The Cruise of the Albatros: Book Two of the Westerly Gales Saga

by E. C. Williams

  “Then please do let me have it, Sam, dear. I'd love to read it.”

  “But you've already heard everything that's in it.”

  “That doesn't matter – I'd still like the letter, unfinished or not.”

  “Then, of course. I'll send it to you tomorrow by messenger.”

  Sam, ashamed of having so dominated the conversation up to this point, then turned it back to Maddie's family. She told him that her father, who had “swallowed the anchor” the year before, was enjoying retirement. But her mother, after thirty years of marriage to a sailor, a man with whom she was still as much in love as the day of their wedding, was nevertheless having trouble adjusting to his constant presence underfoot. Her two younger brothers were both at sea, as mates, on cat-junks. “Always on the 'Downhill Run', thank God – to me, they're still my baby brothers, and if I had to worry about pirates as well as the sea, I'd go insane.” Because with regard to the pirates, tropical sailors of vessels designed for the monsoon winds of the Indian Ocean, the Roaring Forties protected Kerguelen and her Southern Ocean settlements as effectively as a world-girdling belt of fortifications. So far, at least, thought Sam.

  Sam kept Maddie talking through dessert, the rice pudding Kerguelenians had learned to love since rice and sugar had begun to be imported from the Indian Ocean settlements, but still overly-sweet to Sam's taste. To Sam's pleased surprise, the dessert menu also featured coffee, a beverage still new to Kergs. He persuaded Maddie to try a cup, heavily sweetened. After a few cautious sips, she pronounced it good, and finished the cup. She declined a second, however. She also declined an after-dinner drink, so Sam did, too.

  When the waiter presented the bill, Sam strove mightily to keep his shock at the total from showing in his face. The bill was itemized, so he was able to note that the coffee, alone, was more expensive than a complete meal for two at the sort of eating place he normally frequented. He tried to remember how much cash he had on his person – he could hardly pull out his wallet and start counting in front of Maddie. He was very much afraid that the total fell short.

  He decided on a desperate measure; he put down enough cash for a generous tip, then drew out his fountain pen and signed the bottom of the bill in a large, firm hand:

  Captain Serge A. M. Bowditch, RKN

  RKNS Albatros

  (Murdoch's Bank – Port-Bizet Branch)

  This was the customary Kerg way of paying on credit. The merchant, in the ordinary run of things, would accept the bill and discount it to the customer's bank – but only if the customer was known to be creditworthy. Sam was certain the management of Maxine's was unaware of his existence, much less his credit history. He was rolling the dice, and if they came up snake-eyes he was about to be mightily embarrassed in front of Maddie and all the restaurant's customers seated within hearing.

  The waiter took the bill away without comment, and Sam heaved an internal sigh of relief. But his relief was short-lived; within minutes he saw a little formally-dressed man, obviously the manager, weaving his way officiously through the tables, headed directly for Sam and Maddie. In his hand was a piece of paper that Sam had no doubt was the bill he had just signed.

  Sam braced himself for the humiliation to come, but when the manager arrived at their table, and had introduced himself, he said “A thousand apologies, Captain Bowditch. The waiter was mistaken in presenting you with a bill – I had instructed the headwaiter that you and your lady friend were to be the guests of the house this evening. Just a token of our appreciation for your gallant and victorious battles with the pirates.” And, with a dramatic gesture, he tore the bill in half.

  “You are always welcome at Maxine's, Captain – and will always be our guest. We are honored to have you patronize our establishment.”

  Sam was so surprised at this that for a moment he could only stare ungraciously at the manager, mouth hanging open. Then he recovered and stammered his thanks.

  When the waiter had gone, Maddie widened her eyes and gazed at him with an expression that was a comic parody of helpless adoration. “My hero!” she exclaimed.

  Sam's embarrassment dissolved into helpless laughter; Maddie had hit just the right note to help him deal with it.

  They rose from the table, and as he drew back her chair, she added, “Seriously, though, you've become quite a celebrity, Sam.”

