LC 04 - Skeleton Crew

by Beverly Connor

  I diverge from this journal entry, perhaps because I am ashamed at my failure. I passed the helmsman, who stood at the whipstaff toward the rear of the deck listening for any instructions shouted to him from above. Beyond him was Valerian's servant, Jen, sitting in front of the door to the captain's cabin, cradling his harp in his arms, serenading the crew.

  "I saw Valerian come this way," I stammered. I thought that boldly admitting to following them would look less suspicious. "I fancy a game of chess."

  Jen grinned at me, and I felt he was not fooled in the least by my ruse. "I tell him," he said, and I nodded, turned, and went to my cabin, feeling foolish and incompetent.

  Are they up to something? Of course, men like that are always up to something. But are they smugglers? Smuggling gold and silver has long been a problem for the House of Trade, and they have all but ignored it. Perez, the new governor of the House, thinks he can bring it under control, if he has the right information. I wonder. Smuggling is as established as the Church itself. He thinks that if he can make an example of a few, the rest will follow. But where there is such great wealth for the taking ... I think it is a hopeless venture. Perhaps when I get to Havana I will talk to my brother about how to proceed. Undoubtedly, he will be a good counsel, and he is as honorable as the good Perez.

  I listen, but my discoveries are of little importance. I hear only the common things from the rumblings of the crew. The man Sancho who was salvaged from the ocean after the storm was accused of stealing from another sailor. These men have so little, I couldn't conceive what he could have stolen. I discovered that what he stole was a space to sleep. Imagine. Such are the condi tions of the sailor. It ended with the boatswain deciding in favor of the man making the complaint, and Sancho had to find another place. I would not have found this very serious, but I do not live their lives. It was apparently very serious with the crew. Another of the crew accused Sancho of stealing his knife, but upon producing it, it had Sancho's name scratched on it. Sancho, allowing that he could neither read nor write, had had it done in Seville, he said. He got to keep the knife. But it is my understanding that none of the crew believe him, including the steward. I heard the steward complain to the boatswain that Sancho is a clever sneak and to watch out for him.

  I spend much time with Valerian. I like him, but I don't know if he seeks out my company because he favors it, or because he is watching me. At any rate, it looks as if the only way I will discover any useful information will be from him. Valerian is a puzzle. He is quite different from the garrulous Lopez and the rather dense captain. What could they have in common?

  We are lucky with the weather. Good weather makes for a less quarrelsome crew. However, it seems to me that dissension among the crew has increased with Sancho's arrival.

  Valerian conversed with Bellisaro about the sails. I stood and listened, amused. Valerian was suggesting a different arrangement of the sails for faster sailing. I know Bellisaro and how he holds the captain's suggestions in contempt, so I was surprised when he gave Valerian a slight smile and ordered the crew to the ropes to change the tension and angle of the sails. Then he yelled something down to the helmsman. Having thus done (which was not a small task), Bellisaro took his sandglass, threw his log-line into the ocean, then counted and timed the knots as the line reeled. He looked sideways at Valerian and smiled. We were indeed going faster.

  That evening, over chess, Valerian explained that it has something to do with the way the wind rushes through the sails. I did not understand. He went on to explain that the sails are like the wings of a bird, and it might be possible to design a contrivance with sails that could seat a man and he could sail from a cliff and fly with the birds. I told him he needs to spend less time in the sun. He went on to assure me that he is not the first to think of this, other great men have designed such things. He said this as if he assumed that I thought wanting to fly was the mark of an intelli gent and sane man. "Keeping the motion forward would be a problem," he said, and I told him that no, I didn't think forward motion was the problem. We were sitting cross-legged on the floor, the chessboard between us. He leaned forward, his eyes shining, warming to his topic. "A little over five hundred years ago Eilmer of Malmesbury made a short flight from his abbey. And you are familiar with the ideas of da Vinci?" I wasn't, nor did I know who Eilmer was or where Malmesbury was. But if it was an abbey, he was a man of God and that reassured me and I listened. Actually, I enjoy listening to Valerian. He has a way of opening up the world and looking at its wonders that often holds me spellbound.

  "You see," he said, "I believe the failure is in their analogy." I nodded. "Men like da Vinci see birds fly and design their devices so, like Icarus." (I knew who Icarus was and I nodded more vigorously.) "But men are not like birds," he said. On this point, I could agree and said so. "It is like a ship and a rock. A ship floats on water, a rock sinks, even though the ship is much heavier. The two are different," he said.

  "True," I agreed, but I did not know why, nor did I ask, so ashamed was I of my ignorance. And so eager was I not to disappoint Valerian. He chose to talk to me because he believes me to be an intellectual equal, at least more of one than anyone else on the ship.

  "So it is with a man and a bird," he continued. "However, you can put a rock on a -ship and it will float. Don't you see?"

  "A ship that flies?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said, putting his hands on my shoulders, shaking me. "Exactly. I knew you would understand."

