A Night in the Manx Museum

by Michele McGrath

  A couple of years later, Juan took him out for his walk as usual. At first, we did not miss them, because it was the summer holidays and he had done all his work before he left. I thought he had gone down to the village but I had not asked him where he was off to. He was always back in time for tea. But this time they did not come. My wife was cross. She never liked anyone being late, when she’d put good food on the table. She held the dinner back as long as she could, but when he still did not come, we started without him. He would be in trouble when he returned. Evening was coming, although the sky was still bright because of the time of the year. My wife was becoming more and more anxious with every minute. Something had to have happened to them. Juan would never stay out so late, he knew we would worry. Then we heard a weak bark. We ran down the lane, and there was Rory. He was a mess. He was limping and there was blood on his paws. His fur was white with salt water. But there was no sign of Juan. My wife dropped onto her knees and lifted his head.

  ‘Where is he, boy?’ she asked. The dog got to his feet and limped a few steps along the way that he had come. He looked round in our direction and he barked again.

  ‘He wants us to follow him!’ she said.

  ‘Hold him a minute!’

  I hurried back into the cottage and picked up a stick and some rope. I had a feeling that I would be needing them. ‘He can barely walk,’ my wife said when I got back, ‘look at the state of him!’

  ‘Let him go,’ I said, ‘he may know where the boy is and he’s made it plain that he wants us to come with him.’

  She let him go and Rory staggered off, with his nose on the ground, following the scent. We followed behind; sick with worry and willing him to go faster but we both knew better than to press the animal that was doing the best that he could. He led us for almost three miles, down to the beach. On a rock there was a pile of clothes, Juan’s clothes. Nearby there was some blood on a rock.

  ‘That’s where the dog cut himself,’ my wife said, ‘and that’s why there’s salt on his coat.’

  ‘Where’s the boy, then?’ We looked round, peering at the cliffs and out to sea.

  ‘There he is! Over there!’

  There was a small flash of white on one of the rocks. I had completely missed it, but my wife had very sharp eyes. I pulled off my boots, dropped my stick on the ground and coiled the rope round my waist.

  ‘You’ll be drowned. Wait! Let me go for help.’

  ‘The boy’s been on that rock for hours,’ I said, ‘we don’t know how much longer he can hold on. And if the dog can do it, blind as he is, I can do it too.’

  She said no more to stop me and I waded out through the surf. It was a hard swim against the tide and harder still to climb up on the rocks in my stocking feet. But I made it. Juan was stuck in a crack in the rock. His ankle was broken and he was as cold as ice, but he was alive. He put his arms round me as I lifted him onto my back and tied him there with the rope.

  When he saw me, he said just the one word, ‘Rory?’

  ‘Safe with your mother,’ and he relaxed against me.

  In spite of the weight, the return journey was easier because I was no longer swimming against the tide and it pushed us to the shore. My wife left us all on the beach, once she had convinced herself that we were all going to live and ran home for the horse and the cart. And so we got home. Juan’s ankle mended and so did Rory’s cut paws, but he never got his sight back. He lived with us until the end of his life, which was long and happy. My wife said that, with this one deed, he had earned his own keep for the rest of his life. I used to say that letting the boy keep his dog was the best bargain I ever made. Juan did well too. He kept on with his studies and became a schoolmaster, though he still helps me on the farm as often as he can.”

  Ellen had tears on her cheeks when Mr. Kinnish had finished and Sophie’s eyes were bright. They thanked him for telling them his story and Mrs. Kinnish for her tea and bonnag.

  “Run away now, chicks, your mothers will be looking for you,” she said.

  They waved to the old people and left.

  Chapter Eight: The Wreckers.

  “I’m still hungry,” Sophie said, “that bonnag was good, but if we go to Mrs. Kelly’s she might have some gingerbread. Thursday’s her baking day.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Ellen, “I love gingerbread.”

  The girls hurried along the corridor, tiptoed past the Bay Room and ran down the stairs. They passed the haywain, where Ellen had hidden. It seemed ever such a long time ago.

