Killer Aboard: A John Otter Novel

by Sean Blaise

  Forty minutes later after weaving in and out of an endless stream of traffic, the van drove under a large sign that said, “Victoria and Alfred Waterfront.” John shook his head at the sight of the large elegantly painted sign.

  “The English huh?”

  Smith looked over at him as she downshifted the van and pulled onto the wharf pier. “What do you mean?”

  “Last year, I delivered a ship to Fiji from Australia and I was pretty surprised to see Queen Elizbeth is on the Fijian money. I'm amazed at how people from such a small island made it so damn far. The British left an impact everywhere on this planet. I guess they were forced to travel to get away from that shitty English weather.”

  Smith regarded John coldly. He wasn't sure, but John felt like he had accidently struck a nerve with her.

  “The English also took what they wanted and left a wake of destruction in their wake.”

  John was a bit surprised by her reaction. He decided she wasn't going to be easy to deal with.

  “One could say the same about the Dutch, especially considering this area’s history.” John could see a flicker of admiration in her eyes when he said it. “But I couldn’t agree more. I wasn’t defending the English. As an American trust me we had our revolt against English rule. But we are in Africa, standing on the “Victoria & Alfred” waterfront. You would have to agree-that is something.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” The van came to a stop. “Well, here we are. Your new home.”

  John looked out at the 115-foot schooner Beagle, tied to the wharf. Now there was something.

  Chapter 4

  Beagle was a gorgeous staysail schooner. John could tell immediately that she was well maintained and well-funded. Now he knew where the school was spending the money. It certainly wasn’t on crew salaries.

  John got out of the crew van and walked down to the end of the wharf. He jumped on Beagle’s deck, dropped his seabag, and began walking around.

  “Your Chief Mate, Lubanzi won’t arrive until tomorrow. Your Marine Science teacher Bill is down below, with the lab equipment. 2nd Mate Charlie, is off today but will be back this evening. We will sail with five, including me.”

  “Wait, no engineer?”

  “Unfortunately, that’s going to be you for the crossing. I understand you have engineering experience?”

  “I do but, not on this vessel’s systems. What happened to the engineer? Why wasn’t I told this earlier?”

  “He had a sudden heart attack, and we can’t find a replacement in time without delaying the voyage. As you know, we have a very tight schedule to keep.”

  “And a ship to operate safely. An engineer is essential to that,” John said pushing back.

  John was already exasperated. This was always the problem with sail-training programs. Razor-thin budgets and always trying to cut corners. He already missed his endless budget on the mega-yachts. There, if something cost less than $50,000, the boss didn’t want to be bothered. The look on Smith’s face told John that there was nothing to be done about the situation.

  John sighed.

  “It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice. I assume the engineer is well enough to answer questions? I’m going to have to go over each system with him before we leave. I won’t leave until I feel comfortable with all the equipment on board. That’s non-negotiable.”

  “I understand completely. I will get it arranged. I’m going to drop the van back at the school lot. And will be back around in the morning with the provisions.” Then she was gone.

  John looked around the Beagle, wondering whether this decision to go back to his sail-training roots had been the right choice. He had craved the adventure, after seasons of back and forth on gleaming white yachts serving overprivileged assholes. He had also needed a change, and this was it.

  John looked back up at Tabletop Mountain. There was a heavy and seemingly endless fog bank rolling off the mountain that fell off the cliff to the bank below. It was spectacular. This was adventure. He would make it work.

  John walked up the port side of Beagle. He realized that what the school had told him about the ship was all true-she was way over-built. And that is exactly what you wanted when crossing an ocean with college kids who had never sailed before.

  He walked past the inflatable rescue boat mounted on the deck and then up to the bowsprit to look at the rigging. His hands finding their familiarity with each piece of his new ship.

  It was always like that. Joining a new ship was a lot like exploring a new lover. You eagerly probed every crevice and dimple until you knew all of its curves by heart. It was almost as exciting.

  He was like a blind man, laying his hands on every piece of equipment, finding the issues that needed to be addressed-a broken stay wire; a rusted bolt ready to break.

  Ships were like the Myth of Sisyphus, an endless task of repairing the ship to have something else break. There was no such thing as a finished ship. It was a living and breathing thing.

  John walked out onto the bowsprit and grabbed the forestay. He turned to look back at the entire ship. She was a curvy girl. From the bowsprit, the Beagle flared almost instantly into a wide midsection, before tapering back at the stern. She would be slow he knew, but that was OK. After all, sailing, was a slow, wet, and expensive way to travel.

  And yet John knew that Beagle would be incredibly seaworthy. Her wide midsection, gave her advanced stability, so that even in the largest of ocean swells, she would right herself quickly.

  Chapter 5

  Two days later, John was exhausted. He had been putting in 18-hour days trying to get Beagle ship-shape and ready for sea. His professional crew were all settled on board. Smith was the only person still going to her apartment at night. She had moved most of her stuff on board but wanted to enjoy the last bit of normalcy before the students moved on board. John didn’t blame her a bit.

