The Downeaster: Deadly Voyage

by Paul Thomas Fuhrman

  Eoghan Gabriel shouted for the men to reef topsails. The able-bodied seamen quickly organized their men, stationing them at the topsail clewlines, buntlines, and weather braces of the main-mast. Gabriel then shouted out the order to clear away the bowlines and round in the weather braces. This brought the main topsail yard at right angles to the keel, clearing the upper yard for dropping to the mast-cap below it.

  “Haul out the reef tackles. Haul up the buntlines.” The fore upper topsail now rose upward toward its yard as the men hauled away. The ship luffed to spill the wind from the sail. The top-men including the apprentices ascended the rigging and lay out to windward on the yard. Gabriel had the men on deck haul taut the lee braces and halyards to steady the yard so as not to throw men from it. The men then gathered the sail in folds, bringing it up to and forward of the yard. The weather and lee reef cringles were drawn taut to their respective earrings, the reef band now stretched taut in a neat line against its yard, holding the folds of sail up. The top-men then passed the reef lines over the folds, crossing them and bringing them under the jackstays, where they were secured with a reef knot. When finished, they laid in to the cross-tree and returned to the deck.

  Gabriel then gave the order to ease the halyards. After that, the rigging was overhauled, and the buntlines, clewlines, and reef tackles were cleared away. The lee brace was let go and the weather braces manned. The order was then given to hoist the upper topsail yard until the leeches were taut. The bowlines were steadied out and the halyards belayed to their pins. This operation was then repeated on the other masts in succession, and the spanker furled. One hour later, at noon, the upper topsails were double-reefed. The pitching was relieved and the important function of the foretopsails continued, driving the ship forward and lifting the bow.

  Reefing required the top-men, including Nicholas Priest, to use both arms and hands to pass the reef points over the mast. They placed their lives in the hands of the helmsman and boatswain to keep the yard steady so as to not throw them off. Nicholas Priest understood this trust. He was to benefit again and again from it and returned the trust in kind for his shipmates.

  Forty-Three

  Monster

  The “Loch Achray” was a clipper tall

  With seven-and-twenty hands in all.

  Twenty to hand and reef and haul,

  A skipper to sail and mates to bawl

  “Tally on to the tackle fall,

  Heave now ’n’ start her, heave and pawl!”

  Hear the yarn of a sailor,

  An old yarn learned at sea.

  —John Masefield

  Sunday, July 28, 1872

  Lat 42˚00΄00˝S, Long 90˚05΄00˝W

  “Wind increased all the afternoon & sea rising all the time. Hauled up the courses at 6pm. About 4pm the sun came out & I got an altitude 5 high, making D.R. Longitude about right. At 10pm wind hauled to WSW suddenly & we wore ship to NNW & soon after shipped a tremendous sea over the bow, tearing away main-rail & doing other damage & obliging us to haul to the wind & lay by till we got the place covered over with sheet copper. Kept her on her course & made all sail at 10am. Ends moderating sea, large sea on.”

  Ship’s Log

  Four Bells, First Watch (10 p.m.)

  Nicholas Priest was curled on his side beneath his heavy blankets attempting to sleep. The back of his right leg was dotted with boils, and he knew he could no longer avoid seeing his captain to have them cut open. His hands were held beneath his armpits for warmth and the hope that this act would help the salt sores on his palms and fingers heal. He could not sleep in his upper bunk; Sophie would not come in his dreams. She had not visited him since the Le Maire Strait. All he could do was watch the overhead kerosene lamp sway and burn, shedding its yellow-orange light about the small cabin.

  As he closed his eyes, he suddenly heard a great crash of tons of water pounding onto the deck, forcing the ship first into a precipitous pitch, then into a deep roll to port. The sound mixed with the noise of wood being smashed and he saw the overhead kerosene lamp dent its broad reflector against the overhead. He felt the wind enter the apprentice cabin through a hole torn in the outboard cabin wall. As he jumped from his bunk to the deck, his stocking feet sank into six inches of frigid water. He heard Smallbridge shout, “Shit! Shit!” The next voice he heard was that of Eoghan Gabriel, shouting, “On deck. Get the hell on deck now!”

