With Nothing But Our Courage Page 3
October 17th, 1783
What an incredible sight today! How to describe it? We were following alongside the river for most of the day, although the land along the river’s edge was gradually rising and the river was falling farther and farther below us. I could hear this roaring noise that was getting closer and closer.
“There’s a waterfall up ahead of us,” Father said. “John told me.”
I had never seen a big waterfall before and was quite anxious to reach it. Finally, in the early afternoon, John signalled a halt. We could not see the river from where we were, but the noise of it now was so great that we could hardly hear each other speak. John led us through the trees to the bank. When we broke through, what a sight there was to greet us! We found ourselves standing right on the edge. The river raced by us in a smooth, swift, almost oily sheet, then plunged over the brink to cascade down onto rocks far below. Spray billowed up into the sunlight, dancing with rainbows. I have never seen anything more beautiful in my life, but the power of it was fearful. It took me a moment or two to remember to breathe again.
But now we have a problem, Father says. This is where we must part company with John and his band. The Hudson River turns sharply west here, but we must keep on going north until we reach another river that runs into Lake Champlain. John says the name of that river is the Mettawee. Or something like that. I’m not at all sure of the spelling, but that is what it sounds like.
Father is worried that we might get lost, striking out on our own. The track from here on looks very rough and narrow and not well-travelled. He and John are scouting it out right now.
Father has just returned with very welcome news. John has offered to guide us to the Mettawee. It is very good of him to do so, as his family will have to camp here and wait for him to return before they go on. Fort Niagara, where they are going, is far to the west of here and they have just been travelling with us until the river turned and they could turn with it. It will be a long journey for them, Father says, and they might not reach the Fort until early next year. That means they will have to travel during the winter — I cannot imagine how hard that will be.
We are camped close to the riverside and as I write this my ears are full of the sound of falling water. It is strangely soothing. I think I will sleep well tonight.
October 18th, 1783
We have left the Hudson River now. Thank goodness John is with us or we would have lost our way for certain. We are making our way through heavy woods and the track is rough and narrow. It branches out in different directions in several places. Very confusing!
October 19th, 1783
Sunday again. Father said prayers with us after breakfast, but still refused to stay put for the day. Surely the Lord will forgive him, but I don’t think Grannie will.
The leaves on the trees are just blazing now — even when the sun is hidden it looks like the forest around us is all lit up. It must be so beautiful around our house. But I won’t let myself think of that. It makes me too sad.
I carried baby Margaret for a good part of the way today, even though she is getting heavy. She seems happier when she is carried and does not cry as much. Mother feeds her, then she sleeps, then I carry her for a while. She gurgles and burbles and is beginning to look all around her. A bird flew down and perched on a branch near where we had stopped for our midday break and Margaret squealed at it with great delight.
It seemed to ease Mother a bit, but she is still so unhappy. She does not sing to Margaret. I remember when Jamie was a baby Mother sang to him all the time. In fact, she was always singing, and we loved to sing with her. Her favourite songs were lullabies and old Scottish tunes in a dialect that I never understood the half of. Father loved to sing too, but he favours more rollicking songs and sea chanties. Sometimes when he got quite carried away Grannie would scowl at him and purse up her lips and nod toward Jamie and me and he would have a sudden coughing fit and stop. I suppose those were songs that she didn’t approve of. Father may be a grown man, but Grannie still treats him like a little boy every now and then.
Angus’s and my favourite song was “The Golden Vanity” and Mother sniffed at it because it was an English sea chanty. “I declare, Robert,” she used to say, “I don’t know where you pick these things up.”
But he never paid her any mind and just kept on singing whatever he wanted to.
I suppose it is a sad song, about a young cabin boy who is betrayed by his captain and left to drown, but we used to sing out the chorus as loudly as we could with all the will in the world, Father’s voice bellowing out over all of ours, and we never once thought about what the words were saying. Now I think about it a great deal:
He sank into the Lowland, Lowland, Low
He sank into the Lowland Sea.
We’ll be on a boat when we reach Lake Champlain, if Father can get one. I’ve never been on a boat.
I can’t swim. I hope I don’t drown!
October 20th, 1783
We have reached the Mettawee. So far we’ve just had small streams to deal with that were easy to ford, but this river is very wide and the current is fast. It looks dangerous.
John said he thought he could find a better place to make the crossing, so he and Father have gone off to scout for one. Jamie is busy throwing stones into the water for Laddie to chase after and I’ve had to pull him out twice. Mother is taking this opportunity to feed Margaret. Grannie is looking worried.
Later
We made the crossing, but I’m still shaking with fear. And very wet. Most everything we own is drenched. Fortunately, I was able to keep this journal dry.
Father and John came back and led us farther downstream where they said we could cross. It was not quite as wide as the place where we had stopped earlier, but it was still wide enough to be frightening. I could not help but wonder how deep it was. I soon found out.
