The Keening

by Margaret Pinard

  That evening, they had their first spring squall. Everyone was directed to stay below deck as the crew strained to navigate safely though the storm. Their ship held over two hundred passengers; having them all stuffed down on the lower deck for over fourteen hours was bad enough. But I wouldn’t like being up there right now any more, so, Neil reminded himself, hearing the shouts and curses of the sailors, feeling the pitch and heave of the ship against the waves.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Another week went by, then another. The rations they had brought, stretched so thinly, made them resort to imagining the feasts they wished they could partake in. The Wilsons, with their large family of eight gathered with the MacLeans most nights, where one of the entertainments was conjuring up a fantastic meal to describe to the others, which only made them hungrier.

  The passengers had established their patterns of sociability quickly. Some stayed close together under the deck and others walked topside, taking breaks from the dank, sickly air below. After several brief storms, the hold had taken on a permanent smell of putrid sickness, but at least there had been no fever on board as yet.

  “I shall always remember this April,” Muirne pronounced one evening as they watched the sun set. Low, blue-grey clouds were reflected in the water and hid the orange-tinted sun. Its light poured down to the water in a triangle, as if a gaslight were glowing down through the fog. “It’s made me appreciate the things around me more—the ones I usually don’t notice, like a sunset.” She turned to Sheena. “What do you think you’ll remember from this month?”

  Something passed over Sheena’s face, but she quickly looked down to hide it. “I’m trying to remember everything I can about home,” she said, so quietly that Muirne could barely hear her. “That’s what I want to remember.”

  Muirne put her arm around her sister, stroking the side of her arm instead of replying.

  One of the young men came around the walk, and his face lit up when he saw the two girls. Muirne remembered this one’s name was Tom. He didn’t loom, and conducted himself affably. She remembered he was one of the very few passengers who came alone. “Hello, Tom. Done with your sums?”

  “Hello, Muirne. And Sheena. It’s Sheena, is it?” Sheena nodded, a small smile appearing. “And yes, I have done with my ‘sums,’ as you call them, but I assure you they’re much more important than schoolwork. They’re mathematical puzzles, and if I can solve one, I earn a place in the largest college in the colony, in Montreal.”

  “And how long have ye been working on it?” Muirne asked.

  “Oh, six weeks. And who knows how many more I’ve got on this ship?”

  “Oh, don’t say that,” Sheena said with a groan. “I’m ready to walk on land again.”

  “Are you one to be getting seasick then? You don’t look too bad.”

  “No, not seasick, just—land sick.”

  Tom smiled as if he understood. He sat down a little apart from them, and Muirne thought about how it could still be pleasant to share someone’s company, even if you had little choice.

  She asked Tom what he would remember of this April. “Besides this mathematical proof? I’m not sure. Some lovely company, perhaps.” He grinned at her. She was on her guard to be careful, but couldn’t help melting a little under his kind attention.

  When he sought her out each late afternoon in time for the sunset, she started to entertain thoughts of courting and marriage. But he constantly talked of school, and said nothing of settling down. She let it pass, willing herself to be content with his sturdy presence and easy camaraderie.

  ***

  ***

  When five weeks had passed of similar routines, there began to be a crowd in the foredeck each morning. Mainly men, but with a few women and some of the braver, younger children as well. They craned their necks to peer across the horizon, searching for land. They kept as silent as possible to hear what the crew members called to one another, in case they spoke of land. It was its own fever, the hunger to be off the water and move on with their lives, for it seemed that as long as they were trapped on that ship, they were suspended, in limbo.

  A different crowd gathered in the same place each evening. This one was different each night, as the number of passengers who had succumbed to the fever onboard grew in number. A Church of Scotland minister came to do for all the Protestant families, and—a curious figure for the MacLean children—a priest was present for the Catholic burials at sea.

