eerie bluish light showing them the way. Then across the water there was a jagged flash of lightning tearing the sky from side to side like a skirt ripped in two. The west wind slammed down on them, and a solid rain exploded around the ship.
‘Get below, woman, damn you, below,’ the captain shrieked at Isabella.
Duncan’s face appeared at the hatch. In a moment she was being thrown across the deck and was tumbling over, bruising her shins, as he forced her down. Her last glimpse of the terrible scene outside was a sail snapping, then flapping with thunderous roars; the captain taut in every muscle against the wheel and the men straining to control the rigging. And against the sky, the figure of McLeod, his body arched on the pull of a rope, his cloak thrown back, and the dark water cascading down his fisherman’s arms.
Below, a commotion of sobbing had broken out. Isabella realised she was wet through and that Duncan was furious with her for not having heeded the warnings sooner. But there was no time now for reproaches or for changing clothes. Little children were being tossed around, bouncing from side to side of the boat. She began to gather those who were unattended. Many of the fathers were as ill as their wives, and every man who could stand was being called to the pumps. With Kate MacKenzie of Durness who, like her, was still unaffected by the violent motion of the ship, she lashed the children into their bunks with bedclothes.
Outside the sea groaned, and the rain drummed, beating overhead. Through the portholes they could see it lashing as the ship heeled upwards, seeming to stand bolt upright with its bowtowards the sky, then they would come crashing down again, until the next thing they saw was the water beneath the surface bubbling, like a black cauldron, the fierce sea trying to force itself upon them, then back up again, and the ghostly glow of another lightning bolt lit up the pallid faces of her companions. It was becoming impossible to tell whether the crashes above them were giant thunderclaps or the breaking up of the ship. They could only hear each other by shouting with all their strength.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind dropped and it was over. Some of the passengers wondered if they were already dead, if this was the silence of heaven, although all round them the sordid evidence of their physical extremity suggested otherwise.
Soon there was a call for them to come out and they breathed sweet clean air under a sky like a pale bell-shaped dome. They looked from one to the other, smiling, touching each other, hardly daring to believe that they were all there, and alive, and that nobody had been lost.
McLeod stepped forward. ‘Let us pray,’ he began, and one by one they began to follow him, his voice a panacea for the terror they had experienced. Isabella wondered how long he would go on, for evening was coming on them now and a chill was in the air. We need hot food and dry clothes more than we need prayer, she thought.
But McLeod appeared to realise this as well, for he was soon finished.
Then the captain spoke, his complexion slightly more suffused than usual, and it occurred to Isabella that he had been giving himself some fortification while the rest of them had been praying.
‘I must tell thee all something,’ he said. ‘I am about to turn ship around and return home.’
There was stunned silence at first, and then the questions began, shouted from all directions. ‘Why, why?’ and, ‘Captain, we cannot, we have nothing left to return to, you cannot take us back. We have paid our fares, all we have in the world.’
The MacQuarries added their voices to this clamour. Isabella was afraid that Duncan was about to use his fists on the captain; it would have only needed one of them to start and it would be a free-for-all.
He raised his hands. ‘The ship be leakin’. We’re closer to the coast of Ireland than we are to America.’
McLeod had been standing by,
‘Get below, woman, damn you, below,’ the captain shrieked at Isabella.
Duncan’s face appeared at the hatch. In a moment she was being thrown across the deck and was tumbling over, bruising her shins, as he forced her down. Her last glimpse of the terrible scene outside was a sail snapping, then flapping with thunderous roars; the captain taut in every muscle against the wheel and the men straining to control the rigging. And against the sky, the figure of McLeod, his body arched on the pull of a rope, his cloak thrown back, and the dark water cascading down his fisherman’s arms.
Below, a commotion of sobbing had broken out. Isabella realised she was wet through and that Duncan was furious with her for not having heeded the warnings sooner. But there was no time now for reproaches or for changing clothes. Little children were being tossed around, bouncing from side to side of the boat. She began to gather those who were unattended. Many of the fathers were as ill as their wives, and every man who could stand was being called to the pumps. With Kate MacKenzie of Durness who, like her, was still unaffected by the violent motion of the ship, she lashed the children into their bunks with bedclothes.
Outside the sea groaned, and the rain drummed, beating overhead. Through the portholes they could see it lashing as the ship heeled upwards, seeming to stand bolt upright with its bowtowards the sky, then they would come crashing down again, until the next thing they saw was the water beneath the surface bubbling, like a black cauldron, the fierce sea trying to force itself upon them, then back up again, and the ghostly glow of another lightning bolt lit up the pallid faces of her companions. It was becoming impossible to tell whether the crashes above them were giant thunderclaps or the breaking up of the ship. They could only hear each other by shouting with all their strength.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind dropped and it was over. Some of the passengers wondered if they were already dead, if this was the silence of heaven, although all round them the sordid evidence of their physical extremity suggested otherwise.
Soon there was a call for them to come out and they breathed sweet clean air under a sky like a pale bell-shaped dome. They looked from one to the other, smiling, touching each other, hardly daring to believe that they were all there, and alive, and that nobody had been lost.
McLeod stepped forward. ‘Let us pray,’ he began, and one by one they began to follow him, his voice a panacea for the terror they had experienced. Isabella wondered how long he would go on, for evening was coming on them now and a chill was in the air. We need hot food and dry clothes more than we need prayer, she thought.
But McLeod appeared to realise this as well, for he was soon finished.
Then the captain spoke, his complexion slightly more suffused than usual, and it occurred to Isabella that he had been giving himself some fortification while the rest of them had been praying.
‘I must tell thee all something,’ he said. ‘I am about to turn ship around and return home.’
There was stunned silence at first, and then the questions began, shouted from all directions. ‘Why, why?’ and, ‘Captain, we cannot, we have nothing left to return to, you cannot take us back. We have paid our fares, all we have in the world.’
The MacQuarries added their voices to this clamour. Isabella was afraid that Duncan was about to use his fists on the captain; it would have only needed one of them to start and it would be a free-for-all.
He raised his hands. ‘The ship be leakin’. We’re closer to the coast of Ireland than we are to America.’
McLeod had been standing by,
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