And here we had to part with John. He stood watching us as we urged old Blue into the river. I looked back once, then when the current took hold of us I could not do anything but hang on for dear life. When we reached the middle of the river old Blue was almost swimming. He tripped once and the whole wagon tilted. Water streamed in and Mother screamed. I held on to Jamie with one hand and the side of the wagon with the other. I didn’t scream, but I must admit I had my eyes squinched tight shut. I just couldn’t look. Jamie, of course, worried only about Laddie, who was swimming alongside us.
Suddenly I heard Jamie cry out and I opened my eyes to see the dog being swept down the river away from us. It was all I could do to hold Jamie down. I declare he would have leapt right in after Laddie if I hadn’t. As it was he howled and raised a terrible commotion until we finally made it to the other side and onto dry land. Then he was out of the wagon and running down the riverside in a trice.
“Go after him!” Mother cried, but I already was.
Thanks be to goodness the dog managed to make it to the shore by itself not too much farther down. Of course the first thing it did was to shake all over me. As if I weren’t wet enough already.
When I thought to look back across the river, John was gone.
Now Father is building a fire and Mother is hanging clothes and blankets up on bushes to dry out. I’m minding Margaret, who has the hiccups. She looks so puzzled every time she hiccups that I can’t help but laugh at her.
I am so relieved to be across that river!
Grannie has not stopped scolding Jamie since we set up camp. He and the dog make a very woebegone, wet pair. Bess is bawling. She did have to swim and is obviously not happy about it.
It feels lonely without John. I had not realized how much his presence reassured me. Father says he doubts that we would ever have made it this far without his help, and that he is immensely grateful. Father must have been grateful — as well as a goodly amount of our supplies, he gave John the last of his precious tobacco. No more pipe in the evening for him. I can’t imagine Father without his evening pipe.
October 21st, 1783
“I wish John had stayed with us a little longer,” I said to Father this morning, but he just smiled and gave me a hug.
“You worry too much, little Mary,” he said. “We’ll do just fine.”
I leaned into his arms and let myself sink into the strength and the warm good smell of him. For a moment it felt just like old times. How I have missed him. Not that he isn’t here, of course, but it seems almost as if he is only here in his body. His mind is all closed off. With worry, I suppose. He tells me not to worry. How can I tell him not to?
October 22nd, 1783
Father was right. We have reached Lake Champlain and the land is beginning to get much hillier. The lake itself does not look so big from here, but Father says he has heard that it gets much wider farther north.
The dunking in the river went a long way to cleaning Laddie off, and Jamie has soaked him in the lake and combed and brushed him within an inch of his life. The dog actually looks quite respectable and has a fine coat indeed. He is as friendly as can be now, and even licked my hand today when I shared a bit of salt pork with him.
He still smells, though. Grannie grumbles about the smell and about giving him our good food, but I caught her giving him a pat, too, when she didn’t know I was looking. Her lilac bush is still alive. Woebetide Jamie or me if we sit on it in the wagon!
October 23rd, 1783
I cannot believe how high the hills are here! They are mountains! The track we are following goes along the lake’s edge, but it curves and doubles around and at times seems to go straight up and we all have to get off the wagon and walk while Mother drives old Blue. Then the track plunges right back down again and Father leaps back into the wagon and stands on the brakes. We have to stop to rest very often. None of us is able to talk. We have to save all our breath for the climbing.
October 24th, 1783
Chimney Point
We have made it to Chimney Point! Thank goodness the land has flattened out here. The mountains now loom off to the east of us a good distance away. There were times the last two days when I did not think I could walk another step. We are all too exhausted to move.
The lake looks to me to be very wide here, but Father says this is still only the narrow part. There are waves lapping on the shore. I can see some boats out on the water and they look very small and are tossing around in a most alarming way. How big will the waves be when we get out on the wide part of the lake, I wonder? I suppose I should be excited about going on a boat — Jamie certainly is — but I’m not.
The leaves on the hill on the other side are still brilliant, but it is getting quite cold. Father has gone off to see about arranging for a boat. While we wait I will describe what it is like here.
First of all, there are so many people it takes my breath away. Families and wagons and animals are camped all along the lakeside. Some people have tents, some just make shelters out of tarpaulins as we do. There are more Indians around than I’ve ever seen before. Children are running wild and it is noisy beyond belief. I’m sitting at the edge of our campfire as I write this, on a small rise overlooking the shore. There is a sandy beach below me and Jamie is in his glory. He has made friends with several other children already and they are all barefoot and wet and covered with sand. I would like to walk along that beach, too, but I must mind Margaret, who is sleeping with her thumb stuck firmly in her mouth. Mother is milking Bess. Grannie is napping in her shelter. Now Jamie is trying to get Laddie to fetch a stick. Laddie doesn’t seem to see the reason for it and is not cooperating very well and the other children are laughing at him. Jamie has given up and run to retrieve the stick himself.
