Shipwreck

by Maureen Jennings

  Amy nodded. “Yes. Are you ready, Boots?”

  The cat purred. Bill took that as a yes.

  He tucked Amy’s comforter around her shoulders. “Warm enough?”

  “Yes, Granddad. Please start.”

  “Now, listen up, and don’t interrupt unless there’s something you don’t understand.”

  “Okay, Granddad. Daddy interrupts all the time, and it sure is irritating.”

  The word was too adult for a six-year-old. Amy had to be repeating something her mother said. Bill made another note to speak to Wendy. She had to think before she talked about her own problems in front of a bright child like Amy.

  Chapter Five

  Bill began his story. “The weather was very much like this, gloomy, cold, and snowy, but much, much worse. The snow was deep on the ground. Even though it was the Day of the Nativity — that is another word for Christmas...”

  “I know that. It means native,” said Amy.

  “Er, no. It means the day of birth. The day Jesus was born.”

  “And Santa Claus. The day Santa was born.”

  Bill groaned to himself. Amy was a child of her time. He decided to leave that subject alone for now, too.

  “Here we go,” continued Bill. “The village was just outside of Halifax. That’s on the east side of Canada...”

  “I know that, Granddad. It’s in Newfoundland.”

  “No, it’s in Nova Scotia.”

  “Well, I was close.”

  One thing that bothered Bill about the kids of today was that they couldn’t admit they were wrong. Too many well-meaning teachers giving them a mark for trying, instead of saying, “Wrong. That is the wrong answer.”

  “You’re frowning, Granddad,” said Amy. “Can we go on with the story?”

  “As I was saying, the village where this story takes place was in Nova Scotia. It was Christmas Day. Christmas morning, to be exact. Very early. The sun wasn’t even up yet. All night long, the fierce wind, heavy with snow, had swept in from the sea. Only half of the people who belonged to my great-grandfather’s church came to Mass. The second altar boy was ill. Do you know what an altar boy is, Amy?”

  “No.”

  “An altar boy helps the priest.”

  “Like I help Mommy in the kitchen when she’s making dinner?”

  Bill smiled. “Something like that. So on this day, when there were usually two boys who helped, there was only one. His name was William Murdoch.”

  “My great-great-great-grandfather. Three greats,” interrupted Amy.

  “Hush. Listen up. William Murdoch was twelve years old when our story takes place. He lived with his mother and his father, who was a fisherman. He had a younger sister and a younger brother.”

  “I asked Mommy if I can have a sister,” said Amy. “She said she’ll think about it.”

  Bill placed his finger on his lips. “Shh! As I was saying, William had a sister and a brother. Bertie, his brother, was handicapped. He was what people back then called slow. His mind worked in a simple way. That day, William’s family was in the church, except for his father, whose name was Harry. Harry never went to church. Not anymore.

  “So far, Will had done his duties as an altar boy well. He hadn’t forgotten anything or made any mistakes. But the church was so cold, he could see his own breath on the air. His stomach was rumbling, because he had not eaten yet.”

  Amy put up her hand as if she were in school. “Why not? Were they poor, like Sammy’s mommy? He sometimes comes to school without breakfast. I always have my oats in the morning. Did they have oats in the olden time?”

  “Yes, they did. William wasn’t poor. He could have oats in the morning. But he hadn’t eaten yet because people believed that not eating before Mass was a sign of love for God. The church called this fasting, going without food for a short time.”

  Amy was looking puzzled. Bill decided to leave religious explanations to her mother. “Okay, he said, “Back to the story...”

  Will was hungry, and he let his mind wander briefly to the Christmas dinner his mother had made. They were to eat it later in the day. But he tried to focus on his church duties. He knew his mother was watching him. For her sake, he tried to make his face look serious. As if he was thinking good thoughts.

