Where the River Takes Me

by Julie Lawson

  Well the cry came out so forcefully that I lost my balance. I caught a glimpse of the two men struggling, but could not say who had the upper hand — and though I fought hard to stay on the branch, I could not, and down I fell.

  Mr. Hammond brought me back, senseless, to the Fort. Later I learned that my scream had alerted him to danger, and he had turned in time to ward off the attack. Mr. Cavendish fled.

  Some time later I woke up in the dormitory with a broken ulna — a Latin word that Dr. Helmcken taught me, which means forearm. He straightened it and put on padded splints. I tried to be brave and pretend that it didn’t hurt, but it did. Fortunately it’s my left arm so I can still write. Dr. Helmcken said I was lucky the tree was bushy because the branches helped to break my fall.

  We are still in shock regarding the villainous Mr. Cavendish. When Mr. Hammond related what had happened, a party was immediately sent out to seize the Villain. He was found the next day on a beach a few miles up the coast and taken to the Bastion. He will be a prisoner there until the next Royal Navy ship arrives, likely in June. Then he will be taken to London and tried for desertion and for the murder of Julia Lindsay, and for his attempted attack on Mr. Hammond.

  Mr. Hammond will be going too. I almost wish he would take me, so I could see London and go to the trial and give what he called “corroborative testimony.” At least my words will be there to back him up, for he is taking the report that I had to write. A true and factual account of everything I had seen and heard, from start to finish. I wanted to say that Mr. Cavendish was a despicable creature, a Villain who hid his wickedness behind the face of a Hero and deserved to be sent to the gallows — but I had to write without a single embellishment. It is what they call a “Sworn Statement” and will be read by important people in a Court of Law.

  Before I came to write the account I had to go to Mr. Douglas’s office and tell what had happened. All the important people of the Fort were there, like Mr. Douglas of course, and Mr. Finlayson and Dr. Helmcken. Mr. Hammond was there too. I answered a lot of questions and everything was recorded, questions and answers. There were more than a few raised eyebrows when I confessed that everything I’d seen and heard had been through a Spy Hole or from a tree. I could feel Mrs. Staines’ frown without even looking in her direction.

  This whole affair may be useful in a Novel sometime, but I would change the names of the characters and add more episodes. And I would have my Hero go to London to testify.

  Mr. Hammond says I’m a true Hero for saving his life. It makes me laugh, because Heroes go into the unknown and have thrilling Adventures. They do not fall out of trees.

  Wednesday, April 16th

  The Fort is abuzz with sawing and hammering and no end of activity — over 20 new buildings going up, with more in the outlying farms — all to accommodate the employees who are due to arrive next month. There is a new dwelling house, a bakery, a flour mill and goodness knows what else.

  My arm feels much better. Dr. Helmcken says it is healing as it should.

  Thursday, April 17th

  I have been the centre of attention since all this happened and, though I enjoyed it at first, I am becoming weary of telling the same story over and over again. And the questions! At School, at meals, in the Dormitory, in the yard. How did you know about Mr. Cavendish? Where is your secret Spy Hole? Is that why you were behaving strangely? What were you doing in a tree? Where is the tree? Do you really have a Lookout in the tree? How did you feel when you saw the knife in Mr. Cavendish’s hand? Tell us again!

  Radish’s favourite question: What would have happened if Mr. Cavendish had killed Mr. Hammond after you had cried out?

  And his answer: You would be dead, wouldn’t you, Jenna?

  I try not to think about that.

  Everyone wanted to see the Spy Hole and the tree. The boys climbed up the tree but could not find the Lookout. I didn’t tell them it was only a branch.

  Saturday, April 19th

  I walked to Beacon Hill and saw where the men are clearing land. In one area they are felling oaks and removing brush and, in another, they are ploughing under a field of camas. The camas is almost in full bloom, and the sight of the men and plough-horse trampling all over it made me so angry I shouted, “You can’t plough there! It’s camas!”

  “And what might that be?” says one of the men.

  I could tell from his mocking tone that he was not taking me seriously, but nonetheless I told him about the Songhees eating the camas bulbs the way we eat potatoes. “It’s a crop,” I said, becoming more and more heated. “They harvest it! You’re ploughing up their garden!”