  John’s cabin was larger than he had expected, on the port side of the ship. There were two twin size bunks in his cabin, just feet apart from each other, but he would have the entire room to himself. The mates, Lubanzi and Charlie, shared the cabin on the opposite side of the ship which was a mirror image of his own.

  At the bottom of the steps leading forward toward the midships Galley, Smith had chosen one of the bunk beds. Her bunk would be above Bill. These bunks were directly across from the engine room door.

  If an engine or generator was running, there would be a cacophony of noise that would assault their ears each time the engine door was opened during the hourly night watch checks. Not to mention the heat. It was the least comfortable bunk on the ship. Despite the Engineer’s absence, John was starting to get comfortable with his crew, overall.

  Charlie, his second mate, was a young kid from Kansas and about the age of the students coming on board. He was eager but green. He would offer a good bridge between the older professional crew and the younger students, as long as he didn’t get too close or caught up in the students’ drama. John knew as well as anyone that once you squeezed young men and women into a tight location, drama always ensued.

  Lubanzi was a huge man, that made getting around the ship look difficult. He had worked extensively on commercial ships, but his sailing knowledge was a bit rusty. He seemed to be distracted a lot of the time, always looking over his shoulder. His behavior made John nervous.

  John wasn’t sure if it was the ocean voyage ahead making Lubanzi jittery or something else, but he wasn’t quite at ease with him as his second in command. But Smith had vouched for him. They had been friends since grade school.

  Smith was headstrong-to the extreme. She had been with the Ocean Exploration School since its inception and because of her longevity, she tried to run the ship. Constantly.

  While John appreciated her knowledge of the overall teaching program on board, since he knew nothing of it, he began to quickly resent her usurping control over his crew. He had found more than once that a crewmember he assigned a task had been diverted to a task Smith fe
lt was more important.

  John debated sitting her down for a re-direction conversation, but had decided it was too early. Smith might ease off once the ship got to sea. If she didn’t, he could have that talk then. There was no reason to rock the boat before it left the dock.

  Bill was something else entirely. A ridiculously enthusiastic instructor from California, he lived and breathed Marine Science. He wanted to be a fish. John instantly liked him and understood why he was chosen to lead Marine Science Studies. He had had a professorship at Berkley and gave it up to go sail around the world. That was dedication.

  John suddenly felt the daunting weight of his task. He was taking kids with no sailing skills across an entire ocean. He called them kids, even though they were only a few years younger than he was.

  John was responsible for keeping each and every one of them alive. The student’s parents had entrusted him with their most precious thing in the whole world, their young. John was determined to not let them down.

  Chapter 6

  Ten scared and excited students arrived the next morning. John was surprised and relieved there were only ten out of the twenty-four students he could carry on board. Fewer hands to worry about meant more sleep for him. The global recession had taken its toll and not everyone could afford the $15,000 sailing semester.

  John tried to remember each student’s name, but he knew it would take time. There were 6 guys and 4 girls. There was some clicking right way between some of the groups.

  The most attractive girl Monica was already being courted by nearly every guy in what resembled some kind of national geographic mating ritual. She stood there and basked in the hungry male gazes. It would take her a moment to decide. John wondered if she could maintain her perfect makeup and outfit changes after three months at sea. He doubted it.

  There was a group of four kids that all seemed to know each other-Jennifer, Greg, Wayland, and Jack. They immediately congregated like old friends whispering to each other. John made a mental note to break them up on different watches so that they would be forced to make new friends as well and not just stay in their current click. The other kids were Rosie, Ben, Rick, Amanda, and Hanz.

  “Alright crew, welcome aboard Beagle. My name is Captain John Otter, and I will be taking you across the South Atlantic Ocean and more-in the next three months.”

  There was some clapping and muted hurrahs. The kids weren’t comfortable with him yet but that would change with time. They were probably all more than a little scared too. The plump girl raised her hand.

  “I don’t have your names memorized yet, but you have a question?” John asked.

  “My name is Rosie. Why is it called Beagle? It’s kind of weird to name a ship after a dog isn’t it?”

  “Rosie, I won’t forget your name again I promise. Good question. Anyone have the answer?”

  “She is named after HMS Beagle, the ship that took Charles Darwin on his exploration of the natural world. He published The Voyage of the Beagle when he returned home. It became very popular. One of the main foundations of modern science. You should read it,” a wiry and bespectacled kid reported. He rarely made direct eye contact when speaking, which J0hn found unusual. John remembered Smith, discussing the challenges of working with the special needs kid. John made a mental note to go over the application again. The boy’s intelligence was certainly not his challenge.

  “That’s very good, Wayland. He is correct. Since Darwin was on Beagle on a journey of learning, Ocean Exploration School felt that it made sense to name their training ship after her.”

  “Christ that’s lame,” the kid name Jack retorted with a condescending, cockney accent.

  John noticed the girl named Jennifer give Jack a disapproving look. John wondered how hard he should push on enforcing respect and discipline, even before they left the dock. He decided to not come on too strong at first.

