The Whaler (The Island of Sylt Book 1)

by Ines Thorn

  Alerted by the men’s calls, Captain Boyse appeared at the rail. He waved to Zelda in welcome and then sent two men down the gangplank to help with her luggage. Meanwhile, Maren almost collapsed under the weight of her sea chest. She’d heard that Zelda was coming whaling, but she only believed it now, when she saw the woman. She rolled her eyes. She already knew that all the men would only have eyes for Zelda. Under the captain’s strict orders, they would behave like gentlemen toward Zelda, while Maren could be glad if no one kicked her.

  She finally managed to get the sea chest to the top of the gangplank, and then she sank to the deck and wiped the sweat from her forehead with her hand.

  “Don’t sit there in the way,” the captain spoke harshly. “Go find yourself a place to sleep.” Maren looked around uncertainly. Where was she supposed to sleep here?

  “Below deck. You have to climb down the companionway.” The captain shook his head in amazement at her ignorance. “But hurry. You’re needed in the galley.”

  Maren picked up the unwieldy box again and went to the hatch. She pushed back the heavy cover with difficulty and climbed down the narrow ladder into the darkness, not carrying down her sea chest before she’d seen what awaited her. Below, it was almost completely black, and her eyes needed time to adjust to the darkness. It was not only dark, but there was also an awful stench. It reeked of sweaty male bodies, unwashed feet, and stale beer. It also smelled of the smoke that had been used to drive away any lingering vermin from the last voyage. The men had tied their hammocks in two rows, leaving a walkway free down the middle. Along the hull was a row of wooden berths. Some of the sailors had made themselves comfortable on the bare wooden boards. Maren swallowed. She was supposed to sleep here? With all these men? Unimaginable. She almost broke into tears, but she knew there was no one here to help her, so she swallowed her misery. Then one of the men got up from his berth and walked down the corridor to the end, where Maren saw a large barrel. When the man unbuttoned his pants and relieved himself into the barrel right before her eyes, she couldn’t help shuddering.

  One of the young sailors laughed as he observed her. Another, an old blubber cutter with a long, tangled beard, scolded her. “Don’t act so. You’ll be seeing the likes of that often, now. Find a place for yourself and keep your mouth shut. And don’t think we enjoy having a girl down here either.”

  Tears sprang into Maren’s eyes again, and she blindly sought out one of the wooden berths. The straw pallet smelled of sick, and as much as she wanted to, she didn’t dare to look for a different berth with a better-smelling mattress. Then she went to get her sea chest, maneuvered it down the ladder with difficulty, and placed it under the bed. She wanted to ask the way to the galley, but she didn’t dare when she realized most of the men were staring at her with malice. Just then, the person in the next berth stuck out a hand toward her.

  “My name is Raik,” he said. “I’m the cabin boy.”

  Relieved, Maren offered her hand and introduced herself. She felt as though she hadn’t heard a friendly word since she’d left Sylt, and his courteous gesture almost moved her to tears.

  “Do you know where the galley is?” she asked. “What will I have to do as a galley drudge?”

  At that moment, the captain’s voice echoed through the hatch. “Maren!” he shouted, and Maren started with shock, hit her head on the upper bunk, and hurried up the ladder.

  The captain was standing at the top, and he held out something made of rough, scratchy fabric toward her. “Here, put these on. You can’t go dressed like that. Your rags might catch on fire.”

  Rags? Maren thought indignantly, and smoothed the floor-length dark-brown skirt she was wearing. Then she took the scratchy bundle and unrolled it, and her eyes went wide. “But . . . but . . . ,” she faltered. “These are pants!”

  “Of course they’re pants. What else would they be? Everyone who works on my ship wears pants.”

  “Wh-why?” Maren asked, unable to tear her eyes off the offending garment. They were wide-fitting ankle-length sailor’s pants, which must have come out of the crew’s slop chest. They felt thick and a little damp, and very, very scratchy.

