The Chain Locker

By Bob Chaulk

The Chain Locker shows us how heroism, loyalty, and friendship play out in this amazing novel based on true stories about brave Newfoundland sealers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Breakwater Books Ltd
• Release date: Mar 12, 2010
• ISBN: 9781897174883

Bob Chaulk

Descended from ten generations of Newfoundland seafarers, Bob Chaulk has spend a lifetime researching the ships and men who struggled to feed their families from what the ocean provided. This is his third book about the ocean off eastern Canada. Bob lives in Halifax with his wife Sandra. They have two adult sons.

Book preview

The

Chain Locker

The

Chain Locker

A Novel by

Bob Chaulk

© 2010, Bob Chaulk

9781897174555_0002_002

We gratefully acknowledge the financial support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), and the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador through the Department of Tourism, Culture and Recreation for our publishing program.

All rights reserved. No part of this work covered by the copyrights hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any requests for photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems of any part of this book shall be directed in writing to the Canadian Reprography Collective, One Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario M5E 1E5.

Cover design by Maurice Fitzgerald

Layout by Todd Manning

Printed on acid-free paper

Published by

KILLICK PRESS

an imprint of CREATIVE BOOK PUBLISHING

a Transcontinental Inc. associated company

P.O. Box 8660, Stn. A

St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador A1B 3T7

Printed in Canada by:

TRANSCONTINENTAL INC.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Chaulk, Robert

The chain locker / Robert Chaulk.

ISBN 978-1-897174-55-5

I. Title.

PS8605.H393C43 2010          C813'.6          C2010-901528-2

Notre Dame Bay

9781897174555_0004_001

Dedicated to Hiram and Myrtle Chaulk (Perry),

who gave me a childhood filled with stories of

quirky characters they had known.

contents

author’s note

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen

chapter sixteen

chapter seventeen

chapter eighteen

chapter nineteen

chapter twenty

chapter twenty-one

chapter twenty-two

chapter twenty-three

chapter twenty-four

chapter twenty-five

chapter twenty-six

chapter twenty-seven

chapter twenty-eight

chapter twenty-nine

chapter thirty

chapter thirty-one

chapter thirty-two

chapter thirty-three

chapter thirty-four

chapter thirty-five

chapter thirty-six

chapter thirty-seven

chapter thirty-eight

chapter thirty-nine

chapter forty

chapter forty-one

chapter forty-two

chapter forty-three

chapter forty-four

chapter forty-five

chapter forty-six

chapter forty-seven

epilogue

author’s note

The protests, politics, and negative press surrounding the modern seal hunt have blurred the significance of what sealing has meant historically to the people of Newfoundland. It used to be a huge event, carried out by men of heroic courage, who risked their lives every time they stepped aboard the ships. Their final stories are told too briefly on too many gravestones: …died in a blizzard at the ice field, April 1st, 1914 Aged 22 years.

Called the greatest hunt in the world, the magnitude and brutality of the slaughter, and the resilience and resourcefulness of the hunters, astounded the few who witnessed it in its early years. But by 1931, it was a hunt in decline, the seal herds devastated after a century and a half of uncontrolled exploitation, the ships old and barely able to cope with the conditions, yet being driven harder than ever, with more sealers competing for fewer spaces. In 1840, 700,000 seals were taken; by the 1920s the annual average was down to just 145,000.

Though the characters and events in this book are fictional, they take place in the context of the true story of the SS Viking’s final voyage. One of the last of the wooden walls, so named because when a man stood on the ice facing her he was staring at a wall of solid hardwood the thickness of which was measured in feet, the Viking was built to take men to the far northern and southern latitudes in pursuit of oil from living creatures.

Like many of her sisters, she was next to impossible to live aboard—greasy, cold and smoky, her bones impregnated with the seal blubber and coal dust from dozens of sealing voyages, so overcrowded that on the outward journey the sealers slept on the coal that filled the ship’s holds. On the return voyage, they considered themselves fortunate if they got to sleep on piles of reeking pelts awash in oil, for that meant it had been a successful trip.

If a ship survived the years of abuse, the owners did not seem to know what to do with her when she got old; they certainly didn’t retire their sealing vessels when they were worn out, but kept them going until the sea finally took them.

