quietly listening to all of this. ‘That is not so,’ he said.
The captain looked surprised, but replied quite mildly. ‘You suggestin’ you be better sailor than I, Mister McLeod?’
‘In this instance, yes, I must tell you that I am,’ McLeod replied.
‘Pray explain y’self, sir,’ said the captain against a background of indrawn breaths from the onlookers.
‘If you care to step below I’ll show you on the charts that we are actually closer to North America than we are to home,’ said McLeod. ‘I can demonstrate to you most clearly that our chances of safety lie in continuing our voyage. And you will see, by morning there will be a wind from the east to help us on our way.’
‘McLeod, that is enough, man. This is mutiny. I’ll be placin’ you in irons if there be any more of this talk.’
McLeod looked around them all, measuring his moment. Some of the passengers were close to falling at his feet in their anxiety that someone would continue to head the boat towards America. Others were wavering, confused and unsure whom they should listen to.
Isabella, sheltered from the evening breeze by Duncan, felt oddly removed from what was happening. She expected that they would do as McLeod said, and was grateful of his presence as an antidote to the captain. But it was clear to her, as she supposed it must be to McLeod, that reason alone would not compel the people to follow his instructions.
‘I have seen a vision,’ said McLeod, raising his voice. ‘In my vision we stand on the edge of a new land, and God speaks to us through the act of merciful deliverance from the elements. Then in my vision, my head has turned itself around, and I see nothing, only darkness, and the everlasting canyon. Which is it to be, my friends, deliverance or darkness?’
Their voices went up in a roar. ‘Deliverance.’
A woman at the back called out, high and clear above the rest, ‘We are delivered by the father, our father, Norman McLeod.’
In the dusk, Isabella could have sworn that McLeod looked over their heads at her alone and fixing her straight in the eye, dared her to challenge him. It was as if he needed someone who would support him in his convictions, in the responsibility he was taking on himself for all their lives. She knew, too, that he needed her support amongstthe women, for she had acquired a new stature herself in the last few hours.
Across the space which separated them, she closed her eye in a slow wink, certain that no one except McLeod could see her action.
His face filled with thunder, and then subsided. She wanted to laugh but touched her husband’s arm, indicating that he should speak.
‘I say we go with Norman,’ said Duncan then.
‘Aye. Aye. We go with him.’
The captain turned an ugly face on McLeod. ‘If we ever do make land, Mister McLeod, the minute you set foot on it, you may expect they’ll be arrestin’ you and clappin’ on the irons. I’ll see to that.’
But by morning, as McLeod had predicted, a fair wind from the east sprang up while the sea remained gentle. The ship, set on a good course, flew across the waves towards America. All the men aboard helped to man the pumps, which could not be left for a moment if the sea was to be kept at bay.
On the last day of August but one, Kate MacKenzie who had become Isabella’s friend, woke her early in the morning. Duncan was already at the pumps. Kate whispered to her, for all around them others still slept.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said quietly, ‘so at dawn I went up onto the deck. Isabella, I swear I could smell land.’
‘Land?’ echoed Isabella, incredulous. She had almost forgotten that it existed. But Kate nodded her head with such conviction that she got up and followed her outside.
Kate stood on the deck and pointed, her red flag of hair gleaming in the light mist. And sure enough, it was not just the salt-laden air that they could smell, but a new scent of fresh pine forests. They peered at the horizon
The captain looked surprised, but replied quite mildly. ‘You suggestin’ you be better sailor than I, Mister McLeod?’
‘In this instance, yes, I must tell you that I am,’ McLeod replied.
‘Pray explain y’self, sir,’ said the captain against a background of indrawn breaths from the onlookers.
‘If you care to step below I’ll show you on the charts that we are actually closer to North America than we are to home,’ said McLeod. ‘I can demonstrate to you most clearly that our chances of safety lie in continuing our voyage. And you will see, by morning there will be a wind from the east to help us on our way.’
‘McLeod, that is enough, man. This is mutiny. I’ll be placin’ you in irons if there be any more of this talk.’
McLeod looked around them all, measuring his moment. Some of the passengers were close to falling at his feet in their anxiety that someone would continue to head the boat towards America. Others were wavering, confused and unsure whom they should listen to.
Isabella, sheltered from the evening breeze by Duncan, felt oddly removed from what was happening. She expected that they would do as McLeod said, and was grateful of his presence as an antidote to the captain. But it was clear to her, as she supposed it must be to McLeod, that reason alone would not compel the people to follow his instructions.
‘I have seen a vision,’ said McLeod, raising his voice. ‘In my vision we stand on the edge of a new land, and God speaks to us through the act of merciful deliverance from the elements. Then in my vision, my head has turned itself around, and I see nothing, only darkness, and the everlasting canyon. Which is it to be, my friends, deliverance or darkness?’
Their voices went up in a roar. ‘Deliverance.’
A woman at the back called out, high and clear above the rest, ‘We are delivered by the father, our father, Norman McLeod.’
In the dusk, Isabella could have sworn that McLeod looked over their heads at her alone and fixing her straight in the eye, dared her to challenge him. It was as if he needed someone who would support him in his convictions, in the responsibility he was taking on himself for all their lives. She knew, too, that he needed her support amongstthe women, for she had acquired a new stature herself in the last few hours.
Across the space which separated them, she closed her eye in a slow wink, certain that no one except McLeod could see her action.
His face filled with thunder, and then subsided. She wanted to laugh but touched her husband’s arm, indicating that he should speak.
‘I say we go with Norman,’ said Duncan then.
‘Aye. Aye. We go with him.’
The captain turned an ugly face on McLeod. ‘If we ever do make land, Mister McLeod, the minute you set foot on it, you may expect they’ll be arrestin’ you and clappin’ on the irons. I’ll see to that.’
But by morning, as McLeod had predicted, a fair wind from the east sprang up while the sea remained gentle. The ship, set on a good course, flew across the waves towards America. All the men aboard helped to man the pumps, which could not be left for a moment if the sea was to be kept at bay.
On the last day of August but one, Kate MacKenzie who had become Isabella’s friend, woke her early in the morning. Duncan was already at the pumps. Kate whispered to her, for all around them others still slept.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said quietly, ‘so at dawn I went up onto the deck. Isabella, I swear I could smell land.’
‘Land?’ echoed Isabella, incredulous. She had almost forgotten that it existed. But Kate nodded her head with such conviction that she got up and followed her outside.
Kate stood on the deck and pointed, her red flag of hair gleaming in the light mist. And sure enough, it was not just the salt-laden air that they could smell, but a new scent of fresh pine forests. They peered at the horizon
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