Where the River Takes Me Read online

  Wednesday, December 25th

  A holiday!

  Rev. Staines held a Christmas Service after Breakfast and we played the rest of the morning. At Dinner we had venison and plum pudding and Christmas cake and candy. In the evening Rev. Staines and Mrs. Staines had a little party for us in their apartment, and we sang and played charades.

  1851

  January 1851

  Wednesday, January 1st

  The New Year began with a gun salute and up went the flag — I could picture the same being done in Fort Edmonton and Fort Colvile and in hundreds of other posts — a resounding fanfare welcoming the New Year throughout the land.

  I thought of Aunt Grace and Uncle Rory this morning, how Uncle would be going into the dining hall with the men and the officers to present themselves to the Chief Factor and receive their regale of cakes and rum and extra rations, and after that, another salute would let the women know it was their turn.

  It was no different here, and Lucy and I went over to the hall and watched through the window, until we got cold and went back to the dormitory.

  We had a special Dinner and played games all afternoon and now we have to get ready for the dance. It’s in the dining hall, and Mrs. Staines has said we may go.

  Thursday, January 2nd

  We had a grand time last night, by turns dancing, singing and tapping our toes along with the fiddler. Everyone at the Fort was there, or so it seemed, men and officers, women and children, and there was much laughing and talking, mostly in French, and Mr. Cavendish made a few of the older girls exceedingly happy by dancing with them.

  I probably could have danced jigs and reels till midnight if Mrs. Staines hadn’t herded us off by nine o’clock — and just as my favourite, “Belle Rosalie,” was beginning! Suzanne and I loved that dance, everyone in a circle with their hands joined, one man singing, the others repeating, line after line, and at the last two lines the leader put “Belle Rosalie” into the centre (I think it was the person to his right) and she had to choose someone and kiss him on the cheek, and then go back to the circle to the left of the leader. And so it went, round after round, a different Rosalie in the centre each time. Or “Beau Rosier,” if the person was a man. I always chose Father when I was Belle Rosalie, and when he was Beau Rosier he would choose me! He would swing me off my feet and whirl me around

  Oof! Sarah just threw her pillow at me! She says I have to stop humming “Belle Rosalie,” as she’s had the tune playing in her head all day long and is going mad.

  Maggie says a good pillow whack on the head is what Sarah needs and now there are pillows flying in every direction.

  What fun! Time to join in.

  February 1851

  Wednesday, February 12th

  It has been a while since my last entry, and in that time there have been no Adventures, no cases of pilfering, no unkind remarks from the other girls, no unjust punishments or accusations, in fact, nothing much to write about at all. So I put my Journal away for the same reason I put it away before — because I do not want it to be a dull record of weather and activities and who said what, or what we ate for Supper. That would be of no use in my future Novel. And I do not want to run out of pages in case something thrilling does happen.

  But I have missed writing in my Journal, so have picked it up again.

  We had two light snowfalls in the middle of January but the snow did not last. Mostly the weather has been the same as it was in November. Mild, rainy and grey with clouds of gloom. And stormy at times, with the wind blowing terrifically all night, all day — I swear for weeks on end. One day we had snow, hail, rain and the wind blowing a hurricane from dawn till dusk. What was there to do but schoolwork?

  Sometimes we heard loud drumming coming from the Songhees village — a winter celebration, I suppose. It sounded thrilling and I longed to paddle over to see what it was about, but could find no way to do so. I have not seen Kwetlal for several weeks.

  Saturday, February 22nd

  A gift of a day — so fine it feels like spring. So with Journal in hand, I have come outside to bask in the sun.

  How different it must be in Fort Edmonton today! Suzanne may be off on her showshoes or fighting a blizzard or making moccasins — or a less enjoyable task like scrubbing the floor of their quarters — and maybe thinking about me. She would have a hard time believing that I am sitting outside on a winter’s day.

