West to the Bay

by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

  “John,” Thomas hollered. “John, come back.”

  As if hearing him John turned. The wind and the rain were in his face, lightning crashed overhead, and the ocean churned around him. Thomas could see the ecstatic look on his face.

  After one spectacular lightning show John yelled his appreciation. Then the bow of the ship dipped down the side of a wave. Thomas grabbed hold of the doorway to maintain his balance. John slipped on the wet deck and lost his grip of the lifeline with one hand. Thomas turned to see a giant swell rise above the ship. He felt a sudden fear in the pit of his stomach. John was fighting to regain his balance, his back to the wave. Thomas yelled at him to hold on tight, to come back to the doorway, to do something to save himself.

  Thomas knew John never heard him nor did he see the wave that crashed on the deck and rushed towards him. He watched helplessly as his best friend was picked up and carried out over the bulwark into the dark, raging waters.

  Chapter 10

  When the storm subsided, Thomas, followed by Henry and Francis supporting Richard, climbed cautiously onto the deck. There was a strange and eerie silence. No more howling of the wind, no more pounding of rain, no more slapping of the waves on the ship, no more creaking of wood. Just complete and utter silence. They looked at the wet deck, the torn sails, and the half wall left where the cookhouse had stood.

  Gradually, the sailors gathered on the deck, coming from the masts, the fo’s’cle, the pumps, or the hold, wherever they had worked trying to keep the ship together. With the realization that the storm had passed they fell to the deck exhausted.

  The dull, gray clouds turned to blue sky. The warmth of the sun felt good on everyone’s bodies. Henry and Francis sat Richard down on the sunny side of the deck while they leaned on the bulwark.

  Thomas looked out over the bulwark where he had last seen John. He tried to keep the tears from falling.

  “He is gone,” Francis said gently.

  Thomas wiped his eyes. After the wave he had stood in the doorway hoping to see John climb back on board the ship knowing at the same time that he would not. It was only when Francis came to find him that he acknowledged his friend was gone forever. Francis had helped him back to the cabin and told the other boys.

  “Maybe if I had not left him he would not have gone out onto the deck,” Thomas said.

  “We all know John loved the storms.”

  “I could have gone over and helped him stand again.”

  “And been taken with him?” Francis put his arm around Thomas’ shoulders. “From what you told me, there was nothing you could have done to save him.”

  “I hope you are right because I feel like I broke the pact we all made.”

  “You did not.”

  Thomas heard Master Givens talking to the sailors. He turned and looked at the man who had been like a father to John.

  “I have to tell Master Givens,” Thomas said.

  “Best wait until after he has the crew and ship in order. I think he is going to need a clear mind for the news.”

  Thomas nodded and listened to what the Master had to say.

  “Nice work, men,” Givens said. “That was a bad storm but we managed to survive it.”

  There was little response to the compliment. Thomas could see the men were too weary to care right now.

  “I know you are tired but we have to assess the damage and begin repairs immediately. As you can see the most noticeable loss is the cookhouse.”

  Thomas looked over and saw that the coop of chickens the cook had kept beside the little building was also gone.

  “I need five men to go down into the hold and check for any damage to the hull,” Givens continued. “And two more to bring up the cook stove that is going to York Factory. The cook can use it until we get to the post and build another cookhouse. The rest of you can start hauling down the sails for repairs.

  The men were slow in reacting but eventually climbed to their feet and began their assignments. Thomas walked over to Givens and reached him at the same time as First Mate Staffe. He hung back and let Staffe speak first.

  “We’ve lost three men,” Staffe said.

  “Who?” Givens asked.

  “One helmsman and two sailors.”

  “Well, an Atlantic storm never leaves empty handed.”

  After Staffe left, Givens turned to Thomas. “And how did you boys survive the storm.”

  Thomas could not look at the master as he said. “John is gone.”

  “What?”

  “John was swept off the deck in the storm,” Thomas repeated, quickly.

  Givens stood in silence. Thomas looked up at him. His face was pale and his eyes misty.

  “I knew he should not have come,” Givens said quietly. “I had a feeling something bad would happen on this voyage.”

  “He was standing at the bulwark watching the storm when a wave hit him from behind.”

  “Was he tied to the lifeline?”

  “No. Only holding on.”

  Givens shook his head. “That boy loved the sea too much.”

  “I am sorry, Sir,” Thomas said.

  Givens patted him on the back. “We have both lost someone.” Then he turned and walked away.

  * * *

  Staffe was left in charge of directing the men in the cleanup. Most of the men spent the night on the deck, their straw mattresses too wet to sleep on. Thomas and the other boys joined them.

  In the morning all the mattresses were piled on the deck to dry along with some of the wet provisions from the hold. A crack in the hull above the water line was discovered and repaired and water in the hold pumped out. The cook prepared the meals on the improvised stove set up in the lee of the one wall left from the cookhouse.

  For two days after John’s death, Thomas huddled under his blankets against the bulwark. It was hard to comprehend that John was not in his life any more, that they would not be working for the Company together.

  Francis sat beside Thomas. “I only knew him from school,” Francis said.

