Chain Locker

by Bob Chaulk

  chapter thirteen

  “Ahead one third,” the captain roared, and the ship inched her way forward to take the strain off the anchor lines. “All right, raise the anchors.”

  Delighted to be observing his first departure as a member of the crew, Jackie heard the gears on the windlass rumble as he watched the familiar hairy rope wrap around the spools and run down into the chain locker. It would be even colder and damper and smellier down there now; he shuddered. A couple of minutes later the chain leader came up and the anchors clunked into place in the hawse-holes. Like insects, men moved about far above him as they set the sails. Black smoke bellowed out of the stack. Within half an hour Poole’s Island was retreating astern.

  “Not much ice about, Simeon,” said Darmy, “and no sign of another ship anywhere. You don’t suppose they’re all into the seals?”

  “Not without ice, they’re not. The seals can’t have their pups in the water.”

  “I’ll betcha they’re miles ahead of us and into the main patch,” Darmy whimpered with dismay.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t think there’s any such thing as a main patch. All my years at the ice I’ve seen big patches of seals and I’ve seen small patches, but as far as I’m concerned, all this talk about the main patch, where you got seals stretching as far as you can see, is just a myth. You can have two ships no more than a mile or so apart and one can get a load and the other not get a one.”

  “You must admit, though, that not seeing another ship around is not good.”

  “No, I must say I’m not too pleased about that,” said Simeon. “But, look on the bright side: if we run into some seals we’ll have them all to ourselves. There’s ice out there somewhere. We’ll see it by and by.”

  “Well, we better.”

  They had travelled most of the day towards the northwest before drift ice started to appear. Finally, west-northwest of the Funks, they were skirting the area of the north Atlantic where the ice got heavier and heavier until it stretched in an almost solid mass towards the North Pole. Down in the bowels of the Viking there was a steady thump-thud-thump as the clumpers bounced off the greenheart-clad waterline of the old ship. The ice became more plentiful as the day progressed, and before long the ship laboured to make her way. They saw a few old seals far off but they were looking for whitecoats, the newborn seals that yielded the lightest and most valuable oil. To Darmy’s relief, they also sighted another ship.

  All eyes followed the scunner as he climbed up the mast and perched himself in the barrel high above the deck in preparation for entering the ice field. They placed all their hopes on this lonely man high above them. On him lay the responsibility: first to find seals, and then to get the ship to them. Looking far ahead while judging the condition of the ice, he studied the leads of open water to determine how to get the ship farthest along her journey without getting her jammed. It wasn’t long before he was shouting orders to guide the helmsman through the maze.

  Men stood around and stared at the heavy ice to the north, eagerly anticipating the scunner’s declaration that there were seals ahead. Tension was running high and, after getting sworn at a couple of times, Jackie stayed out of the way, gazing over the port side towards the island of Newfoundland, while enjoying a welcome break from fetching flour, washing pans, mopping the floor and generally being ordered about by the cook. A voice from behind asked, “What are you seeing, young fella?”

  It was only when a person appeared alongside that he realized the question had been directed at him. “Nothin’,” he blurted, surprised that anybody would bother to talk to the most ignored person aboard other than to bark an order or tell him to get out of the way. The stranger was a youngish sealer of average height, with wide shoulders and a broad, friendly smile. “Just water and ice,” he smiled back shyly.

  “Yep, there’s certainly lots of that. There’s only one other thing worth seein’ out here,” the sealer replied, “what the old fellers call swiles.” The sealer stood near the rail and they both stared silently across the water for a few moments. “Well, if my calculations are correct, my home is in that direction.”

  “Where’s that to?”

  “Cottle’s Island.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “That’s not much of a surprise. Ever heard tell of Twillingate?”

  “Sure. Everybody’s heard of Twillingate.”

  “Well, if you look carefully off the quarter there, you can just see some land. That’s the island of Fogo. Now, the land to the right of that—that’s Change Islands. Further away and to the right—you can’t see it—is Twillingate. Just in from Twillingate is Cottle’s Island. Well, it’s not really an island at all. We just call it that. We actually live on New World Island.”

