by Bob Chaulk
The dead man had been on his mind all day but neither of them had mentioned it. Every time they looked in that direction they were reminded that they were sharing the ice floe with a corpse. There was an unspoken agreement between them: that part of the floe was now hallowed ground and out of bounds. Henry knew he should look for some identification on the body, but he couldn’t bear to see the man’s contorted face again.
“Henry,” said Jackie, “I’m sorry I got us into this.”
“How did you do that?”
“By not being able to swim. We could have swam across the water and be with the other guys now.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it. We would have been taking a crazy chance anyway; you saw how pulpy that slob ice was. Poor Darmy couldn’t even get across on his snowshoes.”
“I can’t stop thinking that it’s my fault.”
“Well, it’s not your fault,” said Henry. “It just turned out that way, that’s all. It’s nobody’s fault.”
“Do you think we’re gonna die?”
“Don’t be talkin’ like that, now! It’ll be all right. There’s bound to be a rescue ship come by today or tomorrow. They know we’re out here so the whole sealing fleet will be here lookin’ for us.”
“Yeah, but how would they find out that we’re out here? Who would tell them?”
“The same way your mother knows you stowed away. All the ships have Marconi sets. It’s the law—ever since all those fellers from the Newfoundland froze to death. The operator in Horse Islands would have sent a message to St. John’s and the other ships would have picked it up. You mark my words: this place’ll be swarmin’ with ships in no time.”
“I hope so, cause it’s getting’ colder,” said Jackie, as he flapped his arms.
“Yeah, I guess our little taste of spring is over. The wind is after shifting; that nor’west wind will certainly make it a bit colder. And, wouldn’t you know it? After having a clear sky all day until we’re almost blinded, now it decides to cloud over. We’re in for a dark night, I would say.”
“All I hope is that we don’t freeze to death.”
“Why don’t you move into the shelter? At least you’ll be in the lund, away from the wind.”
“Some shelter! I can’t see how I’ll be any warmer in a house made of ice blocks and with no roof.”
“Well, you’ll be better off than you are out here. We went through all the trouble of manhandling all those pieces of ice to build the thing, so we might as well make use of it.”
“Why don’t we light a fire? We could move all the wood down into the shelter and then it would be warm.”
“I’ve told you; we need to save the wood for a signal fire. We got it all clove up nice and arranged on the highest point we can find and that’s where it’s staying, so we’re ready as soon as a ship comes in sight.”
An hour after the western sky had given up the last vestiges of the day, they could barely see one another. Henry had the first watch, but Jackie was not inclined to try sleeping. Even though the air temperature was not as cold as it had been the previous night, the wind made it feel colder. Henry leaned against his gaff, with the point stuck into the ice, as Jackie stood next to him, with one hand grasping Henry’s sleeve, as much for comfort as for stability.
“So, if a ship don’t show up, is there a chance we could drift to shore?” said Jackie. “That could happen, couldn’t it?”
“Absolutely. But I still think a ship will find us first. You gotta have some faith, Jack!” He paused. “But let’s say we decided to continue the trip for the hell of it. We should be clear of Cape John by now. That’s the closest we’ll be to land for a long time. If we stayed on an easterly heading we would cross the mouth of Notre Dame Bay, and if we’re lucky we just might strike Fogo Island on the other side, maybe around Joe Batt’s Arm.”
“Fogo?” said Jackie. “Didn’t you point that out on the way up, when you were showing us the way to Cottle’s Island?”
“Yes, I believe I might have.”
“So we must be going back in the direction we came from?”
“If my navigating is correct, we are. You didn’t happen to see a flashing light anytime last night, did you?”
Jackie thought he detected a little doubt in Henry’s normally confident voice. “You mean like from a lighthouse? I saw it at the beginning but after a while it went away. Why?”
“That was the lighthouse on Gull Island, off Cape John.”
“I guess we’re not close to land, then, because I never saw it after.”
“I suppose the wind could be driving us to the east of it, then,” Henry said uncertainly.
