The men were tired and spent and would use what leisure time they had for cleaning and mending clothes. With Mr. Carver’s permission, men went aloft to string clotheslines in the standing rigging, which soon filled with flapping white and checkered calico shirts and faded dungaree trousers. Priest imagined East Boston on Mondays, the day wives and daughters did laundry. He was relieved that Duder had not asked him or Craig to play their instruments and was surprised when he saw Craig approach him. Craig’s gait was slow and doglike, not making a straight line but keeping a shoulder turned toward Priest, using the shoulder to hide his face.
Priest placed his ship’s biscuit between his upper and lower teeth, using his jaws as pliers, and between biting and bending separated a chewable piece of the hard bread. Coffee and saliva softened the hardtack, releasing the flavor in his mouth. Priest thought of a cold glass of sweet milk and the hard bread. It was Craig’s words that drew Priest’s mind away from milk, East Boston, flapping clothes, and the numbing desire for sleep.
“Priest, d’you reckon I can have a word with you?”
Priest smiled and said, “Sure.” He hoped he and Craig were still friends and would again play their mandolin and fiddle together. Priest was learning “Jenny on the Railroad.” He eagerly listened to Craig’s words.
“I got a temper and lots of sorrowful memories. Things happen that brings them up, and sometimes I just don’t act right. I’m sorry I got mad. I reckon you just meant to help me. I’m sorry the way I acted.”
Priest pressed his back against the warm galley bulwark and moved his shoulders forward to stretch his back muscles. This was a simple thing, but a satisfying moment’s delight as the muscles lost their tension. Priest was happy to hear Craig’s apology and told him he accepted it while anticipating another of Craig’s stories about Kentucky and the Civil War. Appalachian music had come to delight the boy, and he too had begun to sing in the high lonesome mountain style, ending each phrase with a brief rising note as if crying.
Craig continued to hang his head low. “Priest, this here world’s a cruel one. Always been so to me, always. My pa said that wars and rumors of wars was a sign the end was coming. I believe that. Jesus’s gonna call the final muster soon, and I ain’t agonna be found lacking.”
Priest motioned for Craig to sit down with him near the galley door. Priest anticipated another of Craig’s tales of privation and suffering and the strength of human endurance.
“You bed that gal, Sophie. I know what that’s like and what you’re yearnin’ for. I had a girl, Perlie, back in Kentucky. We was hitched in this little church and she was sweet. We went at it like rabbits in the spring. Weren’t even twenty. I reckon I know all about the delight there is between a girl’s legs. Praise Jesus, but I miss it. I understand.”
Craig stopped, let his head rise, and observed Priest’s reaction. Priest observed this, and it surprised him. Sympathy? Curiosity?
“It was a cold January day. Snow was on the ground and the smell of blue wood smoke filled the hollow where we lived. My Perlie died trying to give birth; baby died too. A breech birth; the baby tried to enter this world backward. It was too much for my wife, despite all that Aunt May did to help her. The labor was pitiful hard and more than—she was just barely a woman, so tiny.”
Priest thought he saw Craig’s eyes start to water.
“Aunt May said it was the fever that took her. Robbed her strength from her body. Came at the wrong time, her giving birth.”
Priest looked at Craig and words spilled from his mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what I would do if that happened to me. I didn’t really get to know Sophie much, but she asked me to help her. I can’t forget that. I feel guilty and can’t stop wondering what happened to her. Was that how you felt about your wife? I mean you can’t stop thinking about her?”
Craig nodded his head while answering Priest’s question. “I reckon so. There was nothing I could do. Aunt May said so, and she had helped nearly all the women in Lynn Camp with their birthing. I felt alone without my wife, Priest. Nothing ever again would fill me with such joy as she did. But I made up my mind. I would never again marry or do anything to bring an innocent baby into this evil world. There’s no justice in it, just war, sickness, and death.”
Priest felt Craig’s eyes staring into his own.