  March 1851

  Tuesday, March 11th

  Last week we went out on the Beaver. She was returning from Fort Langley with a load of salmon for the Sandwich Islands, and after the kegs had been unloaded and reloaded onto another ship, the captain took us on an excursion. The unloading lasted over a day, so by the time we got on board we were in a feverish state of excitement, especially the girls, because it was an excursion for the whole school, not just the boys.

  I had seen the Beaver before, on her way to and from the forts along the coast, and I had heard the steam whistle from a distance, but to be on board was a new experience — and a noisy one! The hissing of steam, right in your ear, made the ship sound like a screeching, wheezing monster! To add to the ruckus, the Fort’s cannon were fired, and the Beaver fired its own guns — all that fanfare, and just for us!

  We steamed out of the harbour and into the strait as far as Esquimalt and then returned to the Fort. The ship has two masts with rigging, in case she runs out of steam, but she did not, and nor did we!

  After that it was back to school.

  Wednesday, March 19th

  Bright green stalks have been shooting up in the gardens and the days are getting warmer. Spring comes so early here.

  Monday, March 24th

  Another letter from Aunt Grace, this one with the most exciting and surprising news! She and Uncle Rory are expecting a baby in May and they’re moving to Vancouver’s Island! Uncle Rory has been posted to the Company’s new farm in Esquimalt, as blacksmith — mostly making nails, Aunt says, for all the new buildings that are planned — but he does not take on his duties until after the farm’s bailiff arrives from England.

  She closes by saying that she and Uncle miss me greatly, and await “the day of our reunion” as eagerly as the arrival of their “wee bairn.”

  Aunt Grace, a mother — I am thrilled with the news!

  What sounds better — Aunt Jenna or Auntie Jenna?

  I’ll ask Lucy and the others for their advice.

  Oh, and a newcomer to the Fort brought the letter. His name is Mr. Hammond and he was in Fort Colvile a few weeks ago. When Aunt Grace and Uncle Rory heard he was coming to Fort Victoria, Aunt asked him to give me the letter. She told him that I was one of the “brightest young ladies at the Staines School.”

  Aunt Grace, bragging! But in this case I forgive the Misdemeanor.

  Later

  No need to decide between Aunt or Auntie Jenna. Maggie rightly pointed out that since Aunt Grace is not my sister, her baby will be my cousin. I was crestfallen — until Sarah said I could still be called Aunt, being so much older. (But not that much older.)

  Tuesday, March 25th

  I was so excited about Aunt’s news that I did not write a word about Mr. Hammond, and there is much to write, for he is an Artist, and has been travelling across the continent making sketches of forts, Indians, etc. like Mr. Kane did. Mr. Kane was a magnificent artist. The first time he was at Fort Edmonton (on his way to the West) he showed us some of his sketches and paintings, and I could not believe how lifelike they were. He could draw a person’s face with such detail, you would think you were looking at the actual person — why, you could read the expression in their eyes! As for their clothing, he did a portrait of one of the older girls at the Fort, and the way he showed the beadwork on her tunic — you could count every bead! Suzanne and I begged him to draw us, but he did not. Nokum said we would never have been able to sit still long enough.

  He asked Nokum if he could do her portrait but she said no, she could not sit still either. I wish she had s
aid yes.

  He sketched old people, young people, men and women, Indians and whites (but mostly Indians), buffalo and horses, and little things, like cooking pots and Cree pipe-stems. He even sketched a buffalo hunt — and no one was sitting still then! He could draw scenes around a fort or a river or an Indian encampment and make you feel as if you were there.

  Mr. Kane was interested in everything about the prairie and its people — but not just the prairie, the whole continent. According to Father, Governor Simpson sent a letter to all the Company officers saying that they had to give Mr. Kane free transportation on Company boats and free hospitality at all the posts.

  I wonder where Mr. Kane is now? He was on his return trip from the Pacific Coast the Christmas he stopped at Fort Edmonton. I just realized — he probably visited Fort Victoria!

  Oh fiddle, I was writing about Mr. Hammond, not Mr. Kane.

