by Joan Druett
“So there was a chance that he was still alive when Stanton started yelling?”
“Well, he sure didn’t bother to reply,” said George morbidly. “I guess he had his mind on what he was doing. Mind you, he could’ve been confused because the surgeon said he’d given himself a nasty knock on the head some time before putting that noose about his neck. On a low beam, I suppose.” George went on with distaste, “Tristram Stanton’s a cold-blooded swab if I ever met one. I know they were enemies, but they was family, too. You’d think he’d observe the decencies afore rushing to claim Burroughs’s cabin and his assistant.”
Wiki frowned. “The expedition supplied Burroughs with an assistant?”
“Nope, Burroughs carried along the man who’s been assisting him for years. Aye, I know it—a scandal, no less. The quarters reduced, a big deckhouse added to the Vin, a fo’c’sle built on the deck of the Porpoise, officers bunking together instead of enjoying staterooms of their own—and all to make room for the blessed scientifics. Yet Astronomer Burroughs insisted on having his own personal servant and paid a hefty sum for him to come, it seems. Invaluable chap, must be. Not only worked in the scientific assisting way, but was a kind of valet as well. Name of Grimes,” Rochester added.
“And Tristram Stanton has taken him over, this man Grimes?”
“Aye—typical family arrogance, don’t you think?”
Wiki agreed with him but didn’t bother to say so. Instead, he said slowly, “I think it’s probably a good idea for me to present myself to Captain Wilkes. After all, I am the expedition’s linguister.”
“Well, you’d better dress up a little, old man,” said George moodily. “And then maybe he won’t realize that you was at the helm when we made that infamous circuit of his ship. I’ll lend you a shirt and vest.”
Eight
Unexpectedly, Captain Wilkes made the first move. While Wiki was debating how to go about introducing himself to the commander of the expedition, a message arrived from the Vincennes requesting the attendance of Mr. William Coffin, linguister, at the earliest opportunity. Wiki, arrayed in his best bib and tucker, arrived at the gangway of the flagship in short order, to be met by a chubby-cheeked junior midshipman, who kept on glancing at him with awe as he escorted him aft.
Wiki, for his part, was looking about at the hectic scene on the main deck. The Vincennes was only a second-class sloop of war; but at 780 tons, she was more than twice the size of any ship he had ever sailed in. Looking down the nearest hatchway, he could see a long line of ladders zigzagging through tiers of decks, with darkness at the bottom. Overhead, the towering masts seemed lost in the sky, connected by a maze of rigging. Her huge topsails hung loose, braced at different angles to keep the ship still, but the lower sails were all brailed up so that he had a clear view. Two launches the size of small schooners were set in struts amidships; the boats in which the scientifics were rowing about would be stowed inside these when the Vincennes was on passage.
About three dozen men were sitting and standing about the foredeck passing away off-duty hours in reading, sleeping, sewing, or spinning yarns. Other sailors were running hither and about, more or less arranged into a gang for each mast, kept at work by boatswains and their mates, their pipes shrilling, while the officer of the deck watched them, speaking trumpet in hand. To Wiki’s discomfort, it was Lieutenant Forsythe, the bulky, foul-mouthed southerner he’d made the blunder of challenging to a duel. They exchanged brooding looks but said nothing. Wiki kept on striding along, following the midshipman, who was pressing obliviously onward to the house that had been built at the stern to accommodate Captain Wilkes, the scientifics, and their gear.
It was a large affair, nearly forty feet long and over fifteen feet wide, not ornate, but nicely painted. At the forward end, a door at the break of the deck led to a paneled corridor lit by a skylight let into the poop deck above. Varnished wooden doors punctuated one wall of this passage, all shut, but evidently belonging to staterooms, though a notice on one door indicated it was a pantry. A long dining saloon was separated from the corridor by a credenza topped with a decorative partition of turned wooden spindles, through which Wiki could glimpse a polished mahogany table that was big enough to seat twenty. Revolving armchairs were screwed to the floor all about it, and in the skylight hung castors filled with crystal glasses and decanters that tinkled slightly as the ship rolled a little and threw glittering reflections interspersed with rainbows.
