The Devil in Paradise--Captain Putnam in Hawaii

by James L. Haley

  At once Blanchard was out on the poop deck. “Well, I’m damned. There must have been a mist that lifted.”

  The company streamed out to join him. Clearly above a string of clouds they saw a mountain peak capped with snow. Lucia Ruggles put her hand over her eyes to see it more clearly. “Why, I would have thought these islands were small. That mountain is gigantic.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Blanchard. “This island is not tiny; it is almost exactly the same size as your Connecticut.”

  Through the afternoon they drew closer, able to see green jungle on the flanks of the mountain, and waterfalls, and eventually houses along the shore. When they saw canoes being launched, Blanchard had their ketch lowered. Ruggles had volunteered to ascertain what welcome or hostility might await them, and he was rowed by Hopu, with Tamoree as insurance for their safety, for as a prince of the country he could vouchsafe their protection.

  The company waited three hours for them to return before the Thaddeus’s ketch glided up in the small chop. Not waiting for the hooks to lower from the davits, Hopu and Tamoree gesticulated wildly for Kanui and Honoree to throw ropes down to them. When the missionaries heard the commotion, they gathered on the well deck at the head of the ladder. The four natives chattered in a staccato of their native language, much too rapid and advanced for any to follow; they began jumping up and down while hugging, laughing, and brushing away tears.

  Hiram Bingham came to the fore. “Hear, hear, now. What is this? What has happened?” They all looked down at the ketch as the lines were being hooked to its eye bolts, and they saw Ruggles smiling broadly.

  “Oh, Reverend Bingham!” cried Hopu. “Oh, such news! Oh!”

  Bingham laid his hands on Hopu’s shoulders. “Slowly, now. Take a breath, Thomas. Slowly, now, tell us.”

  Hopu’s chest still heaved up and down. “Old king dead! Old religion is no more! Queens declare no more kapu, no more sacrifices. Some priests fight. There was a war. Queens win the war and pull down temples. Wooden idols with shark teeth, and all graven images, piled up and burnt.”

  Clarity gasped. “Just as Henry said he wanted to do!”

  “Hopu.” Bingham looked at him intently. “What do you mean, ‘queens’? How many are there?”

  “Many, all widows of old king, but two of importance. Kepurani is mother of new king, very high born, not often seen but people must fall on the ground when they see her. Working queen is Kahumanu, stepmother of new king, rules with him, has greatest power. Ending kapu, and making war, was her doing.”

  The davits creaked under the weight of the ketch, with Ruggles seated in it, and as he gained the height of the deck he pulled away a cloth to reveal a tumble of baskets in its bottom—a cornucopia of bananas, coconuts, breadfruit, large, fat fish, sweet potatoes, sugarcane, other fruits they did not recognize.

  Bingham’s hands flew to his cheeks. “What is this?”

  Ruggles had overheard as he was winched up, and he stepped onto the deck. “A gift from that working queen.”

  Chamberlain laughed. “Did you greet her correctly, as we were taught?”

  “I most certainly did.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Do? Why, she held out her hand and she said, ‘How do you do, Mr. Ruggles.’”

  The company exploded in laughter. “What was she like?” asked Bingham.

  “Well, she is huge; she is a giantess; she is the largest human being I have ever seen. But then, that seems to be a feature among these people. Those of the ruling class are twice the size of the common people. Just see with what she has gifted us!”

  Bingham shook his head. “Can all this be true?”

  “Every word,” said Ruggles somberly. “It is a miracle.”

  After a stunned moment more, Bingham looked up, as though finding some confirmation from the firmament. “Let us kneel and pray.”

  Clarity helped Muriel to her knees. “Yes,” she whispered, “let us kneel before we fall over from shock.”