In 2002 I interviewed the last survivor of the Viking, about his experience as an eleven-year-old stowaway in 1931. Although this is not his story, he provided many details of life aboard the ship and that conversation was the inspiration for this book.

chapter one

Jackie Gould looked up the gangway of the Eagle. It was narrow and icy, and had no rail to prevent a person from falling into the water below. His gaze moved up to a pair of arms folded across a broad chest and into the intimidating glare of a determined looking sentry, standing with feet splayed across the deck. As their eyes locked briefly, the message from the beefy lookout was unmistakable: Just you try!

You remember when we used to make out that we were at the ice, Jackie said to his companion, and would go around the backyard and bat the rocks with the broom?

Yeah, said Hubert, and the time you pretended that the cat was a whitecoat and tried to whack her one?

Mom was some mad. She grabbed the broom from me and nailed me across the arse with it.

Above the din of shouting men, barking dogs, and blaring horns, Jackie thought he recognized the familiar prattle of Eddie Carnell’s voice. Sure enough, Eddie and his buddies were soon alongside, ignoring Jackie and Hubert with all the effort they could muster. The sentry, evidently feeling a renewed call to duty, puffed his chest as though a hidden hand were pumping air into him from behind.

Well, we’re not gettin’ past buddy there to get aboard of that one, that’s for damn sure, Eddie’s raspy voice declared to Bruce Hutchings. Look at the size of that brute. He’d take the head clear offa ya with one clout.

You’re not gettin’ me aboard none of ’em, another voice announced.

Aagh, what’s the matter with you, boy? You got no nerve.

I have so! I got nerve! Richard McCarthy shot back. I got loads o’ nerve. I also got an old man with big boots and he’ll plant one of his number twelves square onto my arse end if I try anything. I got into a row with him last night and he come across the room and grabbed me by the scruff o’ the neck and nearly shook the daylights outa me. Accused me of givin’ him the lip and said if I stowed away on one o’ these vessels I better not come home ’cause he’d boot my arse right up to the back of me head. Jeez! He shoved his bare, red hands deep into the pockets of his inadequate jacket and gave a miserable little shudder.

It don’t matter anyway, Dickie, said Ed soothingly. "This old tub will probably be on the bottom before she gets through the Notch. Let’s go look at the iron ships. Maybe there’s a way onto the Beothic."

Anybody got the word on when they’re leaving? Jackie’s steady voice inquired of the older boys.

Ed, wiry and long-legged, stopped midstride and spun around like a square dancer. Oh, Gould, I didn’t see ya there. So you’re gonna do it now, are ya? he sneered as he sauntered back towards Jackie. Sure, you haven’t got the guts.

You don’t think so, eh? Jackie replied, staring the youth in the face. Eddie might be older but he was no bigger.

I don’t think so; I know so! said Ed, removing his hand from his pocket long enough to wave a boney finger in front of Jackie’s nose. Who do you think you’re goin’ with? You’re not comin’ with us. You’re not old enough to pass for a proper hand.

That don’t make no difference to me, said Jackie. I got a buddy.

Who? Bruce asked, casting a disdainful look in Hubert’s direction.

Jackie managed an unconvincing smirk. Even Bruce could see that Hubert wasn’t much of a partner.

Mike Grandy came to his defence. Ed, sure what makes you think you can pull it off any better than Jack here can? he asked, distracted by a smoldering butt a passerby had flicked to the ground. Ow, get off me fingers! His fist pounded an unidentified boot.

Popping the butt between his lips, he sucked furiously to resuscitate it. He looks as old as you do. And, nodding at the Eagle, Jackie, go ahead now and give ‘er a shot. Let’s see what you’re made of.

And so I will, too, but I’m not ready yet. I’m gonna make sure I get on a ship just before she’s leaving so I don’t have to wait around and worry about gettin’ caught.

Looks like that one got her steam up. What’s wrong with her? said Mike, his eyes nearly crossed as he coaxed a final puff from the cigarette’s soggy remains. Go on up and tell buddy there that you’re the skipper and you’re comin’ aboard. Flicking the butt away, he smirked to Dickie, Can’t you see old Jack flyin’ through the air and rubbin’ his arse after buddy puts the boots to him?

