“Let us get below,” Thomas said to John.
“No. I am staying up here to see it.”
“You will get washed overboard.”
“Not if I tie myself to the lifeline.”
Thomas watched as John tied the knot and stood waiting for the storm. He could not leave his friend alone, so he tied himself beside him. The wind increased as the storm approached. The ship rolled on the high waves. When nothing more could be done most of the men went down to their bunks to wait out the storm. The only ones left on deck were the helmsman and Master Givens.
Sheets of rain washed across the decks, the lines slatted and the sails boomed. The wind howled and the ocean smashed against the sides of the boat causing the vessel to roll wildly. John grinned as he held onto the bulwark and leaned into wind and the slashing rain. He whooped as a wave washed over the deck.
Thomas clung desperately to the bulwark as they were tossed around. It was the first storm, and he was both enthralled and frightened. He bent his head against the wind and rain knowing that they were only surviving from being thrown overboard by the tie to the lifeline. He hoped the storm would not last long and that he would not get sick from the constant rolling.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the storm was over. The rain and wind lessened and the dark clouds passed.
“That was so great,” John yelled. He stood beside Thomas and watched the storm swirl away across the waters to the east.
Thomas leaned against the bulwark, wet and exhausted. It was the first time he had seen the power of the ocean. Until today it had been an easy trip with only a few cloudy, windy days, but this was a demonstration of what the voyage really could be like. He did not share John’s excitement as he thought of the home and the quiet life he had left. Would he have agreed to come if he had known how dangerous the crossing would be?
The sailors came back on deck. “Nice little squall,” Silas said, coming up beside Thomas and John.
“It was!” John agreed, untying his lifeline. “Will we get any more?”
“Oh, yes. We can expect a few more small ones like this, and at least one large storm before our journey is over.”
Thomas did not like the sound of that and he wondered what would possess men to continually sign on as sailors under these circumstances. It was like they were gambling with their lives. He looked at his best friend. Hopefully John would understand that and change his mind about becoming a sailor by the end of the voyage.
“A word of advice,” Silas said. “Next time get below decks. We have lost many a man overboard during a storm.
Chapter 9
There was not much for the boys to do when they were not helping the sailors. Thomas spent many afternoons with John on the deck listening to the hum of the rigging and the smack of the water hitting the side of the ship.
“Is this not the best?” John asked, leaning out over the bulwark to look down at the water rushing by.
“It is all right.”
“It is better than all right.” John drew back and looked at Thomas. “Does this not make you want to become a sailor and sail to ports around the world?”
Thomas shook his head. “No. It is nice for a change, but I would not want to make a living at it. And after seeing how risky a sailor’s life is during a storm I do not understand why you still want to.”
“I do not know how to explain it,” John said. “I guess it is the freedom of the wide open ocean, the challenge of a storm, the wind in my face, a chance to see the world.”
Thomas shook his head. “My life is worth more than that.”
John shrugged and looked up at the sails billowed in the wind. “I just wish Master Givens would let me climb the masts. I know I can do it.”
“Do you miss Stromness?” Thomas asked. It was a question he had been wanting to ask for a while.
“No.”
“No?” Thomas suddenly felt embarrassed. Many of his thoughts were of his home and family, but he had been afraid to mention it before for fear of sounding afraid and cowardly.
“Well, I miss my mother, but I do not miss the town.”
Thomas felt a little better, but he was not going to mention it again.
“I am going to go ask Master Givens if I can climb up to the first foot rail,” John said. “Do you want to come?”
“No. I will stay here.”
Thomas sat on the deck and leaned against the bulwark. The slight rolling of the ship lulled him into a half-sleep and his homesickness overwhelmed him. He missed his parents, his brothers and sisters, the town, everything about his life. It had never occurred to him when he so eagerly signed the notice that he would ever wish to be back in Stromness.
He remembered helping his father plant the fields, and riding on Nellie when she was a young mare. He remembered his first day of school, the day Bruce was born. There were suddenly so many memories crowding into his mind. How could he have thought his life was dull and uneventful and nothing but work? Everything he remembered brought with it a sense of loss, a sense that he had not appreciated his life and family.
He wondered how the wedding plans were going, if Molly was getting big with her child, if they missed him as much as he missed them.
* * *
Thomas was painting the outside of the cookhouse with Silas when he saw Richard come up the campanionway onto the deck. His pale face was pinched and he walked slowly holding onto the bulwark for support. He had lost some weight and his clothes hung loosely on his frame. A couple of times, he looked as if he was going to hang his head over the side, but he managed to keep down what little he had eaten. Thomas went up to him, put his arm around his waist, and helped him as he walked.
“I do not think you should have come up,” Thomas said. “You are much too weak.”
“I cannot stay down there any longer.” Richard’s speech was slow and labored. “It is so dark and the smells are horrible.”
Thomas helped him sit on the deck and lean against the bulwark.
“It feels good to have the sun shine on my face,” Richard said, looking up at the sky. “It is so warm and the air is so fresh.”
