The Downeaster: Deadly Voyage

by Paul Thomas Fuhrman

  Smallbridge took Priest out to the alley and said he wanted to protect his new shipmate from himself. As they left, the young girl smiled at him. “Je m’appelle Sophie. À demain?” (My name is Sophie. Till tomorrow?)

  Ignoring the girl’s question, Priest cried, “I could kill them! I could kill them, Smallbridge. They tricked me; they made a fool of me. One day, one day...”

  “One day what, Priest? The chances are you’ll never see that girl or those men again in your life, but listen to you. I don’t think you understand a damn thing about what happened.”

  Priest felt his chin drop and his mouth form a small circle; his eyebrows rose. He had expected Smallbridge to be sympathetic.

  “The worst those sailors did was to laugh at you. Buying the girl for you was a gift. They saw you becoming all cow-eyed about her and were thankful you bought whiskey for them. You didn’t carp about it either. Those men just wanted to show they liked you.”

  Smallbridge saw the amazement in Priest’s eyes.

  “They laughed because she did as they expected; that’s all. Had it been the thin one or the Swede, they would’ve laughed just as hard.”

  Priest had never thought anyone could ever talk to him like that. His mother coddled his feelings. His father avoided them.

  Smallbridge continued, “You ought to have been laughing with them and at yourself. She’d understand. She held your hand!”

  Smallbridge still had not finished. “I talked to the big fair-headed Swede that bought her for you. He told me she had been sold to the tavern owner by her mother for a month’s rent and is no older than you are. He brought her here from Quebec. Did you hear what she said to you? She’s sweet on you.”

  Priest was drunk, but Smallbridge’s words still penetrated the whiskey fog. A girl liked him. He stumbled, pissed in the alley to relieve himself, and fought nausea while stumbling with his duffel back to the wharf.

  ***

  Smallbridge and a drunken Nicholas Priest left their hired dory and climbed Providence’s accommodation ladder. Henry Lennon saw them and muttered, “Enjoy yerselves, lads. Yews’ll not take advantage of me again. I’ll start making sailormen of yews tomorrow.”

  Later that evening Priest hurried to the side of the ship and violently emptied the contents of his stomach over the side. When he returned to his bunk, he found two silver dollars had slipped out of the watch pocket of his trousers; Sophie had given her price to him.

  Fourteen

  Ship’s Work

  Work! Work! Work!

  While the cock is crowing aloof!

  —Thomas Hood

  Wednesday, May 1, 1872

  Bath, Maine

  At five in the morning—two bells of the morning watch—Lennon stuck his head in the apprentice cabin door and roared, “On deck now, there’s work ter do. Bring yer cups and hop ter it.” In five minutes’ time, the boys were out of their bunks and through the cabin door, but a hungover Priest was the last to arrive. Lennon held a large enameled pot of steaming coffee and had a coat pocket stuffed with ship’s biscuit. Lennon filled each boy’s cup and said, “Drink this; it’s all yews’ll have ’til seven bells.” Smallbridge and the Ernst brothers welcomed theirs, but it was a new thing to Priest—he drank only tea. However, the boy took the cup willingly so as not to offend the mate. The coffee was near boiling. His first attempt resulted in a flinch; the hot tin cup burned his lips. He blew across the rim of the cup a few times, sipped, and then winced; it was remarkably bitter as well as hot.

  “Having trouble there, Priest?” Lennon remarked. “I’ve got just what it takes ter make yews like it.” Lennon led the boys to the galley and poured a dollop of molasses into each of the cups. Nicholas Priest was not sure it tasted better, but the molasses did put fuel in his empty belly, as did the hard ship’s biscuits. The mate said, “Na hair of the dog ed this barky.” He then handed each boy another ship’s biscuit to eat.

  “Come on, boys, finish up. On this ship, yews work from five in the morning until six at night and stand yer watches too.”

  The boys finished their coffee and Lennon led them forward to the passageway running between the port and starboard lockers in the forecastle. Lennon opened the door to one locker and handed each boy a stone the size of a paving stone, calling it a holystone. “Yews’ll see why.”

