THE SOUNDS OF MANY people moving about, breaking camp, woke Anne. She hunched her stiff shoulders and sat up. Ian had left her; his cloak was spread over her, his pack pillowed her head. She blinked and rubbed her gritty eyes. The air was filled with a hushed anticipation and fear.
Anne yawned and drew herself to her feet. She stretched, grimacing, and looked for Ian among the milling men, women and children. At last she saw him striding toward her.
“Have you eaten yet?” he asked as he approached.
“Nay, I just woke. Have you?”
Ian shook his head.
She opened his pack and they sat down to a meagre breakfast of oatcakes. People were leaving the clearing, heading toward the beach.
Ian finished off his oatcake and brushed the crumbs from his shirt. “Well, then, time to be off.”
Those words brought back the worry and panic that had gripped Anne the night before. She felt her stomach clench.
Ian reached out his hand and pulled Anne to her feet. “It’s not so bad, lass. You’ll see.”
They gathered their packs and followed along in the stream of travellers headed to the beach. Wisps of early morning mist shifted among the trees, floating like wraiths before them. The branches overhead were heavy with last night’s rain, sending cold showers on their heads and shoulders as they passed beneath. They stepped out onto the shore.
At the waterline a queue of people stood or sat waiting for longboats to carry them to the Hector. The mate, his face red, his hands on his hips, was barking orders to passengers and crew alike.
Anne and Ian joined the end of the line. Anne gazed out over the loch. The waves were sapphire blue, tossing before a morning breeze. The sun, rising behind them, splashed pale gold and peach light over the stones and water. Anne would have found it quite beautiful if she weren’t transfixed by how large the loch seemed. As she imagined the vastness of the sea between Scotland and the New World, it filled her with terror.
What had she been thinking!? She couldn’t get on a ship and leave Scotland! It was madness. Her heart pounded heavily. Ian’s warm hand on her shoulder was all that kept her from bolting up the beach.
Minutes passed and became an hour. The children became fussy. But no one left his place in line. Anne saw her fear mirrored in the faces all around her. All that held them there, facing the ship and the sea, was the bleak knowledge that there was nothing for them if they turned and left the beach.
A longboat scudded to the shore. Several crewmen held it in place in the shallows as husbands helped wives and children wade out and climb aboard. The queue moved forward. Soon another longboat arrived and it was Ian and Anne’s turn. They pulled off their boots and stockings and, knotting the bootlaces together, slung them over their shoulders.
Anne turned to Ian, her face contorted with panic. “Ian,” she choked, “I…”
Ian passed one of the packs to a crewman and calmly took Anne’s clammy hand in his large, warm one. He looked into her eyes and said softly, “It’ll be all right.” Then he stepped into the cold waves, gently tugging her along with him. Her heart drumming in her ears, Anne followed.
The salt stung her blisters and the water was numbingly cold as it lapped over her ankles, then her knees. Anne sucked air between her teeth. She tried to hold her skirt out of the waves, but the hem was splashed and dripping by the time she clambered into the longboat. She sat facing Ian.
Rowing out to the ship was not so bad. Anne enjoyed the salt spray on her face and the motion of the sea. A little girl about five years old, with bright red curls and huge hazel eyes, was sitting next to her. The girl started to cry. Her mother was occupied with a babe in her arms and a toddler by her side. She gazed helplessly at the wee red-headed girl, not having a hand free to comfort her.
Anne leaned over to the frightened girl and asked, “What’s your name? I’m Anne.”
The girl turned to look up at her with brimming eyes. “Christina.”
“Well, Christina, would you mind if I put my arm around you? I think it would make me feel better. I’ve never been in a big boat before.”
Christina regarded her solemnly for a moment, then nodded. Anne hugged the child close to her. “Oh, look,” Anne exclaimed, pointing, “there’s the ship we’re going on, the one with three masts. And I think I can see the captain up on the deck. See him? His buttons sparkle in the sunshine. And look at the gulls flying about. I bet they wish the Hector were a fishing boat so they could get a meal. Oh, and do you see that cloud up there? It looks like a horse. With its tail streaming out behind.”
As Anne chatted on, drawing the girl’s eyes here and there, Christina’s tears stopped. The girl’s mother gave Anne a grateful little smile. Ian caught Anne’s eye and winked.
