Beginning Again

by Mary Beacock Fryer

  For me, the most alarming part of the voyage began when we were off Sorel. We were heading for the stretch of slightly fast water called the Richelieu Rapids. The breeze was from the northeast, but I knew the raft would float down the rapids. Our problem was finding our way through the flat islands. Even with Reuben's list of landmarks we had trouble finding the right channel. My own fears were confirmed when Papa began to look ever more worried. The opening through the maze of islands kept eluding us, yet we were drawing ever closer to them.

  “If we ground on a sandbar, we'll be in real trouble,” Papa said.

  We were moving only with the current that day. Our sail was of no use when the breeze was against us, for it only worked when it was behind us, pushing the raft. Unlike the topsails on a schooner, our lateen sail could not carry us into the wind. At last we thought we were saved when we spotted a white sail coming from between what must have been two islands. Until that moment we thought we had been looking at the unbroken shoreline of just one island.

  “That's the right opening,” Sam cried. “I remember now.”

  “It has to be, since the sailing vessels are able to come though it upstream,” Papa agreed.

  We moved forward slowly, and found other ships coming towards us into the channel. The wind was blowing in our faces, but for the ships it was behind them, pushing them upstream. Papa looked more and more worried as we slipped downstream. Our raft was unwieldy and might easily collide with an upbound vessel. We all felt very tense as some schooners kept running towards us. To give their helmsmen credit, they were trying to avoid us while making their way against the current.

  “Pray we get through this without crashing into any vessels, or running aground while trying to avoid them,” Papa said.

  “Amen to that,” Cade murmured. “I don't like this at all.”

  My teeth were chattering, not so much from cold as fear. Our raft was now picking up speed as it descended, while the ships had almost stopped moving forward. The breeze had suddenly shifted to the south, which did not affect the raft but it left the ships almost becalmed. Papa really showed his skill as a sailor, and left me bursting with pride. He could not manoeuvre the raft about, but he was able to shout advice to upbound helmsmen, which helped them keep out of our path. At last, we were well below the islands where the ships had more room to avoid us.

  “The next time, we'll wait for a southwest wind even if we're delayed as much as a whole week,” Papa said. “That way, fewer ships will be trying to come upstream.”

  The worst danger was past, but not the end of hardship. On Lake St. Pierre a storm threatened and we steered for shore and tied up. There we remained for three days, watching the huge waves moving eastwards downstream. We constantly checked our mooring lines and added extra ones to make certain the raft would not break loose and rush away in such high winds. Otherwise we huddled in the cabin, longing for a roaring fire on shore. With everything so soggy from the rain, and in such winds, we doubted we could start a fire or keep it going if we succeeded. How we avoided catching cold I'll never know. We tried to pass the time telling one another stories, but we had not the heart for them.

  When the winds finally dropped and the sun shone, we spread clothing and blankets out to dry round a fire. The dampness had penetrated everything we owned. Afterwards we set out again, the breeze light so that our progress was slow. I thought we would never reach Three Rivers, at the foot of the lake. When we finally did we brought the raft in beside a wharf. Papa left we three boys to guard it, and he told Elizabeth she could come ashore with him.

  “I want to order some iron to be sent with the first brigade that has space for it,” he said. “I hope it will be waiting for us at Buell's Bay when we return.”

  Once we had left Three Rivers, the waterway narrowed and we were again in the St. Lawrence. Most of the rest of the journey was smooth sailing, except for two days when we were almost stopped by a northeast wind blowing straight up the river at us. By mid-November we were watching for Wolfe's Cove, gliding below the high cliffs. The air was colder than ever, for rock walls blocked out the sun, leaving the raft constantly in the shade. Yet we were all in good spirits, happy to be so close to the end of our voyage. With a sense of relief we glowed at the thought that we had brought the raft safely to our destination.

  “Now we're nearly there, Papa, I keep remembering what you told me about Uncle Isaac,” I said.

  “About his having been here with General Wolfe?” Papa asked. “As a drummer boy?”

  That was news to Sam and he pricked up his ears. “Which regiment was he with, Papa?”

  “The 60th,” Papa answered. “It was raised in the colonies.”