  Well Mr. Hammond is from England. He is as friendly and handsome as Mr. Cavendish, tho’ not as dashing, and the older girls have been quite charmed by his manner. Now there are endless arguments over which of the two would make the better husband. Lucy and I listen avidly and sometimes weigh in with our opinions. So far Mr. Cavendish is the favourite.

  Mr. Hammond has been making sketches of trees and plants as well as preserving leaves and flowers to take back to England. His collection of souvenirs will be outstanding by the time he leaves — unlike mine, for I lost interest after only a few weeks when one of my seashells began to smell, and then I threw everything out.

  Later

  I’ve heard that a ship from England is arriving in May or June with new settlers for the Colony, new employees for the Company and new supplies, etc. The ship is called the Tory. People are already excited, and the carpenters and other workers have started to put up new buildings and to make furniture — oh, I just thought of something! That could be the ship that’s bringing the bailiff for Esquimalt Farm! And after that, Uncle Rory, Aunt Grace and the wee bairn will arrive. My family.

  Wednesday, March 26th

  A group of us went to Beacon Hill yesterday and we came across Mr. Hammond sketching the landscape. We gathered round to see his work, and he told us about the route he had followed to Fort Victoria. It turns out it’s the same route I took last June — by horseback from Fort Colvile to Fort Hope and by canoe to Fort Langley. Then he came to Fort Victoria but on the Mary Dare with its load of salmon. Everything he owns smells of salmon, he says.

  Perhaps Mr. Hammond will be the Hero in my Novel. He has an adventurous life and is not bound by the HBCo to go here or there.

  It is a beautiful time of year for Mr. Hammond to be here. Many plants and bushes are already in blossom, trees are in bud and the evergreen needles are beginning to show off their bright yellow-green tips.

  Later

  I found out that Mr. Kane was indeed in Fort Victoria, four years ago this spring. The older Douglas girls recalled his visit to Fort Vancouver, where they were living at the time, and said he left that fort for Vancouver’s Island. I wonder if Kwetlal and Jimmy remember him, for he certainly would have visited their village. Perhaps he sketched their grandmother.

  Thursday, March 27th

  A hurricane is blowing as I write — it threatens to blow down the Fort if not the surrounding forest — we are in the dormitory, shivering with fright. The shrieks of wind, pelting rain, the crash of falling timber, the thumps of blowing branches as they hit

  Damus! Wind blew out my candle.

  Friday, March 28th

  A wonderful day in school, for Mrs. Staines invited Mr. Hammond to give us some drawing lessons. He was patient and encouraging and, as a result, we worked harder than usual and our drawings were the better for it. Mrs. Staines said so herself.

  He is a good artist but not as good as Mr. Kane.

  Sunday, March 30th

  Last night was one of the worst for boisterous behaviour, but a splendid night for Spying, so Lucy and I lifted the loose floorboard between our beds and invited the others to join us. The men would have been amused if they had looked up and seen us peering down at them, but they were too occupied to bother.

  They were telling jokes and stories about the time they were here or there or some other place and what happened to so-and-so, and guffawing and trying to outdo each other with spectacular tales of adventure, and they were roasting oysters on the stove and drinking and smoking their pipes while we kept nudging each other for a chance to view the revelry.

  Then someone decided that Mr. Cavendish had had way too much to drink and had to be sobered up. “Let’s give him a tossing!” he shouted.

  The others agreed with no end of hearty-har-hars. They put Mr. Cavendish on top of a blanket — he was laughing as much as anyone — and four men each took a corner and threw him into the air! They ignored his cries for mercy and kept tossing him until the poor man promised he would never touch another drop. (He was still laughing, but somewhat weakly.)

  The party calmed down after that, but our party was just beginning, for Lucy decided it would be fun to have our own tossing. She volunteered to go first and we took turns after that, tossing and being tossed — until our arms were worn out and we were giddy from laughing.