The rest of the house was taken up with a big room that ran across the stern. At the doorway to this, the young mid left Wiki with an awkward little bow as he went. Wiki stood in the opening, unnoticed for a moment, looking around. Because the Vincennes was a very plain ship, there were no quarter galleries but the skylight let in plenty of illumation—which was lucky, he thought, because the room was full of drafting tables and chart desks. Chronometers ticked in serried rows, and rolled charts filled big pigeonholes in the bulkheads. This, obviously, was the center of operations.
There were four men in the room. One was Tristram Stanton, seated at one of the desks making calculations on a sheet and referring to an ephemeris. Wiki, who had seen him seldom on the Swallow, was surprised once again by his hefty size—more fitted to a drover, he thought, than a high-bred southern planter. However, the brown hair that flopped over his meaty forehead, the ears that protruded from behind his thick sideburns, and the small, alert, simian eyes were all familiar. A tall, thin man hovered near the astronomer, his back bent, a large timepiece in one hand. When this fellow looked up Wiki was shocked by the drawn pallor of his face. His eyes were reddened and pouched, as if he had not slept. Then the other two men, who were standing deep in conversation, finished what they were saying and looked around. The taller of the pair came forward, and Wiki forgot the astronomers.
So this, he realized, was Captain Wilkes. Though Wiki had heard a great deal about him, he had never seen him before. To his surprise and hidden amusement there was a distinct resemblance to his friend, George Rochester. Like George, Wilkes was long nosed and long faced; and while the commander of the Expedition was dark haired and did not follow the fashion for sideburns, he had the same benign expression, partly because his full-lipped mouth was tipped into a constant small smile. Knowing Wilkes’s reputation as a tartar, Wiki was certain the fixed smile was deceptive, but nonetheless an impression of benevolence was there.
The man with him was a tubby, barrel-chested fellow, so short he only came up to Captain Wilkes’s shoulder. He was red haired, with the florid complexion that so often went with that coloring, but his sideburns were flecked with gray. His voice had been loud as Wiki had come into the drafting room, his tone very jocular.
Before Captain Wilkes could say anything, this fellow exclaimed, “Young William Coffin! Don’t say you don’t know me, dear boy!”
“Sir?” said Wiki, vainly trying to chase down any sense of familiarity.
“Smith’s the name—Lieutenant Lawrence J. Smith.”
Wiki bowed his head, smiling neutrally. The name meant nothing.
“I shipped with your father as a lad of fifteen.”
“Ah,” said Wiki, feeling no wiser. Lieutenant Smith was over forty years of age, he estimated. When this man had shipped with his father, he, Wiki, had not even been born.
“I had applied for a midshipman’s warrant in the U.S. Navy but was advised to get experience in the merchant service first. Captain Wilkes here got the same recommendation—don’t you remember it well, Charles? You didn’t find as good a berth as I did, I’ll wager!”
“Hibernia to France as a ship’s boy—and no, it was not pleasant,” said Captain Wilkes in his well-educated New York accent. “However, every sailor must learn to take the rough with the smooth, and so it can be considered a salutary experience. I,” he added precisely, “benefited to the extent that I emerged from the experience with the rank of second mate.” Then his permanent smile shut tight again.
The tubby lieutenant rattled on, “It mu
st have been 1826 when I became reacquainted with your father—I’d removed to Salem, Massachusetts, and so of course took great interest in the affairs of the East India Marine Society, great interest! You were twelve—had been in the Land of the Free for just a few weeks at the time. But a marvel you were, a wonder to behold! Born a cannibal New Zealander and yet able to speak English as freely as if you had spent all your days in Salem. Your father assured me that you were conversant with sailor talk before you even arrived in Boston, having picked it up most wonderfully on the voyage home, but since then had flown—yes, flown!—ahead in your adaptation to American ways. Charles,” he said to Captain Wilkes, “just listen to him talk, I beg you!—and see if you’re as amazed as I was.”
