by Joan Druett
Dead silence. Captain Coffin was sitting at his ease on the red settee, one arm stretched along the back, and the other hand holding his brandy glass. He was watching and listening with alert interest, but as before, he did not offer a word.
Wiki said, “Captain Hallett really did give Adams the job of selling her?”
“He did, indeed,” Nash replied. “On January 6, the same day that we arrived up the Río Negro to hand him over to a doctor—which is why the deed is kinda confusing, I guess. Though Adams produced the form, nothing was signed, on account of Captain Hallett’s arm made it impossible. He was in a real bad way, and we was in a hurry to entrust the poor fellow to that quack what pretends to practice medicine. Then we left him at the surgeon’s ranch, and went back to the brig and sailed off to pick up the drying gang, along with their stockpile of pelts, leaving the Grim Reaper lying at anchor off El Carmen for the inspection of prospective purchasers. Got back on January 14, to hear the good news that the schooner had been sold—and the terrible tidings that we’d lost our captain. He’d expired just the day before, bless his departed soul. So I was the one what signed the deed of sale in his place.”
Wiki echoed, “You signed it?”
“That I did, after checking all the details that Adams had filled in. And Adams signed it, too, on the buyer’s behalf. S. R. Stackpole,” Nash added, and looked at the whaling master, and said, “I guess that’s you.”
Stackpole groped in a back pocket, and hauled out the deed of sale. “That signature’s yours?”
Jim Nash inspected the illegible scrawl, handed it back, and said, “It is.”
“You don’t write very well,” reproved Wiki.
Ignoring this, Stackpole pursued, “And Adams gave you my draft on a Connecticut bank?”
“He did,” Jim agreed.
“For a thousand dollars?”
“Aye.” Jim Nash slapped the front of his jacket as if he had it stowed in a pocket, though he added complacently, “It’s in the brig’s strongbox, and the owners should be mighty gratified about that, too.”
“I reckon they should,” grimly agreed Captain Stackpole. “But they ain’t goin’ to know about it, are they—because you’re going to give me my money back.”
Jim Nash shook his head emphatically. “No, I ain’t. You bought her fair and square, and I got documents to prove it—my receipt from Adams, and the affidavit you gave Adams appointing him your representative.”
“But where’s my bloody schooner?” Stackpole cried.
“I appreciate that you paid over the money and got nothing in return,” Jim Nash said, and wagged his head in vast sympathy for a fellow shipmaster who’d been thoroughly diddled. “That really is too bad, but I don’t know what I can do about it. What you have to do is report it to the authorities, who should pass on the news to a man-of-war. Mighty tough on pirates, is the U.S. Navy. Tell you what, though,” he went on, illuminated by a great idea. “If you buy the Athenian, I’ll strike a thousand dollars off the price, to make up for your loss. Couldn’t be fairer than that, huh?”
Stackpole, very obviously, didn’t think much of this generous offer. Wiki meditated that if looks could have killed, Jim Nash would have been felled to the deck.
After waiting in vain for a reply, Jim looked at Wiki, and said with lively interest, “So where did you find the corpse? At the salt dunes?”
“Inland, past the salinas,” said Wiki. “His killer had buried him, but not very well, so that the skull was exposed. The vultures led us to his grave.”
Nash grimaced, demonstrating yet again that even hardened sealers had feelings. He said, “But why were you tracking Adams past the salinas?”
“We’d found that all the goods in the store had gone, and reckoned they’d been taken to provision the Grim Reaper, which I calculated was up at the salt dunes,” Stackpole said.
“But that’s ridiculous,” said Nash. “Adams told me he was going to load the provisions after the schooner got back to El Carmen.”
Wiki said, puzzled, “He told you he was going to load at El Carmen?”
“After he’d filled the salt bins,” Nash agreed. “He was goin’ to the salt dunes to fill with salt first, and then he was sailing back to load with provisions.”
“He told you all this on the fourteenth, after you signed the deed?”
“Aye. And then I went up to the salt dunes with him.”
“On horseback?”
“No, of course not,” Jim Nash said. “On the schooner.”