  Bingham’s voice, often pompous, was quiet now, genuine in the awe of the moment. “Our great and powerful Lord, Thy scripture hath said, ‘Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill made low. Make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’ Let us doubt not that this marvel is Thy doing alone, that Thou hast destroyed the false gods of heathen darkness and prepared the way to bring Thy light to this forbidding land.” His voice nearly broke with the reality of it all, as though heretofore he had been merely playacting at being a missionary until this intercession, this staggering coincidence that seemed to be the very hand of the Almighty, only now made it real to him. “Let us not fail Thee, O God! Speak through us, act through us, that Thy will be done. Amen and amen.”

  Hopu rose and called, “Captain Blanchard?”

  Blanchard clattered down the ladder from the poop.

  “Queen say: Please to continue on to Kawaihae. She will receive us there.”

  Clarity helped Muriel to her feet. The older lady straightened her dress as she said, “So apparently it was not a wasted lesson for us to learn how to address a queen.”

  “It would seem so,” Clarity answered and recited, “Ka mea Kamahao, ka moi wahine.”

  “Oh!” cried Hopu. “Listen, everyone! There is a word I forgot to teach you. I am sorry! It is a very important word. Say it now: luau.” He extended the first syllable and rather barked the second. “Say it now!”

  “Luau,” they chorused.

  Hopu spread his open hands over the wealth of fresh food and shouted, “Luau!”

  The company cheered, “Luau!”

  It was Clarity who asked, “What does that mean, Thomas?”

  Hopu gazed greedily at the bounty. “It mean, a feast!”

  6

  Festina Lente

  His and Clarity’s parting had left Bliven in such a stew of emotion that all he could do was postpone considering any of it, and he instructed the carriage on to the Navy Yard. He spied Rappahannock’s grounded masts from the entrance and directed the driver to her, feeling as he approached the graving dock an almost spousal anxiety for her well-being, even for her modesty, as she appeared undressed without her elegant bowsprit and with her surprisingly large round belly exposed, supported by the forest of stilts.

  He was cheered, however, to see that her bottom had been scraped until the copper shone penny-bright, a kind of gigantic repoussé hammered to match her curvature that would make her sleek through the water, proof against shipworms, and beautiful as well.

  He had the driver continue right up to her and deposit his trunks at the foot of the gangplank, and paid the fare. He could look straight down into Rappahannock’s wound, through her ribs like a surgeon looking into a patient. He saw four new ribs showing bright yellow-brown against the bilge-stained umber of the original construction, and he was struck anew at her excessive engineering. She lacked the sandwiched layers of oak that made the frigates all but invulnerable, whether to enemy cannonballs or even to the rocks at Port Mahon that had been unable to sink the President. But in compensation was the extraordinary density of her ribbing, shaped timbers eight inches broad laid sixteen inches on center, and the knees above them angled like scantling, that made her class the heaviest and toughest sloops in the world.

  Satisfied with his first look, Bliven boarded and found the spar deck deserted, but upon descending to the gun deck and entering his great cabin he found Alan Ross exiting one of the guest compartments in some apparent embarrassment. “Captain, good morning! I was not expecting you today.”

  “Yes, I see you were not. Do I gather that you have taken up residence in my cabin during my absence?”

  “I confess, sir, the guest berth is more comfortable than my own, but more to the point, it is located farther from the noise below.”

  “Oh. Well, that is sensible; indeed, it occurs to me that you may be able t
o manage your duties more efficiently if you station yourself there whenever we are not providing passage to guests.”

  Ross was plainly embarrassed. “Truly, Captain, I did not intend to presume any familiarity.”

  “I did not suppose that you had, Mr. Ross. But in exchange for your improved accommodation, you will be able to answer my call at any hour without my having you come trotting up from the wardroom.”

  “Sir, that is a very fair exchange. Thank you.”

  “Besides, I will not be sorry for your company. Is Mr. Yeakel aboard?”

  “Yes, sir, I believe he is below.”

