Priest could say nothing during his two-hour trick except repeat the mate’s orders to him. The helm demanded his full attention. Steering was physically tiring in the heavy sea because he had to work against a weather helm. It was mentally exhausting, a far greater cause for fatigue, because it demanded his total concentration and he was determined to not make a mistake.
Providence was a mannerly vessel and steered with a slight weather helm when balanced. She was long and heavy and slow to turn, but when she started to turn, beyond a point or so, she would continue to do so. You could not saw at the helm. It cost the ship speed and drew a rebuke from the mate. Priest gave his attention to the compass, found a cloud, and looked to the weather leeches of the topsails and moved the wheel in growing confidence that he understood how to helm.
“Do you have her, Priest?” It was a routine question from Henry Lennon, who intended to focus his own attention to sail trim. Priest replied, “Aye, sir. Southeast by south. Two spokes a weather.”
Carver and the boatswain supervised ship’s work with the port watch.
As Priest seemed in firm control of the helm, Lennon felt he could risk Duder being away from the helm. “Duder, have Craig lay aft and report ter me.” Priest realized he stood alone at the helm.
The glass started to slowly drop overnight. Both mates knew it had dropped, and it was of concern to them. Mare’s tails and mackerel scales had been observed the previous day.
Sam Duder approached Craig and told him to lay aft and report to the second mate.
Craig spit. “What’s that lime-juicer want with me, Duder?”
“Lay aft and find out for yourself, Craig.” Duder thought to himself how much he would enjoy crossing the line with Craig and welcoming him to Neptune’s brotherhood, but Mr. Carver said that would have to wait until past Cape Stiff and the Pacific line.
Craig muttered to himself something about how he reckoned the second mate had no right to put him to work since there were other men in the waist.
Lennon spoke before a single word left Craig’s mouth. “Get up da main-mast and be lookout. I want warning if da wind shifts or gusts, do yews understand?”
This was a reasonable precaution on Henry Lennon’s part, to post an additional lookout aloft, with an apprentice at the helm. It was also the first duty that Craig had been tasked to do that was his responsibility alone. Anyone who could hand, reef, and steer could do it. This was not a difficult task for anyone who claimed to have spent three years under sail.
“Aye, sir.” Craig went forward and climbed up to the fore topgallant yard. He did so slowly, keeping his eyes from Lennon. Craig was an additional lookout, the only one aloft. He had hoped to go forward to sing and play his mandolin for the crew.
Priest struck the small bell one time to indicate the first half hour of the watch had passed. As the large ship’s bell struck the half hour, the lookout on deck reported, “All’s well.”
Craig shouted, “All’s well,” from the top hamper. The bell had caught him by surprise, as the solitude and inactivity had let his mind drift. A proper report would have indicated wind direction by point and speed: “By the starboard beam, fresh breeze.”
Lennon walked closer to Priest and quietly said, “Bring ’er up just a bit, thus, thus. We’ll see how she’s doing, keep the rudder still. Save yer sawin’ for yews fiddle.”
Lennon then left the wheelhouse through the weather door.
Another half hour passed, the bell was rung two strokes, and Eoghan Gabriel recorded distance run and computed the ship’s speed. “Five and a half knots, Mr. Lennon.”
Priest smiled because he felt a sense of accomplishment, for it was his skill in light winds and heading seas that had her moving along.
The wind began to come in gusts, enough that the ship would lean further to lee and her sails would shudder as the gust hauled forward, then eased. “Priest, bring her up when it hauls. Keep da sails full. Don’t wait fer me to give a helm order. Watch da leeches. Steer full and by.”
“Craig!” he shouted. “Stay alert there!” He also spoke quietly to Duder. “Watch Priest.”
Priest beamed and repeated, “Steer full and by, aye, sir!”
Duder stood behind Priest and said nothing.
Three bells were struck. Henry Lennon walked to the leeward side of the quarterdeck and watched the bow wave and wake as an indication of the ship’s speed. Every gust produced a little acceleration and the water moved more sharply past the ship’s hull. Lennon saw that the gusts were occurring more frequently and growing stronger. The sky had clouded over and a squall line could be seen a point and a half off the starboard bow. “Mr. Gabriel, what’s da glass doing?”
Eoghan Gabriel stuck his head through the door to the wheelhouse and read the barometer. “It’s falling, Mr. Lennon, three-tenths in the last hour. Have it on the slate.”
“Mr. Gabriel, ask da captain to come on deck; tell him da glass is falling quickly and there’s a storm forming off da port bow. Tell him wind’s ahead of it and getting fresher by da minute.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
Isaac Griffin had been taking his meal alone in his cabin. Griffin knew Henry Lennon took no chances with weather. He was a cautious man; he would recommend reefing sail or taking it in if needed. Griffin went on deck and left the remainder of his meal to grow cold.
“Captain, da glass is starting to fall and I think that cloud line to port is a storm. We may need ter reef soon. That’s no bloody squall.” He pointed to the waves. “The wind’s gonna haul—”
At that point the wind gusted at full gale force from southwest to due south, setting the sails nearly aback and shaking against the yards. The force was enough to cause the bow to pitch up and settle down in a spray of white and green water. The wind working against the masts, yards, and sails was a heavy strain for a ship with wood spars.
