This fictional short story, based on actual events, was part of a collection of stories first published in 2009 in the book “Rideau Whispers In Stone”.
In Dow's great swamp, one of the most dismal places in the wilderness, did [they], hold their merry Christmas of 1826, or rather forgot to hold it at all.
John MacTaggart,
Three Years In Canada
Jonathan Frost buckled under the news. Pressing himself back into the uncomfortable, thinly-padded leather chair, he stared at nothing until he was finally able to find his voice.
“So,” he asked, “it’s to be the same team again, Sir?”
“Yes.”
The response was immediate and abrupt. But in the silence that followed he heard the words once again in his own head. “Under the circumstances, Frosty old man, you’re lucky to have been given a second chance at all.”
He tried to drown out the inner voice with his own. “When do I leave, Sir?”
This time the answer was upbeat, although once again not what he wanted to hear.
“Tomorrow morning. It is short notice, I grant you, but the clear weather is expected to last for the remainder of this week and we must take advantage of it.” The Superintendent of Works paused before adding “Shame you have to depart on Christmas Eve, Frost, but I’m afraid we really have no choice but to take the first opportunity that the weather permits. We must complete the mapping now that the swamps are frozen.”
“Yes Sir.”
It was a mechanical response. Frost’s mind was back inside the waist-deep stench and swampy broth the cavalier Frenchman had led them into in search of the lost theodolite dropped by that stubborn, acerbic Yank. And the Scotsman, perhaps the biggest disappointment of all, whose insolence and conservatism had almost cost him his career.
“Now, with any luck,” the voice continued, “you should be home in time to spend Christmas night with your family. The small number of acres in and around Dow’s Swamp should only take a few hours to survey.” He reached into his desk and passed Frost an equipment list and pen, adding “Sign here please. You will have food provisions … in case you need to remain overnight.”
“It is what it is,” thought Frost, accepting the pen. At least the long wait was over. Four months since that nightmarish survey. Two long months spent frozen in space, waiting on pins and needles for the results of the investigation, wondering if a chance at redemption would come at all. Months of enduring the silent treatment and forced conversations when he was at work, withdrawn from his family and what remained of his circle of friends when he was not. Finally learning of the decision he would have the opportunity to put right what had been botched. He should be happy, but nothing could be further from the truth.
“Thank you Sir.” He said finally. “Is that’s all?”
“Yes, that’s all. Oh, and good luck, or should I say, better luck this time, Frost.” Frost forced a short smile and rose to leave, nodding a polite goodbye. “One hollow gesture deserves another” he thought to himself, replacing his scarf and coat.
It was not quite noon and the tavern was still nearly empty, so when Payne heard the door open he turned and saw a familiar face, or rather head, and called out immediately.
“Etienne! Come and have a drink.”
“Allo, Payne.” Etienne had already removed his fur hat, revealing his signature bald head as he walked toward his workmate.
“You heard the news yet?” Payne had a way of making even the most innocent question sound aggressive.
“Uh huh, we’re going exploring tomorrow, eh?” Etienne motioned to the bartender for a drink and continued, “I don’t know what we did to keep getting stuck with that guy.”
Payne nodded, flashing his trademark grin.
“He better learn to ease up is all I have to say. He puts himself ahead of my ass again and it’s gonna be his, lo.” Etienne added. He was not smiling.
“No shit.” Payne agreed. “You know how close I came to drowning last time? We’d probably still be out there if Wiseman hadn’t taken the Goddamned map off of him.” Etienne nodded, looked away and then took a second, closer look at Payne.
“You alright Payne? You look a little pale.”
The American took a swig of ale. “Just a little bug, my friend. Nothing a pint or two won’t fix. But it’s going to be an early night for me, I’ll tell you that.”
Shortly after first light the small assembly was sitting quietly on their gear, closed together against the cold wind. The low sun illuminated a central cloud of breath that formed, dissipated and re-formed in between them. But it was disrupted when they turned to the approaching Frost.
“You have your orders.” Frost did not waste words. “We will be determining ground elevations three miles south at Dow’s Swamp. We should be back by tomorrow provided there are no foul ups.” He paused, eyeing the group for any sign of contempt. Satisfied with the non-response, he concluded “alright, let’s go.”
