Origins: Discovery

by Mark Henrikson

  The man entrusted with the all-important task of maintaining the ship’s barrels of food should know better. Without him keeping the barrel rings airtight, the limited food stores onboard would quickly be lost to weevils and mice. It was not so much what the vermin ate, but rather what they contaminated with their feces and urine that mattered. In short, a ship sailing without a skilled cooper aboard would not last long in open waters. To be more precise, the crew would not last long.

  Hastelloy knew this, the crew certainly knew it, yet somehow the obvious fact escaped Admiral Columbus. When the pilfering was discovered, the initial sentence handed down by Columbus was to throw the cooper overboard. Fortunately for all involved, Hastelloy managed to talk the now highly unpopular admiral down to the lesser sentence of ninety-nine lashings.

  He had no particular affinity toward the cooper; in fact, he detested the grubby little thief. Still, Hastelloy was quite certain that if the cooper went overboard, then the crew would promptly send Columbus and his senior staff in after him. They may even toss the cooper a lifeline and bring him back aboard; the man was that valuable.

  “Ninety-eight,” the boatswain shouted with the accompaniment of yet another tortured scream.

  Hastelloy took that moment to glance about the crewmen looking on. These were hard men who had watched this bloody scene countless times before. They hated the cooper but still needed him, and that made their venom toward him all the more potent. Yet when Hastelloy observed those crewmen looking toward Columbus, the enmity shown toward the cooper paled in comparison to the anger they bore the admiral.

  All of them were left emaciated from weeks of rationing that placed the crew on the edge of starvation. Worse still were the bleeding gums, lost teeth, and reopening of old scars and sores; all telltale signs of scurvy. None of them understood what the severe vitamin deficiency was, but they certainly felt the effects.

  Bad as that all was, there was something else to it. There was an unmistakable animosity among the crew that went beyond physical discomfort and empty bellies to reach a more primal instinct—fear. These hard men were truly afraid.

  Twenty-eight days spent sailing into the great unknown had the crew unnerved, but that is what they signed on to do. They were prepared to handle those stresses. What rendered them truly terrified was the twenty-eight nights also spent sailing.

  No one in their right mind ventured into uncharted waters without dropping anchor once daylight disappeared from the horizon. Sailing blind was tantamount to suicide, yet Columbus did just that every night, and to the crew it was plain madness.

  “Ninety-nine,” the boatswain shouted with an energetic finality to his words. He gave a disgusted shrug toward the bloodied thief bent over one of his own barrels before turning a slow circle. He made eye contact with as many crewmen as possible before settling his gaze on Columbus, which drew an approving nod from the admiral.

  “There will be obedience on this ship, or there will be blood,” the boatswain continued in a lackluster monotone voice as if he were now a poor actor reciting a script. “It is your choice; for my whipping arm cares little which you choose.”

  He let the rope fall to the deck boards and walked off. Behind his exit, two crewmen untied the victim and carried his barely conscious body below deck where the ships surgeon-dentist-barber could tend to his wounds. Meanwhile, the rest of the crew stared up at Columbus who was on the way to his cabin, as if the public beating made everything right with the crew.

  One by one the sailors averted their eyes and returned to their duties but performed them with hardly a word spoken. The silence left an unnerving, unnatural feeling in the air that hung around until dinner was handed out that evening. Even then, the men congregated in small groups of three or four and kept their conversations very private. Hastelloy noticed that even those low voices ceased altogether when he or another officer walked past.

  Hastelloy took his two squares of hardtack and thimbleful of fresh water to moisten the rocklike substance with him below deck rather than dine in the open air with the disgruntled crew. When he reached the darkened interior of the ship, Hastelloy surveyed his surroundings with a careful eye.

  He managed to keep his secret this far into the voyage and would not get sloppy now. Hastelloy confirmed that no one was watching his movements before slinking his way into a shadowy recess along the outer hull.