  He scoffed, as did the others, and after telling me to take it up with Mr. Douglas, went back to work. 400 bushels of potatoes they had to plant, once the land was ploughed.

  I feel badly for Kwetlal and her family. There are acres of meadow left, but every time one is ploughed up, the camas that grew there is gone.

  Monday, April 21st

  Last night I saw a fearsome dark shape standing in the doorway, peering into the room to see which bed was mine, creeping towards me — and I started to scream.

  Lucy got out of bed and shook me awake.

  “Mr. Cavendish!” I gasped. “He’s escaped from the Bastion. He’s coming to get me! Did you see him?”

  By then Mrs. Staines was at my side, telling me it was a dream and that Mr. Cavendish was locked up securely, and there was no need to be afraid.

  “Are you sure?” I kept asking her. “He hasn’t escaped?”

  She assured me that all was well.

  I will not feel at ease until he is on the ship and sailing back to England.

  Thursday, April 24th

  Another nightmare.

  If this were a Novel I would have my Heroine deliver to Mr. Cavendish a plate of jam tarts. He would say, “Lovely,” and eat every one — not knowing, until it was too late, that they were abundantly laced with tartar emetic.

  Friday, April 25th

  In another month or so Aunt Grace and Uncle Rory will be parents! Will my little cousin be a boy or a girl? I cannot wait to see the “wee bairn!”

  Saturday, April 26th

  I am sitting in the meadow, eating a little pemmican and feasting on a shimmering carpet of blue camas, a deep violet-blue that flows in every direction, over and beyond Beacon Hill, with clusters of yellow buttercups and chocolate lilies, and millions of butterflies dipping in and out amongst the flowers. Thank Heaven the men have not ploughed under all the meadows, for it truly is a glorious sight.

  Later

  I was walking back to the Fort, along the forest trail, when I heard a noise behind me. I whirled around to confront the culprit, fearing that it was Mr. Cavendish, but who should it be but Lucy, Radish and Alec. They had followed me to the meadow to make sure I was all right.

  “Because if Cavendish did break out of jail,” says Alec, “you might have needed our help.”

  “And what if you had another fall,” says Radish, “and broke your other arm?”

  “And you couldn’t finish your Novel?” says Lucy.

  “Don’t be silly,” I told them, but inside I was pleased.

  Monday, April 28th

  Another fine balmy day so I walked to the camas meadow after Dinner. Kwetlal and her family were there, clearing away weeds, and a few of the older women were separating out the white camas from the blue — an easy task, now that the plants are in flower. I watched how carefully they dug them right up by the roots and set them aside to be planted in another spot or destroyed.

  I stayed on until it was time to go back to school.

  May 1851

  Friday, May 2nd

  This is the last page of my Journal.

  I was hoping the end would correspond with something interesting — the arrival of the Tory or a picnic at Beacon Hill, a visit to the Songhees village or even the last day of School — but no. My Adventure Journal ends on a warm spring day with Breakfast (treacle, not jam), School, Di
nner (salmon & potatoes), more School, Supper (potatoes & salmon) and now bed.

  Oh, and in between School and Supper a group of us walked to Beacon Hill to admire the camas on the unploughed meadows.

  Tomorrow I must go to the Trade Store and see about obtaining a new Journal, for I am anxious to begin a proper Novel. I am sure to have no end of new ideas.

  I need to rethink Adventure. I have come to understand that in real life, an adventure can be a small thing. It can happen close to home, right under your nose. Perhaps it is not a journey or a heroic act, but a feeling. Or is it simply an idea?

  Mrs. Staines is coming.

  Time to blow out the candle.

  Epilogue

  Jenna’s last two months at Staines School were marked by three significant events. The first, on May 9, 1851, was the arrival of the long-awaited ship the Tory, bringing a number of new employees and settlers for the colony. Among the passengers were six teenaged girls — five of whom were the daughters of Captain Langford, bailiff of the Company’s Esquimalt Farm where Jenna would soon be making her home. The girls would eventually become friends.

