The Deepest Waters, A Novel

by Walsh, Dan

  About half the women and children stood along the rails or walked about the deck. She noticed the wooden table was in place, the one used to serve breakfast, but Smitty was nowhere in sight. Micah scrubbed a section of deck just beside the table. Crabby lay beside him. A little girl sat next to Crabby, petting her back. The little girl said something that made Micah laugh. Crabby wagged her tail and appeared to be smiling.

  Just then Smitty appeared from the galley doorway, carrying the now familiar bowl of gruel. He didn’t set it down on the table. Instead, he called up to the captain, who turned and peered over the rail. Captain Meade shook his head. Smitty said something and the captain nodded. Smitty said something else to Micah, then set the bowl on the table.

  “Ladies,” Captain Meade called out. “Excuse me, ladies . . . would you all gather around?”

  In a few moments, those on deck formed a half circle around the captain. Several more hurried up the steps from below. Laura saw Micah quickly trying to dry the deck area he’d just cleaned. He picked up his bucket and hurried below.

  “Thank you, ladies,” said Captain Meade. “I have some difficult things to discuss with you.” He paused and took a deep breath. “This being a small ship, I felt it best to speak freely rather than let even worse rumors spread. First, I’m sure most of you are aware of the incident last night. Don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m sad to report one of my men—the newest man—has turned out to be a thief. But thanks to the quick action of my man Micah and Mrs. Foster’s sharp mind, he was caught in the act and we recovered everything he stole.”

  Many of the ladies turned to face Laura, their faces a mixture of confusion and thanks. An awkward applause followed.

  “Can I see a show of hands,” the captain said, “for those who brought gold aboard, how many know exactly how much gold you should have?” He looked around, but no hands raised. “So none of you know how much might have been stolen?”

  “We all left the Vandervere so quickly,” one lady replied. “There was no time to count anything.”

  “I understand,” said the captain. “Then the only fair way I can think of to repay you is . . . after breakfast, I’ll be in my quarters. Mr. Maylor here, my first mate, will take a seat at this table. All you ladies who kept your gold below, bring it to him. He won’t take it, just get a head count. He’ll tell me how many, and I’ll divide the gold that was stolen in equal parts. Then you come, one by one, to my cabin, and I’ll give the gold back to you.”

  To Laura, the clamor of voices expressed mostly approval of the plan. But one elderly woman yelled, “How are we going to know this won’t happen again? I don’t mean any disrespect, Captain, but that gold is all I have left to live on. Will we have to take turns guarding it ourselves?”

  “I understand, ma’am,” said Captain Meade. “I’m sorry to put you all through this. But trust me, the thief is confined to his quarters. He will not bother you again. And I’ve instructed my crew, no one else is allowed into the hold until you leave this ship. Except Micah, that is.”

  “How do we know we can trust him?” someone yelled out.

  “Ladies . . . if it weren’t for Micah, we wouldn’t even know the gold had been stolen, let alone have it all back, ready to return to its rightful owners. I’d trust Micah with my life.”

  That silenced any remaining concerns.

  Laura looked around for Micah but didn’t see him anywhere. A pity he didn’t hear what the captain just said. But it did give her an idea, a way to finally do something to help.

  “Ladies, there’s more,” said Captain Meade. “I’m sure you’re aware breakfast is being served a little late this morning. The wind has picked up a bit, but yesterday we lost an entire day, and we were already low on provisions. To put it plainly, we are almost out of food. In fact, there is only enough to feed the children this morning.”

  Laura expected this announcement. The mood instantly became somber.

  “How long until we reach New York?” someone asked.

  “If this wind stays steady, we could be there late tomorrow,” said Captain Meade.

  “So we have nothing to eat until then?”

