Rich Man's Coffin

by K Martin Gardner

  The thought of the job swirled in Arthur’s head. Where was the Master dragging him by the cuff? Where is the whip? He wondered.

  The Captain continued, “Now, you are a Negro, are you not?”

  Arthur snapped out of his daydream, stammering, “Y-yes... I believe so. My folks came from Africa first, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That is fine. You have never sailed in a ship yourself, though, correct?”

  “No.” Said Arthur.

  “Very well. Now, I understand that your people have had some hard times in this country.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, with this issue of slavery and gross mistreatment and such. You see, our laws don’t allow any of that in my country. I don’t own slaves, for sure, nor would I want to. With all of this talk about liberty, freedom, and justice that this country brags about -- no offense to you -- we just think that your people are not sharing in those so-called ideals. We want to help you.”

  “Well, you know, I’m all right, sah. We get along all right.”

  The Captain paused, turned to his First Mate who gave a nod, and then said, “Well, Arthur, my point is, we’re prepared to charge you with a commission on this fine vessel which will elevate your privilege beyond what the average sailor will experience during the next few months at sea. Here it is: I want you to be my personal assistant, to be by my side in all of my most sensitive operations, and to take care of some very important jobs for me. How does that sound?”

  “I don’t know, sah. If you’ll have me, then I guess I’ll try. Jes’ don’t give me something too important to handle. I don’t want to mess somethin’ up.”

  The Captain slapped his palm down on the desk, and exclaimed, “Arthur! I think you’ll do just fine! I think that you’ll find that this opportunity is just what you’ve been looking for. From what we’ve seen already, we really want you! Do you think you can handle it?”

  Arthur considered his options. It was either brave the cold in Philadelphia scouring for work, or who knew what else, he thought. This offer sounded like the answer to his prayers and persistence. He perked up. "Well, yes sah! I'll do the job."

  The Captain smiled and nodded. "That's the spirit, Arthur. You'll see that you've made the right choice. Now, there's a small matter of a contract that we need to square away. Then the First Mate can see you to your quarters and get you your uniforms." The Captain's smile began to slip away and his movements became less hurried as he rifled through his drawers. "Ah, here it is. Now, this just states that you agree to provide service to the ship for one full year in return for berthing and grub, and the rest is just quite simple, really. You can read it later. Just sign here." Said The Captain, as he slid the contract across the desk with a single, middle digit turned straight down. He handed Arthur a quill with his free hand while holding the paper in place with his sharply pointed finger.

  Arthur hesitated. He had signed his name only once in his life. As before, he carefully scrawled a large A, followed by some wavy lines. It sufficed. The Captain snatched the contract back and held it up to his knitted brow. He motioned for the First Mate, who stepped forward and hurriedly signed as a witness. The Captain lit his wax stick and smashed his official seal onto the document. He tossed the paper with a spin to the side of his desk and folded his hands behind his head.

  "Very well. That is all. The First Mate will explain everything to you. Mate, see the Cabin Boy to his chamber, if you would be so kind."

  The First Mate stepped up to Arthur and said, "Let's go, sailor." He pointed to the door. Arthur stood, confused, and shuffled out. He stopped down the passageway a bit, realizing that the First Mate had not followed him. Arthur heard low voices again. He heard the Captain say, ...and douse that nigger down. Jesus Christ, he smells worse than a dead whale. When he's dried and dressed, have him empty my chamber pot. Then have him pump the bilge. I can see shite floating around down there. With that, the Captain and the First Mate began laughing insanely. The First Mate came bounding out.

  "Aye, aye, Captain." He chuckled grotesquely, as he curtly shooed Arthur down the passageway.

  Chapter 4

  "Station the piloting party!" Yelled the First Mate at regular intervals as he roved the ship. It was a cry that struck dread and ecstasy alike in the hearts of sailors, depending on the time of day, condition of weather, or purpose of the particular port of call at hand.

