It soon became clear that for all our soundings and setting of buoys, the river was still tricky. We may have conquered Québec, but we certainly had not conquered the St. Lawrence. The currents near Coudre Island were treacherous. Several ships ran aground, including Royal William. Someone made a joke about how General Wolfe would like that, seeing how seasick he had become in the past. All the laughter sounded hollow to me, though. Another vessel, Terrible, had to lash a cannon to two of her small anchors to avoid being swept away. How her crew sweated and strained. We were luckier, and so managed to get past safely.
During the next days we slid down the river. All up and down the shore the trees had changed from green to red and orange. Those trees were the only pleasant things to be seen. Almost all the farmhouses and outbuildings were in ruins. Once I saw a small boy standing by the shore. He made a very rude gesture, and then ran away. I cannot say that I blamed him.
When we finally reached the gulf, the ships parted. Our squadron changed course and continued to Halifax. The rest of the ships set out for England.
I was up in the rigging taking in the view. I watched for a long while as the ships grew smaller and smaller and then finally became white specks on the horizon.
By the 27th of October, Halifax was in sight. It amazed me that the granite lighthouse on Sambro Island was almost completed. What a difference that would make for any vessel. In the distance I could see Mather’s Meeting House as well as the governor’s mansion. There was the church and the stockade. And above it all stood the Citadel, still on guard. All along the shore were people waving and calling out. It was as fine a greeting as anyone could want.
“Is it good to see Halifax?” asked Tom.
“Yes, my friend,” I replied. “Good indeed.”
He laughed. “And it will be even better to walk its streets. Some of us will be spending the winter ashore, as you know. But there is a bit of work to do before that. Until then, none of us will have shore leave.” He grinned at me. “Although I hear that you will be leaving us early next month, Jenkins. Imagine, you will be done with a life at sea!”
Tom’s “bit” of work turned out to be a monstrous amount. Pembroke and the other vessels all had to be readied for winter, which is what we did for the next while. Under the direction of the new master and the bosun, we took down the enormous sails and folded them. The sailmaker and his men would spend the winter doing repairs to the canvas. The yards and upper masts were lowered to the deck. So was all the running rigging that raised, lowered and controlled the sails. We coiled it all into enormous bundles and carried it below with the canvas. Then there was the messy task of greasing the rigging so that it would not rot during the cold weather. That, of course, was assigned to me and a number of other unlucky fellows. We caulked shut the gun ports to keep as much cold air out as possible. Small stoves were brought aboard. We made them as secure as we could. No one wanted to have the ship go up in flames.
When one of our boats had gone ashore I was able to send a note, telling Mr. Bushell I was well. I was to be discharged on November 3rd, and perhaps we could meet at Mrs. Walker’s. Other than that, I could only gaze at the town. There I saw some of the smallest vessels, the one-masted sloops, having the bottoms of their hulls cleaned. This was done at the partially finished naval yard where a careening dock had been built for that very purpose. When the tide went out, I could see the vessel settle to the sand and lean over against the dock. Then sailors scraped away the seaweed and barnacles that always grew on the under part of the hull. When the tide came in, away the boat sailed. It was an amazing sight.
Then, late on the morning of November 3rd, Mr. Wise told me that my service on Pembroke was over. That evening he struck my name from the ship’s muster book by writing a large D next to it. That meant discharged. I could see many other men’s names that had DD next to them. Discharged dead. He gave me my pay — 40 shillings — and that was that.
With King Louis under my arm, and my few possessions in a seabag, I left our mess for the last time and stepped onto the deck. Out in the distance the transport ship Mary slowly drifted around her anchor. Aboard were more than 150 Acadians who had been hiding in the woods. They were bound for England at any moment. Poor wretches, I thought, and my memory flicked again to Vairon.
“Do not forget us,” said Davy.
“With that empty head of his, it will be quite a challenge,” laughed Baldish, saluting me with his crutch.
