The Highwayman

by F. M. Parker

  He took the second pistol into his hand as he prepared to leave the cabin. Was Captain Griffith still in charge, or had the crew again mutinied? Patrick warily unbolted the door and looked into the narrow passageway. It was shadow filled but empty and he breathed more easily. He shoved the pistol under his belt and left the cabin.

  He went forward along the heaving, pitching passageway, passing the closer ladder and onward to examine the ship. The oculists, a large glass prism, set in a hole cut in the top deck caught and passed enough daylight down to the lower deck for him to see well enough to make out objects. He entered the first hold of the ship and found it jammed with spare spars, and sails and casks and wooden boxes containing various items of ship’s supplies, and all lashed in place.

  He went through a bulkhead into a second compartment and found it rich with the odor of raw sealskins and salt. The space was jammed full from deck to overhead with sealskins tied in bales of ten or so. He was astounded by the huge quantity. Griffith hadn’t exaggerated the number of skins he had taken in his hunt in the cold, southern sea. Patrick understood why Walloghan and the other mutineers had gambled their lives to gain possession of them.

  He examined one of the skins, running his hand through the fine, thick hair. The skins had been flensed, and copious amounts of salt rubbed into the raw sides to preserve them until they reached port. Griffith had said they were prime and the man should know. A fortune was here and just waiting for the buyers in San Francisco.

  He came to the forward ladder near the entrance to the crew’s quarters in the foc’s’le and stopped and listened at the closed hatchway. He could hear no voices. He opened the hatch and looked inside. The V-shaped space was crowded with bunks fastened to the hull on both sides and a table in the center holding a deck of frayed playing cards. An unlit sea lantern was suspended on a chain over the table and swung to the roll of the ship. Three sets of oilskins hung on hooks on the hull. Sea-boots lay about on the deck. The space was filthy and stank of bilge water and dirty humans. He closed the hatch and climbed the ladder to the main deck.

  Patrick braced himself against the swift northwest wind that drove the ship through huge waves, their frothy white crests running higher than the booms. Overhead a dark mass of clouds raced by. The deck was wet from stem to stern and the lee scuppers ran full of water. All sails were set and the press of wind upon them tilted the deck steeply. Both masts were shuddering under high stress and all the sheets and braces and stays were iron bar taut.

  The ship buried her nose into a tall wave and the wind tore the foamy crest off and sent the water sweeping across the deck. Some of the spray struck Patrick and he caught his breath with its coldness. Still it was glorious to be out of the tiny boat that he and Swallow had stolen and on the asylum of this sturdy ship.

  He looked aft. Two seamen were double-teaming the helm to hold the ship on course against the wind that was nearly on the port beam. Standing not far from them and leaning against the binnacle was Karcher, the new bo’s’n mate. Captain Griffith was near the taffrail, the stern rail. Others of the duty watch were scattered about the deck. All the men wore oilskins and hats and rubber boots.

  The captain lifted a hand in acknowledgement of Patrick’s presence and motioned for him to come. Balancing himself on the pitching deck, Patrick made his way to the captain.

  “Making ten knots,” Griffith said raising his voice above the howl of the wind and pointed at the spinning taffrail log. “The ship should be making twelve or better in this wind, but she’s got a hull rough with barnacles. Worse yet, she may have some of her bottom timbers damaged for we’ve struck ice a few times when we were farther south.”

  Patrick nodded and gazed out over the gray, wind-flogged sea. Off a ways a flock of brown birds hunted close above the tall waves and nimbly evaded the frothy crests reaching up to grab them. One vanished into a watery trough on an errand for food, Patrick surmised. The bird lifted into view with something in its beak and he was proved correct. Hungry stomachs must be fed, and he knew this first hand.

  “There’s been no hint of trouble from the men,” Griffith said when Patrick remained silent.

  Patrick turned from watching the sea and looked at the captain. The man’s eyes were blood-shot and his face creased from the strain of being constantly awake and on guard against mutiny for many long hours.

