Oatcakes and Courage

by Grant-Smith, Joyce

  As the line of settlers moved forward, Anne felt a pang of uneasiness. In the longboat, waiting to come aboard, the Hector had seemed monstrous. Now it seemed far too small and crowded to hold all the settlers who were pouring onto her deck. A narrow ladder led to the dark hold below. Ian descended to the hold ahead of Anne, reached up for her bag, and she carefully followed him down.

  A lantern hanging next to the ladder cast the hold in a dim, yellow light. Anne’s breath caught in her throat. The ceiling was low, and the space was jammed with narrow bunk beds. Cargo that had been picked up in Greenock was stacked, fore and aft, floor to ceiling. Anne surveyed the passenger area with wide eyes. How would nearly two hundred of them ever fit in this cramped space? And the bunks! There were only – she did a quick mental tally – only about fifty beds! That meant they would have to share.

  Anne turned to Ian, horrified. She could see by the expression on his face that he was coming to the same realization. There was one bunk bed per family.

  Anne looked bleakly at the floor and spied wooden buckets, placed here and there among the beds. “Oh, dear God,” Anne thought. “Those are our toilets!”

  Her heart racing, Anne spun on her heels and tried to make for the ladder. There was still time to get off the ship. She would go home. Perhaps she could convince her father that she should not be married. Perhaps she could go live with her aunt.

  The press of settlers coming down the ladder halted her. She was caught like a sheep in a cote. The air was heavy with tar and damp wood, rotten fish and hot, nervous bodies. Anne’s breath came in little gasps.

  Ian was at her elbow. He put his arm about her shoulders and said quietly, “It’ll be all right, lass. It’s not so bad. I can sleep up on the deck. You can have the bunk. And look – see how the Sutherlands and the Chisholms are putting up blankets for a little privacy around their bunks? We can use our cloaks to do that. It will not be very comfortable, but it’s better than swimming, eh?”

  Anne smiled wanly at his attempt at a joke. She knew Ian was just as scared as she was. But he was putting on a brave face and trying to make her feel better. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

  Of course, there really was no turning back. She could never go home.

  She heard John MacKay up on deck, playing his pipes. She took heart. She nodded and started to unpack.

  Still more settlers poured down the ladder. The air was so heavy Anne thought she would pass out. Little Christina, her two siblings, and their mother were nearby. All three children were crying and the mother’s lip was trembling as she tried to hang a blanket from an upper bunk to give her girls some private space. The mother had looked like a sturdy woman when she’d been out on the deck, but here she seemed frail and frightened.

  Anne wiggled between other settlers to stand next to the distraught mother. The woman looked at her bleakly. “They are so afraid,” she said simply, her voice quivering. She brushed a tendril of mahogany hair off her face, removing a tear from her cheek in the same movement.

  Anne nodded. “I’m Anne Grant.”

  “Katherine McKay MacLeod. And these are my three girls. Hugh MacLeod is my husband. He’s up on deck, helping unload the longboat.”

  “Would it be any help… I could take the children up and let them watch the longboats come in. They might not be so afraid up there. It’s so crowded here right now.”

  Katherine’s hazel eyes glistened and she gave a ghost of a smile. “Aye, that would be grand if you would do that.”

  Anne scooped up the infant girl and tucked her under one arm, then Katherine helped her settle the toddler against her other shoulder. The mother’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure you can manage?”

  Anne smiled. “They aren’t heavy. Come along, Christina, let’s go see the boats.”

  Katherine gave her oldest daughter a little push on the shoulder to get her to follow Anne, and the girl obediently trailed in Anne’s wake. It was slow going, but because Anne had the crying babes in her arms, people allowed her to squeeze by, and she eventually found herself at the foot of the ladder.

  She hadn’t thought how she’d climb up to the deck with her arms full of babies. She stood uncertainly for a moment. A deckhand glanced down and noticed her there. He was gangly, like a half-grown colt, and his face was burned from the sun and the sea wind. He reached down with one long arm and took the toddler from Anne. The little girl’s eyes opened as wide as a frightened lamb’s, but Anne was up the ladder in no time, and had the child in her arms again. She thanked the crewman, who strode off without a backward glance.

