by Julie Lawson
Friday, June 14th
James told me that Fort Victoria is in the Colony of Vancouver’s Island, an island in the Pacific Ocean, and Eliza said no, it’s just a little ways off the mainland, and I said it’s still in Pacific Ocean water, so what does it matter how much of the ocean surrounds it?
Mr. Anderson overheard us arguing and showed us on a map. So we were all right. What an Adventure, to attend school on an island where each day I would be able to see the ocean!
Eliza and James are going to travel with Mr. Anderson and the Fort Colvile brigade as far as Fort Langley, and then to Fort Victoria, and they are leaving as soon as the brigades from the smaller posts in the area arrive with their furs. If Aunt Grace gives her consent, I will go with them!
Tonight I will approach Aunt Grace. I am determined to go, and if she objects — tho’ I see no reason why she would — I will stow away amongst the furs. That would really be an Adventure!
Sunday, June 16th
Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Anderson had already told Aunt Grace and Uncle Rory about the school, so when I brought up the subject, Aunt was prepared — with one objection after another! I should have expected it, knowing how argumentative she can be.
She said she could not manage without me and that I could read and write “exceptionally well” and she would continue my schooling as before. She said I would hate being confined to a schoolroom for longer hours than I have been accustomed to, and I would hate the Strict Rules — much stricter than those she ever imposed — “Mark my words, Jenna” — and she said that I was setting myself up for disappointment.
She had not reckoned that my stubbornness would equal her own. “Father would have encouraged me to go!” I said (though I wasn’t certain about that), “and now that you’re married, you will not even notice I’m gone!”
“How can you say such a thing!” she says, but before she could add another word I told her she needn’t worry about the expense because I could use my inheritance to pay the subscription of a pound per month, including my board, and that I would do like the Andersons and pay until June of next year.
I know how thrifty she is and, tho’ I have no experience in money matters, it must have sounded reasonable, for she did not look aghast. Besides, she knows that the money Father left for me is substantial, for he had saved all his wages over the years. Aunt credits his “Orkney spirit,” but there is little to buy in a Fort, even a large one like Fort Edmonton.
In the end, she consented. She could have withheld the money, since she is my guardian and I am too young as yet to have control of it, but she is not mean-spirited at heart, especially now that she is married. I think she was willing to be convinced from the start. In fact she probably told Mr. Anderson days ago that I may go, knowing that I will be in good hands. But being contrary by nature and enjoying our verbal debates, she had to put up a fuss.
Later
Aunt Grace actually looked hurt when I said (somewhat peevishly) that she would not even notice I was gone. Does she not realize she has been ignoring me? Or am I guilty of Exaggeration?
No, surely not.
Saturday, June 22nd
The brigades have arrived! As soon as their fur bales have been checked and repacked we will be on our way.
Meanwhile I am helping out in the dairy, churning butter and making cheese. A pleasant change from helping Aunt Grace make soap — my hands are still red and sore from the lye.
Thursday, June 27th
A “slight delay,” says Mr. Anderson. Some of the bales were improperly packed and now the furs must be recounted and repacked.
My Adventure continues at the butter churn.
Friday, June 28th
The traders are not the only ones repacking, for I have packed, unpacked and repacked my possessions several times. A few books and my winter and summer clothing are now packed inside the small trunk that Aunt is letting me take, and I have put personal items, pencils and keepsakes (my “family” again!) into Father’s cassette. My Journal too, but not yet.
And Aunt made me two new dresses! They’re presently too long and too loose, but very pretty, and she assures me I’ll grow into them before long. As well as making the new dresses, she has lowered the hems and let out the seams of my old ones. She also gave me a white handkerchief embroidered with flowers.
I am tremendously excited!
Sunday, June 30th
It is well past midnight but I am unable to sleep for excitement. Tomorrow I am on my way to an Unknown Island! I have disobeyed Aunt Grace’s order not to light another candle to write by, but by the time she discovers this Misdemeanor, I will be far beyond her reach. For I am not only setting off on an Adventure, I am setting off On My Own. (Another Misdemeanor — Exaggeration. “Stop stretching the truth!” Aunt would say. To her, Exaggeration is as wicked as Lying, Stealing, Talking Back, Putting on Airs, and Wasting Time, Money or Candles.)