They wandered around the docks in the grey, slushy snow, in company with other boys and young men, some of them serious about stowing away and some of them merely dreamers. A blast of sleet blew off the harbour into their faces, and they turned their backs to the water. Despite the weather, they were enjoying the carnival atmosphere on the St. John’s waterfront. Yesterday there had been seven ships getting provisioned and today there were nine. Mike was pleased. If nothing changed he would win the bet they had going and collect a five-cent piece from each of his buddies. But there was still time—barely—for another ship to be hauled across from the south side of the harbour to join the nine, and then Bruce would collect the winnings. The three ships still docked across the harbour were a tired-looking trio, though, so Mike was optimistic.

As the others meandered off, Jackie stared beyond the ships to the Notch, the narrow slot in the cliffs where the harbour met the Atlantic Ocean. He had been alongside ships many times in his life, had uncles and cousins who were sailors, but the only time he had ever floated was on a raft on Mundy Pond. It was a disgrace; he was going to grow up a hangashore like his father. Looking up at the Eagle’s foretopmast, he pictured himself climbing the shrouds and stationing himself in the lookout’s barrel perched far above the deck, yelling orders down to the helmsman and guiding the ship through the ice as the captain nodded his approval and all below stared up in admiration.

I guess your guts’d be all over the deck if you fell outa there, said Hubert.

Eh? What?

Where are ya gone to?

I’m here, b’y, said Jackie. Just thinkin’, that’s all.

How are we ever gonna get on board one of those vessels without getting caught? Hubert groaned. There’s guys everywhere, sure.

We’ll figure it out. This is it, Hube. When them ships cast off we’re gonna be aboard one of them. I’m not sayin’ it’ll be easy, but however hard it is, it’ll still be worth it. No more luggin’ water after school, no more gettin’ yelled at to go fill the coal bucket every time you get sat down. I mean, I’d walk to the Front just to get away from those friggin’ nuns, naggin’ the arse offa ya.

Yeah, but we’ll have the Brothers next year, said Hubert. We’ll be all set.

All set to get the snot beat out of us, you mean. School is still school and it’s not where I want to be. I wanna be free of all that and have a good time.

Where do you think you’re going? On an ocean cruise aboard one of the Furness Withy boats? Sitting around on a soft chair while they serve you Gaden’s Lime? You’re talking about the seal hunt, my son.

Oh, I know, but you and me can take it, Hube. Just you wait and see. You’re not losin’ your nerve and backin’ out are you?

Me? Never!

Are you keeping your mouth shut, especially around Barb? You can’t tell a soul, now. Did you tell anybody?

Hubert cleared his throat. Ooh, no, cross my heart.

All right then. Jackie stared at him for a moment and then grinned. We’re gonna be sealers, Hube, ice hunters, with sealskin boots to our knees, out on the whelping ice.

Right.

Watch it, there!

A snort in his ear startled Hubert and he skedaddled out of the way.

He looked like he was gonna nibble the cap off your head, Jackie mocked. What did his breath smell like?

Oats and hay, I guess, said Hubert, trying to look nonchalant. I dunno. What’s their breath supposed to smell like?

The singsong voice of the teamster guided the two horses as they backed a load of coal up to the Eagle. Eeeeasy there, Belle; back, Molly, baaaack; that’s the girl; whoo, Molly, whoa, Belle. Two yapping dogs pestered the horses and the frustrated driver snapped the reins at them, providing a brief moment of entertainment before Jackie and Hubert shuffled off in the direction of the other boys.

chapter two

Ada Osmond walked slowly to her kitchen window, folding her arms under her bosom and peering out as the last stars faded from the morning sky over Twillingate. Her only daughter Emily waved half-heartedly as she walked past the window, her sealskin boots swishing through the two inches of feathery snow that had settled overnight. Her long, heavy dress was covered by a stylish overcoat that she had bought from the Eaton’s catalogue with her first pay-cheque. She reminded Ada of her own grandmother, except she thought Emily was prettier than her grandmother had been—although it was getting more difficult to picture her grandmother’s face. She could certainly do with a little more fat on her frame, Ada reflected, but Emily liked to watch her figure, exactly as Ada’s grandmother had, which was odd for a woman whose pantry was rarely full enough to pose a threat. Her normally cheery daughter seemed heavy-hearted today and Ada’s own protective heart ached for her.

