“Nah, that won't do me no good, sir. Don't think that there is any medicine that will help.”
“Then what is it, Jensen?”
Jensen pulled a sheaf of papers from beneath his coat. "If you could put these in the ship's safe, sir, I would be grateful.”
“What are they?”
“Just my discharge papers. Nothing really, but they are all I have. My sea chest is afloat half the time. I just want them to be safe.”
Captain Barker took the papers, and smoothed them with his hand. "I'll take care of these, Jensen, and give them back to you at the end of the voyage.”
“Mange tak, Captain." The big man got up and left the cabin.
Barker sat for a moment before turning back to his desk. Jensen was the best sailor left on the ship. He only wished that the demons that haunted the man would finally give him peace.
The wind shifted again, clocking a point to the northward and dropping in intensity. They set the t'gallants and made good distance to westward for a day until, maddeningly, another line of westerly gales drove them back again.
From the poop deck, Captain Barker could see the dark shapes of the crew bent double over the yards, furling the main t'gallants. He heard a loud crack like a rifle's shot and saw the sail billow up wildly like some mad beast. An instant later he heard the cry, "Man overboard." Barker murmured a prayer under his breath for the soul of the man carried off by the wind. There was nothing else that he could do.
The remaining sailors fought the flogging canvas until at length they tamed it and tied the gaskets. The captain could see that there were three men climbing off the yard, where not long before there had been four.
In a few minutes Mr. Atkinson climbed wearily up the poop deck ladder.
“Who did we lose?" the captain asked.
“The Dane, Jensen. A gasket broke. The sail pitched him off the yard.”
The captain just shook his head and paced off to windward. He thought of the puny stack of paper sitting in the ship's safe. The only record of a man's life. How could Jensen have known? He had fought both the sea and his demons for so long. Somehow he knew the end was close at hand.
The next morning the wind shifted northerly again and the Lady Rebecca sailed along on a beam reach. It was Fred's turn to fetch the tea and bread barge. He tumbled from his bunk in the crowded fo'c'sle and went on deck. At the galley door, Jeremiah was beaming as he passed out the pantiles and steaming pots of tea.
“Nobody listened to me, when I tol' ye that he was a Jonah. Nobody listen to old Jeremiah but I tol' ye, didn't I? And now he's gone, the debil has his due and the wind is so fine and fair. I tol' ye.”
“Shut your trap," Fred growled. "Nobody wants to hear your blather.”
Jeremiah scoffed. "But I was right, don't ye know. Debil had his due.”
Fred put down the bread barge on the galley doorsill, pulled out his sheath knife and in one quick motion brought the point up under the cook's chin. "If I hear you say another word about Jensen, so help me God, I'll cut your throat from ear to ear. You understand me?”
Fred saw anger in the cook's eyes so he jabbed the knife closer. "You understand me?" he repeated.
“Yes, suh," the cook responded. Fred wasn't sure whether he sensed resignation or defiance in the tone but didn't care. As he made his way back to the fo'c'sle, he marveled at how close he had come to killing the cook.
When he delivered the bread barge and the tea to the watch, it was clear enough that Jeremiah was not the only one relieved at the death of their shipmate. The mood had lifted in the fo'c'sle. Donnie was talking about the whores of Chile again and how glad they would be to see them.
Frenchie opined, "Things be right again, now that ze Dane is gone." Several others agreed.
Fred seethed. "He was fine a sailor, a shipmate and a friend.”
After a moment's silence when Fred wondered whether he would be in the center of a brawl, Donnie murmured softly, "Well, never do to speak ill of the dead. Mind you, I do think our luck has changed.”
Fred just snorted and left the fo'c'sle, stepping out on deck with his bread and pannikin of tea. The wind was on their beam now. Every sail they could carry was set. Instead of the roar of green water rushing down the deck, Fred could hear the hiss of the bow wave as the Lady Rebecca shouldered the swells. Sunlight, shining through breaks in the clouds, made the spray that still broke over the bow shine like a shower of diamonds, before it disappeared off to leeward. Fred raised his tea to the wind and said softly, "Farewell, Jensen, you damn, crazy, son-of-a-bitch Dane." For whatever reason, their luck had changed and now they had a favoring slant. That was all that mattered.
Three days later they rounded 50 degrees south latitude and sailed north by west into the wide Pacific Ocean.
16. A Fair Wind to Chile
Will stood his trick at the helm wearing a dry shirt, open at the neck. It was the first time in months that his clothes were not wet and salty. They were making good progress up the coast of Chile, having left 50 degrees south latitude in their wake a week before. They had been seventy-one days sailing from 50 degrees south to 50 degrees south, seventy-one days rounding the Horn. The gales were behind them. All sails were set and drawing as a gentle westerly wind carried them northward. If it hadn't been for the toll taken on the ship and the crew by more than three months of the Cape Horn winter, it might have all seemed but a distant and terrible dream.
The sick and injured had been brought out on deck and were laid out on the hatches in hope that the fresh air and broken sunlight would do them some good. The rest of the crew had been busy at the washtubs, which had been broken out for the first time in months. The ship's shrouds were festooned with drying clothes, no longer salt encrusted, finally washed in something approaching freshwater.
By the middle of Will's watch, the clouds began to clear, and he stared out at blue sky for the first time in what seemed like forever. Only the shout from Mate Atkinson, "Watch your helm, dammit!" shook him from his reverie. "Aye, sir," he replied, focusing again on the compass but incapable of suppressing the smile on his face.
The captain's wife and children came up on deck. The mate hurried to get Mary Barker a chair. Amanda squealed, "Look, Mommy. The sun is shining on Daddy's water!" Little Tommy clapped his hands and chortled.
Will laughed out loud. The sun was indeed shining on a deep cerulean sea. Had there ever been a color so beautiful?
The captain and Mary were eating alone in the messroom. Captain Barker felt free to spend less time on deck now that they sailed on warmer waters and gentle winds. He and Mary spoke of the children and of times at home. He had already agreed to send them home from Pisaqua, as Mary had asked. It would pain him to lose his family's company during the long voyage that remained, but they had gone through enough, and as much as he would miss her and the children he couldn't say no.
When Walter brought them coffee, Mary turned to him and asked, "So what will you do with Mr. Rand? I imagine that you cannot keep him locked in his cabin forever.”
“I intend to bring him up on charges in Pisaqua. Mutiny is a serious matter. Even the threat of mutiny.”
Mary smiled. "But there was no actual mutiny was there? A threat is not quite the same thing. And I understand that he was an adequate mate, for most of the voyage at least.”
“You may be a touch too soft-hearted, my love. Some things cannot be so easily overlooked," the captain replied.
Mary sipped her coffee, then took a different tack. "How long will the proceedings take? And will there be expenses involved?”