The tide was almost dead low: the sea had fallen: the wind was a light breeze, offshore, so that the tops of the swells had a slick lookand rising and falling on those rollers was a craft so sturdy, so smart, so daring in the way she slipped around those brown ledge-fingers, almost touching them, that I couldn't shout, or even speak. All I could do was stand there, empty of thought, devoid of sensation, barely alive.
The little vessel was odd-looking. She had a high sharp bow and an even higher sharp stern, and under her boom rested a broad, high-sided skiff with a narrow, flat bottom. There were five men on her deck, one lying out on the short bowsprit watching for ledges, one at her tiller, one reloading the musket that had aroused us, and two wrestling the skiff over the side.
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"That's a pink," Captain Dean said in a strangled voice.
"Nothing like 'em to nose in and out of a rocky coast."
Captain Dean lowered himself halfway down the seaweed.
The man on the pink's bowsprit jumped up and let go an anchor: then joined those at work on the skiff. The man at the tiller left it, took two coils of rope and tossed them into the skiff: then four men slid her into the water and jumped in.
One made fast a rope to the bow: another did the same in the stern, tossing the unattached end of the rope to the man who had held the tiller.
The man in the bow stood up, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to Captain Dean. His voice carried strongly to us on that gentle but frost-laden land breeze. "The dory's made fast astern. We'll pay out easy. When we're close enough, we'll throw the bow rope ashore. Get some men down there with you and lay onto that bow rope. Hold it taut so we can't be swamped."
Two of the men in the dory stood up, pushing at oars. They faced in the direction they were rowing, which seemed strange and awkward. It wasn't right, I thought numbly, for a rower to be able to see where he was going, instead of turning his back to his objective and seeing nothing, as do rowers in England.
I wondered why these Americans had to be so different, sailing something called a pink, sharp at both ends: recklessly approaching ledges in a flat-bottomed dory instead of a skiff: standing up to row so to face forward.
I looked around for someone to help the captain. Only Neal, Langman and White had come from the tent. The
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others must be helpless, sick, probably, from too much meat, too much smoke, the unaccustomed warmth.
The four of us joined the captain. When the man in the dory's bow tossed us the rope, we fumbled for it, caught it and clumsily took it high up onto solid rock, above the seaweed.
The dory, held bow and stern, jerked at the ropes like a fractious horse.
The newcomers picked their way over the seaweed and stood looking at us as we laboriously made the rope fast around a boulder. I never saw such incredulity as was written on their faces.
Captain Dean, testing the hitch, looked up at the foremost of those sturdy heaven-sent figures.
''You probably don't remember me," he said. "We'd pretty near lost hope" His voice broke.
All four men stared at us, their brows wrinkled, their mouths half open.
The man Captain Dean had addressed seemed both horrified and puzzled.
"Nason said I'd find John Dean here," he said. "I'd like to"
"I'm John Dean," the captain said. "You're Furber."
He turned to another. "You're Captain Long. III"
He sat down suddenly on a boulder, clasped his hands around his middle and rocked himself back and forth.
Long and Furber jumped forward and hoisted him to his feet. Long patted his back. Furber held his upper arm with both hands.
"We caught the outgoing tide as soon as we heard," Furber said. "Nason said to hurry, so we hurried. You'll be all right, John!" He hesitated and asked uncertainly, "You're John Dean of Twickenham?"
"Jasper's brother," Captain Dean said. "I'll be all right
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when I get away from these damned breakers! Can't seem to hear a thing! Where's Nason?"
"He's in Portsmouth," Furber said. "He ran into a southeast squall and piled up on Kittery Point. Too much of a hurry to get back, I guess. He lost his sloop, but he got word to Colonel Pepperrell, and Colonel Pepperrell got word to us. We sail Pepperrell's ships, John."
"We got gruel aboard the pink, John," Captain Long said. "You'll feel different when you get some gruel into you."
He spoke to the two silent sailors, who were examining us as if we were dangerous animals in cages. "Put the captain in the dory."
"You're William Long," Captain Dean said in a shaking voice. "And Jethro Furber! I never thought I'd see the day!"
"Now, John," Captain Long said. "We'll have you out of here in a jiffy." He took Captain Dean's arm and steered him toward the dory.
"Take the others first," Captain Dean said. "They're in the tent. Had our first fire last nightbreathed a lot of smoke. Tent smells pretty bad. Things weren't easy. I had to stop trying to drive 'em."
"You can't drive 'em if you're human," Captain Furber said.
