Chain Locker (19 page)

“You go ahead, Momma. I'll be up in a few minutes.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Oh yes, fine. I'll be up soon. Good night.”

She sat down again. The fire was nearly out and the lamps had almost consumed their fuel. So, the popular minister from England had proposed to her, after all. She couldn't help smiling with a small amount of satisfaction. His timing couldn't have been worse, but that was not his fault. How could he have known what was going on in her head? Accepting his proposal would mean moving to England. She turned that over in her mind. Interesting.

Traipsing home through the snow, Basil pondered Emily's reaction to his overtures. Maybe he had read her all wrong. He had thought there was a relationship blossoming between them, but she had seemed rather cool towards him this evening. Finding Emily in a place like this was a pleasant surprise for him, especially after getting dumped by Madeline. That recollection caused him to shudder even more than the biting cold, as he heard Madeline's awful words invade his memory: “arrogant, self-centred, aloof.” He could hear her brushing his arguments aside, declaring she could never marry a clergyman who did not have the heart of a servant—a damning judgment for a man of his calling.

When he saw the ad for the posting to an island off Newfoundland, he had half-heartedly applied for it as an opportunity to win Madeline back. Surely his becoming a missionary would be proof that he had a servant's heart. It was an impulsive measure and a desperate one. When he was offered the posting he was inclined to say “No thanks,” but then decided to give it a try—it at least saved him from having to see her at church every Sunday.

He had not expected that anyone could replace Madeline in his heart, and certainly not somebody in a place like this, but what a surprise had been awaiting him. Emily had rapidly moved in to fill the hole. And to top it off, not only was she better suited to the role of a pastor's wife—she was prettier, too.

He hoped he had not been too presumptuous in springing the topic of marriage on her. It was clear she didn't like to be pushed. Madeline had been the same way. In the future he would be scrupulous in his behaviour, always speaking more kindly, and not uttering a negative word about this place and its people. He had expected them to be well behaved but inferior Englishmen. How wrong he had been! These natives had been away from England for too long; they were practically Americans!

He was barely a quarter of the way through his term, so returning to England was not really an option as long as he remained in the ministry. He was desperately aware that he needed her companionship to get him through the rest of his time here. Pulling his cap down over his ears and peering into the driving snow he felt certain that God had sent her to him in the same way He had sent Eve to Adam. She would be his helpmate. She would come to love him; she simply had to.

chapter twenty-two

The flames devoured until they found no fresh sustenance; the
Viking
had burned to the waterline. With the last remnants of heat ebbing away, she could no longer provide shelter from the northern winds, and the cold night closed in on her survivors. The master watches had organized their men and restored some order, helping those who could walk prepare for the long march to the Horse Islands. It looked like at least twenty-five were missing. The three Americans had vanished.

Several men were helping a couple of their injured mates, Fred Best and Alfred Kean, into a dory. Laying them on the floor, they made them as comfortable as possible and then started the backbreaking task of pushing the dory towards the Horse Islands.

One by one, Simeon had gotten his watch together, including his sons. Being one of the oldest men aboard he had seen his share of calamities, but this one capped them all. Some of his men were injured and three were missing. One seventeen-year-old did not want to leave without his father who was still not accounted for, and no amount of coaxing could persuade him to go. Concerned for the safety of the rest of his men, Simeon left him sitting, morose, in the company of some others who were too injured to be moved and a few men who chose to remain with them at the wreck site, hoping for a rescue ship to pick them up.

Simeon looked thankfully at Bert, who at seventeen was his youngest child, and as they set out, he took one last look in the direction of his nephew and the stowaway he hardly knew, but whose quiet confidence he admired. They had disappeared into the blackness and he had received no response the last time he yelled towards them. “God help you,” was now his silent prayer.

Henry and Jackie stood at the edge of their ice floe looking at the pinprick of light that marked the
Viking's
final painful minutes. Even though for much of his time aboard he had been uncomfortable and unhappy, Henry could not help feeling an overwhelming sadness for the stalwart old ship. There was no shame in how she was going. She had mastered the ice for fifty years and it had never gotten the better of her. She had certainly paid her dues. At least she was not destined for the wrecker's yard like so many fine ships that had outlived their usefulness; nor would she suffer the humiliation of living out her last days as a coal hulk, with her proud masts cut off, permanently anchored in a corner of some wretched harbour, forbidden ever again to point her bowsprit at the flat horizon of the ocean. She had been forced to fight a battle she could not win, and in her spectacular death she was certain to be immortalized. Henry wondered if any of them had the grit to prove themselves worthy of her. Would he and Jackie see the morning light? And what about the injured; what would become of them? In the quiet that had descended on them, he thought he could hear their moaning across the water.

“What happened to Darmy?” asked Jackie. “Did he really die?”

“They couldn't revive him. I think he's gone, sport.”

“But they're not gonna just leave him behind, are they?”

“They don't have any choice. I'm sure a rescue ship will find him and take him off the ice.”

It was a long while before one of them spoke or even moved. “Well, buddy, I guess we better get ourselves organized here,” Henry said finally, trying to make their situation appear more like an adventure than the looming disaster he feared it was to become. Casting a glance around, he added, “Let's see if we can find any pieces of wreckage to make on a fire. You go off to the left there and I'll go this way and we'll meet back here in ten minutes or so. Mind where you're walking so you don't step into the water, now.”

“Maybe we should stay together,” Jackie suggested meekly.

“Yeah, sure, we can do that if you like.”

“A bit chilly, eh?”

“The wind is died down, though,” said Henry. “That's good. And I see the stars are coming out so there won't be any snow. Makes it a bit easier to see, too, don't it?”

“Hey, there's a piece!”

“You got good eyes. That's a good-sized piece, too.”