  The following month, on June 27, Jenna found herself on the Gallery watching Her Majesty’s Ship the Portland sail into Esquimalt harbour. The Portland caused a great deal of excitement, for it was the flagship, the main ship of the entire HMS fleet — and when the Admiral hosted a ball and invited all the pupils of Staines School, the girls could not believe their good fortune. Jenna never forgot the thrill of boarding the enormous fifty-two–gun frigate and dancing to the music played by the ship’s own band.

  During the ball Jenna learned that Mr. Cavendish had been taken on board the Portland in chains and under armed guard, and would be made to stand trial when the ship returned to London. Mr. Hammond planned to return on the same ship, taking with him Jenna’s written testimony.

  The third and, to Jenna, the most significant event, was the arrival of Aunt Grace, Uncle Rory and her little cousin, Ann. By the end of June, the family was settled in their new quarters at Esquimalt Farm (named Colwood by Capt. Langford) and Jenna was more than eager to join them.

  Jenna spent the summer of 1851 at Colwood Farm, becoming reacquainted with her aunt and helping her with the baby. There was a year’s worth of experiences, thoughts and feelings to share, as well as a wedding to celebrate — for on July the 5th, to fulfill the promise they’d made in Fort Edmonton, Aunt Grace and Uncle Rory were married by Rev. Staines.

  During the summer, however, Jenna was surprised to find herself missing school and wanting to go back. She had enjoyed her studies, in spite of the grumbling; she had grown to like the other girls, especially Lucy; she could still see Kwetlal and visit the village; and best of all, her family was now less than 5 miles away. With her aunt’s approval, she subscribed to Staines School for another year and, though she lived there as a boarder, she went home to her family whenever she could.

  In the early spring of 1852 Uncle Rory purchased 60 acres in Metchosin and set about clearing land to build a farmhouse. It was here that Jenna found herself that summer, and she would remain at Shady Creek Farm for the next five years.

  She adored little Ann and the two boys who came after, and spent hours entertaining them with stories. They hung on her every word, especially the story of how she had saved the artist Mr. Hammond.

  She settled into a routine of farm life with its multiple chores, but took time to enjoy an active social life. She had made friends with Martha Cheney who, like the Langford girls, had arrived on the Tory in 1851 and who, like Jenna, lived with her aunt and uncle in Metchosin, kept a diary and loved to go riding. As for the Langford girls, their father liked nothing better than to host parties and socials at Colwood, and Jenna was a frequent guest at their home.

  For the Rev. and Mrs. Staines, their time in Fort Victoria did not end happily. The parson had become a vocal member of a group of colonists who complained vigorously about the HBC and James Douglas. In 1851 Douglas had been appointed the new Governor of Vancouver Island, but remained as Chief Factor of Fort Victoria, leaving the colonists to wonder whether he would treat them fairly — on such issues as land sales, for instance — or make decisions in favour of the Company. In 1854 Rev. Staines boarded a ship for London, taking a petition requesting that Parliament cancel the HBC’s grant to Vancouver Island and replace it with free parliamentary institutions. The petition, written by Staines and signed by many officers, never reached London, for Staines drowned when his ship was hit by a storm not far off Vancouver Island. Mrs. Staines closed the school and, accompanied by her nephew Horace, moved back to England.

  At a Christmas party in 1856, Jenna met Matthew Farris, the man who would later become her husband. The youngest son of a well-to-do English landowner, he had first come to Victoria in 1851 as an officer of the HBC vessel the Norman Morison, and had since made several sailings between Victoria and London. He had made his last voyage in the spring of 1855, and was seeking “a new adventure.” Meanwhile, he was working as a Clerk at Fort Victoria.

  Jenna had had many suitors during the previous three years and had turned down so many marriage proposals that Aunt Grace was constantly teasing her about being fussier than she herself had been. That changed with Matthew Farris. He and Jenna were married on Christmas Day, 1857.

  Four months later, they were walking along Wharf Street below the fort when they saw a paddle-wheeler steaming into the harbour. There was nothing unusual about that, except that the decks of this particular vessel were crowded with men wearing the red flannel shirts of gold miners. “Gold in the Fraser River!” they were shouting. The Fraser River Gold Rush was on.

