“I can’t think of a way to move this vessel against the wind without sail. The jolly boat and the gig being rowed and towing this hulk won’t do it. We need sail.”
Quince again rose up on his left elbow. “When the explosion occurred, it took away the mizzen and the backstay for the main and the foremast. Don’t bother to try and brace the main. Concentrate on securing the foremast, run several lines from the foremast just above the fore topsail yard, secure them aft on port and starboard on the chain plates. That should brace the foremast well enough for a working jib. Only use it to swing the bow ’round and in very light air when tacking. It should give you enough headway to maneuver. With the jolly boat and gig pullin’, it should be enough.”
Jack smiled. Even half unconscious, Quince was a better seaman than Cheatum fully awake.
Cheatum worried his lower lip. “Any first-year apprentice could have told me that. I thought ya had an idea.”
“Whatever you do, don’t use more than a small jib or you’ll have the mast in the water. And splinters up your arse,” Quince continued, ignoring Cheatum’s attitude.
Jack saw Cheatum gawking at Quince’s battered arm and thought the second mate wanted to poke at it with his dirty index finger. Instead, without a word, Cheatum walked slowly out of the ill-lit berthing area.
Jack went aloft, securing lines run up the ratlines by Paul and several sailors. The work on bracing the foremast proceeded slowly. Cheatum was used to giving orders and having men jump to, but with nine men running the small boats, there were few to do the heavy hauling of double and triple lines up the mast and cinching them to the chain plates with block and tackle, as he had commanded. By late afternoon they had a working jib up, and at least directionally they were able to guide the ship without the small boats having to do so much of the work.
It seemed apparent to Jack, though, that the crew would not make the islet this day. They were close enough to shore to set a kedge and secure the small boats. Once back on board the ship, the men, who had been rowing all day, collapsed on deck.
“There has to be a better way of moving this hulk,” an exhausted voice rose from the group.
“There is,” Cheatum said, staring up at the foremast. “Tomorrow I’ll run out a staysail, and if need be, a reefed foresail.”
“Will she hold?” Mentor asked. “Those lines ya ran today look pretty flimsy.”
“She’ll hold, and you just mind your own domain and leave runnin’ of the ship to me.”
“I don’t know who put you in charge. But I for one will be glad to see Mr. Quince back on his feet.”
“Listen to me, you poor excuse for a bosun.” Cheatum took hold of Mentor and jerked him up quickly. “It don’t matter none who put me in charge. I’ll beat the living daylights out of any man who wants to argue with me. Quince, from the look of his arm, ain’t gonna be back, so quit your bellyachin’.” Cheatum dropped him and strolled to the port rail. Smithers joined him and they spoke together quietly.
Jack, sitting against the starboard rail, wondered how long it would be before there was serious trouble on the Stuyvesant. Without Quince, it seemed impossible to accomplish all the tasks that needed to be done on the Star. But Jack was determined to get the Peter Stuyvesant and the Star mated, and if he had to put Cheatum and Smithers in their place, so be it.
Quince was in distress. Hansumbob had put himself in charge of trying to make him comfortable but there was very little that could be done. He carefully peeled Quince’s skin back over his arm, cleaning it as well as he could. One of the problems was that the arm was broken, the exposed bone fragments piercing the already battered flesh.
“Hansum, get Peters to sew me up so I’ll start to healin’.” Quince’s lips were parched, his skin cold.
“There be plenty of time to sew ya up, Mr. Quince. The wound needs to clean itself. There be tar and who knows what else in that arm. Just you mind what Ole Bob has to say, there be time.”
It had been nearly twenty hours since the accident, and Jack knew the first mate had been in excruciating pain since. He lay back, weak and disconsolate.
By mid-afternoon the following day, the Stuyvesant had made it three quarters of the way across the bay toward the small islet. But a contrary breeze picked up and the large ship made little headway. Smithers and Cheatum were at the bow, peering longingly at the islet shore, less than a half mile away. Jack and a few other restless souls stood nearby.
“Cheat, you’re going to have to make a decision soon as to what to do; ya can’t stay out here tonight,” Smithers said. “Who in the hell knows where we’ll drift to, with this little setup. We could be on the rocks by mornin’. And we can’t anchor probably for another six hours, if then, as we won’t be close enough in.”
“All right, men, hear this,” Cheatum said. “We’re going to have to man the boats again. We’re not making enough way. And should we be caught out here tonight if weather comes, we’ll be lumbered.”
The men grumbled but set to in the small boats. By midnight they arrived at the small islet and dropped anchor. Still, they were another half day from getting the ship safely around the southern side to the small protected bay where the Star lay fantail to the wind. With no real leadership, the men were tired and angry, taking to arguing and blaming each other for their plight. Little work was done, and Cheatum seemed torn between shouting and threatening. On occasion he would drift off by himself, or complain to Smithers.
Jack began helping Hansum with Quince, who passed in and out of delirium. Someone needed to be with him constantly.
“He be in a bad way,” Hansum said. “Yessir. Real bad. Wouldn’t surprise me if he was to pass on over. Yessir. Wouldn’t surprise at all.”
“He seems to be real hot with fever, Hansum. What can we do to stop it?”
“We can jus’ keep bathin’ him with cool water. That’s about all. Yep, that’s about it.”
Jack went on deck and strolled; most of the sailors were on shore, stretched out in the shade of coconut palms. It was hot and no one seemed to be in the mood to deal with the complicated reclamation of the Stuyvesant.
At the other end of the ship, Cheatum and Smithers had just begun a meeting with several of the crew. Cheatum strode to the rail and shouted to the hands on shore. “Ahoy, you lubbers, get your lazy bottoms here on deck in the next ten minutes—we’re havin’ a meetin’. Shake a leg, do ya hear?”
“What’s this about?” Paul said to Jack. “Are we finally going to get started on the work at hand?”
“I’m not sure…. Knowing Cheatum, I’d doubt this has to do with work.”
“Do you think he called us here so we could see what a manly gait he has?”
Cheatum, overhearing, turned quickly toward Paul.
“I seem to be the most senior and the most experienced sailor here, so this is what I’ve come up with.” His eyes flitted from man to man, alternately challenging and looking for support. “Several of the hands and I have decided we’ll not be part of this harebrained scheme of trying to mate this hulk to the Star. It’s too much work by half, and I have my doubts it could ever be completed.” Cheatum paused. “A group of us will take the pinnace. We’ll stock her with fresh water and provisions and take our chances on making it south with the trades to the Philippines, where we’ll try to find passage back to the States.”
The silence slowly thickened; most of the men were at a loss as to how to deal with the news. Jack had been worried that something like this would happen. The fact that it came from Cheatum was no surprise.