  He wasn’t sure he truly felt good. He had come close to fighting with his own father. The night before, Harry had made the evening miserable for his family. He made fun of each of them, but especially Will’s brother, Bertie. Poor, simple Bertie. Harry’s tone and words stung like whip lashes. His hands were ready to hit or slap at any moment. Harry was always angry when he was drunk.

  Suddenly, William saw that Father Keegan was moving toward him. He knew he had fallen behind in his duties. Quickly, he went to the table for the glass bottles containing the water and wine. He handed them to the priest, remembering, just in time, to kiss each one while thinking about God. Will was wearing a cassock, a long black robe that reached to his feet. As he turned to go back for the linen cloth and basin, his foot got caught in his robe, and he tripped. Will felt the hem of his robe tear away. His face went red. How could he be so clumsy? His mother would be ashamed of him.

  When Will finished his task and made it back to Father Keegan, the priest held out his hands. William poured some water over them, catching the drops in the basin. The priest’s nails were cracked and dirty, and his thumbnail was bruised. In this small village, Father Keegan was expected to do his own wood chopping and simple carpentry. He wasn’t very good at that kind of work. Behind his back, some of the men even made fun of him for his lack of skill.

  When the old village priest had died, Father Keegan had been sent from a parish in Halifax. He was a tall, thin man of about fifty years of age. He was also lame from a badly mended leg. Walking was hard for him. Gossip had it that Father Keegan had received his call to the priesthood later in life. Before that, he had been a doctor in the Union army during the American Civil War.

  Some people said he had been shot in the leg by a Rebel soldier. Gossip also claimed that he had been married before he became a priest, but his wife and children had died. Nobody knew for sure whether that was true, either. The priest was not the kind of man who would chat about his own life. People in the parish sometimes asked him over for a meal and put a glass of hot cider in his hand. He still didn’t open up.

  The biggest complaint about Father Keegan was that he was too strict in his views about how people should behave. There was always a lot of muttering when people met up with each other after confession. The men, especially, thought that certain sins were only human nature. They weren’t worth talking about, really. In this group of sins the men placed the times when they were mean to a neighbour. Or cheated the storekeeper. Or didn’t help the poor of the parish. The angry words they sometimes spoke to their wives or children. The lustful thoughts about other men’s wives. These were just human weaknesses. Nobody’s perfect.

  Father Keegan didn’t seem to care as much about things that had bothered the former priest, like how many times they missed Mass or ate meat on Friday. But he cared a lot about how the people of his parish treated each other.

  Will admired Father Keegan, but the priest made Will nervous. He had high standards.

  Chapter Six

  “I thought this story was about a shipwreck,” said Amy.

  “It is,” answered Bill. “You must be patient. The shipwreck is coming.”

  Father Keegan finished drying his hands on the linen cloth and turned back to the altar. The most important part of the Mass was coming. It was called the Canon, the point from which there was no turning back. Will went to his position and knelt on the edge of the platform.

  Suddenly, the church door opened with a bang. A man Will knew from the village burst in. The wind gusted behind him, carrying him along. The man started yelling as soon as he got inside.

  “Ship’s sinking, down on the rocks. We need to put out the lifeboat.”

  Father Keegan had been about
to raise the thin wafer of bread that is called the Host. He turned in shock at this intrusion. Only a man not of the Catholic faith would have dared to intrude at that moment.

  The man shouted, “She’s a three-master, a sailing ship that’s been blown onto the rocks. Looks like the crew got into the rowboat, but they’re not doing too well in this wind.” He looked around the church. “Who’ll come to man the lifeboat with me?”

  There was a rustle through the crowd sitting in the long wooden pews, but nobody moved. All looked toward the priest.

  Father Keegan spoke. “I cannot stop the Mass.” He glanced quickly around at his flock. “I will give communion as fast as I can. But Our Lord would not wish innocent souls to be lost for want of a boat. All you men are excused. Bob Markham, will you ring the warning bell? Women, children, and the elderly will stay here in the church until the service is finished.”

