Murphy’s Story

MURPHY’S STORY

By Paul E. Jamison

Six months ago…

Much of the time, the Skippys – the crack team of ferret mechanics – are tolerant of their colleague, Murphy, the handsome Sable ferret. His flights of fancy, his schemes, his practical jokes – it can get to be much after awhile. But there’s another, more serious side to Murphy that the Skippys know very well. They know that he’s one of the most respected constables in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, with a reputation as one of the fiercest trackers on the Force. It was said that Murphy always got his man. Like his Father, Constable Gordon Ferret.

So, when Murphy announced his intentions to return to Canada, to track down an escaped fugitive – when they learned just who that fugitive was – they didn’t hesitate to offer him transportation North. The fugitive’s trail began in Ontario, and Murphy had to get there as soon as possible. The Skippys’ private jet was down for repairs and they figured the fastest route would be directly across Lake Superior by boat. The November weather on the Lake was, not surprisingly, Hell. Superior was lashed by the sort of storm that sent the Edmund Fitzgerald and the Robert Mackensie to their watery graves. But the Skippys did not hesitate. Of course they wouldn’t. They’re the Skippys.

The sailing ship Hagerstown was being tossed by the terrible gales, and the Skippys were keeping her on course and in one piece – barely. The Skippy crew was swarming over the rigging, doing what they could to keep the canvas from tearing away. Occasionally, they would glance at one figure on the foredeck, bundled in his Mackinaw and standing firm against the gale. Beneath his Mackinaw, he wore his red serge uniform; his campaign hat was in the cabin below. Everyone felt that he had no business on deck in such weather. But nobody was going to tell him to go below.

Murphy held the railing and faced the storm. He barely noticed the wind and the rain. His mind was occupied with plans and with memories.

When Gerrard Ferret had gone into the Territorial Prison, so many months ago, Murphy had thought it was over. He’d thought it was over, for the sake of the older Mountie who had died at the hands of Gerrard. But his father’s killer had escaped the prison and was now fleeing across the Yukon, going no one knew where. The RCMP was conducting a nationwide manhunt, but Murphy knew that it would be up to him to track this man down. For his Father.

Some things are never over.

The visibility was almost nil. Skippy, the captain, was a good man, but in these conditions he only had a vague idea of where the Hagerstown was on the Lake. Murphy trusted him to get them there, but it would be a near thing.

They were a few hours out of Detroit, on their way to Thunder Bay on the Canadian side. It was not lost on Murphy that this was the same route, in reverse, that the Robert Mackensie had taken on her final voyage. Somewhere around here – somewhere – was Six Fathom Shoal. The crew was keeping a sharp watch out for the Shoal, but no one could really have seen it until it was too late. But they did what they could.

Something in the rigging overhead gave an ominous creak as a ballad came to Murphy’s mind. It was a favorite of his, not as well-known as “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”, but still a good one. Amid the roar of the wind and the flapping of the sails, Murphy heard the song in his mind’s ear. The song begins with bagpipes with the occasional rat-tat of a drum, and abruptly the chorus is heard.

Chorus: 32 DOWN ON THE ROBERT MACKENSIE!

Someone lays into a guitar and plays a killer intro. Then the lead begins to sing.

32 men on a Great Lake boat

Quit the pier at Thunder Bay,

28,000 tons of coal

On a cold November day.

800 feet and 10 more long

80 feet across,

The steel mills of Detroit

Our destination through the frost.

At 2am on the 2nd,

Waves were runnin' up to 40 feet!

Winds were blowin' 60 miles,

Our engines crankin' heat.

At 3:13 we took a wave,

Our wheelhouse left behind.

The radar slipped beneath the waves,

And we were runnin' blind.

Hear me call across the waves.

If I don't come home tonight,

I will make it home someday.

Steel boats, Iron Men.

Chorus: 32 Down on the Robert Mackensie!

Steel boats, Iron Men.

Chorus: 32 Down on the Robert Mackensie!

Steel boats, Iron Men.

Chorus: 32 Down on the Robert Mackensie!

