The Downeaster: Deadly Voyage

by Paul Thomas Fuhrman

  “It’s the younger Christison’s idea to carry the powder, Peleg. I’m supposed to sell it in San Francisco.

  “Let’s start the noon sight. Ask Mr. Lennon to join us. He’ll enjoy being hove-to. It will be enjoyable to see how close our calculations are to each other. The captain’s calculations are always right, ahem.”

  It took only ten or so minutes for the three men to determine the sun was at its zenith, and with the calm sea, it was exceptionally easy to set the lower limb precisely on the horizon. They all acknowledged their sight by saying “now,” and they were virtually simultaneous. The meridian passage and Polaris sights are relatively easy celestial calculations; both Griffin and Carver could do them without benefit of paper or pencil as long as they had the almanac data. Peleg Carver, having the deck, gave the order, “Make it noon.” The timekeeper struck the bell solemnly, ringing out eight chimes.

  The old brass gun went off with relatively mild recoil, a great thunderous report, and—much to the pleasure of the trusty shellbacks—a great deal of sulfuric gray smoke, which nearly enveloped the forward deckhouse. When the smoke cleared, the Triton herald stood before the deckhouse and bellowed, “Gangway, you pollywogs, for mighty King Neptune and his Royal Court!

  “All bow now as the Royal Barber comes aft.

  “All salute as the Royal Constables take their places.

  “All bow as the Royal Baby, the darling delight of Queen Aphrodite, shows his preponderance to you.

  “All bow to Her Royal Majesty, the most beautiful woman to ever ride the oceans’ waves, Queen Aphrodite.

  “Now quake in fear, you miserable creatures, you lubberly pollywogs, as Davy Jones shows himself to you.

  “Now gangway, make a hole there, and bow low for His Majesty, Neptune Rex!”

  The Royal Barber appeared dressed as a Moor, with soot-blackened face and a costume of painted canvas. In one hand, he held the Royal Razor, which had been forged from two feet of barrel hoop. A Triton bearing the Royal Shaving Cup and strop stood by his side. The Royal Shaving Soap was a mixture of oakum, bleached white, parral slush, and Baltic tar. The strop was made from heavy canvas sewn in layers and was obviously meant to be used as a schoolhouse paddle.

  Queen Aphrodite was adorned with a great mop head flowing down to her shoulders; her carved wooden breasts were adorned with two scallop shells and tied around her hairy chest by small stuff. Her eyes were large and watery and made up with heavy eyebrows darkened from shoe blacking. Her lips were painted red. She held a golden painted goblet in one hand to catch her tobacco spittings. She had not shaved for a day or two.

  The Royal Baby was a tall black man naked from the waist up with the ponderous belly of a cook. He wore a grass skirt made from shredded canvas held to his waist by cummerbund made from canvas painted to resemble a tiger’s stripes. His upper body appeared to be covered in shiny grease, but in truth it was slush, the grease skimmed off water used for boiling salt beef and pork. The slush was rancid too.

  Davy Jones wore a canvas mask painted to portray the hideous face of a cannibal, or pirate, or some other creature of its owner’s imagination, perhaps a Humboldt squid. His eyes were surrounded by dark circles, making his orbs appear to be enormous. He was crowned with an old-fashioned tricorn hat adorned with a yard-long cat-o’-nine-tails, a toy made of small stuff. He wore short broad sailors’ slops held to his waist by a thick leather belt that passed around the hilt of an enormous broad-bladed wooden cutlass.

  King Neptune was the most glorious of all, with his magnificent head of golden hair fashioned from a mop head, a seashell crown, and a trident spear. He wore a canvas cape and a canvas loincloth decorated with compass roses and anchors. He had a magnificent beard of braided small stuff like King Nebuchadnezzar. King Neptune spoke in a powerful tenor voice eerily similar to the shantey voice of Sam Duder.

  “Captain Griffin, there, your children have not prepared for me. Have that mate take these wogs and rig the Royal Bath here amidships.”

  One of the ship’s awnings was rigged from the stays and held up at its sides by jigger tackle. The mate set the four apprentices to the pump and filled the Royal Bath with bilgewater.

  “Now bring the wogs before me. Kneel, you slimy creatures, and bow to the master of the ocean waves, the mighty breath of the Southern Ocean, and he that keeps the deep within its bounds. Constables, blindfold these miserable creatures.

