A fresh load of buffalo was dragged into camp by the men after another successful hunt a few weeks ago, and there has been no time to write since then. The women and girls work very hard when the buffalo first come into camp, and we settlers were put to work right along with the Indian women. I shall describe here what we do:
First we cut the meat into very thin spiral strips and hang it on racks. But last week the weather was too snowy and wet so it was hung inside the tipi. Four poles are supported by a platform that is set up over the fire. The smell is so strong that at first I had to choose between staying warm in the tipi, being alone in our own tent, or freezing yet being able to breathe outside. But the temperature has plummeted and my skin began to freeze after only minutes. Quickly it was no longer a choice — I simply had to get used to the smell.
When the meat was finally dry we tied it up and stored it in rawhide sacks. After a few days passed we took it out and pounded it with stone hammers. The first time that I helped with this work my arms were so sore the next morning I could barely lift them. After the meat was pounded to a pulp we added berries and then poured buffalo fat over it all. This was allowed to set and then packed again in hides. When it was all done, I felt a great sense of accomplishment, knowing we had just made pemmican for weeks to come.
But our work was not over. Next the hides needed to be tanned. Leaf Bud led the work, as White Loon’s grandmother was not well. First Leaf Bud simmered the brains, liver and fat of a buffalo calf in water. This she made into a soft paste. That is when we girls were put to work.
We rubbed the paste all over the hide. It was dried by the fire for days, and again the smell was overwhelming. Then we soaked it in water and rolled it all into a bundle, only to unroll it again, stretch it out and rub it with our hands. For days we rubbed until my hands were so sore it hurt just to open and close my fingers. But on the final day Leaf Bud gave me a piece of the hide so I could make a skirt from it. The one I’d been wearing was in tatters and so it was a welcome gift — and yet was it? Could I wear it and not seem just like one of them? And is that a good or a bad thing?
Weather has been cold, too cold to write. I plan to wait until we return to Pembina before I write again.
We have returned! There is a thaw in the weather appropriate to the first day of spring, and I find myself quite comfortable wrapped in my tartan shawl. I am determined to make up for the long absence in these pages and will try to be more dependable in my writing. In a way I am glad to be back to the relative comfort of Fort Daer, but I already miss the fun we had living with the Indians, if not the backbreaking work. And, of course, Kate and her father are living with us again, and Kate is as bothersome as ever.
I am sitting by the fire writing because I feel so helpless I do not know what else to do. James went out hunting with White Loon’s brothers. Late this afternoon the sky suddenly darkened. White Loon came by our cabin and said there was a big storm coming and that she hoped the boys would be safe.
I went outside with her and gazed at the sky. It was dark and a wind was blowing up from the north. It bit at my cheeks and I could feel the temperature dropping even as we stood there. “Are they in danger?” I asked her.
She shrugged and said, “It will be bad.”
I ran to find Father, who was just returning from a trip to the small store. He had a large bag and he smiled when he saw me and said, “Oatmeal.” I was glad to see that he was regaining his sense of humour — oatmeal, was, after all, the only thing we had to eat besides what the men could hunt, but he held it up as if it were gold. I hated to worry him, but I had no choice.
“Father, White Loon says a storm is brewing and James has gone out hunting with her brothers.”
Father’s face fell and he looked at White Loon as if she could make the bad weather disappear. She hurried over to him and spoke softly and his face seemed to relax a bit, as if she had said something to make him feel better. I wish I knew what it was because I feel no less anxious. I suspect it was only her manner that reassured him — perhaps she said something about her brothers and how they have survived worse than this.
The storm blew in a few hours later and now we are shut up, trembling at its power. Outside, you cannot see your hand in front of your face. And inside, the wind howls through the cracks in the wood so fiercely that I am forced to end this writing as the pages of the diary are flapping even as I try to hold them down. I pray for James and, of course, for White Loon’s brothers.
It is my birthday. Father and White Loon gave me a beautiful Indian necklace. My only wish is to have James home safely. All celebrations are forgotten.
No news. The storm worsens, if that could be possible. How will they survive?
Daybreak. No change. The wind continues to howl. We almost froze even with the fire going all night. Dread fills me.
We have been reading from the Bible and praying.
Kate is past annoying. She babbles on and on about James being foolhardy enough to go out with savages. They are his only hope. Can she not see that?
Still nothing and the storm rages on unabated.
I awoke this morning to an eerie silence, the likes of which I have never experienced. We all stirred at about the same time. I would not have known it was morning except for the fact that I could see a little stream of light coming in through the cracks in the wood. Father said he would go ask White Loon’s father, Black Bear, if he knew anything about the hunters. I suspect he was anxious to get out and form a party to go looking for them. But when he went to open the door it would not open, not an inch. He threw his weight against it and so did Kate’s father (who had managed to spend two days with us without saying more than two words). Still it would not budge.
We were trapped by the snow.
“We will just have to wait patiently,” Father said. “I’m sure the Indians will be able to get out of their tipis, as they have no wooden doors to stop them. And they will be able to travel on their snowshoes. We must hope that they will dig us out.”