“You do what you think you have to, Sophie and all, but I swore off women forever. I hoped a bullet would catch me during the war and end it, but I’m still here. I’m here and I yearn for my wife. I want to feel her body, the warmth, the softness of her thighs, even the way she smelt after she washed herself Saturdays. That won’t go away, and it torments me.”
“But you said you gave women up.”
“I had to do something, never again. No children born into this wickedness. Still, you just can’t wish you didn’t feel them. You can’t stop remembering. That’s why I go to sea, to forget her, get away from women.”
Priest saw Craig’s eyes lower and look at the boy’s crotch. He thought of his mother, the story she told of sailors staring at her and talking behind her back when she crossed the Atlantic.
“There’s something you ken do to relieve the pain.”
“What’s that?”
“A man can give another man pleasure. Think on it. A man knows a man’s body far better’n any woman.”
Priest instinctively raised his hands to his waist, palms toward Craig, fingers spread. “I don’t—”
“There ain’t any harm to it. There’s no babies. It ain’t like marriage. You do it, then walk away. Two people doin’ a favor to help each other.”
“It’s not right.”
“Just think on it. Bible says to not let your seed fall on the ground. I’ll be there if you want me. Won’t tell a soul neither. We’s friends, Priest.”
Priest went aft to the main-mast. He hoped Mr. Lennon would send him aloft. He needed to be alone.
Craig went forward to the boatswain’s lockers.
Jonathon Bishop, the cook, came through the galley door. He had overheard Samuel Craig attempt to seduce Priest, and rage showed on his broad black face. He had come to enjoy the early morning talks and the deep respect he and Priest shared.
Twenty-Three
The Garden of Eden According to Duder
The Mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell
Of Heaven.
—John Milton
Monday, June 5, 1872
Lat 32°38´11˝N, Long 39°46´50˝W
The North Atlantic in Pleasant Weather, 143 Miles Covered
It was Monday and the beginning of the dogwatches. Samuel Craig played his mandolin and sang in the high lonesome pitch of his native Kentucky hills.
Ye gentlemen and ladies fair,
Who grace this famous city,
Just listen if you’ve time to spare
While I rehearse a ditty,
And for the opportunity
Conceive yourself quite lucky,
For ’tis not often here you see
A hunter from Kentucky.
Craig’s music and stories still excited Priest’s imagination. He still wanted to believe that he and Craig were friends despite what had happened—never in his lifetime had something like that happened. Craig had not tried to threaten him, force him. Priest was confused, so he spoke to Smallbridge and Duder.
“Listen to that man sing. You know, he’s lived a lot of what he sings. He’s told me about life in the mountains, hunting to eat, and working in the mines. He served Lee’s army and was wounded at Petersburg. He can’t be bad.”
Smallbridge replied first. “I’d be damned careful, Priest. He’s a liar. He doesn’t do his share of the work and never stops bitching. He talks about people behind their backs. Now he wants to be your sea daddy. Ask yourself why.”
Priest saw Duder’s face twist in anger as he spoke. “Every word out of that man’s mouth is a damned lie. What you did in Bath was your business. Crai
g has no right t’ stick his nose in it.”
Priest next saw Duder’s face relax and his eyes twinkle. By now Priest had learned that no one enjoyed Duder’s long-winded stories more than Sam Duder himself. A story was coming, there was the smile, the silent laugh that looked like a quick swallow.
Smallbridge knew it too. “He’s gonna reveal some wisdom to you, shipmate.”
Duder took a breath and began, “You had yourself some tail in Bath. Ain’t no use denying it. We all did that one time or another. I mean a Judy. So now you want more. That’s just the way it is, wantin’ more. A sailor can get his fair share of tail ashore, but remember, all the whores want money for it. The best of it comes from a wife.”
Priest blurted out, “She gave me...”
Sam had heard that before and interrupted him. “Hell, boy, I been married nearly twenty-five years, and every time it’s different. She knows what pleases me and I know what pleases her. Just listen and learn.”