  “Jack, this trip will be about constructive learning. If you don’t have something to further a conversation in a positive way, I’ll ask you to wait to speak until you do.”

  Jack put his hands up in mock surrender. John knew that the kid would be a thorn in his side, but he had to move on.

  “How many have you sailed before?” John asked. A solitary hand shot up. It was Wayland again.

  “Great, Wayland, what kind of boats?”

  “My dad owned a J-24 in Annapolis when I was young, and we’d sail in the Wednesday night races. We were the reigning champions.”

  Great, John thought, a small boat sailor with something to prove. John was also a bit shocked that not a single other person had raised their hands. This was a less experienced group of students than even he had expected.

  “That’s great Wayland. I’ll be looking to you for some help during the training. I think you will find that ocean sailing is different than racing. Trimming for performance is not the goal. We trim for safety and the prevailing conditions. Ocean crossings, for the most part, are calm in the middle; it’s the landmasses that often create the storms. So, once we are far enough from land it should be pretty light trade winds most of the way to Brazil.”

  John spent the next three hours, going through the very basics of a sailing ship. Learning to sail was like learning a completely new language; everything had its own unique term. And each term generally had nothing to do with what the word meant in landlubber speak.

  Beagle’s sail plan was designed for ocean sailing as well. Beagle ran six separate sails. To a landlubber, this might seem like more work than just two sails-like the average sailboat had-but there was a very clever reason to run so many sails. It was easier to douse them in a storm. One massive sail in high winds could quickly become unmanageable, but smaller sails could be taken down and reefed more quickly.

  “Lines controlling a sail’s movement horizontally are called “sheets”. They are attached to the corner of the sail which is called,” John paused, waiting for an answer. “Anyone?”

  Wayland’s had shot up again. It was the hundredth time.

  “Yes, Wayland please tell us.”

  “Clew,” Wayland said. While the boy thought he was earning himself credit with the others they were quickly seeing him as a know-it-all. John wasn’t sure the kid understood the social dynamics.

  “That’s correct. And why is she called a Schooner?”

  “Her aft mast is higher than her foremast,” Amanda said speaking up for the first time.

  “Correct, the opposite of a schooner would be a “Ketch” which has the foremast higher than the aft. Very good, Amanda,” John replied relieved Wayland was giving it a break.

  “Alright everyone, that’s enough for today. We will have a long day of training tomorrow. Get yourselves settled into your bunks, and then you have shore leave until 2100. Anyone not back on board by 2100 can sleep on the deck for the night? Understood?”

  “Yes sir” the group chimed; they were falling in line already.

  Chapter 7

  The weather forecast was wrong. No surprise there. Not two days after departing Cape Town, a storm had hit. John had been overly conservative with his sail plan due to the greenness of his students. He decided to reduce sail every evening during the night watches, to minimize risk if a squall popped up. Now, he was glad he did.

  Beagle had a “Marconi” mainsail, with no upper boom which was unusual for a Schooner. Where her “foresail” would normally be, there was a “staysail”-so-called because it ran off of stays instead of the mast. Above the staysail was a topsail, known as the ‘Fisherman’. Together, they created inverse triangles. Off her bow, Beagle ran three separate jibs.

  The Beagle had one hidden danger in her sail plan. That was the ‘Fisherman.’ Like most sailing terms, its name came from simple origins.

  Fisherman had created this particular sail because it was lifted high off the deck, keeping the deck clear for the men to work their nets. However, its high location made it dangerous. It gave the sail particularly strong leverage over the ship’s stability
. It was the one sail on board that could push Beagle over and knock her down.

  It was also a three-point fisherman, meaning the front of the sail ran up the foremast, and the clew was attached to the mainmast, via a sheet. This was a problematic arrangement.

  Since the Fisherman was a large sail, she needed a heavy wooden block for purchase, so that the sail could be trimmed without exorbitant effort. That large wooden block could become a killer if it whipped around the deck. The wooden block with one swift hit could easily brain a person.

  Due to its inherent dangers, John had opted to always sail at night with the Fisherman stowed away. He ran the main, the staysail, and two jibs at night.

  The Beagle was a pig with that little sail, dragging along at a lethargic four knots, but until John was comfortable with his students, he didn’t care about speed. Safety was paramount.

  Multiple safety precautions had also been taken, on the students' behalf. While underway, no one-and that included John-was allowed out of the vessel companionway onto the deck without a lifejacket. The jackets were the best money could buy, not the large orange cereal boxes of days past.

  These were inflatable jackets, that would self-inflate in a man overboard situation and they had water-activated strobe lights attached to them. Yet, they were still bulky, and some of the students still struggled to get used to the practice. However, wearing them at all times on deck was non-negotiable.

  Hanz, the German kid who claimed to be descended from royalty, found this out the hard way. John had found him asleep on deck, without a jacket on. It cost Hanz a meal. John knew it wouldn’t happen again.

  While the jackets were good, and they would keep a person afloat, recovering a man overboard was the most dreaded scenario John could ever face, except maybe a fire on board. The chances of finding one of these kids in an open ocean were minuscule.