Galleon

by CJ Williams

  Several times Hannah ran below to determine how much water they were taking on. The sea found its way into the hull through unseen openings, a thousand rivulets like capillaries flowing steadily down and accumulating deep in Alyssa’s lowest deck but never covering the ballast. The bilge pumps fought back, holding their own throughout the night.

  Hannah reported that in Gus’s cabin, the deep, inset windows showed the dangerous sea whenever lightning flashed, but the leaded glass allowed not a drop of seawater through their panes.

  Several times Gus shouted at Kyoko, who had joined him on the wheel, to go get some sleep. “You have to relieve me in the morning,” he ordered fiercely.

  “I’m not leaving,” she replied stubbornly. “I don’t want to be alone in case…” She shut her mouth tightly and didn’t finish the sentence. He knew what she was thinking. In case they didn’t make it through the night.

  Hannah was more prosaic. After one heart-rendering heel-over, she announced she was going to bed.

  Well before dawn, the storm evaporated as if by magic. Once bright sunlight appeared on the horizon, Gus lashed the wheel once again.

  The decks were clear. The rigging looked as it had last night after they had stowed the sails. The canvas, still tied tightly to the yards, seemed a little heavier than usual, but other than that, there was no indication of the fury from the night before.

  The jib flapped a little as the lashed tiller swung the prow back and forth, but the canvas was in good shape—none of the tears or snapped lines that he expected to see. He walked back to Kyoko, standing on the deck looking about, still in a daze at the seemingly calm day.

  “How about that?” he asked with an awed expression.

  She nodded, looking a little green. “How often do you suppose that will happen?”

  He shrugged and looked at the clear skies. “Not in the next few hours, I hope. I’m going to sleep.”

  *.*.*.*

  Kyoko shook Gus vigorously. “Wake up,” she insisted. “I’m going to have a dip. I can’t stand it anymore. Would you come keep an eye?”

  He roused from the bed, dearly wanting another fifteen minutes. She walked out the door, not waiting for an answer, and he came slowly behind, stretching and creaking.

  The sun shone brilliantly as she laid a blanket, a clean shirt, and a pair of britches next to the bulwark. She caught him off guard when she slipped off her clothes. He turned away while she stretched momentarily on the side and then dove into the sea.

  It wasn’t the first time he had seen one the girls undressed. Such embarrassing encounters were inevitable living in close quarters, but he tried to avoid such situations. Hannah at least exhibited a little modesty, but Kyoko, with her Japanese upbringing, was less concerned. Probably the result of growing up with those public baths.

  Her startled shrieking told him the sea was cold. What did she expect? They were still in arctic waters. Hannah’s laughter echoed up with Kyoko’s screams. It appeared his entire crew had gone overboard.

  He kept his back to them when they climbed out, giving them a chance to dry off and get dressed. “Was it worth it?” he asked when they were decent?

  “Oh yes,” Kyoko replied emphatically, her teeth chattering. “You should go.”

  He wasn’t sure if that was an invitation or a request. It probably wouldn’t hurt him to clean up a little. It had been a rough first week. He went for his own change of clothes while the girls fixed breakfast.

  Cleaned and fed, they decided to forego the sails for the rest of the day. It was a lot of work and Gus was still exhausted.

  11 – It’s a Big Ocean

  “The tragedy of life is not that man loses, but that he almost wins.”

  (Heywood Broun, “Sport for Art’s Sake”)

  Hannah got comfortable on the top with her arms and legs wrapped around the rigging. Once settled in she rested her chin on one of the rope loops so the wind could make the rigging thrum against her face. The canvas snapped from time to time as Gus made periodic adjustments to their course.

  Although cold, it was peaceful snuggling against the mast, up amongst the ropes, hearing only the wind and the dull wash of water against the hull. All day long, this was her favorite spot, just staring at the horizon. Once in a while, she looked back along the white V wake as Alyssa slowly plowed her way to their destination.

