Newton and Polly

by Jody Hedlund

  The ship crested a wave and came crashing down, sending the books sliding toward the edge of the table. Newton grabbed The Imitation to keep it from crashing to the floor.

  He pulled it back in front of him and read the next sentence. “There is no peace in the carnal man, in the man given to vain attractions, but there is peace in the fervent and spiritual man.”

  He could attest to the fact peace wasn’t found in satisfying the desires of the flesh. He’d certainly tried in Africa. And subsequently during his time on the Greyhound, he’d done all he could to live the way he wanted, to find fulfillment in easy living. After all, Captain Swanwick had promised him that he wouldn’t have to work while aboard the ship, that he could lodge in his cabin, sup at his table, and be his guest for the duration of the voyage.

  He’d taken full advantage of those privileges, so much so that he’d alienated himself from the captain. He should have known a religious man like Captain Swanwick wouldn’t tolerate profanity and blaspheming. And he should have known that he wouldn’t be able to hide his true self from the captain for long, especially when they were living in such close proximity.

  As it was, he’d finally given up trying to hold himself in check and had given himself the freedom to live the way he pleased, just as he’d been doing in Kittam. He drank heavily with the crew, gambled, and delighted in all kinds of mischief while the Greyhound finished trading in Africa. Finally, in January after revictualling at the port of call in Annabona, they’d set sail across the Atlantic. Once they were within sight of Brazil, they’d steered a northward course up the eastern coast of the American colonies before dropping anchor in Newfoundland on the Grand Banks. They’d spent a leisurely half a day fishing for cod. But since they already had plenty of provisions for the final leg of the trip home, they didn’t linger.

  It seemed that the entire crew was preoccupied with thoughts of home and ready to move on. Although Newton had been able to round up a few of the men to drink and play cards with him that week, most had seemed to grow weary of his antics, especially the captain. Captain Swanwick likely rued the day that he’d stopped for the smoke signal in Kittam. Only yesterday the captain had rebuked him again for his foul language and told him that he wasn’t fit for any decent Englishwoman, that he indeed felt sorry for the young woman he planned to marry.

  The captain’s disgust shouldn’t have bothered him. But for some reason it had, probably because there was a measure of truth to his words. They echoed Mr. Catlett’s parting words all too closely. And reminded him that while he may no longer lack means, he still lacked the character Polly needed.

  Perhaps this innate desire to become better for Polly was now driving him. He didn’t know except that his attention turned again to the pages of The Imitation of Christ spread open before him. “Yet if he satisfies his desires, remorse of conscience overwhelms him because he followed his passions and they did not lead to the peace he sought.”

  The words, as before, clanged in his mind. They glared out at him with a truth he couldn’t deny no matter how hard he tried. He had followed his passions, and they hadn’t led to the peace he desired. In fact, over time he’d only grown more discontent, restless, and anxious, which in turn only led him to drink all the heavier.

  A crack of lightning flashed in front of the window. The pattering of footfalls overhead told him the sailors were likely reefing the topsails to reduce the area exposed to the wind. He couldn’t deny he was glad to be out of the cold rain in the captain’s cabin. Nevertheless, fresh discontent ate at his stomach as surely as acid.

  Newton reread another passage. “ ‘He who follows Me, walks not in darkness,’ says the Lord. By these words of Christ we are advised to imitate His life and habits, if we wish to be truly enlightened and free from all blindness of heart. Let our chief effort, therefore, be to study the life of Jesus Christ.”

  He tried to bring to the forefront all his skepticism and the scoffing that had kept him in good stead over the past few years. What did he care for the things of God? He didn’t even believe in God. He’d thought he was truly enlightened, free from the bondage of ancient tradition and the antiquated rules of the Bible.

  But what if he walked in darkness? What if he was blind? What if the words of the fifteenth-century monk were true? If so, he was doomed.

