by Lance Morcan
Nathan ensured the painting accompanied him on all his travels – as was the case on this particular voyage. It currently occupied pride of place on the wall facing Nathan’s bunk. Pretty Charlotte Johnson’s smiling face was the last thing he saw before going to sleep and the first thing he saw when he woke up.
A reflected face in a mirror hanging next to the painting distracted him. It took Nathan a second to register it was himself he was looking at. Studying his reflection, he didn’t like to admit it – not even to himself – that the resemblance between himself and his father was uncanny. His long, black hair framed a ruggedly handsome face that sported stubble which he cultivated to ensure it always appeared as though he’d last shaved the previous day.
But it was his startling blue eyes that most reminded him, and others, of his father. They were mesmerizing and world-weary at the same time. This had proven a fatal combination for members of the opposite sex. Exactly why, Nathan wasn’t sure, but he’d never been short of female company and he was grateful for that. The world-weariness, he guessed, came from having filled his twenty-six years with enough living for two lifetimes, and having witnessed so much of what life had to offer – good and bad – in those years.
The similarities to Johnson Senior didn’t end there. Nathan wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but the years had hardened him. He now shared many of the same traits he’d once despised in his father. Those traits had been molded during his violent childhood then solidified during the years of enforced living with the Makah and further solidified during his tumultuous years in business. The end result was Nathan was a self-centered individual who measured a man’s worth by his wealth and whose only ambition in life was to accumulate money and possessions, and to bed as many women as he could along the way.
One result of his self-centeredness was he now had no friends. Worse, he had no need for friends. Make money, not friends. That was his philosophy.
As for the native races of the world, he had no time for them – not since his years with the Makah. Whether it was them or the Indians of South America, the Zulus of southern Africa, the Maoris of New Zealand or the islanders of the Pacific, it was his opinion they weren’t interested in embracing civilization and all it had to offer. Consequently, he believed, they’d forever remain stuck in the Stone-Age. Where they belong, he thought.
Nathan had stopped sharing his opinions of the native races with others long ago. Family and associates branded him a racist whenever he’d share his views. He didn’t like the term racist – not because he wasn’t one, but because he didn’t want to be known as one – so had learned to keep his views to himself. As his job all too often involved trading with native peoples, he knew it wouldn’t be good for business to be known as a racist.
As the years ticked by, Nathan had made a conscious effort to forget his time with the Makah and to banish any hangovers left over from that life-changing experience. He no longer shunned red meat in favor of raw fish, and he’d given up sleeping on the floor long ago; he no longer even dreamed of his Makah experiences and, if recent bedmates were to be believed, he no longer spoke aloud in the Makah tongue in his sleep.
Truth be known, he’d occasionally think of Tatoosh, his blood brother and chief of the Makah, and also the beautiful Tagaq, his former lover, but would force them from his mind just as quickly. No profit in that, he’d remind himself.
The sound of a bell ringing above deck announced the start of a new shift aboard Rainmaker for sailors on the night shift, and jolted Nathan back to the present. He debated whether to go topside, to view Apia by night, but decided it could wait until he went ashore in the morning.
Nathan thought he heard women’s voices. The feminine tones of a woman’s voice were rare on this voyage as the crewmembers were exclusively males and there were only two women amongst the passengers – both the wives of male passengers. To Nathan’s dismay, neither was remotely pleasing on the eye. One was in her late seventies and toothless while the other was so corpulent Nathan was sure the schooner leaned to port whenever the woman left her cabin to walk to the dining room to satisfy her seemingly insatiable appetite – something she did all too frequently in his opinion.
Consequently, the young man looked forward to shore visits during which time he availed himself of local women on offer. That usually entailed paying for their services – something he wasn’t averse to doing.
The women’s voices grew louder. Nathan realized they were close by in the passageway outside his cabin.
There was a knock at the door. Nathan opened it to find Diamond, the ship’s black purser, standing there, a huge smile on his face.
“Hello Diamond,” Nathan said. It was only then he noticed the two women standing behind the purser. They were islanders and both very easy on the eye. Nathan assessed they were in their late teens or perhaps early twenties. He knew immediately what Diamond was up to. The purser had gotten to know what the well-heeled, young American liked in a woman and hadn’t been slow to exploit that during stopovers at various islands along the way. In return for his thoughtfulness and his knack for selecting attractive women, Nathan recompensed him handsomely.
“Hello, Mister Nathan,” Diamond beamed. He stepped aside so Nathan could see the two Polynesian women he’d brought aboard. “I wasn’t sure which one you’d prefer, so I brought both.”
After a succession of late nights drinking and playing cards with the hospitable captain and crew, Nathan had been looking forward to an early night. However, looking at the two women standing before him, he had to admit Diamond had provided a tempting alternative.
Giggling and chatting to each other in their native tongue, the women were fine specimens of island womanhood. Both strong-looking and athletic, they were at the same time feminine in the seductive way the women of the islands are. Their skin gleamed golden in the flickering lamplight of the passageway, and their eyes flashed as they took in the handsome young white man in front of them.
Diamond looked hopefully at Nathan. “You like?” he asked.
