by Joan Druett
“Why, what did he see?” Rochester asked.
“Amazing curiosities! Gigantic bones embedded in a cliff—bones of creatures virtually unknown to modern science! Great claws, an immense skull, a giant carapace turned entirely to stone!”
This, for Wiki, brought back gossip he had heard in South American ports nearly five years before. While H.M.S. Beagle had been charting this coast, there had been a lot of talk about Charles Darwin, the ship’s young English naturalist; he was said to have hacked monstrous stone bones out of the cliffs of Bahía Blanca with a little geologist’s hammer. The locals had thought him quite mad.
Wiki had had no trouble believing the stories of what Darwin had found, because he’d seen huge bird bones in New Zealand, and heard many stories about the giant birds, called moa, too. As a child, he had met old men who claimed to have seen moa striding through the forest with their heads in the tops of the trees.
“Fossils?” he said now, summoning the word from memory.
“Fossils,” confirmed Smith with an approving little smile. “Tusks, jaws, and skulls, all immense beyond imagination! They are embedded in banks of ancient seashells even though the cliffs are beyond the reach of the sea, so obviously are the remains of animals that were too big to be taken on board Noah’s Ark, and accordingly were left to perish in the flood. Imagine, physical proof of a Bible story!”
“Good heavens,” said Wiki without expression. He was amazed that anyone who called himself a scientist could be so blinkered. The giant moa had disappeared because of relentless hunting and the loss of their forests through fire, and even the missionaries didn’t try to pretend that they’d been destroyed by a biblical flood.
“The scientifics listen to his lively descriptions with great attention, and take many notes. Well—” Smith broke off, and groped around in his vest. After consulting a gold Harland watch that was almost as massive as the fossils he’d been describing, he declared, “Time rushes on, and I must away. Don’t be late, Wiremu,” he warned Wiki, and then, to everyone’s huge relief, he disappeared up the stairs.
“Noah’s Ark?” said Rochester. “In South America? What next?” he asked rhetorically as he stood up from the table. Then, with a great sigh, he went into his cabin to get rigged up for the interview with Wilkes.
* * *
The sea was still calm, and the air was even colder. Forsythe’s fog hadn’t put in an appearance, and so the pull to the flagship was straightforward, but they were both quite frozen by the time they had reached the gangway of the Vincennes.
The boatswain’s mate shrilled his call more urgently than usual, presumably in recognition of George’s elevated status, but the new lieutenant’s returning salute was quite remarkably stiff, because of the chilled state of his limbs. Both he and Wiki were slapping their hands together to get the circulation going as they arrived at the portico of the big afterhouse.
The corporal on duty looked as cold as they felt, and seemed relieved to lead the way along the passage to the double doors of the chartroom, and enjoy a little transitory warmth. Instead of simply knocking and then standing aside to let them through, as usual, he went inside to announce their arrival, closing the doors behind him, while they waited, puzzled. There was the sound of muttering, and then the doors opened again.
The marine recited in a monotone, “Captain Wilkes’s compliments, Mr. Coffin, and would you mind waiting out on deck until he has finished with Captain Rochester.”
“Certainly,” said Wiki, surprised, because he had thought they would make a joint report of Captain Stackpole’s complaint of theft and piracy of the schooner he had bought from the brig Athenian, along with other events up the Río Negro.
Obviously, George thought this was as ominous as he did, because his friend’s shoulders were squared as he went in. However, his voice was as hearty as usual. Wiki heard him say, “Uncommon strange weather we’ve been having of late, don’t you think, sir? Young Keith reckons the odd conditions are caused by a gigantic iceberg lurking somewhere out there. Do you suspect there’s a chance he’s right, sir, and we ought to keep a sharp lookout when we proceed on our voyage?”
The doors shut, and the reply was unintelligible. Wiki went out on deck to watch seamen being kept hard at work by hectoring boatswain’s mates, alternately folding his arms and putting his hands in his pockets to try to keep warm. A moment later, to his surprise, he saw his father come alongside in a boat rowed by his six cadets and steered by Mr. Seward, so headed over to the gangway to meet them.
