“Jack,” barked Ian. “She is my special charge until we reach Honolulu. She’s had a bad time, so I’d appreciate it if you’d help me to keep an eye on her until we get there.”
“Aye, Captain. No problem.” Jack, although a first rate sailor, mumbled words about bad luck and women under his breath.
Lydia could sense his attitude of disregard. Then it dawned on her he viewed women, in general, as stupid – and more trouble than they were worth. Lydia thought quietly for a few moments and then asked, “Mister MacGregor, would you mind telling me how the collision mat works?”
Jack grinned and puffed up his chest. “Sure, Missy. But it’s likely to be a bit complicated for a young woman like yourself.”
Lydia smiled graciously and ignored the insult. She was accustomed to men refusing to acknowledge that women had any interest, intelligence, or knowledge beyond fashion styles and household matters. She knew her education was unlike the learning most women her age had any interest in or aptitude for. Her father may have denied her the friendship and companionship of the opposite sex, but to make up for it, he believed she should immerse herself in books and a solid education to help her in teaching endeavors. As a result, comments that implied either stupidity or ignorance on the part of the woman always made the hair bristle at the back of Lydia’s neck.
“Methinks you may have made a wee mistake with Miss Holcomb, Mister MacGregor. As I am learning, she is quite smart. So you’ve no need to soften your explanation.” Once again Ian protectively placed his arm on Lydia’s shoulder.
Mister MacGregor winked at Ian, as though to humor Lydia. “My apologies to you Miss. You see, we use a collision mat to keep out the ocean water when the ship takes some kind of a break. Generally, the collision mat works best for small breaks, such as this one from the iceberg. The mat is about fifteen feet long and twenty feet wide and is made of heavily hardened linen. I stitch a closed seam opening along each side of the mat, so that we can put ropes through each opening. The rope is attached to long poles and it is very important that the ropes are quite long. The collision mat is looped around the bowsprit of the ship and manipulated into place under the belly of the ship with the poles, and then the ropes are pulled tight around the ship.
“Once the mat covers the opening in the ship’s hull, we then pull the mat uptight against the break in the ship’s hull and tie it down as securely as possible. This procedure keeps the water from rushing into the ship. It allows the sailors to bail out the water inside the ship and to then begin repairs from the inside. It ain’t a perfect setup. Yet, it works as long as the hole in the ship’s hull isn’t too big, or below the waterline. If the hole is well below the waterline, ain’t nothing going to save the ship. In our case, we were lucky. The iceberg hit right at the waterline, so as long as the seas ain’t too choppy, we can make the repairs. When the seas kick up, then my men spend most of their time trying to bail out the incoming water. But today, we’ve already got the metal sheet in place in the cargo hold.”
“Then, Mister MacGregor, I assume that you must tar from the inside of the hold, all the areas that present leaks. Do you also put wooden planks over the sheet of metal for additional strength?”
“Why, yes ma’am. As a matter of fact, we do.” Lydia’s quick understanding of the techniques used to repair breaks in the ship’s hull appeared to surprise Mister McGregor. He looked at the Captain and raised his grayed eyebrows in approval.
“So, the increasing wind this morning does not bode well for us, does it?” asked Lydia.
This time, Mister MacGregor frowned.
“Aye. That’s correct you are again, miss. We need the winds to die down just a bit today so that we can make the last few repairs. It’s been cold and wet down in the cargo hold. We even lost some of the tea. But, the bulk of the cargo is safe. As long as the seas calm down just a bit, we will finish the last bit of tarring, remove the collision mat, and be on our way as soon as the Captain gives us the order.” He turned away to resume his work.
Her eyes twinkled as they looked at Mister MacGregor. She knew she had pushed him too far. She just couldn’t resist letting him know she wasn’t the flighty female he expected.
“Well, I’m impressed Mister MacGregor. Not only do you know how to help sail the ship and make repairs out on the open sea, but you even know how to stitch in a heavy, difficult fabric I’m sure any woman would disdain. I can see now why the Captain values you so highly.”