  Jackie thought that this made about as much sense as most place names in Newfoundland. “Did you get on the ship in St. John’s?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “That musta been a long trip. Why didn’t you just have the ship pick you up in Twillingate?”

  “Hah!” the sealer laughed. “A sealing ship don’t come for you, my friend; you go to the ship or you don’t go at all. Now, they’ll go into a place like Greenspond to pick up a whole crew but they can’t go ashore for one or two hands.”

  “The captain threatened to go ashore just to put me off and he didn’t seem to mind. I guess they’re more interested in gettin’ rid of guys than they are in pickin’ them up.”

  “Ah,” said the sealer with a chuckle, “you must be one of the gaffers who stowed away! I’m Henry Horwood,” he said as he looked up at the scunner. “I wonder if he’s gonna see anything today. He’s certainly high enough. C’mon, skipper, find us a few seals.”

  Jackie looked up. “He must be cold up there.”

  “I s’pose.”

  “I watched him climb up. It took him a long time to get all the way up there to the…topgallantmast?”

  “Topmast.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s right. Big sails, eh?”

  “Not overly. Big enough, I guess.”

  “Why do we have sails up when we got an engine? They must not be much help when we’re goin’ into the wind.”

  “They’re not being used to sail the ship; they’re keeping her steady. See the spanker back there on the mizzenmast? It acts like a giant rudder to keep the ship moving straight and narrow. You notice that all we got on her is a couple of staysails with the jibs up forward and the spanker back aft. If we didn’t have them set, this ship would be sloppin’ around like a cake of soap in a washtub.”

  “She could have used some steadyin’ on the way up from St. John’s. Why didn’t they have some up then?”

  “They did when we left St. John’s, but they had to take most of them in before they blew away. We almost lost a man trying to take in one of the staysails. A part of it blew free and wrapped all around him while he was trying to stow it. Everybody was waiting for him to come tumbling down out of it, but he hung on until a couple of fellers got up there and gave him a hand.”

  “You don’t have to tell me how wild it was. My arse is still smart-in’. I’m black and blue all over.”

  “What happened to you? I suppose you were stowed away in some godawful spot, were you?”

  “In the chain locker,” Jackie replied proudly, waiting for the reaction of astonishment he had seen from Reub.

  Henry laughed out loud. “That’s the problem with stowing away. You don’t always get the best quarters. You must be a lot tougher than you look.”

  Jackie smiled shyly. “You sound like you know a lot about ships. Can you teach me the names of all those lines?”

  “Probably, but why would you want to know? Ships like this one are on the way out. An old ship like this probably won’t be around in ten years.”

  “Well, she’s here now. So, what’s that line called?”

  “The jibstay, but why—”

  Suddenly the air was filled with a glorious yell. “Swiles!” shouted the barr
elman from on high, pointing over the vast, white wasteland. With a hand on the rigging, Henry leapt up onto a dory, as one by one those on deck started sighting the seals. The ship started turning and men scrambled aloft to change the set of the sails.

  Sealers swarmed onto the deck with an air of expectancy, checking their towing ropes and gaffs, their knives sharp and boots oiled. Jackie could feel the excitement as the bosun’s crew suspended the side sticks in preparation for a rally. Far off in the distance they could see sealers from the other ship on the ice taking seals—to the great annoyance of all aboard the Viking. Coal flew into the fires as the boilers delivered every pound of pressure the engineer dared force upon them, and the ship smashed her way along a narrow highway of water towards the target.

  “My sonny b’y, we’ll be into the fat soon,” an older sealer next to Jackie cackled, as he danced a little jig.

  “So long as we can get close enough for a rally,” his worrisome friend replied. “That ice up ahead looks pretty heavy.”

  “The Old Man’ll get us there or he’ll sink her tryin’. Fippers for supper, b’ys!”

  “If we get time for supper,” a third bellowed with delight. “I hope there’s enough of ’em to keep us goin’ ’til breakfast.”