Fifteen minutes later, Emily arrived at the two-room schoolhouse on the edge of town. It was not much to look at, but she had an immense feeling of pride in the place where she had recently started her teaching career. Every morning of her first week, she had gazed with satisfaction at her new workplace, but this morning, as the late winter sun gave notice that it would soon appear, she looked morosely at the heavy ice grinding against the shoreline fifty feet away. Not today, she sighed inwardly. She laid her heavy leather briefcase on top of the bank of dry snow that Susie Potter’s father had shovelled from the steps late last evening, rummaged for the key in her pocket and unlocked the door. Instead of the stifling heat that usually came out of the place at this time of year, it was so cold inside that her breath formed a cloud before her face. Warm from the walk, she removed her coat, carefully folded it twice, and laid it on the highest shelf near her desk, away from the little hands that liked to rub the soft fur around the collar and cuffs. She lit a lamp, placed her briefcase on the desk, and started emptying it in preparation for the arrival of her thirty-nine pupils, the delight of her life. She was grateful to every one of them for making her teaching career as rewarding as she had hoped it would be, and she did not mind being in the oldest and smallest school in town, the proving ground for new teachers. She stood with a sheaf of papers in her hand, her mind drifting back through the weeks and months to the day she had come back home from college in St. John’s. She had been so nervous in the beginning.

Suddenly the door flew open. Emily jumped, as Genevieve Day stamped half a dozen times to beat the snow off her boots. Jumpin’, dyin’, ’twould freeze the balls off a brass monkey out there. You talk about cold!

Emily looked up at her friend and colleague, whose pale face had about as much colour as the snow that followed her in. Good morning to you, too, Gennie. Honestly, I don’t know where you come up with some of those sayings of yours. Do brass monkeys have particularly durable private parts? Then again, being brass I suppose they would.

No idea. I heard Grandfather say that so many times it just rubbed off, I guess. He used to say it to get Nan goin’ and then he would look over at us and wink. It has nothing to do with monkeys’ privates, but to tell you the truth I can’t remember what it means. Something to do with cannonballs, I think. He told me once. Speaking of cold, what are you burning in that stove? Rocks?

Oh, my goodness, I forgot to light the stove! Emily ran over and stuffed in some kindling. My mind was completely taken up with something else.

Thinking about Lover Boy?

Oh, Gennie, don’t even joke about it. If those two don’t leave soon, I think I’ll lose my mind. I can’t stay in the house over the weekend with him there.

How long has it been now—two weeks?

Not that I’m counting, she replied, as she struck a match and reached inside the stove. But it has been eleven long and trying days.

I wouldn’t mind having a tall, strappin’ twenty-five-year-old male about the house for eleven days.

Well, said Emily as she knitted her brow and concentrated on adjusting the damper. You’re welcome to Randy.

I don’t want Randy. I want a tall, strappin’ male, Gennie guffawed, delighted at her own wit, which was followed by a fit of coughing.

Gently patting her on the back, Emily said, Gennie, there’s no need for you to be in here this early. I can see that the stoves get lit.

I noticed, Gennie said. Why don’t you let the youngsters’ fathers take care of it like they’re supposed to? Then we could come in to a nice warm school like we been doing all winter.

I can tell that you haven’t been around here when there are seals on the go. That’s all they think about this time of the year: ‘Did youse see ar swile?’ she mimicked, screwing her pretty face into its most intense expression of anticipation. And now that there were a few off Long Point earlier in the week, you can be sure there will soon be men scrambling all over the ice, with no interest whatever in lighting the stove in the school. I swear Daddy has sharpened his sculping knife every day this week and he has yet to step out onto a clumper. His gaff and tow-rope are sitting by the door all set to go. You’d think it was emergency life-saving equipment and lives depended on him.

They take their sealing seriously, don’t they? said Gennie, half listening. I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s the story with George Tizzard? Did his mother make up her mind yet?

Oh, my. Poor little Georgie, Emily said, frowning. I honestly don’t know what Agnes is going to do; nothing would surprise me. She dislikes me so much I swear she’ll probably pull him out of school just to spite me. It breaks my heart to see them being taken out when they’re so young, but not many around here see any value in an education. I suppose you can’t blame them: the teenage boys especially are a huge help to their fathers out on the water.

