Starbuck nantucket redem.., p.18
Starbuck, Nantucket Redemption, page 18
“Don’t worry, the Paragon has been through many storms and will get through this one as well. The captain has given the mates orders to prepare the ship, and we will spend the rest of the day making her ready.”
Peter was frightened but also knew he didn’t have any other options. There was no way that he’d be able to talk Tris or Captain Nelson into waiting things out and let the storm pass. Steeling himself, he knew that keeping busy would help distract his mind from any dire thoughts. “What can I do?” he asked Tris.
“I need you to get a team together to scour the deck and stow away any loose items - tools, ropes, casks. Anything not essential needs to be stored below. I have another crew working to lash down the whaleboats and a third working below to secure the barrels and prevent the cargo from shifting. We will be ready,” Tris finished confidently.
“You can count on me.” Peter turned and went to round up the crew from his whaleboat; Thomas, John, and Ichabod, to help him execute their orders.
The crew worked tirelessly to prepare the Paragon, and by nightfall, nothing remained to be done. The Paragon and her men were as ready as they were ever going to be. Peter went to bed under a full moon and a sky full of stars. The black smudge on the horizon continued to get bigger, blotting out stars as the storm and the Paragon edged ever closer. The captain was estimating that the gale would hit sometime the following day, and the crew should be prepared to stay below and ride it out. Only those with essential duties were expected on deck. Peter lay in his bunk, listening to the sounds of waves lapping the hull and the soft creak of the hull timbers as the boat swayed gently. He was afraid of what lay ahead and whether or not they would survive the storm. Charlotte would never know what had happened to him. He would die alone.
He fell into a fitful sleep and once again dreamed of being with Charlotte and the kids. They were back at the beach although he couldn’t sense where. He was playing with Sophie and Spencer near the water and building sandcastles. Charlotte was in her chair, reading, and smiling down at them. Everyone was happy and enjoying the day. As he was laying a quahog shell on one wall, Spencer jumped up and pointed over him. Daddy. Look! Peter turned to see a black wall approaching them quickly. The wall was made of storm clouds that were rolling and seething as if alive. The belly of the wall was filled with lightning, and the sound of thunder exploded over them. Spencer and Sophie both screamed, and he looked up to see Charlotte jump out of her chair in a panic. She was trying to run to them, but the wind was so strong it was blowing her backward. And then the wall hit. Sophie and Spencer’s screams were immediately silenced, and his world went black. He felt as if he was swimming in mud, his arms and legs weighed down as he struggled to get to the surface. He called out for Charlotte and the kids but couldn’t get his mouth to form the words. Despite his efforts, he felt himself falling deeper