My Misdemeanors have been accumulating lately. Is it because I am leaving that Aunt Grace is so attentive? I wish she would go back to ignoring me.
“On my own” is not a real exaggeration. It simply means that I am setting off without Aunt Grace. It does not mean I am blazing through the wilderness alone. The distance is too great and I do not know the way.
She would also berate me for “Unknown Island,” since Vancouver’s Island is not unknown. But it is unknown to me. As of tomorrow I will be facing a multitude of Unknowns, but am I setting off with Trepidation and Sadness? No! And if I were, I would not admit it since it was my idea in the first place.
Now that I am almost on my way, I can put into words what I have been thinking in secret for months. My mission is to write a Novel — not now, in this Journal, but one day. Aunt Grace would knock me down for Pride, Arrogance, Conceit and any number of Misdemeanors, but I hereby confess that my recently retrieved Adventure Journal is but a prelude to my Major Work.
If I were writing a Novel, I would call the first chapter In which Jenna Sinclair sets off on an Adventure to an Unknown Island!
My bones are clattering with anticipation. My Independent Life is about to begin.
July 1850
Monday, July 1st
Here we are at last. I am not sure where here is, but we have stopped moving and are about to settle down for the night.
It took a long time to find a camping spot with enough water and fodder for the horses, but the fire is lit and everyone is occupied. Gros Ventre is preparing the evening meal, some of the canadiens are removing the packs from the horses — tents and bedding, baggage, provisions and furs — others are pitching tents, feeding the horses, gathering firewood, etc. Eliza is writing in her Journal and James has wandered off.
We left Fort Colvile this morning at dawn. Aunt Grace cried at my departure and I could not help but do the same — tho’ I tried not to — for there is no telling when we might see each other again. Uncle Rory gave me a beaded necklace from the Trade Store and a great bear hug.
When I looked back and could no longer see them, I felt an unexpected ache of loneliness. The feeling could well have stayed with me had it not been for Lafleur, our scout, who unwittingly banished all feelings except for sheer terror, for he was suddenly galloping towards us, waving his arms and shrieking.
Was it an Indian attack! Was my Adventure to be over on the first day?
No, for the men were hooting with laughter, particularly Mr. Anderson. Knowing that Lafleur is terrified of snakes, he had killed a big rattler below Kettle Falls and hung it on a bush some ways ahead of his scout. Lafleur reached the spot, came face to face with what he thought was a live rattlesnake and rode back in a panic.
Eliza told her father that the next time he decides to play a practical joke, he has to warn us in advance.
We saw no Indians today, and the closest thing to a real terror are the mosquitoes — they are biting us senseless.
Too dark to write, and the smoke from the fire is stinging my eyes. As soon as I have eaten I am off to bed.
Several days later (I have lost track of time)
The Daily Routine on this journey is the same as on the one from Fort Edmonton to Fort Colvile.
“Dehout! Dehout!” The wake-up call at dawn.
Loud, stretched-out yawns, grunts, sighs, groans, but up we get. If not, the tent is collapsed on top of you — like this morning, when a group did not move fast enough. Their scrambling under the canvas gave everyone a good laugh.
Once everyone is up, the men load the horses and the day’s ride begins. Fortunately I was able to go riding a little at Fort Colvile, so I’m not as sore as I might have been.
About eight in the morning, we stop at a convenient spot for Breakfast. The men are busy unpacking, laying the cloth, boiling and frying, eating and drinking and smoking their pipes. After that, while the repacking is being done, some of the men wash and shave — but only the hardiest because the river water is very cold.
They all carry a razor, a towel and a bit of soap in their pocket, though some have not put these items to good use. (Nor, in truth, have I — the towel and soap, I mean.)
If there is no pool with still water to use as a mirror, they rely on Eliza and me to give our opinion. Some of the canadiens have even asked us to wield the razor but we have refused. I would never be able to keep my hand steady at such a task and I would hate to be responsible for giving someone the nickname Pas de Nez!
The other morning James told Gros Ventre that his moustache was too long — first on one side, then on the other — and the poor man shaved most of it off trying to make it even. James and I found this hilarious, until Gros Ventre threatened to shave off our heads! (I think he meant hair.)
