The Downeaster: Deadly Voyage

by Paul Thomas Fuhrman

  Whiskey, Johnny!

  Whiskey killed my poor old dad.

  Whiskey for my Johnny!

  I thought I heard the old man say,

  Whiskey, Johnny!

  I’ll treat my crew in a decent way.

  Whiskey for my Johnny!

  Whiskey made the skipper say,

  Whiskey, Johnny!

  “Another pull and then belay.”

  Whiskey for my Johnny!

  Oh whiskey here and whiskey there

  Whiskey, Johnny!

  Oh I’d have whiskey everywhere

  Whiskey for my Johnny!

  Now if ye ever go to Frisco town,

  Whiskey, Johnny!

  Mind ye steer clear of Shanghai Brown.

  Whiskey for my Johnny!

  A tot of grog for each man,

  Whiskey, Johnny!

  An’ a bloody big bottle for the shanteyman.

  Whiskey for my Johnny!

  PART THREE

  Thirty-Nine

  Let Us Unite

  Then let us pray that come it may, (As come it will for a’ that,) That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth, Shall bear the gree, an’ a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, It’s coming yet for a’ that, That Man to Man, the world o’er, Shall brothers be for a’ that.

  —Robert Burns

  Monday, July 29, 1872

  Boston

  Jimmy Meehan had gathered his newly formed Brotherhood of New England Merchant Seamen and Steamship Clerks into the chapel of the Seamen’s Bethel. Twenty-three men were there, of whom seventeen spoke English to one degree or another.

  “I tell you johnnies it’s nathin’ to demand the New York wage if yer can’t keep it in yer pockets. How many of you have been fleeced clean by some crimp? How many have yer been shipped aboard some hell ship naked and drunk because she could not ship good men?"

  “We’ve got to put the fear of Jaysus into these boarding masters. They’ve got to learn to trate a sailor fair. I ain’t saying yer should have no fun ashore. I’m saying it’s wrong to rob a johnny of his wages and his freedom.”

  Father Joe, the Methodist minister at the chapel, next spoke. “You can’t mean violence, Jimmy!”

  “And wasn’t it Jaysus himself who drove de nicker changers from the steps of the temple, Father Joe? Isn’t it true these merchants, politicians, and judges all let the crimps shanghai good men because it’s grand for their business? How many of yer know of a johnny, a grand shipmate, to a come up a floater or just drop off the face o’ the earth?”

  Jimmy saw many heads shake and heard mutterings of anger.

  “I can’t let you kill men, Jimmy. I can’t have this bethel support savagery as bad as those the crimps practice!”

  Jimmy was disappointed in the minister’s lack of confidence in him. “And who is blathering about killing? I’m talking about keeping good men from being shipped out against their will. All I’m saying is to rescue our lads, our brothers, and have a little fun. Father Joe, yer can stay and that would please us, or yer can go if yer wish to; these men want to do something about it, and if they don’t, nigh, who will? You can open your Bible to Good Friday and I’ll swear on the chapter and verse that I intend no lasting harm to no man!”

  Father Joe placed a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “You’re going to plan something I think I would be better off not knowing about. I’m going to forget I ever saw you all gathered in this chapel for anything other than to say ‘praise Jesus.’ I’m going to pray that men are rescued too and that I see all of you here again on your knees and asking for God’s forgiveness. In the meantime—should you need me—I’ll be in my room on my knees praying for your salvation by faith, as deeds are doubtful for the likes of you.” Father Joe laughed at his own joke.

  “I call that yer blessing.”

  “You can call it what you want to, Jimmy. Just remember the Lord loves all of you and so do I.” Father Joe removed his right hand from Jimmy’s shoulder and looked him square in the eye. “Never forget His loving Son. May He keep all of you in his grace.” He turned and left.

  Seeing that he was gone, Jimmy laid out his plan.

