The Desperate Journey (8 page)

“They’ll get over that before long. If folk would come up on deck into the clean air, they’d feel a lot better.”

“My mother and sister have been pretty bad,” Davie said soberly. “Why! Here’s Father with Kirsty now,” he exclaimed as they appeared on deck. “Are you feeling any better, Kirsty?”

“I don’t think I
can
be sick any more,” Kirsty declared.

“You’ll be better for a breath of air, my lassie,” Mr Finlay smiled at her. He turned to James Murray. “Are you the father of this pair?”

“Aye, sir, they’re twins. My name’s James Murray.”

“Are there many sick folk below?”

“I think the worst of the seasickness is over, but folk are terribly weak and there are one or two folk who look fevered.”

Finlay gave him a sharp look. “Fevered, did you say? Mr Murray, you seem a sensible man. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll keep your family on deck as much as you can, even to sleep there, if possible.”

“Will it no’ be very cold, sir?”

“Wrap yourself well round with blankets and ye’ll be none the worse. You may find it gets too cold when we reach the ice fields, but by then the sickness below should have abated.”

“Ice fields!” Davie exclaimed. “Shall we be going among the ice? Will there be icebergs?”

“Most likely!” Robert Finlay laughed, “and before long too!”

That very night the winds blew colder, but the Murray family, huddled under their blankets in the shelter of one of the lifeboats and covered by a piece of sailcloth that Tom Peterson found for them, slept sounder than they had done for nights in the
foul-smelling
cabin. Then, one day, when they reached the Davis Strait, they woke to a white fog and the sound of the ship’s bell clanging. The sails hung limply without a breath of wind to give them a flap. Davie and Kirsty went forward and hung over the rail, trying to see through the woolly whiteness ahead. They were joined by Mr. Finlay.

Davie ventured a question. “Is the ship’s bell sounding to warn other ships we are near, sir?”

Finlay shook his head. “Not likely to be many ships around here! No, they’re sounding to get an echo.”

“An echo?”

“Aye, off the side of an iceberg. This fog is caused by an iceberg in the neighbourhood which is chilling the warmer air. If we get an echo, we shall know the iceberg is close to us.”

“Oh, Kirsty, maybe we’ll see an iceberg!” Davie exclaimed in delight.

“Let’s hope we
do
see it in plenty of time!” Finlay remarked.

Kirsty opened her eyes wide. “Why, sir, is it dangerous?”

Before Robert Finlay had time to reply, the sound of the bell began to echo, at first distantly, then louder and louder, till the echo was almost as distinct as the bell.

“It’s getting very near to us now,” the trader remarked.

“Is the iceberg
moving
?” Davie asked in surprise.

“Aye, Davie, it’s being brought towards us on the current.”

Finlay could not disguise the anxiety in his voice. “Step back, children, under the shelter of the boat,” he said sharply, indicating one of the ship’s boats that swung on its davits.

Suddenly the mists parted and the sun shone through. There, bearing down on them, was a huge mountain of ice. It carried pinnacles like a hundred cathedrals, reflecting the sun in rainbow flashes, dazzling to blindness. Majestically it sailed towards them. Fearful, yet fascinated, Kirsty shaded her eyes.

“It’s beautiful!” she breathed.

Robert Finlay, beside them, watched the angle of its approach keenly. It towered above the ship.

“With luck it might miss us by a dozen yards provided it has no sharp shelves beneath the water,” he said.

“Is there a lot more of the iceberg beneath the water?” Davie asked.

“Why, yes, my boy, seven times as much below as above.”

From the iceberg there came a chilling cold that seemed to freeze them to the deck.

“It’s sailing past us,” Davie said, but hardly were the words out of his mouth than there was a horrid rasping sound and the whole ship shuddered terribly. Robert Finlay gave the children a push. “Stand under the lifeboat!” he cried. “Pray God it does not rip the hull out of our ship!”

The emigrants were most of them on deck staring at the white mountain that seemed about to topple down on the ship. Kirsty
clung to Davie, white-faced, unable to speak.

