by Bob Chaulk
“You up for trying your hand at sculping our little buddy here?” said Henry, smacking his lips as he plunked the empty bowl down.
“Sure. I wouldn’t mind.”
“All right then, flip him over,” said Henry as he swished his knife over the steel.
“You sure sharpen that thing a lot.”
“You got to keep it sharp to do the job right. You be careful, now, and make sure you finish the job with all ten fingers. The only blood I want to see on the ice is the seal’s. Okay, here’s the knife; get goin’.”
By the time Jackie was finished there was blood and guts spread everywhere. “There you go, b’y; your first sculp, took off a seal that you swatted with your own hands. Now your buddies’ll be lookin’ up to you.”
Henry kicked and prodded the guts and scraps into the water. “Come and get it, sharks. Here’s a light lunch fer ye,” Henry joked.
Jackie’s eyes widened. “Sharks? You’re kiddin’ me, right?”
“If there’s saltwater there’s sharks,” said Henry, “and they love a feed of seals, just like the polar bears do. Now you take all this guts and blood spread around here. I allow if there was a bear within a hundred miles he could smell that and find his way here. In fact, if he had to he could probably swim the hundred miles.”
“Okay, shuddup about that; I don’t want to hear any more of it,” said Jackie. “I got enough stuff to think about without having to worry about sharks down there and bears up here. I wish you hadn’t told me that polar bear story either; I been thinkin’ about it ever since.”
“Don’t be such a scaredycat, b’y. If there was either bear around, he would’ve had us for his dinner by now.”
chapter thirty-three
On Wednesday morning Ada took her regular walk to the post office to read the daily newsbook. She usually dropped by after dinner, a leisurely undertaking to catch up with what was going on in the outside world, but today there was a heightened sense of urgency to her errand.
“Good morning, Bertha,” she said to the heavy-set woman at the desk.
“Hello Ada,” Bertha replied in a wheezy voice, looking up over her glasses. “You’re here early this morning,”
“Yes, maid, I haven’t slept these last few nights, worrying about those poor men that were on the sealing ship. Did anything come in about them today?”
“There’s some. I’m just getting to it now. There was more news than usual today, so I’m running a bit behind.”
Bertha kept writing, transcribing the news that had come in from St. John’s via the post office telegraph service that morning. While Ada waited, she sat at the reading desk, and patiently reread the old newsbook. Finally Bertha pushed herself up from the desk and waddled, puffing from the exertion, to where Ada sat. My, she sounds worse than ever, Ada thought. She must have TB, for sure. “There you are, my dear,” Bertha said, passing her the paper. “There’s a letter come for Emily, if you want to take that with you.” She shuffled back to her duties.
Ada absently took the letter—probably from one of the multitude of friends Emily had made at college—as she scanned the news-book quickly, searching through the list of those accounted for and those missing from the Viking. Sure enough, there among the missing was Henry’s name. She felt tears welling in her eyes and gave herself a moment to let it sink in, before rereading the list of those accounted for, in the hollow hope that perhaps his name might be there, too. She confirmed that Simeon and Alf and Bert were there, and then she solemnly closed the book.
She dropped in to see Sadie on the way home.
“I think he’s perished, girl,” Ada said, as she placed her teacup back in the saucer. “Sure, the ship was lost on Sunday and now ’tis Wednesday. You know they got lots of vessels out there searching, and if there’s still no sign of him by now, then he must be gone.” Her voice rose with emotion. “When I saw his name on that list this morning I got a sick feeling that we’d never see him again, Sade. I’m dreadin’ the thought of how Emily will take this.”
Since the first news of the Viking’s loss, Ada had managed to keep her mouth shut, but now she was unsure of what to do. She had learned years ago how much Emily hated it when she interfered in her life, especially when it had to do with an affair of the heart. Now, she fretted over how to help Emily through the most serious crisis in her young life, feeling her daughter’s pain as though it were her own.
