LC 04 - Skeleton Crew

by Beverly Connor

  "I see you have a lady with you," John said. "Why don't you go back to your dinner with her?"

  "Don't you patronize me, boy. I've got something to say. You got a job that's supposed to be mine. You ain't ever done a job like this before. You don't have the experience. I do. Don't tell me it wasn't rigged." Denton started shifting his weight from foot to foot.

  "I'm not patronizing you. I think we should take this up some other time. Both of us have guests. Let's not subject them or the other diners to a disagreement."

  "You're not getting rid of me until I've had my say, and I don't care who hears. Everyone needs to know what cheats you and those university people are."

  Lindsay put down her fork and dabbed her mouth with the napkin. "We haven't met, and I don't want to. Go away."

  Denton jerked his head in her direction as if she were a mannequin that had just spoken. He looked back at John. "Tell your squaw this don't have nothing to do with her."

  John stood, but Lindsay was faster to her feet. By the look on Hardy's face, he was surprised at how tall she was.

  "You go sit down or I'll call the manager," she said.

  Denton stepped back and shifted his gaze to John. "My quarrel is with you."

  Lindsay threw the napkin down on the seat. "We'll see." She marched over to Eva Jones and bent over her table. "Reel him back in. He's making you look suspicious."

  Eva arched her brows, glanced over at her companions, winked at them, and looked back at Lindsay. "I don't know what you mean."

  "Then I'm very disappointed in you. I'll spell it out to the Coast Guard, and they can enlighten you."

  Eva shifted her gaze back to the man sitting with her as Lindsay turned and left. John stood with his arms folded over his chest. Denton was shaking a finger at him. Lindsay could see from the stony look on John's face that his patience wasn't endless. Out of the corner of her eye, Lindsay saw their waitress talking to the manager and he started toward them. Lindsay was about to speak to Denton when Eva and her companions rose and walked to their table.

  "Come on, old boy." A man taller, stronger, and younger than Hardy gripped his arm. "I need to get back." His voice was friendly, but Lindsay noticed that his fingers bit into Denton's upper arm.

  "Hey. I'm not finished...," he yelped.

  Eva turned to the approaching manager, a pale, gangly fellow who looked too young for the job, and handed him several bills.

  "We need to be going. I think this will cover our meals. Give the rest to our waitress. She was great. So was the food."

  Eva left with Denton between her and her male companion. The manager stood for a moment, money in hand, flashed an embarrassed grin at some of the customers who had interrupted their meal to watch, and returned to the wait station.

  "Well," said Lindsay, "that was interesting."

  John gave a short laugh. "That's not the word I'd use. What did you say to the Jones woman?"

  "I hinted that Hardy Denton's harassment looked suspicious in light of Nate's getting shot. I don't think she wants to be in the spotlight with the Coast Guard."

  "Rabbit jumping on the Tar Man again?" John shook his head and reached out to take her hand. "I'm sorry about this. I'd hoped for a quiet meal."

  Lindsay squeezed his hand, rubbed her thumb across his knuckles, and met his gaze. "I'm enjoying this very much. I've never been taken to dinner by boat before. And this is the best seafood I've ever had. And ..."

  "And what?"

  "And I like the company."

  A corner of John's mouth turned up and after a moment they continued their meal.

  "What's the story on Boote?" Lindsay asked after several pieces of shrimp.

  "In the beginning, when the site was being surveyed, before most of the crew got here, Boote and his son, Keith, were-what do you archaeologists call them-informants? They know the coast and all the islands and have a collection of ancient stuff washed up on the beach over the years. Boote drinks a lot. So does Keith. I think they had some kind of falling-out with Trey and the others. Collectors and archaeologists don't get along for very long, I've noticed."

  "Not surprising. We have such opposing philosophies." Lindsay glanced up from her food to John and saw from the look on his face that he disagreed-that he saw no difference between them at all. She started to speak, say something about archaeologists adding to the knowledge base, but put a fried oyster in her mouth instead. When John spoke it was to ask her about her family, and she was happy to drift into that conversational safe harbor.