  “Very well, my trunks are on the dock, if you would bring them aboard.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Bliven exited and strode forward, thinking as he did so it would be a long time before he saw the gun deck so quiet, so orderly, again—screws, sponges, and ramrods all on their hooks, lanyards perfectly coiled. He reached the ladder, the one feature of the Rappahannock that caused him worry. The frigates had ladders fore and aft, which was sensible, because there were magazines fore and aft; but there was the additional advantage that if one ladder became obstructed by fire or wreckage, the lower decks were still accessible through the other. The sloops were considered smaller enough vessels that one ladder amidships was thought sufficient. As a matter of naval architecture it was defensible, but Bliven regarded it as a point of vulnerability that would always lurk in the back of his mind.

  He descended to the berth deck and then into the hold, unaccustomed to seeing it so brightly lit as it was by the hole in her side. The hold of any vessel was always a warren of nooks and crevices; to view it so illuminated was something he had never seen before, and in it he saw his bosun kneeling, his feet on an original rib and his knees on a new one, inspecting its joinery onto the keel. “Mr. Yeakel, good morning.”

  Yeakel got stiffly to his feet and stepped up onto the decking, saluting as he did so. “Good morning, Captain, I did not know you were back aboard.”

  Bliven returned the salute. “Have you been living aboard all this time?”

  “Yes, sir, rather than have to rent a room somewhere.”

  “Have you been satisfied with the work that has been done?”

  “Yes, sir, but I have not been the real test of it. Commodore Hull comes regularly to inspect, and he keeps Captain Edwards and his men on their guard.”

  “Is that so? Well, we can be grateful for such close attention. Tell me, Mr. Yeakel, have you laid in all the line you will need?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I have been thinking it won’t hurt to store more, as much as you can find room for. I have a mind, once we reach the Sandwich Islands, to lay over and reset the rigging.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand. Considering how long we will be in tropical waters, that would be a wise precaution.”

  Standing rigging put up in the Boston chill could go dangerously slack in tropical heat. As a young captain, the great Preble himself had nearly lost the Essex for want of such foresight, and the Congress was nearly lost when her stays and shrouds became so lax that her masts snapped from the pull of the sails. Samuel Barron’s seamanship passed into legend when as a young lieutenant he saved the United States by resetting her rigging even while under way. As the American fleet became more international, the concern would become chronic.

  “Captain Putnam, good morning. Welcome back aboard.”

  Bliven turned to see the dry dock’s master approaching. “Captain Edwards, good morning.” They traded salutes and shook hands. “You have done a very great deal of work, I see. Did you find so much damage as to require such an extensive repair?”

  “In point of fact, we did not, but Commodore Hull has been emphatic in pressing upon us the length and importance of your coming mission, and he has insisted that every trace or possibility of defect must be made good before you sail.”

  “Well, I am off to see him now. I shall pass along how diligently you have been at your task. Mr. Yeakel?”

  “Sir?”

  “Where has Fleming gone to, do you know?”

  “As it happens, sir, I do. He lives in Roxbury.”

  “Well, take the day, dress up, get yourself a horse, and go see him. He knows the ship better than anyone, save yourself, and I don’t want to sail with a different carpenter. If he resists, overcome him.”

  Yeakel smiled, for Fleming was easily twice his size. “I’ll do my best, Captain.”

  Bliven made his way down the waterfront to the receiving ship, that hulk that he grieved for every time he saw her—or it, for she hardly seem fitted for the feminine pronoun anymore. He was admitted as soon as he presented himself, and Hull rose and greeted him with some surprise. “My word, Putnam, but you are prompt to respond to our call. Do sit down. How is your family?”

  Bliven arranged himself in a Windsor chair on the opposite side of Hull’s desk. It always caused him to look closer, how well kept Hull was for a man approaching fifty, his handsome sloe-eyed visage settling now into a distinguished-looking affability, heavier, his hair combed upward into that Regency fashion of affected tousle. “Thank you for asking, Commodore. My wife is very well, and strong-minded as ever. My parents are growing old, I fear.”

  “Damn, Putnam, when I saw you last, I hope I did not give offense when I said that your parting would be touching. If I sounded dismissive, it was my own discomfort at how terrible it is for all seamen to take leave of their families for certainly years at a time. I regretted having said it almost immediately.”