  Hastelloy pried loose an unassuming panel and retrieved three oranges from inside the lined compartment. He placed them in his lap and reached in for three more. Before replacing the panel, Hastelloy felt around inside and took a tally of his remaining inventory. Twelve, there were only twelve oranges left, to last him the rest of this voyage and the return trip.

  There was little point lamenting his shortage since there was nothing he could do about it now in the middle of the ocean. Instead, Hastelloy made his way to the opposite side of the ship with his bounty cradled in his shirt.

  Technically, he was not stealing any food from the rest of the crew since Hastelloy was the one who concealed the supply of vitamin C–enriched fruit to begin with. He felt a modest notion of guilt at not sharing with everyone the only food item aboard capable of preventing the onset of scurvy, but fault for the shortage truly rested on Columbus’ shoulders.

  Hastelloy had no fewer than a dozen conversations on the matter with both Columbus and the ship’s surgeon. Fruit was a very expensive luxury that Columbus would not open up his tight purse to provide. The surgeon was no help, either, because he may as well have been a tribal witch doctor for all the understanding he had of body chemistry. It was analogous to debating the virtues of quantum theory with a ten-year-old.

  In the end, Hastelloy was on his own to keep the painful and debilitating disease at bay. Unfortunately, hiding enough fruit to supply the crew was not practical; thus, the need for secrecy.

  Hastelloy held one of his prized oranges up to evaluate it in a beam of light shining through a gap in the hull boards from a lit lantern above. The outer skin was beginning to shrivel and even had a couple of spots of mold spores starting to grow. He had seen better specimens, but it beat losing his teeth.

  Just before he tore into it, the light illuminating his fruit went dark. Hastelloy looked up to find a huge mountain of a man blocking out the ray of light with four equally brawny friends backing him up. Where the rest of the crew looked thirty pounds under weight, sickly, and lethargic, these men were anything but.

  “Hello big people,” Hastelloy began with an amused grin crossing his lips. This quiet extortion had gone on since the second day of the voyage and was all a part of the plan. It was expensive, but the benefits of having five healthy crewmen in his corner if things turned ugly were resources well spent.

  As Hastelloy tossed each of them their orange he whispered, “Just remember who has kept you in good health on this voyage when it’s time to choose sides.”

  Chapter 13: Can’t Put a Value on Friendship

  THERE WERE MANY unpleasant ways Hastelloy could imagine waking up in the middle of the night: a loud explosion, a feather tickling his feet, or the rank smell of a fart delivered by a crude crewman came to mind. None compared to the sensation of being tossed from his hammock to land face-first on the floorboards. Before Hastelloy could gather his faculties, let alone offer any resistance, a gang of four scrawny men bound his hands and forced him up the steps to the main deck.

  Hastelloy noticed in the dim lighting of the starry night and crescent moon that all three vessels were now at a full stop with sails down and anchors lowered. He saw Columbus and his three senior officers also tied up along the far railing. The moment Hastelloy joined his fellow captives, the angry taunts and jeers began.

  “I’m starving!”

  “You haven’t a clue what you’re doing!”

  “We could run aground in the darkness at any moment!”

  “Enough!” A bombastic voice boomed from the darkness behind the mob. The masses parted to reveal the boatswain standing the
re with his flogging rope in hand. This menacing man, the most experienced sailor charged with the conduct and obedience of the crew, commanded the undivided attention of everyone aboard all three boats.

  “This is no way to treat your noble admiral,” the boatswain announced as he began prowling forward with a mocking demeanor that darkened in tone with every step, “This is no way to address his reckless, mindless, arrogant, and dangerous leadership,” he concluded standing nose to nose with Columbus.

  “This is mutiny,” Columbus declared as if his very words would open up the heavens to smite his rebellious crew and save him.

  “At least you’re smart enough to figure that out. You’re still reckless and dangerous, though, and I’m taking command of this fleet to save us all from your stupidity,” the boatswain concluded. “Toss them all overboard so we can start heading home with five fewer mouths to feed.”

