The Deepest Waters, A Novel (14 page)

Laura stood by the railing and looked down at Crabby lying at her feet. She had such a contented look as she gnawed on a ham bone. She held it in her front paws, turned it from side to side. Occasionally it would slip and fall to the deck. She’d grab it then freeze, see if anyone might challenge her for this prize. Then she’d be lost again in the glory of the moment. Enjoy it, girl, Laura thought. After eating so well, she had to admit, good food could make one happy.

For the moment.

Earlier, as the women sat about the deck, devouring the rich fare Smitty had prepared, they no longer seemed to be sailing a ship of sorrow. Women who hadn’t said a word in days chatted casually and freely, exchanging memories of past meals enjoyed with family and friends in better times. Many had shared recipes, ways they would have prepared the meal differently. Several had offered Smitty suggestions. He nodded here and there, feigning interest. This went on for over an hour. Combined with the heat that faded with the setting sun and the strong, steady breeze . . . Laura had actually felt something very close to joy herself.

For the moment.

Now the dishes were all clean. The sun had dropped below the horizon. Night was coming fast. Their last night at sea.

Laura hoped it would be her last for a long time to come. She was ready to be back on solid ground. Earlier while cleaning up, Captain Meade had announced that if the winds stayed steady all night they should arrive in New York harbor by early morning.

Laura still had no idea what to expect when she met John’s family, even
how
she would meet them. Whenever she had asked him about them, John would give vague answers and often change the subject. They seemed to have caused him a good deal of pain, which only added to her apprehension now.

She thought about John’s note. Maybe he’d written instructions about meeting them. The moment she considered it, a scene rushed into her mind. She saw the sea rising and falling. The wind howling. She was back in the lifeboat. John was on the
Vandervere
, standing beside the captain. Huge waves slapped against the side. “I’ve written you a note, inside the pouch,” he yelled. “Don’t read it . . . unless you hear word that we—that we will not . . .” Tears poured down his cheeks, then he’d looked away.

The image was so strong. She reached out her hand for him, was about to call out.

“Mrs. Foster?”

John disappeared.

“Are you all right?”

She pulled her hand down, grabbed hold of the rail. She looked to her right. “I’m fine, Melissa.” She must change the subject. “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?”

“I can barely contain my happiness,” Melissa said. “I let some out while we ate. The ladies were in such a jovial mood.”

“It was wonderful to eat real food again.”

“It was. But already I can tell the old mood is returning.”

Melissa said this as if she didn’t realize Laura was among those struggling.

“But I can understand why, since this is the last night before we reach New York. I’m so glad I don’t have to be that way with you.”

Laura sighed. She wished Melissa would be that way, at this very moment. She wasn’t up to hearing her release all her anticipated joys.

“But if we’re to be in the harbor early in the morning, I better head down and get some sleep. All this excitement has made me very tired. Don’t want Tom to see me with puffy eyes.”

“Well, good night then,” Laura said.

“Good night.” Melissa turned toward the hold.

Puffy eyes, thought Laura. What must it be like to have that as your great concern? How about . . . meeting a strange family you’ve never met, in a strange place you’ve never been? How about . . . becoming a widow on your honeymoon? Losing perhaps the only man who ever loved you or will ever love you for the rest of your life?

Maybe he was losing his sanity.

Captain Janus Houtman did not consider himself a superstitious man. Many who made their living at sea were; perhaps most were. He’d always prided himself on being rational and levelheaded. What he was doing now could be considered neither of those. For the last half of the day, and now into the night, he was sailing back out to sea, away from his destination, because a bird had hit him in the head.

His crew had not uttered a word of concern, let alone defiance. But he saw suspicion on their faces, the way they turned away when he looked at them. The nervous chatter that ended as he drew near.

At the moment, Houtman stood at the tip of the bow and looked out across the sea. What was he expecting? What did he hope to find by following this new direction? Earlier he had an argument with Mr. Giles that had almost come to blows. Houtman had no logical defense to offer. But he had a certainty in his heart that he must pursue this course; it was as strong as if an angel had appeared and handed him a scroll.

He heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Giles emerging from the shadows into the lantern light, heading in his direction.

Not again.

“Captain, you must reconsider,” Giles said, climbing the stairs to the forecastle deck. “Do you see the time?”

“I know what time it is, Mr. Giles.”

“Based on what you said this morning, we should be pulling into Charleston harbor this very moment.” He stood beside him. “I should be seeing the lights of the city growing bigger by the minute. Instead, what do I see? A dark sky and an even darker sea. You have us sailing into oblivion, Captain.”

