“You just could not get over those Spanish eyes.”
“The problem I found out later was that I was considered an inferior to the family. These were early settlers of the place, family going way back, and I was a Johnny Come Lately American with no background in Spain or anywhere else. She defended me but there was always tension.”
“What about you?”
“As rough as my life was in those days, I always seemed to be looking for peace. That farm was pleasant. It was something I had not experienced. Growing up, my own family life was tense. My father died as a Marine with lots of medals but no life left. My mother worried I’d repeat the mistakes she made in life. You know the story. Anyway, Rosa seemed to respect the way I was. She even stood up for me. The parents finally approved of me after she threatened never to see them again.”
He smiled. “In the beginning she believed I was pretty nice guy. Anyway, we went off together working on Bill’s projects. Jamie came along. Then we were stationed in Africa. Africa was not peaceful. The constant stress broke us up.”
“Not peaceful?”
“Hell, it was Vietnam all over again. That was when I fought with Strand and Angel Slidell. Slidell paid local soldiers to attack our village and camp one night. She got scared, really frightened. I was off trying to protect Bill’s oil wells. ‘Working on your business,’ she screamed at me when I got back. She gathered up young Jamie and left. She travelled back to Argentina with him and sent me the divorce papers. Her parents were powerful enough to get the whole marriage removed from the Catholic regulations.”
“You never had any contact with Jamie?”
“No. What could I say to him? Slidell started a story that I was a coward, that I had left my wife and child to the mercy of rebel killers. Nobody believed him but it hurt.”
“Did you tell him you loved him when he came to River Sunday?”
“I didn’t know how to explain all those lost years, Katy.”
“Well, he loves you. He knows you are his father. He also thinks you don’t respect him enough. He can’t compete with a Vietnam hero and famous businessman.”
“Now that he has met me he ought to know better about that,” Cutter smiled. “I get scared like everyone else.”
“You were never a coward.”
“Sometimes I think I was.”
She rubbed his back. “Your enemies will let you think that, I’m sure. Look, I mean it, Jimmy. He thinks you’ll treat him like a child. You’ll tell him this girlfriend might be a mistake. The difference with me is I’m not his father or his mother, just his friend.”
“I guess I thought that being together on this Peregrine project, he and I shared more of a relationship. Then I found out he was here to be with his girlfriend.”
“You don’t have to leave it. However he got here, he’s in your territory. You can make it work.” She bent and kissed his forehead.
“You’re the one who is nurturing, not me.”
“Yes but you can be. Any man can be. Jamie told me about looking for flowers with you when he was young. You two would go with the Africans out into the jungle. He loved those times with you. The Africans would call you ‘Sir Flower’.”
“So what do I do?”
“Love his life, not your life.”
He paused, his eyes trying to focus the harbor water in the distance. His voice mellowed as he said, “I’m glad he has you.”
He laughed and said, “Doc Jerry says they have acquired a mascot.”
“A mascot?”
“Apparently an albatross landed on the deck with fishing line caught up in her feet. She also had swallowed a chunk of plastic wrap, the kind that covers sandwiches. Anyway, she was pretty sick. Some of the crew adopted her. First of all, they saved her by removing the wire and getting the plastic out of her throat. Then the cook fed her scraps. Now she won’t leave the ship.”
“That is a good story.”
“True. The press has picked it up and she’s viral on YouTube in various videos.”
“Have they named her?”
“Her name is Pancake. The public has also researched her and the email states that she is a black-browed albatross off course north from her home in the South Atlantic.”
“So she’s getting a ride home,” he said.
“Apparently some of them don’t leave the ships they land on.”
The hotel phone lit up. Katy answered, listened, said “Ok,” and hung up. “They have a fax for me.” In a few moments, a hotel worker knocked and gave Katy the envelope.
When she finished reading it, she grinned and held the papers up chest high.
“Slow down,” he said, “Take a breath.” He moved back to give her his full attention.
She popped back into the bed. “It’s from my office. This is a real break on the research. I’ve found the mystery boat. Listen to this.” She stopped for a few seconds, arranged the papers and began reading.
“Curator Katy Matlock
Maryland Historical Society
Baltimore, Maryland
From: Mary Smith, Manuscripts Department, South Street Museum, New York City
“Regarding your inquiry about a Baltimore clipper or pilot built brig with the name Osprey, we found the following in a review of the New York shipping papers of the time you mentioned. These may be of interest. We are not positive it is the ship of which you inquire, but it does have the same name.
“Reported to the New York Transcript, October 30, 1840
“During the night in the recent storm the brig Osprey wrecked with no survivors on the West Bank off Staten Island. We are told this by Captain O’Neill of passing steamer Oneida who has just come up from the lower bay. He saw the wreckage break up and disappear under the waves. The wreck was located directly one and a half miles offshore on the sea side of the West Bank shoal southeast of the Quarantine Hospital. He said the old shot tower was directly to the north of the wreck, from a sight by him. Before the stern section went under he spotted a well-carved name board with the name Osprey. His report and locations were confirmed by three other captains of small lighters and steamers which were in the vicinity at the time. O’Neill reported the low tide near shore is littered with floating cargo from several wrecks as well as bodies of the drowned crews. No owners have come forward so it is suspected that the Osprey was a ship bound elsewhere and seeking refuge.”
