by Ann Birch
Father Crue’s face folded into a frown. “I don’t understand.”
“Oh...oh...” Anna got control of herself. “It’s just that this very day Camudwa made a proposal to me. Think of it, I could have been Wife Number Four.” She dissolved into giggles again, and the McMurrays and Sam joined in her laughter.
Father Crue turned to Sam. “I suppose that since there is no drawing room in this place for the weaker sex to go to, we must feel ourselves privileged to hear their comments, however ill-conceived.”
“It is funny when you think of it,” Sam said.
The servant at this point removed the cloth from the trestle, in the manner of faraway dinner parties in Toronto.
The conversation went on and on, and Sam found himself slipping into a stupor as the sherry began to play havoc with his reason. He was dead tired. He had been up since the crack of dawn. There had been the ear-splitting dance and the long speech on the trestle. And he had had time to reflect again on his dealings with Crimshaw that might culminate in disaster if the wretch carried out his threats about the unpaid bills.
Seeing him look at his pocket watch, Anna leaned over and whispered into his ear. “You are tired, Sam. Have a good night’s rest. Tomorrow you leave for Toronto, and I want to go with you.”
At least that’s what she might have said. He didn’t think he could have heard her right. So he nodded and smiled at her. That’s what a well-bred host did when a lady spoke to him.
He rose. “I must be up early for our getaway, so I bid you goodnight. If we do not meet again, I thank you for this most interesting dinner conversation.”
He shook hands with everyone, including Anna. She smiled and said, “I shall see you on the pier in the morning. Thank you for agreeing to my request.”
Had he agreed to take her with them? One woman with twenty-one men? He didn’t remember giving an outright assent. But he’d been half asleep, and four people had been talking loudly at the time.
When he finally got into his narrow bed, he made up his mind to straighten matters out in the morning. If Anna came with them, it would be pleasant. But then...what would she expect from him? How far was he prepared to go? He thought of Mary’s niece and her lover, John Grogan. They had thrown away their lives for love. That was courageous, as he had told them. But was it courageous or just plain crazy?
THIRTY-SEVEN
Sam went down to the quay at daylight to supervise the loading of the gear for the trip home and found Anna already settled there with her baggage. She was surrounded by four Indian children, who were turning over cards from a pack she had evidently given them. “I’m teaching them to play vingt-et-un,” she said. “And a good morning to you, sir. My bags are all ready as you can see.”
“You’re sure about this, are you? Think about it once more. You will be travelling down Lake Huron in a birchbark canoe with twenty-one men as your companions. You might be more comfortable with the McMurrays until a more suitable escort can be arranged.”
“I should not dream of inconveniencing you, but my friends must travel back to the Sault today, and I myself need to return to Toronto, where I must make a few immediate decisions.”
“About what?”
“Do I stay in Toronto? Do I go on to New York and thence to Europe? My husband would like to see me leave, and now that I have achieved a settlement of money from him, there is really no reason to stay.” She paused, looked directly into his eyes. “Is there?”
“I can’t advise you,” he said. “I wish only for your happiness.”
She smiled, and even in the dim light of early morning, he noticed again her beautiful white teeth and bright blue eyes. “Well, at any rate, though I would willingly spend the rest of my life in the beauty of Lake Huron, I must face the necessity of returning to Toronto.”
“It’s not a trip I’d recommend for a woman of refinement. Or am I implying ‘weaker sex’ again?”
“I think you are merely warning me about the realities of our voyage. You have treated me with such kindness, dear Sam, that I foresee no difficulties in our travelling arrangements.”
He stepped gently into one of their two thirty-foot canoes tied to the side of the quay. He rolled up Anna’s blankets and night gear to make a comfortable seat and gave her a pillow for her back. As he was reaching for her parasol, she took it herself, picked up her notebooks, sketchbooks and travel basket and put them within easy reach of her seat. “Please, let me look after myself,” she said, hoisting up her skirt. For a moment, she looked as if she would hop off the quay into the craft.
