Shipwreck (4 page)

Father Keegan and Will left the church, the wind grabbing them and biting into their faces. Bent double, they struggled to the cliff’s edge. There, a path led down to the shore. In the dim light, Will could just make out the shape of a small sailing ship. One of the masts had snapped off. The wind had driven the ship forward and jammed the bow on the ragged teeth of the rocks. Now the deck sloped toward the ship’s rear end, which the hungry waves battered. The crew had managed to get into a little rowboat. A sailor held up a lantern as high as he could, and the light bobbed up and down. One moment Will and Father Keegan could see it, the next moment the waves hid it from them.

“How many do you see, Will?” asked Father Keegan. “I count six souls.”

“Yes, Father. They don’t seem to be making headway at all.”

The villagers had launched the lifeboat, and it, too, was being tossed about, the oars sawing at air over and over again. The five men aboard struggled to keep the boat under control.

“Come on,” said Father Keegan.

The priest started down the steep path to the shore. William followed close behind him. They both slipped and slid on the wet stones. They’d hardly got halfway down when they saw a huge wave smash sideways into the little rowboat. It flipped up and over like a toy. All of the people it carried were tossed out into the sea.

Father Keegan paused and made the sign of the cross in the direction of the overturned rowboat. “May the Lord have mercy,” he said.

The lifeboat was also being blown around, and away from the damaged ship. One of the men in it lifted his lantern. The light shone on a shape in the icy grey water. Someone was clinging to a piece of driftwood. Two of the men leaned over and pulled the person aboard. William saw, with surprise, that it was a woman. Almost at once, the lifeboat began to head back to shore, helped by the wind.

A crowd had gathered on the shore, and several men rushed forward to help pull in the boat. One of them threw out a line. The man in the front of the lifeboat grabbed it. Quickly, he tied it to the boat.

The priest, who wasn’t strong enough to help pull, took command. “Heave,” he cried. “All together! Heave!”

Every time he shouted “Heave,” the men pulled with all their strength, leaning back until their behinds almost touched the sand.

Will had gripped the rope along with the other men. He felt as if he were fighting the sea god himself in a deadly struggle. The lifeboat, out there on the waves, seemed tiny and as slight as a wooden toy. The rowers dug in with their oars whenever they could. More villagers, including a couple of the younger women, threw their weight into the pull.

Father Keegan kept up his chant. “Heave! And heave!”

Finally, they had the bow of the boat on the beach. The men on board placed the woman they had rescued into the strong arms of a big fisherman. Will had a glimpse of a white face, thin and young. The fisherman carried her to the big sheet of canvas that had been laid on the sand at the ready. He put the girl down gently, and the village women surrounded her at once.

“We must go back out, Father,” said one of the rescuers. He was a rough-looking fellow with a thick beard. He had been one of the first members of the church to answer the call for help. “There are others out there. The lassie is so bad that we had to bring her in first.”

The five men, each wearing a cork life-belt, climbed back into the lifeboat. Those on the shore pushed them out to sea again. If anything, the wind was fiercer than before. Will wasn’t sure they would be able to get out to the rocks where the ship was wedged.

Father Keegan went to where the young woman lay and bent over her. Will saw the priest’s body stiffen with alarm. He ran over to him, and Father Keegan drew him close. The priest had to shout into Will’s ear in order to be heard above the roar of the wind and the sea.

“We have to move her at once. She is with child, and, by the look of her, she’s near her time. We’ll get her to the hall. I want you to go and get Mrs. Cameron, the midwife.”

At this point, Amy twisted around in the bed. Bill paused to see if she was still listening. She was.

“I hope she doesn’t die, Granddad.”

“You’ll have to wait and see. Do you want me to stop now, and go on with the story tomorrow?”

“No. I must know what happens. Did they save all the others?”

Bill was beginning to feel sorry he had started this story. Amy was a child. It might not be fair to tell her a story that didn’t have a happy ending, like the princess stories she enjoyed so much.

“Sweetheart, it’s getting late. Perhaps you should go to sleep now.”

Amy sat up in her bed. “Granddad. I am not tired. I cannot go to sleep unless I know what happened to all the poor people in the shipwreck. Could they swim?”

“Er... I don’t know.”

“I can swim now. I would have been able to get to shore.”

He pinched her cheek gently. “I’m sure you would have.” He folded up his papers. “Look at you. You can hardly keep your eyes open. We will finish this in the morning.”

“Perhaps Mommy would like to hear it as well?”

