The Devil in Paradise--Captain Putnam in Hawaii

by James L. Haley

  Foreseeing this, the old King placed authority in the hands of Queen Kahumanu. Or more accurately, she was the favorite of his wives who, it is commonly known, numbered nineteen, and she rose to preeminence by being the funniest and most hospitable, but also and most importantly the wisest counselor. Reverend Bingham recognizes the dark side of her nature—she is greatly carnal, she loves having power and can be ruthless in her exercise of it, but he also pronounces her, in her policy and forecast, the equal of the best politicians that Europe or America can offer.

  The royal family, and the high chiefs and chiefs, live in great luxury. Their houses may be mere grass, but they are furnished with the most expensive goods that come on ships from Europe, and now from the United States, and they are paid for in a singular way. These islands, while beautiful, possess no coal or iron or other minerals that other nations would trade for. In the forests, however, there grows a tree, the sandalwood, whose wood is beautiful and fragrant, and the ship captains reap a huge profit from selling it in Canton, and they buy as much as the chiefs can whip their people into cutting from the forests. For every chief I would guess that there are a thousand commoners, so you will surmise accurately that sandalwood is the backbone of the Hawaiian economy, much as rice is to our Carolinas.

  The people themselves see none of this profit, and live on a subsistence of fruits, and the roots and leaves of a plant called kahlo; for meat they have pork and fish, and—I hesitate to tell you of this but if, as you are considering, you accompany your father to Ohio, you will find it to be true of many Indians as well—their diet extends to the consumption of dogs. None but two of our company admit to having tried the meat of a dog, and they pronounce it palatable if you think not upon its source. I confess that I am not yet up to such an experiment. Mr. Loomis, who is our printer as yet without a press, is one who admits to having tasted this delicacy. When Mrs. Chamberlain asked how he found it, he thought for a moment, growled, and then yapped quite happily! She grew so discomposed that she had to retire from the group. Poor Mrs. C, I cannot imagine a woman less suited to the rigors that we have undertaken. She and her farmer husband were sent here to Honoruru also, I imagine so that he can assimilate the local agricultural arts from Mr. Marín.

  Dearest, I must close this first chapter of my Letters from the Sandwich Islands. I will subscribe it in a way to surprise you. The Queen has taken a great liking to me, and when Hopu told her of Henry Obookiah’s name for me—Miss Clear Day—she was much delighted, and has bestowed the same name upon me in the native language. And so, farewell from

  Your devoted friend,

  Missy La Laelae

  MISS HARRIET BEECHER

  LITCHFIELD, CONNECTICUT

  9

  Far Shores

  Bliven found no great joy in spending the winter aboard the grounded Rappahannock. He would have thought that the contractors who supplied the Navy with building materials, and who deposited their draughts, would have escaped the effects of what people were calling the Panic of 1819. However, it became a sobering lesson to him on the interconnectedness of the economy that ruin anywhere back up the line disrupted the activity of their carpenters and coopers and coppersmiths.

  Michael Miller returned aboard shortly after Christmas, saucy and eager for adventure, giving Bliven someone with whom to share his impatience. Not until the middle of February was the graving dock flooded and the freshly painted sloop of war rocked free of her supporting timbers and eased back into the harbor, high in the water for want of ballast and stores. With her rigging still down, it would have been convenient to push and tow her to space at a wharf, but when those facilities were built the Navy had not calculated upon ships of her twenty-foot draught, and now the bed could not be dredged without undermining the wharf itself. Thus she was towed out to anchorage as close as a falling tide would allow, with a boat always in the water to shuttle to shore. A boat crew came aboard, who would be taken into the crew, so the berth deck was no longer deserted. And then tall old Fleming came with his trunks of tools and a helper, and began turning his attention to building a stock pen in the hold, and a cage to confine chickens, and an extra compartment in which the purser when they got one could sort and store the slops from which the men would buy their clothing. He also at Bliven’s order constructed simple sheds over the heads on either side of the bowsprit, not from any consideration of privacy, but if it were true that one could catch one’s death of cold, then exposing one’s naked privates to the elements at nearly sixty degrees south latitude, where they were bound, only invited disaster.