Captain Dean's voice was suddenly shrill. "Hurry up and help those others. We can't tend this rope all day."
Captain Long, Captain Furber and the two seamen scuttled off toward the tent as rapidly as anyone could move across those snowy, icy rocks.
Captain Dean rubbed his face with both hands, and examined them as if surprised. "I'd know Furber anywhere.
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Name of Jethro. Only Jethro I ever saw. Used to keep running into himAntigua, Halifax. Where was I? Oh yes, he sailed under John Frost. John married Mary Pepperrell. Pepperrells marry all over. Is John Frost here with Furber? Or is it Long? I met John's wife once."
I saw his mind was wandering. When I went to help him, he half turned, put out his hands gropingly and fell heavily.
Neal tried to lift him up.
"Let him alone," I said. "Let him rest. He's been through a lot. A rest won't hurt him."
Long, Furber and their two sailors came cautiously to us, each one carrying a man on his back.
"The captain had a fall," I told Captain Long. "The fire smoked last nighttarred ropeno wood. I think he's a little tired."
"I wouldn't wonder," Captain Long said. "Now look: I'm in command here! Put Dean in the dory right now." He pointed at Neal. "Put him in, too. That's two passengers and two to row."
He signaled to the man on the pink, who tightened the dory's stern rope.
"All right," Captain Long said to Captain Furber. "Slack away on that bow cable. Hold it tight till she's halfway out."
We stowed the captain in the dory: Neal got in by himself.
The two rowers faced the pink, and when a roller lifted the dory, they dug in their oars and pushed hard. Aboard the pink the man pulled at the stern rope. The dory went stern-first as readily as bow-first.
"How many left in the tent?" I asked Captain Long.
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"We couldn't see," he said. "We brought out four. Who are they?"
I looked at them, sprawled just above the seaweed. They all seemed to be exactly alike. They might have been quadrupletsbearded, foul, horrible-looking.
"One's the captain's brother," I said. "I think the others are Graystock and Saver and Gray. Gray was a gunner."
I couldn't remember what it was that Captain Long had asked me, and so shook my head.
Captain Long, seeing that I was confused, reached out and slapped my cheek, so to jolt me back to reality. "No offense meant," he said. "Who else is there? Have we got 'em all?"
"Let's see," I said, "Neal and Langman and the captain and I hauled in on the bow rope. That's four. Yes, and White. That's five. You took out four. That's nine. There must be another in the tent. Mellen. He can walk. It must have been that damned smoke. That's ten. There were fourteen to begin with."
Captain Furber nudged Captain Long. "The dory's coming back," he said.
They went as close to the water's edge as they
could, watching the dory lift with the surges, rock toward us, pushed by the two sailors. When one of them tossed the bow rope ashore, the two captains belayed it around the same boulder we'd used.
The rowers climbed out and hurried back to the tent.
Captain Long came to stand beside me. "Nason told us there were twelve: that two were lost on the raft, though only one was found."
"No," I said, "there were fourteen. The cook died of lung complaint. We set him adrift. Then the carpenter
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died. The men wanted to eat him. We finished him up last night."
Captain Long took me by the shoulder. I saw he once more thought my mind was troubled, and was about to slap me to sensibility again. "I'm all right," I said, pushing his hand away. "You'd have done the same in our place."
Langman crowded up to Captain Long. "I was against it," he shouted. "I said it was barbarous, unchristian and a sin!"
Captain Long dropped his eyes from mine: then looked hard at Langman. "So you didn't eat him?" he asked.
"I didn't eat him as Chips Bullock," Langman explained earnestly. "I didn't eat him the day he was skinned. I only ate him the next day, when he was beef."
"That's a nice distinction," Captain Long said.
He became suddenly irascible, impatiently lifted Henry Dean, and shouted at Saver, Graystock and Gray. "Get on your feet! Stow yourself in that dory!"
He pointed a stubby finger at Langman. "Help 'em if they need help; then get in yourself! Don't stand around! All we need is a capful of wind to be stuck on this damned island ourselves! God knows how you stood it! I couldn't have stood it a week without losing all my anchors!"
His two seamen came back, pushing and pulling at Mellen.
"Get him in! Get him in!" Captain Long shouted. He tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the southwest. There, coming up fast, were two schooners and a brigantine, all three of them running before the wind.
"Word's got around," Captain Long said. "And that wind has shifted! Pack 'em in! Pack 'em in!"