Our captain name of Phillips,

Seekin' shelter from the storm,

Turned us south of Bete Grise Bay

By way of Keewenaw point.

But the winds were pushin' at such a rate,

We ended up driftin' north.

A wave broke over a knife of rock:

Six Fathom Shoal.

The Mackensie she was cut in half,

And the stern she rammed the bow.

Men were caught in metal jaws,

And flames burned out of hell.

Stern kept runnin' all her lights ablaze,

Not one man would be found.

Captain's last transmission read:

"32 men down!"

(echo) 32 men down...

“Shoal off the port bow!”

Murphy strained his eyes and thought he could make out something in the roiling water, dark and all too solid, but he couldn’t be sure. He thought he could feel the ghosts of 32 men in the waves around them. He wondered if the crew of the Hagerstown would join them.

Hear me call across the waves.

If I don't come home tonight,

I will make it home someday.

Steel boats, Iron Men.

Chorus: 32 Down on the Robert Mackensie!

Steel boats, Iron Men.

Chorus: 32 Down on the Robert Mackensie!

Steel boats, Iron Men.

Chorus: 32 Down on the Robert Mackensie!

Hear me call across the waves.

If I don't come home tonight,

I will make it home someday!

Yes, I call across the waves.

If I don't come home tonight,

I will make it home someday...

Murphy leaned further into the wind. No. He could feel – he knew – that the November storm would howl and roar, but it would not claim the Hagerstown. They would make it safely across Lake Superior to Ontario. They had to.

Constable Murphy had a job to do.

Two weeks ago…

"Listen as the wind blows, from across the Great Divide."

It was cold, and desolate, along the ridgeline of the Canadian Rockies. There was no sound but the constant whoooosh of the wind, and in the vast landscape, there was no sign of any living thing. Except for the tracks, and for the Sable ferret that followed them. He wore a Mackinaw over his usual red serge uniform and campaign hat. Murphy knelt down to examine the tracks closely.

Murphy heard the ka-klick of the hammer action of a shotgun, and he looked up.

“You're going to shoot a Mountie? They'll hunt you to the ends of the Earth!”

Murphy saw a ferret covering him with a double-barreled shotgun.

The ferret replied, “You're not telling me something I don't already know, copper! Man, you are one tenacious policeman! I tried my best to throw you off the trail, but you kept coming! There's been only one other Mountie as good as you at that, and he's not around anymore!”

“I know, Gerrard.” Murphy stood up. “I'd say it runs in the family.”

Gerrard smiled; it was not a nice smile. “I should have known you'd come after me! Just like your old man.” The smile turned even nastier. “And look where it got him.”

“Gerrard Ferret, you're under arrest. I'm taking you back to Territorial Prison.”

“Oh, no, I'm not going back there! And I don't think you can make me! From where I'm standing –“ He aimed shotgun at Murphy. “- I think I've got the advantage. I'll take care of you, like I took care of your old man, then I'm on my way.”

“I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that. I'm here to stop you.”

Gerrard chuckled. “Oh, really? You and what back-up? I know you tracked me here by yourself. Who's gonna help you out here?”

“Well, there's me.”

Gerrard Ferret and Murphy turned around. At the ridgeline stood an older Sable ferret, crisply dressed in a red serge RCMP uniform. Gerrard was astonished to see this ferret, no less so than Murphy.

Gerrard blurted out, “YOU! But you can't - I saw - you can't be -! I KILLED YOU!” He swung the shotgun around at the ferret and fired both barrels point-blank. The older ferret Mountie didn’t flinch. There was no damage.

The older ferret said, “I could have told you that wouldn't do any good.”

Murphy moved up. “Gerrard, give me the gun.”

Gerrard turned and swung the empty shotgun, which caught Murphy a nasty one on his arm and sent him staggering backwards. The fugitive screamed and lunged at the older ferret. He passed through him and plunged over the ridge.

“And I could have told you that that wouldn't do any good, either.”

Murphy rushed up to the ridge and watched as Gerrard rolled down the slope. The fugitive eventually hit the bottom and didn’t get up.

Murphy looked at the other ferret for a few seconds.

