by Linda Abbott
Harry clapped a hand on Fred’s shoulder. “Every man’s nervous about the first baby.”
The rest of the fishermen arrived. Sixteen crew in all. Family members clustered around their men to say goodbye and to wish them a good catch. Nellie listened to the hum of voices. There was no excitement or fear. This was a job dating back centuries, a job which every man and woman was resigned to accept. An outburst of laughter close by drew Nellie’s attention back to the small gathering. She smiled.
Annie held Harry’s face in her big hands. “You listen good to me, Harry Myles. I’m depending on you to watch out for yourself and your baby brother.” Tom turned redder than a ripe tomato and lowered his head. “You hear me?” Annie continued. Harry, his head trapped in a vice grip and his jaw locked tight, managed to blink, which Annie accepted as a yes. “Good,” she said, slobbering his cheek with kisses.
Harry massaged his jaw when Annie released him. Fred nudged him in the ribs. “I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her,” he whispered.
Annie moved to Tom. “Tommy, my son, listen to Harry and stay out of trouble.” Tom stood still and endured a kiss on both cheeks. Without another word, Annie took Dottie’s hand and marched away.
“Bye, Fred,” Dottie called with a wave.
Ike Jones appeared on the Marion’s deck. A dark cloud rolled over the sun. Nellie stared at the captain. The only good thing about his going is having Marie stay with us.
“Have to go, love,” Harry said.
Nellie’s stomach churned. “Please stay safe.” She hugged him close.
“Love, you’re shaking like fish on dry land. I promise you’ll see me soon.” He gently pulled away. “Don’t worry.”
Nellie grabbed his arm and pressed her mother’s crystal rosary beads into his hand. “Keep these close to you until you’re back with me.”
Harry put the beads in his pocket. “I will, love. Right next to Pa’s seal.” He gave her one last smile and hurried to get aboard ship.
“See ya, Nellie,” Tom said, and followed his brother.
As each man boarded the schooner, family members drifted away until Nellie was alone on the wharf. She’d seen Harry off countless times before and had left before he was off the wharf. Today, her heart wouldn’t allow her to budge. The sails unfurled one by one, turning the skeleton ship into a majestic Arabian sheik dressed in his finest robes. Such beauty, she thought. Wealth for a few, food for many, and death for the unsuspecting.
The wind slapped at the sails as they billowed out. The ship creaked and groaned, unhappy with being disturbed, as she made her way from the dock. Clouds swarmed across the sky and Nellie felt the heat leave her skin.
She saw Captain Ike at the wheel and knew he was bellowing out orders to the men. The Marion picked up speed and sailed across the harbour for the open seas. Nellie opened her mouth to call out to Harry, but hesitated. “It’s too late,” she murmured to the wind. “He’ll never hear me now.”
“Such a graceful lady,” Mother Patrick said. She stood beside Nellie, gazing at the Marion.
Nellie jumped.
“Didn’t mean to startle you, child.”
The Marion sped around the bend and out of sight.
Nellie sighed and looked at the nun. “I best get home and get dinner on the table.”
“I thought you’d like some company on the walk back.”
“Thank you,” Nellie said. Arm in arm, the two women started toward St. Jacques.
Chapter 4
Harry yawned, threw off his blankets, and sat on the edge of the bunk. His toes bunched up on the cold, wooden floor. Tom’s bunk was empty, he had gotten up an hour earlier to fix breakfast. Harry looked toward the galley in the after part of the forecastle and saw his brother shovel coal into the stove. A rail surrounded the stove to keep pots and kettles from rolling onto the floor in rough weather. The smell of freshly baked bread drifted through the forecastle and woke the men as effectively as a church bell.
“Homemade bread,” Ned Noseworthy said. “What a treat!” Sniff.
“Right,” Tom called out. “I hope you all appreciates my extra hard work. There’s plenty of hard bread if you don’t.” Bags of hard bread were stored aboard schooners to replace normal bread if they ran short of flour.
The crew hopped out of their bunks and dressed quickly.
Fred walked into the galley. “Hope there’s time for seconds before we dock,” he said.
“What’s that about your socks?” Clive Pope said, following him to the galley.