  Newton slammed the book shut and stood. Frustration twisted his insides, making him want to fling the book across the room against the hull. Instead he took a deep breath and forced himself to respond calmly. If the book wasn’t true, then why was he letting it bother him so much? If The Imitation of Christ and the Bible were merely full of superstitions and myths, then he should be able to set them down and walk away without any further anger.

  He shoved the book back into a nook next to the Bible, extinguished the lantern, and then climbed into his hammock. He wouldn’t open either one again. He’d put the matter of peace, truth, and God’s existence from his mind once and for all. He wouldn’t let a mere book have power over him. It was meaningless. It was irrelevant. And it was useless.

  He closed his eyes and let the sway of the ship soothe him. He must think of something else, anything to get his attention off the morbid thoughts that had been plaguing him lately. Usually thoughts of Polly could help him forget about anything. But as soon as he began to try to picture her beautiful face, a fresh wave of despair crashed over him.

  The fact was, he wasn’t good enough for Polly. He was just as vile, contemptible, and despicable as Captain Swanwick accused him of being. As Mr. Catlett knew.

  Polly deserved a much better man than he.

  He fell into a restless sleep, a sleep that wouldn’t last. He knew eventually he would have to get up and drink himself into a stupor to truly drown his troubles. Nevertheless, he was surprised when a spray of icy water hit his face.

  He sat up in the blackness of the cabin, a curse ready to level at the man responsible for the jest. But the pitching of the ship tipped him out of the hammock and to the floor where he landed with a splash. The coldness of the water seeped into his trousers and took his breath away. He jumped to his feet only to have the sudden dive of the ship throw him against the narrowed stern. His head slammed against a low beam, and for a moment he hovered on the brink of consciousness.

  The howling wind and crashing of waves all but drowned out the panicked shouts of the crew. A flash of lightning lit up the cabin for a second, illuminating the water that was rushing in from a crack in the planks. It was difficult to tell how much water the ship was taking on due to the swaying, but he guessed the water was already up to his ankle if not his midcalf.

  With a shake of his head, he tried to focus. He shrugged into an oiled coat and jerked open the cabin door only to find chaos. The shouts of orders and cries of frightened sailors were whipped away by the wind.

  As he climbed up the slick ladder and out the hatch, hard rain pelted against his face. Once topside, his heartbeat slammed to a halt. The boatswain managed to hang on to a lantern that illuminated the windward side where several planks had been torn away, leaving a gap that was allowing the onslaught of high waves to crash right onto the deck. The ship’s carpenter and several sailors were attempting to make repairs. Two men were manning the bilge pump. Others were bailing water with buckets.

  At the rate they were taking on water, they would sink before the hour was out.

  “I need a knife!” called the carpenter.

  Newton reached for the small of his back where he normally wore his, but he’d neglected to strap it back on before ascending. “I’ll go below and get mine!” he shouted.

  Before he could reach the ladder, one of the other sailors had already jumped onto the top rung to run the errand. At that instant, a giant wave rose over the forecastle and came crashing down on them. Newton wrapped one of his arms around a spoke in the capstan. The wave shoved against him with clawing force. The water sucked at his hand, trying to pry it loose. It knocked against his feet, lifting him from the de
ck.

  To Newton’s horror, the wave swept the sailor off his perch on the top ladder rung. In one fell swoop, it picked him up and flung him over the side of the ship.

  “Man overboard!” Newton cried, but his call was cut off by another wave that splashed against the deck, causing him to splutter and cough. Another crack and cry of dismay told him they’d likely lost another plank.

  Without waiting for assistance, he strapped a rope around his waist, tied it to the capstan, and then crawled to the port side where the sailor had fallen into the sea. Rain slashed Newton’s face. The spray of waves all but blinded him. But he squinted over the side attempting to locate the floundering sailor. Nothing but blackness and foaming waves greeted him.

  “Hey mate!” He gathered the excess rope and tossed it overboard. “Grab on!” But his words were lost. Even though he shouted again and again, a burning ache formed in his chest. The man was gone. There was no hope for him. None in the least.

  Yet Newton couldn’t stop staring. It should have been him on the top rung. If not for a split second, it would have been him. Then he would have been the one swept overboard and drowning in the ocean.