  Thomas nodded. In their one room schoolhouse all the children knew each other. It was only after school that they separated into age groups and friendships.

  “We used to tease him about his London accent when he first moved to Stromness,” Francis said.

  “I only did until he hit me with his school book,” Thomas said. “Then we became friends.”

  “Do you remember when John hid that cat in Mr. Graves’ storage trunk?”

  Thomas laughed at the memory. “Did it ever howl. We all knew what the noise was, but Mr. Graves did not. He looked funny holding his ruler like a club ready to hit whatever came out of the trunk when he opened it up.”

  After a few moments silence Francis said. “I had better check on Richard.”

  “How is he?” Thomas had not noticed much of what was happening around him since the storm.

  “He has managed to spend some time on deck and I think it is helping him.”

  After Francis left Thomas’ thoughts returned to John and Stromness, because any memories he had of John were also of there. How was John’s mother going to react to the news of his death? She had been so confident that going to York Factory was the best thing for him. He wondered how long it would be before she got the news, how long she would have to think he was alive and working for the Company. It would be months before the ship returned to London and then spring before the next supply ship left for Stromness. She had almost a year of comfort, thinking all was well with her son before she found out the truth, unless someone went there and told her sooner.

  Thomas remembered the time he and John had left their homes and moved into an abandoned house. At first it had been fun and they thought they were tough nine year old boys. But after three days the food ran out and they had hurried home for a warm meal.

  He remembered the first time they discussed going to the Bay, the day they signed up and the expectations they had, the dream John had to be like his father. Thomas shivered
as he realized that, although John had not been a sailor as his father had been, he did die at sea like his father.

  When Givens returned on deck after three days in his cabin Thomas was shocked at the change in him. He had lost his jaunty step, his face was a pasty gray, and the look in his eyes one of sadness. His clothes, which he had always kept in immaculate condition, looked as if he had slept in them. His attitude was indifferent, his command of the ship almost non-existent.

  Under First Mate Staffe’s direction, the ship sailed around the southern tip of Greenland and through the south end of the Davis Strait. When he positioned men along the bulwark to watch for the icebergs that had been known to glide down the strait, Thomas stood with them. Since John’s death he had spent as much time as possible helping the sailors trying to lessen his sense of loss. When an iceberg was spotted he watched as the ship seemed to sail straight for it.

  “Are we going to hit it?” he asked Silas standing next to him.

  “We had better not,” Silas answered. “One that big could put a hole in a ship with little effort.”

  “Where do they come from?”

  “From huge ice sheets in the frozen north.”

  Thomas watched the iceberg grow bigger. They continued to sail towards it, but then the ship veered to the left to miss it. The last Thomas saw of it, it was just a white speck against the blue horizon off their stern.

  When they reached Hudson’s Bay, Thomas could see no change to mark it. The water was still blue and salty, and the scenery still the ocean and the sky.

  Once in the inland sea, Staffe posted men to the crowsnest. They called out whenever they spotted a change in the color of the water.

  “What are they doing that for?” Thomas asked one sailor.

  “Watching for shallow sections and rocks.”

  One day while Thomas was scrubbing the deck, the ship sailed into a fog bank. He was unaware of the first wispy tendrils floating over him. Then the ship was engulfed in the thick, gray mass. Thomas felt the dampness and glanced around. The bulwark was a dim outline. When he looked up only the lower part of the nearest sail was visible. The sounds of the ship were muffled and sailors suddenly appeared and disappeared like ghosts. Thomas heard Staffe give the order to throw out the anchor.

  Thomas finished the deck. The fog was still thick and when he went to throw the water over the bulwark he lost sight of the sails completely. An apparition slowly emerged from the fog and he could see it was Silas before he was swallowed by the murkiness. He went after him, catching him just as he was going up on the poop deck.

  “How long will this last?” Thomas asked.

  “Could be an hour, could be a day,” Silas said, then was gone.

  This would be fun to play hide and seek in, Thomas thought. I will get John and.... He stopped. Once again he had forgotten that John was dead.

  The fog finally lifted and they resumed sailing. They sailed within sight of the coastline for days without any change in its predominantly flat appearance. Thomas had learned a little history of the bay in school. It was named after Henry Hudson, an early explorer who had been sent to find and map the North West Passage. He discovered the inland sea in 1610 and had to spend the winter there with his crew. In June of 1611, the ship left the shore of the bay, but shortly after, his crew mutinied over the doling out of rations and the fear that Hudson was not heading home. They put him, his son, and seven loyal crew members, into the ship’s shallop then towed it out into open water and left it. The small group was never heard from again.

  Looking at the flat coastline, Thomas wondered if they had made it to shore and if so, how long they had survived? It did not look like there was much food or shelter in this new land.

  * * *

  The next morning when Thomas was coming up the companionway when he heard Staffe yell, “Five Fathom Hole”. He came up on deck in time to see the anchor being dropped. He walked over to where some sailors leaned against the bulwark.

  “Why have we stopped?” he asked Silas.

  “We are at York Factory.”

  “We are?” Thomas looked out over the waters. The shore was so far away.

