Page 29 of A Fire in Their Hearts

T HE STENCH IS BEYOND BELIEF. Each breath feels as if it’s not air I’m taking in but something physical that is hot and sharp, slicing my lungs painfully.

Many prisoners have been terribly sea-sick and people vomit over themselves and their neighbours as there’s no time to reach the buckets which are overflowing anyway, their disgusting contents slopping along the floor as the ship rolls and pitches.

Figures sit squashed side by side, soaked in filth yet too ill to care.

Our initial fears have turned out to be true and the rations of water and food are so poor that we’re certain the ship isn’t provisioned for a long journey with this many people. If the authorities mean to kill us, I wish they would get it over with.

We’ve been heading north, a strange route in winter.

Nothing about this voyage makes sense to those amongst us who understand the sea.

The weather has been rough since departing Leith and now we’re anchored off Orkney.

The hatch has been opened so that the buckets can be emptied and water brought down.

At least we’re not made to use the same containers for both functions.

I’m as fit as many in the hold and so the three of us are quick to volunteer.

Putting my head outside is extraordinary after so long below.

Like everyone else I’ve discarded most of my layers of clothing and the intense cold is quickly numbing my body.

I can only get on to the deck on my hands and knees, then find that the wild pitching of the vessel means I can’t get up.

If Teddico appears now, he’s going to order me back down.

Without any warning a hand grabs my arm and a sailor lifts me to my feet as if I weigh hardly anything at all.

With a rough kindness he holds me upright until I’m finally able to stand by myself.

‘Empty them over that side,’ he says, pointing. ‘Don’t mess the deck!’

I nod my thanks and he leaves. There’s a lot of activity going on about me and sailors seem too busy to bother with what I’m doing. Samuel’s head appears out of the hatch.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, it’s just difficult to balance,’ I say, though I’m also scared I won’t have the ability to carry a bucket without spilling the contents.

He goes back down. Calum is at the bottom.

Despite the apparent enormity of my task I’m grateful that they’re letting me have this experience.

There have been times when I felt I could have killed someone just to have five minutes in the open air.

I take the opportunity to look around. The nearby land appears black, while the grey of the clouds and the angry sea merge together as if one is lifted up and the other dragged down in a kiss that foretells of death.

‘Violet!’

Samuel has placed a stinking bucket on the deck.

The handle is covered in human waste but I have no other way to carry it, so lift it up and weave towards the side.

It’s only at this point I become aware that there’s a group of officers a little further along.

Teddico is shouting down to someone and I position myself as far away as possible, yet still able to hear what’s being said.

Below is a small boat that’s obviously been rowed out from the shore and is taking shelter on that side of the ship.

One man calls up in the strange accent these islanders have.

‘I tell you, Captain, the storm is going to be severe and you would be safer anchoring farther into the sound, particularly if it comes from the north. I can put a man aboard to guide you, if that helps.’

‘As I’ve already told you, my decision is made. We’ll ride it out here at anchor,’ shouts Teddico, who then walks away, leaving his officers and the four men in the boat staring at each other in apparent disbelief.

As soon as it moves away, the small boat is thrown around dangerously and it’s clear the Orcadians have put their lives at great risk to deliver this warning. Then, shaking their heads, the officers disperse. I tip the bucket into the sea and wonder if, before long, we’ll all be following the slop.

*?*?*

The storm worsens and our misery is replaced by fear, which is then nudged aside by terror as the ship lurches and twists, rises and falls.

We’re all intensely focused on a Covenanter called Fergus, an experienced sailor who understands sounds that to us are merely creaking and banging, flapping and clanking.

‘The anchor’s being dragged,’ he announces.

‘What does that mean?’ asks a voice.

‘If it continues then the ship will likely be forced on to the rocks. Quiet!’

He climbs up the steps and bends his head so that his ear is pressed against the hatch. His expression of concentration is fierce. He’s like this for an age before suddenly shouting out.

‘Bastards! They’re lowering the boats. We’re being abandoned. Hey! Hey! Open the hatch! Don’t leave us down here!’

His comments send panic racing throughout us.

Calum joins Fergus to push against the hatch.

People cry out to be freed and pray for God’s intervention, while outside the wind howls its rage and the ship is pushed further and faster until finally there is a huge explosion of noise as the hull is lifted up then smashed down on to rocks.

Men cry out in pain and shock as we’re thrown around violently, heads and limbs bashing against each other or the walls of the hold.

Fergus falls off the ladder into a pile of bodies, those at the bottom screaming to be released.

Several lanterns smash, and as the gloom increases, so does the madness.

I can just make out Calum still heaving against the hatch.

Samuel holds me tightly in his arms, trying to protect me as best he can. Above it all, I hear him say he’s sorry. I pull back to look up at him.

‘Samuel, I would rather die than continue alone. I have no regrets. Better that we end this very night than be banished to a strange land. We’ve kept true to what is right, and for all his wealth and power the king is merely a man who’ll eventually die and be replaced by another.

Never doubt that others will continue our fight.

We might not see it, but the time will come when Scotsmen don’t have such hate in their hearts that they murder countrymen on sight for carrying a Bible. ’

‘Violet, if you get the chance, you must swim for the shore.’

‘Not without you.’

‘Please! I’ll try to keep us together—’

The ship shifts violently and, with one last scream of breaking timbers, icy water pours through the broken hull.