by Larry Stuart
The following days were harrowing for all on board. The emotion of the deaths and the fear of more to come kept everyone on edge. The Captain risked everything to get to medical help as soon as possible. The ship raced through the night with full canvass, even though the area was well known for icebergs. Extra lookouts were posted aloft, and for the first time on the voyage a man was posted at the end of the bowsprit to give as much warning as possible of any ice. Two days later, as the Captain stood on the quarterdeck taking the noon sextant reading, the cry went out.
‘Land ho! Fine on the starboard quarter.’
Belle Isle, an island off the northern tip of Newfoundland, had finally been spotted.
Captain Rousseau decided he would personally deliver the good news to Mrs Stuart, so ten minutes later he knocked on the infirmary door.
‘Mrs Stuart...it’s the Captain. I’ve some good news for you.’
Worryingly, there was no immediate response. So, turning the handle, he pushed open the door. Lying on the floor beside her small dispensary table was Mary, her face pale and her clothing in disarray.
When Fiona McCrae heard about Mary, she volunteered to help, and immediately took over the needs of the infirmary. Mary was placed in the last spare bed, while at the same time, Cameron had to be forcibly restrained from entering the medical facility. Meanwhile, Captain Rousseau, having first established that he had sufficient coal for the rest of the journey, ordered full steam to be raised, thus adding the propulsion of the engine to the power of the sails – after which, the ship’s speed gradually rose to an impressive fifteen knots. Twelve hours later, they rounded up into the lagoon on the south western side of Grosse Isle and, with a yellow quarantine flag fluttering at her masthead, dropped anchor.
A longboat soon set out from the dock. Two men in seamen’s uniforms handled the oars, while a middle-aged man with thick, pepper-grey hair and matching moustache, sat in the stern.
‘How many casualties and what ailment?’ yelled the Doctor-in-charge as they came alongside.
‘Two buried at sea and five in sick bay,’ the Captain replied. ‘One of our émigrés is a young nurse and she’s been looking after them. She reckons it’s typhoid. But sadly, she’s not well now, either.’
‘Right…we’ll take the sick ones ashore with us. The rest of you are quarantined on board for the next week. After seven days, we’ll bring you ashore for a final medical check, then you may proceed. In the meantime, we’ll do our best to provide you with some fresh provisions. Good day to you, Captain.’
Cameron was beside himself with worry. He knew from his discussions with Mary that the survival chances for those with typhoid were very poor. Over the next few days, every time a boat approached the ship with supplies, Cameron was certain it would be delivering the message he most feared. On the third day of their incarceration, he was still below decks finishing his dinner, when a seaman approached.
‘Captain’s compliments, Mr Stuart. Would you please accompany me to his quarters?’
Cameron stumbled after the crewman, his heart pounding and his stomach beginning to churn, threatening to bring up his recent meal. Looking towards the stern, Cameron noticed the longboat, its oarsman patiently waiting on deck with the boat’s painter in his hand. This confirmed it to be a message from ashore; and the bile rose higher in his throat.
On entering the Captain’s cabin, the same bearded man who had met them on their
arrival stood beside the Captain. With a pleasant demeanour, he stepped forward and offered his hand to Cameron.
‘Hello… Mr Stuart, I presume. My name’s Doctor Sterling.
Cameron’s hand shook with fear as he leaned forward to return the greeting. With increasing anxiety, and now barely able to speak, he mumbled, ‘Mary…How’s Mary?’
‘She’s just fine,’ beamed the doctor. ‘She was just completely worn out from working so hard for those four days…and of course, morning sickness doesn’t help.’
This time it was Cameron who almost collapsed. His mouth began to move, albeit without any words being issued.
‘You’ll be able to see her in a few days’ time, when the quarantine’s lifted. All I can say is that your wife is some lady. She’s even insisted on giving us a hand, now that she’s up and about. I only wish that all new people who came to our country were as conscientious and hard working as your Mary. If there’s ever anything I can do for you two…please, let me know.’
No further cases of sickness developed over the next four days. So on the morning of day eight, a small flotilla of boats left the shore, heading towards the “Allepo”. A uniformed official was first to clamber on board, and was immediately directed to the Master’s cabin. Within thirty minutes, all passengers were gathered on the quarterdeck.
‘May I have your attention please?’ bellowed the First Mate. ‘You are now all to disembark the ship. The Canadian staff on the island will meet you on shore, at which time you will be directed to your quarters for the next two days. While you’re ashore, the ship will be completely fumigated and then made ready to sail. I do apologise for this further inconvenience, and assure you that we will get underway again as soon as possible.’
The cabin class passengers were the first to get off, with a separate boat provided for each family; and on arrival ashore were immediately directed to their private accommodation. Soon, the off-loading of the second-class passengers began. This was to be carried out in alphabetical order, and they were to be jammed into boats until all empty spaces were filled.