  Gillan had been improving for most of the voyage, with the cotton cough lifting its hold on him as long as he stayed in the fresh air. When he was below deck, it seemed to close back in on him, and his dry wheeze could be heard among the chorus of coughing, or retching when there was a storm on. They didn’t have any real medicine that could help it, but Sheila had done her best, lacing the foul-tasting water with small nips of the brandy, and heating it through in the ship kitchen. But the wee bottle was empty now.

  Neil had tried introducing himself to a few of the other older boys on the ship, and made sure they knew he was Muirne’s brother. His head was filled with thoughts of his life in this New Scotland, and he wasn’t bothered about making friends on this voyage. His little book was almost completely full, as he wrote on the front and back of each page, with no space between the lines. With three pages left, he resolved to do more thinking than writing, although he was more often interrupted while mulling over his thoughts. He longed for more paper.

  The Sundays on the ship had been fascinating to Muirne, and were the source of some of the musings in her journal. They saw little knots of folks together worshipping, and made a game of guessing which kirk they belonged to by observing them closely. The large group early in the morning, crossing themselves and kneeling precariously on the tilting deck—those would be the Catholics. Muirne spied Tom in their number, and pointed him out to Sheena and Alisdair, who were following her game. It surprised her a bit. She’d always thought Catholics must be a wild-eyed slavering lot, from how they were described by the Reverend Lachlan MacManus. Neil listened to their predictions, too.

  “And those ones that have been waiting for the forecastle position for an age, I bet they’re Seceders. What do you think, Alisdair?”

  The little boy squinted, shielding the side of his face from the sun with a grubby hand. “Alisdair! When was the last time you washed your hands?” They were filthy, his pale skin showing through only in the slices of wrinkle and crease at knuckle and palm.

  Her exclamation attracted the attention of several people nearby, so Muirne lowered her voice. “You go back to Mama right now and wash your hands with the dry rushes if there’s no water. Then you can come back and find out if they’re Seceders for us, a’right?”

  His downcast face lit up at that, and he popped off to the hatch to find his mother below.

  “Wasn’t your Robbie a Seceder, Muirne? Is that bad?”

  “He wasna ‘my’ Robbie, Sheena; you know that. And yes, the Eglunds are Seceders. There’s something they disagree with the Kirk about, and we don’t see any reason for it. Unreasonable, is what it is.” Muirne’s hand found its way back to Sheena’s hair, and she stroked the dark blonde locks, not wanting to say more.

  ***

  ***

  “It’s a curse!” someone had shouted. Two days shy of six weeks, and the people still gathered each morning to spy out the horizon and hamper the crew’s movements. One of them had seen the floating mass before anyone else, and watching it come in, had realized it was all stained red.

  “An ill omen!” The person shouting was a tall, thin man all in black, wearing a heavy-cut suit. He had been in the small knot of people waiting for the Catholics to move on. Muirne watched as he continued calling out. They had not been Seceders, as she had guessed. Neil had crept stealthily around from the other side to listen to what they were saying once they started their service. Relief Church, he’d said. Well now, what was that? Something you didna come across every day in Glasgow, thought Muirne. And e
ven less when we get to Canada, perhaps.

  By then, almost everyone could see the hulking piece of ice floating a hundred yards off the starboard side. Blood-red ice, bobbing in the dark grey water. Her skin crawled and she couldn’t suppress a shiver. What do we know about this land, anyway? She searched out the gaze of her brother, who stood several paces to her right, closer to the railing.

  Neil squinted at the water. Blood-red ice—what did that signify? He backed away and came to Muirne’s side. There were fearful murmurings in the crowd, and he was going to suggest getting out of there in case people panicked in the small space when they heard a cackle from above. Neil looked up, along with forty other people.

  One of the crew was leaning over the rigging, holding his side, and cackling with laughter. “Every time,” they heard him say. The captain shouted up at him from the middle deck and he straightened, but the grin was still plastered on his face.