  Every couple of hours, she descended to take her shift at the wheel so Kyoko could have a break. Afterward, Hannah often offered to help trim the sails, but Grandfather tended to shoo her away. He had his own way of doing things. He would handle the duties aloft too, but frankly, he couldn’t manage it; he just didn’t have the balance. When he got on the footrope, he tended to lock his knees, and it was all he could do to not fall.

  When the sun approached the horizon, she descended to the main yard with the creaking of her own stiff joints. At Grandfather’s signal, he began winching in the bunt and the clew lines. She gathered the sails and tied them securely on top of the yard. When she reached the deck, Grandfather took the wheel and Hannah helped Kyoko prepare a hot dinner.

  During the meal, Grandfather commented about her sitting all day up in the rigging looking so glum.

  “Life at sea isn’t so bad,” he said. “You should cheer up.”

  He launched into a discussion about the beneficial health aspects of their voyage. Hannah suffered his lecture stoically. Honestly, the only thing worse than Grandfather being mean was his being nice.

  “I’m not depressed,” she explained. “I just enjoy being up there. It’s peaceful, that’s all.”

  He tried to inquire further, but she ignored him. After a couple more attempts he finally gave up, and after the meal she went below to her berth. As she pulled up the covers, it occurred to her that she had missed a good chance to talk about the one thing that had been on her mind, but tonight it just wasn’t worth the fight.

  *.*.*.*

  The following morning Gus was winching the mainsail sheets down taut when an unexpected movement caught his eye. He leaned over the deck rail to check. Just below where he was standing, one of the gun port covers was opening in a short, jerking manner. At first, he thought the rope closure might have come undone, but the cover wasn’t flapping. It was definitely opening.

  He glanced at quarterdeck. Kyoko was at the wheel checking the compass. He looked up at the rigging but couldn’t see Hannah anywhere. Her safety harness lay on the deck; she wasn’t on the top nor anywhere on the foremast. He checked over the rail again. The gun port was completely open now.

  “Hannah!” he shouted to the wind. “What are you up to?” He locked the winch clutch in place and marched quickly toward the stairs at the aft end of the deck leading below. He was going to kill that girl. He reached the gun deck and there she was, standing with her face looking out of the gun ports. “What the hell are you doing?” he roared.

  She turned around with a face full of mischievous excitement. “Schiessen wir die Kanone!”

  “Let’s shoot the cannon!” Alyssa translated.

  *.*.*.*

  Kyoko saw Grandfather’s sudden attention over the deck railing. When he spun around with an angry expression and headed toward the stairs, she got a sinking feeling. Please, God, don’t let it be Hannah. When they were getting ready for bed last night, Hannah had mumbled something about the cannons. Surely, she wouldn’t try anything on her own.

  Kyoko lashed the wheel and hurried after him, taking the stairs two at a time. When she reached the gun deck, Grandfather and Hannah were bent over one of the big guns. The surprise was that both of them were grinning.

  *.*.*.*

  Gus studied the big gun carefully. In the lagoon, he’d always meant to clean one up and try shooting it, but there had never been any time. Now he had the chance.

  The solid, cast-iron cannons had to weigh over four thousand pounds each. They rested on heavy carriages that were lashed to the bulwark by block and tackles called the breeches. Along the center of the gun d
eck were solid wooden garlands, thick oak beams with hollowed-out receptacles that contained iron cannonballs. Gus picked one up and estimated they each weighed about thirty pounds.

  Forward of the mainmast was the front gun deck. Those cannons were smaller, called culverins, with three on each side. They fired lighter rounds, between fifteen and twenty pounds. Instead of being stored in wooden garlands, the demi-cannonballs were in wire baskets hanging along the hull between the barrels.

  Historically, a good gun crew could whip these things into position, load, and fire within a couple of minutes. But shooting one off inside the ship was something he approached with a great deal of trepidation. Doing it properly would take some time.