An hour for our Breakfast stop and we are off again.
Dinner is about one o’clock, and is always a cold meal of pemmican, so no fire is needed and we stop but twenty minutes, about the time it takes for the men to smoke a pipe or two.
I told everyone that I’d had a hand in making the pemmican, since Fort Edmonton supplies all the brigades, and Lafleur said he thought it tasted especially good. His words made me happy. (Eliza told me later that he was flirting, and that I should not encourage him by smiling.)
Onward we go until it is time to set up camp. Then we have Supper.
The men smoke their pipes and tell stories around the fire, swatting at blackflies and mosquitoes. I am usually too tired to do anything but sleep.
Another Camp
As of today we have trekked across country to the Similkameen River and followed the Similkameen to the Cascade Mountains. (Mr. Anderson told me the names so I could record them.) There was still snow in the mountains and we saw a number of mountain sheep. After crossing the mountains we came to the Coquihalla River. We will follow it all the way to Fort Hope, where the Coquihalla flows into Fraser’s River.
Our first night on the Coquihalla, James dared me to wash in the river. I pretended it was no worse than any other river, though I could scarcely breathe for the cold. My fingers are still numb. From now on my face and hands can stay as dirty as everyone else’s.
Coquihalla. Similkameen. I love those names, the way they flow like the rivers.
Another Camp — and the Worst
A few words in haste —
We are packing up and leaving earlier than usual to escape the mosquitoes. The air is black with them! I spent the entire night swatting, scratching, scratching, swatting, crying with the torment — I even have bites in my mouth and throat. I wanted to throw myself into the Coquihalla.
Fort Hope, on Fraser’s River
We arrived here two hours ago. Fort Langley has been expecting our brigade and sent canoes to Fort Hope to take us down Fraser’s River. Tonight we are resting here.
This morning we saw an Indian swimming across the Coquihalla — probably to escape the mosquitoes. His clothing was tied in a bundle on top of his head.
When we stopped for Breakfast, James and I dared each other to wade barefoot into the water and see who could stay in the longest. I lasted seven seconds. James won by a hair with no end of gloating.
Eliza is too much of a lady to play such games and rolls her eyes in disapproval. I had hoped we would become better friends on this journey, but I prefer James’s company, perhaps because he is daring and a mischievous little scamp.
The men are taking pains to wash and shave. Many are plunging into the river in their breeches and soaping themselves from head to toe. There is a great deal of splashing and larking about. Tomfoolery, Aunt Grace would say. And what would she say if she had heard me call out, “Attention, Lafleur! Y’a un serpent!” In two leaps he was out of the water!
(Eliza will accuse me of flirting this time.)
Must close — Gros Ventre has asked if his beard needs more trimming. He now knows better than to ask James.
Fort Langley
Wednesday, July 17th
Tonight we are sleeping in Mr. Yale’s house. He’s the Chief Trader of Fort Langley, so it is comfortable — tho’ I enjoyed sleeping in a tent.
We started at 4 o’clock this morning. The canadiens were dressed in their finest (and cleanest) clothing — deerskin breeches and embroidered jackets, moccasins decorated with beadwork, ribbons fluttering from their caps, ceintures fléchées tied ’round their waists, the long fringed ends swinging as they loaded the canoes.
I loved when the fur brigades arrived at Fort Edmonton, but the excitement of seeing them cannot compare to the thrill of travelling with a brigade — my heart leaping with the rhythm of the paddles, the gusty, rollicking, familiar songs. The experience left me breathless!
As we drew closer to the Fort, the canadiens lashed the canoes together and allowed them to drift downstream. The songs turned to whoops and cheers and the men fired muskets into the air. Up ahead I could see the HBCo flag rising to the top of the flagpole and we knew what was coming. “Plug your ears!” I cried, as the first cannon was fired. The welcoming roar echoed far and wide.
Father used to say that the arrival of the fur brigades marked the end of winter — reason enough for celebration. This time their arrival takes me one step closer to Fort Victoria and school —
Oh. And one step farther from home.