The search for wreckwood that had sprayed over the ice in the explosions was a helpful diversion, and the activity of climbing up, down and around the rough ice kept the cold away.

“Henry!”

“What?”

“Oh, there you are. I couldn't see you.”

“I'm just over here. I was bent down to get a stick of wood.”

“I think I hear something.”

“What do you hear?”

“Don't you hear anything? Like moaning, sort of.”

“It's probably just the ice creaking and rubbing together. It can sound strange sometimes.”

“It's creepy out here. I guess we got nowhere to sleep, right?”

“We'll find somewhere to lie down after a while.”

“Do you think we're going to freeze to death?”

“No, we got lots of clothes on. We'll just have to keep moving around for a while and then we'll sleep some. We'll be all right tonight and then it might be clear tomorrow with some sun.”

“Hey, there's water here! Henry! Henry! I'm driftin' away.”

“Don't jump! Go to your left there… quick, now…run! Here, grab the gaff handle. Now, jump.”

He barely made it, stumbling to his hands and knees as he landed.

“That one sure snuck up on us, didn't it?” said Henry. “There must be an awful lot of tide out here. I guess that explains why we drove away from the ship so fast. We got a good-sized piece of ice under us now, though.”

“Yeah, well, how do you know it's not just a whole bunch of little pieces all jammed together? I thought I was standing on a good-sized piece just then.”

After half an hour of scouring the area, they had managed to find enough wood to make a fire. “I guess that's it for the wood,” said Henry.

“How long do you think it'll last?”

“That should last for a nice while.”

“That sounds like a Simeon answer. How long is a nice while?”

“Oh, an hour, maybe.”

“You got any matches?”

“Yep.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “But you don't smoke.”

“Maybe, but I still got matches.”

“I enjoy a smoke now and then,” Jackie declared grandly.

Henry smiled. “Do you, now? You better not be lookin' to me for one.”

Though it was more wood than he had expected to find, Henry noted silently that of everything they would need to survive—food, water, fuel and shelter—they had only fuel and not much of that. He knew that as time passed without food and shelter they would become increasingly susceptible to the cold, especially the unpredictable spring weather. If it turned mild and rained, and then fell below freezing, there would be no surviving. He was determined that they would not fritter away their paltry store of wood for immediate comfort; it was a precious resource to be used wisely to signal an approaching ship and not just for warmth.

“We should try to get some sleep while the weather is fair, Jack.” He found a low spot among the pinnacles and there they lay down, snuggling together for warmth. “If we're still out here tomorrow night we'll have to take turns sleeping so we don't miss the rescue ship. There won't be anybody out tonight.”

The night dragged on but, despite waking and shivering frequently, they both got a little sleep. Jackie was surprised at how noisy it was, with the creaking ice and the sloshing of the waves. The wind seemed to come and go, breezing up for a minute or two and then falling calm again. Eventually it started to blow and kept blowing. Each time he awakened it was with unbearable disappointment and dread as he realized anew the situation they were in. He had never felt fear like he felt it now.

“Henry, you awake?”

“Yeah.”

“You hear anything? I think I heard something.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. It sounded like groaning or something.”

“It's nothing. Just the wind. Try to sleep.”

“Do you think there are spirits out here?”

I could use some spirits about now, Henry thought, as he remembered the Caribbean with its warm winds and cheap rum. “You mean like ghosts?”

“Yeah.”

“There are no ghosts out here or anywhere else. Just go back to sleep.”

Before the dawn broke they had both had enough. Having run out of body parts that weren't aching from the hard, cold surface on which he was doubled up, Henry finally got to his feet. A few seconds later Jackie was beside him. He had wanted to get up for a long time but did not want to disturb Henry.

“Now then, Jack, I suppose you slept like a baby and had to haul yourself out of bed, did you?” Henry said, conjuring up a smile.

“Not really,” Jackie replied, not even pretending to be cheerful.

“No, b'y. To tell you the truth I didn't either. It wasn't exactly a feather bed, was it? My ass is some dunched!” he said, slapping his behind and trying to bring some life back into his haunches. Jackie grunted something unintelligible.

“How are you there, Brud? You doin' all right?”

“That wind is pretty cold,” he managed to croak. Henry touched his shoulder and could feel him trembling.

“You are cold!”

No response. “…and maybe a little scared?”

Jackie hesitated. “I dunno.” After a long pause, he confessed, “Yeah.”

Henry searched for the words that would bring comfort to his young friend, but he had little to offer. All his role models rarely if ever acknowledged their fears, and usually talked nonchalantly in the face of enormous dangers. If you were afraid you kept it to yourself. That was the example he had been given and he felt helpless with the knowledge that it was all he had to offer Jackie.

He managed to scrape together a few shallow words of comfort. “I can't blame you for being a bit scared, b'y, but we're goin' to be all right, just you wait and see. We're on a nice big hunk of ice and we got some wood to burn if it gets too cold. I'm expecting to see a rescue ship when the sun comes up, so we'll be okay.”

“Aren't you scared?” Jackie asked.

“No,” said Henry. “Why should I be afraid?”

“Well, I've seen you scared. You looked pretty nervous goin' down the side of the ship the other day.”

“You're wrong,” he answered emphatically. “I wasn't scared then and I'm not scared now. And neither should you be. We're going to get picked up in a day or so and then everything will be fine.”

“Huh.”

“What's the point in being scared?” said Henry. “Sure, it won't do a bit of good. We need to be like my cousin, Ches, who turned his punt bottom up one time sailing from Whale's Gulch to Cottle's Island. He couldn't swim a stroke, of course, so he clung to the overturned boat for about two hours until somebody finally came out and got him, barely alive. ‘I bet you was scared out there, eh Ches, hangin' onto the keel o' yer punt wit' nar rescue in sight,' they all laughed.