Etienne assumed the lead spot, as axe-man, he was to navigate the route and, if required, cut a path through brush, snow and ice. Next came Payne, the porter, dressed in long-coat and thick scarf, the fingers of his woolen gloves cut off to allow him to grip the heavy equipment, the most important being the theodolite. A finely-crafted survey instrument, it took over a year to construct and calibrate. But to any porter it was little more than a thirty-five pound brick that they quickly learned to hate. “Hang on tight to that, Mr. Payne.” Frost leaned over Payne’s shoulder, unable to resist a cutting remark.
Taking the rear, behind Frost, was the junior surveyor, a Scotsman named Wiseman who was responsible for recording and verifying readings taken by Frost. Wiseman was the youngest of the four and although only six months in the Canadas, his home in the Orkneys made him well suited to the cold. His clothes consisted of woolen layers of sweater over sweater he had always worn.
Once past Corktown, it didn’t take long before the landscape became entirely trees and deep snow.
Frost scanned the foliage glistening in the early morning light and the virgin snow that carpeted the ground with its own more subtle sparkle. He had developed an appreciation for nature’s beauty. Having received instruction in drawing and painting in water colours as part of his training as a survey engineer so many years ago, it had evolved into a hobby rather than being simply part of the job. His art had also been the one solace during that period of near isolation in the fall when he would escape the office and make sketches of the turning leaves which covered the surrounding hills.
It was a richness in colour like he had never seen in nature, reds, yellows, oranges …. He did his best to capture them although there was no way he could do it justice with the paints he had available. How quickly it had changed. Now, little more than a small amount of black paint was all that would be needed to depict on white canvass the stark beauty he saw now.
Partly out of curiosity, partly to combat the silence, Wiseman asked, “why are we doing this now, Mr. Frost? Can the survey not wait until spring?”
Frost shot back a harsh response. “I will accept no whining from this group. Do you understand, Mr Wiseman? Besides,” he continued, “spring is for digging. We have to keep things on schedule to preserve a supply route as quickly as possible should those bloody Yanks cut off the St. Laurence. Eh, Mr. Payne?”
“Uh huh, whatever you say, Mr. Frost, Sir. Far as I’m concerned I’m just helping my American brethren to get at your northern lumber that much easier.” Payne turned to flash Frost a broad grin.
The clear weather held and the group made good time, moving far into the bush to map out points that had been previously impossible to reach. Every aspect of reading-taking went smoothly as the four quickly fell into a routine. Frost, hunched over and squinting through the theodolite view-finder, adjusted the miniature wheels to line up points on the rod held by Payne, shouting out numbers to Wiseman who repeated each one back before registering it. Even Payne, taking direction and quickly moving himself into position, keeping the measuring rod rock-steady, was completely engaged, though a little light-headed. It was cool but the sun was warm and since they were moving constantly, all, expect Payne, were stripped down to their shirts by mid morning.
By late afternoon the forest began to darken and the decision was taken to set up camp. Savouring the day, Frost took time out to enjoy a short-lived winter sunset. It was particular to those rare crisp, cloudless days when the sky’s rich pastels are perfectly matched against unblemished snow – a brief artistry on icy canvas.
“Fancy a cuppa, Mr. Frost?”
Wiseman had the fire roaring as they settled in with a large tin cup of hot water perched on one side.
“Ta,” Frost replied, accepting the steaming mug.
Etienne called over. “Cuppa? Ta? What da hell language is dat?” he chirped.
“You’re one to talk, Frenchie,” Payne was quick to shoot back, “what the hell is a Tabernac anyway?” His smile was visible even in the twilight.
“What da hell do you care, yank?”
“Just askin’. Don’t take offence. You can’t use a word all the time without telling people what it means.” Payne’s laugh was interrupted by a brief bout of coughing.
“It’s like a monastery. A curse word. You happy?”
Payne cocked his head slightly before answering. “So you all swear with religion? That’s kinda fucked up, isn’t it?”
“Better to use body parts like you? Eh, asshole?”
This brought a laugh from the group, but not to be outdone, Payne continued. “Hey, Frenchie! Church, church, church, church! Do you hear me? Church, church, church, church, church!”
“Good Lord,” Wiseman shook his head, “We can’t even drown him now that the water’s frozen.”