  “It'll pass quickly enough,” he said, with the cynical attitude of rural Kergs toward the townies. “Les citadens are a fickle bunch.”

  “You can take the boy from the outport...”, said Maddie mockingly, leaving the balance of the adage unsaid.

  But Maddie's comment about celebrity was underlined when, as they walked away from their table, a patter of applause arose from those who had overhead the exchange with the manager, and gradually spread to the rest of the room. Sam, feeling his cheeks flaming scarlet, tried to acknowledge this with gracious nods and smiles to left and right, but felt that he was only making himself look ridiculous with embarrassed grimaces and jerks of his head.

  When they completed their passage of the restaurant, retrieved their parkas, and emerged into the windy night, Sam heaved a huge, unconscious sigh of relief. Maddie laughed. “Oh, Sam! If you could have seen your face!”

  “I'd rather fight a battle than go through that again,” said Sam, with no hyperbole intended.

  Sam then suggested that they go to a cabaret, a usual conclusion to an evening out for French Port mode jeug who could afford it.

  “Thanks, Sam ... another time, perhaps. It's been a delightful evening, but I'm a bit tired. I don't go out much, and I'm not used to staying up late. Would you mind terribly if I asked you to take me home now?”

  “Of course not – just a thought – have to be up early tomorrow myself”, Sam said, gallantly hiding his disappointment, but a not a little relieved, as well; he loved the witty satirical skits of French Port cabaret but they could be wickedly salacious, full of double sens as well as frankly obscene jokes of defiantly single meaning. He knew he would be embarrassed to listen to this sort of stuff in Maddie's company.

  In the taxi on the way back to Maddie's house, they said little, but she sat very close to him. Sam ventured to put his arm around her, fearing that she would pull away, but she only snuggled closer, even putting her head on his shoulder. The warmth of her body, the scent of her hair, aroused Sam to an extent which disturbed him. But it's too soon he told himself; much too soon.

  At her door, Sam hoped fervently she would ask him in while knowing that it would be unwise to accept; in his current state, he didn't trust himself alone with her. She unlocked, then turned to him and said, rather formally, “Thank you for a delightful evening.” Then, unexpectedly, she embraced him in a fierce hug, and whispered in his ear: “Take very, very good care of yourself, Sam; I couldn't bear to lose you too.” Then she kissed him quite firmly on the lips, and turned and went inside before he could react. He heard the lock turn. He stood there for a moment in shock, then returned to the waiting taxi – despite his high hopes, he had held it, not wishing to appear to be taking an invitation for granted.

  Sam rode back to the shipyard in a daze. What had Maddie's words and behavior meant? Did they simply indicate friendship, or something more? The kiss was an ambiguous indicator; Kergs, especially townsfolk, were an effusive people, and a kiss was a common greeting between friends. Even a kiss on the lips between two people of opposite sex was not necessarily more than a mildly affectionate way to say hello.

  Yet something about that kiss gave him hope.

  CHAPTER 12

  The next morning, Sam's mind was still full of the events of the previous evening. By an effort of will, however, he managed to put them aside and focus on his self-imposed task of personally overseeing every aspect of the work on his vessel. He also supervised his tiny skeleton crew, the membership of which changed daily as sailors returned from leave, or departed to resume the balance due them. Their duties, aside from normal cleaning and maintenance, were mainly to keep
an eye on the notoriously light-fingered yard workers – otherwise, every portable item of value on the schooner would disappear. Bill had urged him to assign this duty to one of the lieutenants, and take some leave himself. There was no good reason why Sam shouldn't have done this, but it was a task no merchant master would have delegated, and old habits were hard to break.

  Sam was surprised to see Doctor Girard come aboard that afternoon. She was dressed in her normal at-sea rig of boots, woolen trousers, thick sweater, and sealskin parka, but managed to wear this humble outfit with the same air of self-confident elegance that she had worn her fashionable gown the evening before, at the restaurant.

  “Good afternoon, Doctor. What in the world are you doing aboard today? You're still on leave.”

