“Say it quickly Fortune,” urged his strengthening wife. “We have little time to spare.”
“I want you to stay firm on this rail. Hold here as long as you can. I have to dive in there and try to find something that will float us. If I’m successful, I will come to get you. Afterwards, we can hang in long enough for a ship to rescue us when the storm subsides.”
Dainty strained through the torrid onslaught of rain to look into Fortune’s anxious eyes. “We both know what we are facing here,” she replied calmly. “I love you so much…you best get going.” She gave him a tight hug while kissing him gently. With that he began the biggest mission of his life.
Other passengers had no clue as to any course of action. Faced with such overwhelming odds, many of them followed the sailors’ lead, diving into a watery tempest. The remainder, like Dainty, clung to whatever firm means they could while their maimed craft held above water. During this painful interlude, she waited feverishly for Fortune to rescue her.
Below and about Isabella, stirring thick waves produced a blusterous torment to match the temper of this fierce gale. The stricken vessel groaned in sorrowful lament as it steadily sank into the sea. It was certain her heaving throws of helpless struggle would find no rescue. It was in the midst of this scene Fortune dived headlong, hoping to achieve some means to ride out this nightmare.
Instantly he noted the fate of many a sailor and passenger alike. Lifeless forms kept tossing like rag dolls through foamy froth. Compounding the din were brief seconds when his strained ear could capture desperate wails for help above riotous noise. Yet his frantic search meant he could offer no assistance. Dainty needed him to fight the murderous Yard Lot.
Fortune scoured the blinding rage which pulled relentlessly on his soaking body. Unfortunately, he could see nothing which would help their cause. So he continued to claw against the tumult to search just a bit further afield.
Meanwhile, with precious seconds ticking away, the clinging passengers consoled themselves with thoughts of what life could have been. They were stoic souls indeed, comforting one another in the face of a bitter end. Many of these people could not swim, or realized the hopelessness of throwing themselves towards an unforgiving ocean. So they held a death grip on the last parts of Isabella above water.
Through this tragedy of pending demise, each captive was reminded of the harrowing passage their ancestors must have endured on route to America. They thought their own suffering had come to a close on boarding this once proud vessel. Now cruel fate seemed to have played a last sickening card, enabling a nightmare to unfold from the pretense of atonement.
They were not equipped for violence on open seas. There was no assistance offered by the self-absorbed crew. Truly this was survival in its most primal form. And no manner of shrieking women or crying youngsters could garner a sympathetic hand. Hell in the Atlantic had visited Isabella.
Amidst the ocean’s cauldron, a frantic Fortune grappled against the festering rage of this unyielding storm. Still, his efforts were in vain. It became clear if he did not locate some means to stay afloat, he would have to rescue Dainty from the drink.
Constantly, towering waves crashed against Isabella’s crushed hull, washing over its slippery deck in blinding spray. The Atlantic’s tormenting gale continued to pound relentlessly, until it finally dislodged those final passengers. One by one they wailed, flushed into the seething vortex of Desmond’s Yard Lot. With total disregard, these hellish waters worked to end all remaining vestiges of human existence.
The vanquished ship did not take her last throes in silence. Straining mightily while gasping her last breaths with cracking timber and jostled beam, Isabella screeched out for unlikely salvation. But her cries went unheeded. Desmond’s Yard Lot made its reputation known through countless tales of its unforgiving past. Now, another reckless commander would pay for blind courage with utter disaster.
As the Yard Lot’s fury reached its peak, all sight of Isabella was lost. Every person and manner of her contents had spilled out upon surging crests of foamy waves. Fortune now faced the ghoulish reality of weaving amongst corpses that rode lifelessly about him. His search had been fruitless, while Dainty had been cast adrift. There was no time to waste. He had to locate Dainty immediately.
With rescue foremost on his mind, Fortune continued fighting merciless thunder and ear-splitting thunderclap. Seeing a floating morgue tossing about him, he realized it was no small miracle to remain alive. With great effort he continued on. His eyes strained against brutal elements while searching for any signs of Dainty. Alas, they were none to be seen.
