Red River Rising

By B.J. Bayle

Angus and his family are sent from Scotland in 1813 on a voyage to start a new life in the strange and cruel new land of western Canada.

In 1813, cleared out from their beloved Scottish Highlands, 15-year-old Angus, his mother, father, small brother Rabbie, and 100 others sail for Canada to seek a better life with assistance from Lord Selkirk. Angus, his family, and their friends the O’Hares, with their aloof, unsmiling daughter Maggie, share the hardships and terror of the sea voyage only to be dumped onto the shore of a forbidding land. There they spend a brutal winter.

With bitter determination and help from the Native population, the settlers manage to reach the Red River. They are eager to finally begin their new life but meet obstacles even more dangerous when they are caught up in a struggle between the Hudson’s Bay Company and the North West Company, powerful fur-trading rivals. Despite this hard transition, Angus falls in love with this new land and takes his place beside the brave men who risk their lives to protect it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dundurn
• Release date: Aug 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781459702295

B.J. Bayle

B.J. Bayle's Battle Cry at Batoche was a Canadian Children's Book Centre Our Choice, while Perilous Passage, about explorer and mapmaker David Thompson, was nominated for a Red Maple Award. Also the author of Shadow Riders, about the RCMP's early history, she lives in Cochrane, Alberta.

Book preview

Settlement

1

In his dream he was trying to catch the biggest fish in the weir when he felt a light touch on his forehead and heard his father whisper, Wake, Angus. ’Tis time.

It was still night, but the flame from the candle in his father’s hand was enough to light the tiny kitchen. Angus slid from his bed on the ledge under the eaves to land as lightly as he could on the rushes covering the hard-packed dirt floor. His brother muttered softly, and Angus stood on tiptoe to see if he had wakened him. He turned to see his father watching, a half-smile on his face.

Angus had only his shoes to put on before he followed his father, Hamish Fraser, outside to the three-sided, wooden shelter where they had tied their two shaggy, grey horses the night before. As they led the animals to the water trough beside the well Hamish asked softly, Rabbie slept through the night, then, Angus?

He did, Angus said, pleased that he could give his father good news. Rabbie had been sick for days with a cough that wracked his thin body.

Good, his father said. They kept silent as they led the horses away from cottage where Angus’s mother and brother still slept.

When they were mounted Hamish said, Like as two peas in a pod, ye are, though you’re six years his elder.

Angus knew what he meant. He and Rabbie took after their mother — the same red/gold hair and dark blue eyes — though he was tall and solid like his father while, at eight years, Rabbie was small and often sick. He worried about his brother. They all did.

The sturdy little horses had no trouble keeping to a steady, fast walk, and Angus and his father spoke little except to comment bitterly now and then on the scattered grey ashes that blew over the burned hillside with the breeze. The trail was rough and they rode without saddles.

Angus’s heart thumped when they crested the last low hill and looked down the long slope to the village of Golspie. Beyond it stretched the North Sea, sparkling in the midday sun. Dwarfing the fishing boats bobbing on the water, a tall three-masted schooner rocked gently.

See the ship, Dad, Angus said, pointing. Do ye think it belongs to himself? Ye think Lord Selkirk is here?

Mayhap, his father replied. Though I hear tell he’s sent men to all parts of the Highlands to talk of this farmland in Canada. It might be one of those we’ll meet.

When they reached the village they tied their horses to a nearby fencepost and followed the sound of loud voices down a narrow street to one of the long, low buildings used for storing goods for shipping. In front of it, facing a crowd of men, a tall, slender, well-dressed man with hair so pale that it looked silver was saying, You have copies of the Prospectus, so you already know the terms. Any further questions you have must be asked in turn.

A wizened old man stepped out of the crowd to stand beside the speaker. Haud yer whist! he shouted in a booming voice. Keep the heid. Hear what Lord Selkirk has to say.

When the crowd grew quiet from the middle of it a man asked, What of the million savages over there that are certain to murder the men and make slaves of the women and children?