They slept well after feasting on their only hot meal of roasted salt pork with hard bread and awoke to a day as beautiful as the one before. But even as they were collecting their gear the sky was beginning to change. The bright sun became haloed in cloud and then disappeared completely. Etienne noticed it first, pointing it out to Frost who nodded but gave no other indication. “So close to finishing” he thought. “There is no way that a little snow is going to stop that from happening.”
Next came the wind. Gentle, almost soothing whispers were soon an angry whine forcing a million tiny white beads into them, stinging their faces and taking their vision. Tree branches were invisible until they were only inches away from their eyes. Drifts started to form around them as they set up for their final set of readings.
Finally, a sudden, severe drop in temperature made working with the instruments a challenge. Payne struggled to manipulate the theodolite, battling numb fingers that he had to bare to adjust the tiny metal screws that seized in the cold. It took precious minutes as Frost was forced to stop and blow on his hands, or lick his fingers, to create the necessary warmth and friction to work the device.
“Get on with it! I can’t hold it much longer!” Payne was now battling wind gusts on top of his flu bug as he struggled with the eight-foot pole.
“Mr. Payne!” Frost hollered, “The device you refer to is The Ramsden Theodolite. It is arguably one of the greatest feats of engineering this century!”
“Oh for Chris’ sake,” Payne yelled. He had been able to keep his condition from getting the best of him but now, pierced with cold, he was feeling weaker by the moment. “Just get it over with!” Etienne put his arm around his friend, helping him steady the pole.
“You see? Now you curse like a Frenchman too!” Payne tried to manage a smile but it wouldn’t have mattered. Etienne’s eyes were nearly frozen shut.
With Etienne and Payne both holding the sighting pole, it was kept motionless for those brief instants of reduced wind when Frost could exact his readings.
Finally, Frost stopped, raised himself and led Wiseman to a large pine that afforded the only available shelter. They conferred, poring over topographic readings before Payne pulled the group together and shouted over the wind,
“Gentlemen! We are done! It is time to go home.”
“And which way might that be?” Payne yelled. He was right. There was nothing but white now. Snow drifts, up to their ankles only a few hours earlier, were now waist deep in places. Frost turned to Etienne. “Can you take us out?”
“I will try.” His voice was loud but there was no confidence in it.
It didn’t take more than an hour before Frost realized that the exercise was fruitless and called the team together. He stopped, held up his hand, and waited for Payne who had fallen behind.
“It’s going to be getting dark soon, gentlemen.”
“Oh God,” Payne said. “We’re gonna die, aren’t we Frenchie?”
“Well” Etienne couldn’t resist, ”you might.”
Frost surveyed the immediate area. There were sufficient trees to provide cover from the wind while leaving enough room to hunker down. “We’ll make camp here. Let’s settle in quickly now.”
“Wiseman, you focus on the fire. Etienne you’re with me. Let’s get started on the shelter. Payne, can you manage to make a hole in that ice and get some water?” Payne nodded, and set off to a clearing, hoping for the strength to cut through the ice to find water deep enough for dipping his bucket.
Frost and Etienne worked chopping and collecting long cedar boughs and piling them five layers thick onto a cross-beam, long enough to provide cover for the four. Normally two layers would be sufficient but more branches meant more warmth. Taking a break from cutting and piling, the two went inside to lay down a cedar floor for additional warmth. Although it was still cold the wind was not near as fierce and they could talk without straining.
“What I wouldn’t give for a warm fire and cup of mulled wine in a Quebec City pub,” mused Frost, thinking back to his last posting. “I recall one place in particular on Rue St. Paul, There is an Inn just near the dock with the most pleasant onion soup and the largest fireplace which stands right in the centre. It seems a million miles away right now.”
“And the serving girls wear the prettiest yellow scarves,” Etienne added.
Frost looked at him, surprised “You know it then?”
Etienne nodded. “It was my home for many years.” He grabbed another armful of cedar to spread along the ground. “My family live there for generations. I was a disappointment to them. I was expected to take over the business. I still may, but not just now.”
“There’s a special drink that I haven’t had since leaving. Maple whisky?”
“Sortilege … would you like some?” Etienne pulled a wineskin from beneath his thick fur coat which Frost accepted gratefully.
“Cheers!” he said, raising the vessel to his lips he took only a small mouthful but immediately felt its sweetness and warmth work through his frozen body.