“Mr. Giles, please. We’ve been through this already.”

“Have we? And what did we conclude? That some deranged gull flew into your head and, for you, it is a message from God. And where is God taking us? Back out to sea? Do you suppose we are to sail all the way back to England? I looked at a map a little while ago. Did you know that’s where this course is taking us?”

“We’re not going back to England.”

“Then where are we going, Captain?”

“I . . . I don’t know, not yet.”

“You don’t know. Then let me ask you this: I’m supposed to be in Charleston for my meeting tomorrow afternoon. It’s the very reason I made this voyage. If we turned around this instant, would we be in Charleston in time for my meeting?”

Houtman wanted no part of this conversation. “It’s possible. But I have no control over the winds.”

“Then I insist you turn this ship around this instant!”

“You insist?” Houtman yelled back. “You don’t insist.”

“Captain, you were paid to bring me to Charleston in a set amount of time.”

“Is that so? I don’t recall signing any contract to that effect. In fact, when I was asked how long this voyage would be, I recall giving an estimate only, then emphasizing what I have always believed . . . the sea does as she pleases.”

“But this delay is not the sea doing as she pleases, Captain. It is
you
,” he shouted. “Doing as you please!”

Houtman needed to end this. How could he argue from reason when he had no reason to give? “Mr. Giles, I will make this concession . . . if valid justification for my decision does not present itself by morning, we will turn around and head back to Charleston.”

Giles paused to consider. “Will we still make it in time for my meeting with the senators?”

Houtman sighed. “No, we will not.”

“Then I reject your offer!” He was shouting again.

Houtman could not have a passenger yelling at him in front of the men. “You reject my offer, do you?” Houtman yelled even louder. “It was
not
an offer, Mr. Giles, and you have no leverage to bargain with. You have the authority of a box or a crate. Or like this barrel here, and no more. You will go where the ship goes, and the ship goes where I say it goes.”

“You hear that?” Robert asked.

“I hear something,” said Ramón. He nudged John. “John, did you hear that?”

“I think John’s asleep,” Robert said.

John heard something also, but he felt too weak to jump into the conversation.

“Sounds like people yelling,” said Robert. “Coming from that direction.” He pointed off in the darkness.

“Could just be one of the men on the fringe,” said the ambassador, still lying down, “yelling at some hallucination. Probably drank seawater.”

“No,” said Robert. “There it is again, and look . . . isn’t that a light?”

“Where?” said Ramón.

Robert pointed, now on his knees. “Look, it is . . . some kind of light.”

“Gentlemen,” said the ambassador. “I think that is a light. Much too low to be a star.”

Now John’s eyes opened. It
did
sound like an argument, well off in the distance. He hadn’t heard a sound all day but the wind and splashing of waves. This was quite different. John sat up and looked where Robert had pointed. There was a light, two lights, actually. “Men,” he yelled to all the men floating on tables and hatches nearby, “scream out for all you’re worth. That is a ship out there.”

They instantly began to yell and shout.

“Jesus,” he said quietly, “are we saved?” He felt the urge to cry but had no tears. He joined in yelling, “Here we are!” with all the strength he could find.

“Captain, Mr. Giles . . . with all respect, sirs, would you men stop talking a moment?”

Houtman and Giles instantly stopped. They looked at young Pieter, astonished to hear him address them this way.

“Listen,” he said, his face beaming in the lantern light. “I hear something, getting louder, there off the starboard bow.”

Houtman heard it now also. He rushed to the nearest rail. “Do you hear that, Mr. Conklin?” he yelled toward the stern.

“I do indeed, Captain. I am turning her in that direction.”

“Very well,” said Houtman. It was the voice of men crying out in distress. He was certain. He wanted to jump, to cheer. But he could not, so he looked at Giles. “I believe that sound, Mr. Giles, may very well be the reason that deranged gull struck me in the head.”

Giles just looked back out to sea toward the growing sound, on his face a look of utter amazement.

“The lights are getting bigger,” Robert yelled. “Do you see them?”

No one answered. They just kept shouting. But it was obvious to John. The lights
were
getting bigger.

The ambassador sat back and buried his head into his knees. His shoulders moved up and down. He was sobbing. So were many others. Tears of joy. Shouts to God. Parts of Bible verses. Phrases from memorized prayers. John heard them all, mixed in with their cries.

Robert looked back at him. “We are spared, John. God didn’t abandon us.”