I am suddenly overcome with sadness. The excitement over the brigades, the entire ritual — it is so familiar, but what wouldn’t I give to have Nokum and Suzanne here to share it, and dear, dear Father.
Thursday, July 18th
Brigades have been arriving from the Interior with no end of cannon fire and celebration. Some even got here on Tuesday, before we did. What’s more, the Chief Factor of Fort Victoria, a Mr. Douglas, is coming to meet the fur brigades. He is expected any day now, which has the Fort in a feverish state of excitement, for he is not only the Chief Factor of Fort Victoria, but of the entire Columbia District. I hope he is a kindly sort, for Eliza, James and I will be travelling to Fort Victoria under his care. Mr. Anderson and Mr. Douglas made the arrangement some time ago, since Mr. Anderson has to return to his duties at Fort Colvile.
James and Eliza have been looking more and more unhappy since our arrival here, knowing that they will soon be apart from their father. I would like to cheer them up, but what can I say? I know the feeling too well, and it is not easily shaken by words.
Friday, July 19th
I was watching one of the brigades unloading their furs and a dashing canadien smiled at me. I must have turned the colour of his ceinture, my face felt so hot, and all I could think to do was walk away. I hope I smiled back. It would have been rude not to.
Eliza happened to be going by at the time and told me it was unseemly to flirt. She talks such nonsense.
Saturday, July 20th
A sailing ship is anchored in front of the Fort! What would Nokum say? No doubt she would be as awestruck as I was, watching the ship as it glided up the river like a magnificent white bird.
The ship is called the Cadboro. It looks enormous to me, but I have heard that it is only “a small schooner,” us
ed for carrying trade goods up and down the coast.
Mr. Douglas was on board, and his arrival was marked with stupendous roars of cannon. A launch took him from the ship to the jetty, and then it went back for the other passengers.
Now that I have seen Mr. Douglas, I am a little anxious about the rest of my journey. He looks exceedingly stern and formidable. His very height is formidable! There will be no practical jokes on the way to Fort Victoria, and I daresay he will not tolerate the slightest Misdemeanor. (But I could be mistaken.)
I would like to see him alongside Mr. Rowand. Tho’ they are both Chief Factors of large districts, they could not appear more different — the one tall, thin, stern and glowery, the other short, fat and jolly with a handsome dimple in his chin. Of course Mr. Rowand was not always jolly — Uncle Rory jokes about his temper, and Father once said that Mr. Rowand could halt a rebellion with his temper alone! Mr. Douglas could probably do the same.
Later
I was wrong. Mr. Douglas looks stern, but he has a kind nature. Eliza and James think so too, for when Mr. Anderson introduced us, Mr. Douglas greeted us warmly and showed a great deal of interest in the journey we had made. He even said he was looking forward to taking us to Fort Victoria.
Sunday, July 21st
Last night after Supper there was dancing in Bachelors’ Hall and everyone was there, even the children, and the men were asking the women and girls to dance reels, and Jean-Pierre, the one who smiled at me yesterday, invited me — not once, but twice!
Monday, July 22nd
There is so much going on — furs loaded onto the ship, provisions taken off, provisions repacked and loaded into canoes for the first part of the brigades’ return to the Interior, and I watch and wait and wait and watch, silently urging them to hasten before I die of impatience.
I have written a long letter to Aunt Grace, and Mr. Anderson says he will give it to her when he gets back to Fort Colvile. I have also written another letter to Suzanne. Mr. Anderson is taking it, too, and will put it in the mail packet marked for the Saskatchewan District. He says it will go with whoever happens to be travelling up the Columbia and crossing the Rockies, like someone going to a new post, or a small party returning home after taking leather goods to Fort Vancouver, or someone carrying mail from the Columbia District to the east. I imagine it making a journey like the one I made from Fort Edmonton — going from post to post, on one route or another, down rivers, up rivers, across the Rocky Mountains — and eventually it will reach Fort Edmonton and end up in Suzanne’s hands, whereupon she will clasp it to her chest and shed tears of joy on hearing from her absent friend. By then I will be in Fort Victoria and, if Suzanne keeps her promise, come Fall I will receive a letter from her! And will clasp it to my chest and shed tears, etc.