  “Now, Davy Jones, my son, what is the charge for that pollywog, there, the old one that’s on his first voyage?”

  “Your Majesty, this wog’s name is O’Brien and he is charged by the port watch of not being able to carry a tune in a bucket or bring the mess kids quick enough and him from Ireland and all.”

  “How do you plead, wog?”

  The trusty shellbacks of the port watch roared in rough unison, “Guilty, guilty, guilty!”

  King Neptune spoke. “No mortal has ever said Neptune Rex was anything but fair. You wog, sing out a song, a sad Irish song to make my queen weep, and you’ll be spared.”

  As the man started to sing, the queen let out a sharp scream in her best falsetto voice. “Constable, constable, shut that man up! Barber, shave off his hair.”

  The man’s hair was lathered from the Royal Shaving Cup and the Royal Barber ran the Royal Razor through his hair. The edge of the Royal Razor had been sharpened to feel like a rasp.

  It was the Royal Baby’s turn to speak. “Oh, Father Neptune, baptize him and wash his guilt away in the Royal Bath.”

  The Royal Constable observed Neptune’s signal and walked the man to the edge of the Royal Bath, stood him there with his back to the awning, and pushed him into the bilgewater.

  The ceremony continued as before until all of the pollywogs had been tried and sentenced. The apprentices were the last to appear before Neptune Rex, and of these the last was Nicholas Priest. Jeremy Ernst was accused of impersonating a figurehead; Richard Ernst was accused of working too hard; Smallbridge was accused of impersonating a seaman. Each charge was read; each asked for his plea, only to be ignored in the bellowing of the trusty shellbacks. The Ernst boys were told their sentence was to kiss the queen. This turned out to be the kissing of the garlic-laden mouth of a dead fish.

  “And you, wog, Priest, is it? What’s his charge, Davy?”

  “His charges, great Neptune, were to steal a young girl’s affection and then go to sea the next day. He’s also attempted to fool the hands to thinking the cook’s food is actually good by eating huge quantities of the whack!”

  “I forgive him the first as that’s traditional with sailormen, but the last is the most hideous I’ve heard all day. He must kiss the Royal Baby’s belly and kiss the queen three times. Is this wog guilty? All knowing the truth of the matter say, ‘Aye!’”

  The crew roared their approval, and Priest was brought forward to kiss the Royal Baby’s belly. Bishop wrapped his massive arms around Priest’s head and buried it in the folds of his belly.

  Neptune turned to his queen. “Has he atoned?”

  The queen began to sop huge crocodile boo-hoo tears and moaned in her falsetto voice, “But that poor girl, the victim of this young Lothario.”

  Davy Jones yelled, “Shave him!”

  The Royal Barber applied lather roughly to Priest’s head and slowly ran the razor through his hair. At the end of each stroke, the shellbacks roared their approval. The razor was brought across all of Priest’s crown and his cheeks and chin. The Royal Barber sprinkled oakum down his neck and onto his shoulders.

  They’re really shaving me; I’m bald!

  Davy Jones turned to the Royal Barber and said, “Bald! Looks like a chicken’s ass that’s ready for the stew pot.”

  The queen yelled, “Baptize him, wash his sins away in the Royal Bath,” and Priest fell over backward into the odorous bilgewater.

  Only one remained, and this man claimed to have crossed the line and been around the Horn before. The Royal Triton shouted out the name. “Samuel Craig, kneel befo
re His Majesty and prepare yourself for your fate, for you are charged with lying to the forecastle gang, shirking your duties, spreading slander, and losing a fair fight to a mere boy.”

  Craig protested, “I’ve crossed the line! I’m no pollywog!”

  Neptune’s court screamed in unison, “Liar!”

  As punishment for his sins, Craig was given twelve good ones with Davey Jones’s cat-o’-nine tails across his naked ass, and his mouth washed clean with soap and oakum. The men cheered wildly. Griffin was taken by surprise that Craig was accused by the men, but it was rough justice and not permanently harmful, so the captain let the judgment stand.

  Griffin did not know what had been set in motion. The crew thought the punishment only just and good warning. For them, their anger would end, if Craig would change his behavior.