Wiki felt more bewildered than ever. He said, “But Ramón told me that there wasn’t a captain on board when the Grim Reaper sailed upriver.”
“Ramón?”
“The capataz of the Indian sealing gang that worked for Captain Hallett.”
“My God, you do get around! Ramón had the makings of a fine sealing master—though, mind you, Hallett was very good with the Indians, treated ’em like Christians. He looked for the heart and soul of a man, and paid no notice of the color of his skin.” Jim Nash hauled out his handkerchief again, partly because of renewed grief, and partly to hide embarrassment as he abruptly realized that what he’d said might not be the height of diplomacy, considering that Wiki was brown.
Wiki said tactfully, “The feeling was mutual—Ramón also said that Captain Hallett was a fair and just caudillo who worked as hard as his men.”
“Aye, that he was.” Again the sealer blew his nose. Then Nash went on in more practical tones, “So he told you there wasn’t a captain on board the Grim Reaper when we sailed to the dunes? Well, the way that it was, Adams took the tiller for the run, and I sat at my ease. And Ramón knew I was captain of the Athenian, not the schooner, so what he said would’ve made sense to him, even if it didn’t to you.”
And Ramón had been derisive at the very idea of a pulpero like Adams being considered a captain. Nodding, Wiki changed the subject. “Why did you sail upriver with Adams?”
“I was doing him a favor,” said Jim. “Just two of the seamen he’d hired turned up, and they was useless sogers, so I loaned a couple of good men to help him out.”
Wiki exclaimed, “He’d hired seamen?”
“Adams shouldn’t have done that,” Stackpole protested. “I told him to find a sealing gang, but that I didn’t need seamen. I was going to send over three hands from the Trojan to sail the schooner to the rookeries.”
“Perhaps Adams hired them to get her up to the salt dunes and back to the pueblo, not to take her out to sea,” Wiki suggested.
Nash looked doubtful, and said, “He gave me the strong impression he’d hired those two useless sogers for the whole of the sealing season.”
Wiki asked, “But he hadn’t found a gang to do the actual sealing?”
“Nope. He said he couldn’t find Indians who were willing. Anyways, I helped out by loaning him two good seamen from the Athenian for the trip.”
Wiki guessed, “Peter and Dick?”
Nash was astonished. “You truly are a sleuth! How d’you know their names?”
“Ramón told us,” said Wiki.
“Ramón? Well, of course he knew Peter and Dick, on account of they sailed the schooner every time the gang was being ferried to a sealing beach.”
Wiki nodded again, and said, “Tell me about the two so-called seamen Adams had hired.”
“Portuguese,” Nash replied succinctly. “Wore gaucho costumes, but spoke Portuguese. It was a crime to call ’em seamen, though I heard they had a fishing boat. Didn’t seem to know one rope from another, though it could’ve been pure laziness. Adams was mighty wild about the third fellow, the sailing master what didn’t turn up, because he would’ve shown ’em how to work, or so I gathered.”
Stackpole cried, “I didn’t tell him to hire a sailing master!”
Ignoring this, Wiki said urgently, “Did you hear the names of those Portuguese men?”
“Gomes—one name for both of ’em, on account of they was brothers.”
Wiki paused,
his thoughts racing. Then he said, “What happened after you moored the schooner at the dunes?”
“I’d brought three of the Athenian boats, which followed the schooner upriver, and we set to getting our pelts out of the schooner and into them.”
Stackpole said bitterly, “Weren’t you taking a risk, leaving valuable furs on board?”
“It was safe enough, we reckoned, and there wasn’t all that many of them, just five hundred or so. We trusted Adams to make sure they wasn’t stolen, and was right, because when we got back they were just the way we left ’em. Truth to tell, we figured that the sight of a few dozen hides would help a speculator make up his mind to buy,” Nash candidly confessed, earning himself another black look.
Captain Coffin entered the conversation for the first time for a while, saying thoughtfully, “Wouldn’t it have been easier to unload the skins while the schooner was moored off El Carmen?”
Just like the provisions, thought Wiki.
