Down to a Soundless Sea (11 page)

Chapel was lucky that he had not removed his bandage in the full light of day. As it was, even in the quarter-light of dawn, with the sun still east behind the mountains, Chapel was almost thrown off his weakened legs by the intensity of light. But light there was and shadow too. Though blurred, every detail at hand registered. The particulars of his environment fell into place, and a sense of relief and tranquility warmed even his frigid bare feet.

When Mr. Copes found him twenty minutes later, Chapel was standing by the window in his nightshirt watching the sea-reflected sunlight rush toward the shore as the sun rose in the east behind the Big Sur range.

It was a remarkable view perched high above the Pacific on Point Sur Rock. Chapel was entranced. He couldn’t even look aside when Mr. Copes greeted his patient with a great, steaming breakfast on a tray. The smell of sausages, flapjacks, and coffee would have driven an innocent prisoner to confess anything. Still Chapel did not move from the vision before him.

Mr. Copes appeared surprised to find his castaway up and recovered to such a remarkable degree. As a gentleman
burdened with a substantial pair of glasses himself, Mr. Copes had deeply sympathized with Chapel’s injury. He was gratified to discover that Chapel’s blindness would not be a subject of discussion anytime in the near future.

Mr. Copes at last settled Chapel into his breakfast with a promise of a short walk about the lighthouse rock in the afternoon. While Chapel ravenously devoured his food, Mr. Copes shared the most recent scuttlebutt concerning the wreck of the
Los Angeles
.

Placing a finger to the side of his nose with a wink, Mr. Copes indicated that there was much to tell of a surprising and unhappy nature. He also suggested that what passed between them should be considered confidential until after Chapel’s interview with the officials of the Pacific Steamship Company.

According to Mr. Copes’ representation, word had already come down from Monterey. There were any number of strange tales circulating. That was to be expected, of course, but most wrecks could always be placed at the door of human error. Sadly, the
Los Angeles
could now be mustered on the rolls of the latter. Chapel stopped eating at once and looked up. He had lost all interest in food with the mention of his dead ship. “What was it? What drove her down onto the rocks, Mr. Copes?”

Mr. Copes was somewhat taken aback by the vehemence of Chapel’s response, so he searched carefully for an appropriate place to begin the tale. His disclaimers concerning the final authority for the news only agitated Chapel further, so he just began. “Well, according to our Mr. Keely, who accompanied the ship’s officers to Monterey, the blame pretty much rests with your enterprising third officer, Mr. Ryfkogel. Though to
be fair, Captain Leland has taken all responsibility for the disaster. After your port call in San Simeon, Captain Leland stayed on deck until the bridge marked Piedras Blancas Point, approximately seven-thirty
P
.
M
. He’d held the watch since seven-thirty that morning. He ordered a compass course calculated to keep the ship well in the offing of our jaws and even went so far as to leave orders to be called when Cooper’s Point came abeam. Cooper’s Point is about five miles southeast of us. As you must remember yourself, the
Los Angeles
made her way north with a southwest gale off her stern quarter and bull squalls nipping at her heels all the way. Some very thick rain, as I remember, came down by the barrel for three hours—drowned Mr. Maynard’s prize pig, the one he was saving for our New Year’s feast. Do you like roast pig, Mr. Chapel? I can almost smell cook basting a leg of pork right now.”

Chapel’s look of impatient indifference on the subject of pork at last impressed Mr. Copes, and he went on with his story. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lodge. I was forgetting your ship, your pardon. Well, to put a tail on the dog, Mr. Ryfkogel didn’t mark Cooper’s Point. Maybe he didn’t see it at all in those squalls. He thought he still possessed enough sea room to mortgage off the lee shore, so he altered course to cut inshore of the kelp beds off Cooper’s Point to gain the advantage of more amenable conditions—wrong place, wrong time, sad to say. Your third officer shouldn’t have changed course without consulting Captain Leland first. All proper procedure aside, Captain Leland is one of the finest coasting pilots that ever was. In that weather, I wouldn’t have altered Captain Leland’s set course without firm orders for love or money. If you’re that witless, you might just as well jump over the side. Your end would come up craps either way.”

