The Canadian Highland

Chapter 16

  Ever since the beginning of the year, the mood at the camp has been very tense. Governor MacDonell carries a gun at all times. The problems between Scottish and Irish have bubbled up to the surface. Normally, when moving about the camp, I would always stop and nod to anyone passing by. There are so few of us here: it’s important we all try to get along as best we can. But since the New Year, I have been given strict orders by Papa not to say a word to any of the Irish at the far end of the encampment. The twenty or so Irish who met us at Stornoway share a large cabin at the outer edge of the camp, and any Scottish would be a fool to get too close.

  “You’re getting older Molly,” Papa keeps saying to me quietly almost every day, “And I don’t want you getting near any of those Irish. Filthy some of them are, just a bunch of homeless Selkirk’s agent convinced to come on this journey. They are men without honour Molly. They go to mass, say their confession to Father Burke, yet it does not make a damn bit of difference. Without a good woman to calm a man down, and with too much to drink…, well, you saw for yourself what can happen.”

  “I know how to take care of myself Papa.”

  “Sweetie, I know. Your Mama keeps reminding me every day how much you are growing up. I know you can take care of yourself, but it does not hurt to be careful.”

  Even with the tension, we still work together under the supervision of Governor MacDonell and other agents from the Hudson’s Bay Company. With gun in hand, Governor MacDonell supervises the building of the boats that are to take us to the Red River settlement. Called the York Boat, they are very large, sturdy crafts that can hold up to twenty people. Papa, Willie, and the others spend part of their day building these boats. The work is extremely difficult and slow. Men can only work for a few minutes at a time because of the bitter cold. Hands become numb and freeze, and there is no rest from the biting wind stinging your face.

 

  The speed of the work angers MacDonell. Without being provoked, he yells at the men and complains about how bad the workmanship is.

  “How is a Highlander expected to work in such conditions?” Willie complained one night.

  “Aye, the work is slow,” added Mr. Docherty. “MacDonell complains the boats are not sturdy to make the trip down to Red River.”

  “The boats are as big as this hut, and here we are, living in the worst conditions as warm as can be expected,” replied my uncle. “I think this business between us and the Irish is getting him a little angry. Scottish and Irish will fight. It’s not much of a problem.”

  “Not when you are only using your fists,” interrupted Papa. “There is a storehouse of guns up at York Factory, and MacDonell worries about what might happen if a few wind up missing.”

  I hadn’t really thought about it. I can’t stand the fighting. At least it was with fists or clubs, not with guns.