When the greetings were over, the sled was unloaded to reveal almost a hundred pounds of fat and plenty of gunpowder and lead, along with a bit of clothing material and three packs of trade goods. The men looked apologetic, and Villiard explained that William Henry had given all he could spare and had wished them Godspeed.
Thompson praised the men for their quick return and added, “The fat will go well when we cook the moose. They’ve been remarkably thin and their meat difficult to chew, and we can use some of that fat to make soap.”
“And perhaps you brought a wife with you,” Boulard said as he peered at the empty sled. “Who then is to cure the hides of these thin moose so we may braid it into ropes?”
Even Thompson laughed. It had been Boulard’s task to dig pine tree roots from the frozen ground to use in lacing the boards together for the canoe, and he would have appreciated a length of sturdy rawhide to use instead.
Thompson no longer spent hours after dark searching the sky and writing in his new journal. Instead he worked beside the men, hacking and sawing. And, in spite of the strain on his one good eye, every night he read a chapter of the Bible by firelight. Peter liked hearing stories from the Bible, but he preferred the later hour when the talk became general. Often one of the men would tell of an experience he had had in the past. Villiard and Côté both had come from small farms not far from Montreal, and Pareil had once lost his britches escaping from a bear. Boulard, too, told stories of his youth, many involving la femme.
Thompson listened with apparent interest but volunteered nothing about himself until Pareil bluntly asked, “And you, Monsieur Thompson, how is it you left your country to live in this land?”
Peter held his breath, for he sensed the explorer didn’t like to talk about himself. However, after thinking for a few moments, Thompson told the men what Peter already knew. The school he had attended in London had arranged for him to join the Hudson’s Bay Company. Thompson, though, said nothing of how he felt about being sent to a strange world.
Plainly emboldened by Pareil’s success, Côté asked, “How is it you are no longer with the Hudson’s Bay Company?”
For a long moment Peter thought Thompson wouldn’t answer, but finally he explained. “I was with them for more than six years and might still be had they not broken their promise to allow me to leave off trading for furs and survey and explore for them.” Stretching out his leg, he knocked on it and went on. “I had broken this in a few places, and whilst it was mending, Mr. Turnor, their surveyor, taught me his craft as well as how to study the stars and soil and all things that grow. He loaned his books to me, as well. It was the most interesting winter of my life.”
The group around the fire waited expectantly when Thompson paused and poked at the fire with a stick before he continued. “In all else the Hudson’s Bay Company treated me well. After seven years, when my apprenticeship was finished, instead of the customary new suit of clothing, I asked for surveying instruments. They obliged me with a very good set as well as a ten-inch brass sextant and a salary of fifteen pounds a year. I used the money to buy more books.”
“Why then …?” Côté began, and was interrupted by Thompson.
“Why did I leave the company? It was as I said. I learned they had been given a mandate along with their large grant of land that obligated them to survey and explore for the good of England. That was why I signed on with them for another seven years. When it became known to me there would only be trading for furs and little surveying, I left with my good friend Boulard.”
“It is true,” Boulard said. “And what adventures we had in those first days when our good North West Company ordered you to survey the forty-ninth parallel and find the company posts that must be moved or discover themselves in the United States.”
Vallade’s eyes widened. “This is true?”
“Of course,” Boulard retorted. “Did I not say as much? England and the Americans to the south agreed which land is theirs, and Monsieur Thompson made the line on the map that we may know also.” He chuckled. “You may be certain there was much excitement when we learned that Grand Portage was six miles on the American side. They moved it pretty quick, I tell you.”
Hoping Thompson would speak of these adventures, Peter started to ask a question of his own, but the mapmaker yawned and stretched, announcing it was time for bed.
As the days went by, and the hoped-for success in binding the boat boards together turned into failure, the builders became snappish. Dog, as though she sensed the mood of the camp, followed more closely on Peter’s heels and leaped about to keep out of the way of the men. Finally, after a month of planning and working by trial and error, the boat was finished and ready to be tested in the river. Peter watched anxiously as it was lifted — two men on each end — to be taken to the water. Before they took three steps, however, it broke in half.
That night Peter heard Thompson confide in Boulard. “It’s possible I ask too much of these men. I’m concerned that even men as loyal as these might become discouraged and leave us.”
Boulard was silent for a moment before he replied. “They are accustomed to hardship, but hardship and work from dawn to dark without knowing if it will ever end is not good, my friend.”
CHAPTER 13
By the time the canoe had been rebuilt and caulked with pitch stripped from the pine trees and heated, it was mid-April and the snow was fast disappearing along the river. The day the boat was launched was bright and clear, the air fragrant with wet cedar.
“A good omen,” Thompson said after breakfast as he straightened from his crouch by the fire and squinted at the sun. He looked around. “I’ve named this place Boat Encampment with respect for our efforts here.”
Boulard stood, hands on hips, surveying his surroundings. “It is certain never will I forget this place.”
“Me, neither,” Peter agreed, but for a different reason. He had grown fond of Boat Encampment. Here he had come to feel he was somebody — somebody with good memories of hardships and friendships with men who treated him as an equal.
The mapmaker studied each man in turn. “I wish to be certain that you understand my reasons not to follow the big river downstream and go to Kootenay House instead.”
There was a murmur of assent from the men, and Vallade spoke up. “We are few, and our canoe may not be strong enough to carry us in places we have not been.”
“And we will find men at Kootenay House and horses,” Côté finished.
Reluctant as he was to say goodbye to their little home of cedar planks, Peter breathed a prayer that this time the canoe would hold together when Villiard and Pareil grasped the bow and Vallade and Côté lifted the other end, preparing to haul it to the water.
The canoe did stay together as it was lifted, and Peter cheered silently when it settled into the water like a big brown duck. Grasping the braided pine roots tied to the bow, he held it firmly close to the shore while the mounds of moose meat, tents, trade goods, and personal belongings were loaded. There had been some discussion as to whether there was room enough for Peter’s too-long legs to allow him to kneel and paddle as did the rest of the men. At the end of the discussion the cargo was rearranged to make room. Peter then picked up a roughly hewn paddle and knelt at his place near the back of the canoe with Dog beside him and Boulard behind to instruct him in the art of paddling while he, himself, took care of the steering. Thompson stood in the bow with a pole to keep them from the rocks. The voyageurs began to sing.
In spite of the auspicious beginning, their canoe, clumsy and difficult to steer, carried them no more than twelve miles the first day. Still, they camped that night full of confidence that the following day would be better. But it wasn’t.
They had spent the night huddled under the