A Trail of Broken Dreams

by Barbara Haworth-Attard

  Evening

  I was stumbling about in a heat daze when Joe suddenly picked me up and tossed me and my pack onto the back of his and Henry’s cart. He said I looked like I was going to fall flat on my face. I was glad for the ride, but not so glad when Henry asked after my father. I put him off, but I fear, dear diary, I’ll soon be found out.

  A black cloud of mosquitoes descended on us this evening, biting people and animals alike. We got the fires going quickly so the smoke would drive them away. I overheard one of the men say that a woman back at Fort Garry killed herself, she was so plagued by mosquitoes. I can almost believe that! The smoke helped, but not much. I am covered with bites.

  June 26, 1862, midday meal

  It is quite a funny sight. Each morning there is a race by the men to see who will be at the head of the line. With cups of tea and plates of pancakes they run about packing their camps up. Some do not even bother to pack their tents, but run around with dishes in their arms in an attempt to be first in the line. There is, though, an advantage to being first, as the dust is thick at the back, and if there is a mudhole, it is so big by the time the last carts come along, the wheels get stuck fast in it and must be pulled out. Henry grumbles bitterly about this race, yet this morning he threw his goods every which way into his cart and yelled at Joe, “Move, you big lout! You’re slower than an ox.”

  June 27, 1862

  I am near driven frantic by mosquitoes! They sing about my ears, land on my eyes and torment me with their stings. The Schubert children cry bitterly and the animals suffer greatly, too. I bite my tongue so I do not scream!

  June 30, 1862

  Fort Carlton

  I cannot believe we’ve come so far! Yet some of the men complain that we’ve not gone fast enough. I think it a great distance, especially as I walked most of the way! I have the blisters to prove it.

  We almost had a drowning today, though. We reached the South Saskatchewan River early this morning. The Hudson Bay Company boat was on the opposite shore from us so two of the men swam over and towed it back. The wheels were taken off the carts, the animals unharnessed, and the loads removed to be ferried across the river. The cattle and horses were made to swim. Some were reluctant and Mr. Kelso entered the river to hurry them on and the current swept him away. Three men plunged in to rescue him. They had a time of it, but dragged him limp onto the bank. We all watched anxiously as they pummelled his back and chest. Finally he coughed, was violently sick, and was saved. I bet he’s wondering if he should ever have left Acton. John said if I’d fallen in, he would have let the river have me. Talbot assured me he would rescue me. I stuck my tongue out at John. It’s quite fun at times being a boy.

  July 1862

  July 4, 1862

  Yesterday we passed through the Thickwood Hills and today through the Lumpy Hills. Aren’t those funny names, dear diary?

  Because of my laundry money, I was able to buy more pemmican and a pair of moccasins at Fort Carlton. My feet will welcome the change from my boots from time to time.

  July 6, 1862

  I have been found out! And all because of strawberries! The land west of Fort Carlton is quite different from the plains — hilly, with many streams, and thick with strawberries. I filled my pan with them, and then my old pemmican bag. As it was Sunday, Talbot was picking with me and grumbling about the slowness of the job. Without thinking I said, “It’s easier if you just fold your apron, and put in the strawberries as you pick, then dump them in a basket. It goes much faster.” I suddenly realized what I’d said. “That’s what my mother did. That’s what I meant,” I quickly added, but my face was red and my tongue fell all over the words. At first I thought Talbot believed me, since we picked for a few more minutes in silence, then he said he’d like to meet my father. I told Talbot he was having a nap.

  “He has to wake sometime,” Talbot said.

  I said he’d be busy with the oxen, but the excuses sounded weak even to my ears, and finally I ran out of them.

  “My father isn’t here,” I finally confessed and, much to my dismay, burst into tears — just like a girl! I told Talbot how Mama had died and Father was in the gold fields and I was going to find him and how Mrs. Owen wanted to take Luella and William back to Toronto. It was supper by the time I had finished my tale. Then Talbot said, “And you’re not a boy, are you?”