  After a half hour of intense activity from the scunner, helmsman, and engineer as they twisted and turned the ship through the leads of open water, there came the authoritative voice of a master watch as he shepherded his men to the side of the ship. “Okay, you fellas can get down onto the side sticks. Mind yourselves there now before somebody goes overboard. You’re no good to nobody soppin’ wet.”

  Dodging the hostile elbows of a couple of sealers, Jackie craned his neck to watch as a dozen or so men climbed over the rail and lowered themselves to wooden beams suspended against the ship’s side just above the water. As the Viking weaved her way among the floes, each watched for an ice pan close enough to leap onto. Having seen his men safely spread along a substantial area of ice and already walking in the direction of the seals, the master watch headed down to the side stick. As he went over the gunwale, Captain Kean yelled after him, “Bring us back a feed now, boys. We’ll pick youse up in three or four hours.”

  “I’ll bring a few hearts back to you, Skipper,” the master watch yelled as his head disappeared below the rail.

  In the middle of all the commotion, the tallest man Jackie had ever seen appeared. Dressed in a long fur coat with a fur hat, he looked much too prosperous to be a seal hunter. He was talking in earnest to two equally well-dressed companions, pointing here and there, and discussing the whole scene being acted out before them.

  The captain turned his attention to the next group of hunters. “Now then, Simeon, we’ll drop your crowd off in brist of that next big hummock. That’ll put you closer to that next patch.”

  “We’re all set, Skipper.”

  “Who are they?” Jackie asked Henry, who was standing at the gunwale, staring down into the water as he waited for the word to spring over the side.

  Henry glanced up. “The ones with the fancy coats? I think they’re Americans.”

  “’Mericans? Where do they come from?”

  “Off ye go, me b’ys!” Simeon yelled, motioning with his arms.

  Henry put one leg over, straddled the rail, and tentatively looked down at the black water. “What did you say?”

  “From New York, are they?”

  “Yeah, I s’pose so.” He tucked his gaff under his arm, eased himself down the line to the side stick, and sprang onto the ice.

  Simeon stood on the side stick, grasping one of the ropes that suspended the beam about two feet above the black water sweeping below him. A small pan came by and in an instant he was on it. As it wobbled beneath his weight, he hopped to another, his toe skimming the water, and with the agility of a ballet dancer he flitted to another and then another until he was on the stable pack ice alongside his gang of sealers.

  chapter fourteen

  “Lije, what are you after fallin’ overboard?” Simeon asked a sealer who was shaking water from his pants and boots.

  “No, b’y, but I had like to,” Elijah Fogarty replied merrily. “I slipped on that balleycatter and down I went, souso, handy up to me arse. Just managed to catch meself before I went in any farther. I got to put a few more sparbles onto me boots when we get back, I guess. Don’t worry; I’ll manage.”

  “You’re soakin’ wet, sure. Do you want to go back aboard and get some dry pants?”

  “No, b’y; these are the only ones I got to me name. They’ll freeze in a few minutes and make a good break against the wind.”

  “All right then,” said Simeon. “I don’t suppose you’d be able to catch up to the vessel now, anyways.”

  The seals were almost a mile away and it was already mid-afternoon. Alternating between a fast walk and a trot, the ragtag group trekked across the ice, which was flat in places, but they sometimes had to climb over the pinnacles that formed where the ice floes got pushed atop one another in storms. When a sealer disappeared behind a pinnacle, Simeon kept watching until he reappeared. Like a diligent sheepdog, he shepherded his men, keeping an eye on the weather, the ice, and the ship until they were safely back aboard.

  “Watch yourself there, Clyde!” he yelled as the ice rose beneath a novice sealer and he fell on his face. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so,” the dazed man replied. “I’m not sure what happened. For a minute there everything was moving like I was drunk.”

  “You haven’t been holdin’ out on us, have you, Clyde?” Darmy quipped as he hustled past. “You got a bottle o’ rum back there and not sharin’ it?”

  “He don’t need rum when he got the ice to make him tipsy, eh Clyde?” laughed Henry.