  Smallbridge knew what was coming and rolled up his trouser legs and took off his boots. Nicholas Priest stared in confusion. The Ernst brothers also ignored Smallbridge’s example and ended up with dungarees wet from the knee down as a result.

  Lennon posted the boys at the hand pump, and they wet the deck with the fire hose.

  “Now, lads, scrub it down, make it shine! This is the way the day begins at sea, every day at sea.” Smallbridge showed the boys how holystoning was accomplished. Priest wondered why the decks were cleaned this way; it wore away the surface of the deck.

  Priest’s knees screeched in pain with each forward movement of the stone across the pine deck. As he continued, he began to feel small spasms in his lower back. The small twinges continued, growing in intensity, and soon joined each other in one unremitting wail for relief. He felt points of heat where his fingers joined his palms. Not only was the holystone wearing away the deck; it was also grinding and then burning blisters on his hands.

  The effort required was not that much, but the repetition tested Priest’s stamina. He quickly felt winded. He intuitively knew that it would do him no good to complain, and as a means of keeping his mind off his suffering, he attempted to keep pace with Smallbridge. It was a good strategy but not an adequate one, as the pain continued and spread to his arms and hands. Blisters began to form.

  “Just push it, Priest. Let the stone’s weight do the work.” Smallbridge quickly saw his new friend’s lack of practical knowledge and knew he was in pain. Their work had only progressed as far as the main-mast. He thought Priest suffered in silence, not from stoicism, but to avoid derision. Smallbridge asked if, before now, Priest had ever had a friend or worked a day in his whole life.

  Jeremy Ernst was work-hardened like tool steel. He felt no pain or fatigue as Priest did but felt this work was beneath him. What had this to do with learning to be a mate? The older brother attempted to speak the word “mister,” but as the t crossed his tongue, Lennon’s boot impacted his butt and Jeremy found himself chest down on the wet deck. The diversion was enough for Smallbridge to catch Priest’s attention and point to his own trouser knees and how he had rolled the material to form a cushion. Nicholas Priest rolled up his trousers. He silently thanked Smallbridge. His back screamed for relief, and the blisters on his hands soon started to bleed.

  Lennon spoke in a matter-of-fact voice as he addressed the boys. His hard eyes and their contact with each of the boys’ eyes produced fear. “Lads, I don’t give a damn about yews ma or da, and I don’t give a damn for why you’re here. You’ll learn by doing and keeping yer mouths shut. Understand this: I’m here to work yews, the other mate is here to work yews, and God forbid the captain ever sees yews na’ working. All I want ter see is yer arses an’ elbows an’ this deck being cleaned. Why ain’t those holystones scraping me bloody deck?”

  The boys cleaned the deck in total silence, swept up the sand, and flogged the deck dry with swabs. At seven-thirty Lennon struck the ship’s bell seven times and shouted, “It’s time for brecky. Get below and shift canvas for going ashore.” Priest threw his head back, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. It was over, at least for now.

  ***

  Lennon bought breakfast for the apprentices—oatmeal porridge with butter, molasses, and hot coffee. The boys bolted down their meal in silence, as their bodies were starving for food. Lennon gave them half an hour to eat and soon had them back on the ship and ready for work, but while at the table, he exhorted them, “Muck it in, mates, yews at yer granny’s.”

  ***

  Back on the ship, Lennon inspected the deck and had the boys sweep it down. It did not pass—Lennon had n
o intention that it would—and soon they were busy sweeping again. The older of the two brothers shot an angry look at Lennon when he thought the mate was not looking.

  “I saw dat, Ernst!”

  Lennon knew three of the boys had worked hard and did not complain, but he knew Jeremy had not. “Ernsts, Smallbridge, and Priest, lay aloft ter de main topgallant yard.” Smallbridge looked at Priest and Richard Ernst and said, “He wants us to climb the main-mast to there.” He pointed to the main topgallant yard, nearly 125 feet in the air. “Smallbridge, bear a hand wi’ this. Yews been aloft; they ain’t.”

  Lennon saw fear in Priest’s eyes and wild enthusiasm in Richard Ernst’s. Lennon stopped the boys by the main-mast fife-rail and had them look up, then explained that the construction of the mast, which consisted of several units—the main-mast, top-mast, topgallant mast, and royal mast—together extended to nearly 145 feet above the deck.

