West to the Bay

by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

  The next few days were spent getting safely through the high waves caused by the tides of the North Atlantic slamming into the ebb and flow of the North Sea. The ship was constantly buffeted by the winds, and at times risked being crashed into the shores.

  Thomas and John had some trouble with nausea due to the constant, and sometimes turbulent, motion. They spent a lot of time standing at the bow letting the wind cool their faces. It seemed to help calm the slight queasiness in their stomachs. Henry was also able to cope with the motion, but Francis, Richard and the other boys, began the journey hanging over the bulwark and then took to their beds.

  “I see you are beginning to get your sea legs, lads,” Givens said, coming up behind Thomas and John one afternoon.

  “Finally,” Thomas answered.

  “And how are the other boys?”

  “Getting better,” John said. “The doctor is checking them now.”

  At that point, the doctor climbed up the companionway and onto the deck, Henry following. They walked over to the small group.

  “Most of the boys will be up tomorrow, but I am afraid young Richard will be in bed for a few days, yet. He does not seem to have the will to overcome the sickness.”

  “Poor Richard,” Thomas said, after Givens and the doctor had left. “I feel sorry for him.”

  “Yes,” Henry agreed. “Both Francis and I think it was not fair of their father to send him against his will.”

  The wind was getting colder. Henry pulled his coat around him and walked across to the campanionway to return to their cabin. The boys were bunking in the crew’s quarters, or fo’c’sle, as they had been told it was called. They slept on tiered bunks just below the raised fo’c’sle deck.

  Thomas and John sat down in the shelter of the bulwark to watch the sailors trim the sails according to Master Givens orders. As each sail name was called out, certain members of the crew hastened up the rope ladders attached to the shrouds to shorten or lengthen the sail.

  “That definitely is not the job for me,” Thomas stated, pointing to the men climbing up the ladders beside the sails. “I would fall and break my neck.”

  “I would love to try it,” John said. He looked up at the sailors standing on the foot ropes along the sail yards. “From what my Father told me before he died, it is not too hard.”

  “That is only because you have not tried it,” Thomas said. “I do not think you would like it if you were up there in the middle of a storm.”

  “That is only part of their lives.” John’s voice was wistful. “Sailors get to go to many different places. Places with sunny skies every day, with warm breezes, and with the same temperature all year round.”

  “How do you know where they go?” Thomas was surprised to hear John speak this way.

  “I can remember my Father telling me stories about his voyages.”

  “Were you not too young to remember? You were only six when you moved to Stromness and began school.” Thomas had met John when his mother had come back to her home town after John’s father died. Martha had looked after her ailing father, and when he died, she stayed on in the house to raise her children.

  “I know, but I still remember climbing onto his knee when he returned to London after each sailing and hearing about the Dutch West Indies and Africa.”

  “Why did you not tell me before?” Thomas asked.

  “It is the only thing I have from my Father and I wanted to keep it to myself. But now that I am finally going to make my real dream come true, I can talk about it.”

  “Real dream?” Thomas asked.

  “I know we talked about signing on for five years,” John said. “But I only signed on for three years.”

  “Three? Why?”

  “Because when my time is up I am becoming a sailor like my father.”

  “You are not going back to Stromness?” Thomas asked.

  “Never,” John said, emphatically. “I only said I would because I did not want Mother to find out. She would not let me become a cabin boy three years ago because she did not want me to die at sea like my Father. I knew the only way I could become a sailor and see the world as Father had done was to wait until I could join the Company and then get on a ship after my service was up.”

  Thomas was saddened to hear that. They had been friends for so long he had thought there were no secrets between them.

  “I am sorry I did not tell you,” John said. “I could not risk word getting back to my Mother. It would break her heart.”

  “So all our plans....”

  “Are still coming true. It is just that in three years I will be leaving, instead of five. Nothing really has changed.”

  Thomas thought about it. John was right. They were still headed for York Factory, they were still working for the Company, and they were still friends. Nothing had changed, and it would not for the next three years. He grinned and punched John on the arm.

  “What is that for?” John demanded, rubbing his arm.

  “That is for not telling me.”

  “So, we are even then?”

  “Yes, we are even.”

  They had begun to get used to the ship’s endless rolling and were only thrown off their stride a couple of times by the waves. Once a large following sea lifted the ship and she pitched severely as she slipped down the side of it. Thomas managed to grasp the rail but John found nothing to hold on to and ended up sprawled face down on the deck. He stood and endured the laughter of his friend and the nearby crew members, grinning with embarrassment.

  During the days, while the other boys tried to get used to being on deck, Thomas and John spent their time exploring the ship and learning some sailing terms. At the stern, the deck was raised like the fo’c’sle, and was called the poop. Beneath it were the officer’s cabins and saloon. Below the main deck was the ‘tween deck which held some of the cargo. And down the steps from there was the hold with the remainder of the provisions. There were other compartments, such as the cable locker and the spirits room, but the boys soon gave up trying to remember their names.