Mister MacGregor’s weather-beaten face softened into a generous smile that resulted in pink color rising from his neck up to his forehead. “Thank you, ma’am. Just doing my job.” The pink coloration shaded darker into beet red. “Uh, I best be getting below deck to check on the men.”
With that, Mister MacGregor turned and beat a retreat down the hatch to the hull.
The dreary horizon changed only marginally as a result of the forty minutes that Lydia had been out on deck. The steel gray sky was now misted with only a few stray snowflakes tossed here and there by a wind that had died down enough that a couple of the crew could climb the shrouds to check on the rigging. Everyone appeared impatient for the ship to be repaired so they could all be on their way. The seas calmed slightly so they were less choppy. The spraying whitecaps that had topped the waves subdued to the point of being a gentle froth on the tops of the waves. The ship gently swayed in place rather than the earlier, violent rocking back and forth that assailed everyone’s nerves.
Nevertheless, the chill of the day had set into Lydia’s bones so deeply that her teeth began to chatter.
“You’d best get yourself below deck, Lydia. You’re still weak from your bout with the fever, and I don’t want you sick again. I’ll come below shortly and restart the fire in the stove.”
His eyes looked directly into hers, as though he wanted to say something more. Lydia blushed. She could no longer deny to herself that she felt a strong attraction to the Captain. He had made no moves toward her since their first night of love-making, and she secretly wondered if he now viewed her as a loose woman.
“Why are you so quiet, lass?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just being thoughtful about how much I have learned.”
“Well, get below before we start getting visits from our Indian friends. They’ve been gone two days, so rather I’m certain they’ll come to visit today. They don’t want to miss their chance to pick up a few more trinkets, coal or wood, and bits of cloth before we’re off.”
CHAPTER 11
Lydia stepped into the cabin and saw her breath. Peeking into the cast iron stove, she realized the embers had all died, even the small inlay of Delft porcelain in the door was stone cold. The basket near the armoire held some kindling as well as a couple of thick chunks of wood and bits of coal. She debated with herself about starting a fire in the stove. Can I start the fire myself? I’ve done it at home. Well, not often, but then how different could it be here? Put in the kindling first and then the logs.
She went to the galley and borrowed a few bright orange embers to put in the tinderbox. She anticipated she would have a roaring fire going in the stove soon, and she would have feeling back in her fingers and toes again.
With great care, she placed the embers under the kindling and a small fire quickly took hold. She closed the stove door and smugly waited for the cold, damp air to dissipate and the warmth of the fire to bring her back to life. But something was very wrong. She could see through the slits of the stove that the fire had caught on, but smoke was starting to billow into the room. Slowly at first, and then the gray smoke spewed out of the stove until she could not see across the room to the porthole. Panic filled Lydia’s head. Even as a landlubber, she knew there was nothing more dangerous than fire aboard a ship, because if it couldn’t be contained, they would lose the ship. She grabbed an old shirt and opened the door of the stove – which was a mistake. The smoke rolled out of the opening, overtook the room in a gray cloud, and the flames erupted. Lydia gasped for air and tried to
get her bearings to find and open the cabin door to yell for help. She could no longer see more than a couple of inches in front of her. It was too difficult to breathe. She screamed for help just as she located the latch to the cabin door and yanked it wide open. Heedless of any other activity on the boat, she ran up on the deck to find help and yelled, “Fire!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ian talking with two man, dressed only in seal skins. Their arms and legs were not covered by the skins and were completely exposed to the elements. The two men looked like short, sawed off tree stumps.
“Fire! Fire! I think there’s a fire in the cabin!” She coughed, gagged, and then tripped just in front of Ian and the two stumpy, but muscular men.
“Fire below decks!” bellowed Ian. Several sailors immediately looked up from their work to see smoke starting to billow up to the sky from the stairs.
