Thomas found White Paddler sitting on the bank of the river. He dropped to the frozen ground beside him, hugging his great coat to him to keep out the cold. “You look troubled.”
White Paddler smiled at him. “You know, I was happy until you came.”
“Well, that makes me feel good. What is the matter?”
“I guess I am feeling a little homesick.”
“You have been gone a long time. It is natural to feel that way after hearing news about the family.”
“But I thought I was over it after the first year. I thought this was my life.”
“Tell me about your life here. From what I have seen so far you have done well.”
“It was not easy to begin with, but no harder than for any new recruit. Like you, I was a laborer. I chopped wood, fed the animals, worked the garden, fished, hunted, loaded and unloaded the supply ships, helped construct new buildings. I did everything a company servant is supposed to do. I also learned the Indian way of life.
“I speak their language. I can hunt with a bow and arrow, stalking the animal silently through the bush. I have danced around a campfire acting out my pursuit and kill in front of the other hunters. I wear just the lightest of clothing in cold weather and I have mastered the canoe, becoming as adept as the natives at steering it up and down river.”
“Is that why they call you White Paddler?” Thomas asked.
“Yes.”
“When I married Spotted Fawn,” White Paddler continued. “I moved to the Indian village instead of moving her to the married men’s quarters. I am now looking after her grandmother, mother and sister.”
“Why did you go inland?” Thomas wondered how his brother had been picked to be the only white man on the trip.
“From the beginning the Company has kept the policy of staying on the Hudson’s Bay shore and letting the Indians make the long journey from the west with their furs. But the French, our competitors, began travelling to meet with the Indians who had normally traded here. The Indians would then trade their best furs with the Frenchmen and bring the second grade ones to the bay. Some Indians liked the idea of the white man coming to them and stopped making the trip altogether, so in the 1740s, the Company began to change its policy. It set up a post called Henley House west of Fort Albany. From what I hear, it is small and is supposed to be a defense post, not a trading post. The Company also approved some inland trading.
“For over a year I tried to persuade Factor Smith to send some canoes inland to trade with the Indians. Last year he finally agreed, and because of my knowledge of the Indian language and way of life, he sent me.”
“It sounds like a wonderful place.”
“It is. On my first trip I could not believe the expanse of the land. It was far bigger than I expected with wide open spaces, thick forests, and many rivers and lakes. And from what the Indians say, there is much more land farther west than where I went.”
“What about the Indian people you traded with?”
“They are friendly. I lived in their camps, hunted with them, and sat around their campfires listening to their legends. As I was returning I thought about moving inland and becoming a free trader when my service is up.”
“And now?”
“Now I am not sure. I have barely thought about the family in the past two years. Actually I do not even think of Stromness as home any more, and yet since I have talked to you all that has changed. I want to see Mother again, and Father before he dies.”
Thomas was silent. He knew exactly what White Paddler was going through. He still had attacks of homesickness.
“I have enough money from my years here to buy a farm near Stromness,” White Paddler said.
“Would you be happy on a farm?”
“I do not know.”
Before Thomas could say anything more White Paddler’s wife walked up to them. They both scrambled to their feet. White Paddler put his arm around her.
“Thomas, I would like you to meet Spotted Fawn.”
“My sister and I thought you looked familiar when you arrived,” Spotted Fawn said, with a smile.
So Little Bird was the sister of White Paddler’s wife’s. Thomas had not seen her since he delivered the barrels of rotten meat to the village.
“You two look like you are having a serious discussion,” Spotted Fawn said.
“We were talking about my family in Stromness.”
“And now you miss them.”
“Yes.”
Thomas saw Spotted Fawn’s eyes cloud over. He wondered if she was worried about what that would do to their marriage.
* * *
One unusually warm Sunday when the sun shone bright in the southern sky most of the men from the post sat outside on the wooden sidewalk enjoying the feeble warmth. In spite of the heavy clouds that had passed over them on two occasions, there had been no snow yet.
“Are the winters really as bad as everyone says?” Thomas asked Jarvis.
“Worse. Some winters we have had snow up to the roof. Others have been so cold that the mercury in the thermometer freezes solid.”
“Oh, I do not believe that,” Henry scoffed.
“You will just have to wait and see, then,” Luke said.
“What do you do all winter?”
“Eat and play cards.”
“And haul wood,” Jarvis said. “If our supply gets low then we have to go and chop down some trees.”
“How do they do that when the snow is up to the roof?” Francis asked, with a grin.
“We have to keep paths opened and make sure the wood pile is kept topped up at all times. If we do not, we will all freeze.”
Suddenly there came a shrieking and hollering from up river. It was an eerie sound that made Thomas’ skin crawl. The boys looked at each other and then at the older men.
“That is the Indians hunting caribou,” Luke explained. “Come. We will go watch for a while and you will see something you have never seen before.”
Everyone who heard the noise had the same idea and they hurried upstream from the fort. They walked on the bank above the river, climbing over rocks and through the short brush which hampered their movement. The yelling grew louder as they approached, and soon they could see Indian women and children on the opposite shore. They were screaming and waving their arms, their shrieking was matched by the women and children on the shoreline just under the men. In the middle of the river was a herd of caribou. They had been forced into the water by one group of women, and kept there by both.
The Indian women and children picked up stones and threw them at the animals. The constant noise, and rocks hitting them or splashing beside them, confused the animals. They could not flee, nor could they defend themselves. Soon they grew tired from the nonstop swimming in the icy water.
From the opposite bank, and down from the women, the Indian men, armed with spears and sticks that had been sharpened, paddled out to the caribou. They worked their way up beside the animals. The paddlers controlled the canoes while the men with the spears aimed for the unprotected kidneys of the animals, driving their spears in and twisting. The caribou churned up the water as they tried to escape, and soon the river ran red with their blood.