  He turned his back on the man who had burst in, knelt, and began to pray.

  Behind him, the men shuffled out of their pews, bent at the knee, and bowed their heads toward the altar. Then each one hurried out down the aisle to the church door. Will, too, was filled with excitement. This was by no means the first ship to crash against the rocky coast. The villagers always did everything they could to rescue those in danger. Earlier in the summer, three parishes in the area had come together, even though they were of different faiths. Together they had built a lifeboat.

  Will wanted to be down on the shore himself. It was all he could do to remain calm. Above him, the church bell rang out, warning the rest of the village that there was a ship in trouble.

  Chapter Seven

  Father Keegan went through the rest of the Mass as fast as he could. He spoke so quickly that his Latin words became impossible to follow in the prayer book. All the bending and kneeling was hard on the priest’s crippled leg, and he had to stifle his groans. People came to the altar rail to receive communion, but only the most pious of the women had their minds on what they were doing. The wind rattled at the windows, reminding them of what was happening on the shore. Finally, the priest ended the service with his blessing.

  A quiet chatter broke out, but Father Keegan held up his hands for quiet. “Now then. All of you women bring as many blankets and dry clothes as you can spare. I will make our parish hall available, and anyone who is injured may be brought here.”

  He beckoned to Will. “Come and help me remove my robes.”

  Will followed Father Keegan to the dressing room behind the altar. His mother, his sister, and his brother left the church. Will suspected that the longed-for Christmas feast was going to be divided among those in greater need. He had to push away a tiny flash of anger. He had been looking forward to that roast goose.

  Will and the priest changed out of their church robes as quickly as they could. Will had come to the church in his best suit, which was made of good thick wool. However, he knew his mother would excuse him if he got it dirty. Tearing the hem of his church robe would make her scold him, but getting dirty saving shipwrecked sailors wouldn’t.

  Father Keegan and Will left the church, the wind grabbing them and biting into their faces. Bent double, they struggled to the cliff’s edge. There, a path led down to the shore. In the dim light, Will could just make out the shape of a small sailing ship. One of the masts had snapped off. The wind had driven the ship forward and jammed the bow on the ragged teeth of the rocks. Now the deck sloped toward the ship’s rear end, which the hungry waves battered. The crew had managed to get into a little rowboat. A sailor held up a lantern as high as he could, and the light bobbed up and down. One moment Will and Father Keegan could see it, the next moment the waves hid it from them.

  “How many do you see, Will?” asked Father Keegan. “I count six souls.”

  “Yes, Father. They don’t seem to be making headway at all.”

  The villagers had launched the lifeboat, and it, too, was being tossed about, the oars sawing at air over and over again. The five men aboard struggled to keep the boat under control.

  “Come on,” said Father Keegan.

  The priest started down the steep path to the shore. William followed close behind him. They both slipped and slid on the wet stones. They’d hardly got halfway down when they saw a huge wave smash sideways into the little rowboat. It flipped up and over like a toy. All of the people it carried were tossed out into the sea.

  Chapter Eight

  Father Keegan paused and made the sign of the cross in the direction of the overturned rowboat. “May the Lord have mercy,” he said.

  The lifeboat was also being blown around, and away from the damaged ship. One of the men in it lifted his lantern. The light shone on a shape in the icy grey water. Someone was clinging to a piece of driftwood. Two of the men leaned over and pulled the person aboard. William saw, with surprise, that it was a woman. Almost at once, the lifeboat began to head back to shore, helped by the wind.

  A crowd had gathered on the shore, and several men rushed forward to help pull in the boat. One of them threw out a line. The man in the front of the lifeboat grabbed it. Quickly, he tied it to the boat.

  The priest, who wasn’t strong enough to help pull, took command. “Heave,” he cried. “All together! Heave!”

  Every time he shouted “Heave,” the men pulled with all their strength, leaning back until their behinds almost touched the sand.