Growing desperate, Fortune lashed cleaving arms against heaving rolls of torrid water to continue propelling forward. It was then he spotted a woman fighting gamely against this treacherous surf. He immediately recognized Dainty, and gained precious momentum only unlimited hope could muster.
“Dainty! Dainty, can you see me? Hang on, I’m coming towards you!” Of course his chance of being heard atop such a din was near zero. Be that as it may, Fortune’s joy at seeing her straight ahead made his body soar with renewed vigor. As he fought nearer, Fortune thanked the Lord in exhausted praise. His wife was still alive.
Again he screamed in jubilation. “Dainty, I’m almost there. I can see you! Hang on for me please!” With no acknowledging looks his way, Fortune was sure she could not hear him. Regardless, he shrunk the distance between him and her to mere yards. With one second feeling like hours, he swam gamely to close the remaining length. Fortune was finally rewarded when he reached out to grab Dainty’s left arm.
Dainty cried out in excited joy. “My Fortune, you made it!”
“We’re together again!” yelled out an equally enthused Fortune. “But I could not find anything to carry us. There is nothing here that can sustain us.”
Fortune could now feel weighty fatigue throughout his body. It was getting harder with each passing moment to stay afloat. His strength was slowly sapping away. All about them, save a few flailing figures, it was nearly they alone who stayed alive. And there was nothing in sight to support their efforts.
“Dainty, did you see anything we could float on to weather this storm?” asked Fortune rhetorically. He knew his quick witted wife already looked as best she could. Too emotional to speak, her head shook furiously in the negative.
“I understand,” replied Fortune as he held her close. Looking tenderly into her pretty face, he had one final resolve.
“Dainty, we had some great years, and all this can never take that away from us. But the greatest thing we did together carries forward. Cody is our best legacy, and he has his whole future to be lived. Let’s remember he still has a chance to survive. Please Lord, let it be!”
“With all of my heart, I pray it as well,” she replied in strained voice. “Fortune, my lovely Fortune, I can’t stay afloat much longer. So whoever remains must keep fighting to find a way through this. Promise me that please!”
“Yes Dainty, with all the strength within me, I give you my word,” replied a heartbroken Fortune.
In frantic appeal he parted her side to search for something, anything, to keep them afloat. It would take supreme grace of chance to answer their desperate wish, but his strong mind aimed to achieve just that. Yet time conspired to rob them of any opportunity to succeed.
Then, just as all hope was about to be abandoned, Fortune caught a solitary object rollicking about in the upset sea. Seeing an opportunity, he summoned all remaining strength in his strong blacksmith’s arms and workaday legs. At any moment, this frothing surf could take the material away for good. That clearly was not an option.
He moved swiftly, though drawing nearer, disappointment dealt a crushing blow. This jagged piece of broken small barrel would not carry even one adult. Then, quickly remembering Dainty’s weakening state, he called out to her.
“Dainty!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “H
ave you had any luck?”
A feeble Dainty could not respond. Immediately Fortune swam with ebbing strength back towards her.
“Oh Lord!” screamed a drained Fortune. “Why did I not listen to her? Look at what a vain, stupid man I’ve become. I’m losing all I held dear for the sake of nothing. Dainty, please hold on. Don’t leave me Dainty!”
With lunging grabs at the surging foam in from of him, Fortune shoveled pails of sea water from his path. Time remained of utmost priority. Dainty could barely stay afloat.
“Stay with me Dainty!” he screamed above the tempest. “I’m almost there!”
Sputtering intakes of bitter whirl choked at Dainty’s senses while she fought to stay buoyant. By now, only the furious lashing of Desmond’s Yard Lot could witness their fragile lives. All others had now perished in a watery grave. To be sure, the Yard Lot was intent on total destruction.
Yet riding perilous waves came one who defied the tumultuous sea. Just as the ill-tempered ocean gave another relentless tug on Dainty, two strong hands pulled her back to this side of the living. Alas, Dainty could see her familiar love again.