There was another grating sound, and the whole ship shook again. An overhanging pinnacle of the iceberg broke off and came crashing down in a ton of broken ice just where the children had been standing a few minutes earlier, breaking the rail, even rattling upon the boat under which they were sheltering. The sudden weight of ice caused the
Prince of Wales
to heel over at a dangerous angle. Kirsty and Davie began to slide down towards the gap in the ship’s rail. Kirsty shrieked in terror and clutched Davie. It seemed as if they would be flung in the icy seas. Davie was brought up against one of the iron davits to which the boat was slung. He flung out an arm and grabbed it and brought their headlong slide to a halt.

The ship seemed to pause in her roll and hung for a moment as if doubtful whether to turn turtle or not. The fearful emigrants, hanging on to anything they could grasp, held their breath, and some prayed. Then slowly, slowly, the
Prince of Wales
came back from the dreadful plunge.

Foot by foot the starboard side rose, came level, slipped a little over to port, then gave a gentle roll back into a horizontal position once more.

“Look, Kirsty The iceberg’s well past us now!” Kirsty lifted her face from Davie’s shoulder where she had hidden it in fear.

James Murray and Kate came rushing towards their children.

“Are ye hurt, bairns?” Kate asked.

“We might have been if Mr Finlay had not told us to move to the shelter of the boat,” Davie told her. “The ice came crashing on deck just where we were standing.”

“Thank you indeed, sir,” James Murray said to Finlay.

“What is it like below?” Finlay asked. “Is there any in rush of water into the hold?”

“I saw none.”

“We shall be lucky if we have not sprung a leak,” Finlay said, shaking his head.

Soon they saw the captain moving among the anxious crowds that thronged the decks, frightened to stay below.

“Calm yourselves, good folk!” he told them. “Thanks be to God the worst of the danger is over now. One of the ship’s seams has sprung a leak but the sailors are already busy caulking it and a pump is dealing with the water that has got in. Pray God sends a wind soon, so that we may be able to sail on our way!”

Someone in the crowd began to sing the words of the Old Hundredth, and soon all were joining in.

As the strains of the hymn died away over the waste of waters, a gentle breeze came from the south and began to fill the sails. The sea anchor was winched up and the
Prince of Wales
began to move northward again.

A few days later the ship left the Davis Strait and turned eastward into the Hudson Strait. The next day they sighted Resolution Island off the starboard bow, with black barren cliffs tumbling to the rocky sea-beaten shore. Behind the cliffs were dreary snow-clad peaks.

“Oh, Davie, how desolate it looks! Not a tree anywhere! Will our new land look like that?” Kirsty’s lips trembled a little.

Robert Finlay overheard her question. “Cheer up, my lassie! The new land will be full of trees and birds and carpeted with wild flowers in the spring. This is just the hard cheerless way you must take to reach your new land. Soon the ship will turn south again, but not before you’ve been through the ice field.”

Robert Finlay took Kirsty by the shoulder and pointed to the north-west. “D’ye see yon glint over by the horizon?”

Kirsty nodded. “There’s a kind of shimmering white dazzle there.”

“That’s what we call the ice glint. It comes from the sun shining on the ice field.”

“How will the ship get through the ice field?” Davie asked.

“There are wide cracks like gulfs through which the ship can sail or be pulled if there’s not enough wind to sail her. Then the sailors take ropes and climb on the ice and warp the ship along the sea passages.”

Davie’s eyes glowed. “I’d like fine to see that!”

“I wish we could see some people who live here,” Kirsty said a little plaintively.

“Ye’ll be doing that soon, my lassie! When we reach Ungava Bay you’ll see plenty of Eskimos.”

“Eskimos!” Kirsty clapped her hands in delight.

Robert Finlay was right. That night the ship sailed closer in to the coast and next day the children were wakened by a babble of voices shouting “Chimo! Chimo! Pillattaa! Pillattaa!”

“Whatever’s that?” Kirsty cried. They rushed to the rail. There were at least thirty canoes swarming round the ship. The men were in one-man kayaks made of seal skin and the women two or three together in larger canoes. They shouted and laughed, showing strong white teeth in their flat-featured faces. The men held up their paddles in greeting and the women waved their trade-goods in the air.

“What do they want?” Kirsty asked, a little frightened of the wild shouting figures.

“They want to trade with us. The men are asking to come aboard with the things they have to sell, but the captain will only let them come aboard two or three at a time.”

