“Cheatum, pull a little stronger to port.” Quince spoke with confidence. “We’re drifting too far to starboard.”
Cheatum’s crew turned their boat to the west, the starboard boat allowing their line to drift slack. With just a few course changes, the Peter Stuyvesant seemed to be drifting through the inlet in good shape. The coral heads on the port side were just about abeam of the ship, the two small boats astern evenly spaced and pulling hard toward open seas. Cheatum was deep in animated conversation with Smithers, whom he had chosen to be on his crew. The two were engaged in their own private joke when their boat hit a submerged coral head. Cheatum, who should have been standing in the bow watching for just such an occurrence, cursed loudly and grabbed an oar, attempting to extricate his jolly boat from the shape just a foot below the waterline. The Stuyvesant and its great mass continued out the inlet; the gig on the starboard side continued to pull hard, bringing the large ship further to the right.
“Back off on the gig, mister! Pull back hard to port!” Quince shouted from the deck of the Stuyvesant.
As the ship’s fantail spun slowly to port, the line from Cheatum’s jolly boat passed under the Stuyvesant abeam of the helm, where she stuck hard on the damaged hardware of the rudder. Quince ran to the line that had passed under the ship, shouting orders to both boats simultaneously. As the jolly boat was dragged closer to the Stuyvesant by her caught line, Quince grabbed a new line coiled neatly on a belaying pin and tossed it to Cheatum. “Secure this line and I’ll cut the old one. And Mr. Cheatum, I’ll have a word with you when this be over. Rely on that.”
Cheatum secured the line. He ordered his men to take up the slack and pull hard to right the Stuyvesant. Jack, seated in the jolly boat, was startled by a loud commotion on board. He noticed that Quince was involved in a confrontation and was unaware of a snagged line on deck that entangled itself around Quince’s left foot and came adrift from the rudder post, wrapping around a coral head. With the speed of a musket ball, Quince was swept from the deck into the sea. Cheatum, in his hostile mood, had not seen Quince disappear. But Jack and the men in the gig rowed quickly to where he had disappeared under the water. Jack dove in, bringing him to the surface.
Shaking the seawater from his eyes, Jack found Quince’s right hand was a bloody mess.
Jack quickly transferred him to the Stuyvesant and wrapped him in blankets. Luckily the ship had cleared the inlet and the balance of the reef, drifting away from the island, for the time apparently out of danger. But that couldn’t be said for Quince.
Hansumbob, Jack, Paul, and Quen-Li carried Quince below to a small berth, hard by the companionway ladder. They bundled him up with more blankets and gave him a tot of rum, which he promptly spit up.
“Leave me, lads, mind the ship,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Try to get her at least a half mile offshore, in case the wind backs around.” Jack nodded without moving, staring at Quince’s mangled forearm and hand.
“Look lively now, up you go. One of you relieve Cheatum from the jolly boat and send him to me.”
Dawkins, mouth agape, left willingly. Quince’s face was bathed in perspiration, his eyes wide and searching. He swore softly as Jack unwrapped the bloody bandage around his arm. The skin had been ripped from forearm to thumb and lay wrapped around the fingers like a piece of parchment. A small thread of blackened skin, stretched between the elbow and little finger, seemed to be the only thing holding Quince’s arm together. The bone and muscle lay exposed, stark in their whiteness, the arm looking like a ripe fruit that had been peeled.
Jack motioned to Paul, and they moved out of earshot of Quince. “I have an awful feeling about the events of the past hour,” Paul said. “It doesn’t bode well for the start of this short journey down to the Star.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Jack said. “But we have to keep alert so we’ll make it. Why don’t you go topside?”
Jack could hear Cheatum shouting for Quince on deck.
Mentor, working the port towing line, pointed down the companionway ladder. “He’s in a berth below!”
Cheatum came rolling down the steep steps. “Bollocks! It’s a helluva time for him to take to his kip if ya was to ask me.”
Jack nodded for Paul to leave.
“Who in hell do you think you’re orderin’ about, you trumpedup captain? If I had—” Cheatum caught sight of Quince’s crushed arm. “Holy mother of God. What have you done to yourself, Skip? Jesus.”
“Never mind the blood and bones. Listen careful, now.” Quince hiked himself up on his left elbow to look squarely at Cheatum’s surprised face. “I want us to forget our differences for the time being and try and get this rig safely down to our bay.”
Jack watched as the two old sea dogs spoke.
“Yes, of course… it’s just that I can’t take me eyes off that arm of yours. God, man. How did that happen?”
“When my foot got tangled in the line it pulled me overboard but not ’fore my arm got wedged between the bulwark and the chain plates. I became just another link in the line and somethin’ had to give. It was my skin that lost the battle.” Quince took a quick breath. “If you and your bosom friend Smithers had been watchin’, this wouldn’t have happened.” Cheatum pursed his lips and dropped his head.
“As I said earlier, I’ll deal with that later. For now, you are the most experienced seaman aboard and must get this ungainly barge safely to her berth next to the Star.”
“I’ve never liked you,” Cheatum said, shaking off his distracted manner. “I guess ya know that—and as you say we’ll deal with our differences later. But beyond that, I want you to know I never believed in this stupid scheme from the start. Why in hell ya have ta listen to this snivelly faced lubber Jack O’Reilly, I’ll not know. I’ve half a mind to thresh him as we speak.”
Jack took a long breath and blew it out, relaxing against a bunk.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind, you ass,” retorted Quince. “The ship’s in danger, can’t ya recognize that? Whether we shoulda made this voyage or not is beside the point. We’ve committed now, and even a dunce like you must see that.”
Cheatum seemed to contemplate striking him; he probably would have if not for Jack standing close. Quince gave him a withering glance. Common sense prevailed and Cheatum stood resolute, waiting.
“Think, man. The ship comes first.” Quince was near to passing out.
“Right. What would you have me do?” Cheatum stood with his arms locked firmly behind his back, jaw set. He was not unlike a punished schoolboy, Jack thought, waiting for further instructions.
“Keep her pointed easterly as long as possible, giving yourself plenty of sea room off this northern shore.” Breathing heavily, Quince dropped back down flat on the berth. “Don’t try to cut too close to the cape at the end of the island. Once around the cape, you’ll be able to see the islet and the mast of the Star. By any means possible, try to make land before nightfall. You’d be in extreme danger if you’re caught between this mass of islets if night comes.”
“We’re making maybe a knot,” Cheatum proclaimed. “How would you have me get this whale of a craft ’round this cape and then start beatin’ into the southerly winds? We’ll be goin’ fantail to the north with no canvas up.”
“Use your seamanship, lad. Use every bit of knowledge you’ve squirreled away in that blockhead of yours. Think, man. I’m about done in. Think.”