The Emerald Key - By Christopher Dinsdale Page 0,76
you end up losing the book in the first place?”
“I had been told that it had been washed overboard during a terrible storm. We were approaching the North American coastline. I was helping the crew battle through the gale, and when I returned to my berth, the door was wide open, everything was wet with sea water, the furniture had been thrown about, and my satchel with the book was gone!”
Jamie squeezed Ryan’s shoulder. “It’s all right. It was stolen from your room by one of the crewmen, and then likely sold to the captain. After that, it ended up in the parliament library. There was nothing you could have done about it.”
“But now you have the book. Fantastic!”
“We have the book. And now I have some questions for you. What brought you way out here, Ryan, to work on a canal? Why didn’t you come home?”
“It’s a long story.”
Jamie smiled. “Your boss told you to take as much time as you needed.”
Ryan guffawed and nodded. “I started off the crossing in the fourth-class hold, unconscious. When I woke up, I was stunned to find myself surrounded by destitute Irish immigrants on a packed ship. I was told I was on the Carpathia and we were just starting a crossing to Canada. Shocked at the situation, I argued with any and every crew member I could find to let me out and allow me to leave the ship. But the British soldiers must have informed them that I was troublemaker. I was beaten every time I complained until we were well out to sea and there was no going back. Then, the sickness started. Jamie, it was the worst living nightmare I could ever imagine! I saw so much suffering, disease, and death that I will be haunted for the rest of my life. I personally carried thirty-seven bodies to the deck railing for burial at sea and I will remember the faces of each and every one of those Irish men, women, and children for the rest of my life.
“I didn’t think it could get worse, but then a massive storm hit. Our ship rolled dangerously onto its side, and a sailor fell through a hatch and into our fourth-class hold, landing hard on one of the ship’s ribbing. I could tell he was badly hurt. The sailor had both a broken arm and leg. Trying to help, I had narrow strips of wood brought in from a nearby cargo hold. We tore up bits of cloth, and I made splints for both his broken arm and leg. Then, with the help of the crew, we carefully hoisted him back up to deck level.”
“Captain Chamberlain heard about my medical talents. He came down and said there were more wounded up on deck and asked, since there was no physician aboard, if I would be willing to tend to them as well. Of course, I volunteered my services, but when he asked me my name, I took the name of a passenger that I’d helped bury at sea, a young lad named Patrick Kell. Many men were lost at sea during the storm, and I decided Ryan Galway was going to be one of them. Once up on deck, it wasn’t hard for me to change the name in the deceased manifest when no one was looking. It was kept in the infirmary that I had set up near the officer’s quarters. I even attached one of my letters to the manifest as proof that I had died. I thought having a different identity would make it easier for me when I eventually returned to Ireland, in case the British were determined to try and keep me out of my home country.”
“So that explains your death certificate and why everyone around here calls you Patrick,” commented Jamie. “But how did you end up working at the Welland Canal?”
“One of the patients whom I tended, a gentleman by the name of Martin Bigglesworth, was a British mechanical engineer who had broken his arm at the height of the storm. He stayed in his own bed to recuperate, and it was while I was in his cabin that I spied some notes and diagrams on his desk. I started asking him questions about the drawings, and he explained that he had been hired to help solve a problem with one of the canals being built in Canada West. I made several comments on the written calculations and offered a new solution to