Cameron stood beside the gently swaying accommodation ladder, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Try as he may, he was finding it very difficult to conceal his frustration at having to wait. As he watched the first boatload of passengers beginning to descend the precarious steps, the ship’s purser quietly approached him.
‘Beggin’ your pardon, Mr Stuart…but the Captain asks if you wouldn’t mind going ashore on the first boat to help get the party ashore. For some reason, there seems to be a shortage of staff on the main dock.’
‘Why…of…of course,’ Cameron stammered.
Turning to join the queue of people preparing to descend the accommodation ladder, Cameron looked across towards the ship’s wheel, nodding to the Captain, who, for the first time in days, sported a smile on his face.
Twenty minutes later, after a choppy and cold ride from the ship, the longboat drew
near the main dock, where a lone figure in a nurse’s uniform could be seen standing on the quayside.
‘Hey, look who it is!’ exclaimed one of the female passengers. ‘It’s Mary Stuart. Thank God she’s all right.’
Indeed, thought Cameron.
The crew quickly tied up the boat, and within minutes the first load of passengers was on dry land. Mary indicated the group’s destination to the assembled gathering, before turning back towards the end of the pier.
For a few seconds they just stared at each other.
Mary slowly ambled towards Cameron, but then, as he raised his arms, she ran the last few steps.
‘Don’t you ever do that to me again,’ Cameron said, squeezing her until she was almost breathless. Then suddenly he stopped. ‘Oh my, God! I forgot about the baby.’
‘Don’t be silly, the baby’s fine…and so am I. Now come with me,’ she said, grabbing his hand and leading him away. ‘We’ve got a lot to talk about…which we can do while I show you around.’
The island was split into three sections. The eastern part was approached through a gate. In this fenced compound, laid out in rows of three, were single-storey huts.
This was the infirmary for the sick and dying – and what couldn’t be seen from the dock area was the huge cemetery located just beyond a stand of trees on the far side of the compound. According to Mary, it was one of the saddest places on earth. Under the protection of a single huge cross were the graves of over three thousand people. Most of those buried there were Irish, with the exception of a small number of Scots, English and o
ther Europeans, and most had died from typhoid, cholera or measles. Sadly, two new graves had been added in the last week. Those of the parents of the two little girls.
In the centre of the island were the buildings containing the administration offices and staff accommodation, and to the west was the temporary housing for the passengers awaiting onward transportation. It was to this area Cameron and Mary slowly wandered, while they both came to terms with just how lucky they had been.
Two days later, they finally departed.
So many hopes and dreams lay dead and rotting in the ground on that remote Canadian island. Thousands had wrenched themselves away from family and friends, suffered numerous physical and mental privations crossing that vile ocean, only to fail within sight of their new home.
As such, an almost audible sigh of relief could be heard when the sails once more filled with air, and they distanced themselves from the horror of the last fourteen days. Twelve hours later, the mouth of the majestic St. Lawrence River was reached, and the ship turned on to a south-westerly heading for the final leg of their journey.
Before long, it became apparent that the Captain had relaxed some of the rules because
the crew now ignored passengers remaining on deck after dark. Some huddled together on the fo’c’sle, breathing in the heady smell of seaweed and dead fish; which every now and then this was replaced by wafts of pine and wood-smoke, signifying the invisible presence of man.
In days gone by, this last leg could have taken many days, as ships were forced to tack back and forth due to unhelpful winds. But with the advent of the steam engine an almost direct course could be maintained, ensuring an arrival at their destination in just over a day.
Eventually, the cold got the better of most and they headed down below. Thank God it was their last night sleeping in their little curtained area, thought Cameron, on finding that all of their bedding, including their mattresses, had been removed during the fumigation process. He and Mary joined their fellow travellers in the lounging area until well past midnight – most people having decided that the prospects of getting much sleep on the hard wooden slats did not seem very likely. The general conversation was about farming and crops, and Mary listened carefully, questioning James and Fiona sitting alongside them if anything was mentioned that she didn’t understand. By the time Cameron and Mary did go to bed, they had both come to the conclusion that maybe farming was an inviting prospect. However, both agreed that if they were to pursue this option, they must try to get land near Cameron’s sister, as her experience would be invaluable to the two novice settlers.
‘You know what, Mary? I’m really lookin’ forward to seein’ Margaret…and I can’t wait to see the look of surprise on her face when we be gettin’ there.’
And as the night wore on, the shores of the mighty river crept ever closer, as if the ship was now being swept into some giant funnel.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next day, a party like atmosphere greeted Cameron and Mary when they joined their fellow émigrés in the main saloon. Men slapped each other on the back as if they had just survived some test of their daring, while women gaily chatted to each other, like old friends or family meeting each other on the street. When breakfast was finished, the previous daily ritual of cleaning up was ignored, and everyone hurried to the upper decks.
