The Canadian Highland

By Ken Busato

Starting over is never easy, especially if you are a young girl from the Scottish Highlands. Poor Molly Fraser has seen too much in her short life. Kicked out of her home, Molly accepts the opportunity to lay down roots in the Canadian wilderness. Violence and struggle meet her at every turn!

Events make our heroine grow up much too fast. Ocean travel causes a tragic death, nine months at York Factory on Hudson’s Bay lead to open rebellion, and the evils of alcohol plague Molly as she continually comes to the defense of her family. Ultimately, Molly deals with terrible loss during the horrific Battle of Seven Oaks between the North West Company and The Hudson’s Bay.

The Canadian Highland takes the reader on an odyssey from the Highlands of Scotland, across the ocean to Hudson Bay, and finally to the promised settlement of Red River. Taking place from 1812-1816, The Canadian Highland is a story of courage and resilience in the face of adversity and struggle. Molly may be young, but events prove her to be more brave and powerful than any man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ken Busato
• Release date: Mar 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310207839

Ken Busato

I am new to the writing game, and even though The Canadian Highland is my first book, it most certainly will not be my last. I have taught middle school for a number of years, and my writing is for this audience. It's important that we bring history to life, and that is what I do every day in class. This book is simply an extension of my teaching style.I have a little 3 year old, so getting time to write these days has been a challenge. Soon, however, I'll have a new book for readers with another strong female character. The feisty nature of my daughter is the inspiration I use to create characters who are resilient in the face of tremendous odds.Ultimately, it's my hope that others can feel the passion and excitement in history by living it through the actions of those who experienced it first hand!

Book preview

Preface

Like a second layer of skin, the dirt and mud on my face covers my tears, hides my emotions from the bitter wind and pelting rain. George slowly sulks beside me, head down, showing the strain of placing one foot in front of the other. In the distance, faint across the horizon, lies the fort we have been searching. You would think I would be happy with the sight, but every pace aches with the failure of the past.

George, I quietly whisper, It looks like we’ll be at Fort William within the next couple of hours.

He quietly looks up, but doesn’t say anything. Ever since Seven Oaks, he has not been himself. So much death all around him; there was nothing he could do. Some things men should not have to see, let alone live through. He listens to me, still responds slightly to the touch of my fingers on his hand and my lips on his cheek, but he is so distant, and I’m not sure if in time things will go back to the way they were?

The rest of my family are not fairing much better. My brothers now look like walking skeletons. They have not eaten for a couple of days. My youngest brother pushes food away when given to him, and my older brother Liam can’t seem to hold anything down. The pemmican may keep for long periods, but you get so sick of it day after day. If things don’t change soon, I don’t know how they are going to make it.

George uses his musket to support his bad leg. The scar on his shoulder has healed well over time. The bullet only grazed him there and he was wearing a heavy coat. His leg, however, has not fared so well. He has not had enough time to recover from his injury. We left soon after he was wounded in battle, and we have not had time to rest. He doesn’t complain, but his limp has become more and more noticeable with each step.

As we draw closer to the fort, people start to look up from their work. We must seem like a strange sight, not your typical North West fur trader with a load of skins. Approaching the main building, a path is made for us. People stare. No one dares interrupt our arrival with signs of greeting. No one knows what to make of this sight, of people who have just travelled from beneath Hell’s doormat.

This is the main trading post of the North West Company. It is the gateway to the west and there is activity everywhere. It’s almost as grand as York Factory for the HBC. There are soldiers here, fur traders, businessmen dressed in fine clothes, and one man in particular who stands out from among the rest. I have never seen anyone dressed so well.

Sensing our distress, a couple of the company workers gestured for us to follow them outside into a small cabin where we could unload ourselves and rest. Tea was immediately brought which we accepted with as much grace as we could. George spoke to these men briefly. The surprise these strangers felt was clearly obvious. With looks that bordered on disbelief and shock, these company workers took their leave so we could try to sleep off some of the effects of our journey.