  “Probably thinks I’m quite useless, not able to climb a ladder with my arms full. I’d like to see him manage it in a skirt!” Anne fumed.

  Once out on the deck, with the salt air blowing in their faces and the boats to watch, the girls’ whimpering subsided. Anne set the toddler down, instructing Christina to keep hold of her sister’s hand, no matter what. Christina took this responsibility very seriously. The wee girl yelped and Anne had to loosen Christina’s fingers.

  Christina began to chatter to Anne. “These are my sisters.” She indicated the toddler with a tilt of her head. “She’s Janet.” Then she pointed to the infant in Anne’s arms. “She’s Alexa. We all got our eyes from Mama and our red hair from Papa.”

  “I see,” said Anne, smiling.

  “The crop failure was very bad for Papa. So we are going to find a better place to live across the sea. Mama doesn’t really want to go, but Papa said he can’t live in Scotland any more, not the way the damned English are using us.”

  Anne decided not to chastise the child for her blasphemy; she knew Christina was only parroting what she’d heard. It was a sentiment held by most Scots.

  The sun was getting high in the sky and the girls were getting restless and hungry. Anne wondered what was going to be done about feeding them.

  It looked as if the last longboat was rowing toward the Hector. It held only a few passengers.

  The captain barked orders. Crewmen swung about in the rigging and bustled on the decks. Anne felt dizzy, watching the men on the masts high above the deck.

  Katherine appeared at Anne’s side. She had a small loaf of dark bread in her hand. She broke it into four pieces, giving some to the two older girls and offering a bite to Anne. Anne shook her head. “You need your rations,” she said. “I’ll get my own.”

  Katherine popped some bread into her mouth and took little Alexa from Anne’s tired arms.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Katherine said, smiling. She had regained her composure and was standing steadfast and calm with her girls about her. The baby nuzzled at her bodice.

  “I am very glad to help,” Anne said sincerely. “I’m sure we will all need to help one another for the next couple of weeks.”

  “Aye.”

  Alexa stopped nuzzling and began to howl lustily. Katherine said, “She’s hungry. I’ll take her below to feed her. Come, girls. You can finish your bread with me.”

  The little girls, still hand-in-hand, trundled along after their mother. Anne was put in mind of rose-coloured ducklings waddling after their mother. They turned at the hatchway to give Anne a little wave. She smiled and waved back.

  Anne shook her head. She would not want to trade places with Katherine MacLeod, not for a gold crown. Anne had only herself to care for. Katherine had three other precious lives to bring safely to a new land and a new life.

  Anne’s stomach grumbled. She glanced around. Most of the settlers were up on deck again. Once they’d found a bunk and a place to stow their belongings, they left the oppression of the hold for the sunny topside. A lot of them were eating a chunk of bread. “Where did they get that?” Anne wondered. Just then, Ian appeared. He had a loaf, which he broke in half, passing Anne her share.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I was getting hungry.”

  They ate quietly, watching the last longboat as it was unloaded. The longboat was then hoisted from the water, swung aboard t
he ship, and turned keel upward between the first and second masts. The Hector’s anchor was hauled up from the depths of the loch by the windlass and catted up at the bow. More sails were unfurled and the ship slowly turned to lumber down the loch.

  Anne gazed at the shore as it slid away, a lump in her throat. She could no longer swallow the bread.

  Ian glanced at her tear-streaked face and slipped his arm around her shoulders. They watched in solemn silence as their homeland disappeared.

  Chapter 5

  THE BAGPIPES HUMMED A sad lament as the Hector wallowed over the loch waters toward the open sea.

  Except for the orders from the captain and mate and the movements of the crew to keep the vessel steady on her course down the narrow waterway, there was a hush over the ship. All her passengers were overcome by the enormity of leaving their homeland. Parents gathered children close.