  “Cap’n wants me to tell you that that there is our first PEI iceberg,” he rattled off as if he’d had it memorized. “Prince Edward Island has a very red clay soil, and in the spring when the bay comes unfrozen, chunks of ice full of the clay soil float off into the sea. That there’s one o’ them.”

  He turned away from them again, chuckling. Neil and Muirne looked at each other. “What a horrible eejit, scaring the people like that,” Muirne said. Others in the crowd were too shocked or ashamed to speak. Neil saw the vulnerability of them all, with no knowledge of the place to which they were headed. They’ll be at the mercy of their handlers, he thought. Red icebergs, indeed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The next days brought more icebergs, and the ship had to take care to steer clear of the larger ones. They were not the ‘curse of the sea’ someone had called them, but they were still a dangerous mass to be avoided. Neil and Muirne related the story to their family below deck. Neil felt his stepfather stiffen with insult when he heard how the sailor had laughed at them all.

  “Tha’s no’ right,” Gillan said. Sheila shook her head, clucking.

  “But you know what it means, don’t ye?” Neil asked. They looked at him. “We’re near land!” A smile of relief broke out on his mother’s face. Neil continued. “The crew has not warned us of the progress for some time, but we must be close in. I bet we’ll be sighting the channels and islands any time now.”

  “Where are we stopping at first, Gil?” Sheila asked.

  “They come in on the north side of Nova Scotia, call at the Port of Pictou, then proceed up the St. Lawrence River to the capital. It’ll depend on the weather when they go on, but we shall have to see the situation in Pictou before deciding,” he recited.

  “Of course,” Sheila replied.

  Neil caught Muirne’s eye and they retreated to a corner of their six-foot stretch of floor. She whispered to him. “What do you want to do, Neil?”

  “I dinna know. I canna tell if it would be better to go to the capital and find a sailing or shipbuilding outfit, or stay on the outer island to get a farm going. They said there was still land to claim for farming in Nova Scotia, so that might be the way of it.”

  “Unless they were lying,” Muirne said.

  Neil gave a sharp sigh. “We will find what we find,” he said. “I wonder about the Scots already there,” he wondered aloud. “And who else is there. Do you suppose there are natives up here as well?”

  Muirne let go a small gasp. “I haven’t thought of that since before Christmas!” she said. “Safety in numbers, Mr. Cartwright said.” She pulled her knees up closer to her chest where she sat, wrapping her arms around her legs. Neil felt the shiver run through her frame. He leaned over so that their sides touched. “Dinna fash. I’m sure the Scots from before will have taken care of ‘em.” His face had a small smile on it. Muirne sighed, the many possibilities still racing through her head about what they would find once they arrived. Wouldn’t be long now.

  ***

  ***

  That night they stayed moored in one place, swaying as the waves rocked the boat wildly. They must be very close, thought Neil. In order to remain above deck, he bundled himself up in as many layers as he’d brought, and placed his back against several of the large rain barrels as a wind-break. He hoped to see the light come up and reveal the land they’d been searching for.

  He was not disappointed. The dark blue of the early morning was chased up and over the sky by the lightening pink, and as he followed its progress, the ship plowed away from it. His eyes picked up the birds that came out to meet the ship, another sign land was close by. Finally, he thought he saw a gash of black on the horizon that was not just the water meeting the sky. Sure enough, it grew bigger, floating off to their left as the crew tacked off to the right.

  He thought about going down to fetch Muirne or Alisdair, but couldn’t bring himself to take his eyes off the sight. Over six weeks, and all of April gone, spent in pursuit of this dream of new land. His small journal had been full for days, and it held his doubts and fears, his confused hopes.

  Neil wondered whether or not history would repeat itself. When he’d mentioned other Scots to his sister, he’d been thinking of how they’d known each other back at home, known who was important, whose job it was to organize the clan. It might be very different here, but the only thing Neil could think of was meeting up and talking with the older settlers to see where they came from, and find someone who would help the MacLeans because of kinship ties. It was better that than charity from the kirk, although they would need that as well.