  “That’s . . . about the size of it. But I have another option. Wanted to let you ladies be a part of this decision, since it involves you and especially your children. I could change course slightly, still head north but shift to the east a bit. I planned to bring you all the way to New York. In fact, someone told me today is the day your steamship is expected there. But the sea isn’t obliged to follow our plans. Been at this most of my life and, believe me, this is normal. Anyway, we may yet see another ship on this new course that might share some provisions with us. That would allow us to keep going north till we reach New York. But if we don’t, I can have us into Norfolk, Virginia, by nightfall.”

  “Virginia?” a young mother cried. “All my family will be waiting in New York. How will we get there from Virginia?”

  “Ma’am . . . that’s the thing, see. You’ll have to fend for yourselves from that point. I suppose some of you can book another ship to New York. Some can take a train. Or . . . I can keep us going straight north until we all get to New York. You won’t eat for two days, and neither will your children after breakfast, but my men have gone without food much longer than that, so they’ll be fine with either decision.”

  “Will we have water?” someone asked.

  “Plenty of water, either way,” he said.

  “Captain,” another woman yelled, “I’m sure I speak for all the ladies. We want to thank you and all your crew. First for rescuing us. And now, for sharing your food with us. Clearly, you’d have plenty if it were just your men on board.” This seemed to instantly reset the mood, and the women erupted in strong applause.

  “Thank you, ladies.” The captain’s mood seemed to lighten again. “I’m going to head down to my cabin a spell. Those of you with children can get them fed. Then you all talk about which of the two places you want to go. Let me know what you decide.” He stepped away from the rail, and the crowd began to disperse.

  Laura hoped the captain’s good mood might continue long enough until she could meet with him and explain her idea, the one she came up with to help Micah.

  24

  An hour later, the children had all been fed, and a head count had been taken for those whose gold had been stolen. After a spirited debate, the majority had decided Norfolk would be best, for the sake of the children.

  Laura didn’t care either way.

  A new line had formed, leading to Captain Meade’s cabin. Because she’d kept her gold with her, she didn’t have any gold coming. But she couldn’t think of a better opportunity to speak privately to the captain. She’d tried to get at the end of the line, but a number of older women came in behind her.

  She stood by the captain’s door. Everyone else had gone in and come out in just a few minutes. The door opened. It was Melissa.

  “Such a nice man,” she said, smiling as she walked past.

  “Come in, Mrs. Foster.” Captain Meade was smiling, sitting behind a thick oak desk.

  She was terribly nervous. She walked in and sat down. The room was spacious compared to anywhere else on this ship, but no bigger than her small spare bedroom back in San Francisco. She looked briefly out the three windows along the back wall, eyeing the wake of the ship as it cut a path through the emerald sea.

  “Nice to be seeing a wake again,” said the captain.

  “Yes,” she said. To the right was his bunk, built into the port side. Above it, three shelves of books. There it was, the one book she had wanted to see.

  His Bible.

  “You’ve got your pouch of gold, I see,” said the captain, obviously trying to move things along. On the desk beside his left arm were four small piles of gold nuggets. He slid one off by itself. “If you’ll hand it to me, I’ll put these right in there.”

  “Actually, Captain, I’m not here for gold. I’ve kept mine tied to my waist the whole time. But I
thought this might give me a chance to talk with you briefly. There’s something I’d like to ask you to consider.”

  The captain leaned back. “Well, Mrs. Foster, ask away. If I can oblige, I most certainly will. You’ve been quite an asset ever since you’ve come aboard. Especially last night, helping clear up who the real thief was. Even the other day, when Maul was beating on poor old Micah.”

  “Well, actually . . . it’s poor old Micah I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s your slave, correct?”

  “Yes.” He sat up. “Paid eight hundred dollars for him three years ago.”

  It sounded so unbelievably wrong, but he said it without a thought. “I don’t know exactly how to say this.” She glanced over at his Bible. “I’ve had a few conversations with Micah. He’s told me you are a Christian, and you even read your Bible on a regular basis. I see it, right over there.”

  His expression became serious. “I am . . . and I do. But I don’t see how that should concern you. Have I acted in an un-Christianly manner somehow?”

