Chain Locker (9 page)

His stinging eyes moved from the lookout back to the huge smokestack, nearly half as high as the mainmast and painted with Bowring's familiar red X. The black smoke that had puffed gently upwards from the boiler fires when he boarded in St. John's was now being whisked off and sent in a flattened spin from the stern into the descending darkness. The wind roared among the cable stays holding the stack in place as the intrepid old sealer clawed her way into the storm. The two jibs and the staysail that she had set were of little help as she battled for survival, relying almost completely on her tired engine for propulsion.

Jackie glanced towards the forecastle door, longing for the shelter, warmth, companionship, food and water it offered. He had long since eaten the bread that he had taken from home, and had eased his raging thirst with any little bits of ice or snow he could find. Living under a sky that disgorged so much rain, he had never expected to need water. Bruised, tired and cold, and now with seasickness lurking in the shadows, he ached for a place to lie down and rest. He could not stay in the chain locker any longer.

Perhaps his luck would hold out long enough to get past the point of no return for stowaways. There must be such a point. Repeating his strategy when he came aboard, he would nonchalantly walk in among the occupants as though he belonged there. He eased his way out of the hole and closed the hatch cover. Straining from one hand-hold to another, he made his way towards the forecastle. The lookout could probably see him but he didn't care. He arrived at the entrance and went down the companionway. It was crowded inside and although several men looked at him strangely, he paid them no heed. He crawled behind a bunk and lay down on the floor where his exhausted body finally found rest.

Jackie's bleary eyes opened to the sight of a pair of sealskin boots inches from his nose. Looking up, he saw a giant of a man whose frown told him that the moment of truth had arrived. The dread he was feeling was tempered by the immense relief of no motion whatsoever: no heaving, no rolling, no mountainous seas crashing against the side of the ship, no sickening shudders; just heavenly calm. The relief had barely sunk in when he was snatched by the collar and marched up the companionway to face the captain. No wonder it was so calm. They were anchored, and near enough to shore to see buildings and even people moving around. His mind went to the ropes and chains that had been his companions in the chain locker. He had gotten out of there just in time.

The situation was obvious; they had come into some small port so he could be put ashore. He stood before the captain reconciled to his fate, eyes down, cap in hand. The sight of the great potentate sitting at the table in his cabin filled him with awe, although he had expected a uniform of some sort.

“You want to have your arse kicked; that's what you want. I got a mind to give you a good trimmin' right here and now. I never seen the like.” Being threatened with a boot in the behind was not new and in Jackie's experience the threat was more common than the follow-through, but at this point he didn't care one way or the other.

His eyes fixed on a lump of butter coming to rest in a little yellow pool after tearing its way across a thick slice of hot bread. “How old are you, then?” asked the captain, as he cut great hunks of cheese from a large, orange block. He piled them on the bread, which he folded over the butter and cheese, and shoved the works into his mouth—chomp—swung it to a new angle—chomp—and, turning his head and rolling his eyes back, he inserted it a third time—chomp!

“What are you, deaf or something?” demanded the captain as he took a long, noisy slurp from a mug of tea. “I said how old are you?”

Jackie was having trouble prying his eyes off the steaming mug. “Fifteen, sir,” he croaked, as the captain finished off the sandwich with two more violent yops.

“Do your parents know where you're to?” he said in a muffled voice, struggling to get his overfilled mouth under control. He took another prolonged, satisfying swig.

“No sir.”

“No sir! I don't know why I even bothered to ask. Simeon, get his name and have the Marconi man send a message to Bowring's. When we get the new galley rigged up, we'll give him to the cook.”

Jackie's spirits rallied with this bit of news. It sounded like he was not going to be set ashore after all. His first impulse was to thank the captain, but before he could speak, he was swung around and marched outside to the deck.

“What's your name?” the master watch asked.

“John Gould, sir, but my friends call me Jackie. Sir, I wonder if I could get—”

“Well, John Gould, my name is Simeon Gillard and I know you're not fifteen years old. Thirteen—or fourteen maybe, at most. You're lucky that storm came up or you would have found yourself ashore, in jig time.”

“So the captain is letting me stay aboard?” he ventured.

“We're come too far to send you back now. Sure, we're way up to Bonavista Bay—Poole's Island. You'd never find your way home from here.”

“When I saw we were ashore I thought for sure it was to get rid of me. Why did we come in, then? ”

“We need to do repairs to the ship. She got mauled pretty bad in that storm. We're already fitting out a new galley. The seas made away with the other one.”

“Sir, I wonder if I could get—”

“I 'magine you're hungry, are you?”

“Oh, yes sir. Famished. Thirsty, too.”

“Well, let's find you some grub.”

In the galley the cook, Reuben Budgell from Bareneed, was flustered with getting the new galley house in order and had little time for stowaways. He motioned with a three-fingered hand at the pot on the stove. “There's a couple o' leggies there if you wants 'em.”

“Yes sir, thank you. I'll have them. What are leggies, sir?”

“Rounders.”

“I never heard them called leggies before,” Jackie commented, trying to sound appreciative.

“Call them what you like. The bread's on the shelf there and there's lots of tea in the slut.”

The slut…the slut? Scanning the galley, he saw a large copper kettle on the stove. It looked as if somebody had attacked it with a hammer. That must be the slut.

After consuming the two salted tomcods, three thick slices of bread with butter, and three mugs of weak tea sweetened with molasses, Jackie's young body started to bounce back. The future had never looked brighter. When the captain ordered him to work for the cook, he had ceased to be a nonentity. As a member of the crew, he was officially going to the ice. Being a stowaway, he could not expect to share in the proceeds of the hunt, but he had come for the adventure, not the pay. As the last gulp of tea trickled down his throat, Jackie was glad to see Simeon returning to check up on him.