  Neil’s thoughts drifted to their utter poverty now. Back on Mull, he hadn’t felt so vulnerable, as they had the house, and the land, and the laird, and the family and neighbors. Even in Glasgow, they’d had connections for a job and family and the kirk to turn to. But here, who did they know from home? No one but the Wilsons, who’d decided to go on to Quebec City. No one owed them anything. And did they have any savings to purchase the land they might find to farm? None at all: it had all gone for passage fare.

  We still have each other, and we’re resourceful, Neil thought. When we’re together, he amended, as the terrible thought of his mother and sisters and brother alone in the glen came upon him again. We must not split up, he reasoned. The talk of continuing up the river to Montreal was now foolishness in his mind, but he could not say that to Gillan, who seemed committed to the possibility.

  The light pink had turned to white, and the cold winds continued to blow them toward the land on the left, with the sailors maneuvering to keep the ship steady on its course between Cape Breton Island and Prince Edward Island. These were names Neil had learned from one of Muirne’s interested young men, who shared a well-creased, waxen map of eastern Canada showing where they would be landing and where the great St. Lawrence River wound its way through the continent.

  It was a bit nerve-wracking, to entertain these young men, since he had to walk a fine line: being courteous to acquaintances on the ship and protecting his sister. Neil wished they would just leave her alone, but on a small ship during a long confinement in close quarters, he knew she appreciated the diversion.

  Nonetheless, he had made one friend: a John MacPherson. He was nineteen years old and on the boat with his three sisters. Their parents had died in a fire, the young man had explained briefly, and Neil did not ask whether it had been set in a croft house. His family came from further north, up in Sutherland, farmers of oats and potatoes. Theirs had been a winding road, from the eastern coast below Wick to emigrating to Aberdeen, to being thrown out yet again. They had not been used to sailing on their farm, and found the motion of the seas not to their liking. John and one sister fared better than the other two, who’d been ill most of the voyage. John and his middle sister Elsbeth had tended to them with water and broth, and they were very weak.

  As Neil listened, he realized how lucky his family were, all six of them without the seasickness. Maybe I should be thanking God after all, he thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 
John joined Neil just in time to hear the halloo of “Land Ho-o-o” from above. He’d been about to sit down with Neil, but upon hearing it, straightened back up. “I’ve got to go tell Elsbeth,” he said. Then he shaded his eyes, peering out into the glare. “Sure enough,” he whispered to himself.

  “Aye, the Lord be thankit,” Neil replied. “Now just let us off!”

  John turned to spare him a smile before hurrying back toward the hatch. He returned fifteen minutes later with his sister Elsbeth. She was tall for a woman, and thin. She had a long face, which was usually pinched with anxiety, but today Neil saw it relaxed with wonder, and relief. Tears sprang to her eyes. She must be exhausted, caring for two sisters all this time, thought Neil.

  Others gathered around Neil’s prime spot to view the land coming in close, then passing by. The black gash became tall hills and shadowed sea cliffs. He spied lines of trees, looking like infinity to his unaccustomed eye. Families murmured excitedly, and he realized he should have gone down by now to tell his own, but he could not bear to give up his place. Eventually, as the swaths of trees cleared, he saw little clusters of buildings on the low-lying land close to shore.

  “Neil?” a small voice was calling.

  “Here, Sheena,” he replied, staying in his crouch against the barrels and peering down through the crowd of legs and shawls and plaids.

  “Neil!” Sheena had found him. She came to his side and stopped to look out. “Is that—are we really—”

  “Yes, that is land sighted, and I do believe it is our New Scotland. Now, what part of it, I haven’t a clue. Everyone all right below?”

  Sheena’s eyes were big, taking in the long lines of forest, but she snapped back to attention after a moment. “Aye. Ma jis’ wanted to have you close to see what the shoutin’ was about.”