“…Dad?”

Mounted Policeferret Gordon said, “Hello, son. How's the arm?”

“It'll be okay; no bones broken.” There was an awkward pause. “How are you doing?”

“I'm dead, son. Best not to beat around the bush about such things. Otherwise, I'm just fine.”

“Well - that's what I thought. I wasn't sure how to bring it up, though. Why are you here?”

“I'm not sure I understand it myself, son. Unfinished business, I suppose. Like catching my own murderer.”

Murphy looked down at unmoving form at the bottom of the slope. “Actually, that makes sense. Is that it, then? Is it over as far as he's concerned?”

“I believe so. He's still alive - trust me, I'd know otherwise. He'll be going back to prison now, and I don't think he'll get out again. I'd help you take him back, but, (shrugs) well, you understand. Things just slip through my hands nowadays. Unless I concentrate real hard, that is.”

“Really.” The two ferrets looked at one another for a second, then came together in an embrace. It was strong and warm.

Gordon said, “Concentrate like that, yes.”

“It's good to see you again, Dad.”

“Good to see you, too, son.”

“I don't get back up to Canada often anymore. I ought to.” Murphy breathed deeply of the clean, crisp mountain air. “I miss this. But I live in America, now. I have duties there. I have friends there.”

“I know. Good friends. Good duties, too.”

“Thank you for your help, Dad. I appreciate it very much.”

“You're very welcome. And something else - I don't know if I'd ever said it enough when I was still around - but I was always proud of you, son. And I'm even more proud of you now.”

Murphy said nothing.

Dad, will you -?” Murphy looked around, but he was alone now. “Thank you again, Dad. See you around.”

Murphy turned his eyes South. “Home...” He looked down the slope at Gerrard and massaged his injured arm.

It was several miles to the nearest outpost. It would be difficult enough to make the journey on his own with a useless arm; it would be almost impossible dragging along someone else who can't move on his own. The solution was so simple.

Below him, Gerrard mumbled and stirred, and his eyes abruptly opened. At first there was fear and confusion as he tried to move. Then he saw Murphy above him, and his glare turned full of hatred and anger. Murphy looked down on his father's killer.

Murphy finally said, “Right. There's nothing around here to make a travois with, so I'll have to drag you with a sling. You're not going to like that.” He began to climb down to Gerrard. “And if you don't like raw fish...” Murphy bumped his arm and winced from the pain. “This is going to take awhile.”

"Voices trapped in yearning, memories trapped in time."

Ten days ago…

A single-engine de Havilland floatplane was seen taking off from a lake in Northern Canada and climbing away at a steep angle. Murphy, with his left arm in a sling, sat in the copilot's seat and watched as the beautiful Yukon country fell away.

High winds in northern sky will carry you away.

You know you have to leave here;

You wish that you could stay.

There's four directions on this map, but you're only going one way:

Due… South…

That's the way I'm going.

Due… South…

Saddle up my travelling shoes, I'm bound to walk away these blues.

Due…

…South.

Murphy was next seen along an Illinois highway, climbing down from the cab of a longhaul truck, next to a sign marked WELCOME TO CHICAGO. He waved goodbye to the driver, hiked into the city and was soon climbing the steps of the Canadian Consulate.

You could walk a hundred thousand miles and never find a home.

You always knew someday you'd have to strike out on your own.

You look up at the clouds and you can see which way the wind is blowing:

Due… South…

That's the way I'm going.

Due… South…

Saddle up my travelling shoes, I'm bound to walk away these blues.

Due…

…South.

Murphy came out of the Consulate, accompanied by the Ferret Canadian Attaché, who shook Murphy's paw.

The Ferret Canadian Attaché said, “It's good of you to stop in. We heard here about your tracking down Gerrard up North. That was masterful work. Your Father would have been proud.”

Murphy smiled. “I know.”

“Yes, well... You know, the brass in the RCMP think highly of you. You've still got a job on the Force. You could even land a position here with the Consulate - if you want it, of course. You’ve always got a home in Canada.”

“Yes. I do. I know that. But I have a home here, too, in the States. Maybe someday, I'll go back North to stay. But for now... I'm going back to Kansas. They need me there.”