  This day it came at dawn on a clear and beautiful April morning. It was only the second time that Arthur had heard the order issued, the last having been departing Philadelphia. Now, more than two months later, the command came as a welcomed announcement that heralded the impending mooring of the ship to dry land. Arthur would walk on earth once again, he thought, at a place that his shipmates had raved about in anticipation for weeks. They had even begun to sing songs about this wonderful destination, called Rio de Janeiro.

  The ship had been forced to sail a course well outside the Gulf Stream, and in so doing, had avoided all of the Caribbean Sea and its legendary liberty spots. Arthur had suffered rolling ocean for seventy-five straight days. He looked forward to escaping the confines of the ship, and to eating something other than the sailor’s soup of hard bread boiled soft in seawater.

  The ship had been well supplied at the beginning of the voyage, with extra stocks of bulk items being stacked in passageways and other hidden places; but, one by one, certain things had begun to run out at different times throughout the trip, until all that remained was the barest essentials of survival. The coffee had been one of the last things to go, and its absence compounded the misery of missing tobacco. The crew was a insufferable lot. Leaving their vices for wishes, they fell prey to the monotony of austerity at sea. Sometimes the wind was the only sound that shunned the silence, and it was said that a man's suffering its singular song for hours on end could either soothe him or send him senseless. It never bothered Arthur much. He would simply hum a tune to himself while the wind howled wickedly.

  Seasickness was another scourge that had passed Arthur over. The other sailors had warned him about it, and they had even watched the Negro, as they called him, to see how he responded to the swells. Their fears came to naught, as Arthur often watched in modest amusement when several of his more salty shipmates would sour a freshly swabbed deck with their unsettled stomachs. To their surprise, Arthur took readily to the sea. He sensed his shipmates' doubts, but he brushed them all aside, swinging freely through the rigging. His cavalier performance on deck and his knack for learning knots endeared him to some of the bolder buccaneers onboard.

  So much so, that it even came to the attention of the Captain. He assigned Arthur several tasks, many of them more menial in nature than usual. Arthur was extremely eager to fulfill the Captain's wishes for the first forty days, carrying out his duties to the last dirty detail in an effort to please his new boss. But it seemed to Arthur that the harder and more meticulously that he worked, the more that the Captain expected him to do. Arthur didn't mind at first, being used to working tirelessly without appreciation. He felt the Captain's actions as mild agitation at most. Then, as Arthur's duties began to span to other ship's posts such as rigging seaman, Lookout watch, galley wash, and the like, the Captain continued to increase his demands on Arthur in his role as Cabin Boy. It was as though the Captain had turned a blind eye to the significant and additional amount of work that Arthur had recently been required to perform. The Captain seemed to completely disregard the importance of Arthur’s operational duties in favor of little meaningless tasks that he began to heap on Arthur more and more. Arthur tried to work faithfully without any personal opinion or attitude about the matter, but after a time he began to grow weary of it. He could not help but feel strained under the burden. It seemed to Arthur that the Captain was trying to work him to death, out of spite in some secretive, unspoken way. The situation confused Arthur. It was not the amount of work that bothered him, just the way that the jobs began to conflict in timing and importance
. Arthur felt silly wondering why the Captain would undermine his own authority by contradicting himself.

  The more Arthur thought about it, the less it made sense. There was no humanly possible way to complete the tasks in the order and the time that the Captain assigned them to him. One evening, the First Mate came to Arthur as he was helping to set a gyb, and told him that the Captain requested to see Arthur immediately. Not wanting to release the boom and send the ship careening, Arthur stated that he would be there as soon as possible. No sooner than the words had left his mouth, it seemed to Arthur, the Captain was standing by his side with the First Mate.

  "What's this I hear about your disobeying my orders?" Asked the Captain.

  Ropes in raw hands, Arthur said, "Sah, no sah, I didn't disobey. I jes' can't do two things at once."

  "Step down from your post and come with me!" The Captain shouted.

  Arthur felt a twinge of anger, but he remained restrained. He said calmly, "Sah, I can't let go..."

