by Walsh, Dan
His note was inside.
She desperately wanted to read it, if only to hear his words alive in her mind once more. But she dreaded what the words might say, what reading them now would mean. She wasn’t ready. She reached for the metal cup instead.
Like a gull eyes a fish, the eyes of Ayden Maul fixed on a black pouch tied to a woman’s belt. She was drinking a cup of coffee. He knew the pouch was full of gold.
Maul stood on a rope ladder halfway up the mainmast, with a keen view of all the ship’s guests below. A pathetic-looking lot. One would never imagine the wealth they had brought aboard this ship. From what he’d seen, her pouch was just about average.
When the rescue operation began yesterday, no one knew who these people were or where they’d come from. Best he could tell, he was the only one that cared now. Bunch of stinking churchgoers and Bible readers on this Cutlass crew. This was Maul’s first voyage among them, so of course they’d given him the worst jobs and dirtiest chores. Treated him barely better than that old Negro slave. When he’d been hired, Captain Meade gave him this talk about how he was giving him a chance to better himself. “Ayden,” he’d said, “you show me you’re worthy, and I’ll consider a better wage for you our next time out.”
Maul already had a better wage in mind for this time out.
He didn’t see himself on this ship one day past New York harbor. He’d been small-talking these ladies a bit, pretending to care. They were all from San Francisco or thereabouts. The ones who’d struck it rich in the gold rush. He’d heard there was so much gold floating around up there they didn’t even use paper money. Men bought shots of whiskey with a pinch of gold dust.
These ladies and their husbands were all on that steamship, heading back East to show off. That’s not how they put it, but it’s what he knew. All those men going down on that steamship yesterday would have given their women the last of their gold when they parted.
Like that little black pouch on that woman down there. Maul hadn’t figured it out yet, but the right idea would come. Before they reached New York, he’d have enough gold so he’d never have to work again.
“Hey, Maul.” He looked down. It was Maylor, the captain’s first mate. “You ain’t getting paid to stand there. Tie off that line and get down here. The decks need scrubbing.”
“Aye, sir,” he said.
It wouldn’t be long now.
6
“You need to go right back down that hatch and change.”
“Why?”
“You look absolutely ridiculous.”
“It’s only for today, until my clothes dry out. Captain Meade told the crew to let us borrow their extra clothes.”
Laura looked over her shoulder at a young woman and her mother. She tried to remember their names but couldn’t. The young girl did look ridiculous. She wore a tan shirt with puffy sleeves, several sizes too big.
“Those pants,” the mother said. “You’re wearing pants . . . oh, Sarah.”
“I couldn’t come out in just a shirt, Mother.”
“What would your father—?”
The mother’s expression froze as the realization sunk in. Her father wouldn’t say anything. He was gone. The mother’s eyes slowly dropped to the deck. Laura glanced at the daughter. She ran and fell at her mother’s feet, crying. The mother put her arms around her shoulders.
Laura quickly walked away. But from scenes like this, there was no relief.
It was midday. The sun was shining high overhead. A cooling breeze blew across the deck. Bright clouds accented the brilliant blue sky and brought out the deep sapphire blues in the sea. Laura saw these things and knew they should affect her, but they did not. A collective heaviness cast a gray pall over every corner of the ship. It hung in the air like a thick fog from which no one could escape.
She walked toward the bow and found an open spot near the railing. The bottom half was solid and did a fair job of blocking the wind. She sat down, pulled her knees close, and slid her shawl up over her head. It was the closest thing to being alone.
“Lord,” she whispered as quietly as she could. “I’m just . . . I’m so sad. I can’t think, I can’t feel. Now I have no one. I don’t understand. Why did you give me John? I was already used to being alone.”
She felt the ship move forward beneath her, heard the gentle splashes as the bow cut through the waves. She knew the Cutlass was on course for New York. Before Captain Meade went below, he had announced something about the winds being favorable today and how they were making good speed.