“So if we’re driftin’ back the way we came, is there a chance we could end up back in St. John’s?”
Henry laughed. “No chance at all. We went north from St. John’s and then we bore west and nor’west. If we missed Fogo we would drift on out into the Atlantic on the Labrador current.”
“And we’d be goners,” Jackie said flatly.
“We would be if it wasn’t for the rescue ship that’s going to pick us up. Ashbourne’s got an auxiliary schooner in Twillingate, a big three-master with a gas engine—not a miserable old steam engine like the Viking had. If they can get her out of the harbour she could come by tonight. We would be right in her path, since Twillingate is between us and Fogo. And besides that—like I keep tryin’ to convince you—there’ll be other sealing ships, too. They could come from any direction. So we need to keep our eyes peeled tonight.”
After pondering Henry’s words for a few minutes, Jackie asked, “So if Twillingate is closer than Fogo, why wouldn’t we drift to Twillingate?”
“That could happen. We could end up driftin’ anywhere. If we got a north or nor’west wind we would go right up into Notre Dame Bay. Then there’s no end to the landfalls.”
“So why do you want to drift to Fogo?”
“It’s not that I want to end up in Fogo; it’s just that Fogo is the most northerly point of land to the east of us. Because it blew westerly all day yesterday and now it’s after swingin’ to the northwest, that should push us in the bay. It’s about fifty miles across the bay. You got Cape John on one side and Fogo on the other, so if we drifted right across we would hit Fogo. When we’re almost across there’s Twillingate.”
“Right.”
“I’m hoping that we’re far enough south right now that we’re lined up to hit Fogo. If we’re even farther south then, yes, we could hit Twillingate. But if we’re too far north, we’ll miss them both, which means there will be no hope of hitting land.”
Jackie was quiet for a while as the gravity of Henry’s last statement sank in. Then his disembodied voice came out of the darkness: “So there’s nothing at all past Fogo—just water?”
“Pretty much.” Another long silence. “Well, there’s the Funks I suppose, but that’s a long ways past Fogo and is a pretty small target. And to tell you the truth I think we’d be just as well off on the ice as we would be trying to get onto the Funks.”
“That’s where Simeon shot the polar bear, right?”
“Not as far as the Funks, but that’s where we were headed.”
“You must have got there, then, did ya?”
“We did.”
“That’s a queer name. What’s it like?”
Henry chuckled. “There’s not much to it, really; just a small rocky island maybe half a mile long, covered in bird shit.”
“Where did all the bird shit come from?”
“Where do you think? From the arse end of a lot of birds.”
“Well, I know; I’m not that stunned! But enough to cover a whole island? That sounds to me like a lot of birds.”
“There’s a whack of birds out there. I’ll bet there’s a million turrs alone, not to mention stearins and gulls and pigeons and God knows what else.”
“Pigeons? We got lots of them in St. John’s and I can tell you they know how to shit.”
“No, these are saltw
ater pigeons—diving birds—not a bit like your pigeons. Sometimes, when you see them swimming underwater, they look just like fish. They’re a barrel of fun to watch, dartin’ around.”
“I know what turrs are,” said Jackie. “Mom cooked some once. I had to plug my nose just to stay in the house. I never touched it for fear of being poisoned.”
“Sure, what’s wrong with you? You can’t beat a meal of stuffed turr, with that nice, dark, fishy gravy poured over your potatoes.”
“Yuck. I can think of a lot of things I’d rather have than that. I suppose you eat the stearins too—whatever they are.”
“No, they’re small and fast birds, hardly big enough to bother with. They got a crook in their wings and they dart around in the air. They can be good and saucy too, I’ll tell ya, and shit on your head if you go near their nests.”
“I like the birds that come to our bird feeder. We put seeds out for them in the winter.”
“I know someone else who likes birds,” Henry said softly. “Now, she could tell you the proper names for all of them. She knows the right name for everything.”
“Who’s that?”
