She hesitated only for a second, “Yes, yes, anything, just please don’t tie my arms behind me.”
Mister Whittier’s escort consisted of poking her in the back with his bony finger in the direction of the brig. She stumbled down the well-worn steps and passed the men locked in the brig. Lydia could see two faces peering through the barred window. The faces offered Lydia no emotion or hope, only frustrated resignation.
“Don’t worry. The Captain is almost well, and he will be back charge before you know it. Do not despair. It will be all right,” encouraged Lydia.
She heard one of the men start to yell out something, but before he fully said anything, something hit the back of her head forcefully. Then she neither saw nor heard anything.
***
A small, warm and furry body rubbed up against Lydia’s arm and squeaked. The squeak sounded so far away, and yet so close. Is that an animal, she thought drowsily? She opened her eyes and shook her head to get the hair out of her face. Her head throbbed furiously. A trickle of liquid worked its way around her neck in dribbled down the front of her shirt.
Whatever the noise-maker was, was now very close to her because it nipped at her elbow. She pushed away the creature beside her in the darkness and realized that her hands, still tied together, had started to become numb. Cautiously, she felt the spaces around her she could reach. The small dark room seemed rather narrow. She touched wooden shelving on either side of her. A tiny squeak emanated from the shelf beside her again. Rats!
Panicky sensations bolted through her body as she imagined red beady eyes and sharp teeth ready to bite her. She struggled to stand up, but only succeeded in slipping back down to the floor. The knot at the back of her head throbbed viciously. Slowly, she managed to get on her knees and stand up. Maybe the best defense was a good offense, she thought. Stomping her feet, she tried to make a lot of noise to scare away the rat. She listened. Nothing. Perhaps she had frightened the rat, or rats, away.
She whispered to herself to calm down. She knew if she could not help herself and panicked, she would be of no use to the men in the brig. Yet her inner voice screamed back at her, “I hate rats!” Nausea swirled around in her stomach, waiting to erupt.
Closing her eyes, Lydia envisioned the rat as a small, pesky dog – not her favorite animal either, but at least she could tolerate the thought. The pace of her heartbeat began to slow down, and after a couple of minutes the pounding in her head diminished.
Her fears somewhat assuaged, she put her ear to the door. Men’s voices reverberated in the background. The men in the brig! She caught a few words here and there. Grumbling and cursing followed alternately followed the name, “Miss Holcomb”. She sighed. She knew she was not in a position of favor with the crew on the ship. Most of the men, if not all, blamed her for their current situation – including the Captain’s injuries. Even if she was able to get out of the storage closet, it was doubtful she could do much, if anything, to help their plight. She had to think, to use her head, and to not permit her emotions, including her fear of rats, to get the better of her. If her fears took over, and she became immobilized by fear, everyone was doomed.
She felt around the shelving in the tiny room. She could feel bushel–sized wooden barrels lined up on the shelving. Wooden lids sealed the small barrels; she could not begin to pry them open, especially with her wrists tied together. Her search on the shelving continued. Then her fingers brushed against a hard metallic object, resting on the shelf. She clutched it in her hand. It had a long slender round body that tapered into a flattened, pronged “V” shape at one end. A crowbar. It must be used to open the barrels … probably of hardtack, she reasoned.
She continued to grope along the shelving, hoping there might be something else she could use. On the shelf opposite the one with the crowbar, her fingers found what felt like a mallet. That would not help her to get untied, she thought. On the other hand, once she was untied, a heavy mallet might be most useful for the crew if she could free them from the brig.
She maneuvered the crowbar off the shelf and placed it between her knees. Painstakingly, she rubbed the rope that held her wrists together along the edge of the pronged “V” shape of the crowbar and hoped it would be enough to cut the rope. Another timid squeak emanated from the shelves above her head. She worked harder and faster. Finally, Lydia began to feel her work was paying off. Strands of the rope began to shred. Suddenly, the rope broke apart, and her hands were free.
