With Nothing But Our Courage

by Karleen Bradford

  July 9th, 1784

  I wonder if life will ever settle down to comfortable boredom again? The whole camp is in confusion and we are packing up all our belongings for yet one more time. We have been given generous rations from the government supplies, and with Angus and Duncan to help we will be able to carry everything, although they might have to make more than one trip. I hope it is not too far.

  We are about to leave. Mother is calling me. Hannah and her family left earlier. Even though they will be settling near us, I am sore afraid it will be quite some time before I see her again. I noticed that Angus and Molly took a long time to make their farewells. It would seem Angus is as interested in her as she is in him.

  Hmmm. I wonder how I would like having bossy Molly as a sister-in-law? But then, Hannah would also be my sister-in-law. That would be wonderful.

  I must go. Grannie is chivvying me along. Angus has given me the cage he brought Mittens in to carry her in. She does not like it one bit and Laddie keeps sniffing at it and looking up at me with a decidedly anxious look. He seems to be wondering why we have imprisoned her.

  July 10th, 1784

  No time to write, there is too much to do. I will tell all about what has happened tomorrow. Also, I am very very tired. We walked our feet off today.

  Cold salt pork and johnnycake for supper, but at least we are here. Even though I am not entirely certain where here is. It is certainly dark and lonely! I am keeping Mittens in the tent with me for fear of wild animals.

  July 11th, 1784

  We have set up our tents in a small clearing that Father and the boys made, with a huge bonfire burning in the middle. Angus and Duncan shot four squirrels today and Mother is making a squirrel stew. The smell of it is making my mouth water, although I am almost too tired to eat. I am sitting in front of our tent. Grannie’s lilac bush is beside me. It has finished blooming of course, but is now covered with glossy green leaves and looks very satisfied with itself. As well it should. A hardy little thing to have survived all it has survived.

  We’re all pretty hardy, as a matter of fact. But worn out.

  Mittens is attacking a leaf with great ferocity.

  Now I’ll write about our trip here yesterday.

  We left the encampment at Johnstown very early in the morning, well loaded down with our tents and supplies. Thank goodness we had Angus and Duncan with us as they could carry an enormous amount. Even so, they will have to make one or two trips more.

  Right away we ran into trouble. Father had scouted out the land fairly well, but he was not certain of the exact location of the lots which we had been assigned. There were no roads, just tracks through the bush, and nothing really to indicate the boundary lines, but finally after much searching we managed to find the markers placed by the surveyors. By this time, however, it was almost evening and we were exhausted from trying to find our way through the dense woods. There was no time to rest, though. We dumped our packs onto the ground and Father unpacked the axes. Great consternation when he discovered the axes we have been issued are small ships’ axes and not nearly as suitable for the hard work we have in store for us as the larger ones he is used to. There was nothing to be done for it however, but to use them.

  Father, Angus and Duncan set to work cutting down trees and brush to make a clearing large enough for our tents. It took them quite a while. I truly do not think I have ever seen so many trees. And the mosquitoes were terrible. Still are, despite the smoke from the fire. Finally we were able to set up the tents. Angus and Duncan have a small soldier’s tent each, we have the two larger ones we were given at Johnstown.

  We made a very hasty meal — as I described last night — and were soon into our tents and fast asleep. We only had tarpaulins thrown over fir boughs to sleep on, but not one of us even noticed, we were that exhausted.

  This morning I was first up. I crept out of our tent, carrying a sleepy Mittens, and watched the sun rise. At least, I watched the sky lighten. There are so many trees I could not see the sun itself, just the straggly rays that managed to find their ways down through the branches.

  I had a lovely half hour before the mosquitoes woke up and I just sat there, listening to the birds awaken and breathing in great gulps of the fresh, pine-smelling air, with Mittens frolicking around me.

  It was soothing to my soul.

  July 12, 1784

  Father, Angus and Duncan spent the day exploring our land, deciding where we will build our cabin. Angus and Duncan will help us get our place built, then they will build shanties of their own on their properties.

  Father brought us here to see the site he chose this afternoon. It is on a small hillock, right beside the stream.

  “Will it do, Fiona?” he asked Mother. He looked so anxious! Mother did not answer for a long moment and I held my breath. She looked around, then back at him.

  “It will, Robert,” she answered finally. “It is a good spot.”

  I let out my breath with such a huge sigh that I was certain they must have heard it, but they just stood there, looking at each other. Then Mother gave herself a kind of shake and pursed her lips. “But I shudder to think of the work ahead of us,” she said. “And so little time before winter sets in.”

  Father’s face cleared and he smiled a huge smile. He put his arm around Mother’s shoulders. “We can do it, Fiona,” he said. His voice suddenly sounded ten times stronger than it has since we left Albany.

  I saw Mother relax then. She even rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Yes,” she said. “I suppose we can.”

  It’s been so long since I’ve seen them like this with each other. Oh, how I hope this means Mother is starting to accept our new life. I don’t care how much work it is going to be, I just want us to be happy again!