“Just a schoolteacher I know.”
“Where does she live?”
“Twillingate.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” Jackie asked in a slightly hushed voice, uncertain about asking such a personal question, especially given the way Henry could get upset.
“I’m not sure, Brud. I wish I knew,” Henry replied, with a depth of feeling that even an adolescent boy could not miss.
Thinking of Emily brought Henry’s spirits down. He had nowhere near the confidence of rescue that he had been expressing to Jackie. Every mental image of an approaching ship was offset with one of drifting away, slow starvation, freezing to death. A part of him said that would be okay; at least it would end the dull ache in his heart. It was just as well that Simeon didn’t finish whatever he was on the verge of telling him about Emily and the new minister. He was still clinging to a glimmer of hope, and fought to keep the memory of Simeon’s grave expression from wiping it away.
It was obvious that Jackie couldn’t think of anything to say. Through the corner of his eye, Henry could see the helpless expression on his face. Henry wished he could say something to take away the awkwardness, but his inner resources were nearly exhausted. The uncomfortable silence dragged on, until Jackie finally ventured back to a safe topic.
“So, why is it called the Funks if it’s just one island?”
“Oh…uh, because there’s a couple of smaller islands, just rocks really, barely sticking above high-water level alongside it, and I think the three put together are called the Funks. Maybe it got its name from the smell. You don’t want to be downwind from the Funks on a hot day. Of course, there’s not too many hot days to worry about around here.”
“I have a hard time believin’ that there’s that much bird shit—”
“Sure, there’s islands down in South America with so much that they used to ship it to Europe for fertilizer on the fields. They call it guano, and when I was at sea I heard old fellers talk about working on guano ships.”
“A shipload o’ bird shit!” Jackie was aghast. “How could they stand it?”
“They never made any mention about it smelling bad. I’m sure it never stunk any worse than capelin on the potato fields on a hot day. That would take the hair off the inside of your nose.”
“Hah!” said Jackie, laughing out loud with a delight that Henry had never heard him express. It was good to hear. “Hair inside your nose; that’s a good one.”
“Now, people didn’t go out to the Funks to get bird shit—”
“No, ’cause they could come to St. John’s and stand under the pigeons on Water Street. Ha.”
“They went to get eggs. But, it’s hellish hard to land there. There’s no beach or harbour or anything like that, see, so you need to have decent weather and the tide has to be just so. You bring the boat alongside and wait your chance and then you jump onto a ledge they call the bench. You scravel up the slope to the top of the cliffs and then you’re all set. In breeding season sometimes the eggers would get hundreds of dozens. It’s a wonder to me how they could take so many eggs and not wipe out all the birds,” Henry continued. “They couldn’t get them all, I suppose. And, for the life of me, I can’t figure out how they got back aboard the boat without smashin’ ’em all.”
“I’m sure I’d break all mine,” said Jackie.
“I heard there used to be these big birds lived out on the Funks. They were wonderful swimmers and divers. I guess they were too stupid to be afraid of people, and even if they were, they couldn’t fly, so they were pretty easy to hunt—if you call that huntin’—no different from sealin’, though, I suppose. They’d get a whole shipload of them and salt them down, and before long they were all killed off.”
“Was that the Great Auk?” said Jackie. “I learned about them in school.”
“Great hawk, isn’t it, like a fish hawk?” said Henry.
“No, auk. Like the sound you make when you’re windin’ up to spit a big green one.”
“Well, now, since you bring it up—heh, heh—I’d say some fellers go hawk and some go auk,” said Henry.
“Hey, let’s have a spittin’ contest! See who can spit farther. I used to love those when I was a kid.”
“Before you grew up, eh?” said Henry. “Sure, but how are we gonna tell who wins. It’s as black as the inside of a bear.”
“Oh, yeah,” he laughed. “Tomorrow, then.”
The wind blew at their backs and they had to keep shuffling to stay warm, hunching their shoulders and tucking their heads down into their coat collars.
