A Country of Our Own Read online

  We walked along the canal to the river and stopped to watch the boats locking through. I hadn’t seen that yet. There are a series of something like pens in the canal, called locks, and huge gates that close them off from each other. Boats sail into the first lock from the canal, then a man turns a big wheel up on top of the gates behind the boats and those gates close, shutting them into the lock. Then, somehow or other, they start letting the water out. I think they can open little gates at the bottom of the big ones, until the water in that lock is down level with the water in the next lock. Then the man opens the gates in front of the boats by turning the wheel on the top of those gates, and the boats make their way out into that next lock. He closes the gates behind them once more, and lets the water out of the lock, then he opens the gates in front of them to let the boats go out yet again into the next lock.

  There are eight of these locks that the boats have to go through until, finally, they are down at the level of the river and they sail out into it. Briney says they just reverse the procedure and fill each lock back up when boats want to go from the river up to the canal. I wanted to wait and watch that, but Briney was keen to get on to the sawmill and show me the rafts.

  We walked along the riverbank up to the rapids at the Chaudière Falls. The sawmill was opposite us on the other bank. I could see huge piles of sawdust burning, and when the wind shifted toward us it was all I could do to breathe. The smoke was so thick it set me to coughing. That’s where the horrible stench of smoke in the town comes from. I was just about to tell Briney I couldn’t take another minute of it when he grabbed my arm and shouted, “Look there, Rosie! There comes a raft down the slider!”

  I looked, and saw the most enormous raft hurtling down the river toward the falls. I was certain it would go over and be dashed to pieces, but the men standing on it guided it to a spot over beside the falls, where it was diverted away from the main part of the river.

  “There’s a slider there,” Briney told me. “It’s a place where they clear the rocks away and build a wood ramp, and the rafts just slide down it and avoid the falls completely.”

  As the raft swept back into the river below the falls and on down, I could see the shacks, the ones that Briney had told me about, set up on it. There was even smoke coming up from a cook fire on one of them. It was such an amazing sight that I decided I could put up with the smoke. We watched for an hour, but didn’t see another raft go by. We did see smaller ones brought up against the shore to the sawmill, though. I expect those would be the ones that the mill would cut into lumber.

  That mill has certainly made a mess of the river. Sawdust and wood shavings and all manner of disgusting stuff was piled in the water around it. Almost choked the river up, it did.

  Finally, it was time to come back. I’m in my nook behind the kitchen now, writing while everyone else has gone to bed.

  It was an exciting day, but now the loneliness has set in again. Evenings are the hardest. I wonder if I am missed as much at home as I miss all of them. My head tells me that of course I am, but my heart worries that I will be forgotten. I hope Mary Margaret realizes what a sacrifice I have made for her.

  Wednesday, July 4th, 1866

  A letter from home! It arrived this afternoon and I tucked it into my pocket to read tonight in the privacy of my own room. I was afraid to read it in front of Cook because I thought I might weep, and weep I did. Floods. Mam wrote that they are all well, although the little ones have all had colds. I worried for Bridget at that, but Mam said she was fine. The big news, of course, is that Mary Margaret is wed. I am happy for her, in spite of everything. I held the letter to my nose and I swear I could smell all the good smells of home in it. I’ve never been so happy and so sad all at once in my life.

  I will stop now and write back to them. Missus Bradley gave me paper and an envelope and said that Mister Bradley would mail my response tomorrow. She asked if Mary Margaret was wed yet and I told her she was. She frowned and sniffed a bit at that, but then said she would drop a little something in the mail for Mary Margaret as a wedding gift, so perhaps she has forgiven her.

  Friday, July 6th, 1866

  Cook made a new dish with the eggs this morning. They were all stirred up in the pan. She called it “scrambled eggs.” Mister Bradley was very dubious about trying them. Said they looked too messy, but then he tried them, and ate every scrap, so I suppose he liked them.