  “Hello again, Captain. I wanted an opportunity to talk to you privately about the probationary period you set for me just we before we sailed from Nosy Be, and my future, if any, in the Navy.”

  “Well, let's go down to my day cabin, where it's warm – or at least warmer than on deck. By the way, it was a good idea to wear seagoing clothes – that ladder would have been a problem had you been in a dress.” The yard had installed a steep and rickety brow between the schooner's deck and the drydock wall, but there still remained the vertical climb up and down the ladder on the shoreside wall of the drydock.

  “Oh, I was wearing a dress when I first came to the yard, late this morning, but I took one look at that ladder and went home to change.”

  When they reached Sam's day cabin, he sat behind his desk, and Girard remained standing. “Please sit, Doctor – no need for formality.” She sat on the forward half of the seat of Sam's desk chair, erect, hands folded in her lap. There was a moment's awkward silence.

  “Tell me, Doctor – what is your attitude toward the Navy now? Do you wish to remain surgeon of the Albatros”?

  “Yes, I do, Captain. In fact, I that's what I've wanted from the beginning. That conviction has only deepened – I want to make a career of the Navy, if it's still possible.”

  She paused, then went on, “You see, that was never the problem – any ambivalence on my part about being in the Navy, I mean. My issues had to do with authority, yours and especially the XO's – Captain Ennis, now. In private practice, I was so used to doing everything my way, of exerting authority over my interns, of having my patients regard my instructions as the word of God, that I had great difficulty adjusting to a subordinate position. You and Bill – the XO, I mean – both indulged me to a great extent, for which I'm grateful. Then your … admonishment on the day we sailed from Nosy Be, and especially the fact of being in a probationary status, was a salutary shock. That made me realize just how much I wanted a naval career, and how close I was to losing that opportunity.

  “I had long conversations with Bill – Commander Ennis – on the southbound voyage. He also recommended some books on ancient navies to me, by the way, which I've been able to read since we've been back home and I've had a chance to visit the Institute. He helped me understand the need for a hierarchical structure, and obedience to orders, on a ship of war. I've since tried to adjust my behavior and attitudes accordingly. I hope you will find I've done that to your satisfaction … that you will retain me as Medical Officer of the Albatros.”

  Sam searched her face, but saw nothing but an evident sincerity, mixed with embarrassment at her self-abasement. Sam could imagine the cost in swallowed pride this interview represented for her.

  “Then of course you may continue in your present role, Doctor,” Sam said, and saw the relief and pleasure in her face.

  “I apologize for the … harshness … of my talk with you back in Nosy Be” he continued. “As I said then, I share part of the blame for letting the situation run on for far too long. You're an asset to the Navy, and to the Albatros, and I'm very gratified that you want to continue as her MO.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” she replied, relief and pleasure obvious in her smile. Sam felt as if a burden had been lifted from him, as well, and he realized only then how worried he had been that the Navy was on the verge of losing a valuable asset. He reluctantly acknowledged to himself, too, that there was a personal element in his worry: he would miss her very much if she left the vessel.

  The tension went out of the room, and the two talked with an ease and freedom that had been absent before.

  “Now, you'd better go ashore and enjoy the rest of your leave, Doctor – you'll be very busy when it ends.”

  “With your permission, Captain, I think I'd like to cut my leave short. I have a great deal to do to get the medical department ready for our next cruise, and I'd like to get started.”

  “Nothing that can't wait until the schooner is out of the yard, surely...?”

  “I'm afraid not, Captain. I want to make a final inventory of our medical stores before I reorder, and I have to take into account lead time for delivery. Also, I've done some research, and discovered a suitable chemical for purifying drinking water, so we don't have to use our limited supply of disinfectants – but it'll take a chemist some time to make up a batch adequate to our needs, so I have to order it soon. I haven't yet calculated the amount we'll need – the stuff may prove useful for other purposes, as well.

