Wake of the Perdido Star (3 page)

Read Wake of the Perdido Star Online

Authors: Gene Hackman

BOOK: Wake of the Perdido Star
2.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
The road from Hamden to Providence was ruined from the recent fall rains. It was lined with leaves, gold turning brown, stacked against the rock fences bordering the highway. On either side, fields crackled with the rustling of dry corn, the air thick with the scent of ripe fruit and Indian summer.
They were chasing down a ship bound for Cuba. It was nearly ten days since they had left home, and the mysterious Providence was still nowhere in sight. The sound of wheels grinding against the road became sickening to Jack; the flat clop of the mares' hooves, the working of the timber that held the wagon together—after the first day it was a constant irritation. Jack leaned over the wagon bed and tried to count the revolutions, the sun burning the back of his neck.
They arrived in East Haven, then took the coast road toward New London, where “there be ships a-plenty heading for southern climes out of Providence town,” according to one passerby.
Jack's hip was raw from the constant movement of the wagon, and he shifted back and forth, alternately sitting on clothes, bedding, and boxes. Nothing helped. He stared at the backs of his parents' heads, his father's hat and mother's bonnet keeping time with the swaying wagon. They were talking, really more of a mumble, and Jack made no effort to overhear.
He told his father he would walk for a while.
Hours later, Jack moved between the tired horses, coaxing them gently with the reins in each of his hands. Ahead, there was the beginning of a hill that seemed to rise gradually for several miles.
“Providence is probably just beyond the crest,” his father said. “Let's push on before nightfall.”
In Providence they missed the boat to Cuba not by hours but by days. They were told by the harbor master that because it was so late in the fall, there might not be another ship going south until spring. Then he told them of a boat sailing for Habana and points beyond in just five days, out of Salem harbor: the
Perdido Star
.
The strain of being on the road left the O'Reillys exhausted and concerned for their diminishing resources; but they pressed on. Ethan decided to skirt the city of Boston, as they could no longer afford the proper inns and now took to camping out on the way to Salem. He and Pilar slept in the open wagon bed, Jack bundling in a thin blanket, always by a dwindling fire. He awoke each morning bone-chilled, made worse when a wet snow caught them unprepared.
It was three weeks since their start in Hamden when one morning they saw a group of towering masts jutting above a smoky city: Salem.
When they arrived in the city, Jack was fascinated by the energy. Children ran and shouted on the dirt street; drivers in wagons transported lumber, hides, and barrels of whale oil, shouting pleasantries at one another.
“Maybe we should ask directions to the wharf, Pa.” Jack said.
“All in good time, Jackson. All in good time.” Ethan seemed oblivious to the exotic sights and sounds. He pushed the wagon forward, a man obsessed.
Pilar looked at her husband, smiling. “Mi hito, please ask directions so we can make our travel arrangements and become settled.”
Ethan pulled the horses to a stop and stepped down to the street. He mumbled, “Wait here,” and disappeared into a dry goods store.
After a few minutes, Jack could tell that his mother was growing impatient at his absence. She called to a teenage girl passing by. “Excuse me, miss. Could you please to give us directions to the India Wharf?”
She turned, and to Jack, she was beauty itself. He felt his face contort in a stupid grin.
“Well now, it would be Derby Street that you would be wanting,” she answered, in a thick Irish accent and a smile to match the sun. She had a warm laugh, her eyes bespeaking an inner brightness.
“It's a bit of a trick from here. But if you mind, you'll find it. Stay this road to North Street, then you'll be wantin' to make your right. Keep the course to Summer Street. It's here on your left hand you'll be seeing Norman. The street, that is. Continue straight and it becomes Front. You'll cross Market and look for Fish. That would be Fish Street on your right side. Fish swims around to the left and becomes Wharf.”
The girl paused and Jack reddened when he realized his mother had caught his expression. The corners of her mouth curved upward.
“You'll pass Norris Wharf and Hodges and a few others and then it becomes Derby,” the girl continued. “All the way toward
the end, when you feel you've gone too far, you'll see Becket's shipyard—and that would be India.”
Ethan had come out of the shop and heard most of the directions. Even he, despite his weariness, was taken with her. “Thank you, miss. Much obliged.” He hoisted himself onto the wagon and urged the horses on.
Jack moved to the back of the wagon. He waved to the girl and mouthed silently, “I'm Jack,” pointing to himself. She stopped and seemed to see him for the first time. Her wide-open eyes knitted her fair brow. At just over six feet and exceptionally strong for seventeen, Jack's features were impressive. His dark hair hung past his jaw, and his large hazel eyes were offset by a tan complexion. A breeze brushed her burnished hair across emerald eyes. Her hand came up and tossed the hair away. A word popped from her mouth: “Colleen.”
Jack sat frozen, overwhelmed. She didn't move as they pulled away. They lost sight of one another briefly when a wagon, then a pedestrian, came between them. Finally, as the wagon turned on North Street, Jack could no longer see her. He leapt from the wagon and ran to the corner. She was gone.
Suddenly, the enticement of faraway lands seemed less overpowering to Jack; there were obviously things of great interest here in Salem.