Captain Coffin led the procession on board, leaving the boat bobbing at the end of a rope. The boys lined up and grinned at Wiki, who winked at them, just as he had the night before. He noticed again that one of them had a black eye and bruised jaw, and remembered Mr. Seward’s strong, bony handshake. The first mate looked stern enough as he stood with his thumbs tucked into his wide leather belt and supervised his string of boys, and it was easy to imagine him backing up his orders with his fist. However, the lad didn’t look too badly damaged, seeming as enchanted as his comrades at being on board the great seven-hundred-ton ship.
Captain Coffin was dressed in the same kind of broadcloth as Wiki himself, and was sporting a silk top hat. However, this respectable and reticent appearance was rather marred by the gold-embroidered silk brocade vest that glinted rakishly beneath his sober jacket. When he nodded at Wiki, his half-closed eye held a glint of warmth, but his tone was matter-of-fact. “Well, that’s a damn sight tidier, if more than a little primitive,” he said, evidently in mixed approval of the topknot.
“I thank you,” said Wiki.
“Granted,” said his father, just as dryly, and strode off for the portico of the afterhouse, where he engaged in some sort of conversation with the corporal on sentry duty. Judging by the echoes Wiki overheard, he was demanding an interview with Captain Wilkes, and was highly annoyed at being informed that Captain Wilkes was busy.
While Wiki was wondering what this was all about, the boatswain of the Vincennes swaggered up, a splendid figure in a tailcoat and tall hat, his silver call dangling from the finely braided and intricately knotted lanyard that hung about his neck. This minor god was the terrifying character in charge of the open decks and lofty rigging of this entire great ship, infamous for his stentorian voice and the permanently infuriated color of his face, and the cadets’ expressions became even more awed.
He stopped with his feet planted well apart and his rattan cane held in both hands behind his back. “And who, sir, might this be?” he asked Wiki, with a jerk of his chin toward Mr. Seward, whose lean face was as expressionless as ever.
Wiki performed introductions.
“And these young gentlemen?” the boatswain inquired, at the same time surveying the youthful line with the expression of someone who has found something unpleasant on the sole of his boot.
“Captain Coffin’s cadets,” Wiki supplied, while Mr. Seward inclined his head.
“Cadets?”
The boys nodded happily.
“And on what kind of Salem street,” the boatswain inquired of Alf Seward, “does one find little laddies like these?”
The mate replied without a quiver, “They’re the sons of rich and influential men who want them to become famous seafarers, but don’t want them to go into the navy.”
“Good Lord,” said the boatswain, looking greatly taken aback. “Not the navy?”
“Not the navy,” the first mate of the Osprey affirmed. “They go to common school and learn navigation and how to keep books, and then at the age of fourteen they head off to do an apprenticeship in some counting house. After a year of that, the most promising lads are sent to sea with a China-trade shipmaster of good reputation to learn seamanship and the ways of trading in foreign ports.”
A shipmaster of good reputation? Wiki was having a job not to laugh.
The boatswain said with an air of disbelief, “You’re trying to tell me, Mr. Seward, that it’s a system that actually works?”
> “Not only does it work, but it turns boys into famous China traders and captains, without the hell and hassle of four years of being a dog’s body of a midshipman.” Alf Seward pointed at the lad with the black eye, and said, “It works so well that his grandfather was secretary of the navy for a while. And,” he added casually, “his great-uncle carried the first live elephant to America.”
“Elephant?”
“It was a female elephant, and the sailors taught it a taste for porter and how to steal bread out of people’s pockets. After being put on exhibition it was sold for ten thousand dollars.”
“Good Lord,” said the boatswain rather faintly, and then rallied, demanding, “How long has this lot been on voyage?”
“Tell him,” commanded Mr. Seward. This time the bony, imperious finger was leveled at a boy who stood at the forward end of the line.
