by Joan Druett
“Jim Nash said that Adams asked him for a job on the Athenian, but he had to say no, as he had instructions to end the voyage and put the brig up for sale,” Wiki finally replied. “When he offered the schooner to you, Adams knew that you intended to take her on a sealing voyage. Did he ask you whether you’d give him a job as your sealing master—or even one of your sealing gang?”
Stackpole shook his head.
“Then I think you have your answer.”
The whaleman’s expression was blank for a moment, and then grim. “He planned to steal her right from the start, and take her out sealing himself,” he said, almost to himself. His voice rose as he bitterly demanded, “Why didn’t he steal the money, too? That would’ve really made his day!”
Wiki shrugged. “If it had been cash money, it might have been different—though he would have had two lots of people chasing him up, Nash for his money, and you for your schooner. But a bank draft was too complicated. He would have had to get to a big town to cash it, with an increased chance of being caught. No, it was easier for him to hand over the draft when Nash signed the deed of sale.”
Stackpole sighed deeply. “So that’s it,” he said. “Nash has his money, but I don’t have my schooner. And there’s not a bloody thing we can do about it.”
“I don’t agree,” said Wiki.
His father had quietly joined them, Wiki saw. He leaned his back against the rail with his hands in his pockets and a quizzical look in his half-shut eye.
Stackpole, who hadn’t noticed Captain Coffin’s arrival, said, “What do you mean?”
“I think we should get back to the Río Negro.”
“The devil we’re not! I need to get back to the Trojan!”
Captain Coffin said to Wiki, “I assume you’ve got a good reason for saying that?”
Wiki nodded, remembering what Forsythe had exclaimed when he’d learned that the clerk had been killed: “You reckon the storekeeper’s killer missed the boat because he wanted to get hold of that bill of sale, but then hung around for seven or more days before he finally got around to knifing the clerk?… But the bloody schooner was gone!”
As the southerner had said, it didn’t make sense—which meant that the only logical reason for killing the clerk for the bill of sale was that …
Wiki said with perfect certainty, “The schooner’s still up the river.”
Stackpole exclaimed, “But you were so certain that she’d sailed!”
“I know,” Wiki admitted, feeling rueful. Bernantio and his gauchos, silent and secretive by nature, had headed upriver at the gallop after leaving him and Stackpole at the dunes, he remembered. At the time, he’d assumed that they had given up the hunt, but he’d forgotten the famous stubbornness of the rastreadores. If they hadn’t been distracted by frantic rumors of a French invasion, they would have found the schooner, he was sure, and knew now that he shouldn’t have paid them off so fast.
He said, “She’s hidden in the willow trees at one of the little river islands upriver of the salt dunes, most likely with her masts unstepped.”
Stunned silence, during which Captain Coffin studied Wiki’s face. Finally, he remarked, “Well, the wind’s in our favor.” Then he headed to the quarterdeck to issue orders to Mr. Seward.
Captain Stackpole was staring at Wiki with conflicting emotions chasing across his face—hope, followed by disbelief, and finally speculation. He said, “Did you change your mind because of something Nash said?”
Again, Wiki paused, remembering that Stackpole himself had remarked that once the schooner was gone, the deed of sale was no longer important, but said, “Jim did make it apparent that the killer didn’t have a crew to get the schooner out to sea.”
“But Adams had shipped two seamen and a sailing master! Against my instructions,” Stackpole added moodily.
More evidence that Adams had planned all along to steal the Grim Reaper, Wiki thought. He said, “There were only the two Gomes fishermen on board the schooner, remember, and Nash didn’t think much of them.”
“But Adams was collecting the sailing master…”
Stackpole’s voice faded as realization struck. “It was Harden!” he exclaimed. “And Harden’s joined the expedition fleet!”
“I wonder why Adams hired him, in the first place?” Wiki asked. “Nash told us that Adams himself was a fine seaman. Did you know that he was a sailor?”