Priest winced. “Sam!”
“I’m not trying to make fun of you. Maybe you need to sow some more wild oats. I don’t know. Won’t hurt any to listen.”
Priest took a deep breath; this story would be long.
“I can tell your parents never talked to you like I’m going to. I bet they let you think women is saints, like your mother, right? They ain’t saints; they’re just human like you and me. Sophie had her needs. That’s why she was sweet on you.
“Let me tell you the story about how man and woman got parts down there.” He pointed to his crotch. “Then you’ll understand women and the way it’s supposed to be.
“When God invented man and put him in the Garden of Eden, God saw that he was lonely and created woman. That’s in the Bible. Now, what you don’t know is Adam and Eve could never agree on anything! He said, ‘I want to do this,’ and she said, ‘You can’t do that; it’ll displease God.’ Now, when she wanted something, most often for Adam to do something for her, he would say no. But instead of bringing in the Higher Authority, he’d just say it was stupid, and, of course, she always would remember that and bring it up again and again. That was despite the fact that he admitted his wrongdoing and professed great buckets of sorrow at ever saying it at all. Remember, Priest, what’s once said can never be called back, particularly to a sweetheart.
“Adam and Eve argued, and that made God angry because He likes things to be orderly. So God waited until they were asleep and gave Adam a cock and Eve a cunt down there.”
Sam’s gesture, sticking both thumbs in his trouser just above his fly, and pointing downward with his two index fingers, left no doubt as to his meaning.
“Now, they had nothing down there before because they didn’t need nothin’. With these new parts came desire. You know what that is, now, don’t you?
“They woke up; Eve looks over and says to Adam, ‘It’s long.’ Adam looks over and says, ‘Yours ain’t. Can I touch it?’
Smallbridge muttered, “Oh, God. I can’t believe—” But Duder continued.
“It doesn’t take them more than three crows of a rooster to figure out what the whole man-woman short haul is and to have done it and to be thinking about doing it again.”
Sam’s hand gestures left little to the imagination about what a short haul was all about.
“They still argue, only not as much and not as loud. What’s different now is that they got something the other wants. Oh, yes, they do.
“So they learn to make up, particularly in time for bed. God knew they would find out they needed each other and had to cooperate. Sophie knew that; all women are born knowin’ it. You know about the tree of good and evil and the serpent? Well, Adam’s appetite for Eve persuaded Adam to bite that apple.
“So God appears, they gets all ashamed of being naked, and they begin learning all about what good and evil is, by the sweat on thy brow and all. So cleaning up baby poop, workin’ for a living, money, death, and all that came after God evicted them and us from Eden forever.”
Sam briefly glanced upward, making the serious face he remembered a preacher once making while looking at Priest and Smallbridge through the corner of his left eye.
“Now, God’s both wise and kind; He left one thing from the Garden of Eden for both men and women to enjoy to this very day. Getting a good fucking with your old lady is all that’s left of paradise on this earth. Forget what Craig says. Now you know the true story. Man and woman are to go forth and multiply.”
Sam Duder walked to the leeward side and spit tobacco juice loudly to emphasize his point, then returned.
By this time, Smallbridge was rolling with laughter while Priest was blushing from ear to ear. Smallbridge slapped Priest on the back. “Now, wasn’t that some sermon?”
Jonathon Bishop had heard the conversation, particularly the laughter, and stuck his head out the galley door. “There’s some truth to what Duder says, Priest. Men and women both have the urge. Damn Craig told you the devil’s own chapter and verse.”
The other Sam, Samuel Craig, stopped his singing long enough to see that Priest, Smallbridge, and the two old sailors were enjoying themselves. He knew that Duder disliked him. In Samuel Craig’s mind, Duder and Bishop were making fun of him, ridiculing him in front of the apprentices. He thought, Why else spit with such contempt? I can’t do anything about you, Duder, but I won’t take that from a nigger.