  “No, sir. You have been a remarkable demonstration of Christian care and service to us the entire time.”

  He exhaled a relieved sigh.

  “It’s . . . well, it’s Micah. I . . . I don’t understand how you can keep him here, on this ship, as your slave.”

  “Mrs. Foster, keeping slaves is not un-Christian. In fact, the Bible teaches it is perfectly fine, long as you treat them with respect.”

  “You think the Bible says it’s fine for one man to enslave another?”

  “Enslave? I haven’t enslaved anyone. Micah was born a slave. Slavery’s been going on in this country for hundreds of years. You ask Micah, he’ll tell you I’ve been the best master he’s ever had.”

  “That is what he said.”

  “Did he ask you to talk to me about this?”

  “No, and I don’t think he ever would.”

  “Then I think we need to bring this conversation to a close. There are a number of ladies waiting outside.”

  “I know. Can I speak with you about this some other time, later this afternoon, perhaps?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I don’t think there’s anything else to say.”

  “But Captain, how can you as a Christian keep another man—also a Christian—as your slave? How can that be something God would ever approve of?”

  “Come now, Mrs. Foster, you can’t be serious. Clearly you are an abolitionist. Millions of people up North are.”

  “I’m from the North, but now I live out West in San Francisco.”

  “They don’t have slaves out West?”

  “Not in San Francisco.”

  “Well, they do in the South where I come from. By the millions. I know of pastors who have slaves, and I’ve heard many a sermon—from my own pastor—about what the Bible says on this. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

  “How can you say that, sir? Do you know what slave masters from the South have done to him? Have you seen his back?”

  “I’d never do that to Micah.”

  “And slave masters from the South have torn his family apart, one by one. He doesn’t even know where his children are. How can that be something God approves of?”

  The captain stood up. “I’m sorry, ma’am. But we really must end this. I don’t know all the Bible verses. I couldn’t quote them one by one. But they are right there in the Good Book.” He pointed to his Bible. “They even had slaves in Jesus’s time. He never tried to stop it, never said a word against it. I know Saint Paul talked to slaves who were Christians, told them how they ought to treat their masters. Never told them to rebel or run away, or talked about how wrong it was that they were slaves.”

  Laura shook her head. This was hopeless. “Captain, I beg your pardon. I didn’t come here to make you angry.”

  Captain Meade took a deep breath, rested his large palms on the back of his chair. “I understand, Mrs. Foster. We just have a difference of opinion, is all. The whole country’s divided on this. Don’t see you and me solving the issue of slavery here in my cabin.”

  “No, you’re right. I apologize for taking so much of your time.”

  She stood up and turned toward the door.

  As she put her hand on the knob, the captain said, “Mrs. Foster, I really do appreciate all you’ve done on this ship. Hope there’ll be no hard feelings between us.”

  “No, Captain. And thanks for your kind words.”

  Laura stepped into the dark hall. A gray-haired woman in a bonnet walked past her, glaring as she stepped through the doorway. Laura walked by the three remaining women, trying not to make eye contact. She paused in the shadows. There across the deck, framed by the doorway, was Micah on his hands and knees, scrubbing.

  Crabby lay next to him, wagging her tail at something he’d just said.

  25

  Captain Janus Houtman was pleased.

  He had been trying to get the Angeline back on course for the last two days. The voyage had begun back in Holland almost four weeks ago. After a stop in Southampton, he and his twelve-man crew had crossed the Atlantic uneventfully but then ran into the outer bands of a terrible hurricane. They tried to sail around it, but the storm was massive. Even on the outskirts, the wind and waves had their way with his little ship. But she’d held up well.

  And now, borne on the strength of a prevailing east wind, the Angeline was finally making good time, plying a southwesterly course toward Charleston. A sufficient speed, it seemed, to keep the English ambassador, Giles, from offering any more ridiculous sailing suggestions.