  Wednesday, July 11th, 1866

  So busy! I haven’t had a moment to write in my journal. I just fall into bed exhausted at night. Cook has had me digging and weeding the garden without stop. The weather has been hot. Good for growing, and our vegetables are doing well, but there has not been much rain. We collect what little there is in a rain barrel, and I must water the young plants daily or they will die. It is very satisfying to see them grow bigger and taller every day. Faith, I think sometimes they are even taller in the evening than in the morn.

  It annoys me intensely to see James lounging about watching us work away in this heat. He, of course, would not deign to dirty his hands, and he turns up his nose quite obviously at me. He takes good care not to look down on Cook, though. That would be the end of good meals for him if he did. Unfortunately, I am so unimportant in this house that he can snub me as much as he wishes. Oh, how I dislike him!

  I wonder if my letter has reached home yet.

  Friday, July 13th, 1866

  Missus Bradley is feeling the heat very badly. Cook tries to make light soups for her, but she cannot seem to eat. To make matters worse, because the weather has been so dry there have been a lot of forest fires across the river and now even more smoke hangs like a pall over the city. The mills themselves keep up such a screeching and hammering that it is enough to drive a body mad.

  How could a town be more horrid than this one? Whatever was Queen Victoria thinking when she chose it to be the capital?

  Monday, July 16th, 1866

  The heat continues. This morning Missus Bradley told me to take the afternoon off and go somewhere cool. There is nowhere cool to go, but Briney came by with the water and asked me to go blueberry picking with him. I was more than happy to do so.

  We left straightaway after dinner at noon and crossed the river over to the hills on the other side. There was a profusion of blueberries growing all around the stony hillsides, and even though the mosquitoes were bothersome, we picked until all the buckets we had brought with us were filled. Cook says we will make flummery with the berries.

  Tuesday, July 17th, 1866

  Cook taught me how to make blueberry flummery. It was delicious. I have never tasted it before. This is the recipe:

  Stew 3 pints of blueberries with 1 of sugar. When the berries have been stewing for about 15 minutes, stir in a teacupful of flour, and stir the whole time until it becomes thick.

  We let it cool and then ate it with cream. Missus Bradley even managed to eat some and it seemed to make her feel better. Cook was disappointed because she wanted to add a bit of lemon juice and peel to it, but there are no lemons to be had in Ottawa.

  I hope Briney comes by tomorrow, as I’ve saved him some.

  The heat is really unbearable. It was actually over 85 degrees today and not a breath of a breeze. Missus Bradley is suffering.

  Wednesday, July 18th, 1866

  Great news! Mister Bradley came home this evening to tell us that he is sending Missus Bradley to Cacouna for the summer, and I am to go too. Cacouna is a town on the south shore of the St. Lawrence River, away down past Québec City. He is worried that the heat is distressing to Missus Bradley. It seems that many of the other families go there in the summer to get away from the heat here. The town is right on the river and is much cooler with the breezes off the water. Mister Bradley has arranged for us to stay at a hotel and we leave next week on a steamer.

  He will have to return to Ottawa after he gets us settled, as plans for Confederation are going ahead apace and he is needed here. Mister Macdonald, Mister Cartier, Mister Brown
and a delegation of other men are planning to go to England in November to work out all the details and, although he will not be among them, Mister Bradley will have to work on the preparations for the trip. He’ll return to fetch us home, however.

  It will be grand, but the whole house is in turmoil, packing and getting ready to go.

  I’m to travel on a steamship and stay in a hotel. Fancy that! I can’t help feeling a little smug that I am to enjoy this instead of Mary Margaret. Not a very noble thought, but there, I have to have some consolation, don’t I?