  “How old was he?” Cade enquired.

  “Fourteen,” Papa replied. “He ran away and enlisted. Your grandfather was not pleased with him over that.”

  “Where were you at the time, Papa?” Sam wanted to know.

  “I was nineteen then, and starting my business and also serving in the militia.”

  “No wonder I long to be a soldier,” Sam said. “It's in my blood.”

  “If we're so close, why can't we see the city?” Elizabeth repeated what I had said the year before when I first saw Wolfe's Cove.

  “It's about to burst upon you,” said I.

  Even the second time, when the raft rounded the bend and the harbour of Quebec appeared as if by magic, I was still taken by surprise. There were the tall spars of the Royal Navy vessels, the smaller merchantmen and the many bateaux. I could see the red tiled roof of the London Coffee House as I searched for space at a wharf where we might tie up. The sky was grey and to me Quebec was not looking its best.

  “Beautiful!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I've never seen anything like this. Even on such a dull day it's splendid.”

  “There's a likely spot to moor,” Sam said, pointing.

  “You're right,” said Papa, who was steering at the time. “Down sail. Quick!” Once we had obeyed, he explained. “We've just enough way so that we won't stop before we reach the wharf. And we're not going fast enough to crash into it.”

  From up front Sam yelled, “Do you see that shallop?”

  I ran forward, and before I could spot it Sam was shouting and waving his arms. “Tack! Tack!” he fairly screamed. “Get out of our way!”

  Now I had a clear view and I joined in, waving my arms and shouting. The tiny craft brushed against the side of the raft before its sail swung over and it proceeded on the other tack.

  “What a close call!” I cried, sweat on my face despite the cold.

  “I'll say,” Papa admitted, pale and shaken. “You'd think, anyone sailing in this harbour would have a healthy respect for a timber raft. Whoever he is, he's lucky to be still afloat!”

  We brought the raft safely to the wharf, and Elizabeth and I were the first to hop out. Cade and Sam threw us lines and we found iron cleats to which we attached them, wrapping the rope round and round. Once we had finished, and the others had joined us, we counted three other rafts moored farther along the wharf.

  One was deserted. The crews aboard the other two rafts sported fringed hunting shirts and buckskin leggings. Some of the men in our settlement dressed that way, but it was more common among American frontiersmen.

  “Where do you think they come from?” I asked Papa.

  “Somewhere along Lake Champlain, perhaps,” he replied. “Men from Vermont and northern New York bring timber to sell at Quebec, because the streams from there all lead to the St. Lawrence.”

  “And rafts don't float upstream very well,” Sam added.

  “Any dunce knows that,” I snapped. I had been cold long enough on the raft and was in no mood for Sam's humour.

  “That will do,” Papa said sternly.

  Now Cade changed the subject. Touching my arm he pointed toward the steps of the London Coffee House. “The Sherwoods. The empty raft must be theirs.”

  With Captain Sherwood were Samuel, Reuben and the slave Scipio. As I was about
to wave to them, a shouted order from one of the occupied rafts chilled me to the marrow, if I could have become any colder. My eyes were drawn back towards that sound. The dress was unfamiliar, but the set of the shoulders was unmistakable. My last glimpse of them had been through the taproom door of that inn last July in Albany. The man in the frontier garb shouted another command and I could sense Papa's eyes upon him.

  Shivering, I whispered,” Captain Fonda!”

  “Who?” Sam demanded loudly.

  “Hush!” Papa commanded. “Ned's right. Don't attract any attention, Sam.”

  “Well, who is he?” Sam repeated, softly this time.

  “Captain Gilbert Fonda,” I hissed. “We'd better make ourselves scarce.”

  Chapter 12 Cold Iron

  For or a few moments the others stood stunned, seeming unable to follow my advice. That was not surprising. Ever since our arrival in Canada we had felt secure. Almost bumping into old Fonda in Albany had been enough of a shock for me. I felt panic stricken at finding the bad penny in Quebec!

  “We'd better make ourselves scarce, as Ned suggests,” Cade declared once he had recovered his balance.

  Papa was not so easily intimidated. “Even if he should recognize me, what harm can he do me here?”