  I’m sitting on the very spot where we will build, right now as I write this, and tomorrow we will start to clear the land.

  I close my eyes and I can hear the water rushing along the stream bed, gurgling and rippling its way over stones and around bends. I will have this sound in my ears for the rest of my life!

  Oof! Laddie has just run up to shake himself off all over me. He has been swimming in the creek. Mittens has retreated to a safe distance, thoroughly disgusted.

  I will probably have the smell of wet dog in my nose for the rest of my life, too.

  July 13th, 1784

  We attacked the forest today. All of us except for Grannie, who stayed to tend the fire and cook a very welcome meal for us.

  There were axes enough for all of us except for Jamie of course. Father would not allow Jamie to use one, much to his disgust, but set him to collecting the branches as we chopped, and piling them up. It did not take me long to learn how to wield an axe. Mother showed me how. I was surprised to see how expert she was.

  “This is not the first home I have helped to build,” she said. “I was just about your age when I helped my parents build theirs.” Then she laid to and soon had a small tree down and in pieces. I joined her. It was hard work. Harder work than I’ve ever done in my life. When we stopped to make our way back and eat the fried pork and johnnycake Grannie had ready for us, my shoulders and arms were aching. Not nearly as much as they are aching now, though, even though Grannie gave me a good rubbing with her smartweed concoction.

  We went back to work after our dinner and worked through until the day began to darken. We are all stiff and sore, and Mother and I have huge blisters on our hands, but when I look at how much we have cleared I am filled with a great sense of pride and accomplishment. I think we all feel the same. Mother was even humming again under her breath as she set out fresh-baked bread and cold salt pork.

  July 16th, 1784

  We have cleared enough space for our cabin and a small garden. I am helping Mother hoe it but the ground is so hard and so packed with roots that we are having a very hard time of it. We have used some of the brush and smaller trees to make a fence around the garden to keep out deer and other wild animals, but there is
nothing to be done about the stumps that are left, so we are just scratching around them. Father was right to worry about the lateness of the season. It is much too late now to plant corn or potatoes, but Mother says we might get some beans and turnips in. She is definitely getting her old enthusiasm back. Her “get up and go,” as Grannie calls it.

  We will start clearing land for wheat and corn and flax next year. Grannie will be able to spin tow thread out of the flax. I will help her — that has been my job since I was Jamie’s age. Her hands are too old now to soak the stalks of flax and beat them, so I do that for her. Even for me that’s hard work. I do that and then pull them through the hatchel to comb the stalks out and just leave the fibre, then Grannie spins it. Then we can take it to a weaver. If we’re lucky and if she has her new loom by then, it will be Aunt Norah. (The Livingstones are settled right in the town — or what will be the town — of Johnstown.) I suppose Aunt Norah will mostly mix the tow thread with wool to make itchy linsey-woolsey for clothes, but I do hope we will have enough so that she can just weave the flax thread all by itself. That makes a lovely soft linen. Our curtains back home were made from that.

  Father has helped me pick out a spot for my apple seeds and I planted them carefully. It will be years before the trees will be big enough to bear fruit, but I can wait.

  Father has piled all the brush up and we will burn it sometime, but not now. It is too dry now and Father says a bonfire would be dangerous. After seeing how quickly that fire spread when we were on our way here, even when the ground was still wet, I can certainly agree.

  Father, Angus and Duncan will begin building the cabin tomorrow.

  My hands are an agony. I’m sure Mother’s are the same but she does not complain, so neither will I. We slather them with Grannie’s ointments.

  July 17th, 1784

  There will be no cellar or foundation for this cabin, but Angus and Duncan dug a small excavation which will be reached through a trap door in the cabin floor, by means of a ladder, and we will use that as a root cellar for the time being. They have also helped Father place boulders at each corner of the building to give support for the walls. It was difficult to roll the boulders into place without a horse to pull them, but Angus and Duncan managed to do so with ropes and levers. They are very clever. Angus says they learned how to do this over the winter when they were working at Cataraqui with the army. Angus is so enthusiastic about starting out all over again here in Canada. I asked him if he didn’t miss Albany at all and he just said, “Not a bit.” I don’t really believe him, but I guess he sure wouldn’t want to go back after having fought on the British side. There wouldn’t be anyone left who wouldn’t hate him. I have no idea how Duncan feels but I don’t dare ask him. He works as willingly as Angus, but he does not seem to be as happy.

  We are really lucky to have them both helping us, though. It makes things a lot easier.

  I like to look at those four boulders and imagine a nice snug cabin built on top of them. I hope Father will put in windows.

  July 18th, 1784

  It’s Sunday today so we did no work on the cabin. I could see that Father was chafing at the inactivity when there is so much to do, but in this Grannie will have her way. I am hiding out of her sight in order to write this, and Angus disappeared after the noon meal. I would not be surprised at all if he is doing a bit of clearing at his place. Do you suppose we are being very sinful, dear journal?

