Escape

by Mary Beacock Fryer

  “This must be the Oswegatchie,” Mr. Butler said, very excited, “but what are we going to do? We can’t get the wagon up the hill and we certainly can’t get it down that gorge. Let’s go back and talk to your father.”

  When we returned to the wagon, he said to Papa, “I think we’ve reached the Oswegatchie River, but the trail goes overland away from it. We’re going to have to abandon the wagon and the heavy tools.”

  That was a terrible blow to Papa. So much struggle and so much effort had gone into getting his tools as far as this. He couldn’t bear to leave them behind now; they were too valuable to him. At last he said to Mr. Butler, “How far is it to Fort Oswegatchie?”

  “About fifty miles,” Mr. Butler replied.

  Sam, who had been sitting a little to one side whittling a stick, suddenly broke in. “If we could get our things to the river below the falls, we could build a raft and float Papa’s tools to Fort Oswegatchie. We could even take the wagon apart and load it on the raft.”

  To me it sounded like one of Sam’s wild schemes, but I could see that Mr. Butler was intrigued. “Settlers have come to Fort Oswegatchie by raft,” he said thoughtfully.

  Just then there was another interruption, from Mama this time. The talk of rafts seemed to have stirred her memory. “Elizabeth, did I see you swimming when the wagon upset at the ford?” she asked.

  “Swimming, Mama?” Elizabeth didn’t know what to say.

  We were too dumbfounded to come to her rescue, but Mr. Butler stepped into the breach. “Memory plays odd tricks, Martha,” he said.

  “Perhaps it does, Truelove.” Mama’s voice was cold. “But now I remember what I saw.” She paused for just a moment and then went on in a brisk tone. “Well, good for you, Elizabeth. Perhaps you can teach me to swim in Canada.”

  Our mouths fell open. Could that be Mama talking? All those plots to keep the secret from her, and here she was taking it all in her stride. Times were changing for the Seamans.

  I just had to strike while the iron was hot. “Maybe we should call you Ma in Canada,” I said to her.

  That was too much for Mama. She drew herself up and addressed me in a haughty tone. “You’ll call me Mama, Nehemiah Seaman, in Canada or anywhere else.” When Mama used my full name, I knew better than to go on arguing with her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Now by Raft

  Cade was single-minded. Still lost in Sam’s idea, he hadn’t even heard Mama and me. “Papa, what do you think about building a raft?” he asked, just as though there had been no interruption.

  “I don’t see why not,” Papa answered. “We have axes and there are plenty of trees, but could we navigate the river?”

  “As far as I can remember, this is the only waterfall on the Oswegatchie between here and the St. Lawrence,” Mr. Butler assured Papa eagerly.

  “There’s still the problem of getting our load to the river,” Papa went on.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Cade replied, “and I’m sure we can cut a trail to the foot of the falls. It will be hard work, but we’ll manage.”

  “Of course we can,” Sam and I chimed in, thinking about the journey by raft.

  We set to work at once, clearing away the underbrush. It took us two days and cost us many aching muscles, but by the second evening, there was a passable trail to the river bank at the foot of the falls. Even Sarah and Smith had helped now and then, carrying away the brush we cut.

  Papa didn’t talk much during those two days, but he must have been planning all the time he was working so hard. When our trail was completed, he called us together.

  “We’re going to have to separate again,” he said. “There’s no path along the river bank for the horses. I’ll have to take them overland — up the hill and along the Indian trail.” He turned to Mama. “Martha, will you chance the river with the little ones, or will you come with me?”

  Mama didn’t hesitate. “With you,” she answered firmly.

  “I’m going to need Cade and Sam and Ned to help me navigate the river,” Mr. Butler interrupted, “and probably Elizabeth too. Can you and Martha manage alone with the children?”

  “We’ll have to,” Papa replied.

  That was what I’d been longing to hear. From the moment Papa told us that we’d have to separate, I’d had the sinking feeling that Elizabeth and I would be the ones to go overland with him and Mama. Then, when I thought everything had worked out, Mr. Butler upset the apple cart. “Good,” he said, “I won’t have to worry about the rapids with so many able hands.”

