A strong Atlantic gust blew the fedora off the man’s head and high into the sky where it circled and drifted on the wind for a couple of seconds. It then descended and landed in the ocean. The event caught the attention of a family sitting on the rocks below the lighthouse enjoying the last weekend of the summer. “Hey, that man’s going right out to the end,” the young girl said as she pointed to an individual stepping slowly over the large boulders of Peggy’s Cove. As if by natural instinct, her older brother quickly searched for his iPhone and began shooting video. Their parents watched. Concerned. Later, they would tell the Nova Scotia R.C.M.P. that the man appeared to know what he was doing and in fact seemed quite happy, and so they did nothing to warn him of the imminent danger. In fact, there were other tourists close by. They too did nothing. Oh, except, maybe one fellow who told the man to watch out for large waves.
The stranger stood at the farthest end of the rocks, straight and as silent as Peggy Cove’s famous lighthouse, and stared out to sea. The wave that took him came quickly, before anyone could do anything. It was as if Neptune himself reached out his large godly hand and snatched the man without compunction. The young girl screamed. Her mother stared horrified. The father ran to the edge, but not too close, to see if he could do anything. He could not. The young boy kept shooting video. “Call emergency. Now!” the father yelled at his son. The boy stopped shooting video, hit the emergency button on his phone, and with a panicked voice explained the situation to the dispatcher. Later, when R.C.M.P. Detective Jim Mason had finished questioning the family, the boy uploaded the video to YouTube. It had over 100,000 hits in the first hour. That evening the footage ran on the local TV station, and a young reporter, her jacket sprinkled with light September rain, with the famous lighthouse in the background, asked for witnesses to come forward and help identify the stranger. The time of the incident was clearly marked with the digital numbers: 3.52pm. A phone number of the local police was flashed on the screen.
It was Mary Bronte, who worked at the Latté and Loon Café on St. Margaret’s Bay Road, who made the breakthrough call. She remembered the stranger vividly. Tourists were not unusual in the café. If they were not asking for directions to Peggy’s Cove it was to Oak Island, the home of a supposed treasure and the subject of a recent reality show. But what made this elderly gentleman memorable was that he had walked the Timberlea trail all the way from Halifax. When Mary asked how long it had taken him he jokingly replied in his European accent: “A lifetime.” No, she couldn’t place the accent, possibly French or Italian. What was also unusual was he had no backpack, and come to think of it, his clothes were not that of an outdoorsman, more like someone who dressed for shopping on a Saturday at the market. A grey pea jacket, jeans, runners, and, this was unusual, a grey fedora hat. I’d guess he was in his late 50s, Mary told Detective Mason. The stranger ordered herbal tea and wondered if the trail led all the way to Peggy’s Cove. Mary told him that the “rails to trails” would get him close, but it was at least another couple of hours to walk there. She advised him to take a load off his feet, enjoy his tea, and she was sure one of her local customers would stop by for their coffee and she would ask for a ride on his behalf.
That’s how Francis Arthur met the stranger. He was nice fellow, Francis told police. No, he didn’t talk much, didn’t mention his name, but he said that he had been saving for a long time to make the trip happen. He didn’t say exactly where he was from, but that he had been traveling around Europe for the last ten years. Paris, Munich, London, Geneva. Just that he had been traveling for a while. I didn’t press the point, Mr. Arthur stated, and he offered no other details. The stranger mentioned how beautiful the Nova Scotia coast was, and how it reminded him of Treasure Island. He said that was one of his favourite stories growing up. I let him off at the head of Peggy’s Point Road and told him to follow the road past the memorial, past the gift shop and he would spot the lighthouse. He thanked me for my kindness, tipped his hat, and took off down the road. A nice gentleman, but I have no idea how he got here.
The police checked all the incoming flights from Europe and nobody stood out as a possible suspect, but they had junior detectives following leads and names and maybe somebody would remember the man. Using visual recognition technology the police hoped that they were able to identify the stranger on the airport CCTV cameras. But no such luck. And then it occurred to the investigating team that maybe the stranger had come in by Greyhound or VIA rail. Sure enough they got a hit. The VIA rail records showed that a man, fitting the description, had traveled all the way from Montreal that week. Once again they asked for witnesses to come forward.
Barry Golden saw the crime stoppers appeal while watching TV in his Dalhousie dormitory. Yes, he told police, he remembered the man. I chatted with him for a little on the train. I wondered why he had not flown to Halifax; he didn’t get student discounts like I did. He said he did not trust airplanes, and besides it gave him a chance to see the country; places he remembered vaguely from his youth, but he couldn’t be sure. The stranger said he had trouble remembering things these days, must be old age he quipped. With a chuckle, he said he wanted to visit his family on the East Coast before he forgot what they looked like. He had a nice laugh. I liked him. And yes, he did have an accent. It could have been French Quebec. I’m not sure. There was no other helpful information.
Detective Mason checked at the Peggy’s Cove gift shop. Doris Blinsdale, the shop assistant who was there almost every minute of the day, could not remember seeing the man in question, but they did have a camera aimed at the cash register and the police were invited to screen the footage. And that’s when they saw the man with the fedora. He had purchased a souvenir plate and paid for it with cash. Yes, Ms. Blinsdale now had a vague recognition of the cash transaction for the plate was something special. It was a slightly higher priced souvenir item – $47.50 – and on it was a sailor’s prayer. As for the change, the stranger did not want the $2.50 and suggested Doris add it to the fisherman’s charity box that was on the counter. Doris showed the detective the remaining two similar items she had in stock and Detective Mason read the inscription on the plate:
A Sailor’s Prayer
Oh Lord, watch over us
One and all
Fishermen upon your great ocean
As the waves rise and fall.
Bless us with a bountiful catch
And a safe journey
To all our ports of call.
If we should fall victim
To the cruel beauty of the sea
Then pilot us to your harbour
Refuge forever with thee.
Why would this nameless man, in one of his last acts on earth purchase a souvenir plate?
The surveillance footage registered the date and time: September 2 3.17pm. Over thirty minutes was missing from the man’s last known movements. Where had he gone? Had he just sat on a rock and contemplated the ocean, or walked around the village? Detective Mason, deep in his thoughts, walked up to the Swiss Air Flight 111 Memorial just a couple of hundred yards away from the gift shop. There amongst the dead flowers and small photos was the souvenir plate propped up against the marble stone beneath details of the tragedy that took the lives of two hundred and twenty nine passengers. He looked at the date of the tragedy carved in stone: Sept. 2 1998… and the words carved in its heart: They have been joined to the sea and the sky.
The Cruel Beauty of the Sea
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