  “Yes, but it is hard to see from here.”

  “Then why do we not go closer?”

  “This is Five Fathom Hole. The silts deposited in the bay by the Hayes River at York Factory make it too shallow for us to sail any further.”

  Staffe gave the order to fire a cannon. Shortly after the shot, Thomas could see sails speeding towards them. As he watched the sloops approach, the joy and excitement of coming to the new land stirred once more inside him. He had thought they had been suppressed by his homesickness for his family and the loss of his friend but, although the feelings had returned, he knew he was different from the boy who had dreamed of this moment. He was older, and much more aware of what life was really like.

  When the boats arrived at the side of the ship, Staffe ordered the men to carry the supplies up from the hold and lower them into the sloops. Givens came on deck and told the boys to get their bags. They followed him over the side of the ship and into one of the sloops which turned back towards the fort. Thomas studied the faces of the men loading the other boats. None looked like his brother.

  The captain of the sloop directed it into the mouth of the Hayes River. On the high bank of the river was a large group of people. The men who worked for the Company were easily picked out by their breeches and shirts. Thomas searched them looking for a familiar face or gesture. It was four years since he had seen Edward. Between his dim memory, and the changes that were bound to have taken place in Edward’s appearance, he was not sure if he would recognize his brother. He did, however, recognize some of the faces as belonging to boys who had left Stromness in past years. He did not say anything, knowing, because they were older, they would not remember him.

  The majority of the watchers had long black hair. The men wore pants made from tanned animal hide or just cloths tied around their middle and hanging in front, while the women had on tanned hide dresses that came down to their knees. Children of varying ages ran around yelling, some wore clothes, some wore nothing.

  Thomas knew these were the Indians everyone talked about, the ones who trapped the beaver for their furs. His thoughts were confirmed by the captain of the sloop.

  “Do not pay them any mind,” he said. “They always like to come down to see who is new, and what items the ship has brought for the trade.”

  Thomas looked the Indians over as the sloop struck shore. They mostly stood on the bank above, although some had come down the wooden pier that sloped from the top of the bank to the water’s edge.

  Givens stepped out of the sloop. Thomas picked up his bag and followed him up the pier. As he glanced around he saw a young Indian girl standing with some other women. She looked at him and smiled shyly before lowering her gaze.

  At the top of the pier Givens stepped to one side. Thomas was about to follow him when a voice boomed out. “All new recruits over here.”

  Thomas and the others looked up at a large man standing with his hands on his hips. They walked over to him.

  “My name is William Manchester,” he said. “You will address me and the other officers of the Company as Mister. I will show you where to stow your bags and then you come back here and help with the unloading of the supplies as they arrive.”

  A slender man with graying brown hair suddenly ran up to Mr. Manchester and grabbed his arm. His eyes were wide and he had a wild, desperate look to him.

  “Let me go back on the ship, Mr. Manchester, Sir,” he begged. “I cannot stand it here anymore.”

  “I have told you before that you cannot leave until your service is up,” Manchester said, trying to shake off the hands.

  “Please, please.” The man dropped into a half kneel, his knees not quite touching the ground because of his hold on Manchester.

  “No, Peter. Now get back to your work.” Manchester shook his arm to free it.

  Peter c
lawed at his arm as he attempted to maintain his balance. Manchester yanked his arm up and away and Peter fell on his knees. With tears in his eyes, he looked up at the new recruits staring at him.

  “You should not have come,” he said, his voice faltering. “This is no place to live and work. It will be the death of you.” He hunched over and began to sob, his shoulders shaking.

  Thomas looked at the other boys as Manchester called for two men to come over. He had heard of men going crazy because of the remoteness of the posts on the bay, but he had ignored the stories concentrating on his dream of good money and adventure.

  “Do not pay any attention to him,” Manchester said, as the men dragged the limp form away. “He signed up for five years and has been trying to get back to England ever since.”

  “How long has he been here?” Francis asked.

  “He arrived last summer.”

  Again the boys looked at each other. He had only been here one year and he had gone crazy.

  “Come on, stop dallying,” Manchester said. “We have work to do.”

  The boys grabbed their bags, which they had set on the ground, and hurried after the Company officer. Francis carried Richard’s bag so he could keep up. They passed cannons set facing out over the Bay.

  “What are these cannons for, Mr. Manchester?” Henry asked.

  “Since the Hudson’s Bay Company founded York Factory and the other posts along the bay’s shoreline, they have been attacked and taken over by the French, and then recaptured by the English, at least six times. In the 1690s York Factory was the only fort not occupied by the French. However, it was finally captured and held until 1713 when the Treaty of Utrecht returned all the posts to English possession. The cannons are kept ready in case of another attack.”

  It sounded as if he had made the speech before and Thomas guessed that each year the recruits asked that same question. He stared at the post as they entered the yard. York Factory was set inside a high palisade made of upright logs. There were numerous log buildings inside the yard all connected by a wooden sidewalk. A Company flag flew from a tall post in the center of the compound. Mr. Manchester led them over to one of the rectangular buildings to the left of the gate.