  “That crimp Lard Ass Jesse’s taking some men to the Natick ternight. The ship’s old man, Nate Smallbridge, was forced into it by that young whelp William Jr. She’s gonna put them aboard her express wagon and have her runners cart them to the ship at midnight. Now, those thugs and gurriers will have knives, slung shots, knuckle-dusters, and pistols as sure as all of us are standing here. Can’t count on the men in the wagon to help neither. If we stop that wagon and stand tall and call out, ‘Stand and deliver!’ some of us ain’t coming back to a snug berth here. Some of you won’t be breathing. So here’s how we’ll chucker the deed.”

  ***

  Blue-Eyed Tommy Nangle was sitting atop Lard Ass Jesse’s express wagon with his assistant, Fred, and a dozen helpless men. Tommy was touched by a sharp pang of desire to be doing something else. Something he thought of as the fun of his ignoble calling. He knew delivery of drugged and intoxicated sailors to ships was the only way the blood money could change hands, but there was another challenge he enjoyed, something involving guile, trickery, and the occasional use of leather-wrapped lead. And here the challenge was before him. Stumbling down the street were three drunken sailors and a shapely young adventuress with her ample breasts nearly out of her bodice. Oh, and they were singing too, “The Parting Glass,” which meant they were really drunk. They were easy pickings, but tonight, the wagon and its cargo of drugged men were on their way to the Natick. Tommy fidgeted in his seat like a cat ready to pounce while his mind raced and delighted with the temptation.

  As the drunks approached near enough to the wagon for Tommy to stare into the strumpet’s cleavage and smell the stale whiskey, the runner instinctively reached for the bottle of opium- laced rum he regularly carried. “You johnnies care for a drink? It’s good to see men having a little fun.” There’s ninety dollars for me pocket and Lard Butt will never know. His helper would keep his mouth shut for a cut, no more than ten bucks. Hell, if I wrap the whore in a blanket, I can ship her too!

  “Shhh...keep them men down under the sides, Fred, and keep them still. That’s a lad. There’s room for one or two more. You, girl, off with you now. I’ll show these lads someone with bigger paps than yours and legs spread wide open!”

  Tommy could almost imagine them taking his drink and passing out on the spot. Even from where he sat high in the wagon he could smell their evening on their breath and clothing. “Come here, fellows, and I’ll have one with you.”

  When the sailors were close to the wagon, Tommy offered his bottle to the first man who stepped up. The man took the bottle, only to have it snatched from his unsteady hand by the strumpet, who giggled and shrieked with laughter while she hid the bottle between her breasts. “Who’ll take the bottle now?” she called out, while lowering the top of her bodice to tempt her companions.

  Tommy’s eyes were instantly drawn to the girl in the hope of seeing her nipples, when an iron belaying pin struck him and his helper across the back of their skulls, sending them into an unconscious blackness.

  As if by miracle, the three sailors in the street regained sobriety and Jimmy Meehan appeared from a side street with six more men bearing axe handles. Jimmy climbed into the wagon and poured the runner and his helper onto the cobblestones of the street.

  “Strip the sons of bitches naked, boys. Gag their mouths. Tie them up and throw them into the wagon’s bed. We’ll take them back to Jesse’s boarding house after we get these poor lads to the bethel.

  “Bathsheba, me grand doll, Delilah, me lassie, put those pistols and knives in yer husband’s satchel and hand it here. I’ll keep the slung shot and blackjack in me pocket. Nigh, don’t yer be looking at their private parts, me good flower. Yer someone’s wife now.”

  When the wagon and its victims arrived at the Seamen’s Bethel, Jimmy knocked on the door of Father Joe’s bedroom. “Get up, Father Joe.
Here’s a wagon full of heathen sailors for you to convert if you can get them out of their stupor.”

  The next event in Jimmy’s evening was to deliver the naked runner and helper to the porch of the boarding house and stretch out their still-unconscious bodies lengthwise before the door like a proud cat displaying its night’s catch of mice. Jimmy hung a sign around Tommy’s neck. The sign was crudely lettered, but Jimmy was sure Lard Ass Jesse would understand the meaning. It read, “Stop fucking over sailors. Someone’s watching you.”

  And thus, The Brotherhood of New England Merchant Seamen and Steamship Clerks made a name for itself on the Boston waterfront. No one was killed, which pleased Father Joe, although the two runners would have a severe headache for a day or so, and every sailor at every tavern and boarding house in Boston looked to his fellow sailors and said, “Did you hear what happened to Blue-Eyed Tommy Nangle?”

