Oatcakes and Courage (12 page)

Anne realized that she was sobbing as hard as Christina was. She staggered between the bunks, hugging the little girl tightly as she made her way to Christina's mother. Katherine was grimly bracing Janet and Alexa in their bunk.

Katherine's face crumpled when she saw Anne, soaked and torn by the hostility of the hurricane, with her equally sorry-looking daughter in her arms. She grabbed them both in a tight embrace and wept tears of utter gratitude.

“I went to say good night to the mermaid,” Christina cried, “then it got bad. I couldn't get back. I was so scared.”

The
Hector
plunged into a trough that sent them all sprawling onto the floor, awash with seawater. They slowly picked themselves up and crawled to their bunks to brace themselves securely.

Shivering in her bunk, Anne fretted. Where was Ian? He would not know that she had found Christina. She dared not
go back onto the deck to look for him. How long would he stay out in that terrible storm? She could feel the ship shudder as wave after wave crashed over the deck. Water spilled down through the planks onto the passengers' heads, soaking them. Ian couldn't have been swept overboard, could he? Oh, please, not that. She squeezed her eyes closed and prayed.

Presently, Anne felt a cold, sodden arm and leg press against her on the bunk. She took a deep breath and sighed, “Ian.”

Anne threw her arms around his soaked, shaking shoulders. She felt his chest heave against her cheek. Ian clutched her to him.

“I could not find you. I feared …” Ian swallowed his fear, and continued. “Captain Spiers told me you had found Christina. He helped me get back to the hatch. And Hugh, too. A good man, the captain.”

“Aye,” Anne murmured, the salt of her tears mingling with the sea brine on her cheeks. “A good man.”

“Oh, Anne. I could not bear it if anything happened to you.”

Anne gripped Ian's sopping shirt in her knotted fingers. “I know. I know. I don't know what I'd do without you, Ian.”

Ian kissed Anne softly on the top of her head. She turned her face up to try to see him but the hold was shrouded in a tomblike blackness. His lips travelled down her forehead, her nose, and then pressed against her mouth in a kiss that spoke of passion, relief and gratitude. They clung together, sharing what small comfort their closeness provided.

The full fury of the storm slammed into the
Hector
after midnight. The ship reeled in the churning seas, pounded and bruised by the smashing waves.

Anne had thought the storm of a few weeks ago was the worst that could possibly happen. It was mild compared to this brutal assault.

Anne clung to Ian, shivering and crying, her face buried in his chest. All around her, she heard weeping and prayers.

Anne knew that Captain Spiers would have to be manning the helm, running the ship with the wind. How was it possible that he and the crew were not swept from the deck?

The
Hector
moaned as wave after monstrous wave threatened to bury her. Again and again, the sea tried to fold the
Hector
within its watery arms. It seemed it would not be denied this small prize. And yet, somehow, the ship fought her way to the top of every crushing wave. As she plunged into deep troughs, she lifted her stubborn bow and struggled her way upward, only to have the storm batter her down once more.

Dawn came, though the passengers had no way of knowing in the dark hold. The hurricane raged on through the morning and afternoon. There was no food or water during all that time. No one dared move from where they were wedged. And who would keep anything in their stomachs?

As the hours of merciless chaos wore on, the passengers – especially the children, the sick and the infirm – fell into an exhausted stupor. A kind of hopeless resignation descended over them all. They prepared themselves for what seemed inevitable.

Anne realized that she must have actually slipped into a fretful doze. She came to as Ian shifted his weight beside her. She straightened slightly and opened her eyes. It took a moment for her to notice that she didn't have to brace herself so strenuously to stay in the bunk.

Ian gave her shoulders a little squeeze. He whispered, “I think the storm is passing.”

Anne sighed. Did she dare hope?

The hold remained as dark as pitch. How long had they been there? It was impossible to tell.

“Too rough yet to go above,” Ian said in Anne's ear.

Anne nodded. The ship tossed and pounded on the waves, but the mad fury of the storm had lessened.

Anne's entire body ached as if she had been beaten. Her frantic search for Christina and the hours of rigid tension left
her so sore she could hardly move. Her elbows were throbbing. Her skin felt raw in her sodden clothing.