“Yes, I understand. I won't keep you.” The Canadian Ferret Attaché turned to head back into the Consulate, but then turned back to face Murphy. “Your Father was one of the best friends I ever had. He was a good man, not to mention a fine Mountie. They used to say in the Force that he was the last of a breed, but they were wrong. You are the last of a breed.” He nodded a goodbye and walked up the steps.

Murphy stood on the sidewalk, looking at the Consulate building. His thoughts are his own. The Sable ferret soon turned and started to walk Southward.

Due… South…

That's the way I'm going.

Due… South…

Saddle up my travelling shoes, I'm bound to walk away these blues.

Due…

Saddle up my travelling shoes, I'm bound to walk away these blues.

Due… South…

Due…

…South

##################

A Little Side Trip…

(The scene is a somewhat rundown lodge building. A man with a scruffy beard, a plaid shirt and military surplus pants - and red and green suspenders - is standing behind a table, on which rests a cage.)

Red Green: Today, on the "Talking Animals" part of the show, our local Animal Control officer, Ed Frid, has brought us something interesting to look at - a ferret! (To a chunky man with sideburns and a frightened expression standing behind him.) Ed, come over here and show the folks what we've got.

(Ed Frid vigorously shakes his head.)

Red Green: Aw, c'mon, Ed! What harm can a ferret do?

Ed Frid: Oh, they can do plenty, Red! Do you know what their favorite food is? Baby's eyeballs! (Red Green looks skeptical.) Oh, it's true! Late at night, when everyone's in bed and you think it's safe, they'll sneak in and crawl into the baby crib - and WHOOM! suck the baby's eyeballs out! Just like that! You hear about it all the time, right?

Red green: Actually, no, I haven't. Come on over here, Ed, people want to see animals! So stop all this nonsense and show us the ferret!

Ed Frid (edging closer): Okay, Red, but when he sucks the baby's eyeballs out, don't blame me! (Comes up to cage, visibly shaking and with a terrible squinty-eyed look, eases the cage door open. He waits several seconds, ready to bolt, but nothing happens.)

Red Green: Say - this cage is empty!

Ed Frid: It is? (relieved) Oh, well, too bad! Sorry, folks, but these things happen!

Red Green: He must have escaped - that means he's hiding around here somewhere.

(Ed Frid's eyes start to bug out when he thinks about this. He looks around, terrified.)

(A Sable ferret wearing a campaign hat pops up on Ed's shoulder.)

Ferret: Boo.

Ed Frid: YAHHHH!!! (He turns around and runs for the door, panic-stricken. Murphy vaults off of his shoulder, does a double somersault in the air and makes a fine two-point landing next to the cage. He and Red Green watch Ed running around in the next room.)

Murphy: He kind of had that coming for that "baby's eyeballs" nonsense. (Looks at cage.) Besides, this is a terrible setup for any self-respecting ferret. Oh, well, he looks like he could use the exercise.

Red Green: Exercise - not a word you hear much around Possum Lodge. (Looks at Murphy) You also don't see many ferrets dressed as Mounties around here.

Murphy: That's not surprising. The graduation requirements at the Academy are pretty strict - the wash-out rate is high.

Red Green (snaps fingers): Hey, wait - you're that ferret Mountie, aren't you? Well, we do have a special guest here today, folks! I've heard a lot of stories about you!

Murphy: Nothing you can prove!

Red Green: The stories you can't prove are the best kind! What are you doing in the Possum Lake area?

Murphy: Just passing through on my way South - I had some business up North and now I'm going back to the States. I'm going back home.

Red Green: Well, that's nice, now - say, wait! There's still that other ferrret out loose! I wonder where he is?

Ed Frid (runs back in room): YAAAAHHHHAAAHHH!!! (There's a Cinnamon ferret clinging to his hair now. Waving a cap over his head.)

Cinnamon ferret: YEE-HAA!! Calgary Stampede, here I come! (Ed Frid and ferret leave room again.)