She pulled herself off the floor, grabbing each successive shelf for support as she rose up again from the floor, a wave of dizziness and nausea once again threatened to overwhelm her every effort. Physical and mental weaknesses seeped through her. She thought about how much love she felt for Ian, even though he probably had no such feelings for her. She wanted to help him. He had helped her to realize some portion of her own self-worth and ability. Her lip quivered as she almost slipped down to the floor again in tears and regrets. Then, she saw the image of her mother in her mind.
She recalled her mother’s words from just a few short months again when they were on their way to Mr. Quigley’s office. … “Forgive me Lydia. You deserve the chance to be kissed until your toes tingle, too. As long as your father has control of your life, you will never experience life.” At that point, she realized that her own determination and purpose were all that mattered. She did not ever want to be that “weak female” again. She would rather die trying to save Ian and the crew, than give in to the thugs in control of the ship without a fight.
Gathering courage and strength from her inner soul, Lydia fought back the throbbing at the base of her neck and decided, “If I get myself and others out of this mess, I can have a good cry then. But until then, I will go forward. I will not let myself think about anything but regaining control of the ship for Ian’s sake, and my eventual arrival in San Francisco. I’ll just have to apply for another job, if and when I get to San Francisco.”
Determined, she pushed her matted hair away from her eyes and fidgeted with the wooden handle on the door to the closet. There was a faint click. The door was not locked! Lydia took a deep breath to steady her trembling hands and quietly inched open the door. No one was in the narrow hallway. She could still hear the voices of the crewmen talking quietly amongst themselves. She dried her hands on her pants and grabbed the mallet and crowbar. “Courage,” she whispered aloud to herself. “I can do anything I have to do to survive, including getting the crew out of the brig so they can rescue the Captain.”
Stepping with caution in the direction of the brig, Lydia actually believed for a moment someone was hammering at the back of her head with pickaxes. Once again, she concluded she could not allow the pain to interfere with her goals. “Tomorrow… Tomorrow I can rest.”
She tiptoed up to the brig, alert to the sounds of any potential mutineers coming down the steps to the brig. No noises or sounds, except the soft grumbling of the men in the brig. Quietly, she put the mallet on the floor and placed the crowbar in between the doorframe and the door. She began to push her weight against the crowbar. Bits and pieces of wood from the door splintered away as the crowbar wedged itself ever more firmly. Although it was not a loud noise, the splintering of the wood sounded to her like an explosion loud enough to alert the mutineers. She stopped her efforts and listened. Voices up on the deck bellowed, and rapid footsteps clunked off in several directions.
Hearing the squeak of splintering wood, the men in the brig finally realized that someone was trying to open the brig door. Lydia knew she only had a few seconds before someone came down the steps to the brig, but the door had not yet been worked enough to open. Lydia had to make a choice, and without hesitation. With one swift yank, she tried to pull the crowbar from the doorframe. To no avail. It was solidly stuck. She grabbed the mallet and left the crowbar stuck in the door of the brig.
She stepped behind the wooden steps that went up to the main deck. As a seaman came down the steps and approached the brig door, he saw the c
rowbar embedded in the doorframe. Lydia crept out from behind the steps, tiptoed quietly behind him, and whacked him over the head with a wooden mallet. With a low moan he crumbled to the floor.
Excitedly, the men in the brig began whispering to Lydia to start pushing her weight against the crowbar again. She looked at them in disbelief and shook her head no. When she shook her head, the crew began hissing at her and commenting on the inability of a woman to do anything right. She simply smiled. She reached down to the fallen seaman at her feet, and pulled the key ring from his hand. She picked the right key to the brig door, opened it, and grabbed the crowbar before it fell to the floor. For a couple of moments, the men stood motionless, in complete silence.