  “Because in a skirt you’d always be getting caught on everything. Pants are better. Go ahead, put the things on.”

  “Here?”

  The captain shrugged. “You could go below and let a hundred men watch. It’s your choice.”

  Maren sighed and regarded the captain, who was making no effort to hide his amusement. “All right, but you’ll have to turn around,” she ordered.

  “What?” Boyse broke into laughter. “Do you think I’ve never seen a woman’s legs before?” But when he saw the abashed look in Maren’s eyes and the reluctant blush on her cheeks, he turned around after all, and Maren was truly grateful for his small gesture of compliance.

  “Ready?” he asked after a moment.

  “Ready.”

  He turned around, examined Maren from top to toe, and broke into peals of laughter. Then he took a sou’wester—an oilskin hat with a wide brim, which had been hanging on the rigging—and slipped it onto her head, laughing boisterously. The other sailors on the deck who had been watching curiously from a distance now laughed with him.

  The captain gasped breathlessly between fits of laughter. “You . . . you look like a ship’s kobold! Our own little hobgoblin!”

  Now the others hooted with laughter, slapping their thighs in amusement, unable to stop. And Maren stood there, her cheeks flaming with fury, her hands balled into fists. She would have liked to scream at Boyse and tell him he was a wretched lout, but she didn’t dare to say it in front of the crew. So she took a deep breath, ripped the hat off her head, and launched it over the rail into the sea. Then she walked away with as much dignity as she could with her legs suddenly trapped in pants for the first time. She climbed down the ladder to her sleeping platform and threw herself onto the berth, too angry to cry, and pounded the disgusting straw pallet with her fists. When Raik ventured to ask her what all the noise above deck had been about, Maren continued her pounding. “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!” she cried.

  But she didn’t even have enough time to give her anger free rein. She heard the ship’s bell ringing, and all the sailors got up.

  “What’s happening now?” Maren asked.

  “There’s going to be a prayer service on deck, and then the captain will give a speech before we head out to sea,” Raik answered.

  Everyone was on deck, and Maren saw a sailor lowering the signal flag, the blue peter. The men were packed closely together, and the captain was standing on a box so he could be seen by all. The prayer service was short. A priest from Amsterdam came on board and sprinkled holy water in several places, delivering a few emotionless prayers. The crew intoned the Lord’s Prayer together, and then the unenthusiastic priest shuffled back down the gangplank.

  The captain was now standing in front of them with both hands raised for silence. “We sail under a Dutch standard,” he said, gesturing at the flag that had just been run up the rigging in place of the blue peter. “That means order and austerity rule aboard the Rán. Whoever disobeys this law and order, whoever curses, brawls, cuts or stabs another with a knife, or doesn’t attend prayer services without reason of an emergency, will be instantly brought to justice under martial law. The verdict will be reached and punishment executed immediately. The offender will be bound to the mast and lashed with a piece of cord as many times as the sentence demands. If that is not sufficient and the offense is repeated, the wrongdoer will be docked two months’ pay or be tied to a rope and thrown several times into the sea.”

  Maren started with shock when she heard about the draconian punishments, but the men around her just nodded.

  “Yes, indeed!” one of them cried. “On a ship like this, there must be discipline.” The others murmured their agreement, and the captain continued. “We are Christian seamen. Therefore, there will be a call to prayer every evening. In the morning as well
. Meals will come afterward. On Sundays and holy days, one of the officers will read aloud from the gospel.”

  The men nodded again, and some brought their hands to the crosses hanging at their necks.

  “And now, I wish God’s blessing on this voyage for all of us. We head to sea.” The captain stepped down from his box, the group dispersed, and everyone went to work.

  A little while later, Maren finally found the galley. It was in a little wooden house built on deck. There was an open fire for cooking and roasting, and the provisions were stored nearby.

  Maren’s face was still red with chagrin about her pants. “What do you want me to do?” she asked more curtly than she had intended. “I’m Maren, the new galley helper.”