“We sailed from Salem in November 1837, in a snowstorm,” the apprentice readily recited. “Sailed around the Cape of Good Hope and took the Great Circle route to Hobart, then nor’ard through the Tasman Sea to shift gin and Yankee notions at the Bay of Islands. There, we traded our tobacco for sperm-whale teeth with the whaling masters in port—fetched the Fijis in April 1838, traded away our teeth and smoked a load of bêche-de-mer—made Whampoa in August; shifted our sea slugs for lacquerware—went to Manila, traded off our lacquerware, and loaded tortoiseshell for New York. In September we sailed for home, but were run afoul of in Rio—”
“So these boys have been a whole year at sea, huh?” the boatswain interrupted rather hastily, the fact that the Osprey had been so badly hammered by ships of the expedition fleet being more than a little embarrassing. “So maybe there’s a chance,” he mused aloud, “that they know where to find the keelson, and are maybe even cognizant that it ain’t part of the bowsprit. What d’you reckon about that, Mr. Seward?”
Mr. Seward merely smiled.
Taking this as acquiescence, the boatswain set to testing the boys’ seamanship, barking at one of them, “Do you know how to pass a nipper, boy? Clap on a jigger? Choke a luff? Snake the backstays? Fleet a purchase?”
“All of that,” the lad replied brightly. “And to crown a crotch rope, too, sir!”
“You reckon you know all your hitches, bends, clinches, and splices?”
“Aye, sir!”
“Then do me the favor of naming a few.”
“There’s the clove hitch, the timber hitch, the Blackwall hitch, the rolling hitch, and the two half-hitches. And there’s the sheet bend and the curricle bend; the inside clinch and the outside clinch; the carrick bend, the marline hitch, and the cackling, sir. And there’s the—”
“Stop, stop!” cried the boatswain of the Vincennes, who was starting to laugh. “It looks like you’ve done a reasonable good job of coaching these scions of the high and mighty, Mr. Seward, and no doubt they’re all keen to do a little skylarking while you wait for Captain Coffin’s return. You would allow it, if I asked?” Discerning a nod, he turned back to the boys, saying, “Well, my lads, just remember to never let go one rope until you’ve clapped a good hold of another, and you should all do jes’ fine.”
No sooner had said lads swarmed up the weather main shrouds with a cheerful disregard of frozen hands, than a marine marched up to Wiki, saluted, and said, “Captain Wilkes begs the pleasure of your company, Mr. Coffin.”
Wiki hadn’t noticed that his father was included in the invitation, but as he passed through the portico Captain Coffin emerged from the shadows, and stepped up alongside, and they marched up the passage shoulder to shoulder. George Rochester looked his usual placid self as they passed him in the corridor, and his expression betrayed nothing, though his eyebrows rose high at the sight of Wiki’s father.
Captain Wilkes, by contrast, looked dreadful. His long face was perfectly white, and it was obvious that he had an appalling headache, because his large eyes were full of pain and he kept on drawing his hand over his forehead. Dr. Fox was there, giving him a potion. When it was drunk he nodded, and left them alone with the commodore, going out with the tumbler in his hand.
“Captain Coffin,” said Wilkes wearily. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Instead of answering, Captain Coffin looked around, chose a seat at one of the chart desks, set down his top hat, crossed his legs, and said amiably, “Strange weather we’ve been experiencing of late. Do you think it might be due to icebergs?”
“Captain, I’m sure you have come across sudden calms before.”
“That phosphorescence surely did bring back memories,” William Coffin benignly agreed. “Such as one time in the South China Sea when my ship was besieged by six-inch balls of blue fire. One of ’em rolled down the mainstay, jumped onto the chain cable, hissed like a cat, and exploded! My old bo’sun was standing with his foot on the chain holding a lantern, and I swear to you that every pane in that lantern sundered into a thousand pieces. As for him, his hair stood on end, and he was stuck to the spot for several moments, while the helmsman fell over sideways, as rigid as a statue—when we carried him to his berth, it was like heaving along a plank. He was still stiff as a board next morning, though alive, thank God. Which reminds me,” he concluded, following some peculiar internal logic, “that those two carpenters you sent me are back on board the Vin, and glad we were to be rid of them, too. Now, sir, I’ve come to tell you I’ll steer for home with no further delay.”