  The little shop opposite was full of light. A bright-eyed old woman, wearing an old fashioned bonnet, was measuring sugar into small blue paper packets. She put down her ladle and smiled at the girls.

  “Fastyr mie, Mrs. Kelly. This is my friend Ellen.”

  “Fastyr mie, Sophie, fastyr mie, Ellen. What can I do for you this evening?”

  “Have you any gingerbread, please?”

  “Baked just this morning.” She passed them two gingerbread men with currant eyes.

  They smelled delicious. Ellen took hers, which seemed to shimmer, and took a bite. It tingled, just like all the food that she had had in the Museum but it was very good. Sophie paid and they thanked the old lady and left.

  “Where to, now?” Ellen asked, between bites of gingerbread.

  “Mrs. Teare’s farm. She’s great fun and she has a new baby. He’s very sweet.”

  It was only a few steps away from the shop and the top half of the farm door was open. Sophie knocked on the frame and called out, “Hello, Mrs. Teare, it’s me, Sophie!”

  “Hush not so loud!” said a voice from inside, “the baby’s asleep. Come in.”

  The girls lifted the latch quietly. Ellen found herself in a big old-fashioned kitchen, with a fire roaring on the open hearth. A young woman in a long striped skirt and a crisp white apron was sitting spinning in front of the fire. Beside her was a wooden cradle on runners and she was rocking it with her foot as she spun.

  “Can we have a look at the baby, please?” asked Sophie.

  Mrs. Teare nodded so the girls came and peeped into the cradle. The baby’s eyes were all buttoned up and a single red curl had escaped from the embroidered bonnet he was wearing. He was about five months old. Ellen had never seen a new baby before and Sophie was right, he was very sweet.

  “What is his name?” Ellen asked.

  “Cornelius Aloysius” his mother said proudly.

  Ellen gulped and avoided Sophie’s eyes. She stopped herself shouting with laughter and managed to say, “What a nice name. It suits him,” although she could not help thinking that it was an awful name for a poor little baby.

  “My daughter, Annie, chose it. My husband said it had a nice ring to it. It’s unusual.”

  “Yes it is,” Ellen agreed, hoping that her face did not give her away.

  Luckily, the lady was intent on her work and did not notice. Mrs. Teare halted her wheel and put down the spindle. She took down the large black kettle that was steaming on the hearth and poured the hot water into a big brown pot that was standing ready. She handed the girls large cups of tea. Sophie sipped carefully, but it was too hot for Ellen and she put hers down to cool.

  “Would you tell us a story please, Mrs. Teare?” Sophie asked.

  Mrs. Teare laughed. “You’re a great one for stories, aren’t you, girl? I’ll tell you one until you’ve finished your tea and then I must skim the cream for the butter.” She settled herself back on her chair, picked up the spindle again and started to rock the cradle.

  “When I was young, I lived in the south of the island. I didn’t move here to Jurby until I was married. My father had a croft on the hill overlooking the Sound and my brothers were all at the fishing. People were poor in those days, most of them barely making a living. Most people worked hard and helped each other as much as they could, but there were some that were evil. They thought nothing of setting lights on the headlands to lure ships into the wrong channels so that they would be wrecked on the ro
cks. My father would have nothing to do with it, nor would my brothers, who were seamen themselves. The men who did those things were rough and would have beaten anyone who interfered with them, so most people left them alone.

  I used to dread a foggy or a stormy night. It was horrible to hear the grating of a ship’s timbers against the rocks and the cries of the people who were flung into the water. I would never walk on the beach for days afterwards, in case some poor drowned soul had washed up on the sands. Once, Mother and I found a baby, not much older than this one here. Mother wrapped it in her shawl and took it to the pastor so that it could be buried. We never knew its name.” She shook herself as if she was trying to get rid of the memory.