“No, no,” he told her, trying to ignore the grins and winks of the voyageurs, who had moved closer. “You must wait. The bark canoe is much more fragile than a bateau. It is so easy to break off bits of the pine-gum that hold the thing together. And then we would have to waste time caulking the seams. The crew and I will get in once we have loaded, then we shall assist you.”
Leaving her on the shore, he ran back up the hill to the magazine. In a dusty corner, he found a marquee to protect her in case of heavy rain. Dragging the roll down the hill after him, he put it into the second canoe, where it added to the load of tents, guns, provisions and baggage. That done, one of the voyageurs in the passenger canoe helped the lady down from the wooden pier into the craft. She made a light, graceful descent, to everyone’s relief, and Sam ceased to worry about the pine-gum caulking. He even managed to enjoy another glimpse of the lady’s slender ankles.
Jacob Snake, as steersman, and eight paddlers soon got the canoe moving into the bay. In order to make room for their guest, Sam had to leave the bowsman behind with a few pounds to cover his unexpected dismissal. He and Anna sat facing each other in the middle of the canoe.
“What a glorious pink canopy!” she said, pointing at the morning sky. Sam nodded without speaking. He hoped she did not intend to rhapsodize the whole way down the lake to Penetanguishene. One of the delights of travel in the wilderness was the absence of the need for polite conversation. Old Solomon, who was on board to act as translator, so that Jacob could concentrate on his steering duties, had learned to sit absolutely silent until called upon to speak.
Sam was pleased that Jacob had hoisted the British flag on the stern of the canoe. It lent an air to their leave-taking. As his official party pulled away from Manitoulin Island, there were cheers from the Indians on shore and a firing of muskets in salute. “And isn’t that your husband-to-be?” he asked Anna, pointing to a green-and-red figure waving from the dock.
“Alas, I fear that is now an opportunity lost.”
Already there were a hundred canoes ahead of them, embarked on their homeward voyage. The water was crystal clear, and he could see shoals of black bass. The voyageurs plied their paddles and chattered among themselves in their French and Indian dialects. The trials and tribulations of Toronto seemed remote. He began to think about the journey. Three days and three nights with Anna. Anything could happen.
“Look, monsieur!” The voice came from the baggage canoe.
“What is it?”
Then he saw what had happened. “Damn, damn!”
Above them, into the blue sky, soared one of the two young hawks he had purchased from an Indian on the island.
“Whatever is wrong?” asked Anna.
“I had a pair of hawks in a basket in the other canoe. They were gifts for my oldest boys,” Sam told her. “I thought they could train them like falcons to scare off the rabbits that eat my lettuce at Hazelburn.”
“And now one of them has escaped.” She looked up into the sky. “It’s so beautiful. Look how it floats on the air current. Oh, to be a bird, to break free, to soar.”
Sam shrugged. “Perhaps it’s for the best. They’d be difficult to train. One might be enough of a handful.”
They made headway, and he was surprised to realize, several hours into the trip, that Anna was capable of long periods of silence. She took from her basket a portable inkwell and quill and began to scratch notes in her book.
Her attention seemed focused on Jacob. She wrote rapidly, paused from time to time to glance up from her book, then down again to make amendments to what she’d written.
What was it all about? He turned around to look at Jacob. There was nothing unusual that he could see. His friend wore loose leggings and a cotton shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and his long black hair was tied back with a cotton handerkerchief. It was the typical garb he wore when he was steersman.
“You find something remarkable about Jacob. What is it?”
“Haven’t you watched the way he turns and twists? How the beads on his sash catch the sun like the scales on a snake? I’ve been trying to get it into words.”
“Let the lady get her words right,” Jacob said, smiling.
Sam looked again at his Indian friend. As steersman, he had a paddle twice as long as the others, and the manner in which he stood, striking the water first on one side, then on the other, was indeed picturesque. “You’re right. I’ve never before really noticed the beauty of his movements. They’re almost hypnotic. But will you read me what you’ve written, please?”