John continued to watch as the ship moved closer. There was no moon to aid them, and the starlight was hindered by scattered clouds. He tried but couldn’t see all the men in the larger group. He wondered how many were still alive. How would they know if they’d rescued them all?

Twenty minutes later, John saw parts of the ship lit up by a half dozen lanterns. Finally words came from the ship, someone yelling. John asked everyone to be quiet. No one heard him. Robert did and shouted for the rest to be still. Everyone stopped, listened.

“We don’t see you,” the voice said with some kind of accent. “How many are you?”

John whispered to Robert, who shouted, “Fifty, maybe a few more.”

“Are you in a ship or a boat?”

“No,” Robert yelled. “We’re shipwrecked, floating at sea.”

“For how long?”

“Several days,” Robert yelled back. “Can you help us?”

A long pause.

“Yes, we have room for all of you. Plenty of food and water.”

The sky erupted with shouts and cheers and praise. John collapsed on the raft, overwhelmed and exhausted.

He had just one thought . . .
Laura
. He would see his love again.

Though he hadn’t had a drop to drink in days, from some reservoir within, tears finally came.

“Captain,” said Mr. Giles, “this is the most remarkable thing I have witnessed in the entirety of my life. I offer my most humble apology.”

Houtman looked at Giles. His hat was off, his head bowed. It was the oddest scene. “Apology accepted, Mr. Giles.” He had felt like such a fool just minutes ago. Tears filled his eyes as he looked back toward the voices. This
was
amazing. He had no words. It was a story he would tell his children and his grandchildren. And they would tell theirs.

“Keep talking to them, Pieter, until we draw close enough to begin the rescue.”

“Yes, Captain.”

He looked back at Pieter, then the rest of his men spread throughout the deck, so proud of their teamwork. Without instructions, they had already reset the sails to slow the ship’s speed. Four of them were at work preparing the small boat.

Within twenty minutes, the ship had reached the main body of men. Houtman leaned over the rail. It was hard to see anything a few feet beyond the lanterns. The rescue boat was quickly lowered. A moment later, he heard a loud splash. One of his crewmen yelled, “Stop or you’ll swamp us.”

“But I can’t swim.”

“Then let us pull you aboard.”

More splashing. “I can’t swim.”

“We’ve got you, sir. Calm down.”

Houtman needed to do something. “You men on the water,” he called out. “This is Janus Houtman, captain of the
Angeline
. Please don’t panic or rush the rescue boat. We can only take a few at a time. But you have my word, we will stay all night if we have to, until each of you is safely aboard.”

This calmed things considerably. Houtman heard a new noise on the opposite side of the ship. More men were calling out for help from that side, slapping the side of the hull. Three crew members rushed to help and tossed ropes over the side. “Wrap these ropes around you. We’ll pull you up.”

In ten minutes, between the rescue boat and the ropes, fifteen men were on board. Not a single one could stand. But they had all asked for the same thing: water. His men were ready to give them all they desired.

Houtman stepped in. “Careful,” he said. “Start with sips only.”

“But we haven’t had anything to drink in days,” one of them said.

“Which is why you must sip the water now. We have plenty, but you’ll be sick if you drink your fill. Trust me.”

The men reluctantly obeyed.

His crew lifted another small group of men from the rescue boat. Houtman bent down and asked one of them, “What ship are you from?”

“The SS
Vandervere
,” came the quiet reply.

“The
Vandervere
,” said Giles, standing beside Houtman. “I know of this ship, part of the steamship mail line. I thought someone said there were only fifty in your group?”

“I don’t know about that,” the man said, looking down.

“This can’t be all,” said Giles. “The
Vandervere
carries over five hundred souls. Where are all the others?”

A pause.

“Gone,” someone else said. “A ship came just before we sank, rescued the women and children.”

“How many?”

“Just over a hundred, I think.”

“Thank God for that,” said Houtman. “That means over three hundred men are lost?”

“I think more than that,” said the man. “Closer to four hundred I’d say.”

“How awful,” said Giles. “What of your captain and his officers?”

“All gone,” he said. “None of the crew survived, except a few of lower rank, the ones that rowed the women in the lifeboats. Could I have another sip?”

“Certainly,” said Houtman, standing up. The extent of the tragedy began to settle in. A massive loss of life. He’d never heard of such numbers from a single shipwreck. To have played a role in this miraculous deliverance for these fifty men was still a thing of wonder, but . . .

Four hundred souls. Gone.