“It didn’t make any difference to us,” Jim Nash said, and shrugged. “It was all happening on the water, wherever.”
“Did it take long?” Wiki asked.
“Nope. We started the moment the schooner was moored, and got the last into the boats by dark that same day. Slept on the schooner, sailed the boats down the river before dawn, and were at the estuary by sunup. That was the last I saw of the Río Negro—we took our departure as soon as we was all back on board the brig.”
“This was on the fifteenth?”
“Aye.”
“And Peter and Dick were with you?”
Nash’s brows shot up. “Well, of course! I doubt they’ve ever jumped ship in their lives. They’ll get a nice advance in Rio, after we’ve sold the brig, and a whole lot more money after they’ve worked their passage back to New York. Why forfeit all that by jumping ship in a godforsaken place like the Río Negro?”
“So you haven’t lost any of your men?”
“None,” confirmed Nash, and then went on, “We’ve decided Rio de Janeiro is the best place to put the Athenian up for sale. Would’ve been there before now, except for a couple of little whales.”
Distracted, Wiki exclaimed, “Whales?”
“Aye. We had trypots on board, of course, and they topped up our seal-oil barrels nicely.”
Wiki shook his head in awe, thinking he would never stop learning about Yankee opportunism, and then, because he wondered whether Adams had set off for the salinas before or after Jim Nash took his departure from the dunes, he asked, “Was Adams still on board of the schooner when you left?”
“Nope. He came on my boat as far as El Carmen. We dropped him off at the steps, and that’s the last I ever saw of him.”
Wiki sat up straight, because this gave an entirely new slant to the affair.
Captain Coffin said curiously, “Why did he want to get back to El Carmen?”
“He was in a passion, to tell the truth, on account of the nonappearance of that sailing master he’d hired. Once he found him, he was heading back upriver on horseback to collect the Grim Reaper and sail her down again to load the provisions—or so he said.”
Wiki said slowly, “So he could have arrived back at the store to find the provisions gone.”
“Well, if that was the case, it would’ve done nothin’ to calm him down.”
“Adams was angry by nature, or so I noticed,” Stackpole remarked.
“Ain’t that nothing but the truth!”
Surprised, Wiki asked, “You knew Adams well?”
“I should say I did,” Jim replied with emphasis. “Sealed a couple of seasons with him, on my very first voyage.”
Wiki exclaimed, “Adams was a sealer?”
“Didn’t you know?” Nash looked surprised. “But that’s why we gave him so much business, on account of I knew him so well.”
Urgently, Wiki said, “What kind of man was he—what was Adams like?”
Jim thought a moment, and then said, “I liked him. He was a damn fine seaman, and even better at the sealing business. Entertaining, too—full of rousing yarns. Flashy sort of cove, had a lot of confidence in himself. Wore a sort of medal about his neck, a curious thing, one of those old Spanish coins with a cross on one side, and a three-masted ship on the other. What d’you call ’em—pieces of eight? The first seal he ever killed vomited it up in its death throes—must’ve swallowed it with some gravel when it scooped a fish off the bottom. It was gold, but he bored a hole in it and hung it round his neck, and reckoned it brought him luck.”
Stackpole fished about in his pockets again, brought out a medal, and shoved it at Jim Nash. “This it?”
Nash took it, and inspected it. “Aye,” he said, handing it back. “How did you get hold of it?”
“Cut it off the string that hung around the neck of his corpse.”
Jim Nash grimaced. “So his luck deserted him in the end, poor old Caleb—though I reckon it was running out already. Sorry about that, because I respected the man. Taught me a lot, though you had to watch his temper. He’d fly into a murderous rage without a hint of warning, and even though he was a little chap, it was a good idea to get out of the way quick. He once even flew at me with his cudgel. I might’ve been just eighteen, but I was a lot bigger than him, and he learned not to try that again.”
“Was he apt to bear a grudge?” inquired Captain Coffin.
“You can definitely say that. He bore no grudge ag’in me, because I beat him fair and square, but if he thought he’d been done wrong, he wouldn’t rest till he got revenge. He was a good sealing man, though—could put away four hundred seals a day without straining himself overmuch, or even givin’ himself a fright.”
