The Downeaster: Deadly Voyage

by Paul Thomas Fuhrman

  For being so close to the equator it’s been rather cool, although it is still quite comfortable. It has been overcast but not so much as to prevent me from using my sextant to determine our position. Yesterday morning the thermometer read 67 degrees dry bulb and 64 degrees wet bulb at noon and the temperatures were again the same this noon. It does feel a bit cooler; perhaps it’s the breeze.

  I mentioned our two great albatross have failed to reappear. Sailors are superstitious. Perhaps it is only that these birds have learned sailors are generous with ship’s biscuit or they find fish to prey upon in our wake. They were a diversion. We have headed west by north and west-northwest all day, methodically using the trade winds to close the distance to San Francisco.

  I spoke to my first mate about the progress he’s been making in inspecting and overhauling our rigging. He has replaced more than a few ratlines and robands. Perhaps the heavy ice from the south fifties helped rot out the line and the weight of the ice weakened them. Unfortunately, accidents befall us and the sea leads some to all men’s fate. Today I will bury Jeremy Ernst, an apprentice, a life once so full of promise.

  I close this noon, this day at sea with all my love...

  ***

  The burial ceremony began when Griffin read the log entry for Jeremy Ernst to the men:

  “On Thursday, the fifth of September, 1872, on board the ship Providence, lying-to in a gentle Pacific Ocean, Jeremy Ernst, our brother and beloved shipmate, was laid to rest.”

  He then spoke. “All of us knew Jeremy. All of us grieve because his life was taken unnaturally. We are less than what we were by Jeremy’s departure from us. He was a good boy and would have grown to be a good man. He earned our respect by working hard and being honest. I know all of us grieve his loss and will join me in praying for him. His life had been so full of promise. We had so much more to share with him. He was our shipmate and friend.”

  The ship’s master set the log aside and opened his old Anglican Book of Common Prayer.

  “Lord be merciful to us sinners, and save us for thy mercy’s sake. Thou art the great God, who hast made and rulest all things: O deliver us for thy Name’s sake. Thou art the great God to be feared above all: O save us, that we may praise thee.”

  The ship’s company all said, “Amen.”

  “We therefore commit the body of Jeremy Ernst, our brother, to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body when the sea shall give up her dead, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who at his coming shall change our vile body, that it may be like his glorious body, according to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all things unto himself.”

  The ship’s company said, “Amen.”

  Peleg Carver was a grieving man. Although he had seen this before and had lost a brother and cousins to the sea, the death of a young, promising life affected him. His eyes had begun to tear and he turned his face upward and toward the ship’s wake to hide his emotions from the crew. Henry Lennon saw this and placed his hand atop his friend’s shoulder.

  Sam Duder led the ship in his favorite hymn, his tenor voice standing proud, a hymn he learned to sing as a boy.

  No condemnation now I read;

  Jesus, and all in Him, is mine;

  Alive in Him, my living Head,

  And clothed in righteousness divine,

  Bold I approach th’eternal throne,

  And claim the crown, through Christ my own.

  Amazing love! How can it be

  That thou, my God, shouldst die for me.

  Forty-Seven

  Approaching Landfall

  Oh, I thought I heard the Ol’ Man say,

  Leave her, Johnny, leave her!

  Tomorrow ye will get your pay,

  An it’s time for us to leave her!

  Traditional Pump Shantey

  Tuesday, September 3, 1872

  Lat 37˚10΄00˝N, Long 122˚30΄00˝W

  Isaac Griffin finished his supper in the main saloon with Henry Lennon. They were experiencing the coastal weather of Northern California. It was calm, not even enough wind for steerageway. Griffin watched the drizzle on the lights of the overhead butterfly hatch. At last the fog had cleared at noon, permitting them to see Point Año Nuevo bearing northeast some eight miles off, as calculated using a sextant and distance-off tables. They knew they were only thirty-five miles or so away from the Golden Gate.