  Sunday, July 22nd, 1866

  Now I am in trouble. I got home from Mass before the Bradleys returned from their church and Cook was just taking the roast of beef out of the oven. She put it on the kitchen table and told me to make the gravy while she went up to her room for a clean apron. I thought I would just nip out to the garden to pick a tomato and some early peas before I started on the gravy. While I was out there, I saw Brutus tear out of the kitchen door with something in his mouth, and disappear back around Daisy’s shack. I didn’t think much of it — the beast is always tearing around and getting in the way. If anything, I was just grateful that he was out of the house. That’s when I heard Cook screech. I ran back in and she was standing staring at the table in a right state. Staring at an empty platter with but a smear of meat juice on it. That wretched dog had stolen the whole joint and I am to blame for it.

  What a to-do when the family returned and there was nothing but soup for their Sunday dinner. I am in disgrace. That beast will be the death of me. And of course James had to give me a good glare too. He obviously dislikes me as much as I do him, but I can’t for the life of me understand why. What have I ever done to him? Perhaps he just thinks himself much more grand than any lowly servant girl.

  They’re still taking me to Cacouna, though. And thanks be, Cook and the dog are both staying here, and James will be returning with Mister Bradley.

  Monday, July 23rd, 1866

  We’re off tomorrow morning early. The house is all at sixes and sevens. Must run. Missus Bradley is calling for me to help with the packing.

  Tuesday, July 24th, 1866

  I’m on the boat! We boarded early this morning. There was such a hustle and bustle on the docks, Missus Bradley and I were fair confused, but Mister Bradley soon had it all sorted out. I was sent to find my berth below decks and that’s where I am now. I have a cosy bunk in the women’s section. There is such a to-ing and fro-ing that no one is paying any attention to me at all, so I have pulled out my journal to make this quick note.

  The boat’s whistle just let out a tremendous blast. We must be sailing. I’m off to the deck to watch us leave.

  Later

  Oh, it was fine watching the boat leave the dock. The great paddlewheels on the sides churn up the water no end and black smoke just poured out of the funnel. The river is choppy and I’m finding it hard to move around. Even harder to write. I’m making a right mess of this!

  A cabin boy has just found me to tell me that my missus wants me up at her cabin to help her unpack. I’ll tuck this away in my bundle and stow it under my mattress. Stow is a good nautical word. I heard a sailor use it.

  Later again

  We are well under way. That’s another nautical term. The sailors almost speak a foreign language, it is so different. I’m tucked into my berth for the night and have a bit of time to write. A right large woman has the bunk next to mine, but she is not settled into it yet. Truth be told, I think she’s making merry with some of the men. Someone’s playing a fiddle and someone else is playing the harmonica and some people are dancing. It does sound lively.

  Mister and Missus Bradley have a grand cabin up on the top deck next to the dining saloon. I helped Missus Bradley unpack, and then she wanted to lie down. I sat with her for a while. She was not well enough to go into the dining saloon for the noon meal, so I fetched her a bowl of soup. She was kind enough to have me fetch a bowl for myself as well, then she decided to rest and sent me away.

  I spent the afternoon hanging over the rail and watching the water and the shore go by. The great paddlewheels on the sides make a thoroughly satisfying and peaceful whoosh with every turn. It is almost mesmerizing.

  I have decided that travel by boat is infinitely better than travel by train. I spent a most delightful afternoon.

  I saw a young girl around my age with another family, but I didn’t have a chance to speak to her. She seemed to be a maidservant, as am I, and was helping her mistress to settle down onto a chair on the deck. I would have loved to speak to her. I wonder if by any chance she and that family are going to Cacouna as well.

  The supper gong sounded at 6 o’clock and I nipped back to see how Missus Bradley was faring. She was up and dressed and the colour was back in her cheeks. She told me she was going to play cards after supper and I was free to amuse myself for the rest of the evening.

  The sailors brought down bowls of soup for us and loaves of bread and hard cheese. The fresh air must be giving me a great appetite because I was that hungry — it all tasted delicious.

  We tied up for the night and after I ate I went up on deck again for a while. The moon was out and didn’t it just look fine shining on the water. I drank the sight in. The breeze was gentle in my hair and I lifted my face to it, smelling all the good river smells. I could hear a brass and string band playing in the saloon. I hoped Missus Bradley was enjoying herself. Then I came back down here and curled up in my bunk to write this.

