Oatcakes and Courage

by Grant-Smith, Joyce

  “Did you sleep?” Ian asked.

  Anne nodded.

  “You look a bit pale. Are you all right?”

  Anne swallowed a mouthful of bread and took a sip of water. The food seemed to help settle her stomach. “I think I will be all right.”

  Ian smiled. “There are many who are not faring so well.”

  “Don’t I know it!”

  “Have you enough to break your fast? I gave John MacKay some of our ration this morning.”

  “Aye. This is fine.”

  Anne looked out over the opposite rail. “It is terrifying. I don’t know how the sailors get used to it.”

  “What’s that?”

  Anne made a sweeping gesture with a hand. “Nothing but water. No land. No matter which way you look.”

  Ian nodded. “Aye. There’s no knowing where we are, out here in the vastness of the sea. Gives a man o’ the land an awful feeling in his gut.” He forced a smile. “The captain knows where he is, though. So we’ll have to trust him to get us across this great ocean and to our new home.”

  Just then, Katherine, one daughter in her arms and the other two trailing along behind, came up to them. “Good morning,” she said politely.

  “Good day,” Ian said, standing and doffing his hat.

  Katherine shifted little Alexa from one shoulder to the other and stood with downcast eyes. After a moment, she said, “Last night, once I finally got the girls settled in our bunk… well, there was no room for me to sleep there as well. And I noticed that you had not come down to your bunk, so I thought I’d just rest there until you needed it….”

  “Oh, Katherine,” Anne said, scrambling to her feet and putting a reassuring hand on Katherine’s elbow, “you are most welcome to use our bunk whenever you wish. Isn’t she, Ian? I wanted to sleep up here anyway, last night, in the fresh air.”

  Ian nodded. “Aye, do not fret about that, Mrs. MacLeod. You did not put us out at all.”

  Katherine smiled at them both. “Thank you. You’re very kind. Hugh slept up here, on deck, but I could not leave the girls.”

  “Of course,” Anne replied.

  Christina pulled at Anne’s skirt. “Let’s go look at the Lady of the Ship.”

  Anne’s brow furrowed. “Lady? What lady?”

  “The lady up there,” Christina said, pointing to the stern.

  Katherine explained, “She saw the carving on the transom deck, above the captain’s cabin.”

  “Oh!” Anne exclaimed, understanding. “All right. We will go have a look. Is she very beautiful?”

  Christina slipped her little hand into Anne’s. “Aye. I think she’s a mermaid.”

  They made their way to the ladder that took them over Master Spiers’ cabin. The ship scudded down one wave and lifted upon another in a slow, graceful dance with the sea. From this vantage point they could watch the salt spray curl along the bow and spread into a frothy wave on either side.

  Christina gazed at the carving’s face for some time. Anne wondered what she saw in it. To her, it looked like any of the women on the ship, the eyes watchful, expectant and wary. Anne glanced at the carving of the man on the opposite side of the deck. His bearded countenance was also familiar; his solemn face mirrored the settlers on the deck. Christina seemed to pay him no attention at all. The “mermaid” held her fascination.

  Anne gazed over the deck, then allowed her eyes to lift to the sails billowing above her. They swelled with the brisk breeze, carrying the ship along the waves like huge wings of a seabird. Anne imagined herself as a gull, skimming along the crests of the waves. She raised her arms, holding them outstretched, the sleeves of her frock catching the wind, and closed her eyes.

  “You, there!” a voice barked.

  Anne’s brown eyes flew open. Her arms dropped to her sides. Master Orr was striding across the main deck toward her. Standing at the foot of the ladder, he snarled up at her, “Have you permission to be there?”

  Anne replied, “The child just wanted to see the carving…”

  “As I thought,” Master James Orr interrupted. “The captain doesn’t need you lot tramping up there, disturbing him.”

  A flush of anger rose up Anne’s neck and into her face. She drew Christina to her side and she said evenly, “We were hardly doing the Highland fling up here, Master Orr. Now if you will excuse us…” She and the child descended the ladder, and leading Christina by the hand, Anne brushed past the mate, her head held high.