  I had hoped he’d forgotten my apron story while I talked, but he hadn’t. I admitted I wasn’t a boy. “What’s your real name?” he asked. I told him it was Harriet, and pleaded with him not to tell anyone. He is thinking about it right now, dear diary. I am near beside myself with worry. If he tells, I’ll be left at the next fort. I will make him some pancakes with strawberries to help him think.

  July 9, 1862

  Fort Pitt

  We are at Fort Pitt. From here, we are told, the trail grows more difficult. Talbot still hasn’t made his decision and I am in a burning turmoil. But, I have decided, even if he tells and I’m left behind, I’ll find my own way to the gold fields.

  Later

  Talbot has decided. He told his father that my father was already at Cariboo and that I was alone. BUT he did not tell his father I was a girl. He said he didn’t tell because he was so used to me being Harry, he didn’t want to have to learn to call me Harriet. Mr. Dyer said I could travel with them. I was so excited I almost hugged Talbot, then remembered boys don’t do that, but still, I was that happy. Mr. Dyer also said I could put my buffalo skin and packs on their cart. Talbot really is the nicest person. He told me his mother died when he was fourteen. He has no brothers or sisters. He said that he and his father heard about the gold finds and as they didn’t have any family to hold them back, left their farm in their neighbour’s care and decided to come west to see for themselves.

  John dragged one of my blankets through a mud puddle!

  July 10, 1862

  We are staying a day at the fort as the men want to hire a guide — one that won’t desert us! The trail is not well marked and the Blackfeet Indians caught a party of white men only three days ago, stripped them naked and sent them back! I pray that doesn’t happen to us, as then I would surely be found out by all. Talbot and his father have cleaned their guns. I find I am quite nervous today between worrying about Indian attacks and waiting to see what John will do to me. It seems cowardly, but I stick close to Talbot. Too close, maybe. I nearly walked right up his back when he stopped quite abruptly a few minutes ago.

  We are greatly bothered by dogs here — well, really they are more like wolves. During the summer the fur traders leave the dogs to their own devices, so the animals are starving. They come right into camp at night and steal our food. I sleep with my pemmican tucked under my arm, though I do worry the dogs might tear my arm off to get the food, but I don’t know what else to do.

  July 12, 1862

  Spent all day in camp. I am wet through and through. And also covered in mud! All because of John. It looked like the weather would break, so we set off from the fort, but soon stopped, due to more rain and thick fog hiding the trail. For two days it has stormed with great winds and silver sheets of water. As I was climbing up a muddy incline yesterday, John suddenly appeared out of the rain and kicked my feet out from under me. I went tumbling backwards, right beneath the hooves of a horse. Somehow I managed to roll away before they came down on me, but I landed in a marshy area that the rain had turned to a huge mud lake! Joe fished me out and set me on my feet. I am so cold now my teeth chatter without stop, but it is too wet for a fire.

  Wolves follow us day and night and howl unceasingly, sending shivers up my spine and making everyone sharp-tongued from lack of sleep. Why did I think I could make it to the gold fields? I miss Luella and William. I do not think I am adequate to this task. Cannot write anymore as the rain is dripping on my page and making the ink run!

  July 13, 1862

  It’s Sunday, so we’re staying at camp another day. All in all it has not been a good day. The ground is muddy and ev
erything is wet — tents, clothes. Talbot has gone to see if he can find some dry wood, but I doubt there is any. Everyone is short-tempered. Thomas Drummond got into a fist-fight with another man. It reminded me of school back home — the two fighters, the ring of people urging them on and the more sensible ones pulling them apart.

  Then Thomas told John he was useless because John couldn’t start a fire. Can’t he see that nobody can start a fire? And then, dear diary, Henry and Joe started arguing. Henry complained that Joe was slowing them down so they never made the head of the line in the mornings, and that he ate too much and they’d soon run out of food. Joe told Henry to stop being so bossy. Then Henry said, “I wish I’d never brought you with me.”