Mr. Copes shook his head sadly, took off his spectacles, and wiped his face with a large blue bandanna. When he looked up he spoke softly. “I’m not all that sure how he did it, but your Mr. Ryfkogel found the meanest granite spike for a hundred miles, just about seven hundred and fifty yards off the Point there. He skewered your poor ship on her like a pike on a pole. That makes the second corpse for that bloody rock since I’ve been here. Oh, you can’t see it, of course, but that bloody tooth will bite the keel out of any vessel that even dares come near it. We used to have a dog like that, as dangerous as a drunk judge. Shot the fool dog. Can’t do a damn thing about that cursed rock.”

Chapel’s expression of concern encouraged Mr. Copes to continue his point. “Didn’t I mention it before? I’m so sorry. It’s been such a point of discussion around here that I thought I had remarked upon the oddity of it. Nineteen years ago the
Ventura
met her end on that very same villain. I was just a new fish then, but I remember it was far worse to my way of thinking. The
Ventura
’s captain lost all control of his men. It was …”

Chapel waved his hand before his face as though he were denying another morsel of food before choking. Mr. Copes was pained to find his news so distressing and begged Mr. Chapel not to anguish so. All was as well as could be expected. Only six people had lost their lives—a credulous bargain when one considered the alternatives.

Again Chapel gestured for Mr. Copes to cease. He looked almost ill. Mr. Copes went silent. After a moment he rose to leave, not wishing to trouble the unhappy seaman further.

Chapel recovered himself and apologized. To change the subject he asked for his clothes and the loan of a warm coat. Chapel said he would take Mr. Copes up on his offer of a
walk. He complained that he was coming on rather stiff without his normal exercise. Staying abed made him jittery. He needed to get about to feel better and requested a tour of the lighthouse when Mr. Copes could find the time.

Mr. Copes said he would be happy to show Mr. Lodge around and indeed returned ten minutes later with his clothes, now dry and relatively clean. His leather seaboots were somewhat worse for wear due to their long immersion in salt water, but a little mink oil and tallow might bring them back.

Kindly Mr. Copes also brought a sturdy waxed-canvas deck coat, which must have belonged to a ship’s officer at one time. He also proffered another gift. He had noticed how Mr. Lodge squinted when the full light of the sun came up from behind the mountains and thought he might be of some service in that regard. He handed Chapel a pair of steel-framed dark glasses with round beetle-green lenses.

Chapel had seen Captain Leland wear similar glasses to cut the glare off the ocean. Chapel accepted the gift with gratitude and immediately put them on. He expressed satisfaction with the improvement. He confessed that strong light still caused him slight discomfort. He was tired of squinting, he said, as it caused his scalded eyelids some pain to do so.

Ten minutes later Chapel stood at the rail of the light tower while Mr. Copes pointed out the
Los Angeles
’ last resting place. Chapel could just make out the flag yard with its tattered Pacific Steamship Company pennant flapping stubbornly above the waves. The signal mast and rigging had been his last refuge before rescue. He found it difficult to take his eyes from the scene.

Mr. Copes then pointed out the area where the survivors had been brought ashore. There Chapel saw the broken line of
debris running up the beach. He also saw the
Los Angeles
’ lifeboats and motor launch pulled up just above the high-water mark. One of the lifeboats had already suffered from the sharp winter tides. She lay on her beam-ends, half filled with sand and storm-shredded kelp; her stern received the pounding waves and would not long remain in one piece. The motor launch, because it was larger and more difficult to haul out, would soon suffer the same fate if she was not tended to, but Chapel said nothing of this.

Mr. Copes remarked that most everything salvageable had already been gathered up by the locals, which was their right. He related that when Dr. Roberts first saw the dressed veal carcasses from the ship’s cargo tossing about in the surf, he thought they were mutilated human casualties of the disaster. He was much relieved to discover his error.

What meat could be retrieved was hauled away; the rest made up a sizable honorarium for the sharks. They had become quite numerous after the wreck. Mr. Copes even gestured to three large whites patrolling the shore just beyond the breakers. Doubtless they were awaiting further tribute to wash from the wreck as she slowly broke up on the submerged rocks off Point Sur.