  Forty

  The South Pacific

  I, the albatross that awaits for you at the end of the world.

  I, the forgotten soul of the sailors lost that crossed Cape Horn from all the seas of the world.

  But die they did not in the fierce waves, for today towards eternity in my wings they soar in the last crevice of the Antarctic winds

  —Sara Vial

  Poem from the Cape Horn Memorial

  Thursday, August 1, 1872

  Lat 33˚06΄15˝S, Long 94˚12΄45˝W

  It was four bells into the morning watch of August second. The sun broke clear of the red clouds.

  By now holystoning a deck was so natural to Priest, he found it almost relaxing. Just push the stone forward, move it back, push, pull, bear down for a stubborn stain, push, pull, and soon you were finished and would go to other work, sailorizing. It was by far preferable to cleaning paint or polishing brass. You could talk without drawing a rebuke from a mate as long as the stone kept moving. The mates understood. They came from before the mast.

  “Duder, why do those big birds follow us? They’ve been there since we rounded the Horn. I’ve seen them every day. It’s almost like they want coffee with us.”

  “Priest, they do. They long for coffee and tobacco, but they want something else.”

  Lennon overheard them. It was a conversation he’d hoped would not occur. He knew the legend. “It’s just an old sailor’s tale. Priest, they’re birds—albatross. Big birds, for sure, but just birds.”

  “Mr. Lennon, the boy needs to know.”

  “Do yews believe everything yews hear, Priest? God gave you something between yer ears besides a nose. It’s all superstition, just a good sea story some people believe because they’ve told it so often. Just believin’ their own bloody lies, they do.”

  “All due respect, Mr. Lennon, that just ain’t so. Some things you need to believe in. Some things you need to fear. The birds are here for souls. There’ll be two deaths aboard this barky, yes, sir.”

  Priest was amazed. “That’s pretty fantastic, Duder. How do you know Mr. Lennon’s wrong?”

  “It ain’t ’cause I say so. I’ve seen it before; so’s Stedwin; so’s Mr. Carver.”

  Lennon scoffed, “Go ahead, Duder, tell da boy. Now when yews hear it, Sweets, you’ll know it’s far-fetched, just nonsense, old sailors’ tales, and a good ghost story.”

  Duder shook his head to contradict the mate. “Those big albatrosses spend their lives flying. They’re the souls of men who’ve perished at the Horn. Mostly, you’ll see a big flock of them sail down a mountain wind to look at a ship. See how they glide. They’re hoping, just hoping, another man dies and takes their place. Once a soul is released, it could go to heaven or hell—I can’t say. But those two are special. They ain’t hoping; they know. They’re just waiting ’cause they know two deaths will happen.”

  “They got bird brains, Priest, pea-sized bird brains.”

  “No, Mr. Lennon, they are souls, souls crying out to be set free. Bird brains, shit!”

  Lennon stiffened. “Careful there, Sam.”

  “So they are following us, waiting for two of us to die?”

  “Bloody dewlolly!”

  Duder spoke. “Only those birds are special. They want atonement for sin. There’s a Jonah aboard. He’ll pay for his sins, he’ll draw his penance, and two men will die. If not, the sea’ll take us.” Sam Duder shuddered.

  Priest saw fear on Duder’s face. “You believe that, don’t you, Sam? You’re shaking. You believe it.”

  Lennon’s face showed disgust. “He does, Sweets, but that don’t make it so.”

  Harvard Law School, Boston

  The female detective sat in front of George Priest’s desk and began her report. “He hired me because I work cheap. But I do see the books. It’s all there, where the money went.”

  George nodded. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. He’s not trying to steal, but he’s just not been very forthcoming to his father. It’s an abuse of trust, not larceny.”

  “I understand. What happened to the money?”

  “He lost it at the Mercantile Exchange. That’s not to say he’s made no money; he has. He seems desperate to make a killing and invests in high-risk ventures. That’s where Griffin’s bottomry money went.”

  “Are any of these investments liquid?”