“Hard a starboard!” Henry Lennon bellowed. Priest began to turn the wheel sharply with all his strength in a counterclockwise direction as ordered, and the ship began to turn to port, forcing the wind aft. The ship was turning by the force of her forward momentum; had she not turned, the wind would hit her full aback, asking her standing rigging and yards to take the full brunt of the wind and the ship’s forward momentum. Now another gust, another blow, would be a glancing and not set her sails aback.
Henry shouted, “Meet her. Keep her close-hauled!” Priest used all of his strength to reverse the rudder to check the turn. The sails filled. Lennon’s action prevented a catastrophe.
Priest repeated, “Steering close-hauled, sir, and southing.”
Griffin knew that his second mate’s orders had caused the ship to turn and avoided potential damage to the ship’s spars and rigging, perhaps even springing a mast. The ship was now gaining headway on a southerly course with her sails drawing but shaking from the wind’s rapid backing and hauling forward. Gradually the wind steadied as it drew nearer and permitted her to resume sailing in a southeasterly direction on her long board toward Rio de Janeiro.
“Mr. Lennon, you had no warning? No one saw it coming?”
“Craig’s aloft. Useless son of a bitch.”
“Have Craig report to me when the watch is relieved. Bring him and Duder with you to the cabin.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Keep a sharp eye on the glass. Keep all sails on. Call me when the glass drops another tenth or when that storm starts to close in. By the way, Mr. Lennon, well done. If you would, Mr. Lennon, bring Priest back to the saloon after I’ve finished with Craig. You and Mr. Carver are to bring her back to SE by S and keep her there! When that gale is on us, we will need to furl the royals and put a single reef in the topgallants, but not one thing more until I say so. You may call both watches to shorten sail. I want to be on deck.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Griffin smiled broadly and patted Henry Lennon on the shoulder. He wanted no doubt to exist in any of the crew’s minds of his trust and confidence in his second mate.
>
***
The starboard watch was relieved; the dogwatch started for the port watch; the glass was falling. Carver called both watches on deck. Henry Lennon, Samuel Craig, and Samuel Duder reported to Isaac Griffin in his reception room; now their supper was growing cold.
“What’s your name?”
“Samuel Craig, sir.”
Isaac Griffin ran his eyes down the shipping articles and found Samuel Craig’s name.
“It says here that you shipped as an ordinary seaman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That means you have at least two years at sea.”
“Three, sir, in all. I’ve crossed the line and been around the Horn,” he lied.
“What were your duties as lookout?”
“Mr. Lennon wanted me to report any change in wind.”
“And did you?”
“I could not see it coming, Captain; the sun had me blinded.”
“Oh, were you asleep? That wind gusted to gale force. You had to see it coming. Why do you think it clouded over? If he was looking, Duder, what would he have seen?”
“Captain, the water’s color darkens if the winds are on a cloud and the water between waves is all crinkly and disturbed. The waves are blown higher and longer too. You can see white horses when it’s fresh or more.”
Griffin’s anger grew hotter. “We could have had the courses set aback, broke a spar, or even sprung a mast. You’ve either been negligent in your duty or lied when you shipped. Now, what do you think I ought to do, Craig?”
“I reckon I need to say I’m sorry, Captain.”
“And you think I ought to accept your apology and ask if you’ll make the mistake again?”
Craig smiled a weak smile while saying he agreed and that it would never happen again.
Griffin did his best to mimic the father in the return of the prodigal son. He let his eyes soften. A smile warmed his face.
Craig took Griffin’s expression as sincere and laughed silently, thinking his captain was softhearted. Then Griffin spoke.
“Sorry—sorry! Call the damn boatswain! Do it now, Ezra!”
Craig shuddered. The boatswain. I’m going to be flogged.
When Eoghan Gabriel entered the reception area, Griffin suddenly turned around, took Craig’s shirt in his left hand, and brought Craig’s face to within inches of his own.
“I’m tempted to trice you up but I won’t. But damn it, I want to. I’m going to do worse. Incompetence! You’re a landsman. It’s going into the log. Mr. Lennon and Duder will witness it. Get his ass out of here, Mr. Gabriel, before I change my mind. Lay forward, Craig. Get out of here! On deck!”
The boatswain followed a retreating Samuel Craig out of the door. Both could hear Griffin shouting, “Damned Paddy West sailor!”
Samuel Craig went forward to the forecastle. “The Captain knocked me down to landsman, fifteen dollars a month! Wouldn’t hear a word I’d say, and me with three years before the mast. Damn mate just stood there too, not a word, not a single true word for me. You’ll not see me past ‘Frisco. I don’t care. It’s Virginia City for me, boys. It was that nancy-boy Priest’s fault. Daydreaming at the helm, and that know-nothing mate let him.”
Griffin next saw Nicholas Priest. He smiled warmly, genuinely warmly, as Priest entered.
“Priest, I asked that you come here because I know what you did. You remained calm at the helm. Well done. That’s all, Priest, thank you.”