Now, as his whole life played out before him, Fortune knew he could battle no longer. Fortune wished at the root of his being that their sole offspring did not fall victim to this violent storm. Yet he knew it was long odds to see their legacy continue another generation.
At that desperate instant he recalled fateful words from the elderly lady who saved his life twice. Once, she healed near fatal wounds and nursed him whole again. On a second occasion she gave him the means to secure a future without bondage.
“Thank you Ginger for everything you did to put me straight,” he muttered under labored breath. “But the water did me in, just like with your dear Jesse.”
Wild wind screamed while desperate arms flailed to ward off the deep. Despite it all, such vigor would prove futile. The hungry depths opened with wet, grasping arms.
Then, embracing together for all time, Fortune and Dainty let weariness wash over. Their fate was sealed, succumbing as one to the watery tempest. As the hellish crescendo laid waste, it tore all from the land of the living save three survivors.
Simon and Gerald were engaged in a deadly struggle to keep their craft afloat amidst the Yard Lot’s fury. Simon’s efforts went well beyond what one expected from such a lanky man. Gerald, who sported a compact frame, seemed the weaker one for endurance.
“Gerald, damn you, give those oars all you have! We cannot stop for a minute or we’ll end up at the bottom! Do you understand me?”
His output continued to fall even while responding. “I’m giving it everything I have Simon. It’s just coming at us too quickly! I’m trying with all my strength to keep pace with you.”
“Then shut your trap and concentrate! For Pete’s sake, don’t let up on me now! Just remember that if the storm does not take us, Isabella’s crew can still catch us. Then we shall hang!”
Both men wrestled their oars against Desmond’s torment. In the face of this destructive onslaught, their efforts were simply astounding. For a time, it was enough to avoid a violent end. Suddenly, Simon was in great distress. He could feel increasing strain to keep their boat afloat. Looking towards Gerald, he noticed his partner completely slumped over. Simon was on his own.
Immediately scrambling into a central position, he yelled out in maniacal defiance. “Come at me you bastard! Do what you must; I will do better. Desmond’s Yard Lot will not claim me tonight!”
Simon proceeded with yeoman’s work to battle against insurmountable odds. Though logic dictated this could not last. As he neared the end of his capacity, he too fainted in complete exhaustion on the spot. Now, the unstable craft had no guide. There was nothing stopping these crewmen from imminent disaster.
Ensuing hours slowly lifted the heavy curtain of Desmond’s angst. In the aftermath, all persons aboard Isabella were lost. There would be no happy postscript to this journey, which began so positively from Halifax Harbor. Instead, another cruel footnote was written in the legend of Desmond’s Yard Lot.
As gradual ocean calm returned, one safety boat took the drift of an able current. After all which had transpired, such a sight truly defied the odds. Of course there was no way of knowing how long it would be adrift. But the fortunate crewmen had separated just enough from the center of that fierce gale to remain afloat.
Simon and Gerald finally came to an hour after the calm began. They could not believe their mortality was intact. Still, they absolutely required chance to remain generous. Only another craft discovering them, or making contact with habitable land would allow them to carry on. Either option had a remote chance of success.
Alas, more likely was a slow death, due to lack of food or dehydration. If neither of those grim talismans succeeded, there was an agonizing expiration ahead through exposure in Atlantic climes.
Ironically, they remained the only witnesses to this catastrophe. But logic dictated they would take their knowledge to the grave, leaving criminal deeds in silence. They would not make acquaintance with any that knew their former identity. So there would be no testimony against the brutal Captain Brannigan. All secrets would remain within the untraceable depths of Desmond’s Yard Lot.
All over Nova Scotia, friends and relatives waited patiently for letters detailing a successful arrival in Hopeville. Elsewhere, off the southwest coast of England, kidnappers eagerly anticipated completing a profitable transaction.