“We will see you at Mrs. Walker’s once this slavery is ended,” said Gum.
“Then we’d best step lively,” said Tom. “Look at the gulls. See how high they fly? I fear there may be weather.”
The harbour, though, was quiet and the sky a dull pewter colour. The boat slid along through the water with only the oars rippling its surface. Not a breath of wind stirred. I looked back and waved, but my messmates had gone below.
Once ashore, I walked down Water Street feeling rather low. King Louis raced ahead with not a care in the world. That, as well as the weight and sound of coins in my pocket, lifted my spirits. Halifax had not changed, and yet it had. The mud was the same. So were the rough plank buildings. The Great Pontac Inn was as grand as ever and so was the governor’s mansion. Hardened men still stood in doorways while horses pulled wagons laden with barrels or stacks of goods. Dogs trailed behind them, or chased cats between people’s legs. I could see that King Louis wanted very much to join in. He had not seen another dog or cat in a very long while. But naval discipline won out, and he controlled himself.
When I arrived at Mrs. Walker’s, she hugged me until I nearly choked. Word was sent to Mr. Bushell that I was there. Since it was a Saturday evening, the shop was closed and he soon arrived. It was the jolliest reunion you could imagine, with complete strangers joining in. Even Mrs. Walker’s spruce beer seemed to taste excellent.
“Read to us from your journal, my boy,” said Mr. Bushell. As I did, the room grew quiet. All eyes widened as the tale of my adventure slowly filled the room.
I was only an hour into the story when I heard something. We all heard it. A low roaring had begun.
Out we ran. A massive storm was racing towards Halifax, black clouds boiling behind a white squall line. When it hit, every boat and ship began to swing into the wind and strain at its anchor. The ensigns and pennants streamed straight out and snapped madly. Men were racing around the decks, making things fast. Several small vessels that were under sail heeled over violently when the wind hit them, and one capsized. Then sheets of rain began to drive down, and the harbour disappeared. So did we, taking shelter inside. And as the storm grew more violent, it was clear that we all would be spending the night.
“Plenty of rooms,” said Mrs. Walker. “And I will give them to you free of charge!”
Even with the amazing price, I barely slept. The inn shook with each blast of wind — wind that howled like a hundred wolves. King Louis shook as well, and he was a seasoned sea dog! When dawn came, the storm still raged on. We made the best of it, though, for there was nothing else to do. Mrs. Walker cooked and chattered about news in the town. The men played cards and dice. It was almost as though I had gone back in time, but somehow it did not feel right. And I could only imagine what was happening aboard Pembroke.
Another restless night passed, and another bleak morning. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the great storm was over. The sun came out and a fine rainbow appeared. People began to creep out of their houses, blinking like owls. And there was much to blink at. Boats lay on the beach, their sides stove in. Many of the wharves had collapsed, pounded to bits by the storm surge. Much of the flour and sugar in the warehouses was ruined, which caused the women to shake their heads.
“No sweet desserts,” mourned Mrs. Walker.
“It did not seem to bother the navy, though,” said Mr. Bushell.
It was true. The navy ships rode calmly in the harbour, just as though nothing had happened. His shop was another matter. Water had flooded the floor, and half t
he wooden shingles on the roof were gone. At least the precious printing press had been spared.
During the next days, I helped Mr. Bushell with repairs to his roof while I decided what to do with my life. But with every nail I pounded, I grew more and more discontented. I do believe I miss having a deck under my feet, I thought to myself.
“Jenkins, you look out of place here,” Mr. Cook called up to me. He had just bought a newspaper. “You are more suited to rigging than a roof.”
“I suppose I am, sir,” I answered as I climbed down the ladder.
“See here. I supped with Captain Wheelock on Pembroke last night,” Mr. Cook told me. “This package came for you when dispatches arrived.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Jenkins,” he went on, “Northumberland is as short-handed as the rest of the ships — there is always room for another midshipman.”