  The wheel was on the poop deck and they stopped to talk with the helmsman.

  “How can you see where you are going?” John asked.

  “I keep an eye on the sails,” the man explained. “And I use that compass there to make sure I am on the right course.”

  They leaned over to look at the instrument. It consisted of a circular card sitting inside a glass-topped, liquid-filled bowl. John shook his head and looked at the helmsman for an explanation.

  “That is full of alcohol. The card is supported on a pivot at its center and several small magnetized bars are attached to the underside so that the direction markings on the upside can point correctly. The card and its magnets are suspended in double pivots as a means of counteracting the heeling of the ship in bad weather.”

  The explanation did not enlighten the boys much and it must have shown on their faces.

  “It will make more sense if you try steering the ship for a while.”

  John eagerly stepped up beside the man, who moved to let him take hold of the wheel.

  “Just make sure you keep to the course.”

  John steered. His eyes gleamed as he studied the compass and the sails. Thomas saw for the first time how he truly loved the sea.

  “Your turn,” John said, stepping back.

  After a few minutes, Thomas looked down at the compass in front of him and spun the wheel to correct a slight change. He glanced up at the sails but could see nothing that would indicate their direction. When he looked down at the compass again, he was shocked to see they were further off course in the opposite direction than they had been before. Again he made an over correction with the wheel.

  “I think you had better take over,” he said. “Or I will have us going in a circle soon.”

  “It takes a lot of practice,” the helmsman admitted. “Once you have been at it a few years, you learn to steer by watching how the winds fill the sails and the angle of th
e swell with the ship’s head. At night you find a star to keep in line with a yard-arm.”

  “Maybe I will be a helmsman,” John said, as they continued their exploration of the ship.

  * * *

  The crew was divided into two four-hour watches and into the starboard and port watch shifts. The watch from four to eight in the evening was called the dog watch and it was divided into two watches of two hours each so the shifts could alternate their hours every day. During the afternoon, both watches were on deck, cleaning, painting, and repairing.

  Thomas was used to six or seven hours of straight sleep each night, except during calving and lambing time in the spring. For the first few nights on the ship, the strokes of the ship’s bell announcing each half hour of the watch woke him. The number of strokes increased with every passing half hour until eight bells sounded the change of the watch. This produced a pounding of feet as the men jumped out of their bunks and ran up on deck. After a few nights, though, he never heard the half hour strokes, and he learned to go back to sleep as soon as the change had taken place and all was quiet again.

  Although the boys were all going to York Factory, they had separated into their own groups. In spite of the pact made in Stromness, Thomas and John spent their time together, as did Francis and Henry. The other three formed their own bond based on them being from other areas of the Orkney Islands.

  It was not long before Thomas and John were bored with just sitting and watching the wind fill the sails and the sailors do their work. They approached Givens and asked if they could help the crew with some of their duties.

  “Of course, lads,” Givens said. “We never turn down an offer of help.”

  “Great,” Thomas said. “What can we do?”

  “Get yourselves a scraper and help the men scrub down the deck.”

  The boys looked at each other in disappointment.

  “Could we climb the rope ladders to the top of the sails?” John asked. “Or throw out the rope to determine the speed, or even try our hand at the helm?”

  “Yes,” Thomas agreed. “Scrubbing is women’s work.”

  “Do not tell those men,” Givens said, indicating the sailors down on their knees.

  They watched the men with the buckets, mops, and deck scrapers. They did not seem to think they were doing women’s work. Thomas picked up a scraper, a sharp, triangular piece of metal with a short handle fixed to one corner, and held it in his hand. He watched as two sailors scraped at some stains in the planks. He knelt beside them and did the same. John soon joined him, and eventually all the boys on their way to the bay were on their hands and knees.

  * * *

  As the days went by, their tans deepened and their hair lightened in the almost constant sun. They made friends with some of the crew, and memorized the names of the sails and the way to furl and unfurl them. They learned to mend the canvas sails, to splice rope, to tie sailor’s knots, and to make and put on baggywrinkles. Thomas laughed outright when told to help make the baggywrinkles, thinking it was a joke Silas was playing on him. But he soon discovered they were an important part of the rigging. And he quickly became adept at their making.

  Thomas stretched a doubled-up line at working height between two posts then took a piece of old yarn and laid it over the doubled line making sure the ends hung down evenly. He pushed the yarn down between the sides of the line, put the two ends of the yarn through the loop and pulled them tight. As each one was made he pushed it against other pieces and soon there was a long row of bushy material. When needed, this was cut into required lengths and wrapped around stays or spars where the sails were likely to chafe. In place, Thomas thought they looked like a furry animal.

  John, Henry, and Francis also mastered the making of baggywrinkles. Richard remained in his bunk, unable to make the climb up the companionway steps. But as the days of calm weather passed by, his strength seemed to slowly increase.

  One day after they had once again scrubbed the deck, Francis said. “I had better go and see Richard. He seems to be a little stronger. He might be able to come up today.”