  Anyway, one night, Mother and Father were away visiting, and there was only my brother Jimmy and his friend Louis in the house with me. The wind was rising and we could hear it whistling in the thatch. Jimmy took a lantern out to see if all the ropes were tight and that the byre door was latched. He was blue with cold when he came back and the sack he had thrown over his shoulders was soaked. ‘It’s going to be a bad one,’ he told us, rubbing his hands to make them warm again. We sat beside the fire, listening to the wind rising. It was starting to send smoke back down the chimney.

  Louis went outside at one point and when he came back, he said, ‘What are those lights on the hills?’

  Jimmy and I jumped up and went to look. He pointed to the hill and sure enough there were several lights blazing. ‘They’re at it again,’ said Jimmy, ‘there must be a ship out there.’

  ‘Can’t we do anything to stop it?’ I pleaded, thinking of the baby who had drowned. I still went every Sunday to put flowers on the grave of the little lost soul. Jimmy just looked at me.

  ‘You know we can’t do anything,’ he said harshly, ‘you’ve heard of the things they do to people who try to stop them. Leave it and pray that the Captain ignores the lights and holds his course.’

  ‘He’ll be lucky to do that in this weather,’ Louis said, ‘if those lights are set right, he’ll think it’s the town and he’ll run right up on the rocks. I know I would if I was steering.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘Some escape. They’ve heard the stories and they’re not fooled but if it’s a stranger…’

  ‘What does happen to those who try to stop them?’ Louis asked him, but he was looking at me. Although I did not yet know it, Louis was fond of me and he had heard the distress in my voice.

  ‘A couple of people have tried and they got badly beaten for their pains. One man only just survived. There are a lot of wreckers and they’re tough. There would be a fight if we tried and there’s just too many of them.’

  ‘Don’t the constables try to stop it?’

  ‘Sometimes, but they are usually in the wrong place and there’s not enough of them either.’

  ‘Most decent people hate the wrecking,’ I said, ‘Father, and Mr. Cain and Mr. Shimmin all want to stop it. I heard them talking about it after church one day. The parson was preaching about the evil of it, Dadda said.’

  ‘How many wreckers are there at any one time?’

  ‘No one really knows. It doesn’t do to get close. About a dozen I suppose.’

  ‘And how many have tried to stop them?’

  ‘One or two.’

  ‘Surely it wouldn’t be hard to find a dozen men and women round here who hate it as you do?’ Louis asked.

  ‘Oh yes! Jimmy, there must be!’ I cried. ‘Mr. Shimmin has all those lads and I know there’re others.’

  ‘They won’t want to be in a fight.’

  ‘How do we know unless we ask them?’ I said eagerly. ‘Couldn’t we try, Jimmy? I can’t bear the thought of another dead baby.’

  ‘If no one does anything, it will always go on,’ said Louis.

  ‘There’ll be trouble.’

  ‘You and I face trouble every day at the fishing. Mary’s right. No baby should have to die because of the greed of those scoundrels.’

  Jimmy nodded. He wasn’t a coward. He’d just grown up thinking that it was something he could do nothing about, until a stranger made him think. Jimmy was my favourite brother and he was a good man. I knew he hated the cruelty, deep inside.

  ‘Who do you know is against it?’ he asked me.

  ‘Robert Cain… Juan Christian… his brother Tom. Most of them really.’ I had heard enough talk.

  ‘Right. This is what we’ll do,’ said Jimmy. ‘Wake everyone up. We’ll rouse the village. Most of them won’t be able to sleep anyway, with this wind. I’ll take the south side. Mary, you take Louis to the north as he doesn’t know the people here. Tell them to bring pitchforks and cudgels, anything they’ve got really and to meet us where the road forks for the point. If we hurry and are able to disperse the gang, we can put out the lights in time to save the ship.’