  John MacKay shifted the bagpipes in his arms and took a deep breath. Then he began to play a rallying song. The rhythm was strong, the melody designed to muster courage and strength. The Scots responded to the call. Backbones stiffened, shoulders squared. The spell of fear was broken. Passengers began to talk softly together.

  A solidly built young Scot with deeply tanned skin and a lock of fair hair falling over his forehead came around with a pail of water and a dipper. He resembled a yearling Shire colt: brawny, tall and gangly. “I’m John Stewart,” he said pleasantly, with a voice that sounded like it came from the bottom of a barrel. “Drink?”

  “Our cups are below,” Ian said. “I’ll go and fetch them. Do you mind waiting here a moment?”

  John Stewart flashed a quick grin. “And where would I be going?” he asked.

  Ian nodded and headed for the ladder. The deck was crowded, so he had to weave through knots of people to reach the hatch.

  Anne nodded shyly to John. He said, “We get a pint of water a day. And since it looks like we have lots of salt meat for the journey, something to wet our throats is welcome, I am thinking.”

  “Aye, I am sure,” Anne agreed.

  “I came aboard at Greenock,” John continued. “Passing out the day’s water fell to me on the way here, so I have kept on with it.”

  “I heard there were a few people who took passage there,” Anne said.

  “Aye. We were delayed quite some time. Cargo. But we’re off now.”

  Ian rejoined them with two wooden cups. John Stewart dipped water from his pail, filled their cups, then with a cheery, “G’day,” he moved along to other travellers.

  John MacKay put away his pipes and roved the ship, speaking to each group of passengers that he met. He came to Ian and Anne.

  “Did you eat?” Ian asked.

  “Oh, aye!” John MacKay said, smiling. “Never fear.”

  “And water?” Anne inquired.

  “Aye, my parched throat was quenched too, lassie.” His eyes crinkled up as he smiled. “Ah, ’tis good to be off at last.” He gazed out over the bow.

  “How long,” Ian ventured, “do you think the voyage will take?”

  “Well now, lad, that be up to God and the weather. And our good ship and captain. But with any luck, we’ll be in our new land in four weeks.”

  “Four weeks! It will really take a whole month!?” Anne asked.

  “Oh, aye. The voyages to the New World usually do, lass. Did you not know?”

  Anne shook her head.

  John MacKay nodded to them both and moved along to speak with the next huddle of passengers along the rail.

  As the afternoon wore on, Anne got tired of standing on deck. Her blistered feet throbbed, and the rocking motion of the ship was making her feel light-headed. She thought she’d go below and lie down.

  Once she reached her bunk, she realized that she’d made a huge mistake. The air in the hold was heavy with the smell of vomit, urine and diarrhea. Several miserable passengers lay curled on their bunks, moaning or sobbing.

  Anne turned to flee to the fresh air on deck when she heard her name called. She swallowed the bile that came to the back of her tongue and turned. Katherine was nearby, stooped over a bunk bed. She beckoned Anne to her.

  With enormous force of will over her heaving stomach, Anne stepped up to Katherine. The odour of vomit was overpoweringly sharp.

  “This is Janet Fraser,” Katherine said, indicating a young woman lying curled on the bunk. Janet’s freckles stood out vividly against her pasty white face. Her strawberry-blonde hair was damp on her forehead. “I need you to help me get her out of here and up on deck. Please. I must get her into the air.”

  Anne clenched her teeth and nodded. She gently took Janet Fraser’s shoulders and helped Katherine roll her to sit up. It was only then that Anne realized that Janet was very much pregnant.

  “Now,” Katherine ordered Janet, “let’s get you on your feet.”

  Katherine and Anne hauled together and managed to bring Janet to standing. She was so weak in the knees that all her weight sagged against them.

  “Oh!” Katherine panted, “Come on, Janet. One foot and then the other. We must get you above.”

  Step by agonizing step, they shuffled toward the ladder.

  Anne stumbled and leaned against the upright of the ladder. How in the name of everything holy would they get this woman up on deck?

  Just then, Janet retched, and lost what was left of her meagre breakfast.

