“He dislikes Colonel Simcoe, the new governor of Upper Canada. The Simcoes are expected here almost any day, and Lord Dorchester left so he would not have to greet them. He would have gone to England even sooner, but he had to wait until he received the Duke of Kent.”
“And who is the Duke of Kent, sir?” I enquired, not certain I followed everything the man had said.
“King George's fourth son, His Royal Highness Prince Edward, the commander of the 7th Royal Fusiliers. That regiment is our garrison at present. Hark!” He lifted his head and we all listened.
“Fifes and drums!” Levius said. “It must be time for the garrison's morning parade.”
“Yes,” our new friend agreed. “If you wait a few minutes you'll see the Duke of Kent come from his quarters in the citadel to receive the salute. The regiment is now marching from the barracks on Buade Street.”
I was excited, but Sam looked ready to burst. He had often said he would like to be a soldier. Now he would be seeing a full British regiment for the first time, and, for good measure, a royal Prince.
The music sounded much louder now. The Fusiliers were getting close to the square in front of the citadel. More people were gathering, attracted by the coming spectacle. Suddenly they started clapping, and the stranger who had told us so much pointed to the citadel entrance.
“Here comes the royal party,” he said. “The Prince is in the lead. He'll pass quite close to us.”
Coming towards us were half a dozen mounted officers, dashing in their red coats, gold braid and gleaming black boots, tall, close-fitting hats trimmed with black fur on their heads, except for the Prince. He wore a cocked hat with a brim so wide that it resembled a half-moon. We were able to see him very well, for he did ride right by us. He was a plump, burly man with a double chin and blue eyes that seemed to bulge from his face. For a Prince, and son of a King, he certainly was not handsome. The uniform, however, would have made anybody look grand.
He took up his station almost beside us, while the other officers brought their horses into a line behind him. On came the regiment, each company led by mounted officers, the rank and file on foot. In front marched a colour party bearing two flags. Beneath their red coats, which were trimmed with deep blue, the waistcoats and breeches of all ranks were dazzlingly white. The gold on the officers' coats and their sword hilts, sparkled in the autumn sunshine.
The parade ended, all too soon for us. The soldiers had marched past their commander, who now turned his mount and rode back through the gates of the citadel and was lost to view. All that remained, when the backs of the last redcoats receded, was the echo of the fifes and drums as the regiment returned to barracks.
“My, I'm glad we didn't miss that,” Sam breathed softly.
“It was quite a sight,” Samuel Sherwood agreed. “Where'd you like to go now?”
“Anywhere,” said I. “Everything's new to us so it doesn't matter.”
We followed the Sherwoods along the streets, often asking them to slow down as we gaped into the shop windows, astonished at the wonderful displays of goods. By late morning we found ourselves near the St. Louis Gate. From there we passed to the Plains of Abraham, where Wolfe had defeated Montcalm. I tried to picture the battle, but I could not. The vast sweep of green grass seemed a place of lasting peace.
Crossing to the edge of the cliff we looked over the St. Lawrence. I knew we must be above Wolfe's Cove, and I thought of yesterday when I had looked in vain from the raft for some sign of the city's presence. By what I guessed was noon, we were again hungry, and we re-entered the city through the St. Jean Gate. After a short walk Samuel Sherwood pointed to a small inn and suggested we dine there.
I looked at Sam, and he looked at me. “We don't have any money,” I said, embarrassed.
“You don't need any,” Samuel said. “Reuben owes all of us our keep. I have a little cash, and he'll repay me for everyone's dinner.”
“Good,” said our Sam. “That's settled.”
Inside we heard only French, and Samuel helped all of us order. A servant brought mugs of ale and a steaming platter of roast beef and potatoes. Lastly came a pudding loaded with fruit, dark and sweet with a strong flavour of rum.
“Where did you learn French?” our Sam wanted to know.
“During the war. At school in Montreal,” Samuel replied.
“Your family must have been in Canada a long time,” I said.
“More than fourteen years,” Levius answered. “I was born here. Ma came from Vermont with Samuel, our sister and Scipio.”
“Didn't your father come with you?” I asked now.