  “Well, I wish I’d never come,” Joe said. Then added, “Besides, I’d rather look at my ox’s arse than your face any old day. Begging your pardon, Missus.” That last was to Mrs. Schubert. I wouldn’t normally write that word, dear diary, except it is exactly what he said. It certainly shut Henry up. In fact, it shut all of us up, as that was very quick thinking for Joe. Henry’s face was brilliant red with anger.

  Mrs. Schubert’s face was red, too, but I think it was from holding in her laughter.

  Later

  A scout just came back and said there is a party of Blackfeet in the hills west of us. Extra guards are being posted for the night!

  July 14, 1862

  We awoke safe and sound. John’s antics are fast becoming tiresome. If he is not taking my hat or spilling my food, he is tripping me or pushing and shoving me into mudholes. To think I almost felt sorry for him yesterday.

  July 15, 1862

  We came upon five dead Blackfeet and Cree. There had obviously been a fierce battle between them. We went on, rifles ready, but didn’t see any live Indians. I’m so scared.

  July 18, 1862

  We are all miserable. Rain plagues us daily, and the sloughs and rivers have swollen to become acres of marsh. I wade most of the day through water up to my waist! I will never be dry again! The carts and oxen become mired frequently and must be pulled out. We barely make any distance. Even John has no energy to play his tricks. Joe and Henry are still not speaking to each other.

  July 20, 1862

  Sunday. Half the men are working and the other half are grumbling — about the men who are working. They are building yet another bridge. The pious ones charge the others with breaking the Sabbath, but the need to build bridges has slowed our progress considerably. Mr. Sellar says that the bridges being made run anywhere from 40 to 100 feet long. The rivers are so swollen by rain that we can’t ford them.

  I find it interesting how the bridges are built. Trees are felled on the river banks, then some men swim across the river, towing the largest trees to the other side, where they are fastened. They do this again and again, until the width is enough to support a cart. I rather expect, though, that those who stand and watch and exchange harsh words will use the Sunday-built bridge come tomorrow morning.

  Mr. Dyer asked what I thought of a bridge being built on the Lord’s Day. Not being pious myself — especially since Mama and the baby died — I told him I didn’t think the Lord would mind this once. He laughed and handed Talbot and me axes and told us to cut some smaller trees. Talbot protested that I shouldn’t chop, but I felled him with one sharp look. “I have chopped wood before,” I said, then wore myself out flailing away at small trees to prove myself as good as any boy.

  July 22, 1862

  Fort Edmonton

  We have arrived at Fort Edmonton. We are camped opposite it until we can ferry across the North Saskatchewan River. The fort’s boat is lost downstream due to the flooding, so the men have gone in search of it. Eleven days of rain! But today it is very fine; the air fresh, the sky blue with fluffy clouds. To get here we crossed the steepest riverbank yet on this journey — a ravine 200 feet deep, says Mr. Sellar. (Mr. Sellar likes spouting figures; I like to listen, though I did not like arithmetic at school back home!) A trail was opened through the brush by axes, and the carts and cattle were let down by ropes on one side, and moved across a bridge the men had made. Then all were pulled up again on the other side. A long and difficult job. I remember the men back at Fort Garry saying the prairie is easily travelled. I begin to think they never made the journey!

  I made myself quite useful today, mending mine, and Talbot’s, and his father’s clothes. I also baked biscuits. I shook out blankets and cleaned pots until Talbot finally said, “We’re not going to leave you behind, so stop it.” I wonder how he knew I was worried about that.

  July 24, 1862

  I rounded a corner of the barracks and came upon John, crying. I stopped, unsure whether or not to let him know I was there. All of a sudden he looked up and saw me. He dashed his hand across his eyes and pushed roughly past me. He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave me sent a shiver down my spine.

  I told Talbot about it. He said Thomas had been slapping John earlier and telling him he was of no use. Talbot also said John would be mad that I had seen him crying, as it would hurt his pride, and that I should be careful. It is funny, dear diary, but it is like I saw Talbot for the first time today. He has yellow brown hair, like wheat ready to be harvested, and eyes that can be blue or grey depending on the colour of the sky behind him.