A knock on the door pulled me out of troubling dreams. In came that distinguished man I had seen earlier, followed by two soldiers with their muskets at the ready, although from us there was nothing to fear.

Is it true where you have come from? he demanded, looking at George with an astonished expression on his face.

Pulling himself to his feet, George looked carefully into this man’s eyes, trying to figure out how much he should say. But before he could open his mouth to speak, I got up beside him and placed my hand on his shoulder. Before you ask anything, I replied, Who is it is asking the questions?

This fort has been taken over by me. Those men who have mistreated you have been arrested. I am Lord Selkirk, and you are the first colonists I have met. So I ask again, is it true you have come from Red River?

I stared at this man with disbelief. All the hardship, all the pain, everything I have suffered from these past four years… he was the reason for it all. This nobleman with his grand scheme for poor Highlanders was standing in front of me, not just a name used to justify a dangerous course of action. This man killed Isabella McIntyre as she tried to cross the ocean. This man has turned my little brothers into walking corpses. He’s taken George’s spirit and crushed it in his own vain and stupid attempt to be charitable. And my poor Uncle Willie, who I will never see again: never to hear his laugh or scold for drinking just a bit too much. This man took it all!

I quickly pulled back my hand and struck him across the face as hard as I could. The snapping sound startled everyone. Selkirk fell back a few steps and would have surely fallen if not steadied by the men standing behind him. Sensing I might pounce like a wild animal, George held onto my shoulder while giving me a little squeeze to show he supported my action.

Pulling away from George, I made my way through Selkirk’s soldiers and ran out the door. I had new strength, and I started to run. I needed to leave that man, that bastard whose decisions led to so much suffering. After a while I stopped, realizing no one was going to chase me. I wasn’t worried about any punishment for what I did to him. He got exactly what he deserved. It’s the price for doing business in Canada.

Chapter 1

The pillow is soft on the side of my face. It’s warm in our small croft as I lazily turn to my other side. I don’t want to get up. The loft I share with my little brother Liam is tiny, with almost no room to sit up without hitting your head, but a night’s sleep makes the space cozy and warm. The wind gently whistles its morning song outside, welcoming yet wild across the plain. I could sleep here for hours more. It’s cold outside, but soon I’ll have to get and start my daily chores.

I hear Papa moving about. It sounds like he’s changing into his working clothes. I certainly know what it means. Soon, I’ll get the nudge on my shoulder as he stands on the ladder leading to our bed, and hear those words I have memorized by heart…

Molly, you know it’s time to rise. You can’t fool me laying there thinking you’re asleep. Your brother Liam, well, wild horses can’t wake him. You’ll have to get him up soon…

Papa is stoking the last few embers in the fire in the corner of our little house. Soon, the warm feeling under the covers will be replaced with a soft heat from the fire. It’ll be safe to get up and not feel the cold slap you in the face. Papa doesn’t use much kindling to get the fire started although he should. The logs are not large, and the dampness in them sometimes makes it very difficult for the fire to catch. It bothers him a lot, but he keeps telling us we have to be careful.

We used to have a large pile of wood just outside the croft. Sometimes, the flames danced so high, I would stare at them and see figures moving in swirls of yellow, orange, and red. The heat would move throughout the croft. Liam and I would sit still, and Papa would start up with all of the old stories. Sometimes, it would be a great adventure story with a prince, princess, and a good bit of magic. Liam would squeal with laughter, and Papa knew he had us, that he could say almost anything and we would accept it without question. Mama would sit quietly as always and shake her head. She doesn’t always like the nonsense that comes out of Papa’s mouth, why fill their heads with all those lies she would say, but even she could not resist Liam’s laugh. After all, those stories made her fall in love and marry Papa long ago.

Now, Papa’s stories have changed. Magic is replaced with stories of true life heroes, family, hard work and morality. It’s a rare treat when we sit close to a roaring fire and hear a tale full of fantasy. Papa’s stories have all sorts of history. It’s all about our clan, and how strong we are. You are a Fraser, Papa says, And your heart is Highland! These things you must never forget. You may not understand now, but I know one day you will understand how important it is you are a Fraser.

