Chain Locker by Bob Chaulk

plentiful as the day progressed, and before long the ship laboured to make her way. They saw a few old seals far off but they were looking for whitecoats, the newborn seals that yielded the lightest and most valuable oil. To Darmy’s relief, they also sighted another ship.
    All eyes followed the scunner as he climbed up the mast and perched himself in the barrel high above the deck in preparation for entering the ice field. They placed all their hopes on this lonely man high above them. On him lay the responsibility: first to find seals, and then to get the ship to them. Looking far ahead while judging the condition of the ice, he studied the leads of open water to determine how to get the ship farthest along her journey without getting her jammed. It wasn’t long before he was shouting orders to guide the helmsman through the maze.
    Men stood around and stared at the heavy ice to the north, eagerly anticipating the scunner’s declaration that there were seals ahead. Tension was running high and, after getting sworn at a couple of times, Jackie stayed out of the way, gazing over the port side towards the island of Newfoundland, while enjoying a welcome break from fetching flour, washing pans, mopping the floor and generally being ordered about by the cook. A voice from behind asked, “What are you seeing, young fella?”
    It was only when a person appeared alongside that he realized the question had been directed at him. “Nothin’,” he blurted, surprised that anybody would bother to talk to the most ignored person aboard other than to bark an order or tell him to get out of the way. The stranger was a youngish sealer of average height, with wide shoulders and a broad, friendly smile. “Just water and ice,” he smiled back shyly.
    â€œYep, there’s certainly lots of that. There’s only one other thing worth seein’ out here,” the sealer replied, “what the old fellers call swiles.” The sealer stood near the rail and they both stared silently across the water for a few moments. “Well, if my calculations are correct, my home is in that direction.”
    â€œWhere’s that to?”
    â€œCottle’s Island.”
    â€œNever heard of it.”
    â€œThat’s not much of a surprise. Ever heard tell of Twillingate?”
    â€œSure. Everybody’s heard of Twillingate.”
    â€œWell, if you look carefully off the quarter there, you can just see some land. That’s the island of Fogo. Now, the land to the right of that—that’s Change Islands. Further away and to the right—you can’t see it—is Twillingate. Just in from Twillingate is Cottle’s Island. Well, it’s not really an island at all. We just call it that. We actually live on New World Island.”
    Jackie thought that this made about as much sense as most place names in Newfoundland. “Did you get on the ship in St. John’s?” he asked.
    â€œYep.”
    â€œThat musta been a long trip. Why didn’t you just have the ship pick you up in Twillingate?”
    â€œHah!” the sealer laughed. “A sealing ship don’t come for you, my friend; you go to the ship or you don’t go at all. Now, they’ll go into a place like Greenspond to pick up a whole crew but they can’t go ashore for one or two hands.”
    â€œThe captain threatened to go ashore just to put me off and he didn’t seem to mind. I guess they’re more interested in gettin’ rid of guys than they are in pickin’ them up.”
    â€œAh,” said the sealer with a chuckle, “you must be one of the gaffers who stowed away! I’m Henry Horwood,” he said as he looked up at the scunner. “I wonder if he’s gonna see anything today. He’s certainly high enough. C’mon, skipper, find us a few seals.”
    Jackie looked up. “He must be cold up there.”
    â€œI s’pose.”
    â€œI watched him