“I see you found some tea to grease your gullet.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Where there's tea, there's hope, eh? So, where did you stow away to?” he asked. “It wasn't where I found you or somebody would have seen you before.”

“Up in the eyes of her where they keep the anchor rope,” he replied, pleased for the opportunity to show off that he knew the slang for the foremost part of the ship.

“You never stowed away in the chain locker?” the cook asked, with raised eyebrows.

“Yes sir. I guess I did.”

“And was you there in that starm o' wind we went through?”

“Yeah. I sure was.”

“Tis a wonder you're not dead; beat to pieces. I make no wonder you ate so much.” And shaking his head he declared, “Well, heh, heh, you must be tough to stand a herricane in the chain locker. I imagine you're some cowed out after that.”

“Not anymore. He must've slept a day and a night,” said Simeon. “I kept checkin' on him; thought he was never goin' to come to.” Turning to Jackie he asked, “Now, where do you come from, there, John Gould?”

Normally reticent, Jackie surprised himself when he started blabbing on about the details of his life in St. John's, his family, friends, school, and how he had stowed away; and as he did so he realized that already he missed the routine of his life. He had spent almost every night of his life under the same roof, and the reality was settling upon him that it would be a long time before he was back in his own bed.

“Where should I sleep?” he asked Simeon.

“Any place you can find to lie down. We're packed in pretty tight aboard this one. The company's share of the trip is the same no matter how many men are aboard, so the owners carry as many sealers as they can cram into her.”

The only place Jackie could find to sleep was in the hold on top of the coal. The term “lump” of coal took on a whole new meaning that night as he tried to flatten enough of it out to form a sleeping space. Despite his best efforts it was still a bed of lumps, but it was a huge improvement over the chain locker.

chapter twelve

Emily and Gennie sat sipping tea at the kitchen table in the tiny house that the school board provided for Gennie. It could hardly be called a house, consisting as it did of two small rooms, but Gennie's needs were modest and she was content there. They had just returned from the Women's Institute, where they helped out every Saturday, and were sifting through the bits of news they had picked up during the afternoon. They had worked their way to the subject of eligible men—always a favourite—and those who might make good husbands, which of the local belles was interested in whom, and who might manage to make a catch. Of course those from away, especially doctors and clergymen, were always prime candidates, scarce though the unattached ones were.

“So what about you, Gennie? You must be interested in one of those fellas?”

“I might be, but it takes two, you know.”

“You just need to believe in yourself.”

Gennie smiled.

“What?” said Emily.

“I'm sure it's always been so easy for you to get a boyfriend that you think it's easy for all of us. Well, I've got news for you Missie: it isn't.”

“I'll bet there's somebody right here in Twillingate for you, Gennie. You mark my words: you're going to be in a serious relationship by the spring.”

“That doesn't leave much time. I'd better get busy.”

“Maybe you should let your hair hang loose, instead of keeping it tied back like that all the time. You have beautiful, wavy hair.”

“That won't make any difference because all the good men are gone away to the ice, right?” said Gennie. “I suppose they're probably on their ships by now and all the girls are waving their hankies from the docks in St. John's.”

“Yes, they should be out to sea by now, I would think.”

“Are you never going to tell me what you finally said to Henry? I can only assume you said no because you don't seem very excited.”

“You're right. I put him off for now. I said we would talk about it some more when he gets back.”

“You make it sound like you're negotiating a business deal. Where's your passion, woman?”

“Gennie, I assure you, I don't lack for passion. I'm tired out by it all; I've got myself in such a knot over it that I can hardly sleep.”

“So what about you and the minister, then?”

“We're friends; that's all.”

“He's some handsome, that one. Don't tell me you're not interested in him, 'cause he's certainly interested in you. How long do you think he'll stay in Twillingate?”

“I think he's committed to staying for at least two years, but it's hard to say. Sometimes he makes remarks that lead me to wonder if he's not a little bit homesick.”

“He'd have to be pretty homesick for Mother England to leave you. I imagine he'll stay for as long as you're here.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” she answered.

“Yes, maid, I do. And don't you try and tell me that you two don't have nothing goin'. If he wasn't here, I dare say you and Henry would have a wedding date set by now.”

“Don't have
anything
going. You're a teacher, Gennie, for goodness sakes! Watch your English.”

“Don't try to change the subject. You two have been spending a lot of time together lately. People are starting to talk.”

“It's nobody's business who I spend my time with. Basil is the minister at the church I attend, and I'm the organist. With the Easter pageant coming up we need to do a lot of planning. That's all we're doing. And who's talking?”

“Emily, anybody with eyes in their head can see the way he looks at you. All the single girls would love to get their clutches into him and they're all jealous of you.”

“What about you? Are you in love with him?”

“Don't be silly. You're the one he's interested in.”

“Well, those other girls need to mind their own business.” Emily rose from the table, put on her coat and gave Gennie a motherly look. “You know, Gennie, you need to get out of this old house and into something warmer. This place has to be bad for your health. Why don't you move in with us? We have two spare rooms just going to waste, and who knows when Randy might get it into his head to come back for a visit.”

“No mistake, now, I know. You and me together at school all day long and then living under the same roof all night. I don't know if I'd drive you crazy, but you would certainly have me drove. You'll just have to take your chances with Randy.”

“Okay, then, you don't have to move in with us, but there are lots of families you could board with who would love to have you. You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Oh, I think I'll be fine here for awhile.”

“Well, I must be going. Mama will have supper ready in a few minutes and she'll be cranky if I'm not there. I guess I'll see you tomorrow for church, will I?”

Gennie reached out and held Emily's arm. “Before you go, I want to say something.”