  ***

  Issac Griffin struggled to reach the quarterdeck. He saw dazed men clutching the overhead lifelines with both hands, a seven-foot breach of the forward bulkhead where the wave had struck, a stove-in whale boat, and doors and bulkheads in the forward deckhouse breached, with water draining from them. The first words spoken to Griffin came from Peleg Carver, “Heave-to?”

  “Heave-to. Get them moving. Get canvas across that breach. Get the topsails down and furled.”

  It was then that Griffin realized his ship was heeled over at a thirty-five-degree angle, but as the water rushed overboard through the scuppers, he saw that she was righting herself slowly. He feared she had shipped water into her hold. In the background, the two pigs caged on the foredeck screamed in terror over a roaring sea and the rigging’s moan. Stunned men, screaming pigs, a damaged ship, and only Peleg Carver seemed unmoved. Griffin saw Carver kick a seaman and shout, “Pray later; lay aloft.”

  Carver soon had her hove-to, with her bow to the winds and riding the tops of the waves in comparative comfort. As soon as heaving-to was completed, he held a quick muster and reported to Griffin, “A few broken noses, scrapes and bruises, thank God, but no one lost.” Griffin smiled; he had indeed a Yankee mate.

  Spare copper sheet was brought up and nailed into a rough bulkhead and main-rail where the breach occurred, men were at the Liverpool pump, and others were bailing out the deck cabins. The carpenter and Peleg Carver asked Griffin for permission to use a spare yard to fashion the lumber needed to repair the damage. The carpenter stated, “I need them Maine boys, the Ernsts, to do the sawin’ and adze work.”

  Griffin did not turn in until the ship had righted herself and the crew had emptied her of shipped water. Chips then split the spare yard with a maul and wedges while muttering about the waste of good wood. As Griffin sat in his chair in his cabin, beneath his blankets, he could hear the sounds of wood being sawed, the blows of the carpenter’s maul, and the curses of Peleg Carver, Henry Lennon, and Eoghan Gabriel. The men at the pumps sang,

  The mate was a bucko and the Old Man a Turk,

  Leave her, Johnny, leave her!

  The bosun was a beggar with the middle name of work.

  And it’s time for us to leave her.

  The wind was foul and the sea ran high,

  Leave her, Johnny, leave her!

  She shipped it green and none went by.

  And it’s time for us to leave her.

  Oh, leave her, Johnny, and we’ll work no more,

  Leave her, Johnny, leave her!

  Of pump or drown we’ve had full store.

  And it’s time for us to leave her.

  ***

  Griffin’s mind churned. It was over now; he was sitting in his cabin in his easy chair, exhausted, but still could not sleep. It was the fourth day of winds from the northwest generally, the direction the ship needed to go. But they did vary from calm, WSW, then NNW, the only constant being a large head sea. 73 miles run one day, 120 the next, then 138. The ship pitched heavily and took large quantities of green water over the bow. It would have been quite a show except for the exhaustion of the men and the constant wet they endured. The upper topsails and courses were furled to reduce the pitching, then the spanker. She still pitched and took water over her decks.

  He wanted to drive his ship to the northwest, but wind and head seas opposed her. It blew too strong to tack, then not at all, but what little distance made good that had been sailed came through beating against the wind in long, carefully planned boards, plotted out on the charts and recorded by dead reckoning. The sun came
out and the dead reckoning proved to be good; his estimated position and calculated position differed by five minutes. But each wear took an hour and set the ship back by a mile. His long boards close-hauled to the left of the wind lasted eight to twelve hours; his boards to the right of the wind six to eight hours. Each wear required both watches, and wear after wear exhausted his cold, wet crew.

  Griffin had a tremendous knowledge of the sea and weather. There were more than four thousand miles of water over which the wind might blow. NNW meant it came from the direction of Japan. The wind’s persistence and growing strength made its origin a matter of speculation. Providence had no way of knowing the weather except by observation and the barometer, which dropped slowly, day by day. The increasing height and length of the waves did not surprise him; they were the servants of the laws of nature as Griffin reckoned those laws to be. He knew the weather had to change. He knew the trade winds were just beyond the roaring forties. Two or more degrees of latitude and the ship would be free.