At that, Captain Wilkes took over the conversation, asking many questions about Wiki’s background and the languages he spoke, while Wiki answered with the bland politeness he had cultivated over the years for this kind of cross-examination. It was indeed a revelation, Captain Wilkes concluded, that a barbarian could take on the trappings of civilization so completely. He then went on to express a hope that Wiki fully understood the enormous privilege of being allowed to take part in this world-shaking enterprise, the great United States Exploring Expedition. His scientific passengers were enchanted with the voyage so far, he said.
“In fact,” Captain Wilkes added, sounding surprisingly ingenuous, “the novelty of our situation has been quite enough to interest the entire company!”
“Indeed, sir,” said Wiki, not at all sure how to respond.
“Even the ignorant sailors are quite fascinated! It has been amusing for me to watch them huddle around to see fish being dissected and then to hear Jack and his shipmate bandying scientific names—‘hard words,’ they call ’em!—back and forth.”
Wiki nodded and smiled, and Wilkes prattled on about the geological, astronomical, botanical, zoological, and anthropological aims of the expedition, with occasional interlocutions from Smith. Wiki had often heard George repeat that Wilkes had a reputation for being conceited, ambitious, and arrogant, and that it was little wonder the navy had invited three other captains to take over the command after Thomas ap Catesby Jones’s angry resignation, before being reduced to appointing this man. Listening to Captain Wilkes’s enthusiastic outpouring and watching the fire in his large, intelligent eyes, however, Wiki meditated that his unfortunate manner might stem from a single-minded devotion to science rather than egotistical pride.
Then all at once the commander ran to a stop, cleared his throat, and said, “You probably know that the expedition was struck with tragedy last night.”
Wiki fought down the impulse to look at Stanton, who appeared to be absorbed in his calculations, but was undoubtedly listening raptly. He said carefully, “Astronomer Burroughs?”
“Yes.” Wilkes seemed to become aware of the audience, too, looking up and saying, “Gentlemen, would you mind—?”
Lieutenant Smith harrumphed and apologized, coming to an abrupt realization that his company was no longer wanted, and took a brisk leave. Stanton, however, moved much more reluctantly. Wilkes and Tristram Stanton were cronies, Wiki remembered—it was only because of their friendship that Charles Wilkes had agreed to have an astronomer on board the Vincennes. However, the chilly silence in which Stanton rose from his desk and gathered up his papers was not friendly in the slightest, and his back, as he strode out of the room, was stiff with annoyance. He had to duck his head as he went through the doorway. The thin man scuttled after him; then the door was shut.
Wiki listened to their steps go off down the hallway until they faded with distance. Then Captain Wilkes, sounding businesslike, said, “The Portsmouth sheriff gave me a letter to hand over to you if circumstances demanded it; and though he did not make his thoughts at all clear, this suicide does seem to be the kind of thing he had in mind because we can’t get around the fact that Burroughs was Stanton’s cousin.”
Then he groped around in a pocket, came up with a folded wad of paper, and handed it to Wiki, who was feeling extremely puzzled. It was not some strange mistake, he saw, because the name “William Coffin Jr.” was clearly inscribed on the front. When he looked up, Captain Wilkes said, “It’s a letter of authority, along with instructions concerning how to send reports of your progress with the Stanton murder case. I was also requested to assist you to such extent as I see fit. Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he said irritably, when Wiki stared. “Read it and see for yourself.”
It was a grand parchment affair, highly embellished with a seal, a red ribbon, the coat of arms of the port, and a number of impressive-looking signatures. The text authorized the bearer, William Coffin Jr., to act on behalf of the sheriff’s department of Portsmouth, Virginia, and demanded full cooperation and assistance as the said William Coffin Jr. might request. Dear God, Wiki thought, and only barely stopped himself from shaking his head. It did not surprise him that the sheriff, who had struck him as an obstinate character, was pursuing the investigation from afar; but he would never have guessed that he’d be the one chosen as his proxy—though, now that he thought about it, the sheriff had been heavily hinting at something like this when he’d come on board the Swallow with the boat that had delivered Astronomer Stanton.