“Why? Would they attack us?” Kirsty asked.

“No, but they’d steal from us. Terrible thieves they are! When there’s a crowd you can’t keep an eye on them all.”

“Don’t they know it’s wrong to steal?” Kirsty said.

“Bless you, no! They think it’s a clever thing to steal from
strangers. Here comes the first group now!”

Captain Turner allowed six of the Eskimos at a time to come up the rope ladder aboard. They brought many strange articles to trade, whalebone, necklaces made from seahorse teeth, small models of canoes made from bones. The women showed tunics made of seal-skin and fur hoods and wraps.

The sailors then brought up their articles to barter; packets of needles, knives, beads, axes and even tin kettles. The Eskimos’ eyes glittered with eagerness.

“There’s a man showing a lovely little model canoe of bone,” Davie said. “He’s pointing to that tin kettle.”

“He’ll not get it for that,” Robert Finlay laughed. The sailor with the tin kettle shook his head.

“Now the Eskimo is pointing to an axe,” Kirsty remarked.

“He’ll not get that either!”

The pointing finger moved to a knife and then to a pen knife and there it stopped. The sailor nodded, held out the knife and the Eskimo held out the model canoe. Not till he had grasped the knife did he let go of the canoe.

“Not very trusting, is he?” Davie commented.

“It’s just their way of bargaining. Watch what he does now.”

“Why, he’s
licked
the knife!” Kirsty cried in astonishment.

“That’s his way of showing possession. Here comes a woman now! She’s holding up a fur hood.”

“I’d like fine to have a fur hood like that for when we go hunting, but I suppose the Eskimos would not trade with us?” Davie asked.

“Oh, yes, they will, if you’ve any goods to offer,” Finlay said.

James Murray had joined the group round the Eskimos. “I’d buy the lad a hood if the Eskimo would take money.”

“Money’s no use to him, man!” Finlay laughed. “No shops in his land! Have you a comb or a bright handkerchief you could spare?”

James Murray produced a large red handkerchief with white spots from his pocket.

“Just the thing! See, yon Eskimo has his eyes on it already.”

James Murray pointed to the fur cap the Eskimo held, then to the handkerchief. The Eskimo was fascinated by it. He held out the fur cap and the exchange was made.

“Here you are, Davie!” James Murray set the cap over Davie’s ears. Kirsty looked just a bit wistful. An Eskimo woman was quick to see Kirsty’s look and understand it. She held up a soft sealskin tunic and pointed to Kirsty.

“I think she means that tunic would fit you, Kirsty,” Davie said.

“What will she take for it?” Mrs Murray asked quickly “I have a packet of needles in my pocket.” She held then up but the woman shook her head.

“She means it is not enough,” Robert Finlay said. “Have you anything else, Mrs Murray?”

Mrs Murray dipped into the pocket of her skirt and laid a pair of scissors alongside the needles.

“You might need those, ma’am, when you get to the Red River,” Finlay advised her.

“I have two larger pairs in our luggage. I can spare these.” Kate held them up and demonstrated their use by snipping a small lock from Kirsty’s hair. The Eskimo woman was delighted. At once she handed over the tunic, seizing the scissors at the same time, licked them in token of ownership and set to work to snip at her own long black hair. Kate Murray slipped the tunic over Kirsty’s head.

“It’s warm!” Kirsty snuggled into it.

“Well, now you’ve each got a garment suitable to this climate,” Robert Finlay laughed.

As the ship continued her voyage, most people had recovered from seasickness, but several folk still lay in their bunks, too ill and fevered to eat. At first Doctor LaSerre had put this down to bad attacks of seasickness, till one man died, and some patients began to break out in spots. He sought out Captain Turner.

“I fear there is a worse illness than seasickness among our settlers,” he told the captain. “One man has died and there is a child at the point of death. There is a fading rash on her body. It could be scarlet fever or – or typhus.” The doctor spoke the last dread word in a low voice.

“Typhus? That could spread like fire among those folk packed below deck.” The captain looked shocked.

“It could indeed,” the doctor agreed.

“What measures can you take.”

“I will try to keep the sick people in one cabin, but they have already been mixing with the others. I can only look out for further suspected cases and separate them at once.” The doctor staggered slightly as he spoke.