Katy flipped over the page and went on.
“Centurion of New York, November 1, 1840,
“It is often surprising to those of us ashore in the shipping community to discover how much happens on the sea of which we know nothing. We are amazed when news of these secrets is brought to our attention often by the unfortunate actions of the tides and the storms. This was the situation yesterday following the blizzard which paralyzed our coast and destroyed so many ships and drowned so many unlucky sailors.
“The story in question if it be not a hoax put on by some mischief makers in Staten Island and this writer has no knowledge of such a thing is that news of a brig sank in our harbor, its name Osprey. This ship is not known by any of the shippers in this city. Its cargo and crew are likely among the wrecked and dead cast up on the shoreline. Many bodies are not recognizable as to the ship from which they came.
“It is thought and by better minds than that of this writer so I speak only with the assurance that others more knowledgeable might agree, that this might be the wreck of a pirate of unknown registry, but perhaps Spanish, that has chased ships off the New York shoreline for many years, a ship which has never been approached and which was thought to be marauding further south. The best minds, and although I would not consider myself such a clever man, still I agree with them, think that the storm may have driven the rascals further north from its normal preying ground in the south. The storm’s fury became something that no sailor however crafty could outrun and the ship and its crew met their fate. This story is borne out by the witnesses of the wreckage indicating that the encrustation of ocean
flora on the wood below the waterline of the relic showed some Caribbean sailing.
“Williams, President of our New York shippers association and owner of a family tea trading company here in New York, and one of our most prominent and worthy citizens, stated when asked about the pirate that he was pleased as were all his companions that such a ship had met its just end. Mr. William’s firm had reported previously the loss of the company’s famous China brig Peregrine with all hands during the same destructive storm, its wreckage found on the shoreline further to the south.
“We hope that this Osprey wreck is indeed the just end to murderers. There was indeed a violent tale of attack by a pirate not more than a year ago in these very waters. The lone survivor has related that the pirate ship could be described as a Baltimore type craft with uncanny speed and many well-armed sailors hanging from its rails who boarded his transport without mercy.
“That same survivor who returned home only to die from his wounds claimed that the marauders screamed Spanish words and tortured men, women and children alike as they rampaged for money and jewels, raping and killing, sparing no one to be a witness to their treachery. The poor wretch escaped this terror when he was stabbed by a sword and fell overboard. He had enough strength to hold unseen to a line from the stern. The passengers’ cabins were looted and the cargo hatches were pulled. After about two hours the packet ship had been thoroughly stripped of anything valuable. It was then set afire as the pirates departed.
“After the marauders had sailed far enough away he tried to pull himself further up the side of his ship. Above him he saw the masts and rigging aflame, fire over all the ropes like lightning, and brands of flaming wood falling in the sea around him. The fire began down the side of the ship and he had to cast himself out into the water to escape the heat. One of the great yardarms fell down sending spray high into the air and dousing the flames on its beam and lines. It was this gift of Providence that saved him for he tied himself to that wood and remained alive as the rest of his ship sank finally beneath the surface. Two days later and again by God’s help, a coaster schooner found him and brought him in to port, a sad wreck of a man barely able to relate his story before he died.”
“Katy, we also found the following mentioned in a logbook belonging to the US frigate Constitution on its Pacific cruise in 1840. Crew from the frigate was ordered to assist the Baltimore clipper brig Osprey, Captain Richard Tolchester, to enter Valparaiso. What relation this brig is to the Osprey that wrecked in New York, we don't know. It may also be a mistaken name of the kind often found in Navy logs.
“Finally with regard to the name Fusang, we uncovered in the Canton Register of June 1840 the following report: ‘It is brought to the attention of this editor that the Chinese authorities are investigating a fire which resulted in the death of Fusang and his daughter. A robbery is thought to have taken place and the crew of the ship Eagle since departed from this port are being sought.’
"Sorry we can't help you more, Katy. Come by for lunch next time you are in New York.
Mary”
“Strange,” said Cutter. “If it isn't a mistake as she suggests, that sighting puts Tolchester on the Osprey. Where is the Peregrine? What is he doing on a pirate ship? Then there’s other ship, the Eagle. Keep digging. This is getting weird.”
“Anyway, that’s all there is,” she said, folding the papers.
She winked at him and said, “Lots of ship disasters in those days were arranged to falsify insurance claims.” She thought for a moment. “How about this? We compare the carving of the wooden name board from the wreck of the Peregrine with the ones that you saw in the barn in River Sunday.”
Cutter asked, “Match them to prove the ship is the same or different? I mean, if the old man in River Sunday is right, there was only one boat built.”
“Exactly.”
“Also, can looking for the wreck of the Osprey do us any good?” he said. “We know approximately where it went down. On the other hand we don’t know the location of the hulk of the Peregrine.”