  “All right,” Gus said. “First thing is to clean them up.” From a locker between the masts, he found the necessary implements. He held up a long staff with a metal double corkscrew on the end. “This is a wormer. We use it to clean the cannon bore between shots to get rid of any remains of the wadding or powder bags.” He handed it to Hannah and pulled the lid off a barrel. “This is the tompion,” he explained, and looked down the bore. “It was supposed to keep dirt out, but these have been sitting here a long time. We can use the worm screw to get rid of all the gunk inside them now. They have to be clean before we shoot or it could explode. Got it?”

  Hannah looked at Gus skeptically. “What do you mean when you say we use it to clean the bore?”

  “I mean you.”

  She nodded stoically and examined the tool. “You want me to do all the cannons?” she asked.

  “Let’s stick with two, for now, one port and one starboard.”

  Hannah gave a sigh of relief.

  Gus picked up another pole. It had a wooden cylinder the same thickness as the barrel on one end and a mop on the other. “This is the ram and the sponge. I’ll rejuvenate these while you clean the guns.”

  It took the rest of the day to clean the two cannons.

  Next morning, satisfied the barrels were clean, the two cannoneers went down to the hold to further investigate the magazine. Hannah found a wooden box that held dozens of small cloth bags and an oversized measuring cup.

  “What are these?” she asked.

  “Those are cartridges and the ladle,” Gus explained. “We use the ladle to fill the bags with gunpowder. Here, I’ll show you.” Gus opened a powder keg and scooped up a full measure of gunpowder. It correctly filled the cartridge bag, yielding a heavy oblong bundle that was exactly the width of the cannon barrel.

  “Let me do one,” Hannah said.

  When she finished, Gus said, “Now we need the primers. Look for something the size of the vent hole in the top of the barrel.”

  Hannah flipped the catch on a small chest and opened the lid. “Like these?” Inside were several dozen L-shaped tubes made of metal. The longer end was wider, and the short end had a wire loop protruding from the middle.

  Gus took one from the chest for examination. “That’s it,” he said. “These are called friction primers. The fat end is the same size as the vent at the back of the cannon; you stick this end down into the hole. See this loop of wire on the other end? When you pull that out it ignites a combustible mixture inside the primer, which in turn sets off the powder bag. Hopefully, they’re still good.”

  Another chest contained more paraphernalia that included several wood-handled, six-inch-long brass picks and some short lanyards with stiff hooks on one end. They took everything up to the gun deck.

  “This is going to be dangerous,” Gus said, “so don’t get ahead of me. You do what I say, when I say it, and nothing else. Got it?”

  Hannah nodded obediently.

  Gus pointed at the bundles of ropes piled next to the cannon. “These ropes are called the breeching lines. They connect to the carriage and loop through those pulley blocks.” Gus traced the lines through large ringbolts mounted down low on the bulwark on either side of the gun port.

  A separate block and pulley attached the back of the carriage to a beam down the center of the gun deck. It allowed the crew to pull the cannon away from the gun port to give access to the barrel. “First, we’ll reposition it,” Gus said.

  They pulled on the ropes, drawing the cannon back.

  “Okay, now put the powder charge into the barrel and use the ram to shove it all the way down.”

  Hannah did so with much enthusiasm.

  “Load one of those cannonballs from the garland and follow it with some wadding. Ram each one down good.”

  When that was completed, they hauled on the breechings to pull the cannon up against the stops so the barrel stuck out of the gun port.

  Gus had to see what this looked like and ran up to the deck, going all the way to the forecastle. The big black muzzle stuck out of the hull, looking as deadly and menacing as on an ancient galleon back on Earth. He felt like an eight-year-old playing with real toys.

  “Are we ready?” Hannah asked when Gus returned.

  “Almost.” Gus handed her one of the brass picks. “Use this to poke a hole in the powder bag through the vent.”

  Hannah jammed the pick all the way into the vent several times. “I felt it go through the cloth,” she said and stepped back.

  Gus stuck a primer tube into the vent and looped the hook from one of the lanyards through the eye on the primer.

  “Okay, listen up. Important safety tip. Don’t stand behind the carriage. When the cannon fires, the whole contraption is going to recoil like a freight train. Understand?”

  “Don’t stand behind the cannon,” Hannah repeated.