  “Rapids!” Mama was dismayed. “Caleb, I insist that Elizabeth and Cade come with us. Cade’s shoulder isn’t strong enough for a rough journey by raft, and it would be too dangerous for Elizabeth.”

  Cade protested. “My shoulder is fine now, Mama. I’ve been using it for days, and the more I use it, the better it feels.”

  “It’s high time you knew the whole truth about Elizabeth,” Mr. Butler added. “It isn’t only that she can swim. She swims like a fish — better than the boys.”

  Sam laughed. “The only thing she lacks is fins.”

  “It was Elizabeth who rescued the anvil,” Mr. Butler went on. “She’ll come to no harm on the raft, I promise you.” Mama pressed her lips together, but at last she said, “What do you think, Caleb?”

  “Let them go with Truelove,” Papa answered after a moment. “He knows much better than we do what help he’ll need.”

  I glanced at Elizabeth. Her thoughts were clearly mirrored in her smiling face. She loved the children and she didn’t begrudge the hours she spent looking after them, but a journey by raft was something beyond her wildest dreams.

  It took us two more days to get everything ready. First we made a clearing by the river at the end of our trail. Papa and Mr. Butler cut and stripped some trees. Cade and Sam hitched the horses to the logs and drew them to the clearing. Heaving and tugging, we placed ten logs side by side, with two more across each end, one above and one below. Papa hammered in the few iron nails he’d brought with him, and then we lashed the logs together with ropes. Mr. Butler whittled saplings into poles that we could use for pushing the raft away from rocks

  Then came the dreary job of carrying our belongings along the trail we had made. When the wagon was empty, we dismantled it. Papa and Mr. Butler lugged the boards to the clearing. Elizabeth and I followed, rolling the wheels along the trail.

  When we were ready to launch the raft, Papa and Mr. Butler levered it with the long poles. The rest of us pushed. Slowly the raft slid into the water. Sam tied it securely to a big tree on the bank, and we loaded it with all the heavy, awkward objects — the anvil, the tools, the iron bars, and the wagon boards and wheels.

  The four days we spent at the river’s edge were busy ones for Mama too. From the carefully dried deerskin hide, she fashioned moccasins for Papa and me. Patiently she cut and stitched a blanket until she had created a huge saddle bag.

  We all worked so hard that we hadn’t time to brood about how sad it would be to watch Mama and Papa set off up the hill without us, but the gloomy moment arrived all too soon.

  The saddle bag was slung across the mare’s back. On each side was a large pocket, with Stephen’s head peeping out of one and Sarah’s out of the other. Smith sat astride the mare, and Robert was strapped to Papa’s back in the Indian cradle. The stallion was laden with all the things Mama and Papa would need on the journey. Papa was carrying the best rifle, and Mama was leading Goliath on a long rope. He wouldn’t be much help as a watchdog for the children, but he could retrieve game for Papa.

  None of us said a word as we watched Mama and Papa climb the hill without mishap, but we were all wondering when we would meet again. The moment they were out of sight, Mr. Butler brought us sharply back to earth. “To the raft,” he ordered. “We have no time for brooding.”

  At the river’s edge, we climbed aboard, all except Sam, who untied the rope and gave the raft a push out into the river before he leaped after
us. Cade took up a position in the stern so that he could steer with one of the wagon boards, and the rest of us settled ourselves around him.

  For an hour or so everything went well. The Oswegatchie was so narrow that we could almost reach out and touch its banks. Drifting along in the shade of the overhanging elms, our aching muscles relaxed, each of us lost in his own dream, we hardly noticed our surroundings. Then the sun began to set and we came back to reality with a start. It was going down straight in front of us. Silently we poled the raft to the shore, tied it to a tree, and made camp. Only then did I venture to voice my fears. “Aren’t we travelling west, Mr. Butler?” I asked.

  “We have been,” he admitted, “but these rivers wind around a lot. I may be wrong, but I still think we’re on the Oswegatchie. Even if we’re not, we’re going downstream. Whatever river this is, it’s bound to empty into either the St. Lawrence River or Lake Ontario. The worst that can happen is that we may have a longer journey than we expected.”