“Do you want anything?” Francis asked, coming over from where he was helping repair a sail. “Can I get you a drink of water or something?”
Richard shook his head. “I just want to sit here awhile.”
Thomas and Francis returned to their work. Thomas occasionally glanced over at Richard to see how he was doing. Once, when he looked, Richard was crumpled in a heap. He dropped his brush and ran over, reaching him at the same time as Francis.
“Help me carry him to his bunk,” Francis said, lifting Richard’s shoulders. “He over did it today.”
Thomas picked up his legs and they carried him down the companionway to the fo’c’sle. Thomas wrinkled his nose at the smell that greeted them. He actually hated going to bed at night. The odor of rancid cheese and butter in the storeroom, and the stench of the stale water in the bilges were hard to take. He felt sorry for Richard being confined down here all day. This, as much as the seasickness, was probably keeping him from recovering.
They lay him on his bunk and Francis covered him with a blanket.
That evening after the meal, the usual circles of card games formed. Thomas liked to lean against the main hatch to watch the games, taking the occasional walk around the deck to limber up his legs. He stopped at the game where Ben was playing. Thomas was surprised to see Silas also at the game. He thought he would have known better than to play against Ben.
Thomas shrugged and started to leave. These men were veteran sailors. They could choose to play against anyone they wished.
“You are cheating,” a voice yelled.
Thomas turned to see Silas jump to his feet and look down at Ben.
Ben climbed to his feet, at the same time pulling his knife. “I am tired of being called a cheat,” he said, through clenched teeth. He lunged at Silas.
Silas stepped to his left and, making use of Ben’s f
orward movement, thrust his hands out and pushed Ben, sending him on his face on the deck. The games quickly broke up as men gathered around and cheered for Silas. Thomas stood back and watched.
Ben lost his knife when he fell and one of the men stepped on it. Ben glared at him then stood and turned to Silas.
“No one pushes me and gets away with it,” he snarled. He ran at Silas, punching with both hands. Silas dodged his blows then lowered his head and pushed it against Ben’s chest. He hit him twice in the belly before Ben grabbed him in a headlock and smashed his fist into his face. Silas hooked his arm under Ben’s knees and picked him up. Ben lost his grip around Silas’ neck and Silas dropped him on his back on the deck.
Ben jumped up and faced Silas again. His face was contorted in hatred and his eyes bulged. He looked around searching for his friends. They had men on each side of them keeping them from entering the fight.
“You are on your own, Ben,” one of the crewmen yelled and the rest laughed.
Thomas could hear sailors making bets on who would win the fight as John moved to his side.
“Did you see what started this?” John asked.
Thomas shook his head.
“Who do you think will win?”
“Most of the men have bet on Silas, so he probably will.”
Ben took a swing at Silas, who leaned back to avoid it. Without his knife or his buddies, Thomas could see that Ben was not much of a fighter. Silas stepped close to Ben and hit him twice in the ribs. This knocked the wind out of him and Silas, bouncing on the balls of his feet, landed a blow high on Ben’s cheekbone. The force knocked him to the deck once more.
He got to one knee then looked up with a menacing grin. He reached into his other boot and pulled out a second knife. “Always keep a spare,” he said, as he stood. He cut the air with the blade. “Now, we will see who is better.”
Silas jumped back as Ben slashed at him, drawing blood on his upper arm. Ben stabbed at him again, this time putting a hole in his baggy shirt and a nick in his belly. With a laugh, Ben did a little dance, swirling his knife in the air. He stopped.
“How does it feel to know you are going to die?” His voice rasped and he poked the knife in Silas’ direction.
Thomas could see movement in the crowd as something was passed through it. Ben did another little shuffle with his feet.
“Silas, here,” a sailor next to Thomas whispered. He held Ben’s first knife out to him.
Silas kept one eye on Ben as he grabbed for the knife. He held it expertly in his hand as he watched Ben going through his moves to impress the crowd.
Suddenly Ben quit his dancing. “Prepare to die,” he hissed.
“That is enough,” a voice roared.
All movement stopped at the command. There was a hushed silence as Master Givens pushed his way through the onlookers to the two men.
“Give me those knives.” Givens held out his hand.
Silas immediately handed the knife he was holding over to the Master, but Ben hesitated.
“The knife,” Givens said again.
Ben slowly drew back his arm as if to throw the knife at the ship’s master. There was a gasp from the crowd. Thomas looked around helplessly. The men stood rooted, shocked at the scene before them. Suddenly a shot rang out. Ben staggered then fell forward onto the deck, the knife still in his hand. Behind him stood First Mate Robert Staffe with a pistol in his hand.
The only one to move was the doctor who knelt beside the body, and pronounced Ben dead. An argument immediately broke out among the men as the ones who had bet on Silas tried to collect their money.
“Silas did not kill him,” one man yelled.
“It does not matter,” another countered. “Ben is dead.”
“All bets are off,” Givens declared and the men were quiet again. He turned to Silas. “Get a plank.”