  Columbus was dumbfounded by the events, but Hastelloy formed his words straightaway. “Think about what you’re doing. It took twenty-eight days with favorable winds to get here. There is not enough food, even without us, to tack against those winds to make it all the way back to the Canary Islands. You are signing your own death warrants if you do this.”

  “We’ll take our chances versus the certain death we face sailing at night under his guidance,” the boatswain countered as he jabbed Columbus in the chest with a meaty index finger.

  “No we won’t,” came a voice from the darkness as a large club slammed into the boatswain’s side and then flattened him to the deck with a vertical blow to the back.

  A handful of tired, malnourished crewmen attempted to help their mutinous leader but found themselves overpowered by the five fit and ready men coming to Hastelloy’s defense.

  Hastelloy watched the brief melee with a growing sense of satisfaction that the ransom paid to his helpers over the last four weeks was well spent. The mutiny was soundly put down with Columbus cut loose and two dozen crewmen left bound instead.

  The admiral was in rare form and on the verge of coming unhinged as he flailed about the deck of the Santa Maria in disbelief. “You vermin! There is a special place in the flames of eternal hell reserved for mutineers like you, right next to child rapists. Let’s not keep the devil waiting shall we? Throw them over; all of them.”

  You clueless, bloodthirsty bastard. He wants revenge against half the crew, Hastelloy swore to himself. In truth, all but Hastelloy’s loyal five were probably in on the uprising but did not stand up to be counted when the time came. The situation required action to repair loyalties given that tossing everyone overboard was not an option at this point.

  Before Columbus could enforce his order, Hastelloy snatched a sword from the nearest loyal crewman, stepped forward, ran it through the boatswain’s heart, and left the blade protruding from the dying man’s chest as he lay gasping on the deck. “He goes over the side, the rest of you return to your posts knowing that from now on we will only sail during daylight hours. You have my word. Do we have an accord?”

  Blank stares and confused looks reminded Hastelloy that he was dealing with simple men with simple vocabularies. “Do you agree?”

  “Yes, Sir,” came a unanimous reply.

  Before Columbus could ruin things, Hastelloy dashed over to whisper in the admiral’s ear, “We are only a couple of days away. We need a loyal crew, not a dead crew. Approve the deal and let’s move on to your discovery.”

  Columbus thought long and hard on the matter with an anxious crew looking on before giving his order. “Cut them loose and feed that piece of trash to the sharks.”

  The next morning, Hastelloy oversaw the crew’s efforts to get the small fleet underway again. A dozen men shimmied their way up the three masts to untie the sails. Another six men worked to raise the anchor. In a matter of minutes, the heavy boat was under full power; an impossible feat had the executions taken place the night before.

  “What course should we set?” the ship’s boy asked.

  Hastelloy surveyed the western horizon for any sign of land before referring to his compass and charts. He was about to move on when his eyes spotted a faint, blurry darkness in the distant sky. “Boy, your young eyes are better than mine. What do you see there in the western sky?”

  The boy took a few moments to study the horizon before a wide grin lit up across his face. “I see flocks of birds, thousands of them.”

  “And what do birds mean?” Hastelloy prompted.

  “Land is nearby.” An affirmative nod sent the boy dashing about the ship pointing frantically to the western sky. “Birds! Birds! We must be near land because there are birds in the sky.”

  With a buzz growing among the crew and spreading to the other two boats, Hastelloy grabbed a voice-amplifying cone and shouted, “Now hear this. The first man to spot land will earn a pension for life.”

  “And exactly who will be paying that lifelong pension?” Admiral Columbus demanded from over Hastelloy’s shoulder with disapproval dripping over every word. “First you let mutineers live, then you give away my money.”

  “Not to worry, Admiral. You have negotiated title to all lands we find,” Hastelloy instructed. “You are about to become a nation unto yourself. A sailor’s pension is nothing to you now, but we need to get there first, and occupying a rebellious crew until then is money well spent in my estimation.”

  “My money,” Columbus grumbled on the way back to his cabin.