“I had no idea that he was either a sailor or a sealer—for me, he was just a trader. I only ever dealt with him at his store,” Stackpole said. “So it was big news to me that he might be a fine seaman. However, though he would have taken command on the passage to the rookeries, he would then put someone else in charge of the schooner while she was lying off the sealing beaches. It was more important for Adams to be on shore to oversee the sealing gang, while whoever was looking after the schooner took care of sending men, provisions, and tools to the beach as needed, and stowing furs as they came on board.”
“Is that the usual routine?” Wiki asked, interested.
“It’s what Captain Hallett did—he put his first mate in charge of the Athenian, while Hallett himself acted as sealing master. As Ramón said, Peter and Dick were on board, and they would have looked after the Grim Reaper while Hallett was on the beach.”
That made sense, Wiki thought. Nash had said that Adams was an even better sealer than a seaman, and he would have had to train whatever sealers he had been able to find, and supervise them after that.
“Anyway, it don’t signify now,” Stackpole said gloomily. “Adams is dead, Harden is with the fleet, and the Gomes brothers are back at their old trade of fishing. Even if we do find the schooner, God knows what kind of shape she’ll be in.”
* * *
Having issued orders to Mr. Seward, Wiki’s father had gone to the companionway door, and was standing looking back at them with his hand on the latch. When Wiki walked across the deck to join him, Stackpole followed. Together, they went down the stairs, where the aroma of coffee and food rose to meet them.
They sat around the red and green horseshoe-shaped sofa again, and the steward brought over a tray of sliced breads, pickles, and salt meats, followed by a pot of steaming coffee and mugs. They hadn’t had a meal at the dining table yet, Wiki noticed, and thought that it must be reserved for shoreside visitors. He didn’t mind, because he much preferred to be informal.
Stackpole slurped coffee, chewed bread and meat, and then said, “I thought that Adams was disobeying my instructions, at first, but I guess he hired those seamen and that sailing master for himself.”
“He tried to hire an Indian sealing gang, too,” said Wiki.
The whaleman lifted his brows, evidently remembering the conversation with Ramón, because he snorted, and said, “Didn’t have any luck, did he.”
Wiki said, “I wonder a lot about Benjamin Harden. Why did Adams hire him as sailing master—and why did he take the job?” Again, Forsythe’s words rang in his mind: “If he’s got such a grand mission for revolution, why would he want to leave the Río Negro?”
His father said, “Presumably he’s a competent navigator.”
“That’s why Captain Wilkes was so keen to ship him for the expedition,” Wiki agreed. “What makes me curious is what he’s been doing since he joined the fleet.”
The brigantine gave a sudden lurch, and they heard an infuriated shout from above and a spatter as their wake splashed up the stern windows. Captain Coffin hurried up the companionway, but evidently it was just a lapse on the helmsman’s part, because a moment later they heard his footsteps coming down.
As he came into the cabin he said to Wiki, “I’ve only seen Harden once, when he headed the boat that came to collect those two carpenters.”
“That was only the second time I saw him myself,” Wiki admitted. “The other time was when Captain Ringgold was desperate for a pilot to get the Sea Gull off the sandbank, and Harden miraculously appeared to offer his services.”
“Miraculously?” his father
echoed.
Wiki was beginning to wonder a lot about that, but he simply nodded.
“You seemed worried about his boat’s crew,” Captain Coffin remembered.
“They were five of the old sealers we rescued from their sinking ship about three months ago, and who were shipped with the fleet after that. The two carpenters they collected—Boyd and Folger—were two more of them.”
“Who recruited those surly sogers? Wilkes?”
“Aye,” said Wiki. “To take advantage of their experience in the Antarctic Ocean.”
“What kind of experience?” Stackpole queried.
“They sailed with Captain Nathaniel Palmer.”
Captain Stackpole looked baffled, but Captain Coffin’s left eye opened as wide as the other, a sign of vast surprise. “Nat Palmer of Stonington?” he exclaimed. “But I know him! He’s the man who discovered the continent of Antarctica, back in 1820!”