Then reality struck. She could see it on their faces. They were free! Smiles broke out, and the men, in hushed but laudable unison, spoke to one another about Lydia’s spunk and intelligence. Without more ado, the First Mate, Andy Briggs, took the crowbar from her hand and directed one of his crew to take the mallet. The men gathered in a circle to briefly hash out their plan to overtake the mutinous crew and to put the Captain back in control.
Lydia’s euphoria was short lived. The pounding at the back of her head erupted into sledgehammers, creating a series of stars against the blackness. She could do no more and slumped to her feet.
CHAPTER 17
Images of exotic coconut fronds and blue-green water with small white caps beckoned. This one dream should never be allowed to stop, mused Lydia. She just could not let herself wake up, even though she could feel someone tugging at her arm.
“Go away,” she mumbled softly. The tugging did not stop. In fact, it became more insistent. “Not yet,” she whispered. “Just let me sleep a little bit more. Then I’ll get up.”
“Lydia. Lydia. You must wake up.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Who would have the audacity to take her away from such pleasant, warm thoughts and feelings?
She tried to roll over onto her side. Just as quickly as she had rolled over, someone rolled her onto her back again.
“Soon. This is such a good dream. Please, just a little more sleep.”
“Nay, Lydia. Now! Lassie. Wake up!
As much as she wanted to be angry, she also wanted to go back to sleep so the nagging pain at the back of her head would go away.
“All right! I’m up.” She attempted to throw back the covers and sit up all in one motion. As she swung her legs over the side of the bunk and pushed herself up, blackness and stars whirled past her eyes. Just as quickly, she felt strong support of arms holding her securely.
“Whoa, lass. I want you awake, but you need not bound out of bed quite so fast. You’ve had a nasty head wound, so you’re going to have to take it easy. Slow down a wee bit and take some deep breaths. Just let me hold you in an upright position for a few minutes, until the circulation returns to the rest of your body. There now, is that a bit better?”
“Good grief. What happened to me? I feel woozy.”
“Do you not remember?”
“Remember? Remember what?”
“Do you have any recollection of being on a ship?”
“Ian!” Lydia’s eyes struggled to fully open. His image was hazy at first, then gradually, she could see his warm hazel eyes looking back at her.
The words just poured out. “It is you! Oh Ian. I have ruined everything.” She rubbed her eyes and sat on the edge of the bunk, allowing bits and pieces of her memory to come together like a puzzle. “Wait a minute. Now I remember. When the crew got thrown in the brig, and Whittier put me in that closet, I thought I’d never see you again. It was all my fault. I am so sorry. The crew hates me. If it hadn’t been for me…”
“Lydia! Stop this nonsense. If it hadn’t been for you, none of us would be here right now! Don’t you remember any more details?”
She massaged her forehead and tried to recall what occurred.
“I remember finding a wooden mallet and crowbar in the closet. I don’t even remember how I got out of the closet. And then, I think I tried to open the door to the brig, but after that the picture gets fuzzy.”
“Well, there was nothing fuzzy about your efforts, that’s for sure! One of the mutineers came below deck. I guess he heard you working on the brig door with the crowbar. The crew tells me you hid under the steps as he came down. You left the crowbar in the door to the brig, and when the mutineer saw it, he hurried over to pull it out. You came out from behind the stairs and clobbered him good with your mallet. He fell and passed out cold.
“The crew started yelling at you to use your body weight to push against the crowbar so you could open the door. They told me that you just looked at them and smiled. Then you reached down to the floor, picked up the keys from the unconscious mutineer, and unlocked the brig door. The crew kept joking and laughing with me that you used your wits instead of your weight! The long and the short of it all, is they got the doctor and me out of my cabin. Then the crew threw the mutineers in the brig, after we repaired the door.
“I think the big surprise for me, my love, is that you plotted the course as well as any Captain I know, and we are now only a week away from Honolulu Harbor. I’m beginning to think perhaps two heads really are better than one.”
“You mean the crew doesn’t hate me for all we’ve been through? I vaguely recall some rather nasty words being bandied about in association with my name when I was in that closet.”