Nathan knew the purser was thinking of his commission. He’d always tipped him generously for his thoughtfulness in the past. Nathan nodded reluctantly, indicating he was interested.
Diamond’s grin broadened further.
It was the taller of the two women Nathan liked the look of. She was statuesque and beguiling all at once. He smiled at her and she immediately sidled up to him, her thigh brushing his. “What’s your name?” he asked.
The Polynesian beauty looked at him uncomprehendingly, unable to speak a word of English.
Nathan looked to Diamond for assistance.
“Sally,” Diamond said a little too quickly. “Her name’s Sally.”
The young woman didn’t look like a Sally to Nathan, but he didn’t mind that. Looking back at the purser he asked, “Can I tip you later for Sally?”
Diamond nodded without reservation. “Yes sir.” Confident he’d collect the dollar Nathan owed him for the delivery, he led the other woman away to find another customer who would care to pay for her charms. There was no shortage of such customers on this vessel.
Now alone with his new companion for the evening, Nathan led her into his cabin and locked the door. When he turned back to her, she was already undressing. Nathan felt his manhood hardening at the sight of her. What a beauty! Unable to restrain himself any longer, he tore his clothes off and lay the woman introduced as Sally down on his bunk. He then lay on top of her and they proceeded to make vigorous and unrestrained love.
#
The morning sun was shining through the porthole of Nathan’s cabin. It bathed the Philadelphian and his Polynesian bedmate in its warmth. Sally, or whoever she was, stirred on his chest, but remained asleep. Nathan felt blissfully satiated. He’d lost count of the number of times they’d made love during the night, but that didn’t matter.
His thoughts turned to payment. Nathan’s experience of the island women was they had little use for the white man’s
money. Rather, they lusted after the trappings of the white man. Garments were at the top of their list. Since the arrival of missionary women, the island maidens had come to love European clothing and would happily sell their bodies for the chance to own and wear a foreign lady’s dress or blouse.
Cotton sheets – or better still silk or satin sheets – were even more popular than clothing amongst the island women as, with a little skillful cutting and sewing, these could easily be fashioned into garments of their choice. So that’s what Nathan offered as currency for having his way with the women of the islands.
So far on this voyage he’d parted with silk sheets to the value of almost a hundred dollars, but he was more than satisfied he’d gotten his money’s worth.
38
Southern Ocean, 1848
One day out from Cape Town, the mood among passengers and crew aboard Minstrel was as foul as the weather. The Southern Ocean was living up to its reputation: ice-cold, gale-force winds combined with rough seas made for an unpleasant voyage all round.
The conditions meant it was too cold and dangerous for passengers to venture above deck, so they were forced to hunker down below and put up with the inescapable stench of bilgewater. An outbreak of food poisoning affected half the passengers and crew, and added to their misery. The Drakes were among those struck down.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. The passenger list was now four passengers short following the disappearance of Bill Compton. After much anguish, his wife Thelma had opted to part company with Minstrel and take her three children ashore in the hope they’d all eventually be reunited with her husband.
For the Comptons’ fellow passengers, it was a difficult time. They’d grown fond of the God-fearing family and missed them dearly. Those among them who were Christians privately thanked God the same fate hadn’t befallen them.
Susannah had taken the loss of the Comptons badly. She’d become close to Thelma since departing England, and even more so since her husband had disappeared.
Now, after an enforced break of several days, Susanna turned her attention to making an overdue diary entry in the privacy of the stateroom she shared with her father. Drake Senior was occupied elsewhere aboard Minstrel, leading a prayer meeting, so she had the room to herself for the present time.
Susannah wore several layers of winter clothing, as did all her fellow passengers, to help ward off the cold. Even that wasn’t sufficient, and she shivered violently as she dipped her quill into an open ink bottle and began writing.
July 4th, 1848
Alas, it is only now I feel well enough to resume my diary obligations. Symptoms of the food poisoning I contracted in Cape Town have only just left me.
Temperatures have plummeted and I am feeling weak and miserable, but my miseries are slight compared to those of poor Thelma Compton. After her beloved husband Bill went missing in town, she made the difficult decision to take her children ashore in the hope they can all be reunited with her husband. Papa arranged for the three to board with the resident Methodist minister and his family for as long as it takes her to find Mr Compton.
The first mate confided in papa he believes some misfortune befell Mr Compton for it is completely out of character for him to disappear so. I do fear for his wife and children. They are now strangers in a foreign land, and may well have to fend for themselves for the rest of their days.
The other married women on board have been very quiet since these terrible events happened. Those who still have husbands realize it could just as easily have been their beloved who disappeared.
The weather has been just awful since departing Cape Town. This has added to my personal misery for I am not sure when exactly my food poisoning ended and my seasickness began. Dear Miss Finch has been a constant source of strength to me and I shall miss her when she leaves Minstrel at our next stopover.
To add further to my misery, the belligerent Mister Donovan has reasserted himself and focused his unwanted attention upon myself since the departure of a young crewmember who thankfully kept him in line until we reached Cape Town. As much as possible I keep to my stateroom to avoid him, but ‘ tis a small ship and it is inevitable our paths cross from time to time.
