By March tenth you would not be thinking about fish. You'd be thinking about seals. Already outport lads were in St. John's seeking berths on the sealing fleets.

They filled every boarding house. More bunked out in crowds at the fire hail. William had seen them drinking mugs of tea and reckoning what they'd make on the ice fields. Some nights the fire halls were filled. William saw young men walking downtown all night. Walking to keep warm. Waiting for a berth on the ice.

It wasn't just outport men who hoped for work in St. John's. There were always stowaways. The molasses shortage meant times were hard in Barbados this year. A crowd of black men hid themselves in casks on the brigantine Grace. They tumbled onto the south side looking for work. Two weeks later they were sent home on the Clementine.

William read in the paper that people were out of work all over the world this winter. In England thousands of unemployed men had marched on the London Parliament. It wasn't only here.

Everyone had the same golden dream. Nobody wanted to wake up from it even though they knew it wasn't true.

He passed St. Mary's Church and stopped on Job's Bridge to watch youngsters playing on ice. The other day five boys had drifted down the harbour on an ice pan. They called for help at the opening of the narrows. Lettie Duggan's son John put off from the south side and rescued them. They promised not to play the game again. William saw two of them down there now.

"Get yourselves home out of it!" he called. The boys used poles to push their ice raft under the bridge. He could hear their muffled laughter under him. He wouldn't mind being down there too. But he crossed the bridge.