Thomas stared at White Paddler steering one of the canoes. He and the Indian with the spear worked as a team. White Paddler propelled the craft around other canoes and through openings in the herd. When they came close to an animal, White Paddler paused, holding the canoe still against the current, while the Indian stood and drove the spear into its back.
Thomas had to admit that White Paddler was good with the canoe, and he understood now why he had been given his name. The only difference between his handling of the canoe and that of the many Indians on the river was that he was better.
When the slaughter was finished, the men of the post stood to leave. “The show is over,” one of them said.
“Looks like a good kill,” Luke said. “We will have some fresh caribou tomorrow. That should keep the men happy for a while.”
Thomas liked the idea of fresh meat. Living on salted meat was not to his liking. “Why do they give some to us?” he asked.
“They did not need to kill the whole herd to feed themselves. So, they will be bringing over the extra meat to trade.”
“Do they do this often?” Francis asked.
“Whenever a herd is close by.”
Thomas stayed at his vantage point after everyone else had left. He watched as the Indian in White Paddler’s canoe took over the paddling while White Paddler grabbed the antlers of a dead caribou. They paddled to the beach. White Paddler jumped out and pulled the animal up on shore near where Spotted Fawn stood. She smiled at him, and then began slitting the belly of the animal. The rest of the Indian men also pulled the animals by their antlers to the shore. Some brought them right up to their women, while others just deposited them on the beach. The current of the river claimed some of the bodies but the majority were skinned.
Thomas envied his brother. He was living the life Thomas had pictured, the kind of life Thomas wanted. Thomas hoped White Paddler would not return to Stromness.
* * *
Thomas had just left the stores when White Paddler came up to him.
“I am going to speak with Factor Smith. Do you want to come?”
Thomas hesitated. “The Factor and I had some problems when I first came here. I do not know if he will be glad to see me.”
“Yes, I heard you asked him about me and attacked the cook.”
“The cook deserved it. He hit Richard.”
“I heard that, too. But come anyway. He probably has forgotten about it.”
Thomas followed White Paddler into the Factor’s office and closed the door. Smith sat at his desk writing in his journal. He looked up and frowned at Thomas, then closed the journal.
“I believe you have met my brother, Thomas,” White Paddler said.
“Yes. Is that why you have come, to introduce me to your brother?”
“No. We have to talk.”
The Factor sighed. “I suppose it is about setting up posts inland.”
“We need them.” White Paddler leaned on the desk. “The French are taking the best of the furs.”
“We did all right this year.”
“Have you looked at how rich and thick the furs are that I brought back as compared to the ones brought here by the Indians. All you get is what is left over after the French have picked through them.”
“The Company does not want a fort inland.”
“But the Indians do.”
“The Indians have been coming to the bay to trade with us for eighty years. They will continue to do so.”
White Paddler shook his head. “The Cree, who act as middlemen between us and the Indians who trap the beaver may continue to come, but only after they have traded the superior furs with the French. We need to set up posts farther to the west where the Indian trappers are and where the best pelts are.”
“But then we will have to make long voyages taking the trade goods and supplies to the forts and bringing back the furs. It is better for us if the Indians make the trips.”
Thomas could see the look of exasperation on White Paddler’s face. He began to pace the room. “Why should they come here, when all they have to do is meet the French at their Fort Bourbon on the big lake called Lake Winnipeg?”
“We have cut our prices for their furs. They know they will get more goods if they deal with us.”
“The Indians trade their finest furs for the French brandy and smaller items that the French can carry in their canoes,” White Paddler argued. “Then they come here with the left over furs, and trade for the bigger, cheaper goods we have.”
“They prefer our Brazilian tobacco to the Frenchman’s. They will come for that.”
“That is true,” White Paddler admitted, stopping in front of the desk again. “The Indians claim the French tobacco tastes like sawdust. But tobacco is not the only trade good the Indians want.”
“We will not build a fort inland,” the Factor said.
White Paddler walked to the door and opened it. Before leaving he said. “The men who run the Company in London have no idea what is happening out here. The trade business is changing, and the Company has to change with it or they will lose everything.”
Thomas took one look at the Factor before he went out the doorway. Smith had returned to his journal as if what White Paddler said had no importance. Thomas had to increase his pace to keep up with White Paddler as he crossed the compound.
“Twice now I have tried to persuade the Company to set up a post inland. I have told the Factor about the loss of furs to the French and encouraged him to write to headquarters in London.”
“What do you want them to do?”
“I want them to give me permission to build a trading post along the great river called the Saskatchewan River. It is on this waterway that the French have set up a trading post. And the best furs stop there. But it is no use speaking with Smith. Maybe I should become an independent trader when my five years of service is over.”
“What is an independent trader?” Thomas asked.
White Paddler stopped by the gates. “Many of the French traders are independent. They buy the goods in Montreal and take them inland to the Indians to trade for furs. They then travel back to Montreal to sell the pelts to the fur houses.”
“Could you do that?”
“Well, I know what the French have for goods and what they were priced at. All I have to do is offer a little more for the good furs and when Smith sees the luxurious pelts I bring back, he will pay well for them. That is what many of the French traders do when they return to Montreal.”
“Would the Company deal with you?”
“If they do not, I could go to Montreal.”
“What about returning home?”
“I have thought it over but I know I would never be happy there. I am used to working for the Company, living the Indian way of life and travelling great distances without running out of land.”
“What about going for a visit?”
“I would lose three years of trading and maybe my standing with the Indians. They know and trust me now. I would have to regain that trust if I was gone for so long. I will be staying here.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Thomas said, fervently.