  “Stop standing there doing nothing!” Captain Swanwick shouted near his ear. “We’re taking on more water than is going out. I need you to join the others in bailing.”

  Although he wasn’t a crew member, he knew that all hands were needed to survive. Newton nodded but as another wave thrashed the vessel, he had the feeling that ere long they would all join the man overboard in an icy death. The ship was sinking, and no matter their efforts, they were at the mercy of the storm and the sea.

  —

  Each minute of the night seemed like an hour. For every bucket they bailed, double the seawater poured inside. The foot pumps couldn’t keep up with the bilge. All the sheep, cattle, and poultry they’d brought on board at Annabona were swept overboard.

  No one expected to survive more than a quarter of an hour, so when dawn broke and the storm began to subside, several of the sailors fell onto the deck weeping. The waves were still rough and the wind biting. The clouds above them were dark and stormy and spitting rain. But at least the worst seemed to be over. They were shivering and exhausted. But they were alive.

  Newton approached Captain Swanwick on the main deck where he was still bailing with some of the men, while others were bailing from below.

  “I’ll take a few men and attempt to plug up holes, sir. We’ll use bedding, blankets, and any clothes the men can spare.”

  The captain nodded, his face ashen, his lips blue.

  “If we take planks from the inner walls, we can use those to patch up some of the bigger gaps in the hull.” Newton wiped the water out of his eyes, a useless gesture as the rain continued to slash them. He tried to still the chattering of his teeth, another futile move.

  “That’s a good plan,” the captain said wearily. “I can think of none better.”

  Newton met the captain’s grave eyes. They were carrying beeswax and camwood, both of which were unusually light and floated in the waterlogged hold, buoying the ship. If they’d had a heavier cargo, they would have sunk by now. Even so, Newton was an experienced enough sailor to realize they weren’t out of danger yet. The Greyhound was badly damaged, and there was still the great likelihood that she could sink in the stormy waves.

  “Do what you can, Newton,” the captain said gratefully, “and God bless you for it.”

  “If this will not do, the Lord have mercy on us.” As soon as the words were out, Newton froze in astonishment. Where had those words come from? He hadn’t spoken the Lord’s name in anything but a curse in years. Nor had he desired God or his mercy in just as long.

  Throughout the morning as he helped to make the repairs and plug the holes, he couldn’t stop thinking about his passing reference to God’s mercy. He could only conclude that somewhere in the depths of his being, he’d never truly stopped believing that God existed. He supposed that all those like him who tried to deny the existence of God wouldn’t face such a battle to eradicate the concept of God, wouldn’t be so angry and threatened, and wouldn’t be so antagonistic if God weren’t alive and truly a threat. Deep down he supposed he’d always known that but had made excuses so that he could live whatever way he pleased.

  He’d even rejected God in his anger, anger toward his mother for leaving him, anger toward his father for not being there for him in the way he’d needed.

  But mayhap his anger toward his parents had been misplaced. Or at the very least the anger of a child who didn’t understand the bigger picture of loving and losing. Now that he’d experienced love and loss for himself, he could finally begin to understand what his father had gone through after the death of his mother. Whatever the case, he felt as though he’d awakened to the reality of God’s existence.

  Once the repairs were completed, Newton organized shifts so that the sailors could begin to sleep a few hours at a time. He helped man the pump all morning and was frustrated when the wind began to pick up. As the waves crashed over their heads again, Newton tied himself to the pump and instructed the others on deck to hold themselves fast with ropes too so that they wouldn’t be washed overboard.

  He worked for hours expecting that every time the vessel descended into the sea she would rise no more. Fear radiated from every exhausted face near him, every face red and raw from the cold. The men uttered prayers, cried out, and pleaded with God. And for once, he didn’t mock them—not even in his thoughts.

  He’d tangled with death many times in his life, especially in the past two years during his time in the navy and while living in Africa, but never with such fear. He supposed he’d blocked out all thoughts of eternity, and that had made the task of facing death easier. If he didn’t believe in God or an afterlife, then he could assume that once he was dead that was it. He was done. His body would decompose. And that would be the end of all things.

