Ghosts of James Bay (9 page)

Staffe returned to his seat by the fire. “I fear Wydhowse and Fanner are neither long for this world.”

Hudson nodded, then turned to look at me. “How did you come to this place, Master Al?”

This was it. The direct question I had been dreading. Impossible-to-explain images of trains, pickup trucks, and helicopters flooded my tired brain.

“By canoe,” I said, “but it hit a rock and was holed. I was attempting to walk back when I met Jack on the beach.”

“Then it is possible to walk to this Ottawa of which you spoke?”

I was trapped. I couldn't mention the camp by the big rock without explaining why it wasn't there or, more correctly, wouldn't be there for centuries.

“Yes,” I lied, “but it's very far. A canoe would be easier, but your boat's too big for the rivers that lead that way.”

Hudson nodded. “And to what purpose came you here?”

That was a tough one. To dig up garbage tips to try to
prove someone came here before you didn't seem like a very good answer. “I came to see if the stories my people had heard of strangers visiting this land were true.”

“The salvage who came to trade in the winter,” Staffe interjected.

“It would seem so,” Hudson said, “although we have probably been much observed without our knowing it. Certainly news travels fast in these lands. In any case, your arrival here, young Master Al, and your knowledge of this land I take as a sign. We must look to our own resources if we are to escape. Thus we must make contact with the French at Quebec.” Hudson's eyes met mine, and there was an intensity to them that seemed to burn out of the sunken cheeks. “Will you help us to that end, or at least to achieve your Ottawa?”

There was no way I could refuse the plea. In any case, what would be the point? I had nowhere else to go. I had no control over returning to my own time and, if I was stuck here in 1611, I was in the same predicament as Hudson and his party.

“Certainly,” I replied. “My people would be honoured to meet you.” At least my father would.

“Good.” Hudson gave me a weak smile. “Then there is no point in delay. Come the morrow, you Jack, Philip, and Al must go south. You will—”

“What of you, Father?” Jack interrupted.

“I will remain here with Wydhowse and Fanner. I am too old and weary for the journey you have before you. God willing, you will return with succour before the winter sets in.”

It was a slim hope—we could all see that—but what choice was there? Wydhowse and Fanner could barely walk a few hundred metres, let alone the hundreds of kilometres of hard going before we could hope for assistance, and Hudson wasn't in much better shape. Jack, Staffe, and I were easily the
fittest. But even we had no chance that I could see to negotiate successfully what must be close to a thousand kilometres between James Bay and Quebec. Our only chance was to meet up with some friendly First Nations people.

Hudson must have been thinking much the same. Reaching back into his pouch, he took out the angel.

“Jack, take this. If there be any truth in Greene's tale, then there are, somewhere upon these shores, people who may yet recognize this coin and for its sake offer shelter and succour to the bearer.”

Jack took the coin from his father's hand and looked at it. The firelight glistened on the tears in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hudson didn't give him the chance.

“And there is one more thing you must take,” he said, reaching beneath the folds of his coat and producing a small leather-bound book. “This is my journal. It tells of all our trials and how we have come to this sorry pass. I think Juet, Greene, and the others will either starve or drown long 'ere they spy England. If any are to know of our exploits and our great discoveries, it will be from our mouths or through the pages of this writing. Keep it secure and pass it on to safe hands.”

“I will, Father.” Tears ran freely down Jack's cheeks. “But is there no other way?”

“None,” his father replied, “and even this is by no means certain. We must all do what we can. I take comfort from the arrival of Master Al and his strange knowledge of our doings. I think it will be through him that our story will be told.”

Hudson turned his gaze back from Jack to me. There was a pleading look in his eyes. I felt responsibility weigh heavily on me. How could I have an effect on what happened here? These events had all run their course centuries before I was even born. Nevertheless, I nodded. “I will do my best to help.” This seemed to satisfy him.

“And now, with some food in my belly, I would sleep,” the explorer said, standing. “Tomorrow will bring what it must.”

“Aye.” Staffe rose beside his captain. “It will that and I think I, too, will have need of what hours of rest I can obtain tonight. I bid you a good sleep.”

With that Hudson and Staffe retreated to the hut. On the way Staffe paused to build up the small secondary fire in the doorway, placing a green branch on top of it. Thick smoke billowed. “That might discourage some of the damnable insects of these parts,” he said, ducking from sight.

For a long time Jack and I gazed into the embers of the dying fire. My thoughts were confused. I felt myself drawn into these events almost against my will. It was easier to accept that tomorrow I would set off with Jack and Staffe to seek help for an abandoned Henry Hudson than it was to try to find an explanation for my situation. If there was an explanation, I was coming to think that it involved insanity, and I didn't want to think too hard about that.

Eventually Jack broke the silence. “Well, Al, what do you make of all this?”

“I don't know,” I answered honestly. “But I think your father's right. We must try to get help.”

“Aye,” he said quietly, “and I think he puts much hope in you. Is it a long and arduous journey to Ottawa?”

“Yes,” I replied, “but, as your father said, there is no choice. Jack,” I continued, asking a question that had been on my mind since I had first realized who I was speaking to, “what happened on the ship? Why did Greene and Juet lead a mutiny against your father?”

“Because they are rogues, thieves, and scoundrels,” Jack said. Then, in a quieter voice, he added, “But that is not all. Not every one of the mutineers is such. Some are good men. Robert Bylot for one. He is a fine navigator and a man who
will go far in exploration if he so chooses—and if he survives. Abacuck Prickett for another. He kept a journal of our voyage, which I pray may survive. And if I look to honesty, my father was not without blame.