It would be so nice to be five years old and not worried all the time.
Everyone wants to sail up to Canada, it seems. Except for the people who live here. They are very dour and keep to themselves. Father says they are all Patriots and have no love for us. I can well believe it. One old lady passed me by just now and muttered “Tory cowards” under her breath, but not so much under her breath that I could not hear. I’m certain she meant me to. The scowl she gave me could have curdled milk.
There are still some burned-out foundations of houses around with only chimneys standing. That’s what gave this place its name: Chimney Point. Father gave me one of his history lessons. He told me that this part of the country was originally settled by the French and then, during the war the British had with the French over who would own this country, the British invaded here and all the settlers were forced to flee. They burned their houses as they went and all that was left were the chimneys, standing up tall and lone.
I’m very glad we didn’t burn our house when we left. That would have been too sad.
A girl who looks to be just about my age has come up to where we are camped and is standing staring at me. She has the most beautiful long curly hair. She’s lovely and tall, too, not short like me. That girl looks nice, though. I think I will go talk to her. It’s been so long since I’ve talked with anyone else my age!
Later
What joy! Her name is Hannah and she and her family are going to Canada, too. You’d never know she’s had as hard a time as I have — she just fairly bubbles over with talk. She said when she saw me she was as delighted to see someone else her own age as I was to see her. She said she had to make me take notice of her because her mother had threatened to muzzle her if she didn’t be quiet.
“But I can’t be quiet,” she said. “I just can’t. The words all burble up inside me and have to be let out somehow!”
Before I realized it, I was talking and laughing with her as if I didn’t have a care in the world.
Her family’s name is Ross and they lived down in the Mohawk Valley. They’ve travelled even farther than we have. They have a very fine wagon, though, and the most beautiful brace of oxen I have ever seen. Hannah took me over to their campsite to show the oxen to me and introduce me to her family. Mr. Ross is very fat and bluff and hearty and has hair as curly as Hannah’s. He has a really really loud voice. Mrs. Ross looks tiny beside him, but she is so bossy with him that I had to hide my face so they wouldn’t see me laughing. There is an older sister named Molly and two younger brothers named George and Hugh. The oxen are called Buck and Bright. They are big, but very gentle. Mr. Ross let me pet them. They have the loveliest brown eyes.
Molly seems to take after her mother. She was ordering her brothers and Hannah all around and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had started in on me.
Oh, how I hope we can travel up to Canada together. They are such a nice family and it is so wonderful to have a friend.
Later still
How can I be so pleased one moment and so despairing the next? I had just finished writing those words when I saw Father returning and his face looked like a thunder cloud. I knew at once that something was dreadfully wrong. At first I thought he had been unable to find us a boat, but it was not that. It was worse. He did find a boat, but it is too small to take our wagon! We can only take what we can carry ourselves. We cannot take old Blue, nor Bess — not even the chickens! Mother is beside herself. Jamie is howling and hanging on to Laddie for dear life. He will not be parted from that dog. I am in a daze. How will we survive without our possessions? Without our animals?
My wish that Hannah’s family could travel with us has come true, but it is awful as well. They cannot take their wagon or their beautiful oxen either. Mrs. Ross is particularly distressed, Hannah says. She is a weaver and will not be able to take her loom. Hannah told me that it takes a particular skill to make a weaver’s loom, and this one was made especially for her mother by a master carpenter back home.
October 25th, 1783
> This has to be one of the saddest days we’ve had since we had to flee from our home. We have spent most of a day unpacking the wagon and figuring out how much we can carry ourselves. It is not much. Mother has wrapped her good china platter in the feather tick. She says she will not move without it. Father has made a bundle of tools. I will carry Margaret, so will not be able to manage much else, but will take what I can. Poor little Jamie will be loaded down with as much as he can bear. Grannie says we must take as many pots as possible but we won’t be able to carry many, and certainly not the iron skillets. How will we ever cook our food? She went more quiet than I’ve ever seen her when she realized she couldn’t take her spinning wheel. Her mother had brought it all the way from Scotland with her when she came to America. Grannie will not leave her bit of lilac bush, though. I expect I’ll have to carry that, too, somehow. Luckily it is not very big.
Everything is in a heap. Now father is hitching old Blue up to the wagon and leading it away. The wagon is loaded up with all the things we cannot take. The chickens are squawking as if they know something terrible is going to happen to them, and Bess is bawling. I cannot stand it!
At least Father is allowing Jamie to keep Laddie.
“Surely there will be space on that boat for one small dog,” he said.
Mind you, Laddie is not small, but the look on my father’s face would warn anyone that he has taken as much as he is going to and will not be trifled with further. I’ve never seen him so angry. He and Mother even had words. I’ve never heard them argue so before.
“Why can we not just keep our wagon and make our way north by the road?” Mother pleaded when he broke the news to her.