“The pirate? Possibly. Shipwrecks can tell a lot about the cargo they were carrying. For example, if she had been rigged for slaving, there’d probably be iron manacles remaining in the wreck debris. That’s a clue that she was in Atlantic waters and might eliminate the China trade and Pacific routes for her. Of course, we also might find some carved name boards on her wreck. Witnesses did describe them as ‘fancy.’” She paused then said, “We could compare that name board too.”
“What would that prove?”
“Our boat was the only one built so it must have used two names.”
“There’s still the issue of two wreck sites. Anyway, what do we do next?”
“There’s a salvage expert I’ve worked with in the past. I know he’s familiar with New York harbor and has dived the wrecks there before.” She smiled. “Let me call him and get his ideas.”
She reached up and held his face in her hands. “Jamie is still on your mind, isn’t he? Jimmy, you’re causing me to act like a married woman, taking care of a man and his problems.”
“I like your having those feelings, Katy,” he said, lightly touching his large hands over her smaller fingers.
“I’m a country girl at heart. Remember, my first live-in man lasted for a lot of years because he was a farmer. Trouble is, he didn’t think about me any more than his tractors or livestock. Nice enough guy but no emotion. That’s why I went back to my history work. Ironically, I get a lot of caring just being around those dusty old books. Maybe they talk to me.” She giggled.
“I’m not a farmer.”
“You like gardens and flowers. That’s enough of the land influence. Besides, you have emotion.”
“I do? I thought I was a tough guy.”
“I think you are a better father than you realize. You’re doing all the right work. Worrying about him is the biggest and most important part of the job,” she said softly.
Chapter 8
June 24, 4 PM
River Sunday
Cutter was in his office with the latest race report transcribed for him by Sparkles from the last satellite phone report. He summarized and called out the information to the others. “June 23, she’s at Latitude 17.46 Longitude 34.40. She’s travelled 5,457 miles with 15,507 left to get to China. She’s been out 35 days with 105 to go. Right about now she ought to be about 1,000 miles east south east of Salvador Bahia, Brazil.”
The shortwave radio squealed. Doc Jerry tuned it and turned up the speaker. A foreign-sounding voice thundered across the control room. “I want Cutter.”
Cutter walked to the radio as the volume was adjusted. As he did he glanced again at the data phoned in from the Peregrine a day ago.
He spoke into the microphone. “Jim Cutter here.”
“Your boat needs help and right away.” It was not the voice of his captain. Cutter could hear the excitement in the voice, strong against static.
“What is going on?” he asked Doc Jerry. He spoke again into the microphone, “Why isn’t Hall calling himself?”
“My friend, it is Etranger. I call because we are beside your brig. Captain Hall wanted me to contact you with a report.”
“What happened, Captain Etranger?”
“The brig has lost the upper sections of its front mast. The foretop has let go from the bottom fore mast and has taken with it the highest mast, the topgallant. The antenna was below and has been destroyed. The transceiver and satellite phone are crushed from the falling gear. We are alongside. We work together with Captain Hall to bring down the remaining yards and rigging.”
Cutter asked, “Can you report on the boat and crew?”
“These two masts, they’re broken badly and will have to be completely replaced.”
Doc Jerry said, “Ocean gusts may be the culprit, Cutter.”
“The ship she is in good shape otherwise. The first mate has a fractured arm. All other crewmen and women are fine.”
Cutter replied griml
y, “Maybe it is more than weather.” He could not forget the stranger who had been up in that mast when the workman died.
Doc Jerry went on, as if reading his thoughts, “We checked all that wood before it was installed. Those masts were prime, no cracks, no warping. Must have been a powerful blow with a lot of sail spread.”
Cutter spoke to the French captain. “What is the current status?” he asked his fingers tight on the microphone.
“Others from our crew have volunteered to go aboard the Peregrine to help. They attempt to untangle the lines and spars on the deck.”
“How bad is the man hurt?”
“He will be all right. He has been airlifted to the Chinese ship shadowing us. They will stand by but, by the rules, cannot assist with the repairs. My friend, I tell you, I would be planning to bring out another mast soon.”
Cutter asked, “Captain Etranger, what about my son, Jamie, and the others?”
“They are doing well. Your son is actually performing as the captain’s mate.”
“We’ll be back to you. Thanks.” Doc Jerry signed off.
Stringer burst into the office, door slamming behind him. “What’s happened?” he asked, his voice showing his usual worry. He saw the worried faces of the others and blurted, “I knew something would go wrong. The Peregrine can’t float well in her bow. The hull is too narrow, too sharp. She will dive into waves too easily.”
“It’s nothing to do with her hull design, Stringer,” said Cutter patiently. He and everyone else at headquarters was tired of hearing the Peregrine hull was going to sink because it was narrow and did not float like a basketball. He said, “Her foremast snapped. We’ll need your drawings in making new masts.” Then he explained what had happened.
Stringer’s words came out like emotional stutters, “Carrying too much sail broke the mast.”
“Maybe.”
Stringer picked up a clean pad of engineering paper and began to make some notes. “We’ll have to cut a mast, of course.”
China Jewel Page 8