“Later. As Jacob says, when I’ve got the phrases exactly right, or as nearly right as I can get them.”
After a few more scribbles and scratchings, Anna put her notebook aside and took out her sketchbook.
“And now, Jacob,” she said. “I’ll make a sketch of you in action. With your permission, of course.”
He smiled. “It is my first...first...picture of myself.”
“Your first portrait,” Anna said.
As the sun climbed the sky, she finished her sketch. Then, as they glided between the rocky cliffs of the islands, she busied herself with sketches of the white water-lilies and the dwarf pines in the clefts of rock. Sam remembered how Mary prided herself on her drawing ability and often showed him sketches of Toronto harbour, but her art had none of the sureness of Anna’s pencil. Looking down at her work, he saw that she caught to perfection the flow of the water, the careening gulls and the scudding clouds.
“Allumez!”
At Jacob’s sudden cry, the voyageurs laid their paddles inside the canoe and rested their shoulders against the thwarts. Then from the wide sashes around their waists, they took out small pouches of tobacco and lit their pipes. Anna put down her sketchbook.
“I almost wish I could have a pipe myself,” she said to Sam, as the men exchanged jokes in their dialects. “You remember that night at the Governor’s when I sat with the gentlemen and that stuffed-up butler offered me a barley stick instead of a pipe? I was quite disappointed.”
Jacob must have heard her comment, for a minute later he passed a pipe along the ranks of paddlers, tobacco tamped down and lighted, ready to smoke. “For you, Mrs. Jameson,” he said.
“What now?” she asked Sam as she looked at the wreaths of smoke around her.
“Put the end in your mouth and gently, gently, draw in just a bit of smoke. Then puff it out quickly.”
The fine English lady with the pipe was the subject of much merriment among the crew, and Anna’s laughter was heartiest of all. After a few coughs and splutterings, she got the hang of it.
“You know,” Sam said, “I thought I might have to ask them not to smoke in your presence. I’m glad you can play along. It makes our voyage easier if the men can stick to their old ways.”
“They measure their distance in pipes, do they not? And they have had trois pipes this morning. How many more this day?”
“Hard to say. I leave it to them. I’d say we’ve come twelve miles thus far. So much depends on the heat, the hunting and fishing they do along the way, and the light of late day. In these long canoes, we do not travel when the steersman cannot see into the depths of the water. If we scrape the bottom on a rock, we’re in trouble. Though you’ve probably noticed we have those birchbark buckets in the bow for bailing. Each of them will take a quart of water in one swipe. And there’s a bucket for each man in the canoe.”
“Or woman?”
“We’ll call on you, don’t worry.”
When they stopped an hour later for a midday meal on a rocky island, they tethered the canoe just off shore, because there was no beach to pull it up on.
Without preliminaries, old Solomon grabbed Anna about her waist and slung her over his shoulders. Then he waded through the water, carrying her. After an initial cry of surprise, the lady took all this in good part, even Solomon’s side-of-the-mouth comment to the paddlers as he set her down on the rock where they were to build a fire.
“Do you know what he said?” she asked Sam, laughing.
“I don’t speak French.”
“He said his back was broken.”
“Such impudence.”
“But are broken backs necessary? When I came to Manitoulin with the McMurrays, the rowers pulled the boat up on shore. Then we all got out.”
“If there’s no beach, Solomon is expected to carry a lady—or a fine gentleman, for that matter—ashore. He’s done it before. It’s part of the drill. I’ll speak to him about his comment.”
“No, no, please, say nothing. I shall handle it in my own way.”
As they sat around the campfire a half-hour later, eating fried black bass, Anna put her hand on Solomon’s shoulder. She said something to him in rapid French, her brow wrinkled into an expression of intense sympathy.
The voyageurs laughed heartily as Solomon’s face turned bright red.
“What on earth did you say?” Sam asked.
“I merely said that I was sorry about his back. That if it was truly broken, I should be glad to carry him to the canoe.”