But even if the ship should double or triple its speed . . . it wasn’t taking her anywhere she cared to go.
Laura was awakened by a sniffing sound. She didn’t even remember falling asleep. She pulled the shawl off her head and looked into Crabby’s smiling face. The dog took a few steps back and sat. She had something between her teeth. “What you got there, girl?” She reached out to pet her head.
“Something I made for her,” Micah said from off to the side.
Laura looked up. He was rolling up a long stretch of rope. “It looks kind of like a crab,” she said.
“What I was aimin’ for. Made a’ cloth and stuffin’. She wants you to throw it, and she’ll fetch it back.”
Laura reached for the toy. “Will she let go?”
“Not till you wrestle it a few minutes. She’ll growl, but it’s a happy one. You’re the only lady on the ship she come to. I seen her sitting there right next to you, ’bout the last thirty minutes. Guess she got tired of waitin’ on you to wake up.”
Laura tossed the crab down to the lower part of the main deck. It didn’t go far but slid a few feet more. Crabby took off. She lunged for it but slipped past it. Her body spun around and slid right into a bucket full of soapy water, knocking it over. A crewman had been sitting beside it, using it to scrub the deck. The water spilled all over his pants. He slammed his scrub brush down and stood up.
“Stupid dog,” he yelled, loud enough to turn every head in his direction. “Had about enough of you and your stupid foolishness. Come here.”
Crabby reacted to the man, cowering in fear.
The man reached over and with one hand grabbed her by the nape of her neck. He slung her back, ready to throw her over the side.
The next moment shocked everyone.
Laura had never seen a man move so fast. Just like that, and Micah was right beside him. He grabbed the crewman’s arm, froze it in place, then swung his leg around in a motion that swept the crewman’s feet out from under him. He crashed to the deck and let out a loud moan. Crabby ran off and hid behind Micah.
The man rolled over, looked up at Micah with eyes full of hate. “Why, you stinking black savage. I’ll teach you to lay a hand on me.”
Micah instantly retreated to the submissive posture Laura had seen previously. “I’s only tryin’ to keep you from makin’ a big mistake, suh,” he said. “Can’t be throwin’ Crabby over the side like that. Cap’n wouldn’t want that.”
The crewman ignored him and reached for a leather strap hanging nearby on a nail. He swung it around and whipped Micah over and over. Laura screamed for him to stop. Women and children throughout the deck yelled at him to stop, but he kept beating him. Micah fell to the deck, covered his face with his hands. Crabby charged at the man, but he kicked her to the side, then whipped her too.
Laura hurried toward the scene, not sure what to do. Just then she saw a man lunge forward and grab hold of the crewman’s hand, the one holding the strap. “Hit that man again, and I’ll wrap this strap around your neck,” he said.
As she got closer, she saw it was Lieutenant Ashcroft, from the Vandervere.
“Take your hand off me,” the crewman shouted.
Instead, Ashcroft moved his face within a handsbreadth of the man. “I don’t know if Captain Meade believes in flogging, but you say another word and I’ll flog you myself to within an inch of your life.”
The crewman’s face broke, his anger suddenly dissolved. �
��I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Didn’t recognize you without your uniform.” He let the strap fall to the deck and stepped back.
“What’s going on here?” Captain Meade yelled as he made his way to the main deck. Everyone backed away and made room. “Lieutenant? Maul? What’s all this about?” He looked down at Micah, saw the welts on his face and arms. Micah got up.
Several women shouted their renditions, filling the deck with noise and confusion.
“Silence, ladies, if you please,” the captain said over it all. They instantly obeyed.
“I was just teaching this slave here a lesson,” said the crewman.
“You were beating him senseless,” Ashcroft said.
“What did he do?” asked the captain. “One at a time, gentlemen. Starting with you, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, I didn’t actually see what the slave did, just saw your Mr. Maul here whipping him with that strap.”
