Father encourages us on. He assures us that we are nearly at Sorel. We have passed quite a few settlements and the people are much more friendly. They mostly speak French, so we cannot talk to them, but they are kind. A woman gave us a whole pan of milk and some fresh bread today. I fairly gulped down my share of the milk, and my portion of bread was gone in three huge bites. It tasted so good! She even tossed a bone to Laddie, who nearly wagged his tail off in gratitude. Father taught Jamie and me the French word for thank you.
“Merci,” we said, and the woman fairly beamed back at us.
Grannie was able to make a nice mush for Margaret but she was so fussy she wouldn’t eat it. I see Mother trying to feed her now, but Margaret is just crying and crying. Mother looks quite frantic — I wish there were something I could do. Mrs. Ross is helping as much as she can, but nothing will make that baby stop wailing.
Thank goodness it is no longer raining, but the weather is much colder. I think I can smell snow in the air. Father always used to tease me when I said that, but I was right so often that sometimes he would even ask me if I thought snow was coming. I certainly hope I am wrong this time, though. How could we possibly make our way through snow?
November 14th, 1783
Sorel, on the St. Lawrence River
We arrived at Sorel late this afternoon. It is a military encampment on the south shore of the St. Lawrence River. This river is most certainly the biggest I have ever seen. It looks calm and flat today, but I can sense a powerful current flowing underneath the surface.
“Surging all the way to the sea,” Father said as he stood beside me, staring at it.
There are so many people here at Sorel that compared to this place, Chimney Point was quiet and peaceful! First, there are all the barracks for the soldiers, then there are tents for all of us refugees. That is how they refer to us, refugees. The soldiers have been very good to us. They gave us a tent to stay in and some blankets and food. They even gave Father a little tobacco, so he will be able to have his pipe after dinner again.
The Rosses are camped right next to us and we shared our supper tonight. We built a huge fire and feasted to our hearts’ content on boiled fish, turnips and potatoes, and we are all warm and dry. Baby Margaret has a tummy full of warm milk and is finally content. I played with her and she is now trying to catch at anything that comes within reach. She has developed a funny little laugh that sounds just like a tiny rooster crowing. Hannah says she thinks she looks like me. Poor baby!
As soon as the arrangements can be made we will cross and sail a little farther down the river to another camp which has been made for the families of the soldiers and officers. It is called Machiche, and we will winter there.
“And after that?” I asked Father, but he just shrugged.
“We don’t know yet, little Mary,” he said.
“After that we’ll be going back home, of course,” Mother snapped. “Things will surely have settled down by then.”
Father just looked at her and didn’t answer.
I don’t think we’ll be going back home.
I’m not sure I want to. There’s no way I will ever forget what happened.
November 15th, 1783
Father went off early this morning to talk to the officer in charge … Oh — I see him coming back now. There are two soldiers walking alongside him. I wonder why he’s bringing soldiers with him. They are dressed in such ragged uniforms, they look like scarecrows. One of them walks just like
Later
I am so excited I can hardly write. It was Angus! It is almost two years since I have seen him! Even though he’s only five years older than I he seems so much older and so different now, I’m almost afraid of him. Isn’t that strange?
Mother is so happy! When she saw Angus I thought she would fall down in a dead faint. She got all white and gaspy and clutched her apron so hard she tore it. Then she just ran at him and hugged him until it’s a wonder his ribs didn’t crack. She hasn’t stopped smiling since. I can’t remember the last time I saw her smile.
I felt quite shy when he came up to me and tousled my hair the way he always used to. I used to hate that and get really cross when he did it, but I didn’t today. I was just so glad to see him that I loved it.
“Hello, Mouse,” he said, just the way he always did. He always used to say that I looked just like a little brown mouse and I hated that, too, but today it made me feel warm and happy. I could almost believe he’d never left except for the fact that he is so thin and he looks so much older and so very tired.
Angus was in an enemy prison camp and he escaped. But that’s such a story I shall wait and write of it tomorrow. We sat and talked by the fire so long that it’s far too late to start in on it now.
Oh, yes. The soldier who was with him. His name is Duncan. Duncan Morrison. He was imprisoned with Angus and it was his mother who got them out. Oh, what a tale that is! I will have such fun writing it down!
Duncan is very quiet. He hardly spoke a word — just let Angus do all the talking. He is as thin as Angus and looks just as worn out, but there is something else about him. His eyes look very sad.
He looks … haunted. That is the only word for it.
The Rosses all came over to make Angus’s acquaintance. Hannah, of course, never stopped asking questions the whole time they were here. She thinks Angus very well-favoured. That surprised me. Angus is just Angus — my brother — I’ve never thought of what he looks like. I suppose he is “well-favoured” though — I saw Hannah’s older sister Molly looking at him out of the corner of her eyes. He was looking back, too. For a moment I thought he was going to speak to her, but then George fell into the fire and created a stir. He wasn’t burned, but his clothes got very dirty and black and Mrs. Ross was angry with Molly for not watching him better. No wonder Molly is often cross and bossy. Those two boys are little devils. The Rosses left soon after that but we stayed on talking for ages.