When Emily walked into the house that afternoon, it was obvious to Ada that she knew: her expressive face was wet with a mixture of melting snow and tears. Ada did not need to think about what to do next. She ran to Emily, took her in her arms, and sobbed with her, once again comforting her turbulent little girl. They wept for Henry together.
“Oh, Mama, I’ve had a knot in my stomach ever since I saw Henry’s name printed there; it looked so cold and official.”
“I know, dear,” said Ada.
“I can’t believe I dilly-dallied like that all through the winter, and now the man I love is being taken from me. Henry is going to freeze or starve to death—maybe he already has, and he’s died after having read the words of that awful, dismissive letter, without ever knowing how I really feel. I’ll never get to tell him how sorry I am for being so insensitive and selfish.
“What will people think of me? They’ll think I deserve this grief after turning my back on my love, and they’ll be right.”
“Well, she’s broke right up,” Ada said to Sadie later that evening.
“The poor soul. But he might still be found, you know. He’s just listed as missing.”
“I can’t see it happening, girl. Sure, tonight would be his fourth night out on the ice—and no one but a youngster with him on top of that. It would have to be a miracle.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first miracle,” Sadie protested. “And Henry is strong and healthy, and after all those years sealing with Levi and Simeon he certainly knows how to get by. It’s not like somebody saw him dead, God forbid. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“I suppose so. It just breaks my heart, though, to see her so upset. I hate to have to say it and it probably don’t sound very good, but the best thing for her is to get her mind off Henry. You know, Sade, we’ve all had our share of crises and done our share of crying, but you got to pick yourself up and get on with your life.”
“Ada, my dear, slow down!”
“Well, I want to see Emily settled down with somebody, and there’s the minister interested in her and her crying over somebody that she’s most likely never going to see again—”
“What’s your hurry? We have to see what happens. If she’s meant to be with Henry then he will be found—although the minister would be a good catch, there’s no denying that,” said Sadie.
“Sade, you mark my words: it pains me to have to say it, but Henry is never going to set foot in this house again.”
“My gosh, Ada. Have a heart, will you? That’s my nephew you’re talking about,” Sadie pleaded and started to cry.
“I’m sorry, maid,” said Ada as she put a consoling hand on Sadie’s shoulder. “I don’t know what’s got into me. I shouldn’t be talkin’ like this.”
Sitting in her rocking chair back in her kitchen, Ada quietly decided that one more plot on Emily’s behalf was in order: if Henry wasn’t rescued by Friday, she would begin to encourage Emily to continue the relationship with Basil. She did not want Basil to slip away, nor did she want Emily to end up like Bill, alone and lonely. Besides, it was time she had some grandchildren—and she had pretty well given up on Bill to provide them.
As she sat mulling over the details, Emily’s agitated voice came from the pantry. “Mama, what’s this letter addressed to me doing here?”
“Oh, dear, I’m sorry. I got that at the post office. With all the goings on, I must have forgotten to give it to you. Is it from one of your friends from college?”
There was a long pause before Emily replied, “No, I…I think it’s from Henry.”
&
nbsp; “Oh?”
chapter thirty-four
“Okay, take her up!” the mate ordered, as the ropes quivered like guitar strings and the heavy dory rose from the ice.
“Those fellers don’t look the best, Herb,” Arch Pollard declared with a sober countenance, leaning over the rail of the Beothic.
“At least they’re alive,” said the man next to him. “They were a long time in that dory. I heard that a bunch of fellers tried to haul them to the island the first night, workin’ like dogs, as you can imagine. They kept at it the whole night until, one by one, they had all left and struck out on their own. I s’pose they were afraid that the whole works of them would be lost, which wouldn’t do nobody any good.”
“It’s a wonder they’re alive at all,” said Arch.
“Some of them made it to the island and finally came back with food and water late yesterday—that’s two days and two nights without even a drop of water! Then they had to wait another thirteen hours before we showed up.”