  The cook was a fat man with a pale beard and upper arms as stout as trees. He waved a hand at a gigantic sack of carrots. “Scrape them,” he barked, and Maren sighed as she set to work. By the time she’d scraped half a sack full, her fingers hurt and her back ached so much she feared it would break. The smoke from the fire stung her eyes, and the fumes made her throat feel sore and raw. She was so relieved when the bag was empty that she lowered herself in exhaustion onto an upturned bucket. But the cook, whom she now knew was called Jakob and was Dutch, shook his head. “You’ve scraped one sackful, but there are still three more.”

  Maren could hardly believe her ears. She was tired, her back ached acutely, the pants scratched the insides of her thighs, and the smoke burned so much that she didn’t think she’d be able to survive in the galley for another minute.

  But Jakob had little sympathy. “If you don’t scrape the carrots, I’ll have to do it. But that’s not my job. So see to it that you finish. The men don’t like it when the meal isn’t ready on time.”

  Maren pulled herself up with difficulty and cleaned the second sack full of carrots, and by the time she’d finished the third one, she couldn’t feel her back or her fingers anymore. Everything had melded into a single wall of pain. Mechanically, she reached for one carrot after another, scraped it off, and tossed it into a big wooden basin. She felt as though she’d never done anything else other than scrape carrots. After another half a sack, she was ready to sell her soul to the Devil if he would only set her free.

  Jakob stood next to her and watched. Maren swayed where she stood. She cut her finger twice. Then Jakob put a hand on her shoulder. “Leave it be, girl. You’ve done enough for today. Have something to eat now, and then see to it that you get to your berth.”

  Maren was so grateful to him that she found no words, but she was also too exhausted to speak. She let the evening prayer service wash over her and then staggered below deck to her berth. She didn’t even bother to take off her scratchy pants, and she was asleep as soon as she laid down her head.

  During the night, she woke to angry sounds. She opened her eyes but couldn’t see anything in the thick darkness. Two men seemed to be arguing. Rough words flew back and forth, and then she heard the sound that a fist makes when it strikes a jaw, followed by a cry of pain. Another man shouted for silence. “Do you want me to punch you in the mouth too?” someone asked him. “Just let me know. I’m in the mood for it.”

  Maren realized that she desperately needed to relieve herself, but could she really feel her way along the small walkway lit only with one dim oil candle? Past all the men? Past the two men who were fighting? And how was she supposed to pee into the barrel anyway? It was too high. Much too high for her to sit on the edge. She tried to ignore the fighting men, the snoring, grumbling, groaning, tossing, and turning, and go back to sleep, but she grew more and more desperate.

  When she realized that she couldn’t possibly fall asleep again, she got up and decided to go on deck. She’d either find a bucket or squat over the rail.

  Slowly, so as not to awaken Raik and the others who were sleeping around her, she snuck to the ladder and climbed up. She struggled to push back the heavy hatch cover, but finally she managed. The cool, fresh night air felt wonderful to her. The ship was still anchored in Amsterdam harbor, but farther away from the shore now, so the lights of the city looked like a glowing sea to Maren. She glanced up at the sailor who was in a crow’s nest atop a mast observing the sea. She finally found a bucket that had been used for scrubbing the deck during the day and relieved herself into it. Then she emptied the bucket over the rail, sighed with relief, and went back below deck. She was extremely glad that she’d been alone. She’d learned that the barrel in the crew quarters was used only for making water, and that the men would lower their pants to their ankles without shame and move their bowels over the rail directly into the sea, then pull up their pants again and go about their business. For Maren, this idea was unimaginable, but she knew that she’d have to get used to it. And that probably wouldn’t be the worst of it.

  The next morning when Maren was on her way to the kitchen, an officer spoke to her as she emptied her bucket over the railing.

  “Waste goes over the starboard side,” he said. “When the wind blows from this direction, it always goes starboard.”

  Maren stared at him in confusion. “Starboard?”

  “Holy God!” the officer swore. “You’re on a whaling ship, and you don’t even know the difference between port and starboard?”