During the night the mighty river had become a much smaller passageway. Green forests, occasionally broken by cleared areas sloping down to the water, now bound the ship on either side. At first, the excited voices heard over breakfast had become somewhat subdued when, as far as the eye could see, there appeared to be nothing but desolation. But as time passed, the cleared areas grew larger, and then became ploughed fields being readied for this year’s crop. Eventually, further signs of habitation appeared, when wisps of smoke came into view, lazily rising into the still morning air.
The river continued to narrow, and as it did, the previous small blemishes on the landscape turned into houses and barns, while at the same time, the ant-like forms moving about became people and animals.
The Allepo’s passengers now became more animated. Fingers pointed and arms were raised in salute until, on rounding a bend in the river, the city of Quebec came into view. A cheer followed, accompanied by the waving of caps – some would say more as a sign of relief than a rousing sound of welcome.
A massive fort stood on the cliff guarding the city. Some of its canons pointed directly up the river towards any arriving ships, while others warned off invaders from across the river to the south. And to the right of this citadel, the spire of an enormous church or cathedral rose into the welcoming, azure sky.
Below the lofty cliffs stood the port, made up of numerous low buildings and three piers projecting out into the river like some giant letter “E” lying on its side. Several ships lay alongside the jetties, and from where he was standing, Cameron could just make out the swinging booms of the large steam cranes, busily unloading baggage and cargo. Near the eastern edge of the harbour, the cliff became a sharply sloping hill terminating at the point where another river joined the St. Lawrence from the north; and it was only as they drew nearer, the access road to the port came into view, snaking its way back and forth down the hill.
Cameron and Mary stood alongside the rail on the starboard side of the ship, watching as a tug took up its position. Towlines were secured, after which the slow, deliberate procedure of docking commenced.
Apart from the shouted commands of the bosun, and the background noise of a working port, a hushed atmosphere enveloped the ship, as the passengers once more gathered in small family units to stare at the approaching shore.
How strange, Cameron thought. The scene was so reminiscent of their departure from Liverpool; and no doubt some of the passengers were again entertaining the same nagging questions. The big difference this time, though, was that they had already made the jump, and there was no turning back. The gulf between here and their home country was now an ocean, which most accepted they would never cross again.
With a light thump, and a judder felt throughout the ship, they were nudged alongside one of the piers. Loops, previously spliced into the ends of hemp ropes the size of men’s wrists, were thrown over the waiting steel bollards, and then made fast with figure-of-eights onto the onboard cleats. Within minutes, a wooden gangway was swung into place, creating a pathway to their new lives.
‘May we have your attention please?’ ordered the First Mate. The Quebec Port Authority requires you to remain on board until cleared by the Health Department. This will be carried out as quickly as possible. After the medical checks you will be escorted to the immigration building to be processed. Once these formalities are complete, and you have cleared the hall, you will find desks manned by various groups of people willing to help you with onward travel, or to answer any questions that you might have. Thank you for your attention…and best of luck in your new country.’
This was the beginning of what was to become a very long and trying day. The cabin-class passengers were the first to be led off the ship. None of them had been exposed to any illnesses, so their medical check was only a formality. The rest of the immigrants then lined up in alphabetical order.
After standing in line for what seemed like ages, Cameron and Mary were approached by a member of the crew.
‘Beggin’ your pardon, Mr Stuart. Captain Rousseau would like to see you and Mrs Stuart in his quarters…if you’ll just follow me.’
‘Now, what!’
‘Oh, Cameron, just relax. I’m sure it’s nothin’ to worry about,’ Mary said, her hand reaching out to rest on his arm.
‘I know. I’m just a wee bit tired of all this waitin’ ’round.’
Captain Rousseau met them at his cabin door, ushering them to a settee adjacent to a low coffee table. Once they were seated, he lowered himself into the armchair opposite and then reached for the china teapot sitting on the tray in the middle of the table.
‘Can I offer yo
u a cup of tea and a biscuit?’
‘No thanks…We’d just like to get goin’,’ Cameron said, rather tersely.
‘I am sorry about your delay, but we have to be seen to be fair. Anyway…I asked you here because I’ve been in touch with our office in the city…and the Company would like to extend their gratitude for all the help given to us by Mrs Stuart.’
‘Oh…that’s no really necessary,’ replied Mary.
‘All the same…I don’t know where we would have been without you…So… as a gesture of our appreciation we’re going to refund your fares…’
‘But that be…’
Captain Rousseau raised his hand. ‘And as a further token of our indebtedness, I’ve
been authorised to give you two tickets on the steamer “Laurentian”, leaving for Montreal later this afternoon.
‘I…I don’t know what to say,’ stuttered Mary.