  Jenna and Matt caught the excitement. This was the adventure they had been waiting for! In less than a month they were heading up the Fraser River to Fort Yale, the gateway to the gold.

  They panned for gold like thousands of others but, unlike thousands of others, were successful in staking a claim. They worked it for a year, sold it at a good profit and bought a hotel in Yale. Renamed the Wayfarer’s Inn, it became a popular and hospitable place, and Jenna liked nothing better than talking to the miners and listening to their stories. Like the Saskatchewan River where she grew up, the Fraser flowed with stories, and Yale, like Fort Edmonton, was a place for comers and goers. Jenna never failed to give a hot meal and warm welcome to those passing through, or to wish them well on their journey.

  Their numbers increased in 1862 with the discovery of gold in the Cariboo, and even more in 1865 with the completion of the Cariboo Wagon Road, the steep narrow road that linked the sternwheeler terminus at Yale to the gold-mining town of Barkerville, 400 miles away. For several years the Wayfarer’s Inn never lacked for guests.

  Jenna often felt that the attention she gave the miners helped take her mind off her own sorrow — the loss of three infants in the space of seven years. It didn’t help to know that countless babies died before their first birthday, or that countless mothers grieved their loss as deeply as she did. Eventually she had three more children, Robert, John and Susannah, all of whom survived into adulthood. Robert’s arrival on July 1, 1867, was doubly special, as it coincided with Canada’s birth as a nation.

  During her time in Yale, Jenna travelled to Fort Edmonton — a trip she had been longing to make for years. Her first sight of the prairie made her realize how much she had missed it, but it wasn’t the same. There was scarcely a sign of buffalo, and most of the people she had known were gone.

  Not so with Suzanne! Jenna found her childhood friend living on a farm with her husband and seven children a few miles east of the fort. The years disappeared in an instant. On seeing each other, Jenna and Suzanne were two high-spirited and adventurous girls again, talking, teasing, laughing and gossiping as if no time at all had passed. (Much to the delight of Suzanne’s oldest daughter, who said she had never seen her mother so happy.)

  Jenna also made several trips to Shady Creek Farm. Her young cousins greeted her visits with delight and were alway
s eager to hear new stories. During one of her visits she overheard Ann telling a friend that Cousin Jenna had saved a man from being murdered by “flying from the top of a tree, knocking the villain to the ground and wrestling the knife from his hand!” Matt laughed when Jenna related this, saying that Ann had told him the same story when he was courting Jenna. Exaggeration, Jenna realized, appeared to be a family trait.

  She loved to spend time with Aunt Grace and Uncle Rory, and was surprised to discover how much she and her aunt actually had in common.

  Whenever possible, the family, or one of the cousins, would return with her to Yale for a holiday, or to help out in the inn. They were much loved by Jenna’s own children.

  The steady stream of visitors to the Wayfarer’s Inn declined in the 1870s as the gold dwindled out, and Yale became the quiet place it had once been. Jenna and Matt, ever on the lookout for a new opportunity, sold the inn and purchased 100 acres on the Thompson River, in the heart of B.C.’s cattle country. Coming from an estate in England where horses were a part of life, Matt shared Jenna’s dream of raising them. It wasn’t long before they were meeting the demands of neighbouring cattle ranchers.

  Their business thrived over the years. By the mid-1880s their ranch had expanded to 500 acres and they were not only raising horses, but running a guest house.

  Matthew died in a canoeing accident at the age of seventy-four, leaving Jenna a widow at sixty. She was still spry and healthy and, once her year of mourning was over, she carried on the way Matt would have wanted her to. With her sons to take care of the horse-raising business and her daughter to help run the guest house, her time was spent going for long rides, exploring the countryside with her grandchildren, or visiting friends among her fellow ranchers.

  Sitting bareback on a horse, the sun on her face, and a river close by, it was easy to imagine herself riding on the prairie with Suzanne — in a way they had never been allowed to do — hoping to catch sight of a returning brigade.