  They finished their meal. Lindsay waited outside on the porch while John paid, and the two of them walked arm-in-arm back to the boat. It was dark, but the dock was well lit. Lindsay couldn't help scanning the boats for one that might belong to Eva Jones, but she had no idea what a boat of hers would look like.

  She climbed into their boat and sat down in the passenger seat next to her life preserver as John untied the ropes from the dock.

  "I'm sorry about the things that Denton guy said," Lindsay told him.

  "It's not your fault. A man with fire in his heart often has sparks fly out his mouth."

  Lindsay laughed. "Is that an old Indian saying?"

  John shook his head. "I heard it the other night on Daniel Boone."

  Lindsay laughed again. "I didn't know you have a sense of humor, and I'm surprised you watch Daniel Boone."

  John shrugged and grinned. "It was on and I was too tired to get out of bed and change the channel." He started the engine, moved away from the dock, and piloted the boat down the intracoastal waterway and out into the ocean.

  Lindsay shivered, hunkered down in the seat trying to escape the wind, wishing she had brought a heavier jacket.

  "I want to show you something," John shouted to her.

  After several miles, he slowed and cut the engine. They bobbed in the ocean, and he surveyed the area before turning off the lights.

  "Have a look at this," he said, taking her hand and pulling her up beside him.

  The sliver of moon shining on the ocean cast enough light to make the velvet black water glitter as if it were covered with diamonds. Off toward the horizon the lights of ships shone like bright stars. The night was so dark it was hard to see where the ocean stopped and the sky began. Overhead, it looked as if every star in the Northern Hemisphere was visible. The rim of the galaxy cut a bright, dazzling path across the sky. Lindsay looked back down across the sea and saw in the distance a radiance shining up from the ocean. It took her a moment to realize it was the cofferdam, shining like a crown jewel among the glitter of the ocean and sky.

  "What you think?" John whispered, his breath stirring her hair.

  "It's breathtaking. I think it's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen."

  "Yeah, I think so, too."

  Lindsay couldn't see John in the darkness, but she felt his arm slip around her waist and was surprised that he so accurately found her lips in the dark, and was surprised again that he was so very good at kissing. Yes, breathtaking, she thought to herself. When his lips finally left hers, she wanted to pull him back. So she did.

  Several minutes passed before John spoke. He sighed and said, "I have to turn the lights back on. If a boat comes along, they can't see us." He flipped a switch; Lindsay blinked at the brightness and looked at him. He touched her lips with the tips of his fingers. "If there was ever a perfect spot on earth to kiss a woman, this is it," he said and kissed her cheek before starting the engine.

  "How was your date?" asked Bobbie.

  Lindsay was tucked into bed, reading the journal of the ancient sailor when Bobbie came into their room.

  "What? Oh. It was good. Very good."

  Bobbie slipped out of her clothes and into a nightshirt. She climbed into her bunk and settled into the crib-like bed.

  "Eva Jones and Hardy Denton were eating at the same restaurant."

  "You're kidding. Where did you go?"

  "All the way to Florida, can you believe it?" Lindsay told her about the en
counter.

  "Wow, do you think he's the one behind the attack on Nate and Sarah?"

  "I don't know, but I think it is a possibility. He's very bitter about losing the contract, and he seems the reckless sort. How was your evening?"

  "Uneventful. We had pizza and watched a pirate movie. The one where Geena Davis is the pirate."

  "Keeping with the theme of the site, eh?" Lindsay murmured, drifting back to her reading.

  "Yeah, we're making paper hats and wooden swords tomorrow evening. Have you read the journal yet?" asked Bobbie.

  "I'm doing it now."

  "How is it?"

  "Fascinating."

  Chapter 9

  A'Passenger's 'Diary: Part II

  Froin a voyage on the Spanish galleon 'Estrella de fspai a c. 155$

  Iranslated by .Harper Latham

  IF LUISA HAD a gown like the night sky I see from this ship, made from the blackest of silk from the Orient, scattered by the hand of God with cut diamonds from Africa, a ruby here, an emerald there, perhaps a sapphire or two and one giant pearl, what glorious raiment she would have-and-what sweet disposition.