“Imagine,” said Arch, “sixty-five hours flaked out in that dory when you’re seriously hurt.”
“Tough as nails,” said Herb, “and you see that tall feller just walkin’ aboard there? That’s Bill Johnson, their master watch. He stuck with them for the whole time—‘until I die or they die;’ that’s what he said.”
“Comin’ aboard under his own steam after sixty-five hours, and no sleep! He’s one tough customer.”
From the deck of the Beothic, they could see other ships ahead of them, all trying to get through the ice to Horse Islands. “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if there isn’t more men out there driftin’ around,” said Arch. “I heard the Sagona picked up three more on her way up here. That looks like her up ahead there, now. She looks like she might be stopped.”
“She better not be stuck,” said Herb. “She’s the one carryin’ the doctors and nurses. I imagine those fellers who made it to the island are in rough shape after the tussle they’ve had.”
“I would say the Imogene over there is not doin’ any better. If a brand new steel icebreaker like her can’t get in, then there’s no hope for any of them. She’s still got a good four or five miles to go.”
“God help us, Arch, how are those fellas ever gonna get medical help if they can’t—what’s the goin’ on over there by the Sagona, now?”
The second mate appeared. “Okay, b’ys, get your skinnywoppers on. You’re goin’ ashore.”
“Ashore? I don’t see no shore to go to, Jacob?”
“We just got word from St. John’s not to wait any longer for the ice to clear up,” said the mate. “They want us to walk in to the islands and bring the men out.”
“Oh, great!” Arch grumbled.
“The people there are just about out of grub and they haven’t got enough room to get all the fellers in out of the weather,” said the mate. “The injured men are suffering something shockin’, so the doctors and nurses are going ashore to get them ready. The ones who can manage it are already on the way out.”
“God help us! They’ll be drowned!” Herb protested. “My dear man, half froze and half starved and now those poor buggers got to walk five miles back out again over the ice? They’ll never stick it.”
“If you’d quit worryin’ and get your arse movin’ you could go over there and lend a hand with the medical supplies,” the mate replied sharply. “There’s food to be took ashore, too. The Sagona just got her crew aboard and they’re all needed to man the ship, so we’re gonna send everybody we can spare over to her and you can get your orders from there.”
As the rescue party arrived at the Horse Islands, Henry and Jackie were beginning their fourth night on the ice. The sky was clear now, but before sunset the clouds had thickened and dumped a couple of inches of snow, making the ice even more slippery than usual. Henry had to keep reminding Jackie to pass the gaff back when he had finished his watch; he was in perpetual fear that it would slip overboard and drift away, taking with it their ability to provide food, warmth and a means of signalling. This simple and crude implement was key to their tenuous hold on life.
After the excitement of getting the seals and the work of cleaning and skinning them, they were both tired out, but neither was inclined to sleep. The northern night was long at this time of year, and even though they alternated between watch time and sleep time, it still dragged on. The cold prevented anything but the bare minimum of sleep: enough to survive and that was all. The extra pelts promised a slightly more comfortable rest tonight.
Henry was rechecking the tip and hook of the gaff, making sure everything was well secured and tight, as he had been doing often of late. Not a word had passed between them for at least an hour when out of the darkness came Jackie’s familiar and welcome voice. “I been thinkin’ about the schoolteacher in Twillingate. What’s she like?”
“Jack, b’y, you made me jump. I though you were sound asleep.”
“I wish I was, but no luck; so what’s she like?”
“What’s she like, how?”
“I dunno. What does she look like?”
“Well, she’s pretty, I suppose. Has long reddish-brown hair, brown eyes—.”
“Is she fat?”
“No, she’s not fat. She’s kind of small, to tell you the truth.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend but if I had one I don’t think I’d want a fat one.”
Henry laughed. “No?”
“Nope.”