  I enjoy being with the other girls, now that they have accepted me and my “outlandish behaviour” (as Sarah calls it, tho’ with a note of admiration). It may be because I have spent more time with them since the New Year, instead of wandering off on my own, and we have therefore come to know one another better. And ever since the night Lucy confided in me about missing her mother, she and I have been friends.

  Almost time for Service. I wonder how the officers will look after such a night. Mr. Douglas insists on everyone being at Service regardless of what might have happened the night before.

  Monday, March 31st

  Rev. Staines took everyone on a Nature Walk to Beacon Hill after Dinner and we went by way of the new footbridge at the head of the Bay. Mr. Douglas had it built, because he is building a house across the Bay and the footbridge makes it easier for his workmen to reach the site. Now it takes less time to reach Beacon Hill and saves us a good part of the muddy trail — except we miss the excitement of balancing on the plank to cross the stream. Not that we have to use the footbridge.

  We saw clusters of wildflowers blooming in the woods and oak groves, and Rev. Staines told us their names — bluebells, purple shooting stars and white fawn lilies. And in the meadows, the green shoots of camas. They’re not yet in flower, but the buds should be opening soon.

  April 1851

  Friday, April 4th

  The boys are in a high state of excitement for they think we are at war with the Songhees.

  Alec and Davy heard this from Mr. Beauchamp who heard it from a worker at the dairy who saw an Indian kill one of the Company’s cows, and once Mr. Douglas heard of it he sent a message to the Songhees Chief demanding that the man responsible present himself at the Fort to be punished and, if he fails to come on his own, the Chief must bring him. According to the boys, Mr. Douglas said that an example must be made, for such acts will not be tolerated.

  Alec and Davy burst into the schoolroom with the news and got everyone riled up, the other boys weighing in with what they had seen and heard — muskets being cleaned, cannonballs stacked, etc. — all of it made up, or greatly exaggerated, I think, for I would have recounted such a story in much the same way.

  Whether he believed the boys or not, Rev. Staines found the topic so interesting he gave up on Latin and launched into a lesson on Justice, saying a man had to be harsh and show who had the upper hand, and when he was a student at Cambridge …

  At that point I stopped listening and thought of a Plot for my Novel — how something minor could grow into a skirmish, or even a full-fledged war, with Dire Consequences.

  Later

  I was in the yard after Supper, hoping to learn more about “the War,” and saw Jimmy. He was standing at the side of Bachelors’ Hall. I did not actually see hi
m at first, as he was somewhat in shadow, and when he spoke my name I jumped in alarm.

  He looked so anxious, I thought that something must have happened to Kwetlal, but he shook his head when I mentioned her name, and gave me to understand that it was the Fort that made him uneasy. It was the first time he had set foot inside the gate. I was surprised at this, since he sometimes transported the officers here and there (or whoever else wanted to hire a canoe), but I gathered from what he said that his uncle or father made the arrangements, and he waited on the beach.

  I was also surprised he was let in without being stopped and questioned, but he said that no one appeared to notice. Perhaps because the watchman was occupied.

  He had been waiting for me with a message. His grandmother had a gift for me and could I go to the village?

  I told him I could be at Laurel Point the next morning.

  I wonder what she has for me. I must give her something in return.

  Saturday, April 5th

  I am confined to the dormitory, but do not mind, for there is much to record and I can do so without interruption.

  I met Jimmy this morning as planned and we paddled across to the village. Kwetlal had been gathering seaweed, but when we reached the beach she stopped and went with us to the lodge.

  Her grandmother was seated in front of her loom, weaving a blanket with mountain-goat wool and dog wool. She stopped when I arrived and, after we exchanged greetings, she opened a large cedar box and removed a small folded blanket. She handed it to me, indicating that it was a gift for me, a friend from far away over the mountains. (I think that’s what she meant.)

  I was overwhelmed, and considered it a great honour to receive such a gift. It has a beautiful design of stripes and zigzags in red, white, tan and brown, and was woven not only with goat and dog wool but with cedar bark.