Or in the vegetable garden or cutting wood or hunting birds or picking berries or tending the sheep or building boats… Gennie mused. It’s hard to keep food on the table without them.

I know. But it’s a crime the number of men around here who can barely read their own names.

Not one of my brothers finished school. All five of them were in the lumber woods before their fourteenth birthday.

Agnes had my blood boiling yesterday, Emily continued. It was all I could do to keep from giving her a good smack.

Oh, that would have been a nice thing to see now: the teacher giving a parent one across the lip.

There was Agnes, with babe in arms and another peeping out from behind her skirts, sticking out her chin and declaring, ‘I only went to Number Five and it never done me no ’arm. I got a ’usband and youngsters and a ’ouse over me ’ead.’ She may as well have added, ‘And what ’ave you got? Sure, you’re nothing but the schoolteacher—an old maid still livin’ at ’ome with your parents!’

Of course you’re living with your parents. What would she expect you to do—saw your own logs and build a house?

You know what I mean. Find a husband to build one for me.

I have no doubt that will happen…and soon, she grinned. But not everybody is lucky enough to get a man…

Gennie, don’t be silly. You have a lot to offer a man.

Like what? TB?

Stop talking like that! You haven’t got TB.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. And even if you do have it—which you don’t—what better place to be than in Twillingate, with a brand new hospital?

Never mind that. What’s she got against you anyway? Gennie asked. Did you steal her boyfriend or something?

"Well, to tell you the truth, you’re not far off. She used to be interested in my older brother, Bill, and was always dropping by the house on the feeblest of pretenses, hoping he might be around. Many’s the day when I was in high school that I would come home to find Agnes in the kitchen, chatting with Mama and maneuvering her way to the supper table.

"If you ever met Bill you would know how polite he is—he’s like Daddy. I guess she mistook his pleasantness for something more serious, but he had no interest whatsoever in Agnes; all he needed was eyes to see what a nincompoop she is. She must have thought that Bill consulted his little sister on matters of the heart. Anyway, ever since then she would probably choke if she had to say a good word about me.

After Bill went away to college she ended up with Uriah Tizzard; they were both eighteen when they got married, and then along came Georgie seven months later. I don’t know how a decent person like Ri Tizzard ended up with Agnes. He probably didn’t know where babies come from and found out too late. I think Agnes is using her son’s future to settle an old score with me. She was so smug yesterday! Poor Georgie.

Emily fell silent, her large brown eyes downcast. Gennie had often joked that Emily should never play poker because her face betrayed practically every thought in her head. Go easy there, Missie. Don’t forget what they taught us in college. You can only do so much and after that it’s out of your hands.

I know. I suppose with all that’s been going on—this business with Georgie, and those two being underfoot for nearly two weeks—and now I.

What?

Nothing.

Now you what?

I have to give Henry an answer. There’s no more time left.

Then give him an answer. Say yes.

It’s not that simple, Gennie…

Only because you’re making it complicated. A fabulous-looking, smart, witty, charming man wants to marry you. That’s pretty complicated, all right. Any girl in town would be delighted to have Henry Horwood for a husband, and if they knew you needed to think it over they would tell you you’re nuts.

I didn’t leave home for college only to end up a fisherman’s wife with a houseful of youngsters.

Oh, I see. You’re too good for that, are you? You’re gettin’ a bit gatchy, you know.

No I’m not! You may think I’m stuck up, Gennie, but there’s more to it than that.

Well, I certainly can’t figure out what it is.

I’m afraid.

Of what? Henry?

Of course not. I’m afraid of what might happen. When I marry I want some assurance of a long life together. The sea has a habit of taking husbands and fathers away. I mean, your own father is one of them. I just don’t want that to happen to me, plain and simple…Oh, I’m sorry, Gennie; I didn’t say that very well.

That’s okay. You’re right. My mother did end up a widow with a houseful of youngsters. But, it looks to me like your family has been spared all of that. Both of your grandfathers are old after being on the water all their lives, your father is still living—

That makes me even more fearful; my turn is sure to come. And I can’t ask him to stay home from the sea. Why, that would be like expecting Aunt Beulah Twine not to tap her feet while the accordion is playing.

He’s probably like most men around here: the sea is all he knows. Get him away from the water and I bet he’d be content doing something else.

Well, he plans to write an exam for some marine officer rating this summer. He’s been getting ready all winter.