The four sat down to a brief dinner, sharing what remained of the salt pork using long wooden prongs to hold it over the fire, doing their best to ignore the conditions and focus on the positives of the food, fire and companionship. Conversation between Etienne and Frost continued as they shared memories of their favourite spots while Wiseman quietly stoked the fire and listened to the wind. Etienne passed the wine skin until it was empty.
It was obvious to all Payne’s condition was worsening, which prompted Frost to instruct him to rest, that he need not share in the duty of maintaining the fire that evening. A schedule was prepared that would see the remaining three taking turns staying awake on picket duty to keep the fire stoked. Frost took the first watch. He couldn’t sleep anyway even if he tried. Learning he had failed them again and this time it may well be their lives.
“Is it my turn yet?”
“Go back to sleep Payne. We’ll handle it”
“I want to take my shift.”
“Payne, you’re a sick man. You need … rest!” Frost yelled. But he could see in his slit eyes that Payne would not back down.
“Alright. But if you start to feel yourself getting tired, even in the slightest, you will awaken me. Do you understand?”
Payne stayed focused on the fire. It was better than trying in vain to force a sleep that would not come. All he could think about were his aching joints and the cold penetrating through to his very core. At least on picket he could feel some warmth, and, even if he sometimes saw strange shapes in the fire at least they were shapes bathed in warmth. He didn’t trust his eyes which is why he didn’t react immediately when the tree fell.
For hours the storm had been driving the snow sideways, screaming through branches, masking the sound of weak or dying trees being taken down by its sheer force. One tree, a mere 30 feet away from the camp, was by all appearances a lush, healthy cedar. But the trunk had been weakened by disease and rot. Small oscillations grew wider as it lurched invisibly and silently in the perfect cover of storm and night. So perfect that Payne did not even register what had happened right away, only seeing the fire suddenly disappear as the top of the tree crashed directly on top, instantly and almost completely smothering it.
To his credit, Payne finally did respond. Fighting through himself with all that was left, he lunged and flipped back and forth … prodding, shaking, pummelling hard on each motionless form, shouting with what voice he had, knowing death was near if they were not jarred from sleep. First Etienne, then the others awoke panicked by the absence of light and warmth and the sound of shrieking wind.
“Wake up, all of you!” he repeated. “We’ve got to get this tree off and get the fire re-started!”
Like knights encased in icy armour they moved slowly at first and then, as realization and panic replaced exhaustion, heart rates rose and they helped one another to their feet. The smoke was intense and they could barely make out the remains of the fire but felt for and found the side of the fallen tree and lined up together to push it away.
It took all four to wrestle with the branches that fought back at every turn. Blood-starved hands grappling against icy needles. Faces stung by the lashing of smaller branches they struggled to roll away.
“Heave on my count!” Frost yelled.
Finally, in unison, they budged and then rolled the green giant off the remnants of a once roaring fire. Wiseman and Etienne tried first to re-start it by drawing together what remained of the fragile orange embers but like little fire flies they grew brighter and then went out until only a precious few dying nuggets of orange light remained.
“It’s not working. We need to restart this fire,” Frost’s mouth was numb and he pushed his face into Wiseman’s ear, hoping to be heard.
“But what do we have to ignite it? The moss is wet.”
“Paper?” Wiseman asked.
“E … extra sheets?” Frost demanded.
Wiseman shook his head. “No.”
Frost was now frozen both inside and out.
“What do you want to do Mr. Frost?”
Wiseman yelled a second time. “Mr. Frost. What do you want to do!?”
Frost strained to see the two other forms. He couldn’t tell for sure but it looked like one was on his hands and knees, fully hunched over. Payne wouldn’t last, even if the others could. Not without warmth.
“Burn them!” he yelled.
“Beg pardon, Sir?”
“Burn the records, Frazer. You get that fire going whatever it takes!”
Wiseman scrambled into the lean-to, grabbed his case from the corner and returned seconds later. Frost turned away from the embers, focusing instead at the inside of the structure which within moments reflected the glow of the fire with the warmest amber light.
The thick, dry papers were excellent fuel and within minutes the fire was once again roaring. There was no real heat as yet but the light and even the smell of smoke brought comfort.
“Gentlemen, we are still freezing and there is no guarantee we are going to make it,” Frost continued, “the only way we’re going to survive is if we spoon up together.” There were no arguments and the four squeezed together tightly although awkwardly.