  It was a wild run on a wet night. I was breathless, my skirt ripped and my shoes were squelching with mud by the end of it. Many more people joined us, than I had ever thought possible. Virtually every man in the village turned out, including the pastor and old Mr. Shimmin who could hardly walk without a stick. We marched up to the headland. The wreckers came towards us and they had staves and knives. Louis pushed me behind him, so I did not see a lot of what happened, but I heard the roar of a shotgun that one of the gang loosed at the crowd. Two of the men who were in front fell, with pellets in their legs. They thought they would frighten us off with the shot, but one of the men who had fallen was the pastor. He gave a great roar as he lay there on the ground and that was the signal we had been waiting for.

  We charged and there were more of us and everyone was very very angry. The women were angry too. I saw old Mrs. Corrin hitting a man over the head with her iron pan yelling ‘Take that you vermin!’ The fight did not last long and the wreckers who weren’t lying on the ground, were running away down the hill. We put out the lights and set the wrecker’s boats adrift. Tom Crellin went for the constable and handed over those members of the gang we had caught and tied up. The ones who escaped never came back. The ship was saved. We saw her sails billowing as she changed tack and moved away from the rocks. We all stood on the headland and cheered. And that was the end of wrecking in our part of the island.

  Other villages decided to follow our example, once they had seen what could be done, and gradually it stopped. I always felt afterwards that the baby my mother and I had found had died for a reason, and that reason was to stop the evil that had killed him.”

  She smiled, “Jimmy went back to the fishing and I was married to Louis the following spring. We came here to live in Jurby, close to his people and almost as far as you can get in the island from the place I was born.”

  Although Sophie and Ellen had sipped their tea very very slowly, so that they would hear the end of the story, it was all gone. Reluctantly they had risen and began to thank Mrs.Teare for the story and the tea, when they heard a lot of feet coming down the stairs. Mrs. Teare looked out of the cottage door.

  “It’s your mother and father returning from the concert. I wanted to go, but I couldn’t because of the baby. I will one day when Cornie here can look after himself.”

  “Sophie! Sophie!”

  “Here Mamma!” Sophie’s mother put her head through the cottage door.

  “There you are! Thank you for looking after them, Mary. I hope they haven’t been too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. They have been good company. It’s not often that I get someone new to listen to my stories.”

  Sophie’s mother smiled but she looked anxious. “Thank you. But it’s getting light. Time for Sophie to go to sleep, before all the curators arrive. But I don’t know what to do about Ellen. She should have been home long ago. Why did you not ask Monarch to take her as you were supposed to do?” she asked her daughter, who hung her head.

  But it had not really been her fault. Ellen felt very guilty, because she had forgotten all about going home hours ago. She had been having too much fun and it had gone completely out of her
head. She could not leave Sophie to take the blame.

  “It was my fault,” she said, “I was having too much fun and I completely forgot.”

  “Your mother will be frantic about you. Not in all night!”

  “She won’t be home yet. She doesn’t get in till almost nine in the morning. If I sneak out when the museum opens, and hurry home, I can be back home, before she finds out I’ve been gone.”

  Sophie’s mother relaxed a little and she stopped frowning. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I would hate her to be worried. If Sophie did such a thing to me…” Words failed her but Sophie grinned.

  “I wouldn’t Mamma, you know that,” she said with a straight face, but she winked at Ellen.

  “We’ll need to hide you until the building opens.”

  “I could go back under the straw,” Ellen suggested.

  “No, it’s all dirty in there and you should not have been there in the first place.”

  “She can stay here,” Mrs. Teare offered. “She can lie on the far end of the bed and have a bit of a rest, while she’s waiting. It isn’t easy to see into that corner and they never look too closely.”

  “That would be very good, thank you.”

  Sophie’s mother turned to her, “Say goodbye, quickly then and come to bed. It’s very late.”

  She smiled at Ellen, “I’m glad you could stay and play with Sophie, sometimes she gets lonely.”

  Ellen and Sophie looked at each other. Ellen felt very sad. It had been so much fun and she liked Sophie very much. Sophie threw her arms about her and the girls hugged.

  “I’ve never had a friend like you before.”

  “Me neither!”

  “I wish you could stay here always.”

  “It would be fun, wouldn’t it? But you know I can’t.”