River Odyssey (10 page)

“Hello? Hello?… Yes. This is a vessel under distress… a vessel under distress. Yes…. submarine … a
submarine…
domestic submarine … in the St. Lawrence River…. Yes…. We’re exactly above the
Empress of Ireland.
Yes, that is correct…. Yes…. Two persons…. Yes…. There is a cable wrapped around the propeller…. Yes…. Forty-eight hours…. Yes. Yes, thank you. We will. Thank you very much. Over.”

“Oh! Thank you, Alfred! Oh! I’m so glad! So, they’re coming?”

“Yes. They’re coming.”

I went back, climbed onto the bike and tried pedalling backwards and forwards again. Nothing. I hated lying. I really hated it. I promised myself once more that I would never take a passenger on board again. We had designed the sub for only one person. If we could just get through this. I went to the observation window and looked down. And then, something caught my eye.

The weeds that sprung from the wreck were all leaning downstream in the current. The tide had been going out the whole time we were in the area. But now, a few weeds had lost the force of their bend, had straightened, and ever so slowly turned the other way. The tide was reversing. I felt a rush of excitement inside. It was just a hope really, but such an important hope. The tide would reverse the current. The sub would turn. Maybe, just maybe, the cable would loosen in the movement.

Sure enough, all the weeds began to lean in the other direction. The sub began to drift sideways again, very slowly. In my mind I tried to imagine what was happening outside. When was the best time to pedal, as the sub was sliding back, or when it was completely extended in the other direction? I figured the best time to try to pedal would be when the cable was loosest, when the sub was passing directly over the cable.

I stared through the window.

“What are you doing, Alfred?”

“Just a minute.”

I watched carefully, trying to judge when we were almost directly over where the cable came out of the wreck. Then, I rushed to the bike, jumped on and tried to pedal backwards. Nothing. Forwards. Nothing. Backwards … there was a little movement! Forwards … a little more. Backwards. Suddenly, the driveshaft spun freely. Oh! I could have cried with happiness!

“What? What is it, Alfred? What happened?”

I didn’t answer yet. I wanted to see if we were clear of the cable first. I jumped off the bike, rushed to the panel, flipped the switch and pumped air into the tanks. We started to rise. I went back to the window and stared down as we lifted away from the wreck. I watched anxiously, waiting for a sudden halt. There was none. We were completely free of the cable. “Yes! We’re free!”

Marie screamed with excitement. In a couple of minutes we were on the surface. She came over hugged me so tightly it hurt.

WE SURFACED AWASH
and I opened the hatch and looked for my first mate. No sign of him. A strong easterly had begun to blow. Now, both wind and current were flowing upstream. I strapped on the harness and climbed out onto the hull, up to my chest in water. How strange it would look to passing sailors to see someone standing in the middle of the river, although the portal was also about a foot out of the water. I hoped Seaweed would spot it soon.

Making my way to the stern, I took a deep breath and went under. I didn’t want to spin the propeller until I had a close look to see if there was any damage. Happily, I didn’t find any. There was a very small nick where the cable must have been stuck, but that was nothing. The sub was good to go. I was thrilled.

I climbed back inside.

“How does it look?”

“Great! There’s no damage. We can leave now.”

“You’d better call them, Alfred.”

“What?”

“The police. You’d better call them back and tell them we don’t need them now. We don’t want them to go to all that trouble for nothing.”

“Oh! Yah! You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”

I went to the short-wave and pretended to make the call. Boy, did I ever feel like a phony. That was never going to happen again.

I couldn’t get Marie off the sub fast enough. Happily, she felt the same way. We made a beeline towards Rimouski, though I had to sail with the hatch open, the portal just a foot out of water. Marie was unwilling to stay inside the sub if the hatch were shut. And so, in broad daylight, we motored towards a group of sailboats at anchor in twenty feet of water. We wouldn’t be difficult to spot if anyone was looking. But there wasn’t much I could do about that. The worst thing was to carry an unhappy passenger.

I dropped anchor on the river side of one of the boats that appeared to be empty, inflated the dinghy and paddled Marie to shore. Hollie was very disappointed not to get out for a run, I knew, but I promised him an extra long run that night. He was also sad to see Marie go.

When she climbed onto the beach I could tell she was still carrying her fear. I could see it in her movement. She had been nearly frightened to death. It was an experience that would probably stay with her forever. Personally, I thought she was at greater risk in the kayak with Jacques, a man with a careless attitude towards the water. But fear is not a reasonable thing.

“Alfred. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry I can’t go with you any farther.”

“That’s okay. I understand. It was not a very nice experience. I’m sorry.”

“I’m just too scared.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“I still wish you would come to Quebec City. I would love to introduce you to my friends. They would really like you. Would you come?”

“Uhh … I really should get to Montreal.”

She looked sad. “Oh. Just for a short visit? One hour only?”

I knew that was not a good idea, and I should have said so. Why was it so hard to say no? I hated disappointing people. “Umm … I guess so. But where would I meet you?”

Her face brightened up and she smiled. “Café la Reine de la nuit. It’s in the old city.”

“Café what?”