  Will had gripped the rope along with the other men. He felt as if he were fighting the sea god himself in a deadly struggle. The lifeboat, out there on the waves, seemed tiny and as slight as a wooden toy. The rowers dug in with their oars whenever they could. More villagers, including a couple of the younger women, threw their weight into the pull.

  Father Keegan kept up his chant. “Heave! And heave!”

  Finally, they had the bow of the boat on the beach. The men on board placed the woman they had rescued into the strong arms of a big fisherman. Will had a glimpse of a white face, thin and young. The fisherman carried her to the big sheet of canvas that had been laid on the sand at the ready. He put the girl down gently, and the village women surrounded her at once.

  “We must go back out, Father,” said one of the rescuers. He was a rough-looking fellow with a thick beard. He had been one of the first members of the church to answer the call for help. “There are others out there. The lassie is so bad that we had to bring her in first.”

  The five men, each wearing a cork life-belt, climbed back into the lifeboat. Those on the shore pushed them out to sea again. If anything, the wind was fiercer than before. Will wasn’t sure they would be able to get out to the rocks where the ship was wedged.

  Father Keegan went to where the young woman lay and bent over her. Will saw the priest’s body stiffen with alarm. He ran over to him, and Father Keegan drew him close. The priest had to shout into Will’s ear in order to be heard above the roar of the wind and the sea.

  “We have to move her at once. She is with child, and, by the look of her, she’s near her time. We’ll get her to the hall. I want you to go and get Mrs. Cameron, the midwife.”

  At this point, Amy twisted around in the bed. Bill paused to see if she was still listening. She was.

  “I hope she doesn’t die, Granddad.”

  “You’ll have to wait and see. Do you want me to stop now, and go on with the story tomorrow?”

  “No. I must know what happens. Did they save all the others?”

  Bill was beginning to feel sorry he had started this story. Amy was a child. It might not be fair to tell her a story that didn’t have a happy ending, like the princess stories she enjoyed so much.

  “Sweetheart, it’s getting late. Perhaps you should go to sleep now.”

  Amy sat up in her bed. “Granddad. I am not tired. I cannot go to sleep unless I know what happened to all the poor people in the shipwreck. Could they swim?”

  “Er... I don’t know.”

  “I can swim now. I would have been able to get to shore.”

  He pinched h
er cheek gently. “I’m sure you would have.” He folded up his papers. “Look at you. You can hardly keep your eyes open. We will finish this in the morning.”

  “Perhaps Mommy would like to hear it as well?”

  “We’ll ask her.”

  He tucked in the covers. Amy’s eyes were already closing. He kissed her forehead.

  “Nighty-night, sweetie.”

  He switched off the light and left quietly. Downstairs, in the den, he turned on the television set. He could catch some of the game at least.

  Chapter Nine

  Amy was up early, and Bill went into the kitchen to help with breakfast. Wendy was already there, wearing her dressing gown. For a moment, she looked so much like Julie, her mother, that Bill’s heart jumped.

  “Did you have a good time last night?” he asked.

  “It was all right.” She sniffled. “I think I’m coming down with a cold.”

  “Granddad was telling me a wonderful story,” said Amy. “It’s sad, though. The people on the boat couldn’t swim, and they drowned.”

  Wendy looked over at her father.

  “Good thing I can swim,” continued Amy. “And William, the first William, my three-times-great-granddad, has gone to get the midwife.”

  “Do you know what a midwife is, Amy?” her mother asked.

  She nodded. “A woman who is almost a wife.”

  Wendy smiled. “Not exactly. A midwife is a woman who helps babies to be born.”

  “I think I’ll be a midwife when I grow up,” said Amy.

  Wendy glanced up at the kitchen clock. “You know what, Amy? Your favourite cartoon is coming on in a minute. Would you like to go into the den and watch it?”

  “What about Granddad’s story?”

  “I’ll listen to it for you. And I can tell you later what happened.”