  Maren swallowed and shook her head shyly. All at once, the officer reached out and slapped her in the face.

  “Ow!” Maren cried in outrage and held one hand to her cheek.

  “Where does it hurt now, left or right?”

  “Right,” Maren said quietly.

  “Good. I slapped your right cheek. And now your right cheek hurts so much that you see stars. Do you understand?”

  Maren shook her head again. She had no idea what the man wanted from her, or even what he was talking about. She only hoped that the captain didn’t happen to be on deck at the moment.

  “Right. Seeing stars!” the officer shouted. “Do you understand?”

  Maren was having difficulty holding back her tears. The officer was raising his hand to slap her again when it dawned on her.

  “Right is starboard!” she shouted, and threw up her arms to protect her face. “The right side hurts, and I see stars. That means right is starboard.”

  The officer let his hand fall. “So, you’re capable of learning something, after all,” he said. “Just don’t forget it.” Then he walked away.

  CHAPTER 15

  The next morning at first light of dawn, the wind changed. Captain Boyse gave the order to weigh anchor. Maren woke dead tired and feeling as though she’d been beaten. All of her limbs hurt, and she had no idea how she would be able to survive working in the galley again. The lumbering brig turned northward, and as exhausted as Maren was, she still found it impressive to see the heavy ship slowly set in motion with its sails snapping and its rigging creaking.

  Raik was standing next to her.

  “How does the helmsman know which direction to go?” she asked him.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t ask questions like that when anyone else is listening, unless you want to be the laughingstock of the entire crew.”

  “I already am,” Maren answered, and she pointed at the pants.

  “The sailors know the direction by the position of the sun, by their nautical charts, and by using their instruments. With compass, octant, and plumb line, they can find out where they are and where they need to go. When you have a little time, you can go ask an officer if you can look at his chart.”

  Maren snorted indignantly. “I live on Sylt. I’ve seen more than enough nautical charts.” She was about to add something, but just then, the men tossed their hats and caps into the air.

  “Greenland, ho!” they cried. “Off to the whaling grounds!” Then they all cheered, and Maren got carried away by their enthusiasm and cheered along with them.

  A little later, everyone dispersed and went about their work, and Maren was just about to join Jakob in the galley when Zelda suddenly appeared.

  “So,
” the older woman asked, “did you sleep well?” Then she yawned loudly and stretched, like someone who’d just slept in a soft feather bed and had good dreams.

  “Thank you for asking,” Maren replied curtly. But then her curiosity got the better of her. “And where did you sleep, madam?” she inquired formally.

  Zelda smiled at her. “Call me Zelda. We’ll be spending months together, and as the only women on this goddamn brig, we’ll have to stick together.”

  Maren was taken aback at the crudeness of her words, and she decided Zelda was a vulgar creature, whether she was the only other woman on the ship or not.

  “Why do you ask? I slept in the captain’s cabin, of course. Where else would I sleep?”

  “In the captain’s cabin? But then, where was the captain?” The thought that Zelda had slept in a proper bed, undisturbed, while she herself had had to share the space below deck with a hundred men made her scowl.

  Zelda shook her head in amazement at Maren’s question. “The captain slept with me, of course.” She laughed. “Where else should he stretch out his weary limbs?”

  Maren’s mouth fell open. “But . . . but . . . ,” she stammered. “You aren’t married. Or are you? Or at least engaged?”

  “Heavens, no!” Zelda laughed again. “We’re not a couple. At least, not the sort of couple that set up a home together and have children. I’m his mistress.”

  “His what?”

  Zelda laughed yet again, and Maren was gradually starting to feel like a complete idiot.

  “His mistress. That means I’m his lover. We share a bed. Nothing more and nothing less.”

  “Then . . . then . . . he pays you for it?” Maren couldn’t believe she was standing there talking to a whore. On Sylt there were women who were rumored to have secret lovers as long as their men were at sea, but as far as she knew, there was only one who actually sold her body for money.