  “Who do you expect to start trouble, if there is any?”

  “There’re two kinds of men aboard a seal hunter. The hunters who do the shooting and skinning. And the ship’s crew that handles the boats for them when they’re out hunting, and of course do all the ships regular work. The hunters also help stand watch when we’re underway and all the skinning has been finished. If we have trouble, it’ll most likely be some of the remaining hunters. I trust Proctor and Marco least of all for I saw them with Walloghan and their heads together and talking before the night of the mutiny.

  “There’s something else about hunters that you should know. They rank nearly as high as the mate and they normally eat at the captain’s table same as the mate does. But now I’ve ordered them to eat in their steerage quarters for I don’t want them and their sharp knives in the close space of the main cabin. They’ll be damn mad about this. Never trust a hunter with a knife.”

  Patrick nodded, voicing no comment.

  “What do you know about handling a ship?” Griffith asked.

  “Before becoming a Marine I work some as a crewman during the voyage from England to Australia. Stood helm watch and handled sail. And I learned to shoot the sextant and plot position.”

  “What size ship?”

  “One of the big transports.”

  “She’d be square rigged. So you need experience with the smaller Huntress that’s fore-and-aft rigged before you can handle her in rough seas. Karcher knows her and has been to sea for twenty-five years so ask him for advice when you need it. There’s nothing ahead for a thousand miles and we’ll hold this heading for a few days. I think the wind will get stronger. If it does, order the crew on deck and take down some sail. But leave up as much as possible for I want to make time to Frisco.”

  “Yes, sir. Thanks for letting me sleep so long.”

  “You needed it. Campbell’s oilskins are hanging there in the midship locker so use them. Have Spencer fix you double rations of warm food. Now I’m going to get some sleep.”

  Griffith went toward the aft ladder that led down to his cabin.

  CHAPTER 35

  Karcher stood bundled up in his foul weather gear near the helmsman. Upon seeing Captain Griffith go below, he crossed the deck and approached Patrick. “Good day, Mr. Sullivan.”

  “Good day to you, Karcher,” Patrick replied. He was surprised that the bo’s’n had greeted him formally. “What time is it?” With the thick overcast, the sun was useless to indicate the time.

  “Just about ready for six bells in the afternoon.”

  Patrick nodded. “The captain said you’re a good seaman and that I should ask for your advice of how much sail the Huntress should carry as the wind changes.”

  “I’d be pleased to work with you, sir.”

  “Good. I’m going to get something to eat. Then we’ll talk.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Patrick went to the locker mentioned by Griffith and donned Campbell’s oilskins and sea-boots. In the galley he found Spencer, the cook, riding the pitching ship sitting on a wooden chair wedged between his worktable and the cast-iron stove that held no fire.

  “What’s to eat?” Patrick asked as he filled a tin cup from the water barrel.

  “The captain said I was to feed you good as I could. So I broke out the last bag of flour and baked bread. To go with it you can have seal meat stew and sardines and raisins. And you can have all the ice water you want.” He smiled and pointed at the water barrel. “The bread and stew is cold. But if you want to wait, then I can start a fire to warm it.”

  “I’ll take it just as it is.”

  “Righ
t.”

  Patrick ate in the galley with Spencer sitting and silently observing him. As he wiped his tin plate clean with the last of the bread, heavy water slammed the galley wall and rattled the pans hanging on hooks above the stove.

  “Wind’s changing,” Spencer said.

  “Yeah. Thanks for the chow.” Patrick handed his plate to the cook, buttoned his slicker, and went out onto the heaving deck.

  He shielded his face against the wind that had grown fierce and was whipping up the white lather from the crest of the waves and flinging it in curtains across the ship. He looked up at the sails that were rock hard under the thrust of the powerful wind. The sails must be promptly shortened.

  Above him a sea eagle materialized out of the spindrift, white from white, and wheeled silently on its ten-foot spread of wings about the two whipping masts. The bird’s head swiveled this way and that way as it looked down and examined the ship. Patrick marveled at the agility of the huge bird to turn so tightly and with such ease in the strong winds. What was the bird’s reason for circling the ship?