  I had to make a bold move if I was ever to discover anything. That is what I decided while lying on my cot listening to the snores of Bellisaro and trying to think of a way to accomplish what Perez has asked of me. Wisps of half-heard conversations, and unsupported and perhaps unfounded suspicions whirled in my brain. I hated the idea of returning to the House of Trade and telling them that, after a month and a half in a confined space, I had failed to discover anything. Then I remembered the crates of Valerian's that were loaded when we stopped at the islands. As I am convinced that Valerian has something to do with whatever intrigue the captain and Lopez are engaged in, examining his cargo seemed a sen sible idea. I did not, however, look forward to descending into the dark hold of the ship. Perhaps I should have attended to such a deed during the day when at least some light could drift down to the depths, but I was eager for my activities to remain concealed. I am sure that Lopez and the captain have only vague suspicions. (How could they know anything? I've been so discreet as not to have discovered anything of import.) However, I don't know how either might react to my spying, and I confess that my hands shook with fear as I groped through my travel chest in the darkness for the things I needed for this adventure. I hurriedly put on clothes that I least minded getting soiled, then felt through the chest for a candle and my flint striker. My bowels quickened anew as I slipped the two into my pouch. Order of Santiago or not, if the captain caught me with a lighted candle, I'd certainly be keelhauled-such is the gravity of starting a fire aboard ship. My hand touched the pomander that Luisa had given me, and I had the odd sensation of missing her. I also recollected the unpleasant aromas rising from below the decks, so I slipped it into my pouch.

  Thus armed, I stole from my cabin. I made a furtive glance around me and made my way through the dark corridor to the hatchway. There were two lanterns hanging nearby. Only one was lit. I took the other. If caught, it would be far better if I had a lantern than a lighted candle. I climbed down to the main gun deck, where I tried to be particularly quiet, for many of the crew as well as the soldiers sleep there. However, there were none in the immediate vicinity and I continued down to the orlop deck. Here I stopped and lit my lantern. Some of the ship's stores were on this deck, so I looked around, peeking in adjoining rooms. Valerian's crates had been heavy. I saw that as they were loading them, so I reasoned they would probably be stored in the hold. For this reason, and the fact that the stewards and other officers' cabins were on this deck, I did not tarry.

  Upon descending into the hold,
I discovered one thing immediately-I prefer the deck of the ship, with all its hazards, to the innards. Surely the depths of hell must be like the belly of a ship, inhabited by the vilest of vermin and saturated with a putrid stench that even the most pungent burning of sulfur cannot expurgate. I feel for the unfortunate men, blessed by neither God nor king, who must attend to the bilge. I reached for my pomander and put the silver metal to my nose and inhaled the fragrant spice. Would that I had some method to tie the thing there. I hung the pomander on my finger and held my sleeve over my nose. It helped, but I had to use all my will to not choke on the smell. To think they store the food and drinking water down there. Meals will never be the same for me.

  The hold was not exactly as I had thought, a vast cavern piled with barrels and crates. It was vast, but it was divided into stalls and walkways. I squatted and held my lantern and peered down at the very bottom of the ship between the planks of the walkway where I stood. Undoubtedly the origin of the stench. With the rocking of the ship a greenish putrid fluid flowed back and forth among tightly stacked gray rocks. A partially decomposed rat lay on one of the rocks. I said a silent prayer for the continued good repair of the bilge pump, lest the fouled water reach the stored food and drinking water. The storm, I thought. The pumps had been continuously running. Let's hope the water level in the hold didn't rise too high. It did, however, seem damp down there.

  I stood and looked for Valerian's crates. They were the last loaded, so they should be near, I reasoned. The hold was not as full as I would have thought. It seems that most of the supplies are ours. We are supposed to be taking supplies to St. Sebastian. I fear the colonists will be disappointed at the paltry show of provisions; however, we have ample room for contraband. But why not take the supplies over? For surely, after their unloading, there would be ample room for any cargo for the return voyage. It seems almost as if we aren't actually going to St. Sebastian.

  The hull was quiet except for the constant creaking of the wood rubbing against itself as the ship wafted. It reminded me that I shouldn't miss the opportunity to look for the crates while there was no one there to observe me. I walked along the walkways, peeking into the various stalls. There are many barrels stored on their side and kept from rolling by wooden wedges jammed between them. Extra rope lies in coiled piles on top. Across in another area, stacked neatly are the staves and bands of barrels that have been emptied. For all the foul smell, the hold is neatly organized. Adjacent to the kegs are sacks of grain and foodstuffs.

  I continued searching down the length of the ship toward the bow. The hold is a maze of recesses and alcoves. I feared I would be there all night. I reached the magazine and started back toward the stern, when I spied the crates in a recess. As I examined them, I noticed that someone had been down before me, for the lids had been pried open and hurriedly fastened back. Not Valerian or his servant, for surely as carefully as they oversaw the loading, they would not have been so careless in the checking of them. I stepped on top of one, raised my lantern, and peeked in the tallest first. I don't know what I expected, but I was surprised at what I found. It was a large bell. For all my suspicions of Valerian, is he actually on some holy pilgrimage to St. Sebastian? Perhaps I have misjudged the poor fellow. I closed and fastened the lid, wondering if the curious fellow before me had been disappointed. I felt relieved. I pried open the other crate, which was actually as large as the first; it was simply on its side. Inside was, at first glance, a coil of rope. However, it is not hemp, but leather sewn into a hollow shaft. I have no idea what such a thing is used for. Beneath the leather coil were other objects, the purpose of which I cannot guess. I closed the lid and quickly blew the light from my lantern just as I heard someone coming. In my haste to secret myself, I dropped my Luisa's pomander and it fell through the space between the planks and into the bilge.