There was an uneasy murmur from the crowd. Lord Selkirk shook his head and said, I expected that question. The North West Company has men going all over the land telling these tales. I can promise you there is no truth to that.

Why might they be saying so if ’tis not true? another voice asked.

Let me explain, Lord Selkirk said. It is true in some places in Upper Canada some Indian tribes have resented settlers on land that has always been theirs. I purchased from the Hudson’s Bay Company this large parcel further south, which we call Assiniboia. My agents have met with the Indian chiefs in the area and explained they will be paid for their land when I arrive there to meet with them. The chiefs have promised to welcome those who settle there.

There were more questions about the soil and weather in this Assiniboia. Lord Selkirk appointed a stocky, grey-haired man standing beside him to answer these questions and stepped down to beckon to a small group of men. Angus heard some of them admit they wished to go to Canada, but did not have the price of passage on a ship.

Lord Selkirk had a ready answer. Your sailing can be paid for you if, once there, you would be willing to work for the nearby Hudson’s Bay fort if they are short of men, or perhaps in the colony itself if you can do blacksmithing or are good at building or making furniture. There will be a use for everyone. He paused, and added, It would not be easy to care for your own acres while you work for pay, but it can be done.

My own acres, Hamish said softly. See to the horses, Angus. I wish to be one of the first in line to put my name on his paper.

But, Dad — Angus started to protest and stopped short when his father shook his head.

Do as I bid, lad, Hamish said. Time for questions later.

Aye, Angus said. He trudged back up the street without looking back. As he led the horses to drink from a wooden trough in the market square, the dread of leaving his home for this unknown land battled so fiercely with his feeling of adventure that he felt light-headed. Part of that feeling might have been because neither he nor his father had eaten anything besides the chunk of bread they had chewed as they rode. Angus had a sudden wish to be home.

Hamish Fraser’s first words when he approached lifted Angus’s spirits. Come, lad. Time to search for summat to eat.

Although dozens of people were moving about in all directions, Angus and his father managed to weave through them, each leading a horse. They followed the smell of food to a small house where they found a neatly dressed elderly woman holding a large woven basket. She was selling little, hot meat pies. His mouth watered as Angus watched his father hand her some coins, and then saw her slide not one or two but four onto a scrubbed board! Together Angus and Hamish crossed the square to a patch of grass under a clump of trees. Hamish said as he chewed, Had I brought the cart, I could buy hay for the cows.

When we get home I can drive them down to the glen. There’s sure to be a wee bit of green at the bottom beside, Angus said eagerly. For days he had wanted to do something that might take some of the worry from his father’s eyes. The worry that had been there ever since the men had come on horseback with their torches and set fire to the dry hills.

Hamish picked crumbs from his shirt and put them in his mouth before he rose to his feet and smiled down at his son. For certain you’re a braw lad, Angus, but ’tis sure to be night afore we get there even if we make haste.

As he threaded his way through the crowds of people behind his father, it occurred to Angus that this would be his last opportunity to put a spell on the castle of the Duchess of Sutherland. He knew little of casting spells and suspected he would need to be closer to it, and he could only see the turrets that could be seen above the trees for miles away, pointing their way into the heavens above as though they owned them as well as the earth below. He wouldn’t do it here in the village: he would have a better look when they were up the path on the way home.

He might even …

Angus thoughts were interrupted by a shriek, then cries of, Stop her! Stop her!

The people in the crowded market darted to one side to make a pathway for the wild-eyed, black pony that shot into view, dragging a little red cart behind it. A small boy clutched the seat as it swayed from side to side. As it clattered closer, Angus dropped the reins of his own horse and leaped onto the back of the frightened animal. He gripped its shoulders with his knees and leaned forward to grasp the bridle with both hands, all the while speaking soothingly into the animal’s laid-back ears. He was barely conscious of the shouts as they flew past the last houses in the village. He only knew he must get her under control before the narrow dirt road began to twist sharply above the sea.