  “Get all hands on deck,” Patrick called out above the wind to Karcher.

  “Aye, sir. They’re working in the aft hold.”

  Karcher made his way to the hatchway and shouted down below deck. “All hands on deck. On the double now for we’ve sail to handle.”

  Karcher came to stand beside Patrick. “How much sail do you want to take down, Mr. Sullivan?” he asked.

  Patrick quickly judged the wind and sail area and the slant of the masts. The ship should be stood more upright. “I think we should take down the topsail and take a reef in both the foresail and the main. What do you say to that?”

  “Sounds right to me, sir.”

  “Then put the men to it.” Patrick felt a little proud that Karcher had agreed with his recommendation.

  Karcher shouted orders to the crew that had gathered in the ship’s midsection. A portion of the men scampered into the rigging of each mast. Tad was in the lead climbing the foremast. Most of the crewmen went to the halyards where the heavy hauling on the lines would be done. Patrick noted each man was well trained in the task he was to perform. Griffith ran a taut ship.

  The sea eagle made another full circle of the ship at the height of the tops of the masts and eyeing the men on the nearby yardarms. Then as if satisfied with its inspection, it turned on the tip of its right wing and vanished into the black rainsquall driving swiftly upon the ship.

  Patrick watched the seamen working high aloft to lower and tie the foretopsail to its yard, while all the time the screeching wind tried to tear them from their precarious perches and fling them into the sea. They stood on the footropes strung parallel and just below the yardarm as they hauled on the wet sails. Tad being first up the foremast was the farthest out on the yardarm and getting the wildest ride as he worked with the other men on the topsail. He was a gallant sight as he worked pulling sail with one arm and holding on with the other at the same time. His long hair had broken free from its tie and streamed out in a black flag. He had the recklessness of youth for whom death was something he had heard old men talk about but that meant nothing for him personally. Patrick knew that the years of imprisonment had robbed him of some of that flame that burned away caution.

  The wind fought the men for the heavy canvas of the foretopsail, but inch-by-inch they brought it down and lashed it to the yardarm. Finished with their task, they came scrambling down the ratlines like monkeys to the deck. At the same time the fore and aft sails of the two masts were lowered part way by other groups of men and reefs were tied in them.

  “She’ll stand straighter and go easier with shortened sail,” Karcher said.

  Patrick had already noticed the lesser tilt of the deck and the smoother movement of the schooner. He called out to the men. “Well done. You can go below.”

  The men, except for Tad and the helmsmen, hastily left the deck. Tad stopped at the open hatch, and holding his footing by bracing his shoulder against the raised roof of the entryway, looked out at the heaving sea.

  “The captain said he’s the son of a friend?” Patrick said and gesturing at the boy.

  “The captain didn’t want to bring him with us. But the boy was often in trouble in Frisco and the father wanted to get him away from temptation and under the captain’s stern hand for a long trip after seal. That’ll make a boy into a man if anything will. It sure did Tad. He keeps the captain’s cabin clean, and yours too, and serves the captain’s table, and when not doing that he works as a member of the crew. You saw how he handles himself aloft. Even though he’s not full grown, he can get as much work done as some of the men.”

  Tad continued to stare at the sea for a minute longer. Then he cast a short look at Patrick and Karcher, turned to the hatchway and went below.

  The rain came, huge raindrops flooding out of the swollen, black bottoms of the clouds and drumming upon the wooden deck and the deckhouses. Patrick wiped at the cold rain striking his face. This world of rain and wind held no worry for him for he had the solid deck of the Huntress beneath his feet and was bound for California. Perhaps he had used up all of his bad luck. Still it was best to add a degree of safety. He spoke to Karcher. “Let’s check the rigging.”

  Patrick turned away along the storm lashed deck. Karcher followed.