“Me? A midshipman?”
“You will be rated a captain’s servant in the beginning. The only serving you will do is to your books, though. I will instruct you in navigation. If you study hard and prove yourself to Lord Colville, a midshipman you will be.”
“Yes, sir. I will study hard, sir.”
“Report to Northumberland when your work is finished here. And bring this fine little dog of yours. Excellent ratter … in spite of the hairs.”
“Yes, sir. Dog it is.”
As Mr. Cook walked away, I opened the package. Inside was a letter written in French. And there with it was my father’s spyglass! As I translated the note, my smile grew and grew.
My dear Capitaine Rosbif,
I am writing this at my parents’ table in Montréal. Rather than submit to you English, it seemed wiser to leave Québec. I regret there was no time for a proper farewell. And I regret even more that you believed I was dead. That I learned when Monsieur Fidèle wrote to my parents and told them the sad news. I was very pleased to write back to him and tell him he was wrong.
As for your spyglass, it was in the hands of one of Capitaine Vergor’s scoundrels, who had gotten it from an Abenaki. I traded my bone cross for it. That man was killed in the battle. You understand now why that unlucky fellow was mistaken for me.
So. Montréal will surely fall next spring. I will not be here to see it, though. Tomorrow I depart for the west. They say there are enormous bears in the mountains, and herds of buffalo that blacken the plains. No Englishmen, though. Perhaps you might like to see these amazing things for yourself some day. Until then, I remain your servant, Vairon.
“What was that old motto of yours?” Mr. Cook called over his shoulder.
“To friendship and adventure!” I shouted back. And I heard him laughing as he headed up the street.
“Vairon is alive,” I said happily to myself. Then looking down at the dog, I added, “Well, King Louis, I suppose I must sharpen my pencil. There will be many more chapters to add to my story before it is done.”
Epilogue
That winter, William rejoined the Royal Navy, enlisting on Northumberland. His future was once more linked with Mr. Cook’s. In the spring of 1760, when the French threatened to retake Québec, a squadron of British ships including Northumberland returned to the city to support the British troops. The effort was a success and so Québec remained in British hands.
Back in Halifax that fall, he watched Mr. Cook as the master worked on charts of Halifax harbour. Cook could see how keen William was regarding map-making and surveying. For the next few summers William often accompanied Cook as he set out in a ship’s boat to explore and chart the Nova Scotia coastline.
But in 1762, the French attempted to take Newfoundland. It was an important fishing base. Northumberland joined a squadron of British ships that sailed to St. John’s, where the French fleet was anchored. When fog and a gale enabled the French ships to flee, the British easily retook the garrison. There would be the lengthy process of negotiating a treaty, but for all purposes the Seven Years War was over. Northumberland sailed for England that October, and William left his world in Halifax behind.
For the next few years William continued to live a life of adventure. He returned with Mr. Cook to Newfoundland when Cook was ordered to survey the coast. Each winter they sailed back to England, where Cook worked on his charts and William studied.
William was promoted to master’s mate. He accompanied Lieutenant Cook — he too had been promoted — on two of his voyages to the Pacific. On the first, in 1768, they sailed on HM Bark Endeavour. William and the others saw New Zealand, Australia, New Guinea and Java. Through panes of smoked glass, they also observed a rare event, the Transit of Venus, as that planet made its stately progress across the face of the sun.
On the second voyage, in 1772, Captain Cook — once again promoted — circumnavigated the globe, taking HMS Resolution across the Antarctic Circle three times, and sailing farther south than anyone had ever done. It was on this voyage that William fell from the rigging in a terrible storm. When he woke four days later, his left leg had been amputated below the knee by the ship’s surgeon.