  The growing crew made desirable the acquisition of a cook. In a full crew this was a job that went to some partially disabled old tar, perhaps lamed by a hernia or a sprung back, whose main accomplishment was not to poison the lot of them. Bliven made a point of dining ashore with Miller in different restaurants, and after they consumed a fine dinner at one place or another they would request to pay their compliments to the chef de cuisine. Eventually they conversed with one who confessed to both financial and domestic discomfiture, a skilled cook to whom two or three years at sea was an opportunity to seize, and who, importantly, could provide one level of sustenance to the crew but also prepare genuine food for the officers. His name was Burnam, with curly, sandy hair and fair complexion, and round of figure, which was a good sign in a cook. He was articulate and decisive but respectful and, best of all, eager to come.

  It caused Bliven and Miller a few seconds’ regret to steal him away from his hapless employer, but his willingness eased that, and then his assurance that there was another in the kitchen who could take over for him dispelled their qualms entirely.

  The day after she anchored, Edwards’s men came aboard. Rappahannock’s eighty-foot bowsprit was inserted back to its footing and made secure, and the topmasts replaced. Bliven scrutinized this operation with Miller and the bosun at his side, greatcoats pulled about their shoulders against the cold and bicornes tight down to their ears. “What do you say, Mr. Yeakel? Does she not begin to look like a ship again!”

  “Aye, sir. But, Captain, you have mentioned this before: it might be well to wait for the weather to warm up a bit before setting the rigging. There will be less of a difference when we hit the tropics.”

  “Yes, yes, quite right.” Slowly the ship came to life. Hull sent out a chaplain, a Deist from Virginia named Mutterbach, spare of frame with a tightly drawn but pleasant face, and blue eyes that conveyed interest, attention, concern. He shared a dinner with the captain and first lieutenant, who found him intelligent, humble, kind in nature, and educated in the scriptures, but possessed of no dogma. They were unanimous that he would do admirably, and Miller showed him his compartment in the wardroom, between his own and that still-empty one to where they hoped the surgeon would return.

  That question resolved itself the day after tall, blond young Lieutenant Rippel came back aboard. Bliven was reading alone in his sea cabin. Three small sharp raps, and Ross entered. “Excuse me, Captain, you will want to know this. Dr. Berend is here.” Rappahannock’s surgeon followed him through the door without waiting for admittance.

  “Dr. Berend, what on earth? We’ve had no letter.” Bliven came around the table and they shook hands tightly.

  “Captain Putnam, I will tell you the truth, by the time I decided I should come, my letter would have been slower to arrive here than my person.”

  “I was just working over tea, but this calls for some celebration. Would you take some sherry, or Madeira?”

  Berend waved it off quickly. “Oh, no, no, much too early in the day for that. But I would love some tea, if you have any left.”

  In his excitement Bliven fumbled the saucer onto the top of the sideboard but it did not break. “Sugar?”

  “Ah, yes, please. It is good to be back; I feel suddenly confirmed in the correctness of my decision. By the way, here, take these. The chief quartermaster asked me to bring these out to
you: he sends the flags of countries where you may call—Brazil, Argentina, Chile. The European flags of the vessels you may encounter you have already.” He handed over a bundle of colored silks, each tagged with the name of its country.

  “Brazil has a flag?”

  Berend laughed, revealing that he had lost a couple of teeth during the preceding months. “Yes, well, they are in something of a mess, are they not? To be annoyingly precise, this is the flag of the United Kingdom of Portugal, Brazil, and the Algarves; it has been good for maybe three years. But in the state of things just now, they may be independent and have a new flag at any time.”