Red Green: Oh, nevermind. (Strange squealing noise is heard. A wiry little man in a black T-shirt comes into room.)

Mike Hamar: Meeting time, Mr. - (Sees Murphy, in his Mounted Police uniform and his jaw drops.) Um... Meeting time, Mr. Green! I'll meet you downstairs! (Rushes out of room.)

Red Green: That's Mike, our local - well, he's very familiar with the local law enforcement.

Murphy: Oh, that's the Possum Lodge meeting! Mind if I set in this time? I'm a member of the Lodge and all! (Holds up badge which says: POSSUM LODGE, FERRET AUXILIARY!)

Red Green: Well... Having a Mountie around might make Mike a bit jumpy.

Murphy: Do you have a problem with that?

Red Green: Um... no, not really. (To audience) If my wife is watching, I'll be home straight after the meeting, and maybe I can weasel my way into your affections tonight! (Looks down at Murphy, who isn't laughing.) Just a little joke.

Murphy: When they're that little, they need a lot of love.

Red Green: Yeah, yeah, everyone's a critic. To the rest of you out there, on behalf of the whole gang up here at the Lodge, thanks for watching!

Murphy: And remember - keep your stick on the ice! (Red Green and Murphy head for the meeting.)

##################

Today

The Cannon Crew was preparing for a very special salute. Skippy, Skippy, Skippy, Skippy, Skippy and Skippy – members of the crack team of ferret mechanics – had the vintage Civil War cannon in position and ready to fire. Watching them was Paul; Sammy, the Dark-Eyed White ferret wearing a yarmulke; and Max, a Sable ferret in a wheelchair.

Paul said, “Well, we’re almost ready. By the way, has anyone heard from Murphy?”

Max replied, “Yes, we have, sir. He’s back in the country and on his way here, now. He’s done his job and done it well. And now he’s coming home.”

“Oh, of course. That’s our Murphy. I wish his trip up North had been under better circumstances.”

Sammy said, “That’s true, sir. But he said in his email that it brought back some special memories.”

“Memories of his service as a Mounted Policeman, no doubt.”

“Not just that, sir. Murphy worked other jobs while he was a young hob. A few summers he worked for the logging industry in Saskatchewan. He’d guide logs down the rivers to the sawmill.”

“Really? I didn't know that! That must have been interesting!”

“I’m sure it was! It wasn’t easy work, as you can guess, but Murph told us that it was very rewarding.” Sammy Smiled. “For one thing, he learned how to dance.”

##################

The scene is the Canadian wilderness, some years back. Some freshly-cut logs are floating down a nearby river, and balancing on the back of one is Murphy, dressed in a plaid shirt and coveralls, wielding a peavey as he guides the logs along. He passes a pretty young Cinnamon ferret named Sheila, standing in the shore in a gingham dress with a backup chorus of ferrets. Sheila begins to sing.

Sheila:

If you should ask any girl from the parish around

What pleases her most from her head to her toes,

She'll say - "I'm not sure that it's business of yours,

But I do like to waltz with a log driver."

Murphy digs his peavey into the log and spins around.

Chorus:

For he goes birling down a-down the white water;

That's where the log driver learns to step lightly.

It's birling down, a-down white water;

A log driver's waltz pleases girls completely.

Sheila:

When the drive's nearly over, I like to go down

To see all the lads while they work on the river.

I know that come evening they'll be in the town

And we all want to waltz with a log driver.

The scene shifts to a dance hall, with a large crowd of ferrets dancing together.

Chorus:

For he goes birling down a-down the white water;

That's where the log driver learns to step lightly.

It's birling down, a-down white water;

A log driver's waltz pleases girls completely.

Sheila, in her lovely gingham dress, dances with several handsome hobs, but they’re all lacking and she looks bored. She also looks pained; they tend to step on her feet.

Sheila:

To please both my parents I've had to give way

And dance with the doctors and merchants and lawyers.

Their manners are fine but their feet are of clay,

For there's none with the style of a log driver.

Out of nowhere, Murphy steps forward and sweeps Sheila off her feet, and they happily spin around the dance hall.