  Sam wasn’t worried, and even Cade seemed to accept Mr. Butler’s assurance that everything would work out. But my happy mood had vanished, and I could sense that Elizabeth was uneasy too.

  Soon after we’d set sail the next morning, the raft was carried around a long bend in the river, but the day was dull and there was no sun. We couldn’t tell what direction we were going in now.

  “I wish we had a compass,” Cade said, peering at the grey sky as though willing the sun to come out.

  “It wouldn’t do us any good,” Mr. Butler said. “We’re carrying too much iron to get a true reading.”

  It was a long day and a disappointing one. After we’d made camp, Elizabeth and I slipped along the shore for a swim, but even that didn’t cheer us up much. I couldn’t understand why Mr. Butler had said he’d need four of us. There wasn’t much for us to do.

  That night we settled beside the river again. Before we turned in, Cade caught a batch of trout, which he cooked over a small fire. Trout wasn’t much of a treat anymore though, and I was beginning to long for a thick slice of bread smothered in creamy butter.

  In the morning the river changed abruptly. The water began to churn, and we found ourselves battling a strong current.

  “We must be coming to rapids,” Mr. Butler said.

  Cade and Sam poled the raft to the rocky shore. Elizabeth and I clambered up the bank behind Mr. Butler and followed him along the river’s edge. There was no path, and we had to scramble through the underbrush. A short distance from the raft we caught the sound of tumbling water. Soon it grew to a roar, and through the trees we saw another waterfall, dancing wickedly over the rocks, almost taunting us.

  The spectacle seemed to dismay Mr. Butler. “Now I know we’re not on the Oswegatchie,” he said. “There wouldn’t be another waterfall.” He stood in silence for a moment and then added, “Let’s go back to the raft.”

  Cade was really disheartened when we told him about the waterfall, but not Sam. To him it was just another obstacle to be overcome. “Why don’t we take the raft apart?” he said. “We can float the logs over the falls one by one and catch them downstream. We’ll be able to put the raft back together again.”

  Cade responded well to Sam’s challenge. “Well, it will be a lot of work,” he said, “but I don’t see why we can’t do it.” He sounded just like Papa, and Elizabeth and I took heart.

  “The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll be on our way again,” I said, getting to my feet.

  Mr. Butler stood with his hands on his hips, searching our faces, one by one. Then he nodded. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” he said.

  The first thing we had to do was get our load to the foot of the falls. Cade and Sam shouldered heavy packs, and Mr. Butler tied a rope around the anvil so that he could drag it. Elizabeth and I tackled the wagon boards and wheels. It was hard going through the rough growth on the river’s edge, but halfway down the hill, the brush got thinner, and near the foot of the falls there was an open meadow.

  When the raft was cleared, we dismantled it. Sam and Mr. Butler stationed themselves at the foot of the falls with long poles in their hands, ready to manoeuvre the logs to shore as they floated past. Elizabeth and I went to the top of the hill to send the logs down, one by one. Cade picked a spot halfway down the hill. From there he could see both the top and the bottom and shout to us when Sam and Mr. Butler had caught a log and were ready for another.

  Luck was on our side. Sam and Mr. Butler recaptured all the logs, undamaged. It took us the rest of the day to reassemble the raft, but we were so pleased with ourselves that we didn’t mind the work.

  The next morning Mr. Butler woke us at sunrise. Bleary-eyed and still half asleep, we couldn’t understand why he was so excited. “Don’t you see?” he said, pointing to the rising sun. “We’re travelling east again.”

  For the next two days our journey was everything we had dreamed of. The river was gentle, the sun was hot, and Sam and Cade did what little work there was to be done. Every now and then, when the heat overcame us, Elizabeth and I flopped over the side and let the raft tow us. When we were tired, we clambered back aboard in our dripping clothes and let the sunshine do its work.

  On the fifth day the river changed again. In the distance we could see the water foaming and bubbling. Mr. Butler told Cade to steer the raft to the bank, where he hopped ashore and tied it to a tree.

  “I’m going to scout along the shore,” he said.

  “Elizabeth and I will come with you,” I called.