  “I understand, sir. They did their best to make it easy for me. In that way they are more courageous than I. My mother is a perfect Stoic, and my father would shoot himself before he would try to make me feel sorry for him.”

  “God bless them for that, but now that you have said good-bye, it would likely be too much for them if I send you home again.”

  “What? How do you mean, sir?”

  “The fact is, Captain Putnam, you need not be in too great a hurry to sail, for we have no powder or shot for you. It seems that while the government has made the decision to show our flag in the far corners of the world, someone forgot to tell the armories. If we can’t find you something in the coming weeks, you may have to put in at Gosport or Charleston to take on armament.”

  “I see. Have you written to my other officers to return for duty?”

  “Yes, we have. Lieutenants Miller and Rippel will sail with you again: the third lieutenant surrendered his commission rather than commit to such a lengthy deployment, as did your chaplain.” Hull suddenly pointed his finger at him. “And your purser. You are very hard on pursers, and I wish you would not be.”

  “Only because I expect them to be honest.”

  Hull sighed and rolled his sleepy eyes. “Oh, for the Lord’s sake, here we go again.”

  “Commodore, when we established our navy, we had the opportunity to correct one of the worst abuses—apart from forced impressment—of the British Navy. We could have made our navy responsible for supplying the needs of its own seamen, with pursers given the duty of distributing shoes and clothing and sundries as they are wanted. But no, instead we copied the Royal Navy in making pursers of independent merchants, who use their own suppliers and charge their own prices, which run sailors into debt just to keep clothes on their backs, and their pay is remitted to the purser to discharge the debt. This would be so easy to correct!”

  Hull leaned forward, his eyes suddenly energetic. “I admit everything you say, except that it is surely not easy to correct, because to effect it, the Navy would have to tie up millions to fill the storerooms, and they don’t have it. They save themselves this money by engaging pursers as contractors, and regulate the prices they may charge and the profit they may take.”

  “Distantly regulate the prices and profits, sir.”

  “Perhaps.”

&n
bsp; “Loosely regulate the prices and profits.”

  “Putnam, that is the system we have, and no one is going to change it for you. If the pursers were not allowed to make a fair profit—yes, as they define it—no one would do it.”

  Bliven waved his hand. “Well, if there is no profit in their honest operation, that rather completes my point for me, sir, but never mind.”

  Hull leaned back and glared. “You are a damned fine captain, sir, but, by God, sometimes you are a trial.”

  “Well, you will find somebody. If you can’t tell me that he’s honest, at least find me someone who is well connected to ready suppliers.”

  “You can hunt around, too, Putnam. Perhaps you can find someone who can withstand that frightful moral squint of yours.”

  Bliven recognized the admiration buried in the criticism, and laughed. “That is fair enough. Where has my surgeon gone to? I need to write to him.”

  “We have written to him, so you needn’t bother. We have as yet no answer from him.”

  “No, I need to contact him on another matter, anyway.”

  “Well, then, you can write him through the Navy Yard at Gosport. I suppose once we get you afloat again it will be time enough to round up some sort of a crew.”

  Bliven considered the disadvantages of breaking in new men on such a difficult undertaking; of advantages, there were none to consider. “Evans Yeakel is as fine a bosun as can be found, I shall just have to trust him to get the men settled and working. But I at least want men who have been to sea before. I do not want to suffer disillusioned shirkers deserting me on the other side of the world.”

  “I will do what I can,” Hull agreed. “God knows, there will be men who bolt when they reach someplace that they imagine answers their definition of ‘paradise.’ But, come down to it, your situation in that event would not be altogether dire. Most vessels that put in at the Sandwich Islands have no trouble filling in the missing ranks with native fishermen. Their reputation is that they are fine sailors, they work hard, and they follow orders to the letter, for they are grateful to get out of such a terrible place. Ha! It seems it is only a paradise for our sailors.”