  Their circumstances both delighted and frustrated them in that it soon would be over and yet they must helplessly wait. In the last two days they had covered 171 miles and 172 miles, respectively, and today, two bells into the noon watch, they were becalmed, delayed once more. Still they saw coastal traffic, a becalmed schooner bound for Santa Cruz. The ocean was dark green and there were several varieties of shore birds flying about them, all signs of land.

  No movement since four a.m. The day’s run was 140 miles, thirty-five miles short of a pilot boarding, arriving at their anchorage, the bustle of agents for the Central Pacific representatives being on board to examine cargo and to inform them of where they would discharge it. They were thirty-five miles short of eight uninterrupted hours of sleep, mail from New England, a meal with good wine, fresh meat, and green vegetables, and a newspaper. Griffin looked forward to a porterhouse steak, sourdough bread, and Kayleigh’s mail.

  The calm remained with them until nine p.m., and then they found faint air from the south. This wind lasted the remainder of the night, and at about four-thirty a.m., the Farallones bore northwest true and Point Lobos bore northeast true. By five a.m. the pilot was aboard and then they were becalmed again until nine a.m., when the breeze once again stirred, filling the topgallants and royals but leaving the other square sails just shaking. They had way on.

  Providence did not arrive in San Francisco in 110 days as planned. It was just one hundred days and twelve hours from her anchorage off the Battery in the Hudson River to passage between the heads of San Francisco Bay, 17,384 miles by log, averaging just over seven knots for the voyage. By straight line, the voyage was 16,357 miles. This voyage was accomplished despite five to fifteen hours of calm for eleven consecutive days. Although the days of the clipper races were over, one hundred days and twelve hours from New York was still impressive enough to have freight agents, ship’s masters, and seamen talking. The performance was telegraphed east to Christison and Son.

  Sam Duder and the other New Englanders had already indicated they would sign on for the trip back to England, as had five Irishmen and the day-men. Nicholas Priest and Edward Smallbridge looked forward to going ashore. They would get their tattoos for rounding the Horn and for being horned shellbacks. They would have money in their pockets and everything in common with generations of sailors before and after them who looked forward to an adventure ashore.

  Richard Ernst had decided to stay aboard ship and finish the voyage. He knew his telegram and the captain’s would send his family into profound mourning for the loss of their firstborn. Younger reasoned that his family’s grief would pass and that their lives would resume their routines. Jeremy would always be remembered. There would be a memorial service and a headstone placed for him in the family plot. Younger had talked at length to his captain about the choice he had to make and decided that he would continue the voyage. He had mourned his brother’s death and reasoned that delaying his homecoming would bring welcome joy to his family when he did arrive. He had been sent to sea as a boy. He would return home a man, a horned shellback and Cape Horner, prepared to run the family business with his father.

  Providence remained at her anchorage for three days until berthing could be arranged. Griffin was pleased that his officers, Eoghan Gabriel, ten of his seamen including his New Englanders, Jonathon Bishop, and his apprentices had all remained aboard. Peleg Carver’s wife was healthy and being cared for in his absence by her mother and sister. She sent her husband a bright and loving telegram full of strength and optimism. She urged him to continue.
>
  Isaac Griffin was not surprised to see a U.S. Marshal climb the accommodation ladder and announce that he had come for Samuel Craig. He was certain that he was a fugitive from justice. Griffin was surprised, however, to learn that Craig—not his real name—had murdered his wife, enlisted in the Confederate Army, deserted from the Army of Northern Virginia after his first battle, and been identified as the killer of a Shenandoah Valley farmer and his wife and family by a child who had miraculously lived.

  Although a judge and jury awaited Samuel Craig, they never would find him. Griffin showed the marshal and the shipping commissioner his log. The marshal said, “Shame, that bastard should have been hung. There’s a reward too. Now no one gets it.”

  Nicholas Priest found one letter from his family, from his mother. His mother told him of how much she and his father missed him, how they had prayed for him, and how he had brought his mother and father closer together. Priest showed the letter to Smallbridge and Duder. Duder handed the letter back to Priest and said, “Sweets, shipmate, let’s get you and Smallbridge your tattoos and a cold beer. Old man’s going to pay us off tomorrow.”