The men devoured every egg, every slice of bacon, and several loaves of bread.
Simon Whelan nibbled at his food. Clive tousled his thick locks. “You’ll be home with your young bride soon enough, lad,” he shouted.
Simon blushed. “I ain’t got me sea legs yet, that’s all,” he said, and lowered his head. The crew had just finished when the helmsman called out that the French island of St. Pierre was in sight. Harry hurried up on deck and looked for the Fleur de Lys, the French beam trawler. Ships from the United States, France, and Newfoundland crowded the port.
“She’s there,” Tom said, coming to stand beside his brother, “anchored next to the Sherman.” The Sherman was also owned by the Burke family.
“Our luck’s run out,” Harry groaned. “We’re gonna have to anchor next to the trawler.”
Captain Ike walked out of his cabin and went up to the wheel. “I’ll take over, Mr. McCarthy,” he said to the helmsman.
“What’s the matter?” Gordy said, moving away from the wheel.
Ike’s gaze stayed fixed on the trawler, and every man’s eyes were on the captain. “Nothing at all.”
“Why’s everyone gaping at the captain?” Mick Drake asked.
Harry turned to Mick, who was his own age but whose hair had turned white in his early thirties, earning him a nickname. “Whitey, the captain never docks the ship.”
Tom rubbed his scar. “Why is he doing it now?”
The Marion neared the side of the French trawler. A handful of men gathered next to Harry and Tom. “We’re cutting awful close,” Ned remarked. Sniff.
“Lord dying Jesus,” Fred said, “we’re gonna hit the trawler!”
Every man aboard the Marion held his breath. The schooner glided in, aft of the trawler.
“Maybe we’ll make it,” Tom said.
Clive whacked him on the arm. “This ain’t the time to be thinking about baking.”
A sound like crumbling bricks surged through the air. Mick gawked at Fred, his face the same colour as his hair. “We scraped the steel side of the trawler! Did he do it on purpose?”
Fred ran a hand over his forehead as if he were in pain. “The captain never made a mistake like that before.”
Harry gritted his teeth. “Why’d he do a fool thing like that? Ike’s well able to dock this schooner with his feet if he wanted.” He looked up at the wheel and caught Ike and Pierre Maurice, the captain of the French trawler, staring at each other. Ike’s expression was unreadable, but Maurice’s eyes had narrowed to slits.
The trawler’s crew rushed to the side of their ship. “Vous êtes fou, idiot!” a blond-haired man yelled at Ike.
A boy not much older than Harry’s son Joe shook his fists. “Imbecile!” he shouted. Others joined in the insults and made rude gestures at the Marion’s crew.
“You don’t need to understand French to know they’re shouting insults at us,” Dave LaCroix said, chewing down on a Bull’s Eye.
“Shut your traps!” Gordy McCarthy shouted back.
“Yeah!” Billy Evans yelled. “Don’t stick your fingers up at us.” He slapped his backside. “Kiss that.”
Tom glared at the seventeen-year-old. “Young as you are, Billy, I didn’t think you were that stupid.”
“Want another go at us?” Gordy McCarthy flung across the deck, his freckled nose flaring. “We pounded the shit out of you bunch last time.”
“Take it easy, men,” Captain Ike called out. After a bout of muttering and side glances at the trawler’s crew, the schoonermen settled down.
“What happened?” Harry asked the captain as he headed for his cabin.
“My hand slipped on the wheel,” Ike said without looking at him.
Harry, Tom, and Fred lazed on their bunks after supper. The other men sat at the tables playing cards. Sid Davies coughed deep in his chest. “Don’t know what Captain Ike was thinking today,” he said when he caught his breath.
“It was an accident,” Fred replied. “The captain is not stun enough to start another row on purpose.”
“Sure he would,” Gordy said. “We licked the scrawny Frenchies real good last time. He figures we’ll do it again.”
“Nothing’s stopping me for going for a swally later,” Dave LaCroix said, stuffing a candy into his mouth. “I needs a bit of relaxation.”
Ned leaned his elbows on the wooden table. Sniff. “Where’s Captain Ike been hiding all day?”