The men all ran below to contain the source of the fire. When Lydia fell, her cap fell off, and exposed her long chestnut colored hair and her fair face. She looked up at Ian and saw him try to control the rage that took over his face and to act as though this was nothing unusual.
“Young cabin boy,” he said to the two Indians in front of him. Doesn’t seem to be able to learn how to start up a proper fire without endangering all of us.”
He gave the prone form lying in front of him on the deck a slight kick with the toe of his boot, then lifted the body up off the deck by the scruff of the jacket.
“Billy, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times, if you cannot start the stove fire properly dinna do it at all.” His voice regressed into his Scottish brogue. “Now get below deck and I’ll meet out your punishment later. You’d better hope there’s no serious damage.” Ian all but threw her at a nearby sailor with directions to put the whippersnapper back in his cabin.
Lydia glimpsed the two, half-naked men watching her. They appeared to be amused and mumbled some unintelligible syllables to one another. They both smiled, although one of the men had a lop-sided smile due to a scar across his mouth. Someone grabbed the collar of Lydia’s jacket and dragged her back to the cabin.
***
With Lydia now out of his way, Ian shook his head and started to speak with the two Indians. One of them, the shorter of the two men, but much stockier in build, peered around the ship in slow, measured glances, as though taking in all the details. When he opened his mouth to speak to his friend, Ian noticed not only was he missing a couple of teeth, but the remaining teeth were yellowed and grown in crookedly. The same man’s face was full of pox marked scars. He was… ugly. There were no kind words to describe the man. He had been dealt a cruel hand by fate. However, as if to make up for his abundance of ugliness, he was also endowed with an incredibly muscular form. He appeared to be stronger than an ox. His hairless arms were massive – as big around as the average man’s thighs. His chest was like a huge barrel with dips and gouges following all the lines of the human chest muscles. His legs! His legs stood like two massive pillars to the entrance to the Pantheon that had been cut short by time. Ian had seen pictures of an animal, and to Africa, called a hippopotamus. This man’s body looked as stocky and solid as a hippo standing on its hind legs. Kurok was his name.
The other Indian, Jemmy, was less impressive for both his unremarkable physical appearance and stature. Each understood only a few necessary words in English: “Give. Food. Clothing. Trade.”
Ian tried to regain control of the conversation, such as it was, a combination of sign language and a few words in English. The two Indians appeared to be relieved the distraction had been taken away, and they re-engaged in bargaining for relics and trinkets-and as always, for food, wood, and clothing or scraps of cloth. Within a few more minutes, bartering completed, the two men went back to their old whaleboat.
Ian watched as they nimbly climbed down the ropes to their waiting whaleboat. It was a fine specimen of a whaleboat, if he had ever seen one. It was most unusual, because these Indians usually used a primitive type of canoe for getting around in the waters off Cape Horn. As the men rowed the whaleboat away, he saw painted on the side of the boat the letters, “B..GLE.”
Clearly, at one time, the boat must have belonged to some English Captain. No doubt, the boat was stolen - just as anything of value the Fuegians owned had been obtained through theft, he thought.
He thought about the plight of these Indians. The land in this part of the world was not kind or forgiving. There were no trees on the horizon this close to the ocean. It was too cold and too windy down here for plant life of any size at all to survive. As a result, the Indians only had fires in the most wretched of weather, and only when ships came passing by and shared wood or coal with them. There was little that grew at Cape Horn, and the Indians pulled or ate the few plants before they even had much of a chance to go to seed. Because there were no plants of any substantial size, and the earth was so hard year round, most Fuegians lived in caves. As a lot, they were generally malnourished and stunted. The men wore seal skins over the trunks of their bodies. The women only wore skins which covered their bodies from the waist to the bottom of their hips. To a certain extent, they seem to have accustomed themselves to the cold, brutal weather conditions at Cape Horn, he thought. But at the same time, these primitive people certainly appreciated any warmer clothing they could bargain for and the opportunity to sit around a fire.
