheard and that the adults did not want to discuss this with the children. When I got home later I questioned Father about all of this and asked him why he had not told us anything.

  “I did not want to worry you,” he replied. “You are only children.”

  “But we deserve to know, Father,” James objected.

  “Frankly,” Father said, “I believe Colin Robertson has a better idea of the politics and the dangers that we are encountering than Governor Semple does. In the letters Colin Robertson has been sending to us he refers to the Governor as Mr. Simple, and I begin to fear that he is right — and yet our fate seems to be in Semple’s hands.”

  It appeared to me that Father had gone from not telling us enough, to telling us too much. Now I really am worried. If we cannot trust the judgement of our Governor there is reason to worry.

  April 10

  White Loon has taken to coming to our hut at night so she can hear me read from the Bible. She speaks a funny combination of Gaelic, learned from the other settlers, and English learned from me during our time on the prairie. Sometimes I see her talking to Father during the day as the chores are done. She can actually make him laugh. I never thought I would see him laugh again. But this confuses me, just as my time with the Indians was confusing. If she is such a savage, why is she so nice? Are Indians only savages because they do not accept the Bible? I thought they would be bloodthirsty killers, not to be trusted, but they are not that at all.

  I will ask Father.

  April 12

  Father says that the Indians have a culture that is very old. He says he learned much about it when we were living so close to them, especially when he went hunting with the Indian men. At night the Indians would sit around the campfire and tell stories. Father asked many questions, and they were happy to answer them. I asked Father about Indians and the Bible. He said we could teach them. He said that it is not their fault that they are ignorant of the teachings of the Bible, and just as I am educating White Loon, so would others be educated.

  “But what if they don’t want to be educated?” I asked him.

  “Then they will choose not to be,” he answered. “It will be up to them.”

  In the meantime he seems more worried about the Nor’Westers than these questions about the Indians. He worries that Governor Semple will not listen to Colin Robertson and that we might be in danger. He says that soon we will be moving back to The Forks. I cannot wait! Finally we will be able to build our own little house and truly begin our lives in the New Land. The weather is warming considerably, but there is so much snow that no one wants it to get too warm too quickly, or we may find ourselves in the midst of quite a flood. The Indians tell tales of such a thing and seem quite fearful of it.

  April 15

  Father told us more tonight as we ate our dinner. Apparently Duncan Cameron and the other Nor’ Westers — after Colin Robertson captured them at Fort Gibraltar — were transported to Fort Douglas. And Mr. Robertson wants to send Duncan Cameron and the correspondence that proves he is out to harm us back to England, for trial. He also wants to unite the camps of Fort Douglas and Fort Gibraltar, and he wants us to remain at one of the Forts and not go back to the land. But Governor Semple disagrees, and will send us onto the land.

  Father looked firmly at Robbie. “Now lad,” he said, “I know you will be tempted to run and play with your Indian friends, but you must not stray too far away from our land at any time.” Robbie grinned. He had the look of one who had no intention of not running and playing.

  April 20

  I barely know how to write this or what to say. I almost think that if I do not write it, Mother will not find out, but I know that you are looking down, Mother, and that you already know. But what a shock to
me. And to James and Robbie.

  Father intends to marry White Loon!

  I am at such a loss I cannot put another word down.

  April 21

  It is true. I spoke to White Loon.

  April 23

  I have been in a daze. I cannot think straight.

  April 24

  I struck Kate. And she began to cry. She had said something horrible about Father — that he was marrying a savage. She and her father have moved into a different hut.

  April 25

  Alice sits with me constantly and lets me talk and talk. Her mother has been very kind and tells me not to be so hard on Father. She reminds me how much I liked White Loon until this happened. And she points out all the other marriages similar to this — the Métis, after all, are a large number of people. James has taken to sitting with us too, and Alice makes sure that she is very sympathetic to him. Robbie seems unaffected. He likes White Loon and says he will be glad to have a mother.