“Shockin’, you know, how greedy people can be sometimes, to wipe out a whole family of creatures like that,” said Henry. “Not a one left. I’ve seen the same thing with men on the sealing grounds. Not satisfied just to get a load; if there’s seals on the go they got to kill ’em all regardless. All I can say is that it’s a good thing the Funks is such a miserable, out-of-the-way place; otherwise there wouldn’t be a living thing left out there.”
“How far away is it from the land?”
“A nice ways off. Let’s see now, Offer Wadham is about ten or twelve miles off Musgrave Harbour, and the Funks is a good ways past that. Thirty-five miles, I suppose,” he said.
“What’s Offer Wadham?”
“An island.”
“What kind of name is that—Offer Wadham Island?”
“It’s an island named after somebody named Wadham, I suppose.”
“Yeah, but what does it mean, Offer Wadham?”
“Oh, that? Offer Wadham is farther off than the Wadham Islands. It’s offer. Get it?”
Jackie rolled his eyes. “Git away wit’ ya. You’re makin’ this up.”
“That’s the God’s truth—not a word of a lie.”
They stood silent for awhile, unable to move because of the darkness, each thinking of home. Then, Henry spoke. “I imagine a feller would be lonely out here by himself. Good thing we got company, eh?”
“Yeah, I’ll say,” Jackie replied.
“Sometimes standing the watch aboard ship gets pretty lonely. Four hours by yourself in the pitch-black night right up on the forepeak, gives you lots of time to imagine all sorts of things coming up out of the water to get you. I can see why sailors are so superstitious.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?”
“I don’t, but that don’t mean it can’t be creepy in the dark. I remember once when I was a gaffer I was walking back from Luke’s Arm by myself after being over to Art Boyd’s. It was in the summer, a nice warm evening and a bunch of us were having such a good time that I didn’t realize how late it had got. I was under firm orders to be home before dark and I kept drivin’ it off and puttin’ it off, thinking I could run all the way home. Before I knew it, it was that dark you couldn’t see a hand in front of your face.
“Well, there wa
s no way I could run in the pitch black. So, I started walking and, of course, before I knew it I was lost and somehow had myself believing I was in the graveyard. So I kept feeling for the headstones and I wasn’t findin’ any, but then I had this feeling there was something near me. I thought I could hear breathin’ but I wasn’t sure, so I stopped—”
“That’s enough! I don’t want to hear anymore,” Jackie’s panicked voice shot out in the darkness.
“No, there was no ghost; don’t worry—”
“Was it some guy carrying his head under his arm?”
“Let me finish. I could feel the hair standing up on the back of my neck. I kept thinking, ‘I know there’s something here.’ I could sense it. Then all of a sudden I tripped over something and went ass over teakettle—”
“What was it? A coffin? Was there a body in it?”
“Nah, it was a sheep!” Henry laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day I was scared half to death by a shitty-assed old sheep. Well, I let out a vicious yell and the stupid sheep was bleatin’ and there was such a racket it woke up Uncle Jack Anstey. It turned out that I was right by his house, but there was no light on because he goes to bed before dark in the summer. Doesn’t believe in ‘…stayin’ up ’til all hours with the lamps burning, wastin’ kerosene oil.’ So then I knew where I was—only half a dozen or so houses from ours. There was hell to pay when I finally showed up home.”
“Well, I suppose one of us should try to get a bit of sleep, eh? How are you feelin’? Do you want to keel out for a spell?”
“I’m not sleepy,” Jackie replied, as he pictured himself turning onto his street and walking the last hundred feet to his house. “Why don’t you go ahead and have a sleep and I’ll do the first watch?”
“Okay then,” Henry said. “Here’s the gaff. You can lean on it to keep yourself steady. Whatever you do, don’t put it down because we’re screwed if we lose it. If you see a light give me a call and we’ll get the fire goin’.”
With that, Henry curled up inside their crude ice shelter and, despite the discomfort, eventually fell into a fitful sleep.
chapter twenty-six