“Don’t ever tell Captain Wilkes that—as he’s quite determined to be the official discoverer,” Wiki advised with a grin. “And another thing you mustn’t mention is that the expedition is not the first United States discovering venture.”
His father looked both startled and diverted. “It isn’t?”
“Back in 1829 a set of Connecticut merchants put up the money for a three-ship fleet to survey the Antarctic. Because sealers know that ocean best, the crews were made up of sealing men, and the ships were sealing vessels, one of them commanded by Palmer. The venture was called the South Sea Fur Company and Exploring Expedition.”
Stackpole said cynically, “And what was the priority, sealing or exploring?”
Wiki smiled. “The crews certainly thought that the real mission was to find new seal rookeries, so they could all make their eternal fortunes. However, the captains had different ideas, and set to surveying the ocean instead, which the crews didn’t like at all. A few ringleaders talked mutiny, and a number refused duty. When Palmer made port in South America a whole lot more deserted, with the result that he was forced to abandon the voyage, being so short of hands.”
Captain Coffin said, “And these sealers were among those who refused duty?”
“They were the original troublemakers,” Wiki said.
“The ringleaders?” Stackpole exclaimed. “And yet Wilkes has shipped them for the exploring expedition?”
“Aye,” said Wiki grimly.
“Damned if I’d want to ship men with that reputation. They made trouble yet?”
“They’ve not had the opportunity. They were deliberately spread about the ships so they could share their lore with as many men as possible. But now it seems that they’ve been gathered together again—as Harden’s boat’s crew.”
“Harden,” Captain Coffin repeated slowly. “Cocky sort of fellow, I thought.”
“Río Negro scuttlebutt says he’s a rebel against de Rosas,” said Stackpole.
Wiki nodded, and told his father, “His full name is Benjamin Harden, according to his Protection Paper. Apparently he was put into the fort at Buenos Aires for attempted desertion, and was scooped up by one of the de Rosas press gangs. He went on patrol with the army for a while, but then mutinied, starting a riot in which a couple of men were killed. He was severely punished, so deserted, and now incites rebellion.”
“How severely punished?”
“Twelve hundred lashes over three sessions, they say.”
“My God.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Wiki.
“Neither do I,” said his father.
“I’ve heard that it’s true,” said Stackpole, confirming to Wiki that the gossip was general. “And it sounds to me as if Harden and these mutinous sealers you’ve been describing have a lot in common. He’s determined to bring about the downfall of de Rosas, they say—so is there any chance that it’s not just a coincidence, that he’s collecting up the sealers for a purpose?”
“It’s possible,” said Wiki.
Then Stackpole abruptly shook his head. “Nope, I take that back. It just ain’t possible that he knew about those sealers, so why would he search them out?”
Wiki said, “Perhaps he did know about them.”
“What?”
“I told him myself.” This time it was his own words that rang in Wiki’s mind: “There’s a number of men set to jump ship and leave the expedition … If there was a sealing voyage in the offing, they’d probably kill to join it.”
Stackpole said with puzzlement, “When?”
“When I was talking to you, not long after we arrived in Adams’s store. I’d asked you whether seamen ever jumped ship at the Río Negro, and you said that no sailor would ever desert in a place like El Carmen.”
The whaling master stared, and then his mouth fell open as the memory came back. “That was when you told me about those old sealers who’d leave the fleet at the first opportunity!”
“Exactly,” said Wiki.
“But the old clerk didn’t know enough English to understand what you were saying, so he couldn’t have passed it on,” Stackpole objected. Then more light dawned. “You reckon we was overheard?” he exclaimed with open horror.
“By someone who was hiding in the surgery,” Wiki said. He remembered the clerk’s edgy manner, and the way his gaze had flickered uneasily about, always coming to rest on the wall by the surgery door. He also remembered the sense of a human presence when they had entered the surgery after Ducatel had opened the outside door; he remembered how easily the key had turned in the oiled lock; he remembered the tidily folded blankets on the surgery bed.
“My God!” Stackpole swore. “That means he overheard me badger the clerk into handing over the bill of sale!”