  Anne returned Christina to her mother. The little girl’s red hair was jewelled with tiny droplets so that she looked like a small mermaid herself. Katherine smiled and hugged her close.

  “I suppose there are chores to be done below,” Anne said with little enthusiasm.

  Katherine nodded. “Rebecca and Elspie have already begun. There are fewer who are sick this morning, I think. People have learned that if they get out on deck, it is better. Only a dozen or so are below.”

  “Well, that’s a blessing,” Anne murmured.

  The women made their way through the settlers on the deck to do their part with tidying the hold. Anne paused at the base of the ladder and listened. She blanched and turned to Katherine.

  “What is that noise? Water running?” she whispered urgently.

  “The crew has been manning the bilge pump throughout the night,” Katherine replied. Her voice was steady, almost nonchalant, but her eyes were wide.

  Anne gasped. It felt as if a hand reached into her chest to squeeze her heart with icy fingers.

  “The crewmen say ships always have water that comes in. It’s normal,” Katherine said in a tight voice.

  “Oh, aye?” Anne did not feel reassured.

  As Anne went to empty a foul bucket toward the stern of the ship, a round-faced woman lying in a bunk caught her skirt and asked hoarsely, “Lass, could you bring me water?”

  “To be sure,” Anne said. She hurried away with the filthy, acrid smelling bucket. When she came back a few minutes later she had a cupful of water for the woman.

  “Many thanks,” the woman croaked before taking a sip. Then she begged, “Would you sit with me for a wee moment? My husband is up on deck. He cannot stand the air down here. It’s hard to be here alone.”

  Anne scrunched herself into the cramped space at the end of the bunk, angling her head so it wouldn’t bump into the bunk above. “My name is Anne,” she said.

  “Margaret. Margaret McLean. Where are you from, Anne?”

  “The head of Loch Broom.”

  A reedy voice piped up from behind Anne. “That’s rugged country.” Anne swiveled her head in order to see a rather gaunt woman in the bunk behind and to her left.

  “Aye,” Anne agreed, “but beautiful. I loved to watch the mist on the mountains in the early mornings.” Anne swallowed a lump that suddenly came in her throat.

  “What I think I’ll miss most is the sight of Stirling Castle,” Margaret mused.

  “It is hard to leave,” the gaunt woman sympathized.

  Anne blinked quickly two or three times and added, “And the loch had so many moods. It could be calm and friendly or violent and angry, depending on the weather.”

  “Just like the men of Scotland,” Margaret quipped.

  Anne and the gaunt lady both snorted. Then the gaunt woman said, “I hear that the New World is much like Scotland. I hope so. I hope it will be a good place for my Jean to settle.”

  Margaret took another sip of her water and nodded. “They say, Isabel, it’s a rough land, but with so much promise.”

  “I pray we get there soon,” Isabel lamented. “The rocking of this cursed ship makes me so ill.”

  “Would you not both feel better up on deck, in the fresh air?” asked Anne.

  “Nay, lass. When I see those waves going up and down, up and down, my head turns to mush and my stomach jumps,” Margaret said.

  “Would you like some water, too, Isabel?” Anne asked.

  “That would be very kind, lass.”

  “
I’ll fetch you a cup. Then I’d best be getting on with my share of the chores.”

  “You’re a good lass to stop and chat with us,” Margaret said, patting Anne’s knee as she rose to go.

  Anne was very thankful to be finished with the cleaning and out on deck again before noon.

  Passengers gathered in small groups. Most sat, talking. A few sang. One group of men set up a barrel and challenged one another to arm wrestling contests.

  Master James Orr’s voice carried over the deck. “How is the crew supposed to do its job,” he complained loudly, “with such a crowd upon the deck? Why are these passengers not below?” He seemed to be addressing one of the crew. The lad shrugged miserably, murmuring a reply.

  Some settlers scowled at the mate and began to make their way toward him. The mate dismissed the unhappy crewman, and turning on his heel announced, “I shall see the captain about this.”

  Master James Orr strode to the stern and rapped on the captain’s door; then he slipped within.

