by Joan Druett
Wiki continued, “You pursued them, but by the time you caught up with Harden all your goods had vanished, along with the horses and the rebels.”
Adams’s head jerked in a grotesque affirmative. Then he swore in the same harsh, loud voice, “But I made the bastard pay, by God!”
He had knifed him in a blind rage—just as he had later killed the clerk. Wiki said, “You found him alone at the salinas?”
Adams jerked again, but though he tried to speak, nothing but a dreadful croak came out. A second great glob of blood poured out of the twisted mouth, and then the madly staring eyes glazed over forever.
The silence was broken by a distant shout. Wiki roused himself, and took several backward steps to look up at the horsemen, who were still waiting and watching at the edge of the cliff.
The shout had been a question. Wiki called out an affirmative, and received a brief message in reply.
Captain Coffin said curiously, “Is that Bernantio and one of his men?”
“Gauchos don’t carry guns. And didn’t you hear him call out in Portuguese, not Spanish?”
Captain Coffin shook his head. “What did he ask?”
“He asked if Adams was dead.”
“Ah.” A nod, and then Captain Coffin asked, “What did he say then?”
“He said, The storekeeper killed my father,” Wiki translated. However, he had to repeat himself, because the words were drowned out by the distant thud of hooves as the Gomes brothers wheeled their steeds and galloped away.
Epilogue
February 3, 1839
When the cutter drew up to the tall side of the flagship Vincennes, seven men were being punished for the crime of attempted desertion. The awful sounds of a ritual flogging echoed down to the water.
The seven sealers had been easily hunted down—because Bernantio and his gauchos had materialized on the riverbank landing of the estuary, and gracefully offered their services to the officer in charge of the search party. Wiki, though delighted to become reaquainted with the rastreadores, had surveyed them rather cynically as he translated. Not only did he think that Bernantio had had a good idea of the whereabouts of the Grim Reaper’s hiding place all along, but, remembering how the rastreador had shown no interest at all in the worn tracks that had led from the riverside path to the rebels’ caves, he had a strong suspicion Bernantio had known who had stolen the provisions, too. However, life was hard on the pampas and the steppe, and Wiki held no grudge, even when Bernantio gave him a conspiratorial grin as he received the fee for turning in the runaways after they had been hunted down and lassoed.
Back on the Vincennes, the sealers had each been condemned to forty-eight lashes—though without the court-martial that should have preceded such an extreme punishment—and so the flogging was protracted. Forsythe motioned his men to still the boat with their oars, and they waited for the thuds and screams to finish. For Wiki, the interval seemed endless, and even Forsythe shifted about uneasily.
“They should’ve let ’em go, and bloody good riddance,” he muttered.
Wiki couldn’t have agreed more. The seven sealers had been trouble from the start, and now they had a hurt to fuel their grievances. However, he said nothing. Forsythe’s cuttersmen, all proper tarry sailors with a wealth of sea experience, were equally silent, studying the progress of the rerigging of the schooner, now afloat and swarming with Stackpole’s men, instead of betraying their thoughts.
Then Forsythe, just like several times before, said smugly, “So it was because of things what I pointed out that you figured Harden was the murdered man.”
The southerner had listened with riveted attention to the story, asked many questions, and been both unsurprised and complacent when informed that his comments had provided vital clues. “You reckon the storekeeper’s killer missed the boat because he wanted to get hold of that bill of sale … But the bloody schooner was gone!… If he’s got such a grand mission for revolution, why would he want to leave the Río Negro?”
Forsythe was coming to regard himself as quite a sleuth, which boded ill for the future, thought Wiki. However he smiled as he agreed, “That’s right.”
“Next time there’s a murder, you’ll listen real bloody careful to what I say, I reckon.”
“Heaven forfend there is one,” Wiki prayed.
The last man had been flogged, and the decks above vibrated to the sounds of marching feet as the crew was dismissed. The cutter pulled over to the side of the ship, and an oarsman held a rope to steady the boat while Wiki scrambled onto the ladder. When he stepped over the gangway, a bucket of water was being tossed over the foot of the grating to wash away the blood.
