A grey-haired man led the horse and now empty cart back towards the dock. Jamie ran down the hill and intercepted the cart at the path before it reached the quarantine station. He clenched the old man’s arm and pointed back to the graves.
“How many?” he asked, out of breath.
The old man glanced at him. “How many what?”
“How many dead are buried back there?”
He glanced back at the mass graves. “I’d have to say around three thousand are buried there now, but I’m not keeping a close count.”
“Three thousand?” Jamie repeated weakly. His mind couldn’t comprehend such a number.
“Sorry, son, but I need to move on. There are still a few more I need to pick up from the Independence.”
For the first time, a wave of dread washed over Jamie. Could Ryan be one of the three thousand buried here at Grosse Isle? He ran back to the buildings and, after searching the compound, found the clerk’s office. He burst in through the door with such force that the secretary nearly jumped out of her seat.
“Slow down, young man!” she chastised.
“I’m sorry,” said Jamie, trying to calm down, “but I desperately need your help. I am trying to find my brother who should have arrived here in the last week or two. Can you help me?”
“And you are?”
“Jamie Galway. A sailor on the Independence.”
She pushed herself away from the desk. “He’s a recent arrival, then? I think I can be of assistance. Let me check the newest documents.”
She turned to several wooden crates sitting on top of a low bookshelf.
“Name?”
“Ryan Galway.”
She shuffled through a set of papers. The wait was excruciating, and Jamie began to pace. Finally, she turned around.
“We don’t have any record of a Ryan Galway.”
Jamie almost choked on his next words. “Do your records include both the dead and living?”
“Yes, they do.”
Jamie’s head was spinning. “I thought all ships arriving in Canada had to anchor at Grosse Isle.”
“Not all ships do stop at Grosse Isle,” the secretary explained. “If we are overwhelmed with new arrivals, and we have been very busy the past few weeks, the immigration department will send the smaller ships on to a port city. Did your brother have his proper papers?”
Jamie felt a chill run down his spine. “I’m not sure.”
“It’s hard to believe, but we sometimes receive deceased without any papers. With no way to identify the bodies, they are simply lowered into the island graves as unknowns.”
“Do you know of the Carpathia? She likely arrived here last week.”
“Sorry, I don’t keep track of ship names, just the immigration papers.”
Jamie grasped the door handle. “Thank you for your help, and I apologize for my abrupt entrance.”
As Jamie stepped outside, he wasn’t sure if he should feel angry or relieved. At least his brother wasn’t in a mass grave here on the island. Or was he? Perhaps he never revived after the blows he received from the soldiers. Perhaps he died and was buried without proper papers. Perhaps his brother’s ship had run into the same storm they had two weeks ago. Did the Carpathia sink with all hands in the Atlantic? Perhaps that was the reason there was no record of him ever arriving at Grosse Isle. His head was swimming with possibilities, and none of them were very hopeful.
Jamie could see a tender from the Independence bringing more passengers to Grosse Isle. Captaining the small craft was Officer Keates, who was waving to Jamie. Jamie ran to the dock to meet him.
“I brought word of the Carpathia.”
Jamie held his breath. “Please, tell me!”
“The captain of the Nautilus told me that the Carpathia was ordered on to the city of Montreal, its final destination, just over a week ago. Being a smaller ship, a government official decided that the passengers were to go through immigration in Montreal, as Grosse Isle was filled to capacity.”
Jamie paused. “Then my brother is in Montreal?”
“We’re only sailing as far as Quebec City. We can drop you off there if you like. From there, you can catch another boat that will take you upriver to Montreal.”
Jamie was torn. A part of him was screaming yes, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Colin sitting on that step, waiting for him to return. If he didn’t help that boy, who would? There must be a way he could get to Montreal while helping Colin at the same time. With only a moment’s hesitation, Jamie reached forward and shook Officer Keates’s hand.
“Thank you so much for your help, but I also need to make sure Colin O’Connor is well taken care of before I leave. Is there any possible way he can join us on the Independence?”
“Sorry, lad. But a five-year-old listed as crew would look a little suspicious. We also have our government licence to consider. What you are suggesting is called human smuggling. I’m afraid we can only bend the rules to give you a hand, not the boy.”
“Then I will have to stay here at Grosse Isle.”
Officer Keates raised his eyebrows but didn’t seem overly surprised by the news.
“Just one last favour,” asked Jamie, “if you don’t mind.”
“Name it.”
“I noticed all officers on board the ship carry a small knife. Could I have yours? I can pay you for it.”
Keates laughed and reached into his jacket. In his hand materialized a small pocket knife. The blade was stowed safely away within its metal housing. The officer offered it to Jamie.
“Keep this as a memento of your time on the Independence. And don’t worry about the cost, I’ll just dock it from your pay.”
They both laughed. “Thank you.”
The sailors pushed the empty tender away from the dock. Oars dipped into the water, and the small craft began its long trip back to the Independence.
“Sorry we couldn’t help the young lad out,” Keates shouted out over the stern. “The ship leaves in an hour if you change your mind!”