Priest left his captain and the second mate in the cabin and rejoined his watch. The boy could hardly restrain his joy; he had been noticed and complimented by the captain himself.
***
“Henry, don’t take your eye off that liar.”
“Aye, sir. It was me what sent Craig aloft.”
Griffin shook his head, indicating that Lennon’s decision didn’t matter to him.
Lennon raised the knuckle of his right hand to his forehead. “Thanks, Captain.”
Griffin laughed at the old navy gesture. “We’re shy a man-o’-war by two hundred or so hands. I have a book for you to give to Priest. I read it when I first went to sea, Two Years Before the Mast. I’ll bet he doesn’t know who Dana really is. When Priest sees who the author is, let me know how he reacts. I’m tempted to call him back and give it to him now, just to watch his face.”
“It’ll be a story Priest’ll tell his gran’kids.”
***
Smallbridge spoke to Priest in the apprentice cabin. “Priest, watch out for Craig. Duder was there in the cabin, and what he missed, he got from Ezra in the forecastle. Craig blamed the whole thing on you and bad-mouthed the captain and Mr. Lennon to the starboard watch. Be careful!”
Priest looked confused.
“He’s phony money. You just can’t tell people you’re a great hero in Lee’s army and act like that. The captain and Henry Lennon know their business. Badmouthing the captain is trouble. It always gets back to the old man.”
“I don’t understand, Smallbridge. Craig’s had a hard life. Says everyone is out for him.”
“He told the starboard watch that you were a queer, an abomination, a little Mary, Nick.”
“No! You have to be wrong. He couldn’t. I told him—why would he?”
Smallbridge replied, “I won’t lie. Now he’s got it in for you. He’s bragged about buggering you. Said he’d do it and then it would be the whole watch’s turn. He bragged himself in a corner. He’s gonna come after you. He has to.”
“He called me a queer?”
“Watch your back. Craig was the last man picked when the watches were chosen. Craig’s scum. Duder tried to warn you. So did I.”
Priest just shook his head. “Why? Why would Craig say that?”
***
Eight bells rang and the starboard watch took the deck. The glass began to drop rapidly; the ship took a hard roll, and white and green water rose over the bow.
The watch below was called on deck to single reef the topsails and topgallants, but that was all. The royals had been furled earlier. The night was spent reefing and then taking out the reefs as the wind rose and fell. The ship maintained a southeasterly course, giving her master every knot of speed the wind could give her.
The squall became a storm and lasted several hours. A tired, wet Nicholas Priest and the rest of the crew welcomed the large steaming cups of molasses-laced coffee at five that morning and used the coffee to soften their hardtack between long draws of the warm brew and the calming effect of tobacco.
Griffin never left the deck. At one point, she gave him nine knots. Griffin turned to Carver and said, “She’s stiff, ain’t she?”
Paddy West’s (Traditional Shantey)
As I was walkin’ down London Road,
I come to Paddy West’s house,
He gave me a dish of American hash;
he called it Liverpool scouse,
He said, “There’s a ship and she’s wantin’ hands,
and on her you must sign,
The mate’s a bastard, the captain’s worse,
but she will suit you fine.”
Chorus:
Take off yer dungaree jacket,
and give yerself a rest,
And we’ll think on them cold nor’westers
that we had at Paddy West’s.
When we had finished our dinner, boys,
the wind began to blow.
Paddy sent me to the attic,
the main-royal for to stow,
But when I got to the attic,
no main-royal could I find,
So I turned myself ’round to the window,
and I furled the window blind.
Now Paddy he pipes all hands on deck,
their stations for to man.
His wife she stood in the doorway,
a bucket in her hand;
And Paddy he cries, “Now let ’er rip!”
and she throws the water our way,
Cryin’, “Clew in the fore t’gan’sl, boys,
she’s takin’ on the spray!”
Now seein’ she’s bound for the south’ard,
to Frisco she was bound;
Paddy he takes a length of rope,
and he lays it on the ground,
We all steps over, and back again,
and he says to me, “That’s fine,
And if ever they ask were you ever at sea
you can say you crossed the line.”
To every two men that graduates,
I’ll give one outfit free,
For two good men on watch at once,
ye never need to see,
Oilskins, me boys, ye’ll never want,
or carpet slippers made of felt,
But, I’ll dish out to the pair o’ you,
a rope yarn for a belt.
Paddy says, “Now pay attention,
these lessons you will learn.
The starboard is where the ship she points,
the right is called the stern,
So look ye aft, to yer starboard port
and you will find northwest.”
And that’s the way they teach you
at the school of Paddy West.
There’s just one thing for you to do
before you sail away,
Just step around the table,
where the bullock’s horn do lay
And if ever they ask, “Were you ever at sea?”
you can say, “Ten times ’round the Horn,”
And bejesus but you’re an old sailor man
from the day that you were born.
Put on yer dungaree jacket,
And walk out lookin’ yer best,
And tell ’em that you’re an old sailor man
That’s come from Paddy West’s.
Twenty-Five
Justice before the Bar
They hurled upon an army
The bellowing heart of hell,
The Downeaster: Deadly Voyage Page 17