“We’ll ask her.”

He tucked in the covers. Amy’s eyes were already closing. He kissed her forehead.

“Nighty-night, sweetie.”

He switched off the light and left quietly. Downstairs, in the den, he turned on the television set. He could catch some of the game at least.

Amy was up early, and Bill went into the kitchen to help with breakfast. Wendy was already there, wearing her dressing gown. For a moment, she looked so much like Julie, her mother, that Bill’s heart jumped.

“Did you have a good time last night?” he asked.

“It was all right.” She sniffled. “I think I’m coming down with a cold.”

“Granddad was telling me a wonderful story,” said Amy. “It’s sad, though. The people on the boat couldn’t swim, and they drowned.”

Wendy looked over at her father.

“Good thing I can swim,” continued Amy. “And William, the first William, my three-times-great-granddad, has gone to get the midwife.”

“Do you know what a midwife is, Amy?” her mother asked.

She nodded. “A woman who is almost a wife.”

Wendy smiled. “Not exactly. A midwife is a woman who helps babies to be born.”

“I think I’ll be a midwife when I grow up,” said Amy.

Wendy glanced up at the kitchen clock. “You know what, Amy? Your favourite cartoon is coming on in a minute. Would you like to go into the den and watch it?”

“What about Granddad’s story?”

“I’ll listen to it for you. And I can tell you later what happened.”

“Okay.”

Amy picked up the cat and carried it into the den.

Bill smiled at Wendy. “Whew. Thanks. I told you it was a story for adults. I was getting into deep water in more ways than one.” He handed her the pile of papers. “Here. You can read it when you like.”

“No, Dad. Read it to me. I loved it when you read to me when I was a child.”

Bill was pleased. “Okay. Why don’t you go upstairs and get back in bed. You do look as if you’re coming down with a cold. I’ll bring you a hot lemon drink, and I’ll read you the rest of the story.”

“That sounds lovely. You’ve always made the best hot lemon drinks.”

Wendy called to her daughter, “Amy, Mommy’s going back to bed for a bit. Will you be all right?”

“Of course, Mommy.”

Wendy went upstairs while Bill made her the hot drink. He took it up to the bedroom, and he sat on the chair next to the bed while Wendy sipped it.

“Delicious.” She snuggled down under the covers in the same way that Amy had done the night before.

“I’m ready.”

Bill quickly filled Wendy in on the story so far. Then he went on.

William took a long time to bring Mrs. Cameron, the midwife, to the parish hall. The snow was deep, and she lived on the edge of the village. She was an old woman and not too steady on her feet. At first, she was nervous about going into a building that belonged to Catholics. She herself was a Baptist. But Will told her that the hall was only a building, like any other. It was the church that was holy. So with Mrs. Cameron clinging to Will’s arm, the two of them set off through the snow.

Finally they arrived at the hall. When they got inside, Will saw that the village women had been busy. They had hung a curtain at the rear of the hall to make a private space for the young woman from the sea. That was how William had started to think about her.

Will saw several more sheets of canvas laid out on the floor. These tarpaulins would receive the dead. But there were also some welcoming touches. Pine branches hanging on the doors scented the air. A big log fire already blazed in the hearth. Will’s mother was with the other village women, putting food out on a wooden table. If there were survivors, they would need food. And so would the rescuers.

Will had been right about the Christmas roast goose dinner. He could see the pot his mother had cooked it in. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since last night. But he had no time to eat now.

His mother called him over. “Take these buckets of water to the fire, Will. We need to boil water.”

Other tasks followed, so he couldn’t return to the shore right away, although he wanted to. Every so often, he heard a cry of pain coming from behind the curtain where the young woman was lying.

After what seemed a long time, Father Keegan entered the hall, leading a grim line of men. They were bringing in the bodies from the doomed boat. They laid them on the tarpaulins and covered each man with a blanket. There were five corpses.

Gathered along the wall were the people who belonged to the church, the parishioners. They stood side by side with the rest of the villagers who had answered the church bell’s call for help. All of them watched silently.

Father Keegan began to make the sign of the cross over each corpse. The Methodist minister and the pastor from the Baptist church were both doing their own praying. However, this was Father Keegan’s hall, and out of respect, they stayed back.

The priest beckoned to Will. “You are a clever boy, William Murdoch, and your handwriting is clear. The people who have died will all have loved ones somewhere. Their mothers and wives will want to claim them. We cannot allow any confusion.”