Now Sam too joined in the laughter. But Anna put a finger to her lips. “Please do not laugh at him. Now that I know the drill, as you call it, I shall never again break the poor man’s back.” The cat was out of the bag, and Anna knew they would all be more careful in their speech during the days to come. Which was a pity. She had heard them brag about their exploits at the Sault and Mackinaw, where they had spent many a piastre on wine and food and bright sashes to impress the dusky maidens, as they called them. For Anna, it was all interesting, easy research.
But it was surprising that they had said nothing untoward about her. Though their descriptions of their female conquests had been unsparing, there had been no ribald comments about her own figure.
She turned her attention back to the landscape. They had a most delightful run among hundreds of islands, sometimes darting through narrow rocky channels, so narrow that she could not see the water on either side of the canoe; and then emerging, they glided through vast fields of water-lilies.
“Sheer delight,” she said to Sam. “Such a day cannot be long enough.”
There was no response, just a nod.
So she concentrated on her note-taking, and had just finished describing the water-lilies when the voyageurs began to sing in unison, marking the time with their paddles. She had hoped for this. She remembered how much she had enjoyed the songs of the crew in the McMurrays’ bateau. These paddlers had several new ones that they sang over and over, and she soon learned the words and the melodies. Each man had his favourite song. Jacob always led them in “En roulant ma boule, roulant” while Louis liked “La belle rose blanche” and LeDuc’s voice drowned out the others in “Trois canards s’en vont baignant”.
“Et vous, madame,” said Louis when they had finished their repertoire, “que voulez-vous?”
“I have not heard paddling songs before,” she said. “Please, let us sing them all again. And you, Sam, must sing along with us.”
“I probably won’t get the words straight,” her companion said, “but I’ll hum the tune.”
By this time, the second canoe with the provisions had pulled alongside, and now there were twenty-one men singing in full voice along with Anna. And when they had worked through their repertoire of six or seven chansons, old Solomon sang a new one that only Jacob seemed to have heard before.
It had a word in it Anna was unfamiliar with,
but not for long. “Les maringouins,” she said, spelling the word out for Sam. “Solomon’s song says that they sting your head and deafen your ears with their buzzing, but you must endure them patiently, for they show you how the Devil will torment you if you don’t look out for your soul.”
“Only in Canada could there be a song about mosquitoes. I imagine that one day, if we ever leave off singing ‘God Save the King’—excuse me, ‘Queen’—it will be the national anthem of this new land.”
They both laughed. Anna took up her quill again. “I must write down what I remember of the words of Solomon’s song.”
Sometimes the voyageurs sang at double or triple speed, at which time they would paddle towards a wall of rock with such extreme velocity that Anna held her breath, expecting to be smashed to pieces. Then in a moment, they would all, with a simultaneous backstroke of their paddles, stop with such a jerk that she thought her head would fly off. After the second repetition of this game, she learned to brace herself with her knees pressed against the thwarts.
At each pipe, some of the men took up their rifles to shoot wild ducks or catch fish. There was a growing pile of catch in the canoe as the day wore on. Once, when LeDuc had caught a particularly large pickerel, he took the hook from its mouth and threw it on the floor of the canoe where it lay gasping.
With one smooth stroke, Jacob took his paddle and whacked the fish on the head. “Great Spirit’s creatures must die without pain. That is what Great Spirit tells my people.”
“I confess that I do not understand the pleasure the paddlers take from barbarism,” she said to Sam.
“Barbarism?”
“What would you call their killing of that water snake for no good reason? Or the way they lure those gulls to a bloody death with biscuit crumbs? Or the shooting of that mother duck and the leaving of her six fledglings to fend for themselves? Or—”
“I take your point.” He turned to Jacob, “And you, friend, I think you understand what Mrs. Jameson is talking about?”
“Chippewa people do not let creatures suffer. But the paddlers are not Chippewa. Half French, half Indian. Perhaps they do not understand.”