CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Squanto’s supply of whale meat changed from fresh to smoked and finally salted as Horizon, powered by the roaring forties, dashed towards the Van Hoorn Cape. Richard observed the ominous signs of the main-braces being tied to the decks and lifelines rigged along the bulwarks. Horizon was being prepared for rough weather. Assigned lookout duties, Richard froze in the rigging and only the fear of icebergs in early summer kept his freezing eyelashes aloft. How he was expected to see them in the night was never explained to him, but the Southern Ocean often glowed with unexplainable light, and when the sky was clear, stars and moonlight added to the illuminations. When it was not, they were in God’s hands.
To Richard the arrival at the Cape was something of an anticlimax. The sky was gray but high, and the westerly gale blew Horizon towards the narrow Straits of Magellan. Ugly black rocks rising to over fourteen hundred feet marked the southern tip of South America and watery grave to many luckless ships.
In the space of ten minutes the world changed.
The gray sky became black and dropped to the surface of the sea like a stage curtain. Rain slashed down, then turned into hail that raked Horizon’s decks like grape shot.
“The Williwaw!” Squanto shouted into Richard’s ear as he tied him to the lifeline. The wind, as if enraged by being funneled into a narrow passage, increased in velocity and threatened to drive the sluggish Horizon towards the rocks. The waves, having no interruptions across the Southern Ocean, grew in size and smashed into the ship, causing it to plunge then struggle, groaning to resurface with water streaming from its bow ports and hawser holes. The storm mizzen sail blew to shreds and flapped uselessly, leaving only the storm gib to provide some degree of motive maneuverability.
Richard chanced a glance at the quarter-deck and saw the helmsman, Sebastian and Captain Smith locked to the wheel in an embrace of life and death. Somehow they coxed the reeling ship through the Strait and into calmer weather beyond. The wind, as if in frustration, gave a final ear splitting shriek, then simpered to a simple gale.
Sebastian unlashed him and came forward to give Richard a clap on his back.
“You can now wear a gold ring in your left ear, young Dick,” he shouted and left Richard wondering.
Richard expected the lifelines and storm rigging to be taken down and when no such orders were given, questioned Squanto, who explained, “Williwaw gone but Pampero soon comes!”
The winds they called the Williwaw had only been an introduction, and Pampero hit them chapter and verse less than a day of sailing clear of the Hoorn. Temperatures plummeted, as did Horizon, into the deep troughs, and the winds threatened to tear the rigging to ribbons. The only consolation was the Horizon was able to stand off the coast and avoid destruction on the forbidding rocks. Stand off and suffer the intense velocities of changing gales and mountainous waves and below zero temperatures. All the rats aboard died and only the cockroaches thrived. Humans barely survived, and then it was over as quickly as it had arrived, and even an apologetic sun made a brief appearance.
Morale on board improved and even an occasional shanty was sung as Horizon sailed north to its home-port, but first she must re-provision at some favorable anchorage off the coast of South America. Captain Smith had hoped to make the same landing he had made on the outward journey, but the shortage of water hastened the stopover. He decided on a bay not unlike the one Subtile found in what seemed to Richard a decade ago; he hoped they would have better luck there.
“You may join the shore party, young Dick,” ordered Sebastian as the longboat splashed into the sea. “Your jungle experience might come in handy,” he chuckled to himself, not realizing his clairvoyance.
“What food do you hope to gather?” Richard asked a sailor who was protecting his musket lock from the sea spray.
“Elephant pigs, lad,” came the terse reply.
The longboat grounded and was hauled ashore. The shooting party disappeared into the jungle and Richard, having no musket, was forced to join the water group. Water was no problem: the jungle leaked fresh water from deep within the hinterland and it was only a matter of choosing the nearest clear stream. They soon had the casks filled and stowed back on board the longboat. Pipes were ignited and the party awaited the return of the shooters. Muffled shots could be heard from deep within the interior.
The party soon returned with three strange creatures hanging from poles shouldered by staggering crewmembers. As the gutted creatures were heaved aboard, Richard saw that they did indeed look like large pigs and they had an elongated nose that could be mistaken for a short trunk and a strange tail. He was about to ask yet another question when one of the men said “Ouch,” and looked with amazement at a quill with a ball of feathers at the end protruding from his arm. Like a marionette that had had its strings cut, the man collapsed onto the sand, his body rigid and only his eyes showing life.
Richard quickly assessed the closest distance to the jungle; a dart would have a limited range. Grabbing up the fallen man’s musket, he fired into the bushes.
“Quickly, load the man into the boat and take cover in the sea behind it.” Richard exchanged his musket and ran some distance down the beach before entering the jungle. The men did not question his orders as darts hissed around them and obeyed, fearful of an unknown horror. The tribes had taught Richard that the most feared tactic in jungle fighting was an attack on the flank where you were unable to deploy men who were facing a different front and unaware of the number of attackers. He hoped whoever the enemy was that lurked in the jungle was aware of this fact. Making as much noise as he could, he discharged his musket, reloaded quickly without shot and fired again, and then ran for his life back to the boat. The men saw him coming, launched into the sea and clambered aboard. Richard, wet and exhausted, fell at their feet and tended to the wounded man. He was no longer wounded; the light of life had faded from his eyes, leaving a sightless stare. Richard carefully removed the dart from his arm and wrapped it in a neck cloth.