  Isaac Griffin bundled the large stack of letters he had written to Kayleigh MacKenna and posted them. He then accepted hers with both anticipation and anxiety. It was not until he returned to the ship and opened her letters that he learned that Kayleigh’s periods, her monthly visitor, had stopped. They were to be parents. The last of her letters revealed that she and her family were somewhere, perhaps crossing the Rockies, aboard the transcontinental train.

  Forty-Eight

  San Francisco

  Instead of spa we’ll drink down ale

  and pay the reckoning on the nail,

  for debt no man shall go to jail;

  from Garry Owen in glory

  Official Song of the

  First U.S. Army

  Calvary Division

  Friday, September 6, 1872

  Griffin’s meeting with Kayleigh was everything that each could ever have expected. She took a Whitehall boat out to where Providence was anchored while waiting to load grain. Ezra escorted her to Griffin’s cabin, and neither Kayleigh nor Griffin was seen until late that evening, when they departed hand in hand for shore, to the Lick House Hotel on the west side of Montgomery Street. Once there, they found their bedroom could wait and celebrated their union in their suite’s parlor. Both embraced physical lovemaking with an insatiable passion for each other fueled by months of absence. When exhausted, they wrapped themselves in each other’s arms and kissed and laughed.

  Having celebrated their reunion, the couple climbed into their suite’s large feather-stuffed bed, pulled the down cover over their naked bodies, and cuddled much like two drowsy puppies. Griffin was habitually slow to sleep and awoke often to assure himself he was not at sea. Wide awake, he was surprised by Kayleigh’s whimpering and twisting nervously in bed. Just a short while ago, Griffin’s mind would have been occupied by his ship, but this was not now the case. He could not rise from his chair, look at the telltale, and return to sleep. Kayleigh’s dreams obviously terrorized her.

  Griffin used his left hand to stroke Kayleigh’s brow and brush her hair back with his fingers. Her hair was damp with sweat. She awoke confused and then turned on her side and held him tightly, so childlike. He stroked the base of her spine and felt the warmth of her tears on his cheeks. He removed the comforter, kissed her belly, and then drew her close to him. Silently they both passed again into sleep. He no longer heard the sound of Providence’s top hamper working, the passage of time marked by the ship’s bell, or the muffled sounds of men on watch. Griffin’s mind listened for his wife’s whimpers. He had no ready answer.

  That morning, prior to his wife’s awakening, a Lick House bellboy delivered a note to Captain Griffin from Jim MacKenna. The note was polite, formal, but still expressed a sense of urgency. Jim MacKenna and Isaac Griffin were to have lunch together in the hotel dining room beneath the grand chandelier and skylight. Kayleigh and her mother would be shopping at that hour and the men would meet alone.

  Griffin steeled himself. His natural inclination was to carry his Smith and Wesson. He thought of Jim MacKenna’s threats, the charred oak, the butcher knife, and he loaded the revolver and strapped himself into his shoulder holster. Kayleigh’s letters were positive about her father and his attitude toward the marriage, but just the knowledge of the pistol’s presence, a bulge beneath his suit coat, might keep tempers and memories subdued.

  Jim MacKenna was every bit as imposing as Griffin remembered, a big man with coarse gray hair and a broken nose. He stood over six feet tall, as stout as an oak. The fine worsted sack model suit seemed to enhance MacKenna’s chest and shoulders yet still did little in the way of presenting an image of urban sophistication.

  Kayleigh’s father rose to greet Griffin and tentatively extended, then withdrew, his right hand first. He obviously thought to shake Griffin’s hand but then thought the better of it. Jim MacKenna stood out amidst the crystal, paintings, mirrors, and marble columns of the hotel dining room, a kettle of Irish stew on a formal banquet table. His fingers and thumbs dwarfed blunt breakfast sausages and coarse-cut carrots.

  “I’m sorry fer what happened between us, Griffin, and not just fer Kayleigh’s sake. I know I can’t expect friendship now. Perhaps, in time, that will come, but for now we’ll have ter do with some respect fer each other. Take a seat, Griffin. Please. I’ve a lot ter say ter ya.”