  “In addition, I'll have a new intern to train, a lompkinder, since you transferred Martin to the Joan. I've recruited one, and with your permission I'd like to order her to report aboard as soon as possible – she could be very helpful, and I could make a start on her orientation to the Navy way of doing medicine.”

  “So we're to have an all-female medical department, then – well, that'll simplify the berthing arrangements. Okay, then, Doctor – welcome back. I'll add your unused days to the future leave you'll accrue. Go home and pack your sea bag. You can start tomorrow morning.”

  “I can start now, Captain. My gear is on the dock – I gambled that your decision would be favorable. I just need a seaman to hoist it aboard.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow at this. Was it truly a gamble – or was she that confident of winning him over? Well, it didn't matter.

  “Very well. I should warn you, though, that the galley is cold – the cook's on leave. I've authorized a meal allowance for the hands in the drydock watch, but the only place at all nearby to eat is a longshore dump called Manny's, and their food is barely edible. It's not a fit place for a lady, either.

  “I've been making do on my own cooking – which should give you some idea of the vileness of Manny's cuisine. You're entitled to the meal allowance too, of course, but you're welcome to mess with me. My cooking's incredibly average, but at least you're less likely to get food poisoning.”

  “That's very generous of you, skipper. I'll get much more done if I don't have to change, go ashore for a meal, then return and change back into working rig two or three times a day. And I'll be happy to do the cooking. My mother was a maîtresse de cuisine and she taught me a good deal when I was a girl – I'm certainly not up to her standard, but I can produce an edible meal.”

  “How happy you make me, Doctor!” cried Sam. “Truth is, I was getting mighty damned sick of my own cooking. But you won't find much in the way of ingredients in the galley, I'm afraid – just the usual salt fish, pickled cabbage, and potatoes.”

  “But, Captain – we're in port! You can order any amount of fresh food, and have it delivered to the ship the same day.”

  “Of course – I didn't think of that,” said Sam, abashed.

  “I'll take care of ordering some fresh provisions, too. Now if you don't mind, I think I'll get to work.”

  “Carry on, Doctor. And … glad to have you back.” This parting sentence earned Sam a dazzling smile as she left his day cabin.

  The next few days went by quickly, Sam busy all day overseeing the refitting of the schooner, the few sailors on board maintaining a gangway watch and otherwise seeing to the security of the vessel, the doctor busy counting pills and bandages in sick bay. She had immediately ordered fresh food delivered, and proved t
o be a much, much better cook than Sam. In the interests of time, they had only a light lunch at midday, deferring dinner until the evening when she had more time to prepare it.

  The Doctor's new intern reported aboard, a young woman (but older than Girard) named Smith. Her looks were as plain as her name: she was tall, gangly, with mousy brown hair invariably drawn back into a bun, and and her eyes were slightly protuberant, an effect magnified by her thick glasses . Sam couldn't help being glad that he didn't have another beauty like Girard aboard to distract his crew. She was invited to join their little mess, and did so for lunch, but chose to dine and sleep ashore, since she lived nearby with her parents. Petty Officer Smith's choice was a relief to Sam. She was very quiet, speaking only when spoken to, and seemed to regard Sam and the Doctor with the reverential awe appropriate to a king and a duchess, respectively: an awkward companion at table.

  Sam and the doctor dined together in the captain's mess in a comfortable domesticity. Much of the tension had gone out of their relationship, and with it the formality. She fell into the habit of using the informal but still respectful address of “Skipper” instead of “Captain”, and he began to address her by her first name, as he did other officers.

  Because there was only the two of them, and they were both too busy during the day to talk very much, Sam suspended his usual rule prohibiting shop talk at table, and Girard caught him up on her efforts, during her abbreviated leave, to recruit both an intern to take Landry's billet on the Albatros and a medical officer for the Joan of Arc. The new intern Sam had already met.

  “I found a perfect choice for Joan's MO, Skipper. He's a young man, newly qualified, who was an intern of Doctor McClennan. You remember him: I had joined him for supper at Maxine's in order to solicit his advice about suitable candidates the evening we ran into one another there, and you introduced me to Madame Dupree.”