Susannah deliberately avoided mentioning her golden-haired rigger by name. She wanted to leave no record of her feelings for Goldie – especially not in her diary in case it fell into the wrong hands, like her father’s. Drake Senior would immediately suspect the worse, and she knew that wouldn’t bode well for the remainder of the voyage.
Still, that didn’t stop her thinking about Goldie, or dreaming about him, as she often did. How she wished it could have worked out differently. Just thinking about him and his athletic body took her breath away.
As always happened when she thought about the young rigger, memories of the near-disaster their night-time assignation on deck had almost caused sprang to mind. They served to remind her the collision with the barque was God’s way of telling her she’d sinned and needed to stay on the straight and narrow.
Susannah forced Goldie from her mind and returned her attention to completing her diary entry.
Minstrel has now entered what the first mate refers to as the “Roaring Forties.” Apparently, they will hasten our arrival at our next port of call, Hobart Town, in Van Diemen’s Land, at the bottom of the world.
Feeling sick again. Flying along at 9 knots.
On completion of her entry, Susannah rushed to a bucket Drake Senior had left in the adjoining bathroom for just such occasions, and she promptly brought up the breakfast she’d had earlier. The young Englishwoman had to hold onto a rail to brace herself as Minstrel climbed yet another wave and fell down the other side of it. The impact as the brigantine struck the trough between waves jarred Susannah’s teeth, prompting her to ask herself yet again why she’d volunteered for this voyage.
First mate Paxton had warned the passengers this leg of the journey would be the hardest. He’d explained that Minstrel would follow the great circle route that clippers of the day followed along the parallel of forty degrees south from Cape Town to Hobart Town – or Hobarton as the first mate called it – in Van Diemen’s Land, and then on to New Zealand. Dipping to sixty degrees south, the route was shorter than other routes, and therefore quicker. The downside was the stronger winds could be unpleasant at best and extremely hazardous at worst.
What Paxton hadn’t mentioned for fear of unnecessarily alarming the passengers, was the Roaring Forties dipped inside the southern ice zone, and the risk of encountering icebergs was high. For that very reason he intended to remain closer to the forty degree parallel than the sixty.
#
After a hellish voyage of nearly five weeks, it wasn’t an iceberg that nearly sunk Minstrel. It was a whale.
The brigantine was still two days out from Hobart Town. Up in the crow’s nest, young English seaman Arnold Dervish had the unenviable task of looking out for icebergs, ships and other obstacles Minstrel should avoid. At sixteen, Arnold was the youngest crewmember aboard. This was his first voyage, and he swore even before the brigantine had reached Cape Town it would be his last. A sailor’s life, he’d decided, was not for him. Now, freezing to near-death at the top of a swaying mast, he was convinced more than ever it wasn’t for him.
It wasn’t Arnold’s fault he didn’t see the sperm whale that rammed Minstrel’s side in time to sound the alarm. The whale surfaced just a heartbeat or two before colliding with the vessel.
In that moment, the young seaman thought he was seeing things. He’d been told icebergs were the real danger, and for the past hour he’d been looking for the tell-tale flash or glint of ice bobbing about in the ocean. To his eyes, the whale seemed as big as Minstrel. Possibly bigger. The warning shout he uttered coincided with the collision, and the resulting impact almost flung him from the crow’s nest.
Below deck, Susannah had been reading her bible on her stateroom bunk when the collision occurred. The jolt was so savage she was thrown from her bunk. Ot
her passengers had similar experiences, including Drake Senior who had been returning to the stateroom and was thrown to the floor in the passageway outside.
It was pandemonium above and below deck. Men were shouting, women were screaming and children crying. Many were convinced Minstrel had struck an iceberg and some thought they were about to die.
With Captain Mathers confined to his quarters, drunk, since departing Cape Town, the chief mate Paxton had command of the vessel. He quickly confirmed with the young lookout the culprit was a whale and immediately ordered his crewmen to check for damage below deck.
Minutes later, the second mate advised Paxton that Minstrel’s hull had splintered on the port side, but thankfully the damage had occurred above the waterline. “Even so,” the second mate said, “water is pouring into the store room.”
Paxton barked orders at the crewmen. He made it clear their immediate priorities were to do whatever it took to stem the flow of water and then ensure food items, perishables and other essentials were clear of water on the store room’s floor. “When that’s done, take more water pumps down to the storeroom and pump the water out.”
The second mate and other crewmen returned below to carry out Paxton’s orders while the first mate was left to steer Minstrel and, at the same time, pacify a steady procession of passengers who were convinced the brigantine was about to sink. Paxton assured them that was not the case, even if he wasn’t certain about that himself.
After laboring for the rest of the day, the crewmen patched up Minstrel sufficiently well to ensure that with a little luck she could make it to Hobart Town. Three manned water pumps working twenty-four hours a day were needed to pump the water from the hold and keep her seaworthy. Volunteers from among the male passengers were recruited to help overworked crewmembers operate the pumps.
The passengers didn’t know it yet, but the damage Minstrel had sustained would add another two days to the voyage.