  But if Luisa had a sweet disposition, would I be on this wretched ship on this wonderful journey? I don't know.

  I've found various places on the ship where I can observe and not get in the way of the crew performing the ceaseless repetition of activities required to sail the ship. (The ship is a mistress who must be constantly pampered and attended to or she can surely cause much misery.) For many tasks, success depends on the men working in unity. The community of seafarers have devised an ingenious way of working in unison without having to look at one another. They sing. Sing! I am quite amazed. Their voices cannot be said to bring to mind a heavenly chorus, but it is not quality of voice or the melody that is important, but the rhythm. And there is a song for every task.

  The first leg of our journey has been very difficult. All of us, even the crew to one degree or another, became seasick until we got used to the constant rocking of the ship. It is with pride that I write that I was one of the least affected. The soldiers bound for Havana are not good sailors and spend much of the time with their heads bowed over the railings of the weather deck, emptying their stomach, and cursing the real sailors for wretches.

  Father Hernando left his bed and joined us for meat for the first time in several days. He did not look hale, but the stew of salted pork seemed to sit well in his innards-which I took from the retching sounds coming from his quarters have been in no better shape than the ship's. I pity Carlos and Jose who share quarters with him.

  We stopped at the Fortunate Isles this morning, anchoring in a quiet bay where the water was a wonderful blue. If I watched closely I could see the fish swimming near the ship.

  The weather was fair for the first time since the voyage started and I had a clear view of the high, gently rounded mountains and distant green foliage. It was a place I would like to have visited, but the respite was to be brief, so I satisfied myself with breathing in the air and watching the scenery. It felt good.

  Two boats rowed out to us. One contained large crates. The other carried two passengers. One, a man of wealth and authority, judging by his clothes and bearing, but I could not discern his nationality. The other man took his heritage from the Orient. He took great interest, as did his captain, with the loading of the crates.

  We did not linger at the islands. As soon as the crates, fresh water, and firewood were loaded, the captain gave the order and the capstan rhythm began. The capstan is like a large wheel with a hub, six spokes, but no rim. The messenger rope-a smaller rope that is connected to the rather large anchor rope-is wound around the hub. The chanteyman, as the singer is called, starts a song and the sailors, four to a spoke, heave on the beat and turn the wheel. Thus one anchor after another is raised from the depths.

  The pilot Bellisaro praises God and shouts directions to the crew. They scramble over the masts and yardarms with the mastery of squirrels scurrying over tree branches. They pull ropes and turn yardarms in a kind of dance. When the leader sings a phrase, the men chant oh, oh and at the same time pull one of divers ropes, and the sails are raised. It sounds thus:

  Working the sails is truly the most amazing and hazardous task of all they do. Each sail is heavy, requiring ropes and pulleys to manage. One slip and a man will fall to the deck or in the ocean. The crew praise God at every chance. Living so precarious a life as this one needs the goodwill of our heavenly Father.

  We had an escort for two days after leaving the islands. Dolphins swam with us, providing the crew entertainment by leaping out of the water. Valerian, the passenger from the islands, stood with me and we watched the fish cavort.

  "They are friendly and curious," he said, "like children. They are, I believe, my favorite fish in the sea."

  "You've encountered them before?" I asked.

  "Many times. They will play with the slightest provocation."

  I was going to ask where he was when he played with them, when the captain, upon hearing our conversation, asked what they taste like.

  "Oh, my friend, I haven't eaten them. I think that would be like eating a friend."

  The captain, I could see, thought Valerian touched in the head and moved on to query Bellisaro. He missed seeing the whale that surfaced in the distance. They are quite large.

  I sighted the Nuestra Senora del Rosario today. She is the capitanas-the lead ship in the convoy. What a majestic sight she is. Seeing her in full splendor, all sails filled with wind, sweeping through the ocean, I know now why some men desire to be mated to such a creature-only to find too soon what a difficult mistress she is. Much like my Luisa.