  Later that evening, just before the fleet was to drop anchor for the night, Hastelloy was standing next to Columbus when a cannon blast from the Pinta shattered the quiet calm.

  “Land! Our lookout, Juan Rodriguez, has finally spotted land,” the captain of the Pinta shouted across the calm waters.

  The crew immediately broke out with cheers and hugs of jubilation, but Columbus was unimpressed as he said to the ship’s boy while leveling an enflamed stare at Hastelloy, “Let the official log show that I observed land an hour earlier but waited to alert the rest of the crew until a second spotting occurred.”

  Hastelloy said nothing and simply nodded for the boy to make it so. The greed of some men knows no bounds.

  Chapter 14: What Lies Beneath

  “WE GO BACK the way we came,” Admiral Columbus insisted with his index finger emphatically retracing their path across Hastelloy’s hand-drawn map to reach Spain. “We can sail day and night because we already know nothing is in our way, so we’ll get there twice as fast.”

  “You’re ignoring the gauntlet of tiny islands and shallow reefs we must navigate before reaching open waters again if we head straight east,” Hastelloy protested and quickly added a second point to his argument before Columbus could respond. “Besides, straight back pits us against the westerly winds that filled our sails on our way here. We should backtrack out of this cluster of islands and make our way north and catch more favorable winds there to carry us home.”

  “Backtrack? Head north?” Columbus repeated with disgust lighting up every syllable. “We have been exploring these new lands for nearly six months. We are going home; this instant, and we’ll take the most direct course to do it.”

  Hastelloy paused for a moment and glanced to his left, then to his right to verify that only the ship’s boy was within earshot before saying in a hushed voice, “With all due respect, Admiral, you’re letting your desire to rush home and legitimize your claim to these lands with the crown impair your better judgment. Straight east is risky, backtracking is not, and besides—”

  “Enough,” Columbus interrupted and emphasized his displeasure with a slap of his palm on the navigation table. “I am the visionary behind this voyage. My leadership and sound judgment got us here, and it will get us home as well.”

  Admiral Columbus turned to the ship’s boy and pointed to the steering wheel and compass, “East. Straightaway. That is all.”

  Content his order would be followed, Columbus turned to Hastelloy and pointed toward the door behind the navigation station. “You. In my cabin. Thi
s instant.”

  It had been building to this for weeks. With each new acre of land mapped, the admiral’s ego and greed grew exponentially. The megalomaniac now envisioned himself as rich as the king, and it was all due to his infallible leadership. At least his pending reprimand would be done in the privacy of the admiral’s cabin rather than on deck in front of the entire crew. The man was not completely devoid of leadership acumen.

  “Tell me, does it hurt when you walk?” Columbus asked of Hastelloy as he closed his cabin door behind them and gestured for his guest to have a seat at the two-person table staged in the middle of the tiny room.

  “Hurt?” Hastelloy repeated, knowing full well where his setup reply was leading.

  “Yes,” Columbus answered while taking his own seat at the table. “To question my orders in front of the crew, even the ship’s boy, takes a massive set of balls between your legs. I’d like to know if it in fact hurts when you walk with such large stones getting in the way.”

  “Not as much as you might think,” Hastelloy deadpanned back with a sideways grin to lighten the heavy mood a bit. A soft chuckle from Columbus let him know he had succeeded. “You’re right, of course. Even though it was just the boy, I should have brought this up with you in here. I apologize.”

  Columbus accepted the words of contrition with an arrogant bow of his head before leaning back in his chair and opening his arms out wide. “Then say what you must now that you have me in private.”

  “Setting aside the inherent risks in navigating the islands ahead of us, backtracking and heading northward to the middle latitudes of the great Ocean Sea will be quicker. We already know from the Portuguese and their experience sailing to and from the Azores that the winds turn eastward as we sail farther north. They call it volta do mar, turn of the sea. Having that wind in our sails versus in our face will get us home in weeks rather than months,” Hastelloy concluded.