Meanwhile, in a finely appointed hotel in Halifax there stayed a stylish gentleman. Since meeting Preacher Simmons in a carriage for the final time, he waited weeks to hear of his successful voyage. Later this gentleman would be forced to deliver grave news to the society. Either they had been victims of piracy, or Isabella was lost at sea.
Chapter Eight
REACH AGAIN FOR A MOTHER’S LOVE
To receive is a joy indeed, yet to give hope is divine
The Atlantic Ocean has been known to release her angry tempest in the worst of ways. For Isabella her scorn was most extreme. She could only carry that ship so far before the duality of her character turned calm nature to unrelenting spite.
Desmond’s Yard Lot characterized the hideous side of her uneven temperament. An otherwise solid nature ferried untold multitudes on voyages to innumerous locales with no harm whatsoever. Despite this, Desmond’s was the ugly reminder which made an impression to most.
Armed with this insight, many experienced seafarer could recount endless tales of the Atlantic in her most brutal savagery. They knew the intrigue could behold almost any plain character. Taking an interlude from their workaday drudgery, eager listeners allowed dulled minds to be regaled.
Now they would be spellbound, reliving intense fears of countless strangers lost in magnificent peril. Hanging on each sentence, they lusted for climatic endings which always hit the mark. And once again a seafarer would make their reputation as a spinner of great yarns.
But nay, very few heard the gentler tales of this most unpredictable ocean. Despite the captivating dramas which hooked vivid imaginations of young and old, there were events which showed her kindlier aspects. In fact, most traveling her broad surface arrived unharmed to their appointed destinations.
Furthermore, when the Atlantic exceeds her limit in terms of havoc and destruction, meek repentance is sometimes offered through peculiar ways. In one instance, a tiny safety boat drifted unguided for miles, until a forgiving current rode it ashore on a not too distant coast. Two survivors, whose duplicity in theft was their saving grace, could scarcely believe such good fortune.
In the year 1843, on an isolated coastal shore, their craft came to rest. Simon and Gerald were exhausted, starved and elated. They crawled out from their boat and lay on solid earth once again. After giving thanks to Providence, they took stock of their situation.
“Here we are Gerald!” croaked a vindicated Simon
. “We made it through the worst of it, though I haven’t a clue where we are.”
Gerald was pleased to have survived, though unhappy with the barren landscape about them. “My goodness, this place looks as bleak as can be! I doubt there’s civilization for miles. We could starve before our next meal out here! We’re out of food, and I’m already down to my last ounce of strength.”
Simon winced upon hearing his misgivings. “Come now, are you going to give out on me again? You should be happy we’re alive with treasure intact. Instead of useless groaning, you could offer some thanks my way instead!”
Gerald seemed puzzled. “How’d you mean? Two of us took the craft, stole the valuables and got away from Isabella. It took two to get through the Yard Lot and two to plan the whole affair. So if anything, we should be thanking each other!”
Hearing his partner’s refusal to offer acknowledgement, Simon’s ire was raised immeasurably.
“I see Gerald. Knowing I was alone defending against the gale, you feel no reason to part those foul lips to offer thanks? Tell me something, are you that much of a begrudging taker?”
Gerald was taken aback by Simon’s venom. “That’s what a partnership is. Sometimes you carry the load a little more, and sometimes it’ll be me. Don’t forget that it took both our efforts to free ourselves from Captain Brannigan. Now let’s take a moment to enjoy our spoils in peace.”
Simon conceded the point after a moment of reflection. “You’re right Gerald,” he smiled thinly. “There’s more than enough here to start a gentlemen’s life! Say, since you’re feeble, why don’t I try to look around and see if there’s any life about? Hopefully I can find a place for us to grab a good meal!”
A fatigued Gerald replied softly. “That will do fine Simon. Be safe on your forage into the hinterland.”
While Gerald gained some rest, Simon went over to their craft. He grabbed one oar from the boat and started walking towards Gerald. Hovering over him, the broad end struck Gerald full on his neck, just as his eyes came open. Two more stiff blows ended his life.
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