Silas nodded and headed down into the hold.
“Whose knives are these?” Givens asked.
No one answered. Givens looked at his crew, none of whom would look him in the eye. He gave a curt nod and tossed the knives overboard.
When Silas returned with the plank, Ben was laid out, none too gently, on it. Without a word, it was raised in the air and carried to the bulwark.
“Does anyone want to say anything?” Givens asked.
When no one answered, he nodded to the men who tilted the end. Thomas stared at the body as it slipped off the plank, fell through the air and splashed into the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. He looked at John who was just as startled as he.
“I have never seen anyone killed before,” John whispered.
“Me, neither,” Thomas said.
“It happened so fast,” John said, with a shiver. “One minute we were watching a game of cards, and the next we saw a man dead and being dropped over the side of the ship.”
“And no one seems bothered about it,” Thomas said.
They looked at the men who were already back in their circles playing cards.
* * *
The days continued to be mild and the crew spent more time relaxing than working. Then one day, Thomas saw Givens come up from below, a worried look on his face. He waved to John and Thomas and they walked over and stood beside him.
“Is anything wrong?” Since the last storm Thomas had been worried about another one happening.
Givens looked out over the ocean and watched the long swell of the waters. “That is not caused by the breeze,” he said. “And see those clouds growing.”
When Thomas had first seen the white clouds they had seemed so far away. Now when he looked they had turned an ugly gray color and were quickly covering the blue sky.
“This is going to be worse than the last one,” Givens said. He gave orders to the sailors to furl the sails. They left only the fore-staysail, and the fore and main topsails.
John grinned at Thomas. “Another storm to watch.”
The other recruits ran across the deck and down the companionway.
“You boys get to your cabin,” Master Givens yelled at Thomas and John.
“Can we stay and watch?” John hollered.
“It is not safe. Now go below.”
Thomas went down the steps. When he got to their bunks he turned to speak to John, but he was not behind him. He climbed the steps again and found him sitting in the companionway doorway.
“I have to watch this,” John explained.
As much as Thomas wanted to go hide in the cabin, he swallowed his fears and sat beside John. The sky darkened from the black clouds and was lit only when lightning danced across it. The thunder was not heard above the wind screeching through the sails. The rain fell. The occasional high swell sent water surging over Thomas and John and down the steps.
From having listened to the stories of past big storms Thomas knew that Givens had to veer the ship around and run before the storm. In order to do that, he had to turn the ship so that its side was presented to the pounding seas. Thomas also knew that if a breaking wave arrived at that moment, the ship might roll over and be lost. And his stomach was cramped with fear. He did not want to die at sea. He wanted to reach York Factory and see his brother. He wanted to be able to write letters home to his mother. He wanted to see his family again.
Beside him John yelled with excitement. “Wow. Look at that wave.”
Thomas saw that Givens had taken over the wheel. He was watching the waves, waiting for a lull in the swell. When it came he spun the wheel. Thomas held his breath as the ship slowly swung around. It seemed to take forever, but finally the ship was turned before the crashing waves hit them, and they were sailing ahead of the storm with almost bare poles and little canvas.
“I am going below,” Thomas said. He did not want to watch any more. He did not want to see his death coming.
“I am not.”
“You have to,” Thomas pleaded. “It is not safe.”
“I am staying here until it is over,” John said, adamantly.
In the cabi
n it was dim and wet from the water spilling down the companionway. The boys were trying to hang onto their bunks to avoid being knocked out, but it was an almost impossible task. Anything not tied down was hurled around the room, sometimes hitting one of them. Thomas felt a trunk bang into his leg and he winced at the pain. He worked his way over to his bunk and grabbed hold. He hoped John would change his mind and come down soon.
Thomas could see Francis trying to hold Richard in his bunk. He was still weak and did not have the strength to do it himself.
“How long is this going to last?” Thomas heard Richard scream, sometime later. “I cannot take much more.”
“It will not be much longer,” Francis tried to assure him. “These storms do not last long. Remember the last one?”
“But this has been all afternoon. What is happening up there? Can they not do something to stop the rolling?”
“They are doing the best they can.”
“I am going up on deck,” Richard said, desperately. “I have to get out of here.”
“Master Givens told us to stay down here,” Henry said.
“I do not care,” Richard said, his voice rising in panic. “I have spent most of the trip down here. I am not going to die here.”
“You are too weak,” Francis said. “I will go and see what is happening.”
“No, I will go,” Thomas said. “I want to see how John is.”
Thomas struggled towards the companionway and climbed up, fighting to keep his balance as the ship plunged down a huge wave. Water poured down the steps and he slipped once. John was not in the doorway. Thomas stuck his head out and saw the dim outline of the sailors laboring at their jobs. He climbed further to look at the ugly, gray sky, and the monster ocean that was tossing the ship around like it was a toy.
Thomas saw John leaning against the bulwark. He held onto the lifeline but was not tied to it.
West to the Bay Page 7