  Passengers muttered amongst themselves. They had paid dearly to come on this voyage. They would not be treated like cattle, forced to stay in that dank hold the entire trip.

  Moments later, Master James Orr reappeared, leaving the captain’s cabin with haughty dignity, his ears red and his jaw set. He said no more about passengers staying below deck. He worked his crew mercilessly the remainder of the day, barking orders and chastising the lads loudly and venomously.

  The passengers tried their best to stay out of the way.

  Oatcakes and water made the midday meal. Katherine, her girls, Janet Fraser, and Lily Sutherland joined Anne in the lee of the upturned longboat.

  The conversation turned to Janet’s pregnancy.

  Janet said, “I had hoped to be in the New World by this time. But with the ship being delayed in Greenock and all… Well, it cannot be helped. With fair winds we should be in Pictou before my time.”

  “Of course,” Lily assured her with a no-nonsense brusqueness. Lily was a large-bosomed matron with iron gray hair knotted in a tight bun. She had raised a family of seven, and had been a midwife for years.

  Anne hoped she was right.

  “You have no wee ones yet?” Janet asked Anne.

  Anne stared at her, wide-eyed. A red flush rose from her neck into her face. “Oh, nay,” she muttered. “I… we… Ian and I have not been married long.” The words caught in her throat, making her stammer.

  Janet smiled. “Ah, newlyweds,” she chuckled.

  “How long have you been married?” Katherine asked.

  “Oh, ah… only a few weeks.”

  “Newlyweds indeed,” Lily said. “This is not an easy way to start out together. But perhaps you will find a good life in the New World.”

  Anne nodded. She studied her oatcake, not daring to meet the other ladies’ glances.

  “Wee ones are a great joy, are they not, Lily?” Katherine said, gazing fondly at her girls.

  “Aye, they are a blessing.” Lily paused to take a sip of water. Her expression became rueful. “And a trial,” she amended.

  “Oh, aye. Never a moment’s peace,” Katherine agreed.

  Anne was relieved that the topic had shifted from marriage. She was able to join in the laughter as Katherine told stories of her girls’ antics.

  A cold rain splashed down upon the Hector as dusk settled. Most of the settlers made their way down the ladder to the hold. Anne huddled in the lee of the fo’c’scle as long as she could stand the cold and wet. Finally, the storm drove her below as well.

  Anne pressed her way through the many bodies to her bunk. The ever-present stench of sweat and fear and human effluent hung heavily in the cramped space. She took shallow breaths, and made herself busy in the dim light, going through her pack in search of a blanket and a dry robe.

  Small children cried out. There were angry words between a couple of the men further forward. Anne could not make out what the argument was about. It would not take much to set off tempers in this crowded atmosphere.

  Ian appeared at Anne’s side. “It’s a downpour out there,” he said, not looking her in the eye. “The deck is awash.”

  Anne shivered despite the stuffy closeness.

  Ian frowned, and shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Lass, I can’t sleep on deck tonight. I’d drown.”

  “Oh.” Anne blushed, realizing his discomfiture.

  There was no question of putting something between them on the bunk. It was barely wide enough to hold two adults nestled closely together. The bunks were jammed so tightly in the hold, it was not possible to even sit up straight in them. There certainly were no spare bunks – some had husband, wife and child piled in together, like packed herring.

  Anne looked helplessly about her, then back at Ian. He was her dear friend. He’d risked his life to bring her on this journey.

  She squared her shoulders and attempted a smile. “We will have to make the best of it, Ian. There is no help for it.”

  “I would not put you in such a…”

  “Ian,” she interrupted. “I put you in this terrible position. I made you bring me along on this journey. Now I must deal with the consequences. I know you won’t take advantage.”

  It was Ian’s turn to blush. “All right, Anne. We don’t have much choice, do we? Where’s the blanket?”

  They felt very awkward, curling against one another on the narrow bunk, Ian’s arm around Anne’s shoulder to prevent her from rolling out onto the deck. They were very aware of each other’s warmth, breath and closeness. Neither of them got a lot of sleep.

