When he finally got the outer portion of sail bunched up, he fed the gasket, a six-foot-long canvas sail tie, between the yard and the sail and then threw one end forward. If he was lucky the wind would blow it back and he could catch it and tie the sail tightly in a bundle. It took several tries but he finally got the gasket tied.
Gabe was working closer to the mast and was struggling to tie the gasket as well. Fred had moved down the yard to help him when a mighty gust hit the ship. Just at that moment Gabe was reaching down to grab the gasket. The ship rolled and the wind pulled the sail from Gabe's hand. He grabbed for the jackstay on the yard, but missed.
Fred hung on unbelieving as he saw Gabe slip. He didn't fall so much as he was carried away by the wind, like a leaf on an October breeze. He just disappeared into the darkness and was gone. Fred shouted, "Man overboard," though for what reason he wasn't sure. Gabe was beyond their help. There was nothing to be done.
For a long while, all Fred could do was stare at the place on the yard where Gabe had been. Then below him, he heard the mate. "Finish the job. The sail won't furl itself.”
Fred moved down the yard, wrestled the thrashing canvas and tied in the gasket. When he finished, he moved to the mast and helped Donnie and Frenchie, who had laid out to port, roll the bunt of the sail up over the yard and tie it tightly.
Their job done, they climbed down the ratlines to the deck.
The mate was waiting. "Who'd we lose?”
“Gabe," Fred replied.
“Damn shame. A good sailor.”
“That he was.”
With considerable reluctance, Captain Barker opened the Official Log Book. It was nothing like the daily log, where the mates recorded the wind, temperature, daily course and any other thoughts that might be pertinent or be useful. In accordance with the Merchant Shipping Act of 1894, the Official Log Book was the legal document that he would present to the British consul within forty-eight hours of their arrival in Pisagua, Chile, to be reviewed, judged and certified. There was something galling about being judged by a clerk who had never been aboard a ship save alongside a dock, but such was the way of the world.
Like most captains, Barker wrote as little as he could in the Official Log Book. No need to trouble the consul with unnecessary details. Recording deaths, however, was an absolute requirement. Santiago's name was already recorded. Carried away by a monstrous wave. To this he added, Gabriel Isaacson, carried away from the yard, lost overboard. That and the date was the entirety of the record of a life lost. Later, Isaacson's possessions, which probably were few enough, would be sold to the crew, which would be logged as well. All neat and tidy for the consul's review.
There had been no attempt to rescue Isaacson. To launch a boat at night in such seas would be suicide and, in any case, they had no boats. Captain Barker had heard his cries for help from the poop deck, but could do nothing for him, except to murmur a prayer for the Jew's soul.
Barker looked at the crew list. Of the twenty sailors he had signed on, two were lost overboard. Two were crippled. Jerry the Greek might yet live and Whitney was mending, but neither were of any use in working the ship. Five more were not fit for duty with frostbitten fingers or toes.
They had been fighting the westerlies for close to fifty days now and only about half the crew was fit to carry on. Sitting alone in his dayroom, the doubts crept in. How much longer could they take the beating from the Southern Ocean and survive? Were they beaten already? Every year, stout sailing ships simply disappeared in the water south of the Horn. Would the Lady Rebecca's name be added to the list? Was it time to admit that they had lost the fight?
The other choice was to turn and run before the wind, to sail east, the other way around the world. It was the long way, but the wind and the current would be behind them. It would take another 40 days at least, but there would be no more slogging into the relentless westerlies.
There were two reasons not to square away and run before the wind. The contrary winds would not blow forever and they would round up into the Pacific and on to Chile when the westerlies eased. That would probably be weeks faster than turning east. The other real and absolute reason why he wouldn't even consider going east was that that the Lady Rebecca was too low in the water. She still had two feet of water in her hold in addition to 4,000 tons of coal. She just didn't have the freeboard to lift her stern in a following sea. As heavily laden as she was, there was every chance that she would broach to, to be overwhelmed by a wave and rolled on her beam-ends. She had survived one monster wave already. She wasn't likely to survive a broach.
Captain Barker closed the Official Log Book and returned it to the shelf. He looked at the chart and the barometer. There was nothing left to do but carry on. "All we need is a one good slant," he said to himself. "Just one good slant." They weren't beaten yet.
Every sail change was now accompanied by the call, "All hands!" Too few sailors were fit for duty in each watch to hoist and haul, so off watch or on, every one dragged himself from the fo'c's'le, night and day tend the sails. Fred had just slipped off to sleep when he heard the call. He clambered out on deck, grumbling and swearing. The only thing that brought a smile to his face was to hear Harry begin to belt out a shanty. The sound of the deep voice rising above the wind always lifted his spirits. As long as Harry was singing, Fred would fall in and haul with a will.
“Oh, they calls me Hanging Johnny," Harry sang out.
“Oh hang, boys, oh hang boys hang," the crew sang in reply.
“They says I hangs for money," Harry sang.
“Oh hang, boys hang," sang the crew, hauling in time on the brace.
“Now let's hang all mates and skippers.”
Fred sang in full voice to endorse the sentiment. "Oh hang boys, hang.”
With a grin, Harry sang out, "Oh, we'll hang 'em by their flippers.”
“Oh, hang boys hang.”
The line was taut and the Mate Atkinson shouted, "Belay.”
Once they had the line coiled the mate, shouted, "The off-watch is relieved." Fred glanced at the mate and then back at Captain Barker, standing like a statue at the break of the poop, and sang to himself, "Oh, let's hang all mates and skippers." But he was bone tired and hanging the officers felt like too much work. He heard Harry laugh, joking with one of the other watch. Fred wasn't sure how he kept his spirits up but was grateful that the Welshman managed. He seemed to be carrying the entire crew now. Fred sang again softly as he dragged himself back to his bunk, "Oh, hang boys, hang."
“Captain." The captain had come on deck after logging their position and checking the barometer at the change of watch. The weather was unchanged.
“Yes, Mr. Atkinson.”
“Mr. Rand is in his cabin, sir. Says he is too sick to stand his watch.”
“I'll speak to him. Would you mind taking over his watch while I am below?”
“Aye, sir," Atkinson relied.
Captain Barker wondered whether he should fetch his pistols, but decided against it. He went below decks straight to Rand's cabin and pounded on the door.
“Rand, it is your watch.”
“Come in, Captain," came a voice from behind the door.