“And the clerk was knifed in a murderous rage,” Wiki somberly said.
“He killed him because he handed the bill over to me!”
“Probably very soon after you left,” agreed Wiki.
Captain Coffin interrupted, saying, “You’re still talking about Harden?”
Silence. Then Stackpole said heavily, “Aye, we’re talking about Harden.”
“Quite apart from the question of whether he murdered the clerk in a passion, why would a rebel join the fleet with the deliberate aim of recruiting sealers?”
Exactly, thought Wiki. Again, Forsythe’s voice echoed in his head: “If he’s got such a grand mission for revolution, why would he want to leave the Río Negro?”
Stackpole said, “That’s a point! Harden’s not a sealer! Why would he want to recruit a bunch of old sealers to the revolutionary cause?”
Captain Coffin said doubtfully, “They might have the right kind of expertise.”
“Those old sealers don’t have any skills except for sealing,” Wiki argued, then admitted, “Though they can carry out basic sailors’ duties, of course.”
“Folger was a bo’sun and Boyd was his mate,” Captain Coffin reminded him. His expression was as intent as it had been in the afterhouse of the Vincennes.
“I’m sure they have blacksmiths aplenty up the river. And the sealers certainly couldn’t match the locals on horseback. They’d be nothing but a hindrance.”
“Why horseback? What about the schooner?” his father suggested.
“That’s a thought,” said Wiki, with an approving grin.
Stackpole stared, and then light dawned in his face. He said, astounded, “You reckon those sealers were recruited as crew for the Grim Reaper?”
“Exactly,” said Wiki, and nodded. “And that’s why I want to get to the Río Negro. The sealers are probably ready to abscond with their boat first chance after the Vin gets back to the estuary, so I’d like to find the schooner first.”
Silence, as they all listened to the scudding sounds as the Osprey fled west on the breast of the gale. Then the whaling master finally expressed the obvious: “Do you think Harden killed Adams, as well as the clerk?”
Wiki didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at his father.
Captain Coffin was silent too, contemplating Wiki
pensively. Then he remarked, “You said that a couple of men died during the riot that Harden incited. Who was the killer, do you know?”
“Harden,” said Wiki. “According to the story I heard, that’s the reason he was flogged.”
* * *
The steward came in, and silently cleared the low table of the clutter of plates and leftovers. When he returned to the pantry with the loaded tray, the cat, who had been on Stackpole’s knee snatching the tidbits he surreptitiously fed her, jumped down and optimistically followed, her tail as upright as a flagpole.
As soon as the door swung shut Captain Coffin observed to Wiki, “You said to Jim that when Adams returned to the store after being dropped at the El Carmen steps, he might’ve found it empty.”
“My guess is that he definitely found it empty. The deed of sale was signed on the fourteenth, and the schooner was sailed to the dunes that same afternoon. Adams returned to El Carmen at dawn the next day—the fifteenth. His clerk, who’d been off work because of family illness, he said, got back that same day to find Adams gone, and the store emptied out.”
“I wonder what time the clerk turned up?”
Wiki shrugged ruefully. It was something he’d forgotten to ask.
“We have to assume it was sometime in the morning,” said his father. “Which means that the goods were packed out the previous evening.”
“Exactly,” said Wiki. “I imagine they brought in the horses as soon as the schooner was out of sight.”
Another silence, and then Captain Coffin said, “Do you think Adams found Harden at the store—or in El Carmen at all?”
Wiki shook his head.
“I don’t think so, either. I think Harden was the man who packed the goods upriver on the horses.”
Wiki pointed out, “He would have needed help.”
Both shipmasters looked at him expectantly, but he said nothing, and finally Stackpole said, “The clerk must’ve let them in. Whoever they was,” he added pointedly.
“I’m sure he wasn’t nearly as loyal to Adams as he pretended to be,” agreed Wiki. He remembered the abundant stock of provisions at the Gomes house. “I expect he’d been stealing from the store for months, if not years.”