Chapter 6
Jamie sat on the edge of the dock, chatting with a large family about the pubs in Dublin as he kept one eye on the large woodshed nearby. Colin was having a nap on the veranda under the supervision of the nun who had befriended them. With the sun setting, Jamie watched the last of the labourers put a padlock on the shed door, climb into his boat, and sail home to the mainland for dinner. Even with the gentle waves of the river lapping beneath his feet and the animated chatter of the family surrounding him, Jamie could hear an endless shower of moans drizzle down from the quarantine building. He wondered how anyone could possibly sleep on this island without being haunted by constant nightmares.
Jamie excused himself from the conversation and meandered along the shoreline towards the wood shed. He was thankful that there were no official records of him on the island so he could move around the buildings as he liked. By the look of things, no one seemed overly concerned about the tracking of the quarantined immigrants anyway. The healthy families ignored official demands to stay inside the buildings. They preferred to take their chances outside in the fresh air and chose to camp out under the stars along the shoreline. Jamie couldn’t blame them, for he would have done exactly the same thing if he had been in their shoes. Why put your family at higher risk for disease by sleeping with the sick?
Originally, Jamie had hoped to steal a small boat from the dock but he had to give the officials on the island some credit. All the boats were taken to other nearby islands or the mainland at night in order to prevent such an escape. So Jamie had to come up with another plan. He slid in behind the shed until he was under a small locked window. Using Officer Keates’s knife, he pried out the pins holding the hinges in place, then quietly lowered the window to the ground. He then climbed in through the open window frame and lit a small candle. It wasn’t hard to locate the things he needed. He grabbed a saw, glue, nails, a hammer, and some rope and threw them into a burlap bag. Before leaving, he spied an unfinished object
on the workbench that could also prove to be very useful.
After lowering the bag to the grass, climbing out and repairing the window, Jamie worked his way past the families eating dinner on the shore until he found himself on the far side of the island and among the graves of thousands of his countrymen. Jamie fought his aching heart as he searched among the graves for what he needed. It was now almost pitch dark and he thought he remembered seeing one somewhere in this area. There it was! He had almost walked right into it.
The simple coffin was empty, thank goodness, and it was probably going to be filled in the morning with a dead body whose family had enough funds to avoid the mass burial. He dragged the wooden box around the rows of freshly covered graves until he found the water’s edge. He put down the bag of tools, lit the candle, pulled up a fallen log, and got to work.
“Colin. Time to wake up.”
Even in the dead of night, the quarantine building was awash in a sea of moans and coughs, punctuated with the occasional retching. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Colin for three weeks in this disease-infested purgatory. He had been through far too much already. For once, Jamie had the power to stop another death, and he was going to do everything he could to save the young boy.
Colin’s hazel eyes fluttered to life under the weak light of the oil lamps. The little boy’s bed near the doorway was the wooden floor itself. Colin had used his meagre sack as a pillow. A passing nurse had covered the young lad in an old blanket. Jamie prayed that the blanket itself wasn’t festering with sickness. Keeping an eye out for any movement, Jamie snuck Colin out through the door without incident. Jamie was proud of Colin. He was following perfectly the instructions for silence he had given him earlier in the day.
By looking at the position of the stars in the clear sky, Jamie estimated they had three hours of darkness left before the sun began to rise. They circled around the sleeping families near the shore and then angled away from the mass graves and Colin’s mother’s final resting place. Once they made it over the hill, the pair wound their way through a thick stand of trees to a small clearing beside the river. This was Jamie’s temporary work station. He relit the candle on the log and sat the boy down.
“You did well, Colin. Now, do you want to get off this island as badly as I do?”
He nodded sleepily. “Is Mommy staying here?”
“Your mother will be laid to rest here, along with the others who didn’t survive the crossing.”
He looked up, concerned. “Can I come back and visit her?”
Jamie rubbed his head. “Sure you can. You can come back and visit Grosse Isle some day, but first let’s find your living relatives. I know they want to meet you.”
“But we’re on an island.”
“Ah, yes, you’re right, lad. But not for long. All we need is a boat, and look what I made for you while you were sleeping!”
Jamie pulled the coffin out from behind the bushes. He had cut a large oval hole out of the top of the lid and an unfinished paddle lay across its makeshift bow. It was a bit of good luck that someone was making a paddle in the workshop on the night he broke in. Colin walked up to the box and touched its side.
“It’s sticky.”
“That’s just the glue. It should be mostly dry by now. It will help keep the water out. And look at the name.”
Colin looked at the letters painted in black. “I can’t read.”
“I’ve named our boat the Good Erin. Erin was your mother’s first name and now she’s going to help us go find your family.”
Colin smiled and touched the name on the side.
“I think it’s time to cast off. You hop in first. I’ve put a blanket down in front. You can go back to sleep if you want while I paddle us to shore.”
Jamie helped the boy climb into the strange watercraft and then pushed it off the rocks and into the water. Taking the paddle, he climbed in and pulled at the water. He was pleased to see that the coffin moved silently away from shore. It was surprisingly stable. Digging in with greater confidence, Jamie set course for the northern shore of the St. Lawrence River.