“Beg your pardon, Captain, but this slave here grabbed my arm and threw me to the deck.”
“What?” Captain Meade asked. He looked at Micah, standing now. “I find that hard to believe.”
Laura couldn’t stand by any longer. “Captain, I beg your pardon, but I saw the whole thing.”
“I’m not finished,” Maul said.
Captain Meade looked at Micah. Laura saw something like compassion in his eyes. “Go on, miss . . .”
“My name is Laura, Mrs. Laura Foster.” She explained in a few sentences what really happened.
The captain shook his head as he understood. “Maul, you had no cause to whip him like that. He’s not your slave, and you are the lowest ranking man on the crew. And Micah, I can’t have you striking the crew, no matter what. Do you understand? You could have asked one of the other men to intervene.”
Micah nodded. “Cap’n, may I say somethin’?”
“What?”
“I meant no harm to Missuh Maul here. I truly didn’t. But there weren’t time. He had Crabby in his hand, another second he’d a’ flung her over that rail. Rate we be movin,’ she’d be a goner for sure.”
Laura remembered what Micah had said about the captain liking Crabby too.
He turned to Maul, a stern look in his eyes. “Mr. Maul. I’m only going to say this once. You are new on this crew so I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt.” He bent down and looked at Crabby hiding behind Micah’s legs. He put his hand out, and she ran right to him, her tail wagging furiously. “Crabby here is under my protection.”
“Yes, sir,” said Maul.
“I don’t care what she does that you don’t like, don’t you ever lay a hand on her or Micah again. Are we clear?”
Maul looked at Micah then down at Crabby, his hatred still present but subdued. “I understand, Captain. Won’t happen again, sir.”
“My apologies, ladies,” the captain announced, standing to his feet. “A bit of misunderstanding here, is all. Sorry to have disturbed your peace. I’ve been informed that dinner will be served in about one hour. While I have your attention, I might as well inform you . . . we are running low on provisions. As I said, we will share with you whatever we have, but I had no way of knowing how much it would take to feed over a hundred mouths a day. Our cook tells me if we don’t go to half rations, we’ll run out a day or so before reaching New York. So . . .” He smiled ever so slightly. “I regret to say, not only will the food be terrible, but there will be less of it.”
Everyone laughed. The comment seemed to sweep away the tension on deck.
For everyone, Laura observed, except Mr. Maul. He bent over and picked up his bucket. As he stood, he gave her a wicked hateful stare.
7
Up then down, up then down. The movement unending.
The heat scorched his neck and arms. And the thirst. But don’t drink. No matter how intense the thirst . . . don’t drink.
“I can’t hold on, John. It’s time.”
“No,” John said. “Robert, don’t. Just a little more.”
“Why? There’s no point. I’m so tired.”
“Can’t you feel it, Robert? The waves are calming.”
“Does it matter?”
“It will get easier to hold on. We can just float. Just a little longer, Robert. Think of Mary and your little ones. Hold on for them.” John looked to his right. Robert’s head faced away. He gave no reply. They had been sharing one of the wooden tables John had pulled from the dining saloon. “Robert?”
“A little longer then,” Robert said.
For the last several hours John had watched as one man after another gave up and slipped beneath the water, like the man who’d shared this table with Robert. Some had announced their departures, calling out their names, a few last words to convey to loved ones should any out here survive. Others just silently disappeared. There were less than a hundred men floating in their group. All the rest were dead.
The big raft . . . there had been three men on it. Now there was only one. John quickly looked around, didn’t see anyone swimming toward it. “Robert? Hey, Robert.” John splashed him.
“What?”
“C’mon, the big raft.”
“What?”
“There’s room, enough for both of us.”
“I don’t have the strength to move.”
“It’s not far, maybe a hundred feet. If I can get us there, will you hold on?”
“I suppose.”
