The Canadian Highland
A few nights later, George’s party returned to camp with one hundred bags of pemmican. MacDonell greeted them at the storehouse. He was accompanied by three heavily armed men. For people who are almost near the point of starvation, pemmican is just as important as money. Now that he had the food, no man was going to take it.
I didn’t care about any of these things. My hunger was not a concern. All I wanted was to see George again and hold him in my arms and tell him how much I had missed him. Once he was dismissed by the Governor, he turned to face me. He was in a lot of pain. Although he smiled when he saw me, I knew there was something wrong with him. As he walked towards me, he was clearly favouring his right shoulder.
“Molly, seeing you is like looking into the eyes of an angel. Every night you are in my dreams, and during the day I think about you with every step.”
“Oh George, I’ve been so worried about you ever since you left over a fortnight ago. Come and get yourself warmed up with a cup of tea.”
“We’ve been walking since day first broke with only a little stop to rest. I’m afraid I might fall asleep and spill tea all over.”
“I’ll hold it for you.”
Everyone was glad to see George. No one wanted to admit it, but his mission was dangerous. The snow is deep, the wind is freezing, and who could tell what kind of enemies, whether man or beast, might meet them on their path.
“Sit down son,” my father gestured to a bench close to the fire. “Have Molly help you out of those winter furs. No doubt you’ve had them on for a long time.”
As I pulled his coat from off his shoulders, George started to wince in pain. His coat had a large tear where the shoulder meets the arm. Then I saw the stain of blood on his shirt, from his shoulder blade all the way down to his wrist. I started to get dizzy at the sight, and I certainly would have fainted if not for the steady hand of my mother who kept me from falling.
“That’s quite a wound you’ve got there,” Willie started. “I thought this was not a dangerous job: with surprise on your side you would be in and out without a fight?”
“It’s nothing but a flesh wound. The bullet only grazed the skin and did not sink in. I’ve been stitched as best as possible, and I hope it will heal quickly. With the amount of food we took, it was worth a little bit of pain. We have one hundred bags here for the rest of the winter, and we left behind three hundred bags under guard with Mr. Howse, the factor of HBC Brandon House.”
“And we are most thankful you did this for us George,” Mama responded, after making sure I was able to find a chair. “But this still does not explain what happened to your shoulder.”
“I don’t want you to worry, especially Molly, but I know I can’t keep the events of the past few days a secret.” Taking the tea from me, George took a small sip. He stared into his cup, unsure how to begin. “We did have surprise on our side as we ambushed the traders at La Souris on the banks of the Assiniboine. It was a cloudy night. Although the moon was full, little could be seen as we silently crept up to the fort. Entering was a simple matter, since there was only a single unarmed guard on duty, snoring and farting like some farm animal.”
“They had not yet heard about MacDonell’s proclamation, so they were caught completely unaware of our purpose. It was not a simple thing to bind the hands of the four men we caught. Two of them were passive, while two others, cursing and spitting, tried to make an attempt to overcome us. But Sheriff Spencer, used to the art of getting his way, took the blunt end of his rifle, hitting one man square in the chin while felling the other with a blow to the stomach. Both men collapsed to the ground, instantly, and as I moved closer to bind their hands, I could smell the stench of alcohol on their breath.”
“Once we had these four restrained, we commenced taking almost all provisions they had. I say almost all, since no good Christian should leave a man without anything to live on. Everything would have gone by without incident if not for the fifth man who went unnoticed. We were there at least two hours loading our cargo without the least possible indication there was another man waiting for his chance to act.”
“As darkness faded into dawn, we made our way back to the security of Brandon House, when shots could be heard from our backs. From the height of the walls, I could see all of the traders were free from our ropes and looking for revenge. Soon after turning back to make my escape, I felt a sharp sting, like a bee sting, on my right shoulder. The pain soon became unbearable: I couldn’t drag the bags in the sled along the snow. I thank God others who noticed what had happened were there to help me back to the safety of our own fort.”
“Were you the only one to take a bullet?” my uncle asked.
“We were so far away, they were lucky any of us got hit at all. Not looking for a real fight, the Nor’ Westers stayed in their fort, taking shots from behind the wall hoping someone might get hit. As fate would have it, I was the one who got hit. There was a lot of blood, a trail of it in the snow pushed even further into the ground by the weight of my pemmican sled. But it was only a graze, a flesh wound at best.”
“We stayed a couple of days at Brandon House on constant alert. The Nor’Westers did not attempt to mount a resistance against us. They knew how many of us there were, and against the five of them, they did not stand a chance.”
“There were twelve of us, although I was useless with my injury. Mr. Spencer has some basic medical knowledge, and he was able to dress my wound and stitch it up. The last few days have been a struggle. With my ration of alcohol, I have poured it on my shoulder to help keep infection away.”
“That’s a terrible way to use a ration of alcohol,” my uncle quipped. “A better way would be always to drink to numb the pain.”
“Willie,” Mama started, “Don’t you go on now about the drink. George, it’s time you took off your shirt so I can have a little look at your shoulder. I’ve had some experience dealing with wounds, same as Mrs. Docherty. Now you’re back safe, we’ll make sure you’re taken care of well.”
“It’s too bad Doctor Edwards is no longer here to help take care of you George,” I lamented.
George carefully took off his white shirt. His wound was stitched up rather well. There was redness around the cut, but it did not look like it had any infection. Thank God it was only a small flesh wound. If he got an actual bullet to the shoulder, the conversations we would be having now would be much different.
“That looks mighty painful,” Papa said. “It must have been difficult carting all that pemmican through the snow back to our fort.”
“I struggled with the weight of my sled. I took rope and wrapped it around my waist. This way, I was able to drag my sled at a slow pace behind the others. It was a few days march through the snow, and thoughts of all my friends back here kept me going as I put one snowshoe in front of the other.”
“You mean thoughts of Molly,” my uncle said, laughing out loud.
“That’s enough William,” Mama scolded. “One more joke and I’ll make sure to silence your tongue but quick.”
“Oh Fiona, please accept my apology. That’s quite a story George, but now is not the time to be too serious. Now is the time to have a celebration. Our good Mr. Cooper has made it back, a little worse than when he left, but he has made it back.” Pulling out a flask from his breast pocket, Willie held it up and started to shake it, prodding others who had a flask on them to do the same.
“In this land,” Willie started, “There have not been too many chances to celebrate heroes, but tonight we change that with the return of George Cooper. Our good Bayman here suffered through snow and bullets to provide us with the food we need.
Just when I thought Willie was about to take a drink, he did a surprising thing. He took his flask, and made a motion to pour some of his alcohol on George’s shoulder. George accepted. The pain was obvious, but he kept himself composed and did not flinch.
“Not to take away from the celebration,” Papa said, “B
ut what of the traders from the North West? Surely they are not going to sit around while we take every last bit of pemmican from them?”
“MacDonell has done a bold thing,” George replied. “Even more colonists are expected to arrive this summer. Hopefully, with greater numbers, we will not be harassed as we build and settle. But these fur traders and Metis are dangerous men, so I suspect something will happen, perhaps not soon, but something will happen.”
“So much for celebration,” my uncle said sarcastically.