  King Neptune now turned to Captain Griffin. “I have tried these wogs and washed away the guilt of their sins. This is damned dry work, sir, and a libation of grog would go well for me and the Royal Court. Do that for the sake of smooth seas and fair winds. Do it and I shall give your children back to you as trusty horned shellbacks and true deep-water salts.”

  Griffin turned to his steward. “Ezra, tradition is tradition. Serve His Majesty and his court with my best whiskey, ahem, grog.”

  The newly initiated trusty horned shellbacks were brought before His Majesty Neptune Rex and his court. Their blindfolds were removed and hands untied. Almost immediately they began rubbing the tops of their heads to find all of the hair was still there, albeit deep in oakum, tar, and grease.

  “Let all who fare upon the seas know by my royal decree that these men are henceforth to be given all customary rights and privileges of mariners, of dwellers on the roaring main, of those souls brave enough to have rounded Cape Horn from the great Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. Henceforth, these men shall be called horned shellbacks and enjoy my personal protection from all that would accuse them of being lubbers. So be it!”

  Only Craig’s face showed no smile.

  The shellbacks cheered the newly initiated and individually shook the hand of each new shellback, even Craig. King Neptune shook Nicholas Priest’s hand and said, “There, Sweets, you’ve earned two tattoos, and damned if I’m not proud of you. I’ll show you where to get your tattoos in Frisco.”

  Peleg Carver turned to his captain and said, “See, Captain, no blood, no broken bones, and Neptune Rex and Davy Jones are appeased again.”

  Forty-Five

  Man’s Justice

  “And whatten penance will ye drie for that?

  Edward, Edward,

  And whatten penance will ye drie for that?

  My deir son, now tell me O”

  “Ile set my feit in yonder boat,

  mither, mither,

  Ile set my feit in yonder boat,

  And fare ovir the sea O.”

  —A Child Ballad

  Friday, August 23, 1872

  Lat 26˚11΄48˝N, Long 121˚29΄00˝W

  The Pacific Trades

  With the second stroke of the ship’s bell, the port watch came on deck for morning coffee, tobacco, and fresh biscuits from the cook’s oven. It was a cold, foggy dawn. They also came to see what work the first mate would have them do: holystoning, painting the long boat, overhauling the running rigging, painting the forward deckhouse, repairing sails, putting up chafing gear, getting Providence ready for her grand entrance into San Francisco Bay and repairing the damage from rounding Cape Horn. The port watch had had less than one hour’s sleep today. Tomorrow, the starboard watch would stand the mid-watch.

  Samuel Craig had stood the midnight to four with the rest of the port watch. He spent his time thinking about the line crossing, running his fingers through his hair, and remembering being bent over the hatch, naked from the waist down, and flogged with that ridiculous cat-o’-nine tails. He thought of the laughter, derision, and humiliation. Why? It was because of Nicholas Priest. He had tried to kill Priest before and would do so now if the opportunity came, but even if it did not, he lusted for blood on his hands, to relish the terror of murder. Anyone would do—anyone—but Priest especially.

  The voice was there, whispering in Craig’s ear again, calling him to obey. He must abide by his walking boss when he spoke, when the walking boss had crossed a continent and an ocean to be with him and tell him what he must do. The boss had spoken to Craig before; he remembered hearing him speak to him as he fled from Lee’s army in Virginia. He remembered the farmer, his wife, and children, but he did not mourn for them. He longed to see the instant of death again, life then lifelessness at his hands, and enjoy his work, his calling, and his service to the walking boss.

  Craig smelled the hot coffee steaming and the aroma of the fresh biscuits coming from the galley. Perlie made biscuits with fresh buttermilk in a Dutch oven in an open hearth. Death and hot biscuits were familiar to him. He enjoyed both.

  Craig looked to find the apprentices. They were with Duder and Stedwin on the weather side with the rest of the crew, sitting beneath the bulwark drinking coffee and eating their warm biscuits. Bishop stood in the galley door and smiled. One of the apprentices stood, braced himself against the forward deck cabin, and made his way to the port head. Craig saw that his wrists were longer than the sleeves of his pea jacket. Craig laughed at the boy’s modesty, after months at sea; he would use the lee head so no one would hear him, as if by now anyone cared. His lust for blood—the feelings of heart and loin—built hope, then anticipation; the pea jacket, it was Priest!