The big raft . . . what he and Robert had named a pair of doors and hatches some men had tied together right after the ship sank. They had been eyeing it for hours. Well, John had; Robert had given up. It seemed big enough to hold four men, but John had only ever seen three. Two of them had been defending it savagely, kicking and punching anyone who came near. As the afternoon wore on and the sun had sapped everyone’s energy, the battles had ceased. The two warriors on the raft had finally lost the will to fight.
Sometime in the last hour they had, apparently, lost the will to live.
“We’re almost there,” John said. “It’s big enough for you to lay there a while and rest.”
John felt Robert’s legs start to kick beside him. He was still trying. John kept his focus on the prize as they closed the distance. It was too discouraging to lock eyes with anyone on his right or left as he went by. Such desperation and pleading on every face. But he couldn’t help them, not anymore. He was spent.
The men were already in a state of exhaustion when they’d first entered the water, from days on the bucket brigade. Adding to that, for John, was the mental fatigue from constantly resisting terrifying thoughts that pounded relentlessly in his mind. Then the energy expended conjuring hopeful thoughts, which he didn’t even believe.
For the moment, John’s thoughts were few. The big raft alone consumed him. And how improved their situation would be if they could cling to it instead of this table.
After John pulled himself onto the raft, he reached back for Robert. He was gone. “No,” he shouted, looking all around the table for him. “Robert,” he shouted. He must have gone under.
John was just about to dive beneath the table when he heard, “I’ve got him, John.”
He recognized the voice, the man’s accent.
“Mr. Ambassador?”
“He’s over here,” the man said. “The other side of the raft. I’ve got his collar, but I’m too weak to pull him up by myself. And please don’t call me that, John. After all we’ve been through.”
“Yes, sir,” John said. “Ramón . . . sir.” Ramón Gutierrez, the Peruvian ambassador. The man who’d stood beside him on the bucket brigade. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
“As am I. For how long, who knows?”
John edged his way to the far side of the raft, and together they pulled Robert aboard. He didn’t look well.
“I’m so thirsty, John,” he said weakly. “I drank some seawater, I think.”
“How much, Robert?”
“Just a little . . . but it didn’t help.”
“It won’t
help, Robert. And it will make you sick, or worse.”
“He’s right, Robert,” said Ramón. “The man whose spot you’re taking on this raft tried quenching his thirst from the ocean.”
Robert rolled over and threw up. Thankfully, just water. John quickly splashed it away. “That’s good, Robert. You’ll be fine.”
Robert lay there on his side. “I’m so thirsty.”
“We all are,” John said, patting Robert on the shoulder.
John leaned over Robert and whispered to Ramón, “The other two men, before they disappeared, I saw them beating anyone who came near.”
Ramón whispered back, “They had no wives aboard the Vandervere, so all their gold went down with the ship. I promised them each a thousand gold coins if they helped me survive.” He smiled.
Instantly, John remembered the pouch of gold he’d given Laura. And the note. What was his beloved doing now, he wondered. Well on her way to New York and safety. He was glad of that but immediately stopped dwelling on what she might face once she arrived.
“Look,” said Ramón. “To the west, a storm building on the horizon.” Everyone within earshot turned and stared. “It appears to be coming this way.”
No one said a word. Everyone was likely thinking the same thing—fresh water. If the storm was mild, that is. But then another thought . . . more deaths if it stirred up the wind and waves again. Even John doubted he could hold on through another round of that.
“You can see the end of it,” someone said. “On both sides.”
“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” said another. “I must have water.”
They watched as it moved slowly toward them.
Suddenly a flash. “Was that . . . ?”
“Yes,” said Ramón, “it was.”
Lightning.
8
As Captain Meade had predicted, the winds had stayed firm all day, filling the sails of the Cutlass and drying out the dampness in Laura’s clothes. Except for her undergarments, she felt completely dry. But the chafing on her skin caused her considerable pain. Walking was an especially painful task. She hadn’t seen Micah since the terrible beating he’d received an hour ago. She went below deck to see how he fared.