  The dancing has stopped now. So has the fiddler. There is just the long, lonely sound of the harmonica. It’s quite lovely, it is.

  Whisht! Here comes my bunk mate. My, she does look large.

  Friday, July 27th, 1866

  The first chance I’ve had to write since we arrived in Cacouna. There is so much to tell, I don’t know where to start. I suppose I should just start from where I left off on the boat.

  I didn’t sleep much that night. When Missus Tubbs — that’s her name — arrived, she heaved herself up to the berth beside me and sort of exploded down with a huge sigh. She overflowed onto my bunk to such an extent that I squinched myself close to the hull of the ship, almost in terror that she would billow right over me and suffocate me. She was going to Montreal to visit her daughter. She has eight children, but this daughter is more trouble than all the rest put together, she said.

  “A right baby she is,” she said. “Never mind that she’s wed and expecting a babe of her own. She’ll never be able to get through it without me.”

  I wonder if that is the poor daughter’s opinion too. Not much she’ll have to say about it, I don’t think.

  That was only the first thing that I found out about her. It seemed that she was settled in to talking and she went on and on and on. I won’t bother to put down all she said. Truth to tell, I kept dozing off, but when I did she gave me a good poke to startle me awake again, so I had to keep on making noises like I was listening. And, wouldn’t you know it, she started in on Confederation. Seems it’s all anybody is talking about these days. She couldn’t see how it was going to do any good for the likes of her, she said. It wouldn’t put more meat and potatoes on her table, and the whole business was just stirring the country up for no good reason. So there’s someone else who doesn’t agree with it.

  I couldn’t think of how to answer her, what with my own worries about it all, but as there was no chance of getting a word in anyway, it didn’t really matter.

  Then, just like that, between one word and another, she fell asleep. But then didn’t she start in to snoring. Sounded like one of those great saws at the mill that Briney took me to. With hiccups. And snorts.

  I was that sleepy the next morning. When I went up to help Missus Bradley, she caught me yawning and asked me if my sleeping arrangements had not been good. I told her it was not a problem. No sense worrying her. Besides, Missus Tubbs was getting off in Montreal and I wouldn’t have to share sleeping quarters with her again.

  As I went bac
k out onto the deck I realized that something was about to happen. People crowded the railings and the sailors were hopping all about. Ahead of us the river was all in a turmoil. There were waves breaking from one side of the river to the other in all directions, it seemed. Some of them were huge.

  I asked one of the sailors what it was. He said it was called the Lachine Rapids.

  “Are we going to sail through them?” I asked. I couldn’t believe it.

  “That we are, Missy. Hang tight!”

  Well, I decided that if we were going into that maelstrom, I was certainly going to have a good view of it. I dashed up to the bow of the boat. (That’s the front. Another nautical term.)

  I just reached the railing and with that we were into it. The boat steamed right into that wild water and within seconds we were being bounced around all over the place. I hung on for dear life. The ladies around me were screaming, and some of the gentlemen looked as if they were having a hard time not doing the same, but I just gloried in it. It was by far the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me and I didn’t want to miss a moment of it. The spray from the waves we hit rose up almost to where I was standing.

  Finally we sailed out and into the river proper. I had thought the river rough before, but after that it seemed as calm as a millpond.

  What an adventure! I heard one of the ladies complaining later, saying that there was a perfectly good canal that we could have gone through and avoided the rapids altogether. A sailor told her that they go through them on purpose, to give the passengers some fun. She harrumphed mightily and declared that some people’s idea of fun was not hers and she was most certainly going to complain to the captain.

  I am so happy that we did it, though. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

  When Missus Tubbs got off in Montreal she enveloped me in those great soft arms and gave me a huge hug that stopped my breathing for several minutes. I couldn’t help feeling a wee bit sorry for the daughter, but Missus Tubbs is a good soul and I suppose she means well.