  Griffin sat in his leather chair, fully clothed under two twelve-pound blankets, and attempted to sleep, to let his exhaustion lull him into unconsciousness. His mind would not permit it. These thoughts kept repeating themselves.

  A clockwork set in motion, then left to unwind since the beginning of time. We understand more, gradients, the law of storms, spring detent escapements, no mystery left. No awe, but occasional surprise, knowing appreciation. Our new deity, mathematical laws to which all must conform or not exist. Ha! Yet, I hear Him speak to me, He says, “Love her.” He will always be there, just beyond our laws of mathematics, quietly whispering, “Love as I do. Forgive as I do.”

  Peleg said no one saw it coming until it was upon us. He ordered the men aloft to keep them from being swept overboard. Sixty feet tall and moving faster than any clipper, any steamer could move. Who would believe us? Thank God we took it by the bow. Pure chance, the spanker? We didn’t breach and capsize.

  It could not happen. Waves do not grow that high, yet we, the mariners, know they do, graybeards, three sisters. Peleg said it turned everything white with cascading water as it approached. It was dying, the wave subsiding back into the sea, returning to its womb, as it hit us. If it had hit us at full height, we would be dead. Heave-to a week to overhaul the damage? No, damn it. I’ll check the cargo again with daylight.

  She rolled twenty-three degrees and paused for a terrible moment to make up her mind. Would she put her masts in the water? No, she fought, then slowly rolled back, only listing until all the water spilled through the scuppers and the deck cabins were emptied.

  These last days no one has slept. Held to our bunks by lee curtains and wrapped in our wet clothes, the stench of vomit now assaulting our nostrils, tempting others to retch. Now this.

  He asked himself these questions: Have I seen God this night? Have I felt his rod? What if Kayleigh knew what had happened? He has not slipped through my hands.

  Forty-Four

  Horned Shellbacks

  Of Neptune’s empire let us sing,

  At whose command the waves obey;

  To whom the rivers tribute pay,

  Down the high mountains sliding:

  To whom the scaly nation yields

  Homage for the crystal fields

  Wherein they dwell:

  And every sea-dog pays a gem

  Yearly out of his wat’ry cell

  To deck great Neptune’s diadem.

  —Thomas Campion

  Monday, August 12, 1872

  Lat 0˚23΄00˝S, Long 117˚30΄00˝W

  The Sunday supper had just been eaten and the starboard watch took the deck. Isaac Griffin sat in his chart room and smiled because he had traveled 1,725 miles in the last week and was preparing to cross the equator on Monday in just seventy-seven days since leaving New York. He referred for a moment to his plans for the ship for a tidbit of information to pass to Kayleigh in a letter. Yes; there it is—total yardage. We’re carrying 9,850 square feet of sail! Magnificent!

  Isaac heard a knock on his door and saw his steward stick his head inside. “Captain, there’s a dignitary to see you. Come to your parlor, as this man ain’t one to be kept waiting, sir.” Griffin chuckled to himself. He had been expecting guests, and these visitors were welcome indeed. He had met them many times before.

  “Ahoy and hail to Captain Griffin. I am a royal Triton and herald of his most briny majesty, Neptune Rex, king and master of the raging seas. His Majesty has sent me to tell you that tomorrow you are to heave-to at the line for there are among your children slimy pollywogs which ain’t been tested for worthiness to enter into the beloved brotherhood of the sea, trusty shellbacks, and the subjects of King Neptune Rex.

  “Now, sir, you must direct the boatswain to pipe all hands to assemble amidships, ’cause Neptune himself is wantin’ me to speak to them.”

  “I most humbly will comply in respect of the wrath of King Neptune, sir, and the blue stars you have tattooed on your earlobes, and your neck. Twenty-five thousand miles? No sailor defies the ruler of the seas except to risk mortal danger. Ezra, tell Mr. Gabriel to call the hands amidships and knock off all ship’s and personal work.”

  The before-the-mast crew assembled near the cargo hatch in the lee of the forward deck cabin. The Triton, herald of King Neptune, climbed to its roof and spoke. “Shellbacks, rejoice! Your king and master, Neptune Rex, will visit this good ship tomorrow as she passes the line, for among you are certain slimy creatures of the land who are known as pollywogs, slimy miserable pollywogs.