It was a horrible wait. I made oatmeal for everyone. We ate, but said little and spoke little. We were too worried about James. Even Kate managed to hold her tongue, perhaps realizing that no one would have patience with her today. And as each minute passed I felt more and more hemmed in until at times I felt like screaming.
Finally we thought we heard something. It was as if our hut were really a cocoon because it was so quiet we could barely hear, but at last it was apparent that there were definite sounds of scraping. I could see the snow was being cleared as more and more light broke through the cracks. And then there were sounds by the door. Finally the door opened just a bit. And then inch by inch it was pulled outward. John Lawson and Peter MacDonald stood there, faces red with exertion. Just behind them were a number of the men from the Indian band. We all ran to the door and peered out.
What a sight! The sun hurt my eyes so much at first that I could barely see. Father wrapped himself in a blanket and went to join the men in order to dig out the other huts. Black Bear was among the Indians and I saw Father go over to speak to him. Father’s face fell. He looked back at me and shook his head. No news.
If I had not known there was a settlement around me I could never have guessed. The snow had drifted up to the rooftops in places. Indians were travelling on snowshoes, but each time Father took a step he sank well over his knees, sometimes up to his waist, and had to be pulled ahead by Black Bear. They were trying to make small trails from one hut to another, but they had to do it with their hands and the rough shovels that the Indians brought. Kate and I pulled the door shut. I sit by the fire and wait.
I realize I have not written very much in these pages about James and that I have been terribly remiss not to do so. It is just that he is such a good brother that I have few complaints about him. I now recognize how much I have taken his presence for granted. While I have tried to take on Mother’s role, in many ways James has taken on Father’s, for Father is often too sunk in grief to do the things a father normally does. On that most difficult trip from York Factory it was always James who exhorted us to carry on, who tried to take our fatigue away by making jokes, and by kind words when they were necessary. James never seemed afraid. But that is not to say he is not refined. He will never show me the poetry he writes that I know he keeps secret. Sometimes he will recite one of his finer pieces, but only if he thinks it is fit to be listened to. He does not like to fight, that is sure. And some boys think he is less of a man for it, but I think he is more of a man.
I know one thing to be true. Father could not survive one more loss. I am not sure I could either.
James is alive! He was carried into the hut by Black Bear just as evening drew near. He could not walk by himself because he is blind! I have wrapped him up and fed him oatmeal and hot tea. I notice that his ears are white and that worries me too, as I do not know what it means. Father has led us all in a prayer thanking God for James’s return.
Alice’s mother has managed to make her way over here by one of the small trails the men have dug out in between the huts. Father went to fetch her in the hope that she could help James. She says that his blindness will disappear. It is called snow blindness and is not a lasting affliction. She’s more worried about his ears and has told us that the white means that they were frozen and he must always keep them protected from the cold from now on so as not to develop an infection. James has slept and slept and has not yet been able to tell us what happened.
I shall try to write down as closely as possible James’s account as he described his harrowing adventure. He and White Loon’s three brothers, Fire Owl, Jumps and Small Beaver, all decided to go out on their own for a hunt. They were not looking for buffalo but rather for deer and to set traps for rabbits. James had become friends with these three boys just as I had become a friend of White Loon’s. Fire Owl and Jumps are older — closer to the age of White Loon, but Small Beaver seems to be close to James’s age. He and James spend much time together and James is becoming familiar with their language.
They began tracking a family of deer and they moved farther and farther away from the camp. James did notice the sky was beginning to darken, and he believes Small Beaver did as well, for he spoke to his older brothers about it, but they were intent on the hunt and did not listen. The wind began to blow up, the snow began to fall, and the deer tracks were becoming harder and harder to follow. It was then that the brothers realized that they had to get back to camp. But the storm came on so quickly it soon became apparent they would never reach camp by nightfall, or rather the storm would reach them before they reached camp. The boys knew that there was a small cluster of trees not too far distant and it was to this that they made their way.
It was almost dark when they arrived. Quickly they pulled down branches from the trees and stoked a fire, but within hours the wind had picked up to such a degree the fire could not hold. They lay flat under the trees and covered themselves with branches for what little protection they offered. They remained there in that spot all that night, all the next day, and all the next night. The wind did not hold steady but picked up and dropped off, and whenever possible they started a fire. They were sure that is what saved their lives — a few hours or even minutes of warmth. When the storm ended and the day dawned bright and clear they tried to walk home, but were weak from not eating, and every step they took they sank into the snow. By the time Black Bear found them James assured us he could not have taken one more step. His eyesight was almost gone and Jumps was leading him. Small Beaver was also affected and could not see. Black Bear had brought snowshoes for them, but imagine how difficult it is to walk on them in the first place, and in the second place to walk on them without your sight.
And here despite the gravity of the situation James soon had us all roaring with laughter as he described himself blind and stumbling on his snowshoes, Jumps and Fire Owl mercilessly teasing both him and Small Beaver, probably to encourage them to go on.