  “You need to pay attention, Clyde,” said Simeon. “When one of those big waves comes up, you need to bend your knees and ride with it or you’ll end up on your face—but I guess you already found that out, heh, heh. Here, give me your hand.” He helped the embarrassed young sealer to his feet. “And mind when the wave goes past and you get the trough or you’ll find yourself up in the air, and then you’ll be on your arse. I’ve seen fellers get seasick out here.”

  “Right. Thanks, Simeon,” he replied hastily as he took off in the direction of the group.

  Simeon watched him go. “How in hell did he get aboard when there’s so many good fellers lookin’ for a berth?” he muttered. “Somebody’s relation, no doubt.”

  As they closed in on the seals their excitement rose until, like gold-crazed prospectors, they started running towards their Eldorado. There was a thump, then another and another as the long-handled gaffs went into the air and down on the skulls of whitecoat harp seals. Like white pincushions looking up through big moist eyes, the newborn seals had been in the world for a matter of days when one fierce blow ushered each one back out. Barely mobile, they were an ideal prey and the sealers worked quickly to make the most of the time left in the day. The mothers slithered around, snapping at the sealers and trying in vain to protect their newborn offspring, who were soon awash in a sea of their own bright red blood. The steam rose into the cold air as the little warm bodies were divested of their valuable white coats, which the sealers called sculps.

  “You owe me a quarter, Frank,” Darmy yelled. “I got the first one.”

  “Not yet, I don’t,” Frank replied with a grunt as he dispatched his first seal. “The bet is for the first one sculped, not the first one killed.”

  “Take ’er easy there, b’ys,” said Simeon calmly. “We got a long tow back. Pace yourselves, now.”

  A few skilful, well-practised strokes of his razor-sharp sculping knife and Dorman had a pelt, along with a three-inch layer of fat. “All right, then, now you owe me a quarter. Satisfied?”

  “Nice young fat, eh Simeon?” he said.

  “That’s the good stuff,” Simeon replied, with evident relish. “If we could fill the ship with the likes of this we’d have a fine heavy trip.
”

  This was the gold; the seal carcass was of no further interest, but since it was the day of first blood, they would take back enough meat for a feast.

  Simeon watched the sky as they harvested the last remaining seals. “Okay, b’ys, time to get ourselves organized and head back to the ship before it gets too dark. When everybody gets a tow we’ll pan the rest and mark them.”

  Taking from his pocket a flag that identified the Viking, he tied it to a pole and inserted the pole into the pile of sculps for pickup in the morning.

  Each man tied his towrope to a half-dozen or so sculps and they started back to the ship, a long line of men in single file. When they arrived at the pickup point, the ship was still a half-mile away, picking up another watch. So, even though it was dark, Simeon decided to take some of his men and return for another tow. They managed to get all the sculps back and saved themselves a trip in the morning.

  Jackie was itching to get on the ice and have a go, but it was out of the question; Reub was responsible for him and he was protective to the point of aggravation. Back near the galley, Jackie watched as the steam winch snarled and hissed, picking the day’s returns off the ice and swinging them onto the deck. The flippers, one still attached to each pelt, would be removed and cooked that evening. As the pelts swung on the cable, the flippers seemed to be waving hello to the jubilant workers on the deck, or perhaps it was goodbye to the glimpse of life they had experienced.

  “Those are just skins, ain’t they?” said Jackie. “Didn’t you say they were bringing seals aboard?”

  “Sculps, seals—all the same thing as far as we’re concerned,” said Reub. “What we care about is the pelt and the blubber, so it don’t matter if the sculp is on a body or not; we still call it a seal.”

  “But where does the meat come from, then? There are guys on every corner in St. John’s sellin’ seal meat. There’s always guys coming to the door with wheelbarrows full of it.”

  “My buddy and I done that one year when we couldn’t get a berth,” said Reub. “We shot a couple dozen old seals and shipped them in to St. John’s. Figured we’d make a dollar sellin’ it from door to door. We sold a bit, but there was too many fellers at it. Hardly made enough to get back home on.