  The men were offered menus that included hot and cold meats, game, and wild fowl and tropical fruit from South America.

  “I don’t think Kayleigh has ever been so happy in her life. I thank yer for that. I mean it too, not that yer’ll believe me. What you don’t know is how much Mary and me look forward ter spoilin’ our little grandchild. ’Tis a granddaughter I’m hoping fer.”

  Jim MacKenna laughed and looked to see if Isaac Griffin shared his sentiment; he didn’t appear to.

  The big man exhaled and dropped his head, “This ain’t at all easy ter say, sins of their fathers, but I’ll be out with it. Kayleigh could be in terrible danger and so could you. I never meant it ter happen. Never thought it would ever happen, but I was betrayed.”

  Griffin cocked his head to look Jim MacKenna in the eyes. There were lines forming on Griffin’s forehead, and his eyes narrowed.

  “It’s not the time fer that, Griffin. There’s no danger t’you or my daughter as yet, but one day there will be, and I don’t want yer blindsided. I’m Clan na Gael. Do you know what that means?”

  Griffin replied bluntly, “No, I don’t. Tell me.”

  “I believe in Irish independence and took an oath sayin’ I’d die to free Ireland of English rule. Others, like me here and in Ireland, belong t’ Clan na Gael. I joined as a boy, a killer boy. Jack O’Corkerane, the man responsible for raising money for Irish independence here in the States, has threatened t’ kill Kayleigh, and me, if he doesn’t get his way with yer ships. He’s the head of the Clan na Gael camps in New York and Boston. He’ll kill me first, though. I made sure he’d do that.”

  Griffin sat bolt upright in his chair and clenched the fist of his left hand. His fingers curled in his right hand but still could not close. He felt no pain but did not realize it.

  Astonished, Griffin asked, “How did that happen?”

  Jim MacKenna replied, “I never, ever thought it could. I never saw it coming. Griffin, they want t’ use your shipping line t’ smuggle men into and out of Ireland beneath the British noses. They want t’ use you t’ smuggle guns, explosives, and cash into Ireland too. Even talked about using you t’ get Mary’s brothers out of Australia.”

  Jim MacKenna watched the anger drain from Griffin’s face, only to be replaced by shock.

  “How?”

  “Jack O’Corkerane knew the Christisons were hurtin’ fer money and bribed the son. The Commodore has no idea. O’Corkerane wanted me t’ force you t’ marry Kayleigh. You two surprised me there, but it really chang
es nothin’. The marriage was was ter help keep William Jr. in line. He’s a weak man and they know it. Now, they’d just as soon get him out of the way and deal directly with you.”

  Griffin slumped slightly in his chair and shook his head slowly.

  “I know, Griffin. He said if she wouldn’t marry yer, he’d kill her and me too. Said I took the oath and knew what t’expect. ’Tis total obedience t’death they want. Said they killed Terrence Cleary in East Boston for reneging on the oath. She can never go back to Boston and be safe again. They’ll kill me first.” Pride briefly flashed in his smile. “The threat’s been made, no backing away from it, no letting it slide away. It would be seen as weakness and help stiffen some spines, Irish as well as English.”

  Griffin stared into MacKenna’s eyes. “What can I do?”

  “Let’s finish up the meal. We need to leave, so I can talk ter ya. If someone heard me, it could mean the gallows, not that I don’t deserve it.”

  The two men finished their meal in silence. While Griffin often regarded his meals as a necessity, he did enjoy them. The pheasant was unexpectedly good. Jim MacKenna said nothing, but the way he attacked his plate and looked at Griffin after a particularly enjoyable bite revealed that despite Jim MacKenna’s past, the horrible situation he was in, he might just still be the boy he was never able to be. MacKenna had to feel shame to confess what he had to Griffin.

  They left the Lick House and walked together toward the Embarcadero. Once surrounded by crowds of rough men, their voices were hid amongst many. Big Jim began.