  In the morning, they were aroused by a young boy’s voice exclaiming, “Look, Papa! It’s that easy.”

  The chatter of a hundred voices dropped. Everyone turned to see who had called out.

  It was eight-year-old George MacLeod whose voice had risen above the others. He looked a bit abashed at having so many eyes turn on him. He held a piece of dark wood in his fist as if this explained his outburst.

  Mary MacLeod, a petite blond woman, regarded her son with surprise and embarrassment. James, his father asked, “What do you mean?”

  Young George swallowed loudly and said in a small voice, that nevertheless carried through the quiet hold, “I was… I mean, the wood came free…”

  James took the large splinter from his son’s hand and held it up to look at it more closely. It was the size of a blacksmith’s thumb and darkened with pitch or tar.

  “Where did you get this?” James demanded. He looked every inch of his Viking ancestry, his bushy straw-coloured beard bristling.

  George pointed at the side of the hull, next to the bunk where he had been sleeping. “It was right easy. I just sort of picked at it, like, and it came right off.”

  James peered at the plank that George indicated. Sure enough, the splinter had come from there. And the child was right about the ease with which the wood came free. James scratched at the plank and felt moist rot under his finger. He swore softly. He turned and looked at his fellow passengers.

  James was not stupid. He knew announcing his discovery would cause panic to ensue. With his heart thudding heavily in his chest, he said, “So sorry that my son has disturbed you. This is nothing. Please go back to your business.”

  Mary pressed close to her husband as the other passengers turned back to their own affairs. “James, what do you…?”

  “Quiet, Mary. And you too, George.” James looked to see that no one was listening. Then he said, “I must talk to Master Spiers. This ship is rotten as dirt. No wonder they have to pump the bilge day and night!”

  “Dear God!” Mary whispered, clutching the wooden crucifix at her bosom.

  “Do not tell another soul, either of you. We don’t want everyone to panic. Try to stay calm. Can you do that, George?”

  Young George looked up at his father with wide blue eyes and nodded.

  James MacLeod went up on deck and sought out the captain. He found Captain Spiers at the bow, surveying the horizon. The ra
in had stopped through the night and huge billowing clouds scudded over a pale blue sky.

  “A word, please, Captain?” James MacLeod asked.

  “Yes, Mr. MacLeod?” the captain replied.

  James relayed what his son had discovered, and finished by saying, “Is there not a port nearby that we can make for? It is obviously not safe to continue on this voyage.”

  Captain Spiers regarded James MacLeod for a long moment. “Mr. MacLeod, it is true that the Hector is not a new vessel. However, I believe she is adequate to the task of making this crossing and as the voyage has well begun, we shall continue on our course.”

  “But Captain…!”

  “Mr. MacLeod, I have an obligation to the Philadelphia Company to transport this cargo and these passengers to Nova Scotia. And I shall fulfill that obligation. Good day, sir.” Captain Spiers turned and strode to his cabin.

  James MacLeod took a deep breath. He sincerely hoped the captain knew the measure of his ship. He himself had little faith in its ability to hold together. He slowly made his way back to his family.

  George’s exclamation had roused curiosity amongst the passengers. Despite the MacLeods’ decision to keep quiet about the boy’s discovery, it was not long before several others had picked pieces of the hold away and realized that the Hector was barely seaworthy.

  Several men visited the captain that day with complaints and pleas to turn the ship around or to head for the nearest port. The captain met with each entreaty in the same way – polite but uncompromising refusal.

  The mood on the ship became bleak. Some passengers were nearly catatonic with fear. They expected to go to a watery grave at any moment. Others grew mutinously rebellious. A few placed their faith in the captain and God and tried to go on with the routine they had established.

  “’Tis naught but a rotting hulk.”

  “The company has cheated us. We bought passage to get to the New World. We shall never arrive!”

  “We must not think the worst.”

  “What could be worse?! The captain says he will not go to the nearest port.”

  “He knows his own ship. Perhaps it looks worse than it is.”

  “I know rotten wood when I see it!”

  “He would not put himself and his crew in danger, now would he?”