  “Some. I’d say at least half from the sale of the two ships is still there in bonds that are drawing interest.”

  “How much is that?”

  “Nearly fifty thousand. Am I through there? Do you want me to keep working for him?”

  “You said he’s not trying to take advantage of you?”

  “Oh, God, no. He’s the coldest man I’ve ever known. He thinks he’s the pinnacle of evolution, the modern man. I’ve never heard him even speak of his wife. It’s either all money or some new illness that comes from his high position in society, the anxiety of evolution’s noblest product. He brags about what he spends on doctors, on electrical treatments.”

  George Priest scratched his head and nodded. “It’s going to be some time before I can even get a telegraph to Griffin. Stay there. Keep working. We need to know where the money is at all times.”

  “Oh, Mr. Priest, he’s been seeing this Irishman, a Mr. O’Corkerane. There’s money involved that’s not on the books. O’Corkerane is Clan na Gael.”

  “Will you be safe, Brannagh?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m a woman. William Jr. doesn’t think I’ve enough sense to sneeze when I’ve got a cold.”

  The New England Hospital for Women and Children

  It was late in Kayleigh’s first trimester. Her menses had stopped ten weeks before. Her mother laughed gently at the size her breasts had grown to and told her to expect a big baby. She was once again in Dr. Marie Zakrzewska’s office. She had been spread open, poked, measured, and asked a hundred questions, and now was being scolded.

  “Why do you continue with this nursing? I’ve done everything I can to convince you that your talent for raising money, your talent for persuading important people, is far more important than washing soiled dressings. And those women, those nurses—your example is tossing pearls before swine.”

  Kayleigh angrily shoved her chair back from the doctor’s desk, stood, and walked to the window to stare at the dome of the Bullfinch Building. When she brought her arms straight down by her sides and clenched her fists, Dr. Zakrzewska spoke with anxiety in her voice. “Kayleigh, there’s no need. Why are you so upset with me? What I say is true.”

  Kayleigh’s head dropped down to her chest, her fists became unclenched, but she still stared at the Bullfinch Building and fought back tears. Each day of her pregnancy seemed to bring her emotions closer and closer to the surface. She knew that if Dr. Zakrzewska saw her tears, she would discount anything she had to say and attribute it to the mind of a distraught pregnant woman.

  “You’re wrong, Doctor. I don’t think you understand. In Berlin, you had a path to take, a mentor to guide you and promote your welfare. These women, particularly Rachael, have none of
that. They all believe that marriage to an income will be their only salvation. They see themselves as society paints them, common, fit only for nurture and common drudgery. The fact that I work with them, share stories, laugh and cry with them, helps show them I see their worth. You are right; nursing must be a profession. But you don’t realize that these women do not believe in themselves or realize their own potential.”

  Kayleigh turned and faced Dr. Zakrzewska. “You’d find Kazia repulsive. She’s huge, strong, and a bully. I had enough of her one day and stood up to her. I got in her face. She started to cry because I punctured the wall she used to protect herself, the bullying. She could barely read English and was afraid if the matron knew, the hospital would fire her. Her husband died; she has no one to care for her except herself.”

  Dr. Zakrzewska seemed surprised as Kayleigh sat down across from her. “I held her, Doctor. I held her in my arms, a woman at least fifteen years older than I am. I talked to Jennie and sent Kazia to Boffin’s Bower. Jennie will help her read and write better. But Kazia makes my point. Who tells women like Kazia that they are worthwhile? Who sees the potential they have but never see in themselves?”

  “I never considered this, Kayleigh.”

  “You, all of us, are held captive by the prejudices we hold. I’m not promoting nursing or the school to these women; I’m just showing them how wonderful they are if only they could believe in themselves.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you, Doctor? The story you told me, about the apprenticeships you arranged for women. You said none would take them because they took six years to complete. Those women may have told you that six years was too long, and I know you believed them. But did you ask if they could afford to support themselves for six years? Were they convinced they would fail, as everyone they knew said they would?”

  Forty-One

  Beating North

  ’Twas cold and dark when I fetched the deck, dirty ’n’ cold ’n’ thick, ’n’ there was a feel in the way she rode as fairly turned me sick...