The hidden sun was stretching its long, scarlet fingers across the early-morning sky. A light mist was forming on the water’s surface. Jamie had been paddling for three hours yet the northern shore of the river was still frustratingly far away and he was starting to worry. The good news was that Grosse Isle was now a distant bump in the river behind them. The bad news was that the current of the St. Lawrence kept pushing them downstream, and further away from Montreal, the final port of the Carpathia. Rubbing his eyes, Colin poked his head up out of the hole.
“It’s wet down here.”
Jamie stopped paddling. “Are you sure?”
“See my hand?”
Jamie touched Colin’s wet skin and grimaced. Although an early-morning mist veiled much of the far shore, he could tell it was still a distance away. An innate fear of the water danced in his mind, as the Brotherhood had taught him only the very basics of swimming.
“How bad is it?”
“My blanket is soaked.”
Colin held it up, dripping wet. The glue! He had wondered if the glue was waterproof, but he thought that it would hold out the water for at least a short river crossing. He hadn’t realized it was going to take this long to paddle across the channel. His miscalculation might end up costing them their lives.
“Colin, I need you to try and figure out where the water is coming from, then jam the blanket into that area and hold it there with your feet. Do you understand?”
Colin nodded, smiling, as if he was glad to finally have a task, and disappeared back into the front of the coffin.
Jamie dug furiously at the water. It was his idea to bring Colin with him for the crossing, and now he kicked himself for putting the boy’s life in grave danger once again. Jamie shook his head at the irony. He was supposed to be saving Colin’s life by taking him away from the island. If he had just left him there, at least he would not be in danger of drowning! Jamie tried his best to refocus his thoughts. There must be a way out of this. Death could not be an option.
Just ahead, Jamie could make out a large expanse of watery plants in the early morning fog. He hoped that the plants signified shallow water. If the coffin should go down in the plants, perhaps he could touch bottom. He pulled on the paddle with all his might, but he could feel the craft becoming more sluggish. Water was lapping up against his calves. He was sure that the coffin was going to sink very soon.
Colin re-emerged from the floating crypt. “I’m wet and cold.”
“You did a fantastic job, Colin. Now why don’t you come here, sit on my lap and try to keep out of the cold water.”
Jamie was knee-deep in water when they reached the edge of the plants. The coffin was no longer floating, but ploughing through the water. They were still some distance to shore, but it seemed within reach. The plants brushed past the front of the coffin. Little brown bits from the plants rained down on the sinking lid of the coffin. It would be only seconds before they would have to abandon their lifeboat. With his last few strokes, Jamie reviewed everything he could remember about swimming.
“Colin, when I say, I want you to climb onto my back and hold on as if I were giving you a piggyback ride. Make sure you keep your head above the water. That’s very important.”
“Are we going to get wet?” he asked.
“I’m afraid so. I’m going to try and swim to shore.”
“But the water’s cold!” he protested.
“Our boat is not going to make it, Colin. But we’re closer to shore now. I think we can make it if we swim.”
Without warning, the coffin’s nose dove under the water’s surface. Colin clambered onto Jamie’s back as the coffin completely submerged. Something moved ahead of them. Was it one of those large beasts he’d read about? A moose? Perhaps a person! He took his paddle and waved it frantically above his head.
“Help! Help us! We’re sinking!”
Suddenl
y, the entire coffin dropped down to the bottom of the river.
“Colin! Hang on!”
“I’m scared!”
But the little boy did as he was told. He grabbed on to Jamie’s shoulders and held on for dear life. Jamie had hoped the coffin might settle on top of the plants and give him a perch on which to stand, but the box kept sinking until he was treading water on his own. Having the weight of a five-year-old boy on his back didn’t help matters. It was all he could do to keep his own chin above the surface.
Orienting himself, he set out, thrashing his arms, for the shore. Jamie had never had to swim through weeds. The plants wrapped around his arms and legs like hungry green tentacles, slowing Jamie’s progress toward shallow water. Less than a minute passed before Jamie was exhausted. He knew they had barely gone anywhere. His feet could still not touch bottom. This was the end.
“I’m … sorry,” he gasped. “I didn’t … mean it.…”
It was Jamie’s last breath. With his remaining strength, he held the boy up to the surface with his arms. The weight of the boy suddenly lightened and disappeared altogether. Jamie’s panicked mind could only assume that an angel had swooped down and lifted him up to heaven, saving the young Colin from any further pain. For a brief moment, Jamie smiled.
Then something gripped his extended arm. He was being pulled. Weeds tore away from his legs. His head broke through the surface! He gagged as river water spewed out of his mouth. His arm was pinned along the length of another small watercraft. He blinked the water from his eyes and looked into what had to be the face of an angel. A young woman with dark complexion and long, flowing black hair was gazing down at him. Colin was at her feet, wide-eyed and shivering.
“Give me your other arm,” she commanded, in French.
“Angels speak French?” he asked, coughing.
“Now swing your leg over the side. Be careful you do not tip all of us into the water. I will lean the other way for balance.”
Jamie threw one leg over the side of the craft and indeed nearly tipped everyone back into the St. Lawrence. The young woman threw her body over the far gunwale to help balance the boat against Jamie’s waterlogged frame.
The Emerald Key Page 7