Father and Angus are still talking, in fact, but I must go to sleep. My eyes will not stay open. Mother has gone to settle Margaret, and Jamie and Grannie are asleep too.
November 16th, 1783
We had proper church services today and it did raise our spirits. There was much to be thankful for. And there was more good news as well. Hannah’s Uncle Allan is here! Mr. Ross met up with him this morning and now the Ross family is celebrating. The only sad thing is that when we leave for Machiche tomorrow, Angus and Duncan will not be able to go with us. They must go to rejoin their regiment at a place farther upriver called Fort Cataraqui. Hannah’s uncle is to go to Machiche with us, though, and join the soldiers stationed there. Mother was very upset when she heard that Angus would not be coming with us.
“It’s just for the winter, Mother,” Angus told her. “We are to help build grist mills and sawmills to be ready for all the settlers next spring. Sir John Johnson has purchased land from the Mississauga Indians all along the river, and that is where Governor Haldimand of Québec is planning to settle you. When you arrive at the place chosen for you, I’ll join you there.”
Mother’s face darkened. “We will be going home next spring,” she said. “We will not be settling here.”
“Fiona,” Father began. He stopped. He and Angus just looked at each other and didn’t say a word. I suspect this is what they were talking about last night after we had all gone to bed.
Mother didn’t say another word, but tightened up her mouth in that stubborn way that looks just like Grannie’s when she’s set on something, grabbed baby Margaret from out of my arms and went back into the tent.
There is going to be one mighty problem here. But I am not going to worry about it now. Now I am going to write the story of how Angus and Duncan escaped.
Angus and Duncan were both in the 2nd Battalion of the Royal Yorkers and they were captured together by a rebel patrol when they were out on a scouting foray. They were sent to a terrible prison near Albany and found themselves sharing a tiny, dark hole of a cell there. It was
filthy, Angus said. They were given hardly any food, and precious little water. A lot of the other prisoners were getting sick and they were afraid they’d become sick too. Angus said that at night they just lay on rags on the floor and he could feel the rats scampering over him. I would have gone mad!
“I wouldn’t have lain down,” I told Angus when I heard that. “I would have stood up all night!”
“We were there for months, Mouse,” he answered, with a peculiar twist to his mouth. “Sooner or later you have to lie down. After a while you don’t even notice the rats crawling over you — you’re just grateful if they don’t bite you.”
“Oh, Angus!” Mother cried when she heard that.
I can’t imagine what it would have been like.
Anyway, it seems that Duncan’s farm was not too far away and one day who should appear to visit them but Duncan’s mother. I don’t know how she found out he was there, but she did. She took one look at the pair of them and told them she was going to get them out of there by hook or by crook. (She sounds very much like Grannie, I think.)
This is how she did it. She began bringing in food and fresh bedding for them and taking the soiled linens home to launder. The guards became quite used to that because many other women were doing the same thing. There were women going in and out every day, in fact.
Then, one day, Mrs. Morrison didn’t bring their bedding back. Instead, when she unrolled her bundle, there were two dresses and shawls in there.
“Be quick with you now,” she ordered Angus and Duncan, “before the guards see you. Put these dresses on over those uniforms and cover your heads with the shawls. Then just keep your eyes lowered and walk out with me.”
“We never believed it would work, but it did!” Angus said.
I looked over at Duncan and was about to ask him a question about his mother, but the look on his face stopped me. I would have thought he would have looked as excited as Angus was at the telling — proud even, of his mother — but no such thing. In fact, he suddenly leapt to his feet and strode a few paces away, then stayed there with his back to us. Angus gave him a concerned look, then continued with the story, but in a more subdued tone of voice.
There is definitely a mystery here.
Anyway, to go on …
They watched and chose a time when a whole group of women were leaving together, then they just joined them and walked out with them. The guards didn’t even notice.
After Angus and Duncan had escaped, they determined to head north to Canada. They had heard that the families and soldiers of their regiment were gathering at Sorel, so they made their way here as quickly as they could and arrived just two days ago. Angus said he was hoping so much that he would meet up with us here, but could hardly believe that it would happen.
Father reached over to give Angus a hug and Mother started fussing around him again and brought him a cup of tea.
“You have to build your strength up,” she said.
Even Grannie was after him, bundling a shawl around his shoulders to keep the night air off him.
I don’t think anyone but me noticed Duncan slip off into the shadows.
It must be so hard for him to see all of us so happy when he had to leave his family behind in Albany — but something tells me there is more to it than that.
November 18th, 1783
Machiche
We crossed over the St. Lawrence River today in another bateau. Angus did not come over with us, of course, for he will soon be leaving for Fort Cataraqui. He must get there before the river begins to freeze up. Mother was terribly unhappy to have to part with him again, but he reassures us that he will see us in the spring as soon as the river opens up.
There was just enough wind to let the sailors use the sails, but not enough to make big waves. Because we were going downriver we sped along at an unbelievable pace. It was lovely, except that I was wild with impatience to see what was awaiting us on the other side.