  “Hurry then,” he answered without looking back.

  Just as Mr. Butler feared, the churning water turned out to be a long stretch of very rough rapids. Elizabeth and I didn’t have the heart to ask him what we were going to do now, but after a while he made a decision. “Cade and Sam and I will shoot the rapids on the raft,” he said. “You two can walk along the river bank, but first come back to the raft with me to get the firearms and powder so that they won’t get wet.”

  Carrying the weapons and ammunition, Elizabeth and I had just reached the beginning of the rapids again when the raft shot past us. I was terrified, and not only for Mr. Butler and my brothers. What would happen to my sister and me if they capsized and drowned? Would we be able to find our way out of the woods and reach Fort Oswegatchie?

  I needn’t have worried. Not far beyond the rapids, we sighted the raft, firmly secured to a tree at the river bank. Sam was standing in the middle of it shouting, “You missed a thrilling ride!” I was so relieved to see them safe that I couldn’t even answer.

  A few miles past the rapids, we came to what we thought was the mouth of the river. The water seemed to open out into a lake.

  “This must be the St. Lawrence,” said Mr. Butler, but he didn’t sound very convincing.

  Standing on the edge of the raft, he scanned the shoreline. There was nothing to be seen but forest and rocks and open water. Frowning, he turned to us. “Just above Fort Oswegatchie there’s a low cliff of brown rock on the south shore and rounded pink hills on the north shore. Here it’s the other way around.”

  “Isn’t there any current in the St. Lawrence?” Cade asked.

  “We’ve stopped moving.”

  “Yes, there’s a strong current,” Mr. Butler answered. “Perhaps we’re coming into Lake Ontario.” He paused for a moment. “I must confess I don’t know where we are.”

  Elizabeth was close to tears, and I felt like crying too, but once again Sam buoyed us up. “Well, if we keep going northeast,” he said, “we’re bound to reach the St. Lawrence.”

  “You’re right, Sam. Of course we are,” Mr. Butler said.

  We all grabbed wagon boards and began to paddle hard. I turned to ask Mr. Butler something and found him looking puzzled again. Almost to himself he muttered, “It can’t be Lake Ontario either. It’s too small.”

  “There’s a wind coming up behind us,” Cade called from the stern. Sam hoisted a blanket on a sapling mast, but the wind was light and we moved very slowly. For
two days we travelled along the lake, sometimes paddling and sometimes drifting with our blanket sail. On the third day, while the sail was up, the wind died completely, but much to our surprise we went on drifting.

  “There’s a current again,” Cade shouted.

  Very soon the lake began to narrow, and before long we were in a river again. It proved to be a very short stream, twisting northward and flowing into a much larger river. Along the shore the forest grew less dense, and all at once we saw a cabin hidden among the trees.

  Cade swiftly poled the raft to the river bank and ran ashore. While he thumped on the cabin door, we all waited breathlessly. Were we really going to see another human being, someone who could tell us where we were? But no one appeared. Then Mr. Butler began to shout. We had almost given up hope of any response when we heard a bellow from the woods, “Allo,” and out of the forest came a man, carrying a child.

  “Sarah!” Elizabeth shrieked, rushing towards them. “It’s Sarah!”

  I thought at first Elizabeth had gone mad, but it was Sarah.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lost and Found

  Sarah stretched out her arms to Elizabeth just as if they’d parted only a few moments earlier. Her hair was tangled, her face was dirty, and she was covered with bites, but she certainly didn’t seem frightened. I was the one who was suddenly filled with alarm. What was she doing here with this stranger? Where were Mama and Papa and the boys?

  The stranger was speaking to Elizabeth in a language we couldn’t understand, but he seemed perfectly friendly. He had a bushy beard and smiling light grey eyes. Straight black hair fell from his red woollen cap to the shoulders of his deerskin jacket, and he moved silently in his soft moccasins.

  “Do you speak any English?” Mr. Butler asked him at once. “I’m afraid I don’t know much French.”

  “Little,” the man replied. “Je suis Canadien. J’ai trouve la petite dans la foret, il y a deux jours. Maintenant je vais l’emmener au fort.”