  The next topic was the wind: “It blows from windward and blows to leeward. Windward is called da weather side and leeward called da lee. Lads, everything here is da wind. This barky won’t move unless we’ve got it, so learn its direction, learn ter judge its strength, make it part of yews. Always climb a mast on da windward shrouds. These and de stays are da standing rigging. You want da wind ter push yews into da shroud when a ratline parts beneath yews foot.”

  Lennon held the shroud in his hands and continued: “Yer hands go here and here only.” He pointed to the ratlines and said their feet went there and there only. “Now, lads, while yer climbing, yews never, ever look down, and it’s always one hand for yerself and one for da ship.” Lennon laughed. “That’s da one-hand business, da only fairy tale yews will hear aboard this barky.”

  Priest placed his right hand on the shroud. It was cold, and he could feel the taut wire rope beneath the serving. He then placed a foot on the ratline and it moved. The boy started to climb slowly. He felt his legs start to shake, but he kept climbing for fear that he would be called a coward. Despite this, he could not stop the trembling. For the first time in his life he contemplated death as real and not some imaginary revenge. Everyone knew he was afraid. No amount of will on his part could hide his fear. His legs betrayed him. Nicholas Priest reached the futtocks, which led to the main-top, despite his fear. The boy wanted to use the lubber’s hole but the mate’s sea-boot prevented him from using it.

  “You’ll use de futtocks, Priest; now, wait until da ship rolls ter leeward and then climb.” Priest did as directed. With all the speed and power of adrenaline, he stepped onto the main-top as he was told to do. He felt a moment of intense pleasure.

  When the three apprentices were comfortably on the main-top, Lennon explained the fittings on the yard and showed them the jackstay, where sails were bent; he explained the foot-ropes and stirrups, the blocks and braces, lifts and ties. The second mate watched the two boys carefully to see if they were over any initial fear. “Lay ter da top-mast cross-trees, lads.”Priest was again the first to climb. The second officer was directly below him. The shrouds were narrower now, and he climbed placing his feet on the ratlines and hands on the shrouds. He kept his eyes aloft, looking to where he needed to place his hands and feet. Although his legs had stopped shaking, he still moved slowly. The boy thought he heard the mate encourage him. They reached the top-mast cross-tree. The mate swung out on the weather side of the yard and climbed on top of it, steadying himself with the lift. Smallbridge stepped out on the foot-rope of the lee yard. Richard Ernst’s excitement grew, and fear still radiated from Priest’s face. The boys climbed the even narrower shrouds to the topgallant mast cross-tree. Lennon pointed to the windward yard and said, “Lay out. Go on, now.”

  The younger Ernst boy started and then hesitated when he felt the foot-rope move. He slowly moved farther out on the yard. Nicholas Priest carefully put a foot on the foot-rope and clinched his hands around the jackstay; he continued until both feet were on the rope and then, after several steps, realized he was outboard on the yard, one hundred feet over the deck.

  Priest then felt momentary panic as the foot-rope moved beneath his feet from the actions of Richard Ernst, but he remained determined to lay out on the yard. His life depended on the line beneath his feet, and if it should fail, his hands must stop him. With that thought, he gripped the iron jackstay with enough force that he felt a forearm cramp. Still, he and Richard Ernst moved farther outboard on the yard to leave room for Smallbridge to join them.

  When all were out on the yard, the mate spoke. “Take a look at da river, lads. Take a good look at da buildings on shore. Can yews feel da wind and hear da gulls? Don’t yews look at da deck.”

  Priest spoke up. “Mr. Lennon, I can see how the wind moves the water; I bet I can see for miles.”

  Priest’s mind outpaced his eyes, because he saw a sky not simply blue, but blue with tints of pink; he saw clouds floating upward in shades of white, gold, and orange; he saw yellow and white sunlight flecks dancing between the water’s swells as it moved in rising crests downriver to lap on the shore. He was exultant; he was alive, as if he had just become immortal. He was euphoric. The pounding of his heart from the exhaustion of having climbed 100 feet and the consumption of air by his heavy breathing simply lent rhythm and pitch to his joy.