It seemed longer, but in minutes her head stopped tossing, and she began to slow. They were out of the village before the pony stopped and Angus could slide from her back. He feared the child might have fallen from the cart, but when he turned to look, Angus was rewarded by a wide, gap-toothed grin. Wheeeee! the little boy shouted and waved his short arms up and down. Wheee!

Angus laughed shakily and replied, Wheeeee yourself! He would have lifted the child from the cart, but he was loath to release his grip on the bridle. I’ll be taking care of you in a bit, he said and bent to untangle the trailing reins.

Before Angus finished a dozen people had crowded around him, patting his shoulders and telling him he was a brave lad, while an ashen faced woman snatched her son from the cart. She clutched the happy little boy closely and rushed over to Angus to thank him over and over. An embarrassed Angus managed to slip from her grasp with the excuse that he must see to his own horse. With a last pat on the trembling sides of the pony, Angus waved at the small crowd and trotted back to the market.

In silence Angus and Hamish began the journey home, walking at first to save the horses. Finally, Hamish glanced at his son and said, Ye ken ’tis done now, Angus? Without waiting for a reply, he went on, We might have waited another two years ’til our rent term was to the end, but the burning of the lands that feed our beasties …

The words were choked off, and Angus looked away hastily. He did not want to witness the misery he knew would be on his father’s face. Moments later his father spoke again. This will be a dreich day for Mam. She’s that joyful here, loving the land and her chickens and all that we have. The two of us must keep our heads high and make this leaving of our cottage as easy as we can for her, and for Rabbie as well.

Aye. I will. Angus straightened his shoulders and vowed he would convince Mam and Rabbie that this fearsome change in their lives was an exciting adventure.

When a new thought popped into his head Angus asked, What about Mr. O’Hare? With all the crofters away, he won’t have work collecting the rents.

Michael O’Hare came by himself to tell me he means to sign up to go to Canada. The castle still has plenty for him to do, but after the burning he’s no stomach for staying here. Mind dinna say a word to Mam. I want it to be a surprise. You ken how fond she is of Mrs. O’Hare. ’Twill make it a wee bit easier for her.

Angus smiled. Mrs. O’Hare was short and round, and for all that she spoke her mind a bit freely, she had a happy disposition. Often she and sour-faced Maggie had made the rounds of the shire with Mr. O’Hare as he collected the rents. His own family’s cottage was about halfway, and sometimes they would spend the night. Mam was at her happiest then with another woman to talk with. She had been lonely sometimes now that her own mam and dad were gone.

When he reached the place in the trail where he could best see the tops of the castle Angus was pleased that, as well as the turrets, he could see some of the castle walls through patches of oak that did not yet have new leaves. He would have his chance soon when they stopped to rest the horses.

When Hamish halted his horse Angus felt gooseflesh creep up his arms. It was time. It was no small thing to put a spell on a castle — particularly one as enormous as Dunrobin. He took a deep breath, straightened his back, and stretched his neck to make himself as tall as he could. He then pressed a forefinger on each side of his nose on the skin under each eye and pulled down, and, at the same time, pushed one thumb under his nose to make it more like a snout. Then he stuck out his tongue as far as he could.

Angus stumbled backward in shock when his father spoke sharply, Laddie, what on airth be ye doing?

Angus didn’t need to see the frown on his father’s face to realize what he had done was wrong — evil even. He bit hard on his lip. He was too old to cry, and his tongue failed him when he tried to stammer a reply.

Hamish bent to look into his son’s eyes. Is it hate then you’re showing those in the castle? With Angus’s nod he went on, Angus, do ye no ken hating does naught but harm to ye and might forever leave a black mark in your heart?

Angus eyes widened in horror with the thought of forever having a black mark inside his heart. Aye, his father said, taking his son’s hand. To be sure that does not happen, you best ask for help from above right now.

After he dropped to his knees Angus prayed harder than ever before. He prayed until he felt a gentle tug on his ear. Mind ye don’t overdo and weary the Lord, his father admonished. Best get started. We have a ways to go.

