Read Online The Gravesavers by Sheree Fitch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sheree Fitch
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I didn’t laugh.
She crossed the road and clambered down into the ditch, motioning to me to follow with an impatient wave of her arm. I squished after her, darn near sinking in mud the colour and thickness of tar. I had to fight my way through a grove of cattails, most of them taller than I was. Nana was breathing heavily by this time, but then so was I.
“Shh!” she hissed, looking behind me. I slowly turned. It wasn’t a skeleton or a bear, but a doe, just a few steps away. She noticed us, and with a flick of tail showing the white patch around its bottom like a thong bikini, she was gone.
“This way,” said Nana. An overgrown trail led deeper into the forest. “Careful of the branches,” she said. “One snap in the eye and you’ll be blind for the rest of your life.”
I followed at a safe distance as they whipped back. She was ploughing through like some dog on the scent of a rabbit. The wild blackberry bushes and thistles on either side of the trail attacked my ankle bones. Finally, we made it to some sort of a clearing.
Panting, she trudged up a small knoll in the centre of the clearing. I joined her, almost blown over by the force of the wind, gasping at what I saw. It was a view of the ocean even more spectacular than from the hill behind her house. Stretching out as far as I could see was nothing but ocean. It was a wild and thrashing sea, the roar of the waves like thunder beneath our feet.
“Over here,” she shouted. Barely visible for the alders and scrub brush around it was a cemetery. The tombstones were lopsided, crooked teeth in a dinosaur’s jaw. She pointed to a tall monument, a giant cement pencil pointing to the sky. “Looks like a miniature of the Washington Monument, doesn’t it?” she wheezed.
“I couldn’t say,” I said, “seeing as I’ve never seen the Washington Monument.” I was hot and bruised and frustrated and now wet by the spray from waves hitting the rocks below. I couldn’t look down without getting dizzy.
“Well, it does. Read what it says,” she ordered.
There was a rectangular plaque, tarnished from age, about halfway up the base of the stone. I read it out loud.
“‘This spot marks the burial of some 544 souls lost at sea in the marine disaster of the SS
Atlantic
on April 1, 1873. May they rest in the waters of eternal life.’”
“Five hundred and fo—” I was astonished.
“Everyone knows about the
Titanic
,” Nana said quietly. “They write books about it, make movies and spend millions looking for it. That’s fine, it should be remembered. But this shipwreck was the largest wreck before the
Titanic
. This one is all but forgotten. Nearly everyone in Boulder Basin and Terns Bay helped in the rescue that night.” She pointed just down the coast aways. “See that hump of rock out there, like a whale’s back?”
I nodded. It was only visible every few moments, as waves crashed around it.
“That’s where she hit. Not even eight hundred feet from Elbow Island beyond. Some made it to the island. Some washed up on its shore. Some say if you step on that island to this day you’ll hear the screams and dying words of those who didn’t make it. Those bones you found, they’re from here, this gravesite where those folks got buried. Time and the sea are eroding the earth. These poor buggers are drowning all over again.”
“You mean the bones from here make it all the way to your house?”
“All up and down this coast these past few years. Before that, people around here collected enough treasures and pieces of ship in their houses to set up a small museum. Which is exactly what I’d like to see someday. Anyhow, the erosion of the grave itself is a tragedy. I’ve been stashing the bones for a few years now, hoping I could get some action.”
“Action for what?”
“To restore this gravesite, first off. Thought we could fix up the shoreline here, bulldoze some earth back in and build up the embankment to keep who’s left buried safe.
She crossed the road and clambered down into the ditch, motioning to me to follow with an impatient wave of her arm. I squished after her, darn near sinking in mud the colour and thickness of tar. I had to fight my way through a grove of cattails, most of them taller than I was. Nana was breathing heavily by this time, but then so was I.
“Shh!” she hissed, looking behind me. I slowly turned. It wasn’t a skeleton or a bear, but a doe, just a few steps away. She noticed us, and with a flick of tail showing the white patch around its bottom like a thong bikini, she was gone.
“This way,” said Nana. An overgrown trail led deeper into the forest. “Careful of the branches,” she said. “One snap in the eye and you’ll be blind for the rest of your life.”
I followed at a safe distance as they whipped back. She was ploughing through like some dog on the scent of a rabbit. The wild blackberry bushes and thistles on either side of the trail attacked my ankle bones. Finally, we made it to some sort of a clearing.
Panting, she trudged up a small knoll in the centre of the clearing. I joined her, almost blown over by the force of the wind, gasping at what I saw. It was a view of the ocean even more spectacular than from the hill behind her house. Stretching out as far as I could see was nothing but ocean. It was a wild and thrashing sea, the roar of the waves like thunder beneath our feet.
“Over here,” she shouted. Barely visible for the alders and scrub brush around it was a cemetery. The tombstones were lopsided, crooked teeth in a dinosaur’s jaw. She pointed to a tall monument, a giant cement pencil pointing to the sky. “Looks like a miniature of the Washington Monument, doesn’t it?” she wheezed.
“I couldn’t say,” I said, “seeing as I’ve never seen the Washington Monument.” I was hot and bruised and frustrated and now wet by the spray from waves hitting the rocks below. I couldn’t look down without getting dizzy.
“Well, it does. Read what it says,” she ordered.
There was a rectangular plaque, tarnished from age, about halfway up the base of the stone. I read it out loud.
“‘This spot marks the burial of some 544 souls lost at sea in the marine disaster of the SS
Atlantic
on April 1, 1873. May they rest in the waters of eternal life.’”
“Five hundred and fo—” I was astonished.
“Everyone knows about the
Titanic
,” Nana said quietly. “They write books about it, make movies and spend millions looking for it. That’s fine, it should be remembered. But this shipwreck was the largest wreck before the
Titanic
. This one is all but forgotten. Nearly everyone in Boulder Basin and Terns Bay helped in the rescue that night.” She pointed just down the coast aways. “See that hump of rock out there, like a whale’s back?”
I nodded. It was only visible every few moments, as waves crashed around it.
“That’s where she hit. Not even eight hundred feet from Elbow Island beyond. Some made it to the island. Some washed up on its shore. Some say if you step on that island to this day you’ll hear the screams and dying words of those who didn’t make it. Those bones you found, they’re from here, this gravesite where those folks got buried. Time and the sea are eroding the earth. These poor buggers are drowning all over again.”
“You mean the bones from here make it all the way to your house?”
“All up and down this coast these past few years. Before that, people around here collected enough treasures and pieces of ship in their houses to set up a small museum. Which is exactly what I’d like to see someday. Anyhow, the erosion of the grave itself is a tragedy. I’ve been stashing the bones for a few years now, hoping I could get some action.”
“Action for what?”
“To restore this gravesite, first off. Thought we could fix up the shoreline here, bulldoze some earth back in and build up the embankment to keep who’s left buried safe.
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