Haunted Harbours by Steve Vernon Page B

slashing at them like long wet knives. Finally they were afloat. They rowed out towards the shoal-bound ship, one man in front holding the big brass sea lantern, one fellow in back leaning on the rudder, and ten stout men hauling on the oars. As they approached the shoal, a great wave hooked up and out and dragged the lead oarsman straight into the storm-tossed waves. Down he went in his oilskin jacket and gum rubber boots, three sweaters, and a suit of union long johns. He sank like a dropped anchor and drowned. When you fall into water that cold and deep, there is nothing that can be done; each man knew that. They rowed on, without looking back. They’d lost a friend and a good man, but they had a ship to save.
    They rowed out as fast as they could, moving slower now with one less man at the oars. They lost some time correcting their course, as the odd number of rowers kept veering the dory side-ways. By the time they’d arrived at the wreck, nearly half of the crew had drowned or perished from the cold.
    They shot a line out to the wreckage with a breeches buoy attached: a life preserver with a pair of hip waders sewed in tight. They rowed the survivors to the shore, and saw them safe into the shelters built upon the island for just this purpose. Now, it was time to fetch in the dead.
    They’d haul in as many of the dead as they could; later they would comb the beach for the ones who’d washed ashore, some-times days afterwards. They would sew the dead in a tattered sail-cloth shroud, and leave them on the shoreline to be picked up later, by the supply steamer. The sand was too unstable for graves, so the steamer tipped the remains into the open sea. Until the vessel arrived it was the duty of the lifesaving crew to stand watch over the bodies, shooing away hungry gulls and eager crabs.
    A couple of weeks after the wreck, there came another ship in trouble. The dory crew rowed out, still short-handed. The survivors of the last wreck had already been picked up by the steamer and taken to the mainland. They rowed out in somewhat calmer water, and as they came to that patch of wild shoals, the lantern man saw a white shape moving in the water.
    â€œIt’s ice,” the lantern man yelled out. “Watch out!”
    Only it wasn’t ice; it was a body, swimming towards them, the body of their drowned comrade. He swam up to the dory and climbed on board, sat in his usual seat, and began to row. He was a Nova Scotian, and there was no way on God’s green earth that he was about to give up on a job half done.
    He wasn’t pretty to look at. His flesh was soft and bleached from the time spent in the water. There was a little crab clawing through his beard and long sea worms crawling about his body. You could see clear through to his bones in a few spots, but by god, he could row.
    The dory crew were astounded by this sight, but being practical fellows they decided there was nothing to do but to keep on rowing. Besides, they weren’t about to let a dead fellow outdo them in seamanship.
    They made the sinking ship in easy time and rescued all on board. A few of the survivors of the wrecked ship started at the sight of the grisly rower, but the majority of them knew enough of the ways of the sea not to question her work. They looked the other way, or pretended they did not notice. They were mostly just grateful for being pulled from their sinking ship. To them the phantom oarsman was just another sailor in dirty yellow oilskins and a pair of fat black rubber boots.
    As the dory crossed over the wild patch of water, the phantom oarsman stood up, tipped his cap like he was saying goodbye and stepped out into the wind-tossed waves and sank beneath the Atlantic.
    â€œHis work is done,” one oarsman said. “He’s gone back to his briny bedroom.” But these were hasty words spoken too quickly.
    There were two more ships in trouble over that four-month stretch. Both times the phantom