  But if God existed and heaven was real, then he was in grave trouble. After the life he’d lived, what mercy would there be for him?

  “You’ve given everyone else a break,” the captain shouted at him, as he staggered toward the pump. “Now it’s your turn.”

  The rain had finally ceased, but the clouds above them were still dangerously gray. The wind blew fiercely against every board and beam on the ship, which creaked and moaned in the throes of death.

  Newton shook his head and pressed the pump handle. Beneath his gloves his skin was wrinkled and chafed from the water and cold. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were numb from the hours of nonstop work. He could no longer hold his head up from weariness. But he could do nothing less than put forth his best effort. It was the least he could do.

  He was Jonah. He’d run from God, and in some ways he couldn’t keep from thinking that the storm was his fault, that God was pouring down his wrath upon them all because of him. Mayhap if he suggested to the captain to throw him overboard, the storm would stop.

  “You need to rest!” the captain said again, above the roar of the wind and waves. “Let someone with more strength do the job now.”

  “Then put me to work somewhere else,” Newton called back.

  The captain glanced to the stern and then to the helm.

  “I’ll relieve the helmsman,” Newton offered, taking in the hunched shoulders and waterlogged condition of the man at the wheel. “My father taught me to steer a ship, and I’ve done it enough times I could keep her on course even with my eyes closed.”

  The captain hesitated only a moment before nodding. The gratefulness in the captain’s tired eyes only served to stir Newton’s regrets, especially the regret that he hadn’t done more to help the captain during the rest of the voyage. Instead he’d only been dead weight, taking the rest of the crew down with his lewd behavior. Newton took the helm and waged war with the wheel, attempting to keep the ship from being tossed every which way by the waves. Because of the hole in the upper bow, he had to keep the damaged area leeward and protec
t it from taking on any more water than necessary.

  As the day moved into another stormy night, he didn’t care when no one came to relieve him. Even though his body was battered and weary, his mind was keenly awake.

  His thoughts kept turning to the question of God. He wanted to pray for God’s mercy like the other sailors. A desperate part of him longed to cry out for God to save him. But how could he? He’d ridiculed, mocked, and blasphemed God so much that he was completely unworthy of God’s salvation during this hour of need. In fact, he deserved nothing more than to be smashed and choked by a crashing wave, swept overboard, and drowned in the deepest sea.

  But the truth was, he wasn’t ready to die. Not so close to home. Not so close to being reunited with Polly. He hadn’t survived so many escapades only to die now, had he?

  His mind replayed all the times his life had been spared from death. Even in the past year of sailing aboard the Greyhound, he’d had two near-death encounters. The first he’d been drinking with some of the crew when they’d been moored in the mouth of the River Gabon before leaving Africa. He’d convinced his shipmates to mix rum and gin in an enormous seashell. With such a potent mix and in such large quantities, he was inebriated after several rounds. Amidst the hooting and cheering of his mates, he jumped up and performed one of the wild African dances he’d learned during his trips upriver trading for slaves. During the frenzy, a gust of wind caught his hat and blew it over the side of the ship and into the river. He’d been irrational and had climbed up onto the rail intending to get his hat back. As he was about to jump into a longboat that he thought was tethered to the side of the Greyhound, one of the other sailors grabbed his shirt from behind and kept him from plunging down.

  Later he learned that the longboat had been at least twenty feet downstream. If he’d jumped he would have sunk where the strong current would have pulled him under. In his drunken condition and with his inability to swim, he surely would have drowned.

  The other time he was saved from death was when the Greyhound had anchored at Cape Lopez and he traversed inland on a wild buffalo shooting expedition. He was excited to fell a buffalo on his first shot. When he went with his companions to locate the carcass, they got lost in a dense wood that was renowned for its predatory animals. By the time darkness had settled, he’d almost given up hope of surviving. They didn’t have light or food, and they had used up their ammunition.