“Try to sleep if you can, lass,” Ian suggested. He settled her against him and she closed her eyes. Exhaustion washed over her.

The hurricane moved off the following morning, thirty-two hours after Captain Spiers had spied the dark cloud in the western sky. The sea swell heaved the
Hector
over waves the height of crags, but the wind had abated. Passengers slowly eased their battered bodies from the hold to survey the damage.

It had been considerable. Evidence of hasty repairs during the storm showed the extent of damage the hurricane had caused. A tattered sail, folded and stowed on the deck, waited to be sewn. Ropes that had snapped in the violence of the wind lay coiled on the deck. Crewmen were rushing to make the ship fully seaworthy again. Anne marveled that the
Hector,
with her leaks and rotten planks, had held together. She dropped to her knees and gave a prayer of thanks.

The settlers were just taking in the damage that had been done when Archibald Chisholm came above and sadly announced that four children had died during the storm. Little Walter Murray and Colin McKay, both toddlers, had succumbed to the smallpox while the hurricane raged. Cousins, Ken and Katie MacKenzie, who had been lively, freckle-faced youths, were also dead. Captain Spiers grimly held a funeral service for all four children.

The joy and celebration of two nights ago was drowned in the storm and buried at sea with the children.

Chapter 10

T
HERE WAS NO CHATTER
of conversation on board. Passengers sat in silent, disconsolate groups. Hope had been torn from them bit by bit throughout this voyage till at last they were left as battered as the ship itself.

Archibald Chisholm approached Anne, Ian, Hugh, Katherine, and the girls on the evening after the storm. His face was deeply lined.

He took a deep breath and said, “Master Orr has told me that the hurricane has blown us off course.”

“Aye, well, that's no surprise,” Hugh said.

Archibald nodded. “Master Orr informs me that it will likely take a fortnight to regain the distance.”

“A fortnight!” Hugh exclaimed. “That can't be right.”

“I am afraid that the captain has plotted our position most carefully and thinks it will take us two weeks to come in sight of Newfoundland again.”

The group stood in a horrified astonishment.

Archibald squared his shoulders and said quietly, “And it seems our rations are becoming very… uh… meagre. We shall have to go on half rations or we may not have food to last out the voyage.”

Katherine gathered her girls close to her. “Surely the children's rations…”

Archibald Chisholm shook his head sadly.

Katherine gasped. Hugh put a hand on his wife's shoulder and said, “We will share our rations with them, Katherine. Our girls will not go hungry.”

Katherine gazed up into Hugh's face and nodded.

Archibald moved along the deck to continue spreading the news. Hugh said, “I have the oatcakes, you know. The ones that people were going to throw overboard.”

“Did they not get ruined in the storm, Hugh?” Katherine asked.

“Nay, I don't think so. I have them carefully put away. I'll check on them now, and if they are not full of sea water, I'll take them straight away to the captain.”

As Hugh strode off to retrieve his cache of moldy oatcakes, Ian said, “Many scoffed at him, calling him a miserly old woman. We may praise the Lord, and our good Hugh, for those oatcakes yet.”

The sun beat down upon them the following afternoon, making the settlers all seek patches of shade on the parched deck. Anne was in her lightest cotton smock, fanning herself with a tattered handkerchief. Ian sprawled next to her, his hat over his eyes. John Stewart plunked himself down next to Anne's other side.

“Fierce hot,” he commented.

Anne nodded and dabbed beads of sweat from her forehead and upper lip. She noticed John's eyes on her. She felt rather indecently clothed under his scrutiny.

“I don't reckon it ever got this hot in Greenock,” John allowed. “Always a breeze off the water. A lovely place, Greenock.”

“Is it?” Anne asked, out of politeness rather than curiosity.

“Aye, sure. A grand place.” And John went on at length to tell Anne all about the town's virtues.

Anne squirmed on her seat of canvas sacks, and glanced at Ian. Ian might have been asleep, but for the occasional soft derisive snort that escaped from under the hat at key moments during John's oration.

John continued, “I've lived there since I was a lad. My da was a fisherman. Took me out in his boat as soon as I could walk.”