  CHAPTER 36

  Patrick lay with his eyes closed and half dozing upon the wooden bowsprit beneath the two jibs of the Huntress. The glazed horizon of the equatorial Pacific surrounded the ship. Neither cloud nor bird marred the sun-bleached sky. The four bracing stays that ran up from the bowsprit and fastened to the foremast near the crow’s-nest, cradled him two on each side and kept him from falling into the sea. The jibs provided shade from the sun that burned down from directly overhead. A slow wind fanned him from first the top and then the bottom as the Huntress sluggishly rose and fell to long, low swales running beneath her keel.

  Patrick had regained his strength as the days aboard the ship had passed. He always kept alert and his pistols handy, but so far none of the men had caused any trouble, though half a dozen went about their work with a sour expression. He believed, as did Griffith that there were members of the crew other than the hunters that were part of the plan to take over the ship. Here on the bowsprit, he was safe and could rest and relax outside in the open. Any man stepping upon the narrow, wooden bowsprit would make it move and Patrick would feel that movement. A man so daring would receive the deadly welcome of a pistol ball.

  The crew had been given permission to stretch canvass between the two cabins and the gunwale and now lay on their blankets in the shade. Griffith was below in his cabin. Patrick had the watch, but he too loafed for with no wind and the crew lazing there were no duties to perform.

  Every sail was set on the Huntress, but they hung limp and empty for not a zephyr of wind stirred to ruffle the surface of the sea. The crew grumbled and cursed the heat as they waited for the return of the wind that had forsaken the ship two days before. All complained except Patrick. He did not care when the wind came, today, tomorrow, or next week. He relaxed in the simple honest pleasure of resting after years of toil in the Crown’s hellish penal colony.

  After the first storm, the weather had held fair and the wind strong, and the Huntress had raced north into ever warmer climate. At noon two days past, Griffith had shot the elevation of the sun and pronounced they had reached the equator. When the wind came again, they would sail off into the northern half of the world and find the legendary San Francisco of America. Until then Patrick would lie still and catch up on the rest he had been denied for all his prison years. God! How grand life was.

  *

  The jibs above Patrick’s head rustled, then fell silent. They rustled again and he opened his eyes to look upward. The foretopsail was starting to fill.

  Off to the west, the flat glittering sea riffled to a puff of wind. The puff grew stronger and came steadily on, flowing over the ship and putting bellies in all the sai
ls. The ship shivered as if in anticipation of once again racing with the winds.

  Patrick walked down the bowsprit and stepped onto the deck. He called out to the duty watch and they came out from under their canvas shade.

  The Huntress took on a slight headway and the helmsman spun the wheel a partial turn as the ship’s movement brought moving water against the rudder and gave it steerageway. The ship swung and settled again on her north-northeast course.

  Griffith appeared on deck and made a turn around the ship. The men stayed well clear of him. He called Tad to him and spoke to him.

  Tad came across the deck and touched his forehead to Patrick. “Mr. Sullivan, Captain Griffith said to tell you that it’s high noon and you are relieved and he has the deck,” Tad said.

  “Thank you, Tad,” Patrick said and smiling at the boy’s formal discharge of his report. “Will you be glad to get back to San Francisco?”

  “I guess so. I hope my dad isn’t still mad at me.”

  “He should be proud of you. You’ve made a voyage to the end of the earth and returned as a man.”

  “And I learned how to shoot and skin seals and handle sails. And I saw a real mutiny.”

  “That you did.”

  “Sir, there’s something you might want to know.”

  “What’s that, Tad?”

  “I heard the captain tell Mr. Karcher you were turning out to be a right good mate. And Mr. Karcher said he thought you were a fine seaman.”

  “That’s good to hear. Thanks for telling me.”

  “What do you make of that, Mr. Sullivan?” Tad asked and pointed ahead at the sea.

  Patrick looked in the same direction as Tad. A large albatross, almost completely white, was asleep on the water. The bird had its head tucked under its right wing. It rose on top of the waves and then fell to lie lost to view in the hollows between crests. It slept on not yet disturbed by the approaching ship.