  “His Majesty, his queen, Davy Jones, and other royal personages of the watery court will make their presence known to you. Now, hear me, pollywogs, and hear me well, for your weak and slimy hearts should be seized by fear. You have been accused of crimes against your shipmates, disrespect to Davy Jones, and are to be tried by Neptune himself. There’ll be gnashing of your teeth, wogs.

  “No man, even a pollywog, should be tried without knowing the charges against him or the severity of the punishment he will endure. So you wogs may question any trusty shellback as to what shall befall you, but the questioning ends on the eighth stroke of the ship’s bell at midnight.”

  A bloody shriek of pain sounded suddenly, aft of the officers’ deckhouse, which caused all assembled to turn their heads momentarily. When they turned again to see the Triton, he had disappeared.

  And then, on the starboard side, the sailmaker pointed and shouted, “It’s the fiery car of Neptune come to take his herald home.” The brightly burning object quickly fell astern of Providence.

  ***

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it done better!” Griffin laughed. “I mean, letting that fired barrel drift alongside the ship. The shriek and disappearance were as clever as I’ve seen it done too. We’ve got men-o’-war’s men amongst our trusty shellbacks. It explains why there was no appearance of Neptune in the Atlantic. They’ve waited to initiate the wogs as trusty horned shellbacks.”

  Isaac Griffin had good reason to be pleased. It’s seldom you have a crew as clever as the men he had aboard Providence. They were in good spirits too. “Proves my point about the four married men. I’ll have no one hurt and tradition observed all the same. What pollywogs do we have besides the apprentices?”

  “There are four landsmen, apprentices, and Craig, Captain, but he don’t matter.” Peleg Carver, as usual, was ahead of the game because he was indeed the shellback’s secret benefactor. Henry Lennon, though, had seen crossing ceremonies on English ships and had deep reservations about their worth, particularly if they got out of hand. “We’ll see, Captain, Mr. Carver, we’ll see.”

  ***

  “What’s going on? Tell me, Smallbridge.”

  “It’s called the night of the pollywogs, Sweets. We get the run of the ship and can ask the shellbacks about what to expect. I mean, we can tie them up, lather up their hair, and threaten to throw them overboard or drink a pint of castor oil. Haze them pretty much any way we want except cause them re
al harm. Then tomorrow, King Neptune comes aboard and it’s their turn to get us.”

  “Let’s get Duder!”

  ***

  Peleg Carver had an imagination and a sense that anything worth doing was worth doing well. He had been conniving with Sam Duder, Jonathon Bishop, and Eoghan Gabriel in planning for this line-crossing ceremony; it was he who persuaded the most salty of the trusty shellbacks to wait until the Horn had been crossed in order to initiate the apprentices as horned shellbacks. Peleg had one regret: There were not enough hands on board for a real ceremony in the navy tradition, but, “By God, Duder, we’ll try, ayuh? No one’s to be hurt, though.”

  At eight bells of the morning watch, John Stedwin called all hands to muster amidships as the American flag was slowly lowered and the Jolly Roger rose to the monkey gaff. The captain, looking at his crew, his eyebrows lowered, said, “Men, the Triton informed me that today, at noon while on the equator, his most seaworthy majesty Neptune Rex will appear together with Davy Jones. You pollywogs are accused of high crimes against the traditions of the eternal sea and must submit to his judgment or, God forbid, we might just as well scuttle her and go to our watery graves. Prepare for your justice as men, pollywogs!”

  Peleg Carver made sure no apprentice could see him, as his face just barely concealed a broad Yankee grin as his brown eyes turned upward to the heavens. “Mr. Gabriel, bring the brass line throwing gun up on deck and have her charged and ready, blank shot.”

  “Aye, aye, Mr. Carver.”

  Peleg Carver had Providence lie-to at precisely one hour before noon. Both he and his captain took careful sun sights and calculated their position. The ship was as close to the equator as expert navigators could place her.

  “We’ll announce that we are on the equator at noon, Mr. Carver. I like your idea of firing a salute charge instead of ringing eight bells. I had forgotten we had the gun aboard. How’s the powder?”

  “I wouldn’t expect to hit anything with it since the stuff is blasting powder, but it’s dry and has no sign of deterioration. Stedwin served in the navy, and both he and I see no problem with it.”