The longboat drew alongside the Hector. Anne craned her neck as she stared open-mouthed at the hull looming over them. The port side of the Hector rose up like a cliff jutting from the sea, her masts seeming to touch the sky. Anne felt very small. A ladder was lowered and a hoist was provided to aid women, children and baggage aboard. Men carried packs onto the ship.
Anne stepped onto the Hector’s deck and was jostled aside by other settlers as they made their way aboard. Passengers milled about, collecting baggage and finding family members. Ian took Anne by the elbow and steered her to a less crowded spot.
A barrage of angry words met them.
“No one sneaks aboard my ship. I’ll not have stowaways! You are leaving on this longboat!”
“What’s this all about?” a broad-chested man with salt-and-pepper hair asked a crewman.
“It’s the piper. The MacKay fellow. He didn’t have passage spoken for. Tried to get aboard anyway. The captain’ll put him off.”
Passengers looked at one another unhappily. John MacKay’s bagpipes had stirred their Scottish pride. Here they were, going off to the New World, hoping to enjoy freedoms that had been denied them for so long, and this brave piper could not go.
Some men drew together in a knot. Ian sauntered over to join them. Anne could hear scraps of their conversation.
“It’s not right…”
“Poor fellow…”
“Something we could do…”
“Captain’s a reasonable fellow…”
“His passage…”
The tall, broad-chested man stepped from the group and approached the captain. The captain was escorting John MacKay, bagpipes and baggage, to the ladder and the longboat.
“Excuse me, Captain,” the man said. He had a voice like an ox, deep and low. “My name is Archibald Chisholm, and I’d like a word with you, if I may.”
Master Spiers regarded Mr. Chisholm coldly. He was obviously very busy, and out of sorts with having to deal with a stowaway. However, he was a man of courtesy, so he said, “If you would be so kind as to be brief, Mr. Chisholm. We have much to do before we sail.”
“Aye, of course. We understand that Mr. MacKay here has not made arrangements for his passage.”
Master Spiers took a deep, steadying breath. “That is quite right, Mr. Chisholm. I was just now sending him back to shore.”
“Well, we would like,” Mr. Chisholm turned and indicated the group huddled behind him on the deck, “to have Mr. MacKay accompany us on this voyage. You see, his piping yesterday was… well… it made us feel…” Mr. Chisholm, a sheep farmer from Loch Ness, was not used to public speaking nor to expressing his feelings, poetically or otherwise. Words failed him.
Master Spiers straightened his shoulders. His brass buttons glittered. “I will not have a stowaway on my ship.”
“There must be some way we can help,” a wiry little man with bushy eyebrows called out from the midst of the group.
Nods and “Ayes!” showed everyone’s agreement.
“No one gets a free passage,” Master Spiers pointed out.
“Could he not pipe for his passage?” Mr. Chisholm asked. “It would do all our hearts good. Keep our spirits up, like, during the trip.”
“Aye, aye,” came the chorus behind him.
The wiry man, John Sutherland, called out again, “I would be willing to share my rations with him, if you would let him stay aboard, Master Spiers. It would mean that much to me.”
There was a moment of silence, then several more voices called out, “And I would give part of my share too. If he would only play the pipes each day, I would share my bread with him.”
Now, Master Spiers was not a stupid man, and he saw this battle was lost. What purpose would it serve to throw John MacKay off his ship? He’d have an angry mob to carry across the ocean. He was out nothing if he let him come. And no doubt, the bagpipe music would help to ease their cares as they made their way across the vast, uncertain miles.
He pretended to weigh the decision carefully, although the scales had been tipped from the beginning. At last he said, “It’s your bellies that will be grumbling before the voyage is over. All right. Mr. MacKay shall earn his passage by piping during occasions or ceremonies that are deemed appropriate.” He eyed the piper sternly till he received an assenting nod. “And you passengers will be responsible for seeing that Mr. MacKay is adequately fed during the voyage from your rations.”
“Aye, oh aye,” the crowd assured him.
“Well then, I believe our business here is concluded. If you will excuse me, I have other things to attend to.” The captain turned and strode several paces along the deck. Then he spun on his heel and commanded, “Mr. MacKay, you shall pipe the passengers aboard, if you please!” before he continued on his way.