Emily, girl, you can’t be running your life based on your fears! There’s lots of things worse than having to put up with the disruption of being married to a sailor. She grinned. After a few years of marriage you’ll probably be glad to have him out of the house for a while, anyway.

Emily smiled obligingly. Gennie broke the brief silence. Why do you say there’s no more time left?

Henry’s uncle is a master watch on one of the big sealing ships out of St. John’s and he got Henry a berth for the ice. He’ll be leaving in a few days and we won’t have any contact for a couple of months, maybe longer. I simply have to get it settled before he goes.

I think there’s something you’re not telling me, said Gennie, about a certain other person—

There was a commotion outside, and then the faint and earnest thumping of what could only be a grade two hand on the door, most likely female. Gennie opened it and there stood Elsie Porter with two red eyes blinking from behind her snow-covered face. Miss, they gave me a mobbin’! she wailed.

Oh, dear. Come over here by the stove, Elsie, and we’ll have you fixed up in no time. I’m sure it won’t be the last mobbin’ you’ll get. She gently closed the door to keep out three rosy-cheeked little girls, one of whom was eating snow from her mitt while another wiped her nose on her sleeve. Gennie suspected they were the guilty parties who had covered Elsie’s face with snow, but she chose not to undertake an investigation and subsequent administration of justice while the victim needed comforting.

Faith and Gail held me down and Leet mobbed me, Elsie sobbed. She even shoved snow down my back.

Well, I’ll certainly have a word with Faith and Gail and Melita, Gennie assured her as she wiped her face and tidied her hair. But did you do anything to egg them on, now?

I double-dog dared them, Elsie declared proudly.

There you go, then. It’s one thing to dare somebody—but a double-dog dare; well, you know—

I know, Miss. I’m sorry. She perked up. Will they have to stay after school?

We’ll see. You just stay by the stove and warm up. School will be starting in a few minutes.

It’s not very warm by the stove, Miss. Is it lit?

The arrival of the rest of her students provided the distraction Emily needed from her preoccupation with Henry—who was a far more pleasant preoccupation than Randy and his father. She and Gennie, with the help of Jessie Locke, at sixteen the oldest and most responsible girl in the school, proceeded to set out the lessons for the day. Balancing such a mix of personalities and needs was a challenge that animated Emily, and their energy and sense of wonder—of the younger ones, especially—always served to quicken her love for her calling. But the day passed too quickly and, like Cinderella at midnight, she felt the sparkle of the previous hours drain away as the weight of her decision fell back upon her. She was in no hurry to get home, and braced herself for Randy’s leering eyes.

To her immense relief, neither he nor his father was anywhere to be found. They’re gone, her mother declared. The wind shifted this morning and the ice let up a bit, so they decided to leave. Your father says they should be back in Herring Neck by supper.

chapter three

On Saturday evening Emily stood in the kitchen of the big house that her grandfather had built for his eight children, waiting for the irons on the stove to heat up so she could press her clothes for church. Her mother sat in the rocking chair by the stove, knitting. My, it’s some good to have those two out of our hair and to get the house back to ourselves again.

Mama, when I walked through the door and you told me they were gone I could have fallen on my knees and thanked God to be rid of them.

Her mother frowned at this flippant reference to prayer. Well, you know, when people are in need of a place to stay, you got to help out.

If they were relatives, I would agree, but we didn’t even know them, Emily insisted.

Perhaps not, but don’t forget that Randy and his father rowed all the way to Twillingate for one reason and one reason only: to take your father’s cousin to the hospital.

I know. I know, said Emily.

If they hadn’t offered, he might have lost his foot, the infection was that bad. You got to be some careful around a hen hawk, I’ll tell you.

A hen hawk? I thought he chopped his foot cutting wood.

No, my dear. A big hawk got in with the hens and he shot it with the britchloader. He thought it was dead, but when he went over it got him by the foot. Drove its spur right through his boot before it died.

Oh, my!

I suppose he didn’t keep it clean because it got infected. It’s a wonder he didn’t get blood poisoning. They say he’s going to be in the hospital for a while.

The poor thing; it was just trying to get something to eat, Emily reflected.

You know, Emily, it wasn’t their fault the harbour got chinched full of ice.

"I suppose not, but that Randy gave me the creeps, the way he