  Bliven shook his head. “People are so touchy. If we salute a port and raise the wrong flag, they are like to open up on us, and not in salute.”

  Bliven handed him the cup and resumed his seat. “I am delighted to see you, but I am surprised that I was able to talk you into leaving what must have been a comfortable situation.”

  Berend smiled, but it was sad and wan. Bliven was distressed to see him older, his hair thinner and coarser, his liver spots more pronounced. “I thought much the same, but upon reflection, there was little to keep me there.” He took a long sip of the sweet tea. “It is a queer estate, to outlive one’s family. I do not recommend it for those with sensitive constitutions.”

  “I can understand that, but I know you, and you must have friends lined up outside your door wanting your society. Not to mention congenial widows who must be keen to entertain a proposal from you.”

  Berend nodded. “Yes, I have friends, I have been blessed with friends. But when one’s family is gone, those affections that had been directed to them must find some new repository, and that naturally bends toward one’s friends. But they already have families, and while they like you, they do not return that affection in kind. It is an inequity under which I began to chafe. They like me well enough, they like me warmly, but they do not need me. A man should go where he is needed, and you gave me to believe that I could be needed here.”

  “And so you are, Doctor, and very much wanted. And now tell me, touching upon this matter of certain medicines that I suggested you might acquire for when we reach the Pacific: Were you able to procure a store of them?”

  “All in my baggage. I do think I have brought enough mercurous chloride to cure the whole Pacific of venereal disease. I also had the chance to procure a supply of quondams, but the Navy refused to approve of it. They said that to remove the likelihood of infection was tantamount to giving the men license to vent their immorality with no consequences.”

  “Well, they have a point.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  Bliven stared at him in shock.

  “Forgive me, Captain, I must remember that I am back in Navy harness. My only business is with the men’s health, and you and I both know that seamen cramped aboard a ship for half a year must have relief.”

  “I suppose.”

  “The commodore told me that your wife will be waiting for you in the Sandwich Islands, gone there with missionaries.”

  “That is true.”

  “Very fortunate for you, but two hundred and forty or fifty men under your command will not have that to look forward to.”

  “Very well. Where was your request disallowed, Gosport or here?”

  “Gosport.”

  “I will write the purser of the Navy Yard here on your behalf, but do not raise your hopes. Even if the medical benefits are admitted, quondams are so expensive, the Navy will say, Why not just offer the men rooms in the finest hotel for their trysts?”

  “I would thank you to write such a letter, and speaking of the same, when I came through the receiving ship I saw your new purser there. You will meet him soon.”

  Bliven rolled his eyes.

  “Now, he didn’t seem like such a bad sort. He is in it for the business, of course, as they all are, but he does not seem any more predatory than the rest.”

  On its next errand the boat brought a third lieutenant, Lennox Jackson, with an alarmingly slight build, straight raven hair over brilliant blue eyes, freckles, and a boyish enthusiasm that made him seem much younger than his twenty-seven years. As Bliven interviewed him he saw out his stern windows a large cutter sweeping toward them crowded with marines in their blue jackets with yards of gold cordage and their tall hard hats. In a few moments Ross rapped his three and entered. “Your lieutenant of marines is reporting, sir.”

  “Send him in.”

  The youth that entered was a shock: Bliven had seldom seen such a large young man, over six feet tall and broad in proportion, but of gentle features, with dark blond hair and hazel eyes. Bliven rose to meet him. “Welcome aboard, Lieutenant—”

  “Horner, sir, David James.”

  “Well, Lieutenant Horner, I am mortified that the Navy has not provided you a ship to match your proportions.”

  He laughed easily. “None of them do, sir.”

  “My third lieutenant, Mr. Jackson.” Those two shook hands. “Do let us sit down before you knock your head on the beams.” Bliven had read of the tsars of Russia employing giants as bodyguards; this one would do splendidly.

  “My orders, Captain.” He handed them across the table.

  “How many are you?”