  Unlike Cade and me, Sam was thirsting for blood. “You should lay a complaint before a magistrate, Papa. He had you jailed for being loyal to the King. And here he is, come to make money in a province that belongs to that King. He deserves to be cooling his heels in a deep dark dungeon.

  Papa shook his head. “What's to be gained from revenge, Sam? We'll sell the raft, and as soon as we've demolished it we'll get seats on the earliest stage available.”

  “While we're here we should stay together,” Cade suggested. “There's safety in numbers. I don't think any of us should wander off on our own.”

  “That's right. We'll stick to you like glue, Papa,” Sam added.

  “I think we should let the Sherwoods know what's happened,” said I.

  “Now, let's not burden anyone else with our problem,” Papa asserted. “We can look after ourselves. But I do want a word with Captain Sherwood. That's simple good manners.

  Ashore we hopped, and walked along the wharf towards our friends. We had to pass close to Captain Fonda's raft, but he took no notice of us. Perhaps Papa was right and we had nothing to worry about. Captain Sherwood was speaking with a naval officer, but he excused himself when he saw us. As he drew near Elizabeth, she tried to curtsy and blushed. My old clothes embarrassed her under these circumstances.

  Reuben eyed my sister admiringly. “Miss Seaman. You certainly look better in those breeches than Ned ever did.”

  Samuel Sherwood started to laugh, but he stopped and shifted his feet. Papa did not look perturbed, but the rest of us must have.

  “Is something amiss?” Captain Sherwood enquired.

  “Probably not,” Papa replied. Then he explained about Captain Fonda.

  Captain Sherwood looked grave. “We'd best stick together.”

  “Surely he wouldn't dare try anything here,” Papa protested.

  “Please don't take any chances, Mr. Seaman,” the other cautioned Papa. “That man Fonda has some real ruffians in his crew. Don't go anywhere alone, and all of you stay out of dark laneways.”

  “At the London Coffee house we should ask for a room on an upper floor,” Sam added. “To make it harder to break in.”

  “A wise move,” Captain Sherwood agreed. “Now, let's find the timber merchants. I've already sold my raft. I suggest, as soon as you've sold yours, that you hire horses and ride for Montreal. My crew can demolish your raft for you.”

  “Thank you, captain, but no,” Papa said firmly. “I can not impose on you. But if Mr. Fonda is still here when we've taken the raft apart, we'll leave on the first stage we can get.”

  “That's your decision, but I fear you are taking a risk,” the captain said, shaking his head.

  We trailed the men towards the London Coffee House. I must have looked scared to death, for Reuben felt he had to comfort me. “Don't worry, Ned. Between us we're more than a match for those roughnecks.”

  “And Pa's a magistrate,” Samuel Sherwood added.

  “He has no authority in Quebec,” Reuben reminded his cousin. “But he'll make a fine witness if there's any trouble.”

  At the inn we took a room on the second floor, and decided Elizabeth should share it, rather than be in one with other women. Then the prudent Captain Sherwood had their belongings moved into the room next to ours. Once we were settled, Papa and the captain headed for the taproom to seek out the merchants. The rest of us followed, except Elizabeth, who went into a parlour for ladies. For some time the men haggled over prices. Then Papa and the captain rose to escort one of the merchants to inspect our logs. That was when the axe fell. Captain Fonda was blocking the doorway from the taproom, the faces of his crew behind him.

  “So! Caleb Seaman, we meet again!” he exclaimed.

  The poisonous Fonda marched into the room, face straight ahead, but he brushed against Papa, murmuring “I'll get you yet!”

  “Remember where you are, sir,” Papa retorted calmly.

  Captain Sherwood was anything but calm. Impulsively he grabbed Fonda's arm and thrust his face close to the villain's. “If you harm a hair of Mr. Seaman's head, sir, I'll see you keep a date with our hangman!”

  “That ought to scare him off,” Papa said as we continued our progress towards our raft. Beside him the timber merchant was looking perplexed.

  “I still wish you would hire horses and leave before nightfall,” Captain Sherwood repeated. “Darkness will be the dangerous time.”