  The Captain cut him short and screamed, "First Mate, confine this man to his quarters. Have him flogged and then report to me."

  The Mate jumped in Arthur's face as the Captain wheeled on his heels and departed. The Mate breathed down Arthur's neck as he motioned for a nearby seaman to take the ropes from Arthur. He escorted Arthur to his rack with a firm hand around the back of his neck.

  Some time later, the First Mate appeared at the Captain's desk. "Sir, I cannot find anyone who will flog the Cabin Boy."

  The Captain slammed his ruler down and looked up at the First Mate, infuriated. He commanded, "Then do it yourself, or I will."

  The First Mate squelched a look of distaste, and replied, "Sir, the crew is acting very unsettled. There's much grumbling about mutiny."

  The Captain exploded. "Mutiny! Mutiny! I'll pull into port right now and have every one of them hung!" His face turned red and his neck veins bulged. He took a breath and sighed loudly. His eyes fluttered with a wild stare. He put his head in his hands. "Oh, God, just forget it.” He groaned in agony. “Dismissed.”

  II

  Arthur stationed himself in the crow's nest. He liked being the lookout during maneuvering parties. He would be the first to see port and the first to be seen by the Harbor Master. He was a highly visible ambassador, being carried along aloft three-quarters the way up the mainsail mast, standing just forward of the last crossbar. Looking from afar, he provided an ominous vision transfixing even the most experienced horizon watchers. Their view would include volatile precipitation pushing patches of vapor and parts of sail past the spyglass.

  Arthur relieved the dawn Lookout, after hearing the man cry out land ho! The oncoming crew was fresh from a full night of sleep, and they enjoyed the thought of liberty.

  That is, if the Captain allowed it at all. The likelihood of liberty being cancelled was slim, but given the level of tension onboard, uncertainty hung in the air around the unpredictable skipper.

  “Despite all of your scurrilous acts at sea, crew, liberty will go down after all,” the Captain finally announced. Besides, I have a pressing matter to attend to on shore myself, he thought.

  The Captain gave the order for the Brazilian colors to be flown as a friendly gesture, and partially out of loyalty to his own interests. The Captain had a Brazilian wife, a fact that was common knowledge among most of his longer-standing crewmembers. But no one discussed the matter openly, due to the fact that the Captain also had a Mrs. Stewart in the United Kingdom who would probably not take kindly to the rumors that she was married to a man with many wives. The crew secretly joked about the matter from time to time, but it was widely held that regardless of how saucy the conversation, careless gossip would provide nothing good for the crewmember who boasted his knowledge within earshot of the unpopular Captain, no matter how boisterous the surroundings. Every good sailor knew to hold his tongue and smile while toasting the Captain when he appeared with his dubious bride. Besides, she was prettier than Rio itself. Having inherited all the most attractive traits from the union of an Indian mother and a Moroccan father, she was always a welcome sight among the revelry and drunkenness that seemed to celebrate her coming.

  Arthur tied the end of his cord to the mast. Then he attached many gaily-colored pennants, as they began flapping in the breeze. The ship was emblazoned with regalia, the image evoking childhood memories of homecomings held for militiamen returning from routing the British. The familiar smells of land – fragrant trees and flowers, cooking food, and farm animals -- arrived in waves and wafted across the deck. The odors recalled all the finer pleasures of life. Each man began to imagine his own private experiences to be had during his brief but intense time on shore. Arthur was overwhelmed by the possibilities that freedom might hold for him in this strange, new land. He did not know where to begin planning his holiday activities. For the time being, he needed to concentrate solely on steering the ship to the pier, he reminded himself.

  Rio in the morning was breathtaking. As Arthur called out bearings to the Helmsman, he took in the spectacular scenery. He had heard of the conquering Spaniards and their great land to the south. Now, he could see it firsthand and how vastly it differed from the austere New England coastline. Sharp peaks and craggy valleys, all covered in lush emerald and banana canopy, undulated wildly while lording over flat, white, sandy beaches. The water in the bay was the color of turquoise stones that Arthur had seen Indians wear back home. It was certainly prettier than the muddy lakes and ponds that served up those well-suited catfish, he thought.