Frank Fewer limped back to his bunk. “He ain’t stirred outside his cabin. Sent me and young Billy Evans ashore for some supplies.”
“Guaranteed he’ll be at the Hôtel de France tonight,” Earle Fiander said. “He never misses.” Harry watched him deal the cards with his three-fingered right hand and remembered Nellie’s speech to Joe concerning the hazards of fishing on the Grand Banks.
“I have my doubts,” Dave said, crunching on another candy. “He’s riled up Captain Maurice something fierce this time.”
Gordy McCarthy’s freckled face turned toward the bunks. “Are you fellas going ashore later?”
“I’m warning ya, if trouble starts I’m staying clear of it,” Tom said.
“Me too,” Simon Whelan said. “Lilly will have my head if I gets hurt.”
Billy Evans ran the ace of hearts into Earle. “Ma said your mother-in-law warned you about getting drunk on this trip.”
Earle wacked Billy over the head with his hat. “That there was s’posed to be a secret.”
“Some secret,” Mick said with a wink at the men. “She woke up every soul in Boxey warning you.”
Earle beat the ace of hearts with the jack and hauled in the cards with his three-pronged hand. “Shut your trap, Whitey Drake. I have a few dandy yarns to report on you after your trip to St. John’s last month.”
Mick slapped Billy over the head. “Earle’s right. You don’t spill secrets.”
Everyone in the forecastle laughed.
When the round of one hundred and twenties ended, Billy Evans threw down his cards. “Time to get spruced up for a night out.”
The men hummed and whistled while they got ready. Harry ran a comb through his mass of blond curls. Captain Ike always went ashore with the men, but he wasn’t on deck when they came up. A light glowed from under his cabin door.
“Guess he’s staying put for the night,” Harry said, relief evident in his voice.
The sun had set by the time they reached the Hôtel de France. The bar was crowded with men from all the other ships, and a steady blend of French and English words bounced around the room. Regular customers whenever they were in St. Pierre, the Marion’s crew were served their usual black rum and water. Harry spotted several men from the beam trawler at a corner table. They stopped in mid-conversation and stared at the Marion’s crew. Harry felt the hairs on his neck bristle.
“Who you looking at?” Gordy called across the bar.
“Ignore them,” Harry said. “We ain’t here for no fight.” He sneaked a glance at the corner table. “We did scrape their ship, whether it was an accident or not.”
“That’s right,” Tom said, eyeing the bald man who’d pulled a knife on him the trip before. “Another swally or two and I’m out of here.”
Cigarette smoke formed a haze in the room as the night wore on. “Don’t understand why the French captain ain’t here,” Fred said. “Captain Ike neither. Right puzzling, that is.”
The door opened. Harry tensed up.
The new arrival nodded at their table. “Night, lads,” a fisherman from the schooner Sherman said and joined his mates at the bar.
A string of laughter broke out at the beam trawler’s table. A black-haired man at the head of the table raised his hands and placed them on an imaginary steering wheel. With an exaggerated expression, he mimicked the sound of a ship docking. The room grew quiet. Harry looked around. The trawler’s table had a captive audience. The “incident” had travelled from ship to ship faster than a bullet. The imaginary Marion pulled alongside the imaginary trawler with a noise that closely imitated a long, drawn-out scrape. The French crew split their sides with laughter and pointed toward the Marion’s table.
“Who do them arseholes think they are?” Gordy said. He slammed down his glass and pushed back his chair.
Harry grabbed his arm. “Leave them be. Fighting ain’t gonna prove anything.”
The French trawlermen continued to jeer.
“Besides,” Tom said, “this ain’t got nothing to do with us. Captain Ike docked the ship, not you.”
“He’s our skipper,” Gordy said, and pulled free of Harry’s grip.
Earle grabbed Gordy by the collar of his coat and pulled him close. “I ain’t ever run from a fight,” he said, “but I ain’t ever been the cause of one, neither.”
Frank planked a hand on the helmsman’s shoulder. “You got that, Freckles?”
Gordy grumbled and gulped down the last of his drink.
By midnight, neither Captain Ike nor Captain Maurice had shown up. Harry downed his drink. “Boys, I’m off to the ship,” he said.