He looked at Jonathon Bishop through the slits of his eyes and sang a song he calculated would bring fear to the black man standing in the galley door.
Oh, I’m a good old Rebel,
Now that’s just what I am;
For this “fair land of Freedom”
I do not care a damn.
I’m glad I fit against it—
I only wish we’d won.
And I don’t want no pardon
For anything I’ve done.
Wish I could take up my musket
And shoot em now yes, suh’,
Sure ain’t a-goin’ to love ’em,
Now that is sartin sho’;
And I don’t want no pardon
For what I was and am;
And I won’t be reconstructed,
I’m riding with the Klan.
Old Bishop turned, walked to where Craig was standing, brought his emotionless face within inches of Craig’s, and laughed a low laugh from deep within his chest. He then turned his back to Craig and walked slowly, deliberately, away.
***
It had been a long day for Priest. His mind was spinning. He liked Craig, or at least he wanted to. He stopped in the galley, asked for a cup of coffee, thanked Bishop, and left before the man could speak to him. Priest wanted to clear his mind, to understand for himself what had happened with Craig. He walked aft and sat between the weather bulwark and a deck capstan and attempted to drink his coffee and relax. He listened to the sea and the sound of Providence making way. A voice shook him.
“Priest, I need to talk to you. You ain’t heard my side. Duder and Bishop don’t know. They cain’t. They don’t know me, why I do things.”
Priest shut his eyes to close out Craig’s words. He did not want to talk to Craig, Smallbridge, Duder, or even old Bishop. He wanted to be alone.
His head slumped on his chest. There was no escape. His mind kept asking why and hoping there was a way he could avoid Craig and the situation he had caused. He couldn’t get up and walk away. If he went to his bunk, Smallbridge would bring Craig up again.
Priest laughed to himself; the irony of his situation came to him. All his life, he’d wanted friends, people who liked and cared for him.
“Go ahead, Craig. I am tired, though. I was just about ready to turn in.”
“Perlie was true. I didn’t lie to you. I just wanted to let you know I knew how you felt. I wanted to help you. As Jesus is my witness, that’s all it was. If I’ve made you scared, jest fergit it. I didn’t know no better. You’re my friend, Priest, jest about the only one I have on this damned ship. I hope you and me—I ain’t abou
t to lie to you. That’s all I got to say.”
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Two Days from Sandy Hook
When, in disgrace with fortune and in men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, and trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries...
—William Shakespeare
Tuesday, June 18, 1872
Lat 0°03´36˝N, Long 28°34´00˝W
Crossing the Line
The ship’s bell rang seven times in the forenoon watch. Priest finished his meal and prepared to go on watch early before the rest of the starboard watch. He would have the first trick at the helm, and this excited him. Priest’s ability to helm had been tested with large seas from the east during the middle watch. He had not drawn a rebuke from Mr. Lennon and appreciated Sam Duder’s steady but quiet encouragement.
The watch was relieved. This, for Priest, meant the second mate relieved the first mate and the helm was relieved. The information passed was course steered, any expected evolution ordered by the captain, and time and any other captain’s order. Peleg Carver and Henry Lennon did this with more ritual than most, as they were former navy men and understood full well that the words, “I relieve you, sir,” meant an assumption of responsibility.
The helmsman also had his ceremony. It consisted of relaying the course steered and the relieving helmsman placing his hands on the spokes of the ship’s wheel, assuming management of the helm and using words such as, “I have the helm, steering southeast by south. Two spokes a weather.”
As it approached noon, the officers shot the meridian passage of the sun, which gave them both the ship’s position and exact noon for the latitude on which they were located. Griffin compared Carver and Lennon’s altitude with his own. At the command “Make it noon,” Priest struck the small binnacle bell eight times while the mate adjusted the ship’s clock to the exact minute as revealed by the sun, sextant, and almanac. The timekeeper forward struck the large ship’s bell eight times and a new day at sea had begun.
The Downeaster: Deadly Voyage Page 16