Klett quacked that he was going. Jack watched the big man take a lungful of air and drop below to wrap the guideline to a piece of coral below the bottom of the bell. Then Klett resurfaced in the bell, took a series of deep breaths, and headed off to find the rudder and secure the guideline to something nearby. After what seemed to Jack a long time, he returned and squeaked in a nasal twang that he had found the rudder and all was ready. He said that he could stay longer here on one breath than ever before.
Okay, think! Jack fought down his giddiness and ran over the task in his head one last time. I grab the lifting line off where they hooked it on the outside of the barrel. They will give me plenty of slack from above once they feel it move. Then, I swim like hell with the rope to the rudder, following Klett’s guideline, which will be tied to something nearby. Tie a bowline knot to the pintle and swim back down the guideline to the bell. Simple.
Jack took several deep breaths and headed out to tie the line that ran back up to the Stuyvesant and the lifting mechanism. He found the rudder immediately and made one wrap around the whole frame, then around the pintle, and began to tie a fast bowline. Bowline? Jack realized his brain was incapable of finishing the simple task. On board ship he had learned to do it without thinking. Now, in desperation, he felt himself reverting to the verse they had used in New England to teach schoolkids this most useful of knots. He twisted a loop in the line with his left hand and started to put the end through the loop, but was it under or over? Did the rabbit go down the hole… around the tree? It occurred to Jack he was out of breath.
He swam back to the barrel and burst into the airspace gasping and laughing like a maniac. “Does the damn rabbit go down the hole and around the tree? Or, maybe around the tree and down the hole?”
Klett’s incredulous expression once again paralyzed Jack with laughter. He was vaguely aware that they had been here for over twenty minutes and should return to the surface.
Saying nothing, Klett took an enormous breath, pulled himself under the rim of the bell, and left for what to Jack seemed hours. Jack’s head cleared enough for him to begin to worry when the Scandinavian’s head suddenly burst back into the air pocket. Klett gave him a very serious look and solemnly declared, “True da damn hole first, Jack.”
Thank God, thought Jack; they needed to get out of there, and he was not sure he could make another long swim without disaster. Affectionately, he clapped the giant on the shoulder and pointed to the surface. Klett nodded and began taking breaths in unison with Jack. As usual, going up was easier than going down. They didn’t even stop at the wine cask for more air. It wasn’t just that the surface crew was pulling them with the up-line, as they called it; the air in their lungs seemed to last forever. It felt like they could exhale more air going up than they had inhaled inside the bell. The two arrived at the surface almost a half hour after beginning their descent. They expected no problems with rheumatism, since they had spent only a fraction of the time they usually had on the bottom.
They shared with Paul their account of the strange drunkenness they had experienced, then helped the others rig and haul the rudder from the depths. Two hours later Klett had severe pains in his right elbow and left knee, but Jack felt fine. There seemed to be more to this problem of plumbing the depths than they could ever fully understand.
After the dive, it was anticlimactic to place the rudder. It took many days of measuring and fitting to get it to link properly with the Stuyvesant, but once it was done, it operated quite well.
The pain in Klett’s elbow and knee—and pronounced tingling in his lower arm and leg—finally lessened but never completely left. Neither Jack nor Paul could come up with a satisfactory explanation.
Work finally finished on the Stuyvesant. The sails were patched, repaired, and strong enough to proceed. The galley had been completely refitted by Quen-Li; the rigging was either replaced from the stores or spliced and repaired. The decks had been scrubbed endlessly, and although they were charred in a few spots, seemed serviceable. After several trial runs into the open ocean and a few adjustments to the rigging and helm, Quince called the men to a meeting at the bow of the ship.
“It’s been a long ordeal. You’ve all pulled your weight, and I, for one, appreciate the effort.” Pausing, he looked over the crew. “I’ve been told one of you will be staying on the big island.”
A nod from Dawkins. Jack could see Dawkins’s mistress, the native girl Mele, standing on the beach waiting patiently.
“We’ll drop you off in the Dutch Bay on the big island. There we’ll pick up the three Belauran boys who have chosen to go with us.” Quince looked around with a grin. “Although why they would do this, I’ll never know.”
Laughter erupted from the crew.
“I figger Manila is the closest place we can go to finish off repairs and restock for our voyage home. The boatyard will take the Pete’s general cargo and supplies in trade for labor—least as long as the port’s open. Hard to guess who might be shootin’ at who these days.”
There were general nods all around; Manila would be the port of choice. Jack had his own ideas where it would go next; all he need do was convince the crew when the time came.
“We’ll spend the next two days provisioning the ship with fresh water, fresh fish, the dried fish that Quen-Li’s been preparing, coconuts, and as many vegetables as we can store. We have only the remnants of a chart to get us to the Philippines, but they’ll do.”
“Excuse me, Skipper.” This from Paul. “I wonder if I might interject a piece of business?”
“Yes, of course, Paul, what is it?” Quince seemed to be feeling magnanimous.
“I was wondering about the name of this ship.”
“It’s the Peter Stuyvesant. What else?”
“What, indeed. I was wondering, since it’s really two ships combined in one, I think it’s only proper to rename her.”
“Do you have a name in mind?”
“Yes, sir, indeed I do.”
“I’m not surprised. Proceed.”
“How about Étoile Pierre. You see, it’s the combination of Star and Peter. I think that would work, right?”
Paul waited for approval but heard nothing but stark silence. He looked to Jack for help. His friend just shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
“I’ve got it—L’Étoile du Pacifique, well, it seems obvious—‘star of the Pacific.’ More silence followed. “Okay, how about Étoile Brilliante, ‘shining star’… well…”
Snickering ensued, the crew obviously enjoying the performance.
Paul stopped to think, wishing he were somewhere else. Almost to himself, he mumbled, “L’Étoile Chercher chez-nous, ‘it takes us home.’ I wish I was there now.”
Then he had it: “Étoile Trouvée.” He paused for a moment, looking to the heavens. “‘The star that is found.’ ” He cupped his hands as if holding a small star. “You see, the Perdido Star is lost, consequently the new ship is the star that is found.”