He looked back at Captain Wilkes with a frown, his mind racing. “So you believe, sir, that Astronomer Burroughs’s suicide is connected in some way with Mrs. Stanton’s murder?”
“I don’t believe anything,” Wilkes said testily. “Burroughs was a very private person about whom I know very little. I accepted him for the expedition only because of Stanton’s strong recommendation, and even then he was assigned to the Porpoise. If Stanton hadn’t been delayed by the obsequies for his wife, Burroughs wouldn’t have been on the Vincennes at all. But the requirement of the navy was that an astronomer should be on board the flagship, and so I was forced to bring him over.”
“Stanton recommended him?” Wiki exclaimed, disregarding the rest.
“He gave him a most glowing recommendation.”
“But they’re supposed to be enemies!”
“Evidently you were misinformed,” Captain Wilkes said coldly. When his lips were no longer curved in that fixed smile, the contrast was quite intimidating. “Which makes me wonder why the sheriff of Portsmouth should have chosen you to be his deputy,” he went on with a snap.
“The sheriff didn’t tell you?”
“He did not.”
“I see,” said Wiki. He paused, thinking hard, and then said, “On the night Mrs. Stanton was killed, someone came to the Stanton house. Two of the servants testified that it was Mr. Tristram Stanton himself. But more than a dozen officers from the fleet gave evidence that he was at a banquet in Newport News at the time.”
“I already know that,” Captain Wilkes said, his tone impatient.
“Which left the identity of the man who came to the house a mystery—a mystery that the sheriff would very much like to solve,” Wiki doggedly went on. “The imposter was quite an actor—he convinced one of the servants that he was the master, which couldn’t have been easy. He had to have the distinctive Stanton voice, and he had to know the house quite well—not only did he address this fellow by name, but he went unerringly into Mrs. Stanton’s room.”
“So?”
“One man who might have managed to bring it off was Mr. Stanton’s cousin, Astronomer Burroughs.”
Captain Wilkes frowned. “You really believe that Burroughs—a most respectable man in his profession—would try a trick like that? Why in God’s name would he do such a thing?”
“I agree that it sounds very strange, sir.”
“But the sheriff wants you to chase up this strange notion?”
“Well, of course he doesn’t know that Burroughs hanged himself,” Wiki said. “And I haven’t read his instructions yet either. But I expect you’re right. I should say it’s possible he would regard the suicide as an admission of guilt.”
“But how can you possibly prove it? Your su
spect has put an end to himself and left you with nothing but guesses!”
“If I could talk to Burroughs’s assistant—a fellow by the name of Grimes—maybe it would help.”
“Then do it,” said Captain Wilkes, and turned away decisively to ring a small bell for the steward.
Nine
Grimes turned out to be the man who had been assisting Stanton, which did not surprise Wiki at all. On Captain Wilkes’s instructions, they were closeted together in one of the staterooms that ran off the passage—a cramped room so full of equipment and supplies that it was obvious no one slept there. Strong hooks were driven into the massive ceiling beams—for hammocks or mosquito netting, Wiki assumed—and large net bags of onions hung from these, filling the air with a dusty, pungent smell. Looking around, he spied a box and sat on a corner of it to study his companion.
Enough light seeped in a sidelight window for Wiki to be struck yet again by the misery on the thin man’s face. Added to it was a kind of muted horror at being trapped in this small space with a South Seas savage, so Wiki kept his voice gentle as he said, “Captain Wilkes has asked me to investigate the sad death of your employer.”
A flicker of stunned incredulity briefly altered the tragic expression. “You?”
“The sheriff of Portsmouth has deputized me as his agent on board the expedition.”
And Wiki handed over the letter of authority. As he watched the astronomer squint at the flourishing words, he mused wryly that Grimes looked just about as thunderstruck as he himself had felt when he’d first read it. However, the astronomer made no comment as he handed it back, so Wiki began the cross-examination.
“You were greatly attached to Mr. Burroughs?”
Grimes’s expression immediately softened. “Mr. Burroughs was a fine gentleman, completely wedded to his craft.”
“You’d worked with him for a long time?”
