With Face to the West

Marie Anne
The Frontier Spirit of Marie Anne Lagimodière
Copyright 1984 Western Producer Book Service
246 pages,
ISBN 0-88833-138-X.

"What big canoes!" she exclaimed in his presence and received no reply. "Ba'tiste, I said, what big canoes!"

"I told you they were big," he said without smiling, then hurriedly joined the men who were loading to get the maximum of freight into the limited space. He had told her about the size, but she had to see for herself to be impressed. Each of the so-called Montreal canoes was twelve paces long and each would require eight or ten paddlers. She had not thought of canoes being big enough to carry four tons of freight and another three-quarters of a ton of voyageurs. Nothing was the way she had imagined it, and the mounting confusion made her feel ill. For a moment she was afraid she could be persuaded to abandon the adventure and return alone to Maskinonge. She walked away from the scene and quickly recovered the confidence she needed.

She watched Jean Baptiste and his fellow workers toiling in the sun, fitting what seemed like big packages into small cavities, bundles of trade goods, food supplies, personal effects, kegs of rum, guns, hatchets, kettles, and a few tents, one of which was for her and Jean Baptiste if they wanted it. Indeed she did and would be grateful for the privacy it would provide.

Men talked in loud voices and as the time for departure drew near, excitement ran high. The men were jubilant as they sought to get acquainted with those with whom they would be sharing a canoe. The Lagimodieres would be travelling in a brigade of four canoes. With ten men in each canoe and a woman in one, there would be forty-one people together at the camping hour. The men would have to co-operate; time alone would tell if the presence of a young woman would have an influence upon the rough and ready voyageurs. Ahead were two thousand miles and several months of travel, day after day of exposure to hot sun and driving rain, and an unchanging diet of corn meal and fat pork. Ultimately, there would be the triumphant arrival at Fort William, Red River, or whatever the chosen destination.

Taking her place in the center of the canoe, Marie Anne recognized another testing hardship - that of sitting in a cramped position day after day amid the bales of freight. She might have wished she could periodically get out and run behind as she had done many times when travelling by sleigh in winter seasons. There'd be no such freedom here.

She had no fear of being hungry, but suspected that the quality of the food and the manner of dispensing it would become monotonous, even nauseating. Her daily ration of one quart of cornmeal and an allowance of fat pork - same as that for the men - sounded unappetizing and dreary. But the loaded canoe, riding low in the water, gave proof that luxuries were out of the question, and she said again to herself: If Jean Baptiste can do it without complaining, I can too.

There was much waving and weeping at the moment of departure. Then, as if to ease the sorrow of separation, the voyageurs, responding to the bowsman's signal, broke into a favorite paddling song, matching its rhythm to the motions of their paddles:

Derriere chez no us il y a un etang,
En roulant rna boule,
Trois beaux canards s'en vont baignant,
Rouli roulant, rna boule roulant,
En roulant, rna boule roulant,
En roulant ma boule.
Le fils du roi s'en va chessant,
En roulant rna boule,

Avec son grand fusil d' argent,
Rouli roulant, rna boule roulant,
En roulant, rna boule roulant,
En roulant rna boule.

Marie Anne was calm but in no mood for singing. Regardless of her spirit, the uncertainty of the days ahead was awesome. Still, turning back was not in her thoughts. She would try to keep herself occupied, doing what she could to help or cheer the men in her canoe. Speaking for all to hear, she assured her own man that she would carry her own belongings over the portages. Amused smiles on ten male faces indicated doubt that she could do it. She, too, was slightly amused at their reaction, and repeated silently that she would show them that being a woman did not make her helpless.

For the first night, the brigade camped on the westerly end of Montreal Island where travellers paid their respects at the Shrine of St. Anne, the patron saint of Brittany. Marie Anne placed her offering in the gift box, the last she would see for months, maybe years. Then, facing the shrine and making the sign of the cross, she said a simple prayer for protection and peace: "Oh Mother of Jesus, keep us from the dangers of rivers and lakes and violent men. And watch over all at Maskinonge until Jean Baptiste and I return to that place. Amen."

Everybody slept on spruce boughs, the hardened voyageurs under overturned canoes, and the Lagimodieres in their small tent. Marie Anne could not sleep, not even with the reassuring arm of Jean Baptiste around her. Spruce needles pierced her tender flesh, and she could not tear herself away from a review of the first day's events and the prospects for the shapeless days ahead. She heard the bowsman's call to rise and was glad the night of mounting physical discomfort was over. By the time the teapot hung over a campfire was hot, the canoes were reloaded, and minutes after sunrise, they were ready to move out against the strong current of the Utawa River.

The old hands warned the voyageur novices that because of portages and rough water, travel on this stream would be slow and heavy. But after an hour on the water, the bowsman would select an inviting riverside location and order a brief stop for part two of breakfast. Crewmen had their cup of tea before sunrise; now they would devour their cornmeal mush and fat pork, practically the same fare as at other meals. The only variation would consist of an occasional addition of fresh fish taken from the river.

With every halt for meals or portages, the bowsman was the first man to jump into the shallow water at the shoreline to steady the canoe as others disembarked. He was followed into the water by the steersman and then the paddlers. Marie Anne, the last to leave the boat, would be spared from a wetting by being carried on her husband's strong shoulders. Paddling on a river with many portages, the men's clothing was never dry before it was time to jump again into the water near the shore.