I don’t get what Papa means, to be a Fraser. When he talks about the family like this, he changes so much. He is so serious and sad, like he has lost one of his greatest possessions. I know Liam does not understand too, but he is still young, only seven years old. Sometimes, when we are out working the fields, Papa will take a break and sit Liam down and talk to him like the way the minister does in church. Liam tries to listen, he tries to understand, but when you’re so young, you’re more interested in the shapes of clouds than family history…

Liam, Liam, it’s time to get up. I know you can hear me.

Just a bit more sleep, Molly. Why did you have to wake me just then? I don’t want my dream to end.

What were you dreaming about?

I was out by the water near Lochgilphead. I was all by myself, but I wasn’t afraid. I looked out into the distance. The fish were dancing in circles and jumping up out of the water to say hello. There were birds flying in the distance, birds I had never seen before. I wanted to fly so I could be with them.

Molly, get that brother of yours up before I come over there and get him up with a hit to the backside!

Yes Papa! Come Liam, hurry up! And for goodness sake, try to keep your voice down to a whisper. Don’t disturb Mama from her rest.

We have to stay quiet because Mama is not feeling too well. She can’t get upset, what with the baby growing inside. She has already lost two in the last four years, and I know to lose another would be too much. Papa knows it too. For such a big man, he steps so quietly when he’s close to her. He takes Liam by the hand and heads outside.

Since Mama is carrying, she stays in bed while the rest of us start the day. With the few things we have in the pantry, it’s up to me to get the breakfast ready while Papa and Liam go out to the barn. Usually, Mama would make the tattie scones while I would help make the tea and do the cleaning, but for the last couple of weeks it’s been my responsibility to feed everyone.

Molly, are you okay doing the work this morning? I would help, but I’m so tired. I just need a bit more rest.

It’s alright Mama. Just make sure to get your rest. I’ve seen you make the tatties so many times. I could do it in my sleep.

Make sure not to use too much butter Molly. We have to be careful. Mr. Selby has been asking for more and more from your father these last few weeks. The taxes are getting too much.

Yes Mama, I’ll be careful. I don’t fully understand what she is talking about, but I have seen Papa and Mr. Selby get into arguments the last few weeks. The last time was right after church. Papa kept his voice down, but the looks of everyone as they passed by … I wished I could have crawled into a hole. Mr. Selby is not a large man, but he thinks he is a lot better than Papa. I saw Papa clench his fists to hit Mr. Selby right there outside the Lord’s house. If Mama didn’t quietly lay her hand on his shoulder he would have done it too.

Soon, the croft filled with the smells of breakfast. The tattie scones cooked nicely and are almost ready, the tea is steeping, and Liam and Papa have come back from the barn with milk. Mama is now up, covered from head to foot in her shawl, sitting on the bench trying to prove to us she is awake and healthy. I know different though, but I keep it to myself.

Papa, I ask, Why were you and Mr. Selby arguing after church last Sunday? I shouldn’t ask, but I just couldn’t help myself.

It’s none of your concern Molly. Come now, let’s sit and eat.

Soon papa. I’m just making sure the tatties are browned on both sides. Have some tea while you wait. I know I shouldn’t bother Papa when he’s having his breakfast, but sometimes I get thinking and I can’t help myself. Mama said something about you and Mr. Selby arguing over taxes. What does he want more for Papa? Doesn’t he know we have only a little for ourselves?

Papa gave me an angry look. He started to clench his fists just like at the church when he got into that argument, but soon he relaxed. Well, I guess you’re getting older Molly, and you have a right to know what is going on as much as anyone.

I poured Papa another cup of tea and waited. Papa was a man of few words, except when it came to stories, and it sometimes took him a long time to come up with the right thing to say. Mama wrapped herself in a blanket over top of her shawl, and she sat at the end of the bench, close to the small fire. She’s not looking well. Papa is probably just as worried as I am. Liam doesn’t seem to know anything besides what dreams are in his head and how he can start in on breakfast.