To Wiki’s surprise, his father was standing near the portico of the afterhouse, talking with Lawrence J. Smith. He had a folio of documents under his arm, so Wiki deduced that he had come on board to receive the last of the scientific reports before taking his departure for Philadephia. As soon as their eyes met, Captain Coffin abandoned the conversation, and walked toward him.
“Bloody awful way of doing things,” he declaimed before he even arrived, without bothering to lower his voice. “Men must be punished, but the punishment should come hot on the heels of the crime, and not with this ghastly ceremony.”
“So why were you here to view it?” asked Wiki.
“Got trapped. By the time Wilkes had stopped handing on instructions, it was time for him to superintend the damnable business. I spent the time in the saloon, but at least the coffee was good.”
“Which is entirely due to your business acumen,” Wiki said with amusement. The coffee had been dreadful before Captain Coffin had sold those sacks of coffee beans to the purser of the fleet.
To his surprise, his father drew him over to the lee rail, and looked around to make sure they weren’t overheard. Then he said in a low voice, “Leave this goddamned expedition—join us on the Osprey.”
Wiki smiled, realizing the sacrifice this had cost his father, but shook his head.
“Why not?” his father said aggressively. “I want you to sail with me.”
“Mr. Seward wouldn’t like it.”
“Fiddlesticks. He might take a while to get used to you being privy to his secret, but he’ll soon get over that. He’s…” Captain Coffin looked around again, then lowered his voice still further. “He has good reasons for being the way he is,” he muttered in Wiki’s ear. “He was married very young to the captain of a small coasting brig, and helped him with the work just like a man would, but the master was drowned after just a few years—a tragic affair—and Alf found it impossible to adjust to landlife again. Loves the sea with a passion. No family to tie him down, so he embarked on his deception. Spent the next few years traipsing from ship to ship—not so different from you, my boy!—because he had to get out in a hurry whenever someone was on the verge of guessing his sex. Then he made that pierhead jump onto the Osprey.”
Captain Coffin paused at last, and Wiki said curiously, “How long did it take you to guess the truth?”
To his surprise, his father laughed. “I didn’t! Eight months after he shipped he came to me and revealed all, much to my astonishment. He said he’d only ever lasted six months before being uncovered, in the past, and the suspense was killing him, so he wanted to get it over and done with.”
Wiki shook his head. He wondered how his father could have been so dense.
Reading his mind, Captain Coffin said wryly, “I talk too much, Wiki. I enjoy telling my yarns so much that I don’t pay enough attention to my audience. I guess the only time I really looked at him was when I was giving him orders—or consulting about ship affairs.”
“You were keeping different watches,” Wiki reassured him, and then asked, “When he fessed up, you came to an arrangement?”
“Exactly,” said Captain Coffin with satisfaction. “And it has worked out first-rate. He suits me—he handles the crew like a real officer, and he’s a capital seaman, too. He’s kind enough to be patient with the cadets, but ma
kes sure they don’t carry on like beasts. He’s good company, too—has a fine tenor voice, dances the best jig in the ship, and plays the fiddle like a Gypsy.”
“Good God,” said Wiki. He was perfectly astonished by this recital of virtues.
“And as you know, he cherishes the barky as if she were his own. You saw how shipshape he keeps her! Though he might be as prickly as a crab, he suits me,” Captain Coffin repeated. “You’ll enjoy life on the Osprey, once Alf gets used to you.”
“But what would I do to fill in the time?”
“You keep on telling me I need a second mate.”
“Which is most certainly so,” Wiki agreed. “Your little secret shouldn’t stop you from hiring someone else, though,” he recommended with a grin. “Tell Mr. Seward to dress him down the way he dressed me down after I made that sternboard, and he won’t feel a single doubt that your mate is a man, and a real tough one, too.”
His father had the grace to look embarrassed, but was obstinate enough to try another tack. “Jim Nash’s suggestion wasn’t such a bad idea, you know,” he said. “That brig of his is sure to be much less seaworthy than he pretends she is, but I could buy a smart vessel and put you in command. There are advantages to sailing as a fleet—I could use your vessel as a tender in the Fijis!”