Five minutes later I was hauled over the side of the pink,
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her anchor was up, and we were moving to the westward. Between us and that miserable island there was the mist of breaking seas and the haze of cold air above salt water. That island had visited upon us every conceivable form of misery, disappointment and torture, but it hadn't been able to destroy us, and in spite of my aches and my discomfort, I felt a great peacea blissful quiet.
Around me men spoke quietly and I heard themheard small sounds: the sighing of the breeze in the rigging: the screaking of the boom against the mast: the faint rustle of the seas along the hull. The world, after an eternity, was blessedly silent once more. Gone forever, thank God, was the deafening tumult of breakers, bellowing and roaring like furious beasts determined to destroy our minds as well as our bodies.
The brigantine and the two schooners hove to and waited for the pink to come within hailing distance: then cruised along on either side and spoke us.
"Get 'em all?" they shouted. "Anything we can do?"
Long used his speaking trumpet. "We got 'em all. Ten of 'em. If you beat us in, see there's canoes at Pepperrell's Wharf in Portsmouth. Take word to Dr. Packer. Get barbers. Find Nason and see what he's arranged."
The skippers of the three vessels nodded vigorously: held their hands clasped high in air and shook them.
Captain Long resumed his shouting. "Plenty of warm water! They're lousy, all of 'em! Plenty of bandages! All kinds of ointments!"
One of the skippers, perched in the ratlins, bawled, "How many days on the island?"
"Twenty-four," Captain Long shouted.
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The skipper slid down from the ratlins, and I could see the crews talking and gesticulating. I knew they didn't believe it.
The three vessels sheered away from the pink and drew ahead, as if racing for Portsmouth.
A sailor brought me a tot of rum and a slice of bread. "Captain's orders," he said. The rum burned my gullet and went heatedly around in my stomach. My first bite of bread had a flat taste, but the second was better: the last better still.
The same sailor came back with a cup of gruel and stood before me while I drank it. Then he quickly took the mug from me and moved to a distance. "I'll stand here so you won't fall overboard," he said.
I didn't know what he meant until the pink skittered on the top of a wave, then sank sideways down it. On that my ears roared, my insides were contorted, and everything in me churned up and out. I hung over the pink's bulwarks while the sailor held my knees. This, I thought, was death.
Dimly I heard the sailor say soothingly, "This'll clean you out. Everyone was sick after the gruel, even the captain."
Just at that moment I didn't care what had happened to the captain. I didn't even care what happened to me. I was seasick.
Pepperrell's Wharf was crowded when the pink slid alongside it at dusk. It was a mystery to me why so many hundreds had gathered on that wharf to see a few scarecrows, but in spite of the bitter January cold there were hundreds of them, women and men, too. Almost all had
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lanterns made of pierced tin. They were somehow different from any such throng that might collect in Greenwich. In Greenwich there would have been beggars among them and hangdog-looking folk, and deformed, dwarfed people, slyly seeking pockets to pick. Those of substance would have been smaller and would have seemed contemptuous. Almost certainly there would have been some who jeered, or laughed raucously at our hairiness and raggedness and queer oakum garments.
But those hundreds on Pepperrell's Wharf stood straight, had solidity, and all of them, without exception, were concerned about us. They were compassionate people, deeply interested in our welfare. When I was helped over the bulwarks and saw all those solicitous eyes, glittering in the light from their upheld lanterns, I couldn't help gulping to think that strangers should be so kind.
Nason came from the crowd to lower me into a canoe with Neal. "You're going to Captain Furber's," he said. "Captain Dean's going there, too. He's already gone." He put his hand on Neal's shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "We're all your friends. You needn't worry about a thing."
The canoeman took us a short distance downstream, helped us ashore, pulled his canoe half up the bank, and motioned us to follow him.
"Tell us where it is," I said, "and we'll go there. You don't need to leave your canoe."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Someone might steal it."
He looked baffled: then urged us forward, between two warehouses and across a street to a two-and-a-half-story wooden house. The door of the house was open and before
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it stood two women and three children, all peering in through the doorway.
Our canoeman touched one of the women on the shoulder. She stifled a cry and whirled to face him.
At the sight of us, she pressed her hand to her lips and shrank back, drawing the children against her skirts. They were pretty little plump things, and I had the thought that has come to me, against my will, a thousand thousand times since then, whenever I see a sturdy child or a woman with a large arm or heavy buttocksthe thought that, if the need arose, that child or that woman would make good eating. No wonder the women were afraid of us!
Boon Island: including Contemporary Accounts of the Wreck of the Nottingham Galley Page 34