Ian heaved himself to his feet and mumbled something about needing to see Hugh. He tromped aft. Anne watched him go. John said, “A quiet sort of chap, isn't he?” and then continued his tale about his exploits as a young man growing up in the coastal town.

A couple of days later, when Anne settled next to the MacLeods for their half-ration supper, she noticed that Christina wasn't eating. The little girl took a sip of water, but didn't touch her salt meat or piece of oatcake.

“It's all right to eat what you have,” Anne whispered to her. “There will be food enough to see us through. Don't worry about what Mister Chisholm said.”

Christina looked up at Anne. Her eyes were glassy and her cheeks were flushed. “I'm not hungry,” she whimpered.

Anne's stomach clenched. She set her own food down and reached out to touch Christina's forehead. It was hot.

“Katherine,” Anne croaked, her throat suddenly very dry.

Katherine looked up from feeding little Alexa. Her face puckered with worry when she saw the expression in Anne's eyes.

“I… I don't think Christina is feeling well.”

Katherine was beside her eldest child in an instant. “Dear merciful God,” she murmured. Then she called to her husband, who was talking with Alexander.

“Hugh!”

Hugh glanced over. Seeing the panic on Katherine's face, he left his brother and came to her.

Katherine whispered, “Christina is sick. She has a fever.”

“What should we do?” Hugh asked.

“I'll take her below. You tell Captain Spiers and then look after the other two girls.” Katherine scooped Christina up in her arms and hurried to the hold, her cheeks wet with tears.

Anne said, “I'll watch the girls while you speak to the captain, Hugh. Then I'll go help Katherine.”

Hugh nodded his thanks. He hurried off.

Anne gave the rest of her meal to little Janet. She had no more appetite.

When Hugh returned, Anne rushed to the hold. Captain Spiers was examining Christina. The child lay like her rag doll upon the bunk.

“I do not think she has the smallpox,” Captain Spiers stated after his examination. “Although it may be too soon to tell.”

Katherine folded her hands as if in silent prayer.

“Perhaps the fright and soaking she got in the storm has brought this on.” The captain shook his head. “Cover her well. I will send down a tisane that may help.”

The captain left. Katherine held little Christina's limp hand and shed silent tears. Anne stood next to her, not knowing what to say or do.

A deckhand appeared later with a cup of warm liquid. “The cap'n sent this,” he said.

Anne took the cup and the lad hurried away. She held it out to Katherine.

Katherine took a steadying breath. She took the cup. “Would you,” she whispered, “hold her head up for me?”

Anne slid onto the edge of the bunk by Christina's head. She eased the child's shoulders forward, allowing her tiny weight to lean against her chest.

Katherine carefully tipped the tea to Christina's lips. When the child did not respond, Katherine coaxed, “Come on, lass. This is from the captain. You need to drink it. Just a sip. That's it.”

Anne and Katherine managed to get most of the liquid into the child before she fell into a feverish slumber. They covered her with blankets and cloaks.

“I'll watch her if you want to check on Janet and Alexa,” Anne offered.

Katherine shook her head. “This is where I need to be.”

Anne nodded.

Katherine reached out a hand and patted Anne on the shoulder. “Thank you for being here to help.”

Anne said, “You know I'll do what I can.”

Ian came below later to check on them.

“Hugh and the girls are fine,” he told Katherine. “Elspie is helping.”

“Thank you,” Katherine said wearily.

“Why don't you get a little sleep?” Anne asked Katherine. “I'll stay up and watch.”

Ian said, “You do look tired, Katherine. You can use our bunk if you like. I am sleeping on deck tonight.”

Katherine regarded her daughter. Christina's small face was beaded with sweat; her skin appeared translucent. Katherine said, “I should stay here.”

Ian shrugged and headed up the ladder.

“I really don't mind sitting with her,” Anne said.

“I know. I know. But I'm afraid… I'm afraid if I don't watch her… I need to be with her… I can't explain.”

Anne searched her friend's anguished face. The deep love and heart-wrenching worry were right on the surface. Of course Katherine could not leave her child's side. What if Death crept up in the night and touched Christina while Katherine was not on guard? She would never forgive herself for not being here, for not doing all that she could to fight against him, to beat him back.