“He is a great man, but he has a headstrong spirit. The Northwest Passage has been an obsession with him as long as I have lived, and Greene's story merely fuelled his passion. To be the discoverer of the route to Cathay, he pushed his crews farther than men were like to go.

“We suffered much last winter. The hunting was poor and we could find no salvages to trade with. When the ice freed the
Discovery,
we were in sore straits, near to starvation and sick from scurvy. We had but food for fourteen days more. Everyone—I admit myself, too—was desperate to make the greatest speed home. But Father delayed. He had made great and wondrous discoveries, but he had not reached the shores of Cathay and was loath to return without a hold full of spices and gold. He also felt assured that we were so close to the Orient that we would obtain succour the more quickly by sailing west to the islands of the emperor of Japan.”

Jack fell silent, and I didn't want to disturb him. After a few minutes, he looked at me. “Al, you are a Christian, although of a strange sort. Do your people live their lives as Christians?”

“They try to,” I replied, wondering where the conversation was going.

“My father does, too,” Jack went on, “at least as far as he is able. He would rather turn the other cheek and reach an agreement by compromise than fight with sword and club and impose his will. Some take that as a sign of weakness, and perhaps it is on a ship in a desperate situation in the wilderness.

“He played favourites, giving to Greene a coat that by the traditions of the sea should have been auctioned to the crew.
He threatened men with punishment and then was loath to carry the punishment out. He asked advice in the belief that all on such a perilous undertaking should have a say, yet it was looked upon by some as a weakness in one who should be commanding firmly.

“This last spring, when the ice released us, we were most in need of strong leadership. Father tried to provide it, but he was much broken in spirit and kept his counsel to himself, not even sharing it with me. There was a feeling among some that, if our lives were to be saved, others would have to take direction of the ship.

“Father distributed all the cheese that remained and counselled the men to save their portions, but some, Greene included, ate all theirs immediately, leaving nothing aside for the morrow. Then Greene began putting about tales of hoarded food and saying that only some could be saved and that others must be cast adrift. I think not many fully believed him, but in desperation and with Greene's and Juet's threats, there was not much sick men could do.”

Jack's eyes took on a faraway look as he gazed out into the darkness, remembering. “It was a Sunday morning, the twenty-second day of June. My bunk was outside the galley, between the two Wilsons, Edward the surgeon and William the boatswain. The latter was heavily in with the mutineers, and I had noted that he had not come to his bunk the night before. I awoke once to the sound of his voice issuing from the neighbouring gun room and being quickly silenced by Juet, who kept quarters there. I thought nothing at the time. Perhaps if I had...

“The first I knew was awaking with Wilson's hand over my mouth and his voice in my ear: 'Stay silent, young Master Hudson, and no harm will attend thee.' Drowsed by sleep, I obeyed and followed the man forward. The first I knew of treachery was coming on deck to see Father with his hands
bound behind his back. Shaking free of Wilson, I ran to Father and asked what was going on. He said to be of stout heart, that there were those who thought to run the ship better than her rightful masters, but that they had promised no harm should befall us.

“Just then there was a commotion from the hold and Juet's voice screaming for aid and saying that he was being attacked by King and like to be killed. Thomas and Wilson ran to assist, and King was brought up, much bloodied but still defiant. 'Ye shall all hang,' he said.

“Greene answered that he would rather hang at home than starve in the wilderness. Then we and those too sick to resist were bundled into the shallop and lowered over the side. Prickett spoke up for us but was silenced by threats from Greene, and Staffe alone voluntarily joined his master.

“We were all allowed to take only a few clothes except Staffe, who took his chest, a pot, and his matchlock fowling piece. And grateful have we been for even those meagre wares, for without them how would we have caught or cooked even the poor game we have found?

“We raised the sail on the shallop and near caught the
Discovery
so intent were the devils on plundering our goods, but they spotted us, raised their sail, and swept from view. Some were of the view that we should follow and attempt our own way back to England, but in our sickened condition it was a false hope. Thus we came to this place, and your arrival proves we decided right.”

I felt suddenly very worn by the weight of having these men's hopes resting on my shoulders. “I'll do my best,” I said weakly.

Jack smiled. “That is all any can do. But I think Master Staffe was correct and we will be needing what rest we can achieve tonight. My task is to sleep by the fire and keep it
built through the night. If the rain holds off, it is not too bad. Will you join me?”

“Yes,” I said.

With that Jack built up the fire to a sizable blaze, and we settled down as comfortably as possible within the circle of its warmth. Only then did I realize how tired I was. My last thought before I slept was a question—what year would it be when I awoke?

From the darkness the warrior watched the two boys settle down. The light of the fire did not extend far, and he had been concealed close enough to hear clearly every word of the talk. It had meant nothing to him, but something he had seen had sent a quiver of recognition through him.

At one point Hairy Face had given a glinting circle to one of the boys. It had caught the firelight like the reddish metal that sometimes came from the north, but it reminded the warrior of something else. The
okimah
had one the same. It had been given to the previous
okimah
who had died ten winters ago. He had told a tale of getting it from a band of
Omashkekowak—
Swampy Cree—that he had found dying in their village of a strange sickness. The old
okimah
had not wanted to approach too closely, but one of the sick men had called to him and thrown the bright circle to him.