“Of course,” said Mr. Copes, “we might not have known you were out there in the first place. The night was that thick and blind. We couldn’t hear your signals over the gale, either. The light only moved out six hundred feet and then came home with its tail between its legs. You must have seen us, but I’ll be damned if we could see you. If it hadn’t been for those Filipino boys in your black gang, we might not have known about the wreck at all. One of them climbed hand over hand up the seaward slope to get us to man our surfboats. Against all
our appeals the black gang attempted to launch back to the ship, but the surf capsized their lifeboat and knocked them about something fierce. The little beggars were going to try it again, but Mr. Keely insisted that they stay ashore. They would have been killed, sure as God made fools and politicians. It takes long practice and skill to launch a thirty-foot boat into a twenty-foot surf. Not just any able hand with an oar can do it. Those boys were spent. Never would have made it a second time, but you can’t fault their pluck. Six little gobs in a thirty-footer? The sweeps were three times taller than they were, but as faithful as wolfhounds and twice as tough. Four of those boys joined our surfboat crews and went out to bring you and Captain Leland in.”

Chapel felt a sharp, rushing glow sweep over his entire frame. It flushed his face and sent cold shivers up his spine. He began to tremble, and through it all, he nursed a spike of guilt for believing the worst. The black gang’s desertion had disturbed him deeply. He knew those men to be anything but cowards, yet it had seemed to all that they had abandoned their friends.

It was comforting to learn that the black gang, in fact, had shown more common sense than Mr. Ryfkogel would ever testify to. It would make no difference to the official version of the truth. Most ships’ officers were a breed apart when it came to intelligence. It was not healthy to put your life in their hands when better alternatives showed themselves.

Chapel could easily fathom the black gang’s reasoning. He only wished that they had called out their purpose on that night. It would have set the lie in the third officer’s teeth and forced him to swallow his curses. How Mr. Ryfkogel could explain missing one of the most prominent lighthouses on the
coast would have to be defined to somebody in authority, but Chapel was confident no one would ever hear an answer worth a damn. The truth, or its facsimile, would be disguised in a formal court jargon specifically designed to keep swabs like him in the dark. So be it. They were a breed apart, for sure.

“Was Captain Leland informed of all this?” asked Chapel.

Mr. Copes assured him that the captain knew all. Mr. Keely had even enlightened Captain Leland about the courageous conduct of his black gang. The captain seemed relieved and gratified. He in turn had seen to it that the Filipinos received every consideration and care, insisting they be taken north with the other survivors.

Tino, Chapel remembered, had told him he had relatives working in Salinas. Lots of Filipinos in Salinas, Tino had said. At least the boys would be close to family and friends. Chapel hoped he would get the opportunity to see them again. He wanted to thank them for saving their hides in spite of Mr. Ryfkogel’s foul curses.

All of a sudden Chapel felt bone-weary. The sensation of complete exhaustion came over him in chilling, clammy folds. He found himself forced to sit down until the spell passed.

Mr. Copes suggested that maybe he should escort his charge back to his room. Perhaps Mr. Lodge should call it quits for a while. He could not expect to feel his old self on his first day up and about. “Besides,” said Mr. Copes with a chuckle, “Mr. Beauvell, our esteemed cook and surfboat coxswain, has promised a glorious leg of veal, roasted to perfection with apples, oysters, onions, and black currants. He named the dish in honor of the founder of the feast. He calls it Ternera de
Los Angeles
. He saved two whole veal sides from the surf. Today, if you like, you can mess down with us, meet everyone, feel more on
deck, less cumbersome than eating in bed. But perhaps you should bunk down for a while. Let me hoist you up. We’ll get you out of this damp wind first thing.”

The supper was everything Mr. Copes had promised, but Chapel found himself beset with a quandary that prevented anything like a real appreciation of Mr. Beauvell’s talents. Chapel appeared preoccupied, and the lighthouse crew, though a jovial set at mealtimes, were inclined to let Chapel brood without comment.

Coming so dangerously close to death at sea often put survivors off their feed. Sometimes the consequences were far worse. There had been that young woman from San Diego. She had survived the wreck of the
Ventura
only to go mad with grief and throw herself off a cliff near Notley’s Landing when they were taking the survivors north to Monterey. She had lost her young husband in the disaster and chose to join him in death rather than go on.