There was dead silence. Captain Wilkes had his eyes tight shut. Then he opened them and said flatly, “Captain Coffin.”
Captain Coffin waited, and when the other kept silent, said, “Captain Wilkes?”
“Do you have any idea what a strain I am under? What difficulties have presented themselves? Yesterday morning I gave orders for boats from all ships to carry out a survey of the mouth of the roadstead, and would have supervised the operation myself, but was laboring under one of the horrid headaches that afflict me more and more often as this voyage proceeds. However, the orders were explicit, and should have been easily followed. In the afternoon a squall blew up, but still I managed to hold a conference with the scientifics. After that, it was discovered that nearly all the boats had rendezvoused at the Porpoise, which was not in their program of duties—and when I finally investigated, I found that the officers had seized upon Captain Ringgold’s absence to make merry on board his brig. Here I am at my wits’ end to know how best to express my extreme displeasure, and now you bother me with this disinclination to follow our clear agreement.”
Captain Coffin thought about it. Then he said judiciously, “Well, sir, you can scarcely place any blame on Captain Ringgold.”
“Of course not! He was not even there. Unlike Lieutenant Craven—my flag lieutenant, for God’s sake—who was the officer in charge of the Vincennes boats.”
“He was on board the Porpoise?”
“He took part in the jollification!”
Captain Coffin’s brows shot up and his left eye opened wide. “Good God,” he said, with every evidence of sympathy for a fellow shipmaster in a pickle.
“So you agree that I have no choice but to suspend him? That his disregard of his proper duty and his failure to preserve discipline is too outrageous to be passed over? That he should be demoted, as an example to the rest?”
“Well, sir, I guess it depends on whether you have a suitable replacement.”
“Luckily, I do. The next-oldest lieutenant is a loyal and reliable man. Indeed, I consider him a friend. He and I have shared many years of service, including a survey of the savannah, where he proved himself a loyal and reliable assistant, particularly during gravitational observations—we swung the pendulum together as midshipmen!”
“Then your problem is solved, sir,” said Captain Coffin heartily.
“One problem among many!” Captain Wilkes’s face hardened again. “So what the hell do you mean by taxing me further with this outrageous demand to forgo the terms of our agreement?”
Captain Coffin echoed, “Terms?”
“Aye, Captain—the agreement that you would take the rest of our specimens on board before departing for Philadelphia. Sir, you will wait until we’re ready; you will not leave until I say!” Then, with startling suddenness, Captain Wilkes swerved round at Wiki, and demanded, “And what the hell is it that you want?”
Wiki only just stopped himself from jumping a foot with shock. Instead, he braced himself, and said, “I thought it was only proper to make a full accounting of my four days up the Río Negro—and ask your advice about how to proceed.”
He had chosen his words well, he saw, because Captain Wilkes nodded, and said briskly, “Yes?”
Wiki hesitated, wondering whether Captain Stackpole had changed his mind about reporting to Captain Wilkes, but then started at the beginning, with Captain Stackpole’s report of the loss of both money and schooner, and the decision to go to El Carmen to investigate his complaint of piracy. As his story progressed, it became obvious that this was the first the commodore of the expedition had heard of the outcome of the visit to Adams’s store, and he wondered again about Stackpole’s strange change of attitude. However, the fact that it was news made the telling easier.
“We found the store cleared out of its provisions, and the clerk extremely uncooperative,” he continued. “Providentially, some gaucho trackers arrived, and offered to follow the trail of the horse train that had packed the goods out. They said they led upriver, where we hoped to find the schooner loading salt at the dunes.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No, sir. She was long gone. However, we pursued the tracks further, and found the murdered body of the storekeeper who had stolen the schooner.”
Captain Wilkes’s fine, large eyes sparked with interest. “Murdered?”
“Aye, sir.” Wiki gestured, and said, “He’d been stabbed with a large knife in the lower part of the chest.”
Both Captain Wilkes and his father were watching him with riveted attention. “Where did you find the corpse?” demanded Captain Wilkes, while his father, more perceptively, said, “What led you to it?”