  Gus gingerly handed her the lanyard and moved aside. “Give it a good hard pull when you’re ready. Alyssa, tell Kyoko we’re about to fire the cannon.”

  “Acknowledged,” the AI said, then after a brief pause, “She advises you to be careful.”

  Hannah moved to the side of the carriage, and with a final nod from Gus, yanked on the lanyard.

  The detonation was deafening, and the deck shook with a sudden jarring impact as the gun slammed against the limit of its anchor ropes. Smoke filled the deck, venting out through the gun port and up through the cargo hatch above. Then it was silent.

  Around the gun deck, nothing was changed. Gus hurried up to the waist to ensure all was well. Kyoko gave him a thumbs-up with a big smile.

  He got a bucket of water to swab the barrel and returned to the gun deck.

  “My turn,” he told Hannah.

  *.*.*.*

  “Has it really only been four weeks?” Hannah asked over their evening meal.

  “Four weeks and two days,” Gus replied.

  “Seems a lot longer,” Kyoko said.

  “At least it’s not so cold now,” Hannah observed.

  Gus nodded silently.

  Their conversations were brief these days. Everyone was physically tired and mentally drained from too many hopes and repeated disappointments. The days ran together, monotonous and unending.

  “How much further, Alyssa?” Gus asked.

  “If you maintain your current speed, we should reach Paldae Island in three weeks and two days.”

  *.*.*.*

  Gus checked the morning sky, keeping a persistent eye on the weather. As Hannah said, at least it wasn’t so cold now. In fact, these days it was getting downright hot in the afternoon.

  Gus was sharing an early morning cocoa on the deck with Kyoko. They’d been at sea for two months and not yet reached the halfway point. The newest problem was wind. For the last two weeks, it had disappeared completely. Now and then a breeze came along, just enough to slap the sails around, but not enough to make any headway.

  The worst part, though, was the rolling. The swells always seemed to be on the beam, making the ship roll back and forth endlessly. It was horribly uncomfortable. Anything Gus put on the table wound up on the floor, and sleeping was practically impossible.

  Because of the incessant back-and-forth motion, Hannah had spent the last three days throwing up over the side. Gus made her drink as
much as possible to keep her from getting dehydrated, and her bratty attitude the entire time didn’t help. He reached the point he didn’t care how sick she got and told Kyoko it was her problem from now on.

  But Gus’s biggest worry was their provisions. It wasn’t critical yet, but they were running low on everything. He always had two lines in the water off the poop deck, and every day or two pulled in a fair-sized fish. If the fishing petered out, they would be in trouble.

  The fresh fruit that Kyoko had brought on board was long gone, and the dried fruit was getting low. They still had a few of the lemony citrus fruits, and once a day Kyoko made lemonade. It was the high point of mealtimes and an excellent dietary supplement. They had enough breadfruit flour to last another thirty days.

  Until the wind had died, they had managed to keep their water barrels full. But there hadn’t been a drop of rain since then, so even though it wasn’t yet a problem, it was worrisome.

  Along with everything else, Alyssa herself was showing the strain. In spite of her boasts about how indestructible she was, the sails were getting seriously frazzled. They had looked good in the lagoon, but even new sails didn’t last forever.

  Gus didn’t have a sailmaker or a metal worker to take care of the repairs so he kept busy trying to fill the requirement. The problem was that even though his skill was marginally adequate, his stamina wasn’t. The simple act of sailing kept him at the limit of his endurance. An ordinary day left little time to complete the millions of tasks that any vessel at sea required.

  He patched the jib and the lateen so many times they looked like a quilt. The mainsail and foresail were in slightly better condition since they were not left up during the storms, but they still needed attention.

  And the hull leaked now. The pounding from multiple storms was having an accumulated effect on his makeshift repairs. Water was apparently getting in under the ballast because the bilge pumps ran sporadically day and night. Every day, Gus made a trip down to the ballast. He inspected every inch of the hull and found three actual leaks. That meant removing enough of the ingots so he could mix more of the metallic paste and jam it into the cracks.