Wiki asked, “So why did he get out of sealing?”
“There was a brawl of some sort—but I don’t know the details, on account of I wasn’t there, it being a later voyage. Someone told me he left his ship in a hurry—in Montevideo, I think—and that was the last I heard of him for quite a few months. But when we arrived up the Río Negro in October 1836, there he was in charge of that store—told us he owned it, and that this was the life for him. It was a real surprise, I tell you—and very useful, too, considerin’ we was doing business in those parts.”
Stackpole said, “The first time I dealt with him, he seemed to be doing well.”
“He was doing very well indeed. Within a couple of years, though, he was lookin’ considerable poorer.”
“I noticed that, too,” said Stackpole.
“General de Rosas has deliberately ruined the economy of the Río Negro, according to a customs officer we met,” said Wiki.
“That’s what I heard, too,” said Jim. “That quack of a surgeon, Ducatel, was particular’ vociferous about it.”
“I also heard that they’re plotting revolution,” Wiki went on.
“Well, I must say that don’t surprise me.”
“Did Adams ever talk about it?”
“Nope, he never mentioned anythin’ along those lines. I don’t reckon he was interested in politics, just in making money—and I got the strong impression he was badly lacking in that department. The agent’s fee for selling the schooner would’ve come in mighty handy.”
“Adams was after more than the fee,” Stackpole growled. “That deed of sale might have been real, but all along he was planning to keep the schooner for himself.”
“I find that hard to believe,” said Nash, exhibiting loyalty to an old sealing mate. “Though he was certainly on his beam ends,” he added thoughtfully.
Wiki asked, “Did he say anything about going back to sealing?”
“Well, now that you mention it, just before I gave him the job of selling the schooner, he did ask if we needed another hand on the Athenian. But of course I had to say no, what with the brig’s owners orderin’ us to put her on the block.”
There was a shout on deck—Mr. Seward issuing orders to take in the new topgallant. They all looked up at the skylight, where a gust of wind abruptly rattled the panes. Jim drai
ned his brandy and stood up. “Better run,” he said.
They all crowded up the companionway, Captain Nash first, then Wiki, then Captain Stackpole, with Captain Coffin bringing up the rear. When Nash opened the door at the top it was to find the rain lashing down, and he stopped short, grimacing. Wiki could see his boat’s crew waiting by the davits to lower his boat, once he was inside it. Their heads were pulled down between their shoulders as the wind gusted and the rain hissed. “Who wouldn’t sell a farm to go to sea?” he rhetorically asked, and braced himself to run.
Wiki stopped him by gripping his arm, saying urgently, “Who was the sailing master who didn’t turn up? Did Adams mention his name?”
“Aye, but what the hell was it?” Nash stood and ruminated a moment, rain dripping off his nose, but then shook his head, made a dash for the boat, and jumped inside it. The davit falls rattled as his men eased off the ropes, and the boat lowered in jerks, so that his burly form disappeared bit by bit.
Just as his waist was at the level of the rail, light dawned in his face. He shouted, “I remember now—the name was Harden!”
Then, without another word, he was gone.
Sixteen
The commotion of taking in sail was short-lived. Within minutes the sky was patched with blue, the wind had moderated, the rain had stopped, and the reefs in the canvas were being let out. Wiki stood at the larboard rail with his hair whipping about his face as he watched the Athenian draw away to the north. Then he realized that Captain Stackpole had joined him. The whaling master was leaning on the rail staring moodily at the gray, heaving waves.
He looked at Wiki and said, “So Adams hired two seamen and a sailing master, contrary to my instructions. Why d’you reckon he did that?”
Wiki said nothing, instead thinking with astonishment that he missed Forsythe’s pungent comments and flashes of insight, and that he would have given a great deal to talk with the southerner right now.
Tiring of waiting for an answer, Stackpole shifted, demanding harshly, “So when d’you reckon it was that Adams made up his mind to steal the schooner? After Nash had left, or before?”