“In English it’s called, Queen of the Night Café. Meet me there Friday night around 11:00, okay? My friends will be there then.”

She waved and started up the bank.

I waved back. “Okay! But don’t tell them who I am, okay?”

“Okay!”

I paddled back out. We waved one more time and she was gone.

When we returned to the sub, Seaweed was waiting for us. I was so glad to see him.

“Hi, Seaweed! Want some lunch?”

It was three days to Quebec City, three long hot days and short nights. I discovered that this part of Quebec, between Rivière-du-Loup and Quebec City, was one of the most beautiful places in the world. It reminded me of the Mediterranean, except that the water here was darker and colder. Everywhere were beautiful farms next to the water, with cows and colourful houses with sloping roofs and wooden barns and silver churches with needle-like spires. It was so beautiful it was like sailing through a fairytale land.

And there were islands, small ones like the backs of whales and larger ones with houses. The islands were great because they allowed us to moor in the middle of the river and Hollie was able to run around to his heart’s content. We even camped there. Each night we made a fire and sat around it. And I learned that dogs and seagulls enjoy staring at a fire just like people do.

Some of the islands had lighthouses that brightened up the river with narrow beams of light. As pretty as they were, they were there for good reason. The closer we sailed to Quebec City, the narrower and shallower the river became and the more islands we encountered. It would have been next to impossible to navigate without some sort of guide, or, as in our case, sonar. On top of that, there were the tides and currents to consider. I had read in Sheba’s book that one early English invasion of Quebec failed when eight ships broke up on rocks in the river and eight hundred and fifty soldiers drowned! Wow! Pretty as the river may be, it would kill you in a flash if you didn’t know what you were doing. How unlike sailing on a calm sea, where on occasion you might even fall asleep for a few hours.

As we approached Quebec City, the river became treacherous. There was an archipelago of islands, Archipel de l’Isle-aux-Grues, right in the middle of the river, and a much bigger island, Ile d’Orleans, that was low-lying, very pretty and busy with tourists and picnickers. There were people everywhere. We sailed through the area at periscope depth, which was really a challenge because of the shifting currents and changing depth. I couldn’t take my eyes away from the sonar screen. I had read that when the English finally did take Quebec from the French, in 1759, they had to watch the tides closely and time their landing precisely to avoid smashing their boats on the rocks. They came through the fog at night, rowing in long boats, and were challenged by a French soldier on watch. Calling back to him in French, they tricked him into thinking they were French too. That night, they scaled the cliff at the river’s edge and attacked the next morning. Who would want to be that soldier?

As the river narrowed, the current flowed faster. It wasn’t possible to pass on the north side of Ile d’Orleans because it was too shallow, so, we sailed through the south channel. It was turning dark as we came around the island and the cliffs of Quebec City came into view. The sun was setting just behind the Plains of Abraham, the hilltop where the English and French had fought and where both the English general, Wolfe, and the French general, Montcalm, had been wounded in battle and died. The sunset was pretty, but fiery red. I wondered if Sheba would have thought it an omen.

THE BEST PLACE
to hide is where no one expects you to be.

The river flowed past Quebec at a fast pace and the tide rose and fell an average of ten feet. It was not a place to drop anchor. But the city had lots of marinas, according to the map. The marina closest to the old part of the city had two sections: an inner area for private sailboats, and a more open outer area for larger vessels, which was where, I was guessing, the police kept their rescue vessels.

I was right. After scouting the marina from the river, at periscope depth, I submerged completely, entered the outer section where the police vessels were moored and, opposite them and about two hundred feet away, three barges and a tugboat. Two of the barges were lying side by side and back to front with the other barge and the tugboat. Coming up awash in the pocket between the barges was an excellent place to hide the sub for a few hours in the dark. It was very unlikely there would be people hanging around the police dock at night. And though the marina was well lit, the barges were not, and that made everything a lot easier. Unless you shone a strong light directly on the spot where the portal jutted up just a foot, you would never know there was a submarine there.

I opened the hatch, let Seaweed out, climbed out and lifted myself onto the deck of one of the barges. The coast was clear. I went back for Hollie, sealed the hatch behind us and we made our way onto the pier like nobody’s business.

Hollie was such a smart dog. He knew the difference between a beach and a street, and behaved differently on them. And he was an expert at imitating me. If I stopped and looked at things, he would stop and look at things. If I acted cautiously, he would too. Together we strolled down the pier, onto a street, onto another one, over a bridge, across a few more streets, then were swallowed up in a crowd of people enjoying the nightlife of the old city. Even though it was past dark, there were street musicians, performers and artists with easels set up with lights for drawing tourists. There were lots of cafés with tables outside and people eating and drinking on the sidewalks. It was a lovely old city and reminded me of Mallorca, in Spain, from our voyage the year before. No wonder it was so popular.

We walked up and down the steep streets looking for the Café of the Queen of the Night, but I couldn’t find it. I didn’t mind too much actually; it was just nice to explore the old city. Hollie enjoyed it too. He sniffed at everything, especially other dogs that were chained to poles, gates and fire hydrants. I could tell he didn’t understand why the dogs were tied up.

“Don’t worry, Hollie. You will never wear a collar or a leash.”