“Cap’n, sir” said one of the crew who had run below to check on the Captain’s cabin. “No fire, Sir. The young lady forgot to open the flu. Smoke had no place to go but into the cabin. Everything’s under control now.
“Thank you, Jones. I’ll see to the young lady myself.”
Ian could see that the Indians had just landed their whaleboat. What a mess Lydia had created! Ian wasn’t sure if they realized she was a woman, and not a cabin boy. But if they did notice her gender, he needed to make certain the ship set sail as soon as possible. He clambered down the steps to his cabin, his mind lost in a mental checklist of tasks to be finished so the ship could depart as soon as the final repairs to the hull were completed. Lydia scrubbed her cheeks with a rag and some cold water from the basin. The combination of smoke and her fall on the deck left dirt smudges all over her face. Without saying a word, Ian watched her from the cabin door. Anger with her behavior and the possible danger she had put the ship in, boiled up inside him like a teakettle. Why did she find it so different difficult to follow a few simple directions, such as “return to the cabin and wait for me to come to start the fire for you”?
Still, in spite of the men’s trousers and shirt, and the makeshift belt made of men’s handkerchiefs, she was a sight to behold, he thought. Her slender hips made her look almost boyish, until one’s eyes slid to her chest – and then there could be no mistake. She was a woman, all woman. Nicely proportioned. He recognized the train of thought his brain was taking him to and shook himself to control his automatic physical response.
Somehow, he had to make her understand the importance of following his orders. She was wreaking havoc with the ship and his men. She simply could not continue to blatantly disobey him. Her whimsical decisions could cost lives and endanger his mission.
He slammed the door hard, so that the timbers in the ceiling of his cabin rattled. Lydia shrieked, and whipped around to face him. “You! What’s the matter? You didn’t have to bang the door.”
“Well, it’s become clear to me lass, I must do something dramatic to get your attention. You have a knack for not minding my orders.” Ian’s voice grew louder with each word. His face took on a contorted shape and a reddish hue. The teakettle was about to blow its lid!
“Me!” shrieked Lydia. “What do you mean? I was just trying to be helpful so that you wouldn’t have to come back to the cabin to start the fire in the stove. I didn’t mean to cause a ruckus. How can you be so angry over such a little thing? No harm done. It wasn’t even a fire – just the flu was not opened. It could happen to anyone.”
“Nay. I see
you do not understand the overall impact of your actions, again! Lydia, you must stop to think about what you do. Everything on the small world of the ship takes on magnified meaning and results. The reason I told you to wait for me to start the fire was so something like a closed flue wouldn’t happen. You may not be aware of the ramifications of your own actions, lass, but I have to be. And I have to be aware of the results of the actions or non-actions of each of my men - that’s what it means to be in control of a ship - the Captain. I always have to second guess what could or might go wrong and be prepared to act on it. I’m beginning to believe the the men are right. You are a jinx on the ship. Since you will not listen to my orders, things are starting to go wrong which shouldn’t. You’re creating problems for all of us Lydia, and I don’t like it. I don’t know how I can trust you to do as you are told.”
Ian glanced around the cabin and squinted his eyes as though surveying problem areas for Lydia.
“Do you need to eat anything?”
“What? I ate not more than an hour ago? Why do you ask?
He strode over to the oaken chair at his desk and pulled it away from the desk. “It’s important because I don’t want you to be inconvenienced by going hungry while I’m busy.” He reached down, opened a drawer in the desk and closed it.
“No. I don’t need anything more to eat at this time.”
“Do you need to relieve yourself, lass?”
“I beg your pardon. What kind of question is that? And the answer is, it’s none of your business Captain.”
“Well, I’ll take that as a no. Would you please come here?”
Lydia couldn’t see what he was up to. He had set something on the floor behind the desk, but she couldn’t see what it was. Lydia walked over to the chair by the Captain as though she had nothing else to do. “So. I’m here. What do you want?”
“Sit down for a moment, I wish to speak with you a bit more.”
The Emerald Tartan Page 10