Long before they reached the cottage it had grown dark, but the moon shed enough light for the horses to pick their way along the stony ground. Angus could see candlelight through the cracks between the wooden shutters on the windows, and thought his mother was asleep else she would have flung open the door when the horses clattered past. He dreaded to see the look on her face when she heard what his father had done, for he knew she had hoped he would find some way for them to stay in the Highlands. Days ago, as he lay dozing beside Rabbie in the loft, he had heard the murmured words of his parents as they sat by the fire and talked softly. He had been jerked into wakefulness when he heard his father say, Leaving our croft ’tis a hard thing to be thinking of, Mary, and we’ll not be doing so lest I learn in Golspie that the laird’s offer is all that we’ve heard.

Angus had listened, his thoughts racing. Even though he and Rabbie had sworn to return someday, actually leaving the croft had been a maybe and far in the distance. His father’s words had changed that. Angus closed his eyes and thought of the green hills he had climbed on sunny days with Rabbie and Lonnie, the gold and white Sheltie that followed them everywhere. And what of the school two miles away, where there were stacks of books to read. Would there be books in the new land? He had opened his eyes again when he heard tears in the voice of his mother.

This is what it comes to then? she cried. There’s no law to say the lairds in the fine castles canna push families off land they paid rent on since the Battle of Bannockburn, to say nothing of the crofters going to fight for them when the calls were made?

Hamish had no answer.

Angus was right: his mother was asleep with her head on the table, a candle burning nearby. When the door opened she leaped to her feet, a question in her eyes.

It’s done, Mary, her husband said. We leave in less than a fortnight.

Angus didn’t move. To his surprise and relief his mother rushed forward to hug both her son and her husband. Weel then, she said with a bright smile, we best hurry off to bed. Our heads must be rested in the morning for making these grand plans.

2

After the horses slaked their thirst with water from the thin stream that wandered through the glen, Angus and his mother changed places — she to the cart he had been driving, and he mounted now on the bony, grey horse with Rabbie clinging to his back. As soon as he finished his tea and bread, Hamish had left ahead of them on the third horse, driving the five shaggy cows. The rising sun glistened on clumps of damp grass, reminding Angus that the mist of rain during the night must be a good omen, for he could no longer see fire creeping across the hills above. He wondered if the rest of the homeless crofters had managed as quickly to pack their belongings and bid goodbye to a place where they had been all their lives. It had only been a fortnight since he and his dad returned from Golspie and here they were already halfway to Thurso, where they would take ship to the Orkney Islands. They were making good time even though the way was rough and uneven. His father had no need to explain why he had chosen to be down in the glen rather than the trail above. At the bottom there was the water for their cows and three horses, and here and there were clumps of grass that had resisted the fires. If there were a soft spot of ground, though, he had not found one during the three nights they had slept in the open.

Angus felt a jab in his ribs and twisted his head to grin at his brother. So, Rabbie, he said, ye wish to walk now, is it?

Rabbie shook his head. Ask Dad for the paper. I want to hear what it tells we will have.

Angus chuckled and shook his head. Never will ye be famous for your memory, Rabbie, he said. You heard it every morning since Dad and I came back from Golspie.

But I like to hear what we will have, Angus.

Never one to deny his frail little brother, Angus relented. No need for reading, laddie. I know it by heart.

Neither of his parents could read very well, so it usually was up to Angus, who, as a child of a crofter, had been taught by the dominie in the little school two miles from his home. He had been quick to learn to read, and was forever hungry for books.

Rabbie brushed the strands of hair out of eyes that danced with anticipation. Tell me about our land, he demanded. Giant big ’twill be. Right, Angus?

Lord Selkirk himself promised one hundred acres with three of them along a big river.

A river with plenty of fish, Rabbie prompted eagerly. Mam said ’tis likely I’ll catch fish everyday in the river.

For certain. And the grand man says we’ll have cattle and horses sent down to all who live on this river.

Angus and Rabbie turned to look back when they heard a low whistle from their mother. On the driver’s seat in the cart she had allowed the reins to dangle loosely, and was gazing into the distance thoughtfully. A hundred acres, she said. She shouted to her husband, "Hamish, I can scarce credit the man would sell a