  “A reinforced company of fifty, sir, plus two corporals and a sergeant, and myself.”

  “God Almighty, we are embarrassed for accommodation, Mr. Horner. The berth deck is already going to be packed tight as a barrel of mackerels. I hope you will not mind if we house you forward on the gun deck. It, um, also has the most headroom.”

  “I appreciate that, sir.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Salem, sir.”

  “I see.”

  “No, sir.”

  Bliven had been reading his orders and looked up in surprise. “No to what?”

  “We have not burnt any witches in some time, sir.” He smiled. “Most people ask.”

  “Ha! On the contrary, Lieutenant, where we are going, I might have found it useful to draw on such experience.”

  When the purser came aboard, he proved to be a New Yorker of English extraction named Erb, by profession an importer of luxury goods whose business had declined with the times, but whose connections in that world made him widely known and his credit accepted. Bliven reconciled to having him aboard, and told himself to thank Hull for supplying him officers who seemed capable and agreeable to his command.

  “Mr. Ross, would you fetch Mr. Miller and ask him if he has completed his list of stores we shall need?”

  “Right away, sir.”

  It took only a moment for Miller to enter and be introduced. “I have finished the requisition for victuals, Captain. I have reckoned on the crew of one hundred and eighty-six officers and men, and fifty marines, for nine months.” Miller handed over the paper, and Bliven read through the list: 64,800 pounds of ship’s biscuit; 110 barrels each of beef and pork; 35 barrels of flour; 4,250 pounds of cheese; 950 pounds of butter; 108 bushels of beans; 54 bushels of peas; 100 sacks of rice; 250 pounds of raisins; 425 gallons of vinegar; and 3,096 gallons of whiskey.

  Bliven looked up at him. “Three thousand and ninety-six gallons of whiskey?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you calculated this exactly enough? Are you absolutely certain we will not need three thousand and ninety-seven gallons of whiskey?”

  Miller consulted the page of figures that he had kept in hand. “One hundred eighteen pints per day for two hundred seventy-three days. Won’t do to have a tipsy crew, Captain.”

  “Hm!” he muttered. He signed the requisition and handed it to the purser. “And so to work, Mr. Erb. Now, I don’t know that we can find rice just now.”

  “Yes,” said Miller, “but if we put in at Charleston for powder and shot, we can take on rice there.”

  “T
hat may be.” He had already written to Sam, but he could write again. To purchase a hundred sacks of rice could help him considerably.

  With Dr. Berend aboard, crewmen began to arrive daily and submit to his inspection, gauging the clarity of their eyes and soundness of their teeth, trying their muscles. He turned away many that Bliven might have found acceptable, but Berend was able to choose the ablest, for in such trying times there were many who needed work, even a sailor’s pay. Yeakel began to set the rigging, and as the web of sheets and lines grew denser, Bliven’s pride in the ship swelled. Lighters began tying up, their crews hefting up boxes and crates and packets of slops bought on the new purser’s credit: trousers and shirts and shoes by the hundreds; tobacco for smoking at those limited times and locations where it was allowed, or more commonly chewing. Then there were holystones for scrubbing down the yellow pine decks; and chocolate and brandied cherries, liquor, and toiletries for the officers. Alan Ross saw all these come aboard and wondered if he had been foolish to decline this situation when it was offered him; a provident man could probably live out his life on the profits that Erb would reap from this one voyage.

  They took on twelve tons of ballast below the hold’s decking, and Hull sent them a sailmaker. With studding sails out the Rappahannock set some forty-two thousand square feet of canvas, nearly an acre if laid upon the ground, thirty-three discrete sails, each of them cut exactly, hemmed, and punched through with metal grommets. With them were thousands of yards of blank canvas to repair or replace them, for the gales of Cape Horn were famous for making tatters of the finest sailmaker’s handiwork. As they feared, they took on neither powder nor shot and were directed to put in at Charleston.