  Mr. Giles was his only passenger. The money was significant, the Englishman’s fare equal to half the cargo in his hold. But Captain Houtman still regretted taking him on. Houtman stood next to the wheel, manned by his first mate, Conklin.

  “He’s doing it again, sir,” said Conklin.

  “Where?”

  Conklin’s eyes pointed forward. Houtman glanced toward the bow, saddened to see Mr. Giles . . . at it again.

  Over the last two days, he’d asked Giles several times to stop engaging his crew in mindless chatter about politics and culture. The man appeared to have no useful skills except conversation, something entirely useless aboard his ship.

  Houtman had talked to the men, to make sure; not a one cared for anything Giles had to say. They felt trapped in his net, so to speak. He’d ask questions as a pretense for dialogue, but it was a ruse. He’d quickly shift into a monologue, roaming through any number of pointless topics. Then talk until he’d wrung out every last drop that could be said on the subject. Before they could politely excuse themselves, he’d plunge into the next one.

  Presently, he had young Pieter cornered by the bow.

  “Steady as she goes, Mr. Conklin.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Houtman made his way forward to rescue the lad.

  As he climbed the stairs to the forecastle deck, to keep his composure in check, he reminded himself that Giles was not a part of his crew. Once again, Giles had blatantly disregarded what Houtman had told him to do. But he was not insubordinate; he didn’t appear to be able to stop talking. Besides, Houtman reminded himself, it would all be over soon. If the winds remained steady, he’d be free of Giles this evening, tomorrow morning at the latest.

  “The Dred Scott decision is fascinating. Really, Pieter, you’ve never heard of it?”

  “No, Mr. Giles,” said Pieter. “This is my first trip to the States. Mostly I’m trying to learn English words.” Pieter looked over Giles’s shoulder and saw Houtman. His face reflected instant relief.

  “Well, Dred Scott is a Negro slave. Back in—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Giles.”

  “Oh, Captain. A beautiful day, don’t you think?”

  “A fine day. Pieter, I believe your break is over.”

  “Yes, sir, Captain.”

  “Been a pleasure chatting with you, Pieter. We’ll catch up later then.”

  Pieter
walked quickly toward the stairs.

  “Uh . . . no, you won’t, Mr. Giles. Are you forgetting what we talked about not two hours ago, when you were chatting with my cook, Willem?”

  “But Captain—”

  “But nothing, Mr. Giles. I assume you still hope we’ll reach Charleston by nightfall.”

  “You assume incorrectly, sir. We must absolutely reach Charleston by nightfall. My meeting with the Southern senators is tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Then you must absolutely stop having these conversations with my crew. The crew of a ship works together in a certain rhythm. Your conversations disrupt that rhythm. How many times—”

  “Whoa!” Pieter shouted from the main deck. “What is that? Do you see it?”

  Captain Houtman and Giles both turned toward Pieter.

  Several crew members, manning the ratlines on the various masts, also began to shout.

  “I see it.”

  “There it is.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “It’s a bird,” Pieter said. “See it? A big one.”

  Houtman tried to focus where they pointed but was no longer in possession of youthful eyes.

  “It’s over this side now,” said Pieter.

  Houtman turned, right into a pair of flapping wings. Then feathers. A screeching sound. Something big smacked into his head. He raised his arms to fend off the attack.

  Mr. Giles fell to the deck, screaming like a woman.

  Houtman grabbed the bird, first by its talons, then by its beak. The bird bit his hand over and over again. Finally, Pieter rushed in. He grabbed the bird by its wings and flung it to the deck, then stomped on its neck, killing it instantly.

  For a moment, there was silence.

  Giles screamed out, “What was that? What is going on here?”

  “Quiet, Giles,” said Houtman. “Show some restraint.” He looked down at his hand. It was trembling. Blood began to flow from cuts caused by the bird’s beak.

  Giles sat up.

  “Captain, your neck is bleeding also,” said Pieter.