“Me too,” Tom said. “I have to be up before you lot.”
Fred strolled out with the brothers. “I wonder why Captain Maurice wasn’t in the hotel?”
“He’s likely home with his family,” Tom said.
The three men turned down a side street, a shortcut to the wharf. Harry came to a full stop. “Do you hear that?” he asked.
“What?” Tom and Fred said at the same time.
“Sounds like a brawl.” Harry pointed to an attached house at the end of the street. “There’s two men. Hold on! That looks like Captain Ike.”
“I can’t make out who’s in the doorway,” Tom said, and took a step closer.
Harry hauled him back. “It’s Captain Maurice. Must be his house. What’s Ike doing there?”
“Cantankerous old fool,” Tom said. “He can’t leave well enough alone.”
Captain Maurice shouted at Ike and shoved him off the front step. Ike stumbled back, lost his balance, and landed on his backside. The French captain babbled on in French, then laughed out loud. Ike scrambled to his feet and grabbed Captain Maurice by the sweater, nearly lifting the much smaller man off his feet. Ike spat out something in French, twisting Maurice’s sweater by the neck until he gagged.
“First I knew Ike could parlez French,” Tom said. “Did you fellas know?” Harry and Fred shrugged.
Captain Maurice punched Ike in the stomach and he doubled over in a fit of coughing. His hat fell off and landed in a patch of mud.
“The captain needs help,” Fred said. “What should we do?”
“It’s one on one,” Tom said. “That’s a fair fight in my book.”
Ike recovered and landed a blow on Captain Maurice’s jaw. The older man toppled back into the closed door. He growled like a wounded animal, yelled at Ike, then stormed inside. The wooden house shook when he slammed the door.
Ike straightened his ruffled jacket, snatched up his hat from the ground, and plunked it on his head. Harry, Tom, and Fred ducked into a doorway to avoid being
seen when their captain looked up and down the street.
“Fred, your sister-in-law’s from here. What did they say?” Tom said.
“Eloise gave up trying to teach me and Seth the French lingo ages ago.” Fred scratched his chin. “One thing stuck in me head, though. Eloise says it every time Seth comes home loaded. Her hands start waving a mile a minute.” He chuckled. “Not to mention her tongue.”
Tom tapped him on the shoulder. “Are you gonna tell us what he said?”
Fred’s expression became solemn. “‘Je vais vous tuer.’ I’ll kill you.”
Nellie’s bad feeling thundered through Harry’s head. “Good thing we’re pulling out at dawn,” he said.
“Eloise gave me a letter for her parents. They’ll want me to stay the night. I’ll see you boys at first light,” said Fred.
Harry and Tom continued on their way. “Ike really hates Maurice,” Tom said. “First he scrapes the trawler on purpose, then he shows up at his house. What’s it all about?”
A nerve ticked in Harry’s jaw. “Nellie was right to worry. Ike’s got no damn right to drag the whole crew into his dirty affairs. I’ve half a mind to quit right now.”
“You won’t abandon the crew,” Tom said. “Us Myles men keeps our word.”
The door to the captain’s cabin was slightly ajar when they went aboard. Ike was writing at his desk by candlelight. “Hope he’s not planning on causing more trouble,” Harry said.
The brothers undressed in the dark and climbed into their bunks. Almost immediately, Tom’s snores resonated throughout the room. Harry reached for his jacket and took out Nellie’s rosary beads. “Night, love,” he said, and lay them next to the seal sculpture under his pillow.
Harry smelled pipe smoke and looked down at Skit Kettle’s bunk.
“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” Skit said. He puffed out a cloud of smoke that reminded Harry of pine trees. “Ike left an hour after you fellas. How’d it go?”
“He never showed up at the hotel.” Harry didn’t mention the fight at Maurice’s house.
Skit lay down his pipe. “I’ve sailed with many a captain in my forty years on the sea. Never met a man so hell-bent on trouble as Ike.” He hauled the blankets up to his chin and looked across at the two sleeping men. “The Hodders stayed in because they weren’t in no mood for a brawl.” John and Henry Hodder, first cousins, had worked under Ike many times before and knew his moods.