John MacKay made his thanks to the men standing about him. Then he solemnly walked to the rail where another group of settlers was boarding the Hector and he began to play.
The ship’s deck was getting very crowded as more and more baggage and bodies came on board. Master James Orr, who had just arrived on the longboat, ordered the passengers to move below deck to stow their belongings.
Ian and Anne clutched their bags against their chests and joined the queue to the hatchway. As they waited, they surveyed the ship. They faced the stern and the captain’s cabin, which was raised a few steps above the main deck. A pair of low doors was set below the captain’s accommodations. Anne wondered what they were for until a young crewman popped out of one. She realized that the crew’s quarters must be there. Above the captain’s quarters was a transom deck. Anne noticed a pair of carvings at the head of the ladder leading to this deck – the busts of a man and a woman. These carvings looked down upon the settlers with calm detachment.
As the line of settlers moved forward, Anne felt a pang of uneasiness. In the longboat, waiting to come aboard, the Hector had seemed monstrous. Now it seemed far too small and crowded to hold all the settlers who were pouring onto her deck. A narrow ladder led to the dark hold below. Ian descended to the hold ahead of Anne, reached up for her bag, and she carefully followed him down.
A lantern hanging next to the ladder cast the hold in a dim, yellow light. Anne’s breath caught in her throat. The ceiling was low, and the space was jammed with narrow bunk beds. Cargo that had been picked up in Greenock was stacked, fore and aft, floor to ceiling. Anne surveyed the passenger area with wide eyes. How would nearly two hundred of them ever fit in this cramped space? And the bunks! There were only – she did a quick mental tally – only about fifty beds! That meant they would have to share.
Anne turned to Ian, horrified. She could see by the expression on his face that he was coming to the same realization. There was one bunk bed per family.
Anne looked bleakly at the floor and spied wooden buckets, placed here and there among the beds. “Oh, dear God,” Anne thought. “Those are our toilets!”
Her heart racing, Anne spun on her heels and tried to make for the ladder. There was still time to get off the ship. She would go home. Perhaps she could convince her father that she should not be married. Perhaps she could go live with her aunt.
The press of settlers coming down the ladder halted her. She was caught like a sheep in a cote. The air was heavy with tar and damp wood, rotten fish and hot, nervous bodies. Anne’s breath came in little gasps.
Ian was at her elbow. He put his arm about her shoulders and said quietly, “It’ll be all right, lass. It’s not so bad. I can sleep up on the deck. You can have the bunk. And look – see how the Sutherlands and the Chisholms are putting up blankets for a little privacy around their bunks? We can use our cloaks to do that. It will not be very comfortable, but it’s better than swimming, eh?”
Anne smiled wanly at his attempt at a joke. She knew Ian was just as scared as she was. But he was putting on a brave face and trying to make her feel better. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.
Of course, there really was no turning back. She could never go home.
She heard John MacKay up on deck, playing his pipes. She took heart. She nodded and started to unpack.
Still more settlers poured down the ladder. The air was so heavy Anne thought she would pass out. Little Christina, her two siblings, and their mother were nearby. All three children were crying and the mother’s lip was trembling as she tried to hang a blanket from an upper bunk to give her girls some private space. The mother had looked like a sturdy woman when she’d been out on the deck, but here she seemed frail and frightened.
Anne wiggled between other settlers to stand next to the distraught mother. The woman looked at her bleakly. “They are so afraid,” she said simply, her voice quivering. She brushed a tendril of mahogany hair off her face, removing a tear from her cheek in the same movement.
Anne nodded. “I’m Anne Grant.”
“Katherine McKay MacLeod. And these are my three girls. Hugh MacLeod is my husband. He’s up on deck, helping unload the longboat.”
“Would it be any help… I could take the children up and let them watch the longboats come in. They might not be so afraid up there. It’s so crowded here right now.”
Katherine’s hazel eyes glistened and she gave a ghost of a smile. “Aye, that would be grand if you would do that.”
Anne scooped up the infant girl and tucked her under one arm, then Katherine helped her settle the toddler against her other shoulder. The mother’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure you can manage?”