Finally my father broke his silence. Mr. Selby has given us only a few weeks before we have to move. It’s a damn shame, and I intend to fight. The sheep herders are coming, and more money can be made by turning what little land for farming we have into pasture. Papa got up and did an unexpected thing. He saves the bottle of scotch for only special occasions, for only little drinks, and yet here he was uncorking the flask and taking a drink. Drinking right after breakfast was not something I was used to seeing from him. Uncle Willie made it a habit to start the day off the exact same way he finished it, but not Papa.

Papa, I asked, What is to become of us? This is our home, it’s all Liam and I know. What does Mr. Selby expect the four of us to do? Wander the streets of Argyll without a home?

Now, now Molly, don’t worry so much. This is our home, and I don’t intend to just pack up and leave without a fight. Mr. Selby comes from a good Scottish clan. He’s not some Englishman who would simply come in and take what doesn’t belong to him. I know he can be reasoned with.

That fat, little Selby makes me sick, Mama said. All this time, she sat quietly by the fire, and now that she was good and warm, the hot anger within her couldn’t be contained. If that man thinks he is going to touch my family, he does not know what he is in for. I’ve heard about what happens when the sheep come. Good Scottish families with good history forced to find places to sleep and eat things no decent Christian should be allowed to eat. Yes, I’ve heard about what happens when they come with their huge flocks. Any of the good land that can be used to farm is ruined so sheep can graze, and the cloth mills in England make all the money. No, John, I don’t think Mr. Selby can be reasoned with. This has nothing to do with English or Scottish. It has to do with right and wrong, and I for one will not sit idly by and watch all my children have known be taken away so some rich man in England can squeeze out some extra money at the expense of my home.

Now, now Fiona, you’re worse than Molly with your worrying. I would never let anything happen to this family. Trust me. I’m not through yet trying to come to an agreement to keep us here. You all have my word: no harm will come to this family. As God is my witness, we will not let these sheep ruin what we have.

I look in Papa’s eyes, and I wonder if he believes what he says? I know he would do anything to keep us here, to keep the family safe and happy, but Mama and I know better.

That’s enough talk for now Molly. Look at me, having a drink so early in the day. You’d think I was Uncle Willie… It’s time you tidy up a little and join your brother outside. We still have our work to do. The crops just don’t take care of themselves. Help your mother back into bed so she can rest a little.

Papa got up to go outside, with Liam following after him. I heard Mama sigh to herself and mutter words good Christian women don’t say. Yet, with everything we may have to go through and with her condition, I don’t think the Lord would mind a couple of bad words. Mama, let me help you get back into bed for a little while. You really should rest some more.

You’re looking after me when it should be the other way around! I guess a little bit more rest would help me. This last week I have not been myself. Be a good girl and pour me a little more tea before I lie down.

It’s cold. Should I not make you some more, nice and hot?

No sweetheart. You don’t have to worry about me. Cold tea is just fine. I may be tired Molly, but you need not fret so much about my condition. The worse I feel, the more I know the baby inside is doing fine.

Soon, all is very quiet in our little croft. Mama is resting, and the gentle sound of her breathing makes me hope all will be alright with her, and if she can stay strong, maybe she can stay strong for all of us.

Chapter 2

The day was still early when I went outside after tidying up. Papa and Liam were off in the distance, hunched over, working as hard as always.

I joined up with them, and then we worked quietly for an hour or so. The sun started to move in the sky and the day got a little warmer, yet the dampness from last night still hung over the Highland like a wet cloth. Every once in a while, a cool wind would blow across the plain sending a brief chill up and down my spine. It was at those times I wish I was still in bed.

Liam started to complain like always. Papa, do I have to do this all day? Can’t I go find Blane to play with? He never has to work as hard as I do!

Come over here and sit down Liam, you too Molly.

Yes Papa, Liam and I said almost at the same time.

"You know, the Fraser clan has lived in these parts of Argyll for many years. I don’t even know how many generations back we go. We have had our fair share of hardship and difficulties. We have gone through tough times and have made it stronger in the end, and we’ll come through this time as well.