They made their way along Derby Street, passing countless wharves brimming with sailing vessels. Shouts from the many dockworkers and sailors heralded ships being built or unloaded. The streets were filled with bustling people, the smell of cinnamon and coffee strong in the air. Merchants weighed goods and traded openly. Lumber, fresh off a ship, was stocked along the road. The air was heavy with odors of the sea making Jack's imagination soar. He was mesmerized. These were scents of a world he did not know. Sailors strutted the pier with gaits that convinced him the seas were running beneath their feet. Even the sorriest and densest of these seamen knew firsthand of lands that only brushed the edge of his wildest fancy. It was an amazing place, this Salem.
The sense of superiority the seamen carried—even in the presence of gentry—intrigued Jack most. They tipped their hats and did the expected around their betters, but clearly they were playing a part. They seemed quietly smug, as if they had a hidden knowledge that could not be found in a gentleman's reading room.
They gazed upon the town women with a palpable hunger. Months at sea seemed to make their eyes burn through the women's stern New England clothing. The ladies frowned and hurried by, but Jack wondered if they deliberately took this route.
Jack preferred to walk beside the wagon. Some of the jostling he felt was from pickpockets, he reckoned, but he paid them no heed; they would have to be magicians to find anything of value on his person.
“Excuse me, sir,” Jack inquired of a sailor. “Could you direct us to the
Perdido Star
?”
“The
Star
? Well now, you'd just be following your nose, lad. When you get to the end of the wharf and the stench be the highest, thar she lie.” The sailor, reeking of gin, broke into hysterical laughter, revealing a row of small, broken teeth.
The O'Reillys glanced at one another but said nothing. Ethan urged the horses on, passing several ships in the process of loading. At the end of the wharf they found the
Perdido Star
.
Jack was transfixed by the black-hulled ship. Even with her peeling paint and worn decks, there was an air of importance about this tattered machine of the sea. He strolled along the wharf to its stern and began pacing off the distance.
“She be a hunnert 'n twelve feet if she be an inch, lad.” A gap-toothed sailor cackled and leaned over the rail. “A brigantine by name. And a merchantman of fame. I'll be Hansumbob, I am.”
“Hello, I'm Jack,” he called back.
“Glad to meet ya, lad,” he waved, then descended belowdecks.
Jack returned to his father, who stopped a seaman amidst the activity, asking for the captain. An arm pointed to the quarterdeck was the sailor's reply, and Jack followed it to see a stout,
gray-haired man with flowing beard standing beside the rail. He seemed to be carving in the teak with a buck knife, an activity Jack thought peculiar, but he was issuing orders over his shoulder and was obviously in charge. And not a little bit drunk. Jack followed his father over to him.
“Captain Deploy?”
“Who the hell would be asking?” The captain glared at Ethan while furtively trying to cover a portion of the rail with a piece of sailcloth.
“I've come from Providence and beyond and I've been told that you would be leaving soon for the island of Cuba. More specifically, Habana.” Ethan lost the timbre in his voice.
“Aye, that I am. But I'm full to the gunwales with cargo if that's what you'd be wanting.” The captain looked the blacksmith up and down.
“I'd like to book passage for myself, my wife, and son. A small amount of personal wares as well.” Ethan took his stance with more determination.
The captain glanced at their wagon on the dock, piled with the blacksmith's forge. “It'll cost you eighty-five dollars apiece plus fifty for the freight. It's not negotiable. We leave tomorrow night on the evening tide.”
Jack could tell his father was thinking quickly of the money he had remaining.
“You set a hard bargain, sir. I had been told it would be just half that amount!”
“I'll have two hundred seventy-five dollars for the whole lot then. And not another word on it.” Captain Deploy tossed his head and strolled to the far rail. His back was to Ethan so he wouldn't have to look him in the eye. “You can come aboard now, stow your freight and your personals, and save yourself a night's lodging.” He turned. “That's the best I can do. And if you decide to go, you're to keep your travel arrangements to yourself. Not a word. Understand?”
Jack knew then that the owner of the ship would never see any
of the passage money. But he could tell by his father's grin that he did not care.
“First mate, see to these good people.” The captain took Ethan's money as the mate, a large, swarthy man who looked of mixed blood, led the three landsmen to their quarters.
“Mother, let me carry those bags, please,” Jack said.
“They're as if nothing, Jack. They're as feathers, for I'm so happy to be off that wagon.” Pilar turned and the three weary souls made their way slowly down the companionway ladder.
Reaching their quarters, the first mate turned to the family and announced, “My name be Quince, people, and this be your berths.” The bunks were arranged in a semicircle, sad-looking straw mattresses, stained from years of use, sitting like lumps on the oak slats. “If you need something on the trip and if I can help, I will.”
“Thank you,” Ethan answered. Quince returned a goodhearted grin and departed, the deck creaking under the weight of the burly giant. Jack was amazed at how easily he moved. There was a strength and confidence about him that reassured the whole family.
After storing their belongings belowdecks and seeing that his tools were safe in the hold, Ethan spoke briefly to his wife then left the ship; Jack followed to the edge of the deck. Turning the wagon around on the wharf, he called to Jack, “Keep your mother company. I'll be back soon.”
Pilar emerged from below.
“Is Father going to sell the team and wagon?” Jack asked.
“Yes.” She dropped her eyes. “Your father needs to do this.”
The horses, Jen and Mary, had been Jack's domain, feeding and tending them for years. A mist of anger floated just behind his eyes; he was disturbed to think his father would not have allowed him to run his hands down their soft manes one last time.

Other books

All's Well That Ends Well by William Shakespeare
Vanessa's Match by Judy Christenberry
The Hunter's Pet by Loki Renard
A Gala Event by Sheila Connolly
The Fashion Princess by Janey Louise Jones
The Snow Queen by Eileen Kernaghan
Today & Tomorrow by Susan Fanetti
Hannah & Emil by Belinda Castles