“No, he left home the year before. He was an officer in the Loyal Rangers by the time we came,” Samuel said. “Now, tell us how you came to Canada.”
“It was a bit over two years ago,” I said. “When the war ended we were in Schenectady. Our father hoped we could stay there. For six years we got away with it. Then a rebel officer had Papa and me thrown in jail, but we escaped.”
“That's an adventure to brag about,” Levius said.
“To tell the truth I was scared to death,” I admitted.
Now Samuel changed the subject. “I like Montreal better than Quebec. We always spend a few days there on our way home.”
We finished our meal and explored some more. By mid-afternoon we found ourselves at the top of the steps to the Lower Town and decided to return to the London Coffee House in search of Reuben and Scipio. Again the steps were cluttered with every form of human life and we almost had to elbow our way down. At the inn there was no sign of the men. Sam and Samuel headed for the taproom, but we younger lads did not want any more ale. Instead we loafed along the quayside in quest of further entertainment. A brigantine was unloading and we paused to watch hefty dock workers carrying barrels into a warehouse. Back and forth they trudged, shouting at one another good naturedly in French.
“Military stores,” Levius said. “The soldiers are guarding them.”
“Are they?” I asked, for I had not noticed soldiers about.
Now I saw that a few red coated men with muskets over their shoulders were standing near the ship. We walked farther and found a large schooner also unloading. For a time we tried to amuse ourselves guessing what the cargo might be.
“Rum from the Indies,” Levius suggested. “Sugar and molasses. Cotton from the Carolinas.”
“Trade with the United States?” I queried. Since our flight from Schenectady I regarded Americans as my enemies.
Levius nodded. “We're at peace, even though they're still hunting down Loyalists. Some of the rafts sold in Quebec come from Vermont and northern New York. Pa says the Royal Navy and the redcoats are here to remind the Americans that Canada belongs to Britain.”
“What goes out in these ships?” Adiel asked.
“Our raft, for one thing. Most carry timber,” Levius told us. “Or maybe wheat.”
By now I was getting hungry again, and bored by the small talk. After starting the day with the review of a royal regiment by a royal Prince, anything afterwards was a letdown. Levius and Adiel must have been feeling the way I was, for without a word they turned back for the London Coffee House. This time Reuben and Scipio were in the tap room with the two Samuels.
“There you are,” Reuben greeted us. “We've been waiting for you before going to get some supper.”
The meal was a merry affair. Everyone had mulled wine to wash down thick pies of veal and pigeon. Reuben said he had driven a hard bargain, as he hoped, and Scipio nodded in approval
“Scipio went eaves-dropping while I talked with the merchant, and he kept me informed on what other merchants were paying,” said Reuben. “That way I could not be fooled.”
“You hardly needed me, Mr. Reuben.” The black man was being modest, I thought.
“When do we start for home?” I enquired.
“Day after tomorrow,” Scipio replied. “Mr. Reuben has seats on the stage for Montreal.”
“I was hoping Upper Ca
nada's new governor, Colonel Simcoe, would come while we were still here,” Reuben said. “But his ship must be delayed. It would have been nice to be on hand to see him land.”
“This morning we met a man near the citadel who said Lord Dorchester dislikes Colonel Simcoe,” said I. “If that's so, I wonder why.”
“His Lordship asked for Sir John Johnson, but the government in England chose Colonel Simcoe instead,” Reuben explained.
“Who's Sir John?” Sam enquired.
“”I'm surprised you don't know since you lived in Schenectady,” Reuben continued. “He was the largest landowner in the Mohawk Valley before the war. He lost a fortune in acres and mills. Now he lives at Lachine.”
“What will we do all day tomorrow?” Sam asked. Then I knew he regretted the query.
“Work our hearts out,” Samuel Sherwood replied. “Part of our job is taking the raft apart so the logs can be loaded into ship hulls. Then we have to pack our equipment neatly to make sure it will fit into bateaux and on the stage.”
We did do a hard day's work, from dawn till after dusk. First we demolished the cabin that had sheltered us. Then we cut the withies apart with axes and freed one log at a time. Meanwhile, crew from one of the ships took away each log as it floated from the rest of the raft. For a while we had to do without Reuben. He went to a local sawmill and sold the cabin logs to the owner, who arrived with a wagon to pick them up.