  “I will help you,” Thomas said. He admired Francis for the way he looked after his brother. They had been at sea for three weeks, and still Richard had not made it up on deck. Francis was continually returning below to check on him during the day.

  It was always semi-dark in the quarters, the only light coming from the companionway. Candles were not allowed because of the danger of fire. Richard lay on his bed with his eyes closed. One arm was at his side, the other resting on his forehead. A blanket was pulled up to his chest. He opened his eyes when Francis softly called his name.

  “Do you want another blanket?”

  Richard shook his head.

  “What about a drink of water?”

  “No, I am fine,” Richard whispered.

  Thomas felt sorry for the younger boy. He was pale and he spoke as if he did not have enough energy to get the words out.

  “Do you want me to carry you up on deck?” Francis asked. “It is warm there.”

  Again Richard shook his head. He turned his face towards the wall and closed his eyes. After tucking the blanket up under his chin, Francis crept out of the room and went back on deck. Thomas followed.

  During the warm evenings when there was nothing for them to do, the sailors played cards. Thomas and John wandered through the groups of men as they sat on the deck shuffling and dealing the cards and betting wages they had not yet received. There was rowdy laughter and yelling, and occasionally a fight.

  “It is always that Ben who seems involved in the fights,” John said, as they watched Ben and another man raise their fists.

  “Looks like he only has the two friends who helped him on board that first day,” Thomas said. And he could understand why. The man was a bully and seemed to be a little on the mad side. His lips formed a sneer when he grinned, his eyes kept darting around when he talked, and he did not flinch when hit.

  “Did you see him cheat?” John asked.

  “Yes,” Thomas said.

  “Should we tell Master Givens?”

  Thomas shook his head. “Stay out of it,” he said. “It is not our business.”

  He had seen Ben misdeal before and he had heard him called a cheat a couple of times. But his two companions usually came to stand beside him and the three silenced the protest. Or if he stood alone, he had shown his knife and challenged the accuser. The man always backed off. One of Master Givens rules was no one carried a knife on his ship. It seemed as if Ben was the only one who ignored the rule.

  One evening, a man in Ben’s game suddenly threw his cards on the planks. “I saw you take that card from your sleeve,” he yelled, pointing at Ben.

  “Are you calling me cheat?”

  “Yes, and I am taking my money back.” He reached for the small pile of pieces of colored yarn they used as money. “And you cannot stop me.”

  Thomas looked for Ben’s two companions, but they were engrossed in games of their own. Before anyone could react, Ben pulled the knife from his boot and stabbed it into the pile, cutting off the tip of the man’s little finger on his left hand.

  With a howl, the man pulled his hands back, blood spurting from the shortened finger. He clutched it trying to stop the bleeding. The other games immediately stopped and men ran over to see what had happened. They quickly divided into two sides. Ben and his friends on one; the angry crew members on the other.

  “Stay back,” Ben said, waving the knife in the air. “I will cut the throat of any man who comes close.”

  “What is going on here?” Givens shouldered his way through the crowd that had gathered.

  Ben deftly slipped the knife back in his boot as the other men turned away. “Nothing,” he said. “Just a friendly game of cards.”

  “What happened to that man’s hand?” Givens indicated the man holding his finger as the blood dripped onto the deck.

  “A slight accident.” Ben shrugged. “I was showing him how I
use the deck scraper and it slipped and sliced off part of his finger.”

  Givens looked around the crowd and when no one came forward to dispute Ben’s claim, he said. “Get that man to the doctor and clean up the deck.” He then turned and left.

  The blood was quickly washed and the games resumed. Thomas and John looked at each other and shrugged.

  “It is almost like it never happened,” Thomas said.

  * * *

  One morning, Thomas saw Master Givens point to dark clouds coming from the west. “A storm is coming,” Givens told the watch officer. “Take the stun sails in.”

  The storm rapidly moved closer and the wind soon howled through the rigging. The swell grew higher and the ship began to labor. The rain fell. The boys watched as the lifelines were run along the deck for handholds. Sailors in their oilskins scrambled up the rope ladders to the yards and make their way out on the foot-ropes. They worked in a line and began to furl the sails and lash them tightly to the yard. The wind howled and the rain drenched them, but they did not stop until the work was done. If they left them up the sails would either flog themselves to pieces or the gusts of wind would break the mast.

  Other sailors struggled to maintain their balance as they methodically went about the business of readying the ship for the storm. They fastened down anything that could move on the deck. Thomas realized they were a special type of people and they lived in a world of their own. Each knew his job and did it quickly. Their lives depended on them all working together, and they did, even Ben.

  A few minutes later they saw Givens yell and gesture. Men climbed up to furl the royals and the topgallants. Then the courses and topsails were taken in. The waters of the Atlantic continually battered the ship. The sails had been reduced to the mizzen staysail, the fore-staysail, and the fore and main topsails. The wind’s high pitch soon drowned out every other noise.