Captain Smith carefully handed the dart back to Richard after he had completed his report, and avoided touching the tip. “You may keep this vile thing, Digby,” he said disdainfully, “no doubt some physician will be interested in the ingredients of the poison.”
Sebastian knocked on the open door.
“Burial party have been assembled, Sir,” he announced.
On deck all the crew not engaged in attending to the ship had gathered near the stern. A plank was lashed to the bulwark, and on it lay the shrouded body of the dead sailor. The mood was somber, every seaman realizing it could have been them being readied for committal.
“Remove headwear,” ordered Sebastian quietly.
“Almighty God, we are gathered here in your glorious presence to commit Jonathon Peter’s body to the deep and his soul to your everlasting love.” Captain Smith turned the page of the service for the dead. “He was a good hand, loyal shipmate and faithful servant to you, his Lord and Savior, may he rest in peace. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, born in your love, may he at last look upon your face. Amen.” The Captain nodded, and two of his shipmates lifted up the end of the plank. The body slipped free and the weighted shroud disappeared beneath the waves.
After the service, one of Jonathon’s mess-mates came forward and presented Richard with a gold earring.
“This was Jonathon’s, but he never wore it. He was a Puritan and distained ornamentation, but we all think you should wear it, young Dick.” That night Squanto pierced Richard’s earlobe.
It was as if Mother Nature or God had granted Horizon a safe passage home after the trials and turmoil of the most extreme conditions any ship could suffer. The weather remained fair and the temperatures grew from balmy to warm to hot then back to cool again as Horizon entered its homeport of Nantucket. Richard was amazed at the reception waiting on the docks but as Sebastian pointed out, a successful voyage meant wealth for everyone who relied on whaling for their income.
Richard felt the complete stranger as Ho
rizon was secured, gang planks lowered and the crew pounded down them to reunite with their loved ones. Richard looked for Squanto to say goodbye, but the big Indian had vanished.
“Captain wishes to see you in his cabin, young Dick.” Sebastian grasped Richard’s hand, wished him good luck and followed the others ashore.
“I have decided to pay you off now, young Digby,” began the Captain. “I advise you to slip away quietly and take up lodgings while you ponder your future. May I recommend the widow Higgins: she runs a tidy place away from the waterfront and could use the money. I have been at sea for over a year but suspect the political situation in the Colonies may have worsened, especially here where we seem to have more than our share of hotheads. Take care, not sides, in the first instance, and later you may decide to travel to New York, where you can report on the last sighting and possible whereabouts of Subtile.” Captain Smith counted out several pounds; it was more than Richard had expected. “The company will reimburse me later Digby, and for now, let me say goodbye and God bless.” The Captain stood shook Richard’s hand and then placed a bag of coin in it.
“Goodbye Sir, and thank you,” Richard left to retrieve his chest below. On it was a carved soft stone ornament of some nature: Squanto’s way of saying farewell.
The widow Higgins was a large middle-aged woman of ample proportions and a huge bust. She had a florid complexion, perhaps due to the washing she was forced to take in, and she welcomed Richard’s booking with a large hug. She smelled of carbolic soap.
“Welcome, welcome young Sir, I hope the room is to your liking, follow me up the stairs then, mind your head, we are last century here, this stair board squeaks to let you know someone’s coming, not that we have undesirables here, let…”
“The room is excellent, Mrs. Higgins, and the rent fair, but I fear I may not be long in Nantucket; now if I may unpack?”
“Of course, Sir; if there is anything you need do not hesitate to ask – and I mean anything.” The widow bounced her ample bum out the door. leaving Richard determined not to unpack. Instead, he secured his money inside the chest and took himself and some change off to the nearest pub and usual source of local gossip.
He avoided the dockside inns and talks of sailing news and instead chose The Hen and Chicken, a more respectable establishment and settled with ale into a dark corner. He was ignored by the locals but immediately became aware of their anti-English attitudes.
“The new taxes are crippling and absurd!”
“Even tea is not excluded!”
“Why should the Colonies pay off England’s debt?”
“No taxes without representation I say.”
“We have paid in blood in the war against the Frogs!”
“What have Westminster ever done for us?”
“Stamp out the stamp tax!”
“To the Sons of Liberty!”
“Sons of Liberty!”
“Let’s have another round, lads, before they increase the excise tax.”
Richard finished his ale and tried to leave without attracting attention, but one of the patrons, a bearded merchant of some style, spotted him and demanded, “And what does a nautical man think of these outrageous monetary restrictions?”
“I am a simple sailor, Sir, but I think no say no pay.” Richard tried to edge out the door.
“No say no pay, what an excellent maxim gentlemen, please have a drink on us young man. Stay, no pay, what?” His large tummy wobbled in mirth.
Richard had to stay and was not allowed to pay. He weaved his way back to his room determined to leave for New York in the morning by land or sea.