“I'm glad selling timber pays so well,” I said to Sam. “I suspect, by the time we've sold our raft, we'll have earned every penny twice over.”
“At least!” Sam straightened up from chopping a withy and rubbed his back.
I had trouble sleeping that night for I ached in every bone. And the night was a short one for we were up again before daylight. We had to carry our belongings to the Upper Town to catch the stage. The big, unwieldy coach could not descend the winding road down the steep hill safely, nor be pulled back up. We trundled up the stone steps slowly, loaded with bundles of clothing, blankets, cooking pots, coils of rope and the furled sail. The coach, with four grey horses hitched in front, looked gigantic, but when we tried to fit ourselves in we had trouble.
Five other passengers arrived, demanding seats. Scipio, the two Samuels, Levius and I rode on top with the baggage. I had to hang on, but it was better than riding inside on someone's knee. Poor Adiel suffered the humiliation of riding on Reuben's, for there was no more room on top. Changing horses often, and sleeping at inns each night, we reached Montreal three days later.
“We've made good time,” Reuben said. “When it rains a lot, the road's so muddy the coach may take a week for the journey.”
He found a room at a small inn, which he said was cheaper than the London Coffee House. After we stowed our things he sent Levius and me to find out when a brigade might be leaving for Johnstown and points west. Levius led me to the docks, and he made enquiries of several boatmen we found. The best we could do was on Friday. As today was Monday, we would have some time in hand.
“Reuben'll be disappointed,” Levius said ruefully. “I expect he was hoping to be off by Wednesday. I think two days would be all we need for shopping.”
Levius was wrong. Reuben was not put out by the delay. “That will allow time to hunt around for a good cow.”
“I'm pleased, too,” Samuel Sherwood said. “I'd like to look in on my school friends.”
Part of the time Sam and I walked the streets, deciding what we would buy in the shops once we had sold our own raft. Building castles in Spain, he called it. Wishful thinking, thought I. Even though a year seemed such a way off, we did have fun dreaming. One afternoon Sam went with Samuel to visit some of his friends. Levius, Adiel and I climbed the mountain that overlooked Montreal and sat watching the scene far below. Horses and people along the streets seemed like mere specks.”
The time passed pleasantly, though the weather was quite cold. By Thursday night we were again packing our things into bundles to take to the bateaux. A dozen of them were lined up when we reached the docks. The crews spoke French. Most of the passengers were from the Loyalist settlements in the area so recently separated to form Upper Canada. As we were loading our bundles, Reuben arrived with Scipio, leading a cow.
Getting her into the bateau proved awkward. Pushing and shoving achieved nothing. She stood with all four feet braced, her eyes wide with terror, her nostrils flaring red. Then Sam took charge, talking to her soothingly, and persuading her to step out. All our efforts had made her back up. Once she had stepped over the gunwale and onto the flat floor, Sam stayed at her head, crooning till she got used to the sway of the boat.
“He has a way with animals,” Samuel Sherwood said, admiringly. “He's such a big fellow I wouldn't have expected him to be so gentle.”
“At times he's a lot like our father,” I said. “They're both especially good with horses.”
Our journey back took much longer than the ride downriver on the raft. Each night we camped round a fire on the shore, rolled in blankets. At the Lachine Rapids everyone had to disembark, which meant that Sam had to persuade the cow to climb out. Now crews joined together and aided by some of the passengers, each bateau was hauled up the length of the rapids. We did not have that struggle at the Cedars and Cascades, for the Coteau du Lac Canal took us past them. The Long Sault Rapids were the worst, we found, and most of the men and boys pitched in to help. I waded in the water beside Sam, and it felt like ice at that time of the year. We took a week to reach Johnstown, where the brigade would stay a couple of hours.
“I'd like to look around,” I told the others. “The last time we were here was when we arrived from Fort Oswegatchie. We found Captain Meyers here from the Bay of Quinte, and he offered to take us to Buell's Bay. So we never left the dock, just went straight aboard his boat.”
“I'd like to look around, too,” said Sam.