“Nasty words? How can that be? You’re a heroine in the eyes of the crew! They are all waiting to thank you right and proper up on deck! At least, those who are not in the brig, I should say.”
“I can’t believe this. Many times I wasn’t sure I would have the strength to make it. I was so afraid of failure.”
Ian grinned happily. “Actually, my love, you’ve a fair amount of brute strength when you’re really angry, I hear! You laid that mallet firmly up against the side of Whittier’s head and you worked to open the brig door as smartly as any crewmen could have done.”
She closed her eyes and silently offered a brief prayer of thanks to God. She had come through one of the most frightening experiences of her life. In another week she would be in Hawaii, and San Francisco could not be more than a month after that. Maybe for some reason, the position as the nanny would still be available for her. If not, there would surely be another family looking for a good nanny. She knew she would be able to get word to her mother she was alive and well. The adventure they had set out on together had not been a mistake.
She froze for a few seconds. What if my mother’s ship had not survived the trip around the Horn? A nauseous feeling crept through her stomach. I cannot allow myself to think like this. Of course, mother and her ship made the trip successfully. Until I know otherwise, this is the attitude I have to take. To think otherwise will destroy me. I won’t go there.
She closed her eyes; she tried to focus on the luscious warm air. Relaxation settled into her body, along with the hope the entire trip might turn out all right after all.
“Come now, lass. Dinna go back to sleep on me. I’ve a surprise for you.”
Lydia opened her eyes in time to see Ian proudly pointing to something in the middle of his cabin. There sat a wooden tub filled to the brim with hot, steaming water. Beside the top was an old worn wooden bucket, also filled with steaming water.
“I figured it’s probably been quite a while since you’ve had the luxury of a good soak.”
Beside the tub, Lydia saw a small bar of soap resting on top of a large clean towel. She could not believe it. It had been months since she had been able to enjoy the feeling of cleanliness and the warmth of fresh water surrounding her entire body. On the Wyndom Wydoh she and her mother had to make do with a sponge dipped in a basin with icy water for bathing. She dreaded to think what she must smell like. Fortunately, her monthly courses, disrupted by the events of the last few months, had not been an issue. Instantaneously, her hand went to her matted hair. Knots and dried blood from her head wound had combined to creat
e a reddish black rats’ nest of her once lovely chestnut hair.
“Ooh. Ian. Yes, I would love a good long bath. That is so kind of you!”
His grin beamed a little broader. Her fingers flew to the buttons of her shirt and then stopped.
He noticed her hesitation. “What am I thinking, lass? Here, let me help you with the shirt.”
Lydia turned away from him. “Ian, I think I can manage this by myself, but I would appreciate a bit of privacy if you don’t mind.” She glanced in the direction of the chamber pot and blushed.
“Och. What am I thinking? Of course, of course. I … I’ll leave you for a bit.” He rushed out the door, his face red with embarrassment.
Having taken care of her personal needs, Lydia disrobed and carefully slipped into the enveloping warmth of the tub. The aches and throbs in her head and body mellowed, and the overwhelming sense of relaxation made her body tingle all over. Her eyes drooped then closed as she sank as low as possible in the round tub. Although the warmth of the water felt heavenly, she shivered with pleasure. It had been so many weeks since she had savored the luxury of a warm bath.
She reached for the bar of soap Ian had left for her. It smelled of lavender, her favorite fragrance. Giggling to herself, Lydia scrunched up her knees and let her head sink under the water to begin working out the masses of knots in her hair. She popped up for a quick breath of air, and then she slid back down again hoping to loosen the dried tangles.
The door to the Captain’s cabin flew open.
As Ian looked around the cabin, he saw no sign of Lydia. A splash echoed from the wooden tub, where he could only see two knees protruding from the water. He reached down and grabbed Lydia’s arms to pull her up and out of the water. “Lydia, what are you doing?”
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