“Excellent idea,” Wiki said warmly. “But Mr. Seward is the fellow you should put in charge of a second ship.”
Captain Coffin looked shocked to the core. He cast another furtive glance around, and hissed, “Put a woman in command? You must be out of your mind! Would women be allowed to command voyaging canoes?” he demanded.
“No, of course not.” It was Wiki’s turn to be taken aback.
“Well, then?” said his father triumphantly.
“Because Polynesians navigate with their testicles.” Wiki was serious: the voyagers had three aids to navigation—the stars, the flight paths of migrating birds, and the currents, and the best way to gauge the flow of the current was by sitting on a thwart.
“Jesus Christ!” his father exclaimed, stunned yet again. “Don’t ever say that in polite company.”
Wiki laughed, and then pursued his argument. “In the isolation of the aftercabin, Mr. Seward’s secret would never be discovered,” he guaranteed. Because of his time as an officer on whaleships, along with more recent experience with Captain Wilkes, Wiki was acutely aware of the loneliness of the man in command at sea, and knew perfectly well that George had gone to great lengths to persuade him to ship on the Swallow just so he’d have an old friend for company on the long voyage about the globe.
“Dear God, what a notion,” Captain Coffin muttered, but there was a thoughtful glint in his half-hidden eye. Then he cocked that eye at Wiki, and warned, “We weigh anchor and get under way the moment I get back on board.”
Wiki felt the wind on his cheek—a fresh gale, fair for the northward voyage. He said, “You’ll have a short passage, with luck.” The expedition fleet, by contrast, would have to beat against the wind to get south to Cape Horn.
“This is your last chance!” his father barked.
Wiki said gently, “If I leave the expedition now, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what I’ve missed.”
Then, for the first time ever, he embraced his father in the Maori fashion. Drawing him close by the shoulders, he pressed his nose against his, and stood still with his eyes shut, softly breathing in his father’s air, forehead touching forehead.
When Captain Coffin drew away, his eyes were glistening. “Well, then,” he said gruffly, and clapped Wiki on the shoulder, and strode over to the gangway without looking back.
For a long moment Wiki stood watching the rakishly elegant figure retreat, wondering where he would be when he met his father again. Then he remembered his appointment with Captain Wilkes, and turned back to the portico of the afterhouse. He nodded as the marine on sentry saluted, then followed the ramrod back and marching boots down the wide corridor to the chartroom.
There was a single preoccupied grunt when the sentry knocked on the door, so Wiki hoped to find Captain Wilkes alone. However, Lawrence J. Smith was with him, more smug than ever with his recent promotion. Wiki knew that the men and his fellow officers despised him, and that it was commonly believed that his elevation was entirely due to the fact that he was the captain’s toady. However, Lieutenant Smith was far too thick-skinned to allow anything like that to spoil his self-satisfaction.
“Wiremu,” he greeted.
Instead of replying, Wiki turned to Captain Wilkes, who was holding Wiki’s written report of the murder investigation, and looking immensely pleased with himself. “So I was right when I guessed that the murdered man had been deliberately buried at a prominent landmark,” he said.
“That’s a very strange place to bury a murdered man. It’s as if the killer wanted him to be found.” “Aye, sir,” said Wiki.
“Quite the sleuth, aren’t I?” the commodore of the expedition joked. “If we should experience another murder—which the good Lord forbid—I could give you a run for your money, eh?”
“I do believe you could, sir,” said Wiki.
“That horseman who shot Adams? He was one of the murdered clerk’s sons?”
Wiki nodded. “I’d seen both of them before—though not in the flesh,” he elaborated, and told him about the armed horsemen Mr. Peale had sketched in the background of his study of the gauchos.
“Good Lord,” said Captain Wilkes. He was fascinated.
“They must have been stalking Adams ever since we discovered their father’s body and informed the family. Adams had managed to escape first to the Sea Gull, and then to the expedition fleet, but risked being ambushed when he went upriver to retrieve the Grim Reaper. However, instead of chasing the schooner in their fishing boat, the Gomes brothers followed on horseback—which means that if the Osprey had not engaged the Grim Reaper in combat, Adams would have got away.”