Chorus:

For he goes birling down a-down the white water;

That's where the log driver learns to step lightly.

It's birling down, a-down white water;

A log driver's waltz pleases girls completely.

The scene shifts back to the river, with Sheila and her backup chorus. Murphy approaches on the back of a log.

Sheila:

I've had my chances with all sorts of men

But none is so fine as my lad on the river.

So when the drive's over, if he asks me again,

I think I will marry my log driver.

Sheila jumps onto Murphy's log as it floats by, and, despite the bumpy ride, the two ferrets dance together perfectly.

Chorus:

For he goes birling down a-down the white water;

That's where the log driver learns to step lightly.

It's birling down, a-down white water;

A log driver's waltz pleases girls...

Completely.

##################

Paul said, “That’s a wonderful story. I didn’t know that Murphy had come so close to getting married. He’s never mentioned it. What happened?”

Sammy replied, “Well… It wasn’t long afterward that Murphy decided that his future lay in law enforcement and he moved to Vancouver to join the RCMP. Sheila stayed behind. She said it was because she didn’t want to move to the big city, but Murphy thought that she couldn’t handle the risk that Murphy was taking as a Mounted Policeman. So they drifted apart and lost touch. But I don’t think that Murphy ever forgot her.”

“That’s sad. Okay, it looks like the Cannon is all set up. Is there anything else we’re waiting on?”

Max replied, “Well, we were kind of hoping for someone to show up.” He pointed. “And here he comes now.”

Someone was approaching from the North - a handsome Sable ferret, resplendent in the red serge uniform and carrying a compact rucksack. He put the rucksack down and strode forward, tall, proud and confident. Sammy, Max and the Skippys stepped back as he walked by. The handsome ferret came up to Paul and stood at attention.

Murphy, saluting smartly, said, “Constable Murphy reporting for duty, sir!”

Paul said, “I - I don't know. I'm a civilian; I don't think I can –“

Murphy said nothing; he just stood there, holding his salute. Finally, Paul simply returned it.

Murphy said, “Sir, I am back. I see we’ve got a cannon to fire. Is this a special occasion?”

Yes. Yes, it is, a very special occasion. Maybe...” He looked down at Murphy. “Maybe I ought to let someone else do the honors this time.”

“Say no more, sir!” Murphy turned to the Crew. “Right, is the charge loaded - good! Skippy, Skippy, Skippy – is she oriented in the proper direction - excellent! Sammy, get ready on the lanyard! All set? On my mark then!

“Ready... aim... FIRE!”

BOOOOOOMMM!!!

Murphy watched the charge climb to altitude and smiled.

The charge exploded, showering everything with confetti, streamers, balloons and a double helping of M&Ms in Plain, Peanut, Green Chili, Swedish Meatball, Haggis, Almond, Ferretone and all of the popular flavors. A banner floated down beneath parachutes: WELCOME HOME, CONSTABLE! Max, Sammy and the Skippys crowded around Murphy to give hugs and pats on his back.

Paul asked, “How do you feel, Murphy?”

Murphy replied, “I feel… strong. I feel cleansed. I've done my duty. I’m sure – I know – that my Father is proud of me, and that means so much. I’m glad I went up there. But my home is here now, and it's great to be back.”

Sammy said, “Um, Murphy? You have a visitor.”

Murphy looked around and was astonished to see a Cinnamon ferret nearby, dressed in a Gingham dress. She was older now, but she was still a beautiful lady.

Murphy said softly, “Sheila?”

The lady ferret replied, “Murphy.”

Paul, Sammy, Max and the Skippys stepped back. Sheila and Murphy slowly walked toward each other and gently embraced. The couple then began to dance together, to a song that only they could hear.

THE END

Suggested by events in the TV program Due South. The little side trip is based on a terrific little show from Canada called The Red Green Show. Check your local PBS listing - if they don't show it, they ought to!

Lyrics are from the following sources:

“Robert Mackensie” by Jay Semko and Paul Gross

"Possession" by Sarah McLachlan.

"Due South" theme, by Jay Semko & Bryan Potvin.

"The Log Driver's Waltz" by Wade Hemsworth