Resolution arrived back at Spithead, England, in July 1775. William, at age thirty-one, chose to be pensioned off and leave the navy. That summer he considered his options. England was no longer home, and Halifax held nothing for him, what with Mrs. Walker and Mr. Bushell being some years dead. Each of them, however, had left him with a gift of money. With that and his savings — William had been ever frugal — he decided to return to a place he had loved.
That fall, a ship landed at St. John’s, Newfoundland. There William met and married Sarah O’Brien, an Irish housemaid. The next summer saw the couple arrive in the outport of Bonavista, where he worked as a clerk at Mockbeggar Plantation, a fishing premises. He and Sarah began to raise a family.
One evening in the fall of 1781, William was drinking in the company of sailors in a local pub. One of them was reading a tattered copy of a British newspaper, The London Gazette.
“See here,” said the man. “It says that Captain Cook, the great explorer, is dead. Wonder what he did to get himself in such a mess?”
It was true. James Cook had been killed in the Hawaiian Islands two years before, and his body buried at sea. William, deeply moved at the news, but angered by the sailor’s words, abandoned his ale and walked home. The walking calmed him. He didn’t need to wonder what had happened. He only recalled the best advice Captain Cook had given him, words that had formed the backbone of his own life: Without honour, life was meaningless.
William Jenkins is buried somewhere in Bonavista, Newfoundland.
Historical Note
The Seven Years War
In North America, the Seven Years War was referred to as the French and Indian War, named for those forces the British were fighting. Although the war was also waged in Europe, India and the Caribbean, in North America the battle was for Canada. The Siege of Quebec during the summer of 1759 marked a turning point in fighting that had been long and brutal. Although the war officially extended from 1756 through 1763, the parties had been effectively at war since 1754. The pivotal battle at the Plains of Abraham is most familiar to modern readers. Early in the morning of September 13, 1759, General James Wolfe’s army moved upstream in the Royal Navy’s vessels. Scaling the cliff below the Plains of Abraham was a bold manoeuvre, one that General Montcalm never expected. That meant there was no real opposition.
Montcalm need not have met the British challenge at all, but that was the nature of war in those days. When his army did march from their camp to the east, they came at a run, and quickly became disorganized. The battle was brief and deadly. It lasted around fifteen minutes, although it must have seemed much longer to those involved. Six hundred British troops were wounded and sixty-one killed. One British officer estimated as many as fifteen hundred French casualties.
Scholars have long debated the wisdom of Montcalm’s coming out to meet Wolfe. So have re-enactors and writers. The result of the siege was a tide-turning event.
Some m
ay say that battles are won by armies and their generals. That may be so, and yet the Royal Navy played a very important role during the siege. As this story shows, it provided transportation, as well as all the food and ammunition. It was sailors who dragged the massive guns up to the plains, and then insisted on fighting alongside soldiers. The navy was never really given credit for what it did that summer. But without its support, Quebec likely could not have been taken.
The fleet had gradually assembled at Louisbourg in the spring of 1759. There were 320 vessels, including 49 warships. It faced a journey of 1100 kilometres (600 nautical miles) to Quebec, one that was complicated by ice, fog and the treacherous waters of the St. Lawrence. But seventeen French pilots — men who knew the river very well — had been captured at Louisbourg the year before. And there were the charts that James Cook had drawn. Organized into three squadrons, the fleet was able to navigate up the St. Lawrence with little difficulty.
According to Pembroke’s log, she seems to have spent most of the summer anchored some distance from Quebec. She was too large a vessel to safely sail in waters so filled with shoals and mud flats, and subject to tides. There were other ships nearer the city, though. Three bomb vessels — Baltimore, Racehorse and Pelican — armed with mortars, bombarded the town.
It was important to get as many ships as possible upriver of Quebec. It would put them in a much safer position and allow the British to land troops. In doing so on the night of August 18, though, a vessel named Diana ran aground. For twelve hours she was fired upon by the French. It was necessary to throw most of her cannons overboard to lighten her. When she finally floated again, she was sent back to Halifax.
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