“No funny business.” It sounded like Payne.
“Good idea to keep talking.” Said Etienne. “We’ll take turns telling stories.”
“Christmas stories?” added Wiseman.
They talked and sang through those critical few hours, interspersed with occasional curses as fingers and toes began to thaw and refill with blood which felt like the squeeze of an icy wrench. They heard the wind continue to howl but the fire held and though the storm continued with only slightly less fury, first light brought relief.
Frost was up tending the fire at dawn when Wiseman and Etienne stirred and climbed out of the shelter. There was still snow falling but mercifully the wind had lessened. “Where is Payne?” Frost asked, prompting the men to look at each-other and then back toward the structure and at the two motionless boots sticking out the front.
The three rushed inside, seeing their friend lying still, on his back, motionless. “Payne. Payne, are you alright?” Frost sat on Payne’s stomach, and in a single motion leaned over him, grabbing both shoulders, and shook him fiercely. Instantly Payne let out a howl like none had ever heard.
“He’s alive!”
“Stop it! Stop shaking me for fuck sake!” Payne yelled.
Frost let go and sat up, totally confused by the reaction. How could one so close to death feel anything?
“What is it Payne?” He asked.
Payne was panting but his screaming had stopped and he was able to catch his breath. “Fine.” He said at last. “Can’t move my head … my hair’s stuck!”
Frost examined the top and sides of Payne’s head, its hair completely encased in crystal snow. All anyone could surmise was that Payne had sweated out the fever with the resulting moisture causing the snow beneath his head to melt and re-freeze, encasing his long hair in ice.
In spite of suggestions by Frost that he was best left in that state, Payne was quickly freed with water warmed by the fire. Etienne was happy to join in the jest and tapped his bald head. “Now you know why I keep mine like this, eh?”
The pace through the drifted snow was slow as they made their way through the frozen swamp. They were tired, still a little cold, and hungry, but they would be home soon.
The sun was the only instrument Etienne needed and it was just a few hours before they saw Bytown and barely dusk when they managed to make their way into the closest tavern they could find. Payne was still weak but well enough to sit with the others.
Warm and waiting for their bread and drinks to arrive Frost took the opportunity to say a few words. “Gentlemen, it’s been quite an experience. And in spite of our hardships and, perhaps, failure, which was my own, I could not think of a better group to have worked with.”
Frost got up from the table and went outside to relieve himself. Returning a few minutes later, he sat down, still wrapped in his own thoughts, and thinking how, in spite of everything that had happened and would undoubtedly happen, he did not feel the least bit unhappy.
It took him a few moments to realize that no one else was speaking. “Oh don’t worry about it, lads” he added, assuming they were equally disappointed with the outcome. He was about to continue when he saw that all three had started to smile.
“I’m not sure I’m following the humour, gentlemen” he added.
Finally, Wiseman spoke. “Sir, last night with all that was going on, I neglected to mention that I was able to be creative in the use of the available paper.”
“I don’t understand, Mr. Wiseman.”
“To be more precise, Mr. Frost, I did my best to ration what was used in case we needed to make a second attempt. When I was about to tell you earlier today, Mr. Payne convinced me that I should wait to share the news when we were all present.”
Frost looked across at Payne, now sporting a wide grin.
With that Etienne, Payne and Wiseman each reached into their shirts and produced a single rolled sheet of paper, tied with twine that was bowed to resemble gift wrap.
“So what’s this now?” Frost demanded.
Taking one, he fumbled with the cord until he was finally able to remove it and opened the roll to reveal one of the survey records, its edges roughly torn away but all recorded information was still, although just barely, intact.
He motioned for and did the same with the other two. It was hard to be sure but it appeared that not the smallest detail was missing from any of the three sheets. By no small miracle Wiseman had managed to re-start the life-saving fire using only those parts of the paper that were blank.
Frost’s words caught in his throat and he quickly gave up trying to speak. No matter. There were no words anyway.
“Eh bien,” Etienne was quick to change the subject. “Time to eat eh?”
A server had appeared with full mugs and two baskets of freshly baked bread which would soon be devoured.
The four toasted and Frost felt a friendly bump from Etienne who was still chuckling. Payne raised his mug a little higher, adding “Happy Christmas, Mr. Frost.”
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