  Anne bit her bottom lip. Her stomach rolled unhappily and threatened to heave.

  “What do we do now?” Anne asked Katherine through gritted teeth.

  “I’ll get Hugh,” Katherine said, and she slipped up the ladder before Anne could reply.

  “Grand,” Anne thought, as she steadied Janet between the ladder and her shoulder. “Here I am with this poor pregnant woman and a puddle of vomit at my feet. Dear Lord, Katherine, don’t be long.”

  Whether in answer to her prayer or because Katherine never lagged about anything, she reappeared moments later with Hugh and his brother Alexander. The two men looked like they’d been fashioned from one cookie cutter. They had the same stocky build, the same solid neck, the same bright red hair and beard.

  The men blanched at the mess at the bottom of the steps, but they were valiant enough. They gently hoisted poor Janet Fraser up the ladder and onto the deck. Katherine’s husband made a makeshift bed for Janet near the stern out of some canvas and they laid her there. Then the men went off, leaving the womenfolk to deal with the seasickness.

  Out in the air, Janet began to revive a bit, but if she opened her eyes to glimpse the horizon rise and fall, rise and fall, she moaned and quickly closed them again.

  Katherine went off to find Janet’s husband, Kenneth. She sent him to fetch some water. The pregnant woman sipped this thankfully, and finally she slept.

  “Now,” Katherine said, wrinkling her nose, “I suppose I must clean up below.”

  Anne swallowed noisily. She knew she could volunteer to sit with Janet and not have to help Katherine. But that seemed cowardly.

  She sighed. “I’ll help you.”

  Katherine gave her a quick look, to see if Anne really meant it, and when she saw that she did, gave her a large smile and a squeeze on the arm. “There are many below who are too miserable to move. Someone must care for them.”

  Anne nodded, not enthusiastically, but with resignation. She followed Katherine into the foul hold.

  Several other stouthearted women, Elspie MacLeod (Katherine’s sister-in-law), Marion McLeod, Lily Sutherland, and Rebecca Patterson, aided in the cleaning. They worked till dusk, carrying the full buckets out and dumping them over the rails and mopping up the floor. Anne tried to take her mind to other places – heather-covered fields and mountain lochs – to detach from the disgusting chore.

  At last, it was so dark, and they were so tired and sickened, they could do no more. They all went out on deck and stood at the rail, letting the sea wind cleanse the stench from their nostrils.

  For indeed, they were no longer in the loch,
but out in open water. The roll and pitch of the Hector was more pronounced, but the evening was calm. The women breathed in the salt spray in silence.

  Their menfolk came to find them, and one by one, they drifted off to have their evening rations of salt beef and oatcake.

  “Quite a beginning to the voyage,” Ian said as they sat with their backs against the longboat. He had polished off his meal in a trice. She was gingerly nibbling hers.

  Anne nodded.

  “Once everyone gets their sea legs, the sailors say, it will get better. The first day is the worst.”

  “I pray they are right,” Anne mumbled fervently.

  “You are worn out,” Ian said. “What you have had to deal with these last couple of days! Why don’t you go down to the bunk and sleep? I’ll stay up here….”

  Anne’s tender stomach flopped. “Nay!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I could not sleep down there! Please, Ian. Just bring me my cloak, and I’ll sleep right here.”

  Ian’s forehead furrowed, but he did as she asked and brought her the cloak and a blanket, and made her as comfortable as possible on the deck. He settled next to her with his back propped against the longboat. Ian folded his arms over his chest, tipped his hat over his eyes, and let sleep take him. Anne’s exhaustion eventually drew her into a fitful sleep.

  The chill of the morning brought Anne awake, shivering under her cloak. The sky was a leaden gray. Spray dashed over the bow and misted across the deck. Anne felt her stomach rise into her throat as the ship rose and fell beneath her.

  Ian approached Anne with cups of water and half a loaf of bread balanced in his hands. He passed the cups to Anne, then sat next to her on the damp deck. Anne pulled the woollen cloak closer about her shoulders before accepting a piece of the bread.