“My grandfather used to say that a fat wife was the best kind. He said there was no point in having a wife that was too poor because she wouldn’t be able to do any work.”
“My mother is not fat but she does lots of work,” Jackie countered.
“I’m sure she does, but you need to know my grandfather. He has his own ideas on everything. He used to say, ‘Henry, b’y, there’s a great job, bein’ a minister. They only works one day a week, except for the occasional wedding and funeral, and even then there’s always free grub on the go.’”
“Sure, that’s all the priests do,” Jackie replied, “except now and then they come to school and tell stories about hell and scare the shit out of everybody.” He went quiet for a moment. “What do you think about hell?”
“Hell? I don’t think about it at all. What’s all this about, now?”
“Do you think people go there?”
“I don’t even know if there’s such a place,” said Henry. “There’s some that like to scare you and say that if you don’t go to church you’ll end up in hell, and there’s some say you got to be saved or you’ll burn in hell. I’ve met a few who seemed to like the idea of other people burnin’ in hell, but I don’t know how they can be so sure if nobody has ever visited there and come back to tell about it.”
“Yeah, but once you’re in hell you don’t get out, right?”
“Somebody must have. Otherwise how would we know about it?”
Jackie hesitated. “Huh! I never thought about that. But the priest told us you wouldn’t get out and they know about all that stuff, don’t they?”
“They think they do.”
Jackie recalled the priest warning them about this in catechism classes. It was just the kind of answer you could expect from a Protestant. The priest had alerted them about the wiles of Protestants and how they would try to turn them against the true Church with their clever but errant arguments. He wasn’t going to be fooled.
But the thought that Henry was heading for hell simply because he had been born into the wrong religion didn’t seem fair. There must be some special place for the good Protestants, where they could work off their sins, he thought: a Protestant version of Purgatory. Henry probably wouldn’t need to be there for long.
Feeling a little uncomfortable with this line of thinking, he brought the conversation back to the less thorny subject of fat wives. “So what makes a fat wife able to do more work?”
“You got me, Brud. When Joe Cooper got married last year to Patsy Downton I heard one old fe
ller from Dildo Bight say, ‘I don’t know what he wants to marry her for. Sure, there’s nar bit o’ fat onto she; she’ll be a poor hand to work.’”
He spoke slowly and deliberately in a deep nasal voice that made Jackie laugh. “You must be good in a concert.”
“They all talk like that up in Dildo Bight,” said Henry. “I can only make out about half of what they say.”
“Where do you come up with all these stories?”
“‘Get yourself a hearty wife, Henry, b’y,’ my grandfather used to say, ‘so she can keep you warm at night and spend the days up on the flake makin’ the feesh.’”
“Makin’ the fish? What’s that supposed to mean? God made the fish.”
“It’s just a term for saltin’ and dryin’ cod ’til it’s cured. And, of course, when they say fish they mean salt cod. Otherwise they call it fresh fish.”
“Mom does that,” Jackie interjected.
“I was up to Moreton’s Harbour one time with my mother when I was little and she goes into Knight’s store to buy some stuff. ‘Have you got either fresh fish today, Lemuel?’ she says, and he replies, ‘No, my dear, but I got some lovely salmon just come in.’”
Jackie had no interest in the local etymology of sea creatures. “So I guess your grandfather wouldn’t be too satisfied with the teacher. Are you gonna marry her anyway?”
“Oh, I doubt it. Maybe I’ll take his advice and find myself a hearty wife.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’d want to marry a teacher. I’d be scared of her always correcting my English—course, Mom does that—or inviting my friends to a birthday party and makin’ them do math because she thinks it’s fun. The teachers I have don’t seem to laugh much either.”
“Just barely human, eh?”
Jackie chuckled. “Yeah. And what if she found you carrying on or enjoying yourself? Then you’d catch it. But I don’t care about that anymore because if I get out of this I’m not going back to school. I’m headin’ to sea.”
“You’re what? Quittin’ school?”