What worse times have we gone through? I asked.

Well, Papa continued, Many years ago there was a battle that raged north of here in Culloden. Ah, you don’t want to hear about that. I’ve already bored you with the story before I’m sure.

Tell it again, Liam demanded excitedly.

Well, the year was 1746, so that would make it well over 60 years ago. Many Frasers were at the battle. In fact, your great Uncle Donnan Fraser saw many of his closest friends and clansmen fall to the British as they led the charge with swords blazing in the sunshine.

So what happened to Uncle Donnan, Papa? Liam asked excitedly.

Culloden was a bloody battle. The Scots were outgunned by the English perhaps as much as three to one, but what we lacked in weaponry, we made up for in courage. Donnan, along with many other brave Scots, heard the bagpipes, and knew the only chance they had was to charge against a well-trained line of British red coats and cannon. Not one Fraser held back. With guns sounding off in the distance, they charged not knowing what would happen to them, if they would make it across to the other side in one piece or not. The battle itself did not last more than an hour, and many brave men died heroically on the battlefield. It was a sad day for Scotland …

What were they fighting for Papa?

What does any man fight for? The hope to live peacefully as a free man! But there was no such freedom back then. All good Scotsmen heard the call to help get the throne of Scotland back to its rightful heir, Bonnie Prince Charlie. I say all good Scotsmen, yet there were some who decided not to fight for the good side. There were some, like the Campbells of Argyll, who chose to fight alongside the British in order to keep their castles! What does it mean about a man to betray his own people to keep his place to live?

What happened to Uncle Donnan, Papa?

Your Uncle Donnan was lucky to not get shot, but I wonder if he would have wished for death anyway. All Highlanders who were not killed at Culloden were placed under arrest and forced to rot in jail. Of course, good soldiers should never be put to waste. The British knew how to free up the jails…

Your uncle had to make a choice between a sure death in jail, or a slower one as a soldier for the very army he fought against. What an awful choice for a man to have to make between two certain kinds of death. Like all good Scotsman, your great uncle fought for the side of freedom, the side of the Jacobites, and for that choice he was made a prisoner in the British army, and forced to fight their great war against France years later.

Was that the war fought over the water Papa? I asked.

Aye, indeed. Just as bloody a conquest as Culloden in ’46… Just then, we all heard a friendly whistling off in the distance. Looking up, I saw it was Willie approaching as he always does: without a care in the world. I guess that’s what all the drinking sometimes does to you. I have seen my Uncle Willie get so angry you would think steam was rising from his head. Yet most of the time, he is happy and smiling, without a worry to speak of. That’s why Mama seems to both love and get angry with him at the same time.

What nonsense are you filling their heads with John? Can’t you see how bored they look? Aye, let the children have a rest from your constant chatter and boring stories. It’s too bad they’re too young to have a little drink.

It’s good to see you too Willie. And remember, if you want to try and teach children something important, why don’t you have some of your own? Then you can show them all the drinking games and tricks you want.

Liam, as if coming out of a trance, exclaimed, I’m not young Uncle Willie. Just last week, Blane’s Papa let me try some of his ale. I can drink too."

Remind me to have a talk with Blane’s father about what you are getting up to when you visit, Papa said playfully.

Leave the poor boy alone, cried Willie. Drinking beer is the start of a boy turning into a man.

What utter nonsense. So why have you come for a visit in the middle of the day for? Don’t you have any of your own work to do?

Are you sad to see me? At least Molly seems happy to see her good old uncle, right sweetie?

Hello Uncle! I really like Uncle Willie. He always seems so confident. Nothing in this world could possibly hurt him. He’s the kind of person people want to follow. So, are you going to help us with a little work, or are you just going to stand there bothering Papa?

Ah Molly, you’re starting to look like your mother more and more every day. You’re just as pretty as she was when she decided to give your Papa some charity and marry the poor bugger. Your wish, Molly, is my command.

It was a good thing I couldn’t see myself then. Who knows what natural shade of red I had on my face. Willie grabbed a pitchfork