  “Sure you can, lad. Don’t yews sense something up here? Don’t yews feel just a little bit free?”The younger Ernst blurted out, “Like a bird!”

  “Nah, lad, like a sailorman. Yer a johnny now.” Lennon chuckled. The young men joined him. Priest laughed for the first time since his father had told him he would go to sea.

  Priest had not totally lost his fear, but he still reveled in a sense of accomplishment independent of his parents, his mind exulting in the sensations of a body exerting itself and responding to his will. There was something else too—he had dared himself to take the greatest risk of his life and had won. He experienced giddiness at seeing the mate happy with them, and he found himself thrilled with his own accomplishment. His mind raced and he silently repeated, I did it. I did it. Me.

  “Now, lads, we’re going back on deck, so da worst is not over. Look at da bowsprit; do you see it?”

  The boys nodded.

  “Sir, we’re moving; we are swaying back and forth across the deck.”

  “That’s right, Priest, like a bloody corkscrew.”

  “Now, look and see what yews need ter climb down.”

  The boys looked down, but their attention was drawn to the deck. Lennon took a risk, since he knew their minds were painting a picture of their broken bodies spilling out blood, but he also knew that bending and reefing sail required up-and-down movement on the foot-ropes and that the sight of the deck below could never, ever be completely avoided.

  Lennon watched the untested boys for any sign of fear. He had seen fear many times before in the eyes and faces of men. Yes, the three boys were afraid, but they did not want to show it. They had felt the beginnings of acceptance by the mate, acceptance by one another, and satisfaction with themselves.

  Now all the apprentices moved downward on the shrouds until they were once again on the main-top. Lennon called to Smallbridge, “Show them da quick way down.” Smallbridge wrapped his legs around a backstay and used his arms and hands to control a rapid descent.

  Lennon felt surprise to see Priest follow suit and then the younger Ernst. Lennon would have been even more astonished had he known that Priest considered his own death, a fall from the stay, but took the quick way down anyway. The mate slid down the backstay also.

  The boys were beaming on deck and Priest’s mind filled with music—a symphony, the wildly exultant cries of high and rapid violin and piccolo notes, and the swelling of a chorus of triumph led by emphatic tympani. Although it would draw attention, Nicholas Priest remembered the chorale of the symphony and mustered his best impression of an operatic baritone and sang out, “Freunde!” It startled the mate momentarily.

  Smallbridge looked at his friend and while laughing asked, “What th
e hell was that?” Lennon laughed so hard he was nearly out of breath. This mate was as much ursine as human but was consumed with hoots of laughter. Lennon performed what the boys would soon recognize as his ritual for regaining his composure. He first raised his derby, then scratched his bald scalp, and finished by taking a handkerchief from his hip pocket to blow his nose. Lennon’s wrinkled blue eyes lit the beak nose and ruddy skin of his face. Priest thought, He’s a man like me, like the rest of us. Mr. Lennon was the subject of much discussion in the apprentice cabin. Smallbridge explained how the port and starboard watches were to be selected by the mates and expressed hope that he be selected for the starboard watch. His new friend asked why, as did the Ernst brothers. “There are worse mates than Mr. Lennon, believe me.”

  A tired Nicholas Priest turned over on his back in his upper bunk. He looked around in the small cabin he shared with his young friend. The light from a single gimbaled oil lamp shed dim hues of white and yellow. Priest saw the whitewashed planks and heard the Ernst brothers snoring across the bulkhead. He stretched out on his straw mattress, his donkey’s breakfast, and fell into a deep, satisfying sleep.

  The second mate continued to work the apprentices and prepare them to learn from the seamen who would soon be shipped. There was no hesitation when the mate gave an order. There was no carping about the indignity of the work, and when criticism came—harsh criticism—the boys took it to heart. Within months, the boys could be rated as “ordinary seamen” instead of ship’s boys, but the harshest tests were yet to come: Could they gain the respect of the crew? Could they withstand watch on watch and cold breaking seas? Lennon was pleased with them. He liked how quickly they learned and their attitudes also. Priest had caught his eye; he had worked as hard as he could despite the pain and never complained. “Good, lad!”