  There were two of them. I could barely make out the shadowy figures of two crew members as they moved away from the ladder toward my hiding place. One was the man Sancho, whom we rescued from the ill-starred Orgullo de Espana. The other was a man I have seen but do not know.

  "Why did you want to meet down here?" asked the man in a loud, hissing whisper. "This is the worst place on the ship."

  "Which is why it is a good meeting place, especially at night," Sancho answered. "So no one will hear us."

  "Say what you have to say, so we can leave."

  Sancho began relating a plot for his own smuggling. On much less a measure than captains and generals, but illegal, nonetheless. "They will store the gold and silver in the hold, or on the orlop deck. The treasure they do not wish to declare will be offloaded before they take it into port. In a ship this size, they don't go all the way to the port at Seville. Sometimes they load it in small boats and row it to a friendly port."

  "So what does that have to do with us?" asked the sailor.

  "We can get some of the booty," said Sancho.

  "Just how do we do that?" the man asked. I was interested to know myself.

  "Easy-we take a few bars of gold and silver and hide them on the ship. When we get off, it goes with us."

  "And just how do we get our hands on a few bars of gold?"

  "That's where you come in," Sancho answered him.

  "I wondered when we were getting to that."

  "You work with the cargo. It would be easy to just take a little extra."

  "No," the sailor said. "It won't work. We'll get caught and hanged."

  "No. I've done this before. It's easy," Sancho told him.

  "If it's so easy, then why are you here dressed in rags like the rest of us?"

  "If I were here dressed in fine clothes, they'd find me out, wouldn't they? Look. We don't take much. Men like us don't need as much as the rich. You don't get greedy, you don't get caught. I've got a blacksmith friend who can turn a bar of gold into coins. Just a few extra coins a year, and nobody notices but us what's living better. They steal it among themselves, but it's us what does all the work."

  A long silence followed. So interested was I in listening to the conversation that I almost forgot about the terrible stench, but it came upon me in the silence, and I had to hold my mouth to keep from retching and making a noise.

  "We can't just walk off the ship with gold," said the sailor. "It's heavy and they search our chests. If you've done this before, then you know that."

  "We hide it in something that's going off the ship. Once me and a mate hid silver in the ballast, carried it off when we were changing it out. There's more ways than I have fingers and toes. That's not the problem, but I need a mate I can trust." Sancho was very persuasive-I could almost feel the man changing his mind.

  "We only take a small amount," the sailor said. I heard Sancho slap him on the back.

  "Not enough that they'd notice."

  "Let's get out of this place," said the sailor. "We can talk more when we stop in Havana. It's a long way to Cartagena. Time enough, I suppose, to make a good plan."

  Mercifully, they left soon after. I waited, holding my sleeve over my nose, hoping to keep out some of the odor. Finally, I could take it no more. I made my way in the dark and climbed up to the top deck. I stood on the bow, breathing in the fresh air.

  "Can't sleep?" It was Valerian. He came up beside me so quietly, I jumped. The bow's lantern and the full moon lit his features enough so that I could see his nose twitch. "Been in the hold, have we?"

  I smiled. What could I say? I had forgotten that the aroma clings to the clothes.

  "Next time you feel like a walk around the bottom of the ship, let me know. I enjoy a good midnight stroll."

  Chapter 17

  "'SOMEONE DESTROYED THE radio." Harper held up the dangling cord.

  "I don't believe this." Bobbie threw her hands in the air.

  "What are we going to do?" Lindsay asked.

  Bobby dug in a box and came up with a flag. "We'll put this distress flag on our antenna, . . . but it's so dark, I doubt anyone will see it unless they shine a light on u
s. I don't see any boats around anyway."

  "Do we have more options?" Lindsay asked, looking out at the choppy ocean and the distant shore in the moonlight.

  "Sure," said Harper. "The flare guns are still here." She dug in the boat's locker. "Well, no they aren't. We do have the rubber raft and oars, and we all have our purses."

  "Our purses? Oh, but I don't have my cell phone with me," replied Lindsay.

  "I don't have one," Bobbie said.

  Harper smiled and dug in her purse. "I'm never without mine." She pushed the power button. "However, I do appear to be without a close enough tower. We'll drift in with the tide, so we don't have to worry about that. We can just stay here a while."

  They drifted in the boat for what seemed to Lindsay like an eternity.

  "Can't we jury-rig a sail?" she asked at last. Harper and Bobbie looked at each other, then at Lindsay. "Maybe we can use an oar for a mast."

  "I'll tell you what," said Harper. "You can stand in the middle of the boat with your arms stretched out for yardarms and hold a blanket. We'll tell you which way to turn."