  July 25, 1862

  Woke up this morning with a stomach full of butterflies. What if I get to Cariboo and cannot find Father? What if the Owens take Luella and William to Toronto earlier than they said? What if I never find them again? What if I run out of food and starve? Or become ill? On and on my worries go. It is as if I was too busy to worry before, but now that we are in one place for a few days, they’ve all heaped on my head. I have a little bit of tea in payment for washing clothes. I’ve been hoarding it, but today I need it!

  Afternoon

  A cup of tea and a bath in the river have chased the worries away — for now. I know they are there waiting to attack me again in a weak moment.

  Talbot came up this afternoon, and with a very red face asked if I would like to have a bath. “I’ll keep watch,” he said, then his eyes widened and he began to stammer. “I mean, not watch you, I mean, I’ll watch for other people. Who might see you. Except, they won’t see you. Because I’ll keep watch.” I had a hard time not grinning. I thought about it for a minute, and decided I would very much like a bath. At first it was awkward walking to the river together, so I gave him a good shove into a prickly rose bush. Then he was mad instead of embarrassed and we were fine again.

  July 26, 1862

  Still Fort Edmonton

  We are staying here a few days while the men decide which route to choose. Mr. Dyer is not favourably impressed with the fort. He says it is poorly run. It is very dirty, both the fort and the people. All of them — half-breeds, Indians and whites! The place abounds with starving dogs that make our lives a misery. They snarl and snap, quite ferocious. John threatened to feed me to them, but Talbot was beside me so all he could do was threaten. Mrs. Schubert seems quite relieved to be in one place for a few days. She is taking in washing, too, but there is more than enough for both of us. We spent most of the day at the river with soap, and then spread the clothes on bushes to dry. My hands are very red now, but the cleanest they’ve been under the nails in weeks!

  July 27, 1862

  My pemmican is gone! Mr. Dyer said the dogs must have got it but I know it was John! I saw him skulking around earlier. I marched right up to him and yelled, “You took my pemmican, didn’t you?” I wasn’t even scared of him, I was so furious. He pretended he didn’t know what I was talking about! I know he did it.

  July 28, 1862

  I bought some flour from the store with my laundry money and gave it to Mr. Dyer, saying it was to pay him for sharing his cart. At first he didn’t want to take it, but Talbot nudged him with an elbow and then he did. It is a good thing I had that money, because I was able to replace my pemmican. Who would have thought at the beginning of this journey that I wo
uld look forward to a bite of pemmican! I did a lot of washing for Mr. Hunter today and he gave me a new pair of moccasins in return. I was glad to get them, as my old pair has a hole in the heel. I had hoped to have a bit of money left over to sew into my waistband beside Mama’s wedding ring, but prices are quite dear here. At least I’ve not had to trade the ring or the watch for goods. Just thinking about that brings a sharp pain to my chest and a lump into my throat. I miss Mama so much. I best think of something else.

  We are to continue on our journey tomorrow morning. I’m very relieved to go. It has been a rest, and there have been many enjoyable evenings of music and story-telling, but I worry the entire time that someone other than Talbot will find out I am a girl. This fort is the last place I could be left behind before the mountains.

  There has been endless discussion between the men in our party and the men at the fort about the best trail over the mountains, but finally they decided to head to Tête Jaune Cache. Some men say it is not the easiest route, but there is talk of an easy trail from there, or as one man calls it, a road to Cariboo.

  Most of the carts are sold now, though a few of the men kept theirs, and many of the oxen traded for horses. Mr. Dyer kept his, as he felt oxen would make the trek over the mountains easier than horses. Everything must be packed on the backs of the animals or carried by us. Mr. Dyer said the trading for provisions was the most bothersome part of the entire journey, as the fur-traders and the half-breeds change their prices minute to minute. I left a letter here to be taken to Fort Garry to William, so he’ll know I am all right and he can reassure Luella.