  The Spanish architecture was unique, and like the catfish, the buildings suited their surroundings. They were as white as the sand, and their windows were paneless owing to the endless warmth of the westerly winds. From a distance, he could see color everywhere: Bright reds, yellows, greens, blues, and oranges in various hues. They sharply adorned the edges and corners of buildings and streets.

  In addition to the sights, Arthur heard a growing, rhythmic sound as the ship drew closer to the pier. It sounded like music, yet it seemed so chaotic and flamboyant compared to the marching music of the militia band back home. It was also a far cry from the orchestral music that was sometimes performed on the verandah of the plantation mansion. The music that Arthur heard now was rousing, and he felt it stirring certain sentiments within him. He liked it. Yet, it was early in the morning, and the procession he saw now had been proceeding for some time. Arthur wondered if it were some dawn ritual, or perhaps some welcoming party for the ship. He could not work out how that could be, unless the city always had a large greeting party ready at a moment's notice. Arthur had never heard such an early ruckus, so he reckoned that Rio was regularly a rather rowdy town.

  The ship reached the pier and the ropes were run. The boat was secured, along with the maneuvering watch. The Captain called all hands to General Quarters at mid ship. He addressed the crew.

  "Now gentlemen, I realize that we have had our share of run-ins on this first leg of the journey. I am willing to let water pass under the bridge, and I urge you to do the same. Remember, what happens underway, stays underway." The crew stood at loose attention, maintaining ranks with only the odd snigger and occasional glance ashore. The Captain continued, "Now, we have the business of stores loading and general repairs to attend to; however, I have postponed that until tomorrow morning at oh-eight-hundred hours." Cheers began to break out as the men became visibly excited. The Captain calmly raised a hand to restore order. He carried on.

  "Now, we have approximately twenty-four hours liberty here, starting shortly; and I am not requiring midnight muster. So you are free to berth on the ship or sleep in town. Please be on your best behavior, as you are an ambassador of the Queen during your stay, and a guest of the Brazilian government. We do not want to do anything to affect our diplomatic status here, as it would be very difficult for Britain to shoot over the horn without this stop! Do I make myself clear? Good! Muster for all hands tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred hours. First Mate, make sure the ship is
squared away, and then call liberty. That is all." The Captain walked away toward his cabin. The men broke ranks with a hurrah and scrambled for their bed racks belowdecks.

  The First Mate inspected every man and every bunk and gave the all clear. He instructed the men to queue at the gangway for their liberty pay. Standing behind the strongbox, he dispensed each man with a sum and a salute, and they were away. Being his first time, Arthur had queued last wanting personal instruction from the First Mate on how to liberty and spend money. When the last man had barreled onshore, Arthur stepped forward and eagerly eyed the First Mate.

  "Yes?"

  "I'se like ta get my money, now, Sah."

  "You what?"

  "I need ta get my money, so's I can go to liberty."

  The First Mate began to laugh, and then abruptly forced a stern look onto his face. He said, "Arthur, you'll be lucky to see topside for the next two days. Now go see what the Captain needs. He's preparing to visit his family here."

  "But Sah..."

  "But nothing, Arthur. Do your job! Didn't you read your contract? By the way, you are Duty Cook all day as well, so get moving on those midday rations!"

  III

  Colored paper flowers and confetti streamed past him on a rippling black current highlighted by white rays trailing back to a converging source: The reflection of the lanterns carried by the parade dancing past the pier. The festival had continued all day. As night thickened, all Arthur could do was watch from his post onboard the ship. A dubious honor, the Topside Watch was nothing more than a glorified doorman, some poor soul who had been selected to stay tied to the ship. He was also expected to feign a sense of eager duty to his floating ball and chain as the other prisoners rioted in the street.