  “No,” Papa repeated in turn. “I will not leave my work to anyone else. That would be shirking.” In spite of Captain Sherwood's urging, Papa stayed cool. I began to feel better.

  “Papa can easily whip old Fonda if it comes to a fight,” Sam bragged.

  Captain Sherwood glared at him. “Young idiot,” he scolded. “So could I, but I don't think that's what the rogue has in mind.”

  “I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand.” Sam said, flustered.

  “Cold iron!” The captain uttered the words in a chilling tone. Then he again voiced his earlier warning. “Avoid dark places, all of you for fear of a knife in the back!”

  Very troubled, we supped together and hung about the taproom that evening. At a small table Papa and Captain Sherwood talked softly. Samuel and I kept Elizabeth company in the ladies' parlour. We longed to take a walk but we knew better than to try it. Now that the Sherwoods had allied themselves with us, Samuel was not safe outside either. Any of us would make a fine hostage to lure Papa from the inn. When I grew sleepy I slipped into the taproom to see if the men were ready to retire. I saw Captain Sherwood go to the bar where the landlord was serving and proffer a coin. They whispered together for a moment, then I followed our friend to the table where Papa was sitting.

  “Lock your door and bar it,” he said. “Fonda and his crew have a room on the ground floor. We're sharing the very roof over our heads with those devils.”

  About ten o'clock the five us of retired to our room, bolting the door as Captain Sherwood advised. Lacking a bar, Sam and I wedged a chair under the latch. Papa and I occupied one bed, Sam and Cade another. The landlord had set up a camp bed in a corner for Elizabeth and hung a curtain before it to give her privacy. On the raft we had slept in our clothes, but now we changed into nightgowns. We should have been ready for a sound sleep after camping in the cold air, but I felt wide awake. For some time I lay staring into the darkness about me, listening for regular breathing that would tell me the others were asleep. Papa tossed and turned beside me, and my brothers and Elizabeth seemed restless, too, Then I must have dozed off.

  Something made me open my eyes. The casement windows were gaping wide. When we went to bed they had been closed. I felt, rather than saw, the intruder. An object flashed. It could only be one thing.

  “Knif
e!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Help!”

  Papa shot from beneath the covers. Figures swirled about the room. I yelled, Cade yelled, Sam yelled, Elizabeth's higher-pitched voice rang out. Someone was pounding on the door, demanding entry. I ran, kicked the chair aside and drew the bolt. A shaft of light fell over the scene. Papa was sitting firmly astride the shoulders of a prone stranger, Sam on his legs, Cade grasping one of his arms, a shuddering Elizabeth the other.

  Captain Sherwood, fully clad, strode into the room, the landlord bearing the lamp pressing against him, chattering wildly. Samuel, Reuben and Scipio, in nightgowns, were right behind him. Other guests, roused by the commotion, were crowding in from the corridor. The knife lay a few paces from where Papa had his quarry pinned down. The captain picked the weapon up.

  “Attempted murder,” he said grimly. “Fetch a constable at once!”

  The landlord left to do his bidding. Scipio ran to the Sherwoods' room and returned with a length of rope and another lamp. After lighting ours, Papa bound the prisoner's hands, sat him on a chair and lashed his legs to a rung with a belt. Next, Captain Sherwood seized a lamp and ordered us to follow him. Leaving Papa and Scipio to guard the prisoner, and Elizabeth with them, Samuel, Reuben, Cade, Sam and I ran downstairs.

  The captain halted at the room he knew Captain Fonda occupied and kicked in the door. The room had two beds in it. Fonda and two other men lay, feigning slumber. A crumpled pillow hinted that a fourth person had also begun the night there. Aided by other guests we marched the three culprits to our room, and remained until the landlord returned with the constable.

  “Place these men under arrest,” Captain Sherwood ordered, his voice taut.

  A fierce argument ensued. Fonda and the two brought from his room pretended they had no knowledge of the attack. The bound captive remained mute, refusing to admit he knew Fonda. The landlord, however, identified him as the fourth occupant of the ground floor room. But the constable was not convinced he should act.

  “I have no proof that these three were a party to the attack,” he said.