The St. Lawrence River is as wide here at Machiche as Lake Champlain at its widest. If it weren’t for the current I would think we were on a lake.
Father just walked by and told me that it is considered a lake here and is called Lac St. Pierre.
Machiche itself is crammed full of people like us, Loyalists who have escaped from the Colonies. Some of them have been here for months, even years. The soldiers have built a whole town full of little log houses for us all. They are just shanties, really, with hardly any space between them, and the streets are narrow mud tracks that wind all around and between the buildings. There are dogs running loose all over the place. Jamie is keeping Laddie close to him on a bit of string as some of the dogs look quite mean, and growl when you approach them. It is very crowded and dirty. Still, it will be better than sleeping out in the woods. Especially since the weather is getting colder and colder. They have a school, too, and I will be able to go to it.
More good news is that the cabin we have been allotted is very close to the Ross family’s.
November 19th, 1783
We have settled in. This cabin is so small! When I think of our lovely house back in Albany … But no, I won’t think of it. We are making do, that’s what is important. There is only one room. Mother and Father have curtained off a section of it with an old blanket — that’s where they and baby Margaret will sleep. Grannie has made up her bed beside the hearth. Jamie and I will sleep in a kind of loft. The only way to get into it is by a ladder, through a hole cut in the ceiling. I like it, actually, it is very cosy; but Jamie is cross because he cannot teach Laddie to climb the ladder. I am rather relieved about that.
The privy out back is horrible. We share it with about four other families. Enough said about that.
Mother and Father have the feather tick that we brought with us, but Grannie and Jamie and I make do with blankets that the soldiers have given us, spread over balsam fir boughs. Grannie has her own blanket but Jamie and I have to share. Only one blanket for every two children is the rule. Fortunately, we have the quilts that we managed to bring with us. Father says he will make Grannie a proper bed first thing. Grannie snorted when he said that, and said there were plenty of other things that needed doing before that, and her bones weren’t that old, but I imagine she will be grateful for it in any case.
I must go. Baby Margaret is grizzling again. She has caught cold and her poor little nose is so runny she can hardly breathe. She fusses and will not feed or eat the warm sops that Mother makes for her. Mother and Grannie have not said anything, but they have worried looks on their faces when they tend to her.
November 22nd, 1783
Too busy to write much these past few days — and too tired. We have been given a bake kettle, a tea kettle, an iron skillet and an iron pot for cooking. Also a meagre supply of salt pork (I am so tired of salt pork!), flour, ground corn and oatmeal. Some of the settlers who arrived earlier on got sugar from Montréal, but there is none of that left. There is maple syrup, however. Also salt. We have a small barrel full. We have also been supplied with a few pieces of furniture: a table and two benches. Grannie is demanding a spinning wheel but Father says that will have to wait until we are settled permanently. He said that out of Mother’s hearing, however, as she refuses to hear of us not returning to New York Province in the spring. (New York State, I should say, now that it is a part of the new United States of America.) We have no wool for Grannie to spin in any case.
The salt pork tastes very odd. I think it has gone bad. Father has gone off to hunt.
The neighbours have been very helpful. They brought over johnnycake and bread and oatmeal for porridge. Mrs. Livingstone, whose family lives just a few cabins away, came over this morning with a crock of yeast starter so that we can make our own bread. It’s not like the bread we used to bake at home. This is made by mixing salt and sugar into mashed potatoes and water. When you keep the starter in a warm place it gets all bubbly. That’s what makes the bread rise. Every time we use a cupful we must top it up with more flour and potato
water. Bread made without that is as hard as a rock. I know. We have been eating that since we arrived here.
Margaret continues poorly.
November 23rd, 1783
There is a Presbyterian preacher here, his name is Mr. Murchison. He held services today for us in his house. It was very comforting. But cold. The snow has finally come and the wind is howling.
At first I was disappointed that there were no windows in our little house, but now I am glad. That would make it even colder. My loft is freezing. Mother puts stones on the hearth to heat up and Jamie and I take one each, wrapped in a rag, when we go to bed. By morning they are cold again, though. I almost wish that dog could make it up the ladder. At least it would be another warm body up here.
November 24th, 1783
Father shot a deer today! He and Mr. Ross — Uncle Andrew, he has told us to call him, and Mrs. Ross will be Aunt Norah — have cut it all up. We will feast tonight, and the weather is cold enough that we will be able to keep the rest of the animal hanging up outside the door, well out of the reach of Laddie, and any wild animals that might venture near.
November 25th, 1783
Jamie and I are to start school soon. Unfortunately for Father, they already have a schoolmaster here in Machiche. His name is Mr. Mitchell. I think Father is very disappointed.
Baby Margaret has stopped fussing. She just lies limp in Mother’s arms. Her breathing is so raspy! Grannie has made a poultice for her chest but it doesn’t seem to be helping any. I am frightened for her. I wish there were something I could do.
November 26th, 1783
I almost cannot bear to write this.
Baby Margaret died!
With Nothing But Our Courage Page 5
