Chapter Nineteen
Paul was among the crew sent to visit this Columbia.
He might have asked permission to stay behind, but he actually wanted to meet these fur traders. After all, they hadn’t seen another ship—apart from Chatham, their consort—in eight months or more. To run into one here, off this wild and desolate part of America, in fact it was a curiosity, Paul had to admit. He wasn’t sure what he’d find on Columbia, but whatever it was, it’d at least be more interesting than mending sails back home with the lads.
So in a constant, penetrating drizzle, he plied his oar without complaint. He rowed across the ocean swells, keeping his eyes locked on Ravenna’s where she stood at the larboard rail until at last, soaked and sweating, eager to climb aboard and confer in the comfort of a sheltered cabin, Paul looked up to see Columbia’s hull looming above them. He waited until Puget had gone first, then Menzies, before pulling himself up to the fur-trader’s deck.
Paul was shocked by what he found there.
Loitering about in groups, the entire ship’s company ignored the visitors. Every man—save for the fellah who was obviously in charge—every guy without exception had his attention turned toward Discovery, and as Paul noticed the spyglasses and the sailors’ lewd gestures, his blood began to boil. They’re pointing at Ravenna, he thought. Every last shaggin’ one of ‘em is waving at my girl.
He tried to control himself. He started to follow Puget below decks where Captain Gray was waiting, but as he walked through the men, he couldn’t help overhearing what they said.
“She’s a curvy little tart, ain’t she?”
“Tight as the devil’s arse, I’ll bet.”
“With all them sailors around her? Naw, she ain’t tight…not unless she’s the skipper’s wife, d’ya think?”
“I don’t care whose wife she is. With dugs like that, I’d—”
Paul stopped. He leveled his eyes on the nearest of the men. “You’d what?” he asked, feeling the rage mounting furiously inside him.
The sailor broke into an amiable grin. “I was gonna say I’d ball her, but if that little cutlet belongs to you—”
“She does,” Paul nodded, fingering his rapier’s hilt. “In fact, she’s my fiancée, so if you don’t mind, I’d rather you stopped making those gestures.”
“See here, now,” the man said, “keep her below decks if you don’t wish us looking at her.”
“Oh, you can look, but if you wave at her once more, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” The man sneered down on Paul, emphasizing his greater height. “Stab me in the foot, I suppose?”
A snicker went up amidst the Americans. Paul held his ground, glared dangerously at the fellah, all the while reminding himself that Vancouver had selected him specifically to befriend the Americans, to put Captain Gray at ease.
“No,” he said finally, cursing under his breath, “No, I’m not going t’stab you. It wouldn’t be emissary-like. Just tone down the invitations, maybe? And try to remember, women are human beings, not cutlets, for God’s sake.”
He let his words sink in, stood for a moment with eyes fixed upon the sailor’s. When he turned to follow Puget, he knew the guys were laughing at him, but he also knew what Ravenna would say if he came home bloodied and beaten. You got into a fight because they called me names? What difference does it make? Paul, we’ll never see them again…