Anne smiled. “They aren’t heavy. Come along, Christina, let’s go see the boats.”
Katherine gave her oldest daughter a little push on the shoulder to get her to follow Anne, and the girl obediently trailed in Anne’s wake. It was slow going, but because Anne had the crying babes in her arms, people allowed her to squeeze by, and she eventually found herself at the foot of the ladder.
She hadn’t thought how she’d climb up to the deck with her arms full of babies. She stood uncertainly for a moment. A deckhand glanced down and noticed her there. He was gangly, like a half-grown colt, and his face was burned from the sun and the sea wind. He reached down with one long arm and took the toddler from Anne. The little girl’s eyes opened as wide as a frightened lamb’s, but Anne was up the ladder in no time, and had the child in her arms again. She thanked the crewman, who strode off without a backward glance.
“Probably thinks I’m quite useless, not able to climb a ladder with my arms full. I’d like to see him manage it in a skirt!” Anne fumed.
Once out on the deck, with the salt air blowing in their faces and the boats to watch, the girls’ whimpering subsided. Anne set the toddler down, instructing Christina to keep hold of her sister’s hand, no matter what. Christina took this responsibility very seriously. The wee girl yelped and Anne had to loosen Christina’s fingers.
Christina began to chatter to Anne. “These are my sisters.” She indicated the toddler with a tilt of her head. “She’s Janet.” Then she pointed to the infant in Anne’s arms. “She’s Alexa. We all got our eyes from Mama and our red hair from Papa.”
“I see,” said Anne, smiling.
“The crop failure was very bad for Papa. So we are going to find a better place to live across the sea. Mama doesn’t really want to go, but Papa said he can’t live in Scotland any more, not the way the damned English are using us.”
Anne decided not to chastise the child for her blasphemy; she knew Christina was only parroting what she’d heard. It was a sentiment held by most Scots.
The sun was getting high in the sky and the girls were getting restless and hungry. Anne wondered what was going to be done about feeding them.
It looked as if the last longboat was rowing toward the Hector. It held only a few passengers.
The captain barked orders. Crewmen swung about in the rigging and bustled on the decks. Anne felt dizzy, watching the men on the masts high above the deck.
Katherine appeared at Anne’s side. She had a small loaf of dark bread in her hand. She broke it into four pieces, giving some to the two older girls and offering a bite to Anne. Anne shook her head. “You need your rations,” she said. “I’ll get my own.”
Katherine popped some bread into her mouth and took little Alexa from Anne’s tired arms.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Katherine said, smiling. She had regained her composure and was standing steadfast and calm with her girls about her. The baby nuzzled at her bodice.
“I am very glad to help,” Anne said sincerely. “I’m sure we will all need to help one another for the next couple of weeks.”
“Aye.”
Alexa stopped nuzzling and began to howl lustily. Katherine said, “She’s hungry. I’ll take her below to feed her. Come, girls. You can finish your bread with me.”
The little girls, still hand-in-hand, trundled along after their mother. Anne was put in mind of rose-coloured ducklings waddling after their mother. They turned at the hatchway to give Anne a little wave. She smiled and waved back.
Anne shook her head. She would not want to trade places with Katherine MacLeod, not for a gold crown. Anne had only herself to care for. Katherine had three other precious lives to bring safely to a new land and a new life.
Anne’s stomach grumbled. She glanced around. Most of the settlers were up on deck again. Once they’d found a bunk and a place to stow their belongings, they left the oppression of the hold for the sunny topside. A lot of them were eating a chunk of bread. “Where did they get that?” Anne wondered. Just then, Ian appeared. He had a loaf, which he broke in half, passing Anne her share.
“Thank you,” she said. “I was getting hungry.”
They ate quietly, watching the last longboat as it was unloaded. The longboat was then hoisted from the water, swung aboard the ship, and turned keel upward between the first and second masts. The Hector’s anchor was hauled up from the depths of the loch by the windlass and catted up at the bow. More sails were unfurled and the ship slowly turned to lumber down the loch.
Anne gazed at the shore as it slid away, a lump in her throat. She could no longer swallow the bread.
Ian glanced at her tear-streaked face and slipped his arm around her shoulders. They watched in solemn silence as their homeland disappeared.