“You won't be long,” Reuben added. “There's not much to see.”
He was right, of course. Ten minutes later we had inspected everything—the inn called St. John's Hall, a burying ground without a church, and the few houses. Before the inn were the pillory and whipping post, which sent shivers up my spine. We went inside the inn, to look around, though we had no money for a meal and would make do with the food carried in the bateau.
Inside the main door we found a large notice board. Tacked to it were many letters. “I don't suppose there'll be any for us, but it won't hurt to look,” said Sam.
There was one for Mr. Buell, but we could not pay the postage. “Let's borrow enough from Reuben,” I suggested. “I don't think he'd mind waiting till the next time we see him to get it back. Mr. Buell was kind enough to trust us for the postage on Uncle William's letter to Mama.”
“Good idea,” Sam agreed.
Reuben agreed, too. “Some of the letters have been at St. John's Hall for months because people have no cash. It's cruel to know you've a letter from someone you love but you can't have it.”
We had to run all the way back to the inn for the brigade was about to move on. At the Sherwood farm in Augusta, Sam led the cow ashore. Levius would take her by land to Reuben's farm. Getting her up the bluff above his jetty would not have been possible. We said goodbye to Samuel and Levius, after inviting them to stop on our land when they were on their way to school in Kingston.
The next stop was at Reuben's jetty. “Thank you for being such good crew,” he said, before going ashore followed by Scipio and Adiel.
“And thank you for showing us so many new places,” Sam called as the others waved.
“We'd better get off at Buell's Bay,” I said. “Someone'll be at home, and we don't know if anyone's on our land.”
“That makes sense,” Sam agreed. “I hadn't thought about where we should stop.”
Night had closed in before we disembarked with our gear. We went first to Mr. Buell's house and handed him his letter.
“I'll send sixpence to Mr. Sherwood's when the next brigade passes downriver,” he said. “
I'm most grateful to you for bringing it. You'll have some supper before you go home. It's cold and you still have that three mile walk.”
“We would appreciate that,” said I. We seemed always to be hungry.
Afterwards we picked our way along the rough track in the dark, happy to be so close to our own beds. As we were passing our stable, I heard a cow mooing. “That's coming from our place,” I declared.
“Certainly sounds like it,” said Sam.
We put down our bundles and ran inside, and there indeed was a brown and white cow. From the look of her she was young for her backbone was well covered.
“I can't help suspecting Uncle William's hand in this,” said I. Sam was busy stroking each horse in turn. “Good thing we had a decent harvest,” he added. “We should have enough feed for all the animals.”
“Just one more lean year before our own ship comes in,” I said happily.
“Raft,” Sam corrected me as we headed for the house.
Chapter 8
Tryst on the Hudson
At home we found everyone but Papa and Cade, who were upriver on our land. “Papa wants you and Sam to leave as soon as you can, with the filly so he can school her more,” Mama told us. “He's worried that he may not have enough logs cut before the spring work interferes.”
“Don't you need one of us here, Mama?” Sam asked her.
“We've been managing very well so far,” she answered. “Uncle is very good at showing Smith and Stephen what needs to be done.”
“Tell us about the cow,” I asked next.
“We can thank Uncle, and also Captain Meyers, who stopped in his boat at our estate before we left for home,” she replied. “He has been bringing cattle in from Oswego. William went to the Bay of Quinte with him and brought the cow on the next brigade coming east. She'll have a calf in the spring so we'll have fresh milk again next year.”
That winter of 1791-1792 all our efforts went towards having enough logs for the great timber raft. While Sam and I had been away with Reuben, Papa and Cade had been busy erecting sheds on our land so we could store enough grain and hay for the horses. The grain was from our own stump-strewn fields, and the Mallorys had used our bateau to carry most of the hay from Coleman's Corners or their own farm. Samuel and Levius Sherwood and their father spent a night in our cabin on their way to Kingston. Everyone but Cade walked home on showshoes for Christmas. He stayed to look after the horses. The rest of the time was sheer drudgery, as we chopped, sawed and hauled logs close to the shore, and burned brush ready to make potash. We did not work the mare too hard, for she was again in foal.
Beginning Again Page 8