“I have already congratulated Captain Coffin on his gallant action,” Captain Wilkes said sharply. His brow darkened, a sign that the interview with Wiki’s father had been the usual contentious one.
Wiki nodded without expression, at a loss to know what to say. He shifted restlessly, hoping it was time to return to the Swallow.
Instead of dismissing him, however, Captain Wilkes went on meditatively, “So you had a profitable time up the Río Negro.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“It gratifies me to learn that you worked well with some of the other scientifics of the expedition. With his talents for art and observation, Naturalist Peale assisted your mission to some small degree, it seems. And Philologist Hale is an eminently worthy young man, don’t you agree?”
“Aye, sir,” said Wiki, forbearing to mention that Horatio Hale held views about the origin of his people that were decidedly at odds with his own, and that he found Mr. Peale both hostile and condescending.
“It’s a relationship I would like to foster. We’ll be weighing anchor within two hours, so you’ll oblige me by removing to the Peacock without delay.”
Wiki involuntarily exclaimed, “What!”
“You heard me,” Captain Wilkes said in testy tones. “I’m shifting you to the Peacock. Mr. Smith made the suggestion, and I think it’s a first-class idea.”
Wiki thought, Oh God. When he looked at Lieutenant Smith he could see that his prim little mouth was pouted in a knowing smile, and there was cold dislike in his prominent eyes. He turned back to Captain Wilkes, protesting, “But how do Mr. Hale and Mr. Peale feel about it? Has anyone consulted with them?”
Captain Wilkes flushed. “I don’t have to consult with anyone, sir! Mr. Hale has already indicated to Mr. Smith that he would like to tap your knowledge of Pacific languages at leisure, and, as Mr. Smith also points out, you should benefit greatly from Mr. Peale’s vast experience. And, anyway, it’s damn well time you associated with your fellow scientifics, instead of the sailors of the Swallow!”
“But—” cr
ied Wiki.
“I want no further argument,” Captain Wilkes snapped. “Get out, and bloody well follow orders for once!”
“Aye, sir,” said Wiki bleakly—for how could he tell Captain Wilkes that Hale didn’t consider him a fellow scientific at all, regarding him instead as a curiosity? Or that there was a New Zealand Maori on board the Peacock who would seize the first opportunity to kill him, for no other reason than that their tribes were deadly enemies? He felt utterly desperate, but was helpless to do anything about it.
Out on deck the wind was frisking up. Clouds scudded high in the sky, and seabirds screamed as they whirled high around the masts where men were casting off gaskets to release sail. When Wiki looked out over the gray heave of the sea, the Osprey was already a distant silhouette, like a fleeting moth on the horizon.
Background Reading
Chappell, David A. Double Ghosts: Oceanian Voyagers on Euroamerican Ships. Armonk, New York, and London, England: M. E. Sharpe, 1997.
Darwin, Charles. Beagle Diary. Edited by Richard Darwin Keynes. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1988.
Graham, R. B. Cunninghame. South American Sketches. Edited by John Walker. Norman, Ok.: University of Oklahoma Press, 1978.
______. Tales of Horsemen. Edinburgh: Canongate Publishing, 1981.
Hale, Horatio. Ethnography and Philology. 1846. Reprint, Upper Saddle River, N.J.: Gregg Press, 1968.
Harland, John. Seamanship in the Age of Sail. London: Conway Maritime Press, 1984.
Paine, Ralph D. The Ships and Sailors of Old Salem. London: Heath Cranton, 1924.
Poesch, Jessie J. Titian Ramsey Peale, 1799–1885, and His Journals of the Wilkes Expedition. Philadelphia, Pa.: American Philosophical Society, 1961.
Reynolds, William. The Private Journal of William Reynolds: United States Exploring Expedition, 1838–1842. Edited by Nathaniel Philbrick and Thomas Philbrick. New York: Penguin, 2004.