  July 19th, 1784

  The real work begins today. Father and the boys have started cutting pine trees for the logs for the walls. They have to fell the trees, then cut them into proper lengths and hew them into shape. There is not much Mother and Jamie and I can do to help them with that, but we can help them pull the logs over to the cabin site. The logs are very heavy and it takes all of our strength together to move them. I did not think I could get any sorer or stiffer, but I have.

  July 21st, 1784

  The walls are starting to go up! Father says he will make them high enough so that there will be a loft for Jamie and me to sleep in. And Jamie and I found a patch of raspberries growing wild in an open spot nearby. Raspberries are my very favourite and they seem to be Laddie’s favourite as well. Jamie gave him a few. At first he seemed at a loss as to what to make of them, then he decided he liked them. Jamie wasn’t giving them to him fast enough, however, so he began nibbling them off the bushes himself. It was very amusing to see him nip them off so delicately, one by one. And he seems very adept at avoiding the thorns. Better than I am, anyway. My hands and arms are thoroughly scratched right up to my elbows. We managed to bring home a whole bucket full, though. Now — if we only had good thick cream to pour over them!

  July 23rd, 1784

  It is beginning to seem as if we have never done anything else but hew logs, drag them around, and work. We are up at sunrise and fall into our beds when the sun goes down. We are too tired even to talk. Father barely stops for a break at noon time. He is worrying more and more that we will not have time to build a cabin and then bring in any crops at all to help us through the winter that is to come.

  “We must have good shelter and at least some food of our own,” he says. “We cannot depend entirely on the Government for all our supplies.”

  Then Jamie gave us all a scare by deciding that he, too, should be able to chop wood. Before anyone realized what he was doing, he had hoisted an axe and aimed a mighty blow at one of the logs. Of course he was not nearly strong enough. The axe glanced off the log and grazed his foot. Cut through his boot and nicked him. There was a tremendous amount of blood for such a small cut and he thought he was dying. Mother didn’t wait for Grannie — she laid into him with a switch herself.

  Father was furious. “Is it not enough that we have only a few short months to prepare ourselves for winter?” he thundered. “We cannot afford accidents.” I have seldom seen him so angry. I think it is the worry that is doing it.

  Thank goodness for Grannie’s hearty meals every night and good breakfasts in the mornings. My hands are so calloused and rough that it hurts me to help her wash up after, though. Grannie rubs goose grease into them, but it does not help much. I would certainly not be able to do much stitching on a quilt now.

  July 24th, 1784

  We found weevils in the flour this morning. I was given the job of picking them out. Weevily or not, we will have to use it. That is the only flour we have until we receive more supplies. If we receive more supplies. That is the fear that is in the back of Father’s mind, I am sure.

  July 26th, 1784

  What a terrible day! I am still shaking as I write this. Jamie and I found a blueberry patch today in a rocky clearing near the river’s edge. I knew we had strayed too far from home, but the day was so fine and I was in an exploring mood. Mother had sent us berry picking and I was so relieved to have a rest from work. When we stumbled upon the blueberry patch we immediately set to picking and I lost all sense of time.

  “Isn’t it getting late, Mary?” Jamie suddenly asked me.

  I looked up at the sky. We live in trees so much of the time that I am used to it being dark and shadowy, but I suddenly realized that the sun had left the clearing where we were and was far down in the sky. Our pails were full and we had both eaten our fill as well, so we whistled to Laddie and made ready to come home. But Laddie did not appear and Jamie would not go without him. Jamie whistled and I called, but to no avail for the longest time. Then, suddenly, the dog burst out of a nearby clump of bushes, his tail between his legs and his eyes wild with fright. He ran up to Jamie and pressed himself against Jamie’s legs, then turned to face the bushes again and growled. His fur was standing straight up along his back and his teeth were bared.

  “Run, Jamie!” I shrieked, and we both lit out down the trail back to our campsite, Laddie at our heels. Then I heard a great crashing noise in the trees behind us.

  A bear! It had to be a bear! Without really thinking about what I was doing, I threw my berry pail and all its contents onto th
e trail.

  “Your berries, Jamie!” I shouted. “Throw him your berries.”

  Jamie did so, but he had sense enough to hang onto his pail.

  We heard no more sounds of pursuit, but Laddie kept turning to growl and we ran as fast as our feet would take us until we were safely back.

  Now Mother has forbidden us to go berry picking anywhere except right near the cabin, so I suppose that will mean no more blueberries for us, as they only grow in the cleared, rocky spots down near the river. I mourn the loss of blueberry pies. Angus said I should be mourning the loss of a perfectly good bucket, but he must have felt a little sorry for me as he was especially nice to me at supper time.

  July 30th, 1784

  There is so much work to do and I am so tired at night that I have not been writing in my journal as often as I would like. The cabin is beginning to take shape, however. There will be two small windows, Father says, one on either side of the door. He’ll cut them out after the walls go up. He and the boys are putting in the rafters that will be the ceiling of the main floor, and the floor of the loft. Tomorrow he will start on the chimney. Jamie and I have been set to finding good flat stones to serve as the hearth and small sticks to be layered up with mud for the chimney itself. When it is finished Father says he will plaster it over with clay, inside and out.