  Craig followed him. He stood forward of the privy, hidden by the deckhouse, waiting for the apprentice to open the door. It opened. The boy emerged carrying the cedar bucket in hand to throw his waste overboard. As the boy extended the bucket over the side, Craig plunged a knife through the boy’s ribs, causing the apprentice to straighten as the tip of the blade punctured his heart. The bucket hit the water. The dead body fell to the deck, and only when Craig turned the body on its back did he discover he had killed Elder. He had murdered the older of the two Ernst brothers, Jeremy, by mistake. But he had killed again as the walking boss had told him to do. His soul filled with joy. You made me happy again, boss. He then whined, “Priestie.”

  The forward lookout yelled murder from his station aloft on the foremast topsail yard. It was Smitty. He had seen it all. Craig fled, seeking a hiding place in the forecastle.

  “Mr. Carver, I saw him do it. I’ll swear to it. Craig was just standing there like nothing at all; then his face got twisted and red and he jabs that thing with his left hand straight into the boy’s ribs and kills him, from behind. Not a word out of him. It was so quick, like he knew what he was doing. Then he stops, looks at the dead body, and smiles. Said something to himself, but I couldn’t hear it.”

  “Thankee, Smitty. You’ll swear on a Bible to that?”

  “Yes, sir. I know what I saw.”

  “I believe you. Go on back aloft, now. Tell no one. Mr. Lennon and I’ll take care of it.” Carver knew that within minutes of Smitty being relieved, the whole crew would know Jeremy Ernst had been murdered by Craig.

  Peleg Carver beckoned for Richard Ernst to come to his brother. He comforted the boy and directed Younger to wrap his brother in a blanket. Reuben, the sailor from the Bronx, would help him and stay with him.

  Peleg Carver and Henry Lennon then walked aft to the taffrail to talk alone.

  Carver spoke. “He was a good boy—innocent. You couldn’t ask for a better worker. Since—I want to hang that bastard. He killed that boy for no reason at all. Do you see it following us?”

  “What do yews want me ter see? There’s a wake and that big bird; that’s all.”

  “There’s only one bird, one albatross. Jeremy’s soul’s been taken. That’s why there’s one albatross! It’s still waiting. I’ve seen it before, Lennon. My grandfather saw it happen. As long as that bird’s there, the ship’s cursed. Don’t you understand? That boy’s soul will never go to its reward unless Craig dies, unle
ss he pays with his life. I don’t want to wake up and see that poor boy’s ghost standing by my bed. I don’t want him accusing me or blaming me. The Bible tells us of Jonah. That boy was my responsibility—mine.”

  “Peleg, you’re trembling. Besides, there was naught yews could do. He was a good lad; he’ll not haunt yews.”

  Lennon saw terror overcome Carver’s face. Carver pleaded, “Listen to me. Listen! He can’t live, or this ship will founder; she’s lost.”

  “And what about da captain? Do yews think he’ll let you take revenge? Na. I know him. He’ll not allow it.”

  “No. I’ll take no chances. Do you think I care, Lennon? Do you? I’ll not be cursed. I’ll not bring that boy’s curse down on me or my family. Besides, how long do you think it will take before the crew kills him? They’ll know who did it. He’s hiding in there, in the forecastle behind the wench. They’ll find him, holding a heaver, the knife still in his belt. The hands know we’re cursed, and those who don’t believe will still want him hung. It’s justice, an eye for an eye.”

  “What about da captain’s recommendation, Peleg? What about your own ship? Ain’t you going to call the captain on deck?”

  “And what? He’ll want to do it by the book. No, sir. There’s a curse on this ship and even if there ain’t, these men won’t abide putting Craig in irons.

  “I care more for the child in Sally’s womb than I do my own ship. I’ll die before my child’s cursed.”

  Both men had forgotten that everything spoken on a ship was overheard and repeated. Just feet away, standing forward in the wheelhouse under the open scuttle, four silent ears heard all they had said. Duder and Priest had the helm.

  Four bells rang.

  The watch was half over and Duder and Priest were relieved at the helm, their trick over. “Did you hear all of that, Sam? Craig’s murdered Jeremy Ernst?” Nicholas Priest was shocked.