  Pedro Acosta is the ship's captain. Bellisaro does not like him. For his part, Acosta, I think, resents the navigator. Acosta is a man who likes the last word. He has come to our cabin more than once arguing for a route different from the one Bellisaro chooses. "There is no wind there," Bellisaro tells him. The captain then yells and stomps off. In matters of the course of this ship, it is to Bellisaro the helmsman must listen. From my point of view, this is good, as the captain could find neither up nor down were not down the natural direction things fall.

  We had guests today. The captain-general of the fleet came from the Nuestra Senora del Rosario. I have met him at court. He is a good man. I trust him. Like many men I've known with sweeping responsibilities, he is inclined to be remote to those who serve under him. But he tries to have a sense of humor. I think he only pretends, but that only makes it a greater courtesy. I was tempted to confide in him, but I did not.

  Juan Lopez, the king's general inspector, came aboard from the Espiritu Viento. He has a long face, eyes that droop at his lower lids, and dark hair that curls in ringlets. His countenance would look sad were it not for his jovial temperament. We were glad to see him. He seemed a little pale-not surprising, having been tossed about in such a small boat traveling from his ship to ours. We are a moving kingdom out here on the water. Instead of castles, we have ships. Instead of horses and wagons to travel from castle to castle, we have little boats. But we are no less connected to one another because we are not on land. We-I say we, I mean some-move from ship to ship as readily as we visit a neighbor and carry news of the others. However, in our kingdom we sometimes drift out of sight of our neighbor, or one neighbor is exchanged for another. It is an interesting community.

  The captain told the cook to prepare a feast fit for a king. So the Captain-General, Acosta, Father Hernando, General-Inspector Lopez, Bellisaro, Valerian, and I sat down at a table lain with six roasted chickens stuffed with rice, almonds, and raisins, broad beans and garlic, olives, honey cakes, and the best of the captain's wines. My stomach was joyful, so tired was it of dried fish, boiled pork, and dry biscuits.

  Lopez entertained us with many stories of his travels. He knows everyone. He is cousin to Father Hernando's sister-in-law; he is acquainted with Bellisaro's grandfather. He even knows my Luisa's sister.

  "A
delicious meal. The roast chicken, perfect," he spoke and slapped Bellisaro on the back. "Was generous of Captain Acosta, my friend, was it not, to tell the cook to prepare the chicken and not the pork?" The navigator nodded. I could have told Lopez how useless it is to try and engage Bellisaro in conversation.

  Lopez continued to heap praises on our captain's hospitality and to dominate the conversation. I much wanted to hear from Valerian. I was sure he had more interesting stories to tell, but he is often disinclined to speak-as if he has to trust those to whom he speaks before engaging in conversation. I did learn that although Portuguese by birth, his mother was Moroccan, and he has since lived in many places. As he passed a platter of rice, I noticed his signet ring. It displays his initial and a falcon. I asked him about it. He told me that it isn't a family insignia, but his own. How fitting, I thought. I suspect that Valerian is as individual a man as I ever will meet.

  When we finished, and the captain-general took leave to visit another of his ships, Lopez stayed. He and Valerian went with the captain back to the captain's cabin. I was surprised. I would not have imagined Valerian and Lopez to be friends. They do not seem to have ever met before this journey. It is easy to make me suspicious. It is why, I believe, that I may be well suited for this work.

  Gaining enlightenment through overhearing the crew talk is not as easy for me as I had thought. It is not as if I do not have access to all parts of the ship. I can go where I will. It is the language. I am becoming accustomed to the accents, and I hear the words-but not the meaning. When I hear "Loosen the sheet," the pilot may be giving a command to do something or other with the sails, or he might just as well be asking for a cup! Cryptic speech can hide much.

  Valerian came to my cabin this evening carrying a heavy case. Juan Lopez followed him, spreading his jovial spirit over our small space. Bellisaro was resting in the corner on his cot.

  "I hear that you play chess," said Valerian with a hopeful countenance.

  "I do," I said, "but the ship ... she will not allow it. Unless you have a board and pieces with those little pegs and holes."