Wake of the Perdido Star (15 page)
Read Wake of the Perdido Star Online
Authors: Gene Hackman
“Don't worry,” he said. “I'll help you.”
For three days the
Perdido Star
sailed along the northern shore of Cuba, making her way toward Cabo Maisi where she could bear south to the Jamaican channels and the Caribbean Sea.
Perdido Star
sailed along the northern shore of Cuba, making her way toward Cabo Maisi where she could bear south to the Jamaican channels and the Caribbean Sea.
Since their departure, the mates paid scant attention to the very sick stowaway Paul had been tending to between his own duties. But Paul knew it was only a matter of time before one of the officers became aware of this unwanted extra hand.
Jack's fever broke on the fourth day and, although unable to keep down solid food, he sipped some of Paul's porridge ration and a great deal of water. Paul hadn't been able to get a coherent story from Jack. He worried that, with the island of Cuba slipping away, Jack's parents would be concerned for him.
“I see you used my book to fine purpose,” Paul said when he knew Jack could understand. “Good words have always been known to save a soul.” He hesitated. “I think it's time you told me about this wound in your side. You've been gone four days and I'm sure your parents are sick with worry.”
Jack remained silent, staring blankly.
“Listen to me. You can't just sail away like this without telling your parents something.”
Jack turned to look at his friend. His eyes were clear for the first time in days. “I can't tell them, Paul.”
“Of course you can. They'd understand. Just be forthright.”
“You don't understand. I can't tell themâbecause they're dead.”
Paul slumped to the floor of the fo'c'sle. He sat as if dead himself, unable to speak. His breathing became labored; he felt as if he himself had been slashed. “IâIâjust saw them. But howâ”
Jack turned away, back to his silent staring.
Paul made his way on deck, taking deep breaths. There seemed to be only one thing to do. Reveal Jack's presence to one of the officers, or possibly the bosun, or first mate, and ask for help.
Mr. Quince seemed to be the fairest man of authority on board. Still, it was with great trepidation that Paul approached him and brought him down to see his sick friend.
Quince's huge stomach pressed tight against Jack's second-tier bunk.
“You look like death's cousin, wee Jack,” he said, his tone compassionate. “Your color's gone and you smell of last year's dead dog. You'll be over the side if the captain gets wind of ya.”
Jack eyed the first mate's girth. “Do your worst sailor,” he replied. “I'll be swimming alongside this leaky tub long after you've been wrapped, stuffed, and weighted for your last bath.”
Quince stared for a second, shocked, then laughed so hard he had to hold onto Jack's berth.
“I'll do what I can, Jackson.” He paused. “I think that's what I heard your mother call ya. I'll do what I can with the captain. No promises.” He glided smoothly and powerfully between the berths, heading toward the companionway. “If it be any consolation, wee Jack, I feel for ya.” He lifted his bulk up the stairs. “There's compensation in this world, lad. Trust me on this.”
Paul reached over and squeezed his friend's hand, then made his way on deck. The sky was ablaze, a pink glow reflecting off the clouds in the eastern sky. Jack's parents dead? It should be raining. There should be heavy seas and biting, bitter rain. Why Jack's parents? What had happened? Who had attacked Jack? Paul could think of several people in his recent past much more deserving of that end.
Paul was working on deck several days later when Quince approached him.
“The ole man says he would like to put your friend off the ship at Port au Prince, Haiti.”
Paul bridled. “The captain's an ass, as he has demonstrated on several occasions. I suppose I owe him a debt of gratitude for taking me on after finding me in the middle of the Atlantic, but I'm hard-pressed to understand him.”
“You weren't listening,” Quince laughed. “I said he would like to put him off. Not that he was going to. I've talked to him and he's agreed if Jack can start work in two days' time, he'll keep him aboard as an apprentice. If he can't do the work, you'll do it for him. You'll stand his watch and your own and generally take up his slack. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Quince. Thank you. We'll do you proud, sir.” For the first time since Jack's arrival, Paul's heart felt free. “We'll do you proud, sir. I promise.”
A
SSIGNED TO HIS WATCH high in the foremast, Jack dropped his legs over the edge of the crow's nest and let his mind drift. The breathless beauty of the sea battled the rage in the pit of his stomach, his bitterness over the count. Besieged by tormenting pictures of his mother's bloodied body, de Silva dominated his thoughts. Jack vowed to return to Cuba. A constant image of the count's neck surrounded by his hands kept him alive.
SSIGNED TO HIS WATCH high in the foremast, Jack dropped his legs over the edge of the crow's nest and let his mind drift. The breathless beauty of the sea battled the rage in the pit of his stomach, his bitterness over the count. Besieged by tormenting pictures of his mother's bloodied body, de Silva dominated his thoughts. Jack vowed to return to Cuba. A constant image of the count's neck surrounded by his hands kept him alive.
Movement below caught Jack's eye. It was Quince. The man had been his salvation. Jack and Paul had sat for hours listening to Quince's stories of the sea, but most recently they had discussed the captain's strange behavior. Sometimes the old man seemed to be drunk, at others totally mad, standing at the rail looking out to sea, talking and laughing to himself. Jack wondered what the fate of the old man would be. In fact, what would all of their destinies be on this passage?
Now Quince seemed troubled, Jack thought, as the mate stood
on the quarterdeck, watching the helmsmen make the small adjustments necessary to keep the ship on course. He had spent more and more time above deck lately, looking constantly for that frayed line, loose plank, or sail not trimmed. But there was something troubling inside him too.
on the quarterdeck, watching the helmsmen make the small adjustments necessary to keep the ship on course. He had spent more and more time above deck lately, looking constantly for that frayed line, loose plank, or sail not trimmed. But there was something troubling inside him too.
The
Perdido Star
had been pressing south on her dogged journey, tacking every twenty-four hours. She would change from 165 degrees south, southeast to 190 degrees south, southwest but always on her beam reach south toward Cape Horn.
Perdido Star
had been pressing south on her dogged journey, tacking every twenty-four hours. She would change from 165 degrees south, southeast to 190 degrees south, southwest but always on her beam reach south toward Cape Horn.
Paul, who had just come up from below, looked up at Jack. He waltzed across the deck, imitating a drunken sailor, pretending to heave up his rations over the side. Jack laughed in spite of himself, for Paul's good humor had kept him alive these past weeks. Jack's passion for returning to Cuba was in direct contrast to Paul's lack of direction. Paul, for all his intelligence and wit, seemed to live just one day at a time.
Smithers, the surly deckhand, came scampering up the ratlines to replace Jack, and Jack went to find Paul, who was standing near the rail. Quince called them to the quarterdeck.
“You lads step up here. I'll have a word with you.”
“Now what trouble have you stirred in that witch's cauldron you haphazardly call a brain?” Paul asked Jack.
“Pissant,” mumbled Jack. They crossed the deck to the ladder leading up to the quarterdeck.
Quince's concern was immediate. “The captain has called everyone into his cabin for a set-to.” Quince paused and breathed deeply. “Of course, we all can't fit into his cabin. So anyone who is not on watch is to lay below at half the hour and stand in the companionway outside. We'll leave the door open.” Quince cursed to himself. “Keep your ears open. You'll learn something of the sea and of life if I'm not mistaken.”
Jack, Paul, and the rest of the starboard watch gathered in the crowded companionway. Jack stood to one side of the captain's door and could see the cabin was a disorderly mess. The small
table was stained and pitted with years of drink and food. The old man had attempted to make his quarters respectable by kicking his filthy clothes and meal leavings under his bunk. Three large ports looked aft to the foaming wake of the
Star
but were inoperable, so the tiny cabin stank not only of the corky septuagenarian's body but of the crowded officers in the cramped space. The low overhead kept the men slightly bent and uneasy.
table was stained and pitted with years of drink and food. The old man had attempted to make his quarters respectable by kicking his filthy clothes and meal leavings under his bunk. Three large ports looked aft to the foaming wake of the
Star
but were inoperable, so the tiny cabin stank not only of the corky septuagenarian's body but of the crowded officers in the cramped space. The low overhead kept the men slightly bent and uneasy.
The captain was the only one seated.
“I've called you here to get your feelings on my plans, as it were.” He took a long pull on his tankard of grog. “I've made many a passage of the Horn, lads, and it's not an easy thing. If you were lucky, you could do the thing in three weeks, from fifty degrees south latitude in the Atlantic to fifty south in the Pacific. But no one's had that kind of luck. It be twelve hundred miles, and that twelve hundred is as hard a thing as exists.” The man's bloodshot, rheumy eyes looked expectantly at the semicircle of men around him. He paused, apparently waiting. “Well, don't just stand there, dammit. What's your answer?”
The men all stood mute. Each waited for the other's puzzled response.
Jack heard Quince's voice, the most experienced and bravest seaman on board. He cleared his throat. “If it pleases the captain, sirâ”
“Yes, man. For God's sake, spit it out.”
“With all respect, sir. If you're asking if we be prepared for the Horn, thenâ”
The captain stood promptly, ignoring Quince. Taking one quick stride, he turned to face the aft ports, hands gripped behind his back. “We're making good time, I see. If I was a gambling sort, I'd say eight knots, by God.” He turned to face the mate as if to catch Quince in a lie. “What's yer name, sailor?”
“My name be Quince, sir.” The first mate's dismay was evident; Jack knew he had been aboard the
Perdido Star
for five years and had served under the captain nearly three of those.
Perdido Star
for five years and had served under the captain nearly three of those.
“Of course. I know your name, man. I didn't ask you that, you fool. I said, âWhat's our present course?'”
A sailor standing next to Paul whispered, “Oh God, he's absolutely around the bend. We're lost.”
The captain looked expectantly at each man in the circle around him. A grin on his face seemed to explain to all in attendance that he had caught them unprepared and would now divulge some secret.
“None of you lubbers have made a passage and God bless you for it. But I've made more than a few and I tell you, it's pure hell. So, here's my plan. We'll bypass the Cape and sneak through the Straits of Magellan. It'll save us three hundred miles and be damned with the East India Company and its duty. Time is money, I always say.”
The captain turned again to the aft ports and began speaking to the openings.
“If it pleases the board of inquiry, sir, we came not through the Straits, sir, but 'round the Horn. It be five weeks to the day as noted in my log, sir.” Jack could see the old man gesturing as if speaking to a court. He mimed opening a log, showing the imaginary group how he had dutifully kept it, how it showed clearly their epic journey around the Cape. Then, in a definite change of voice to one of command, he ordered: “Mr. Quince, set a course for the Straits and keep us several hundred miles off the South American coast. I'll not have any of the East India's cutters spying on us.”
The captain had just spoken to a nonexistent board of inquiry. A course change of several hundred miles offshore would put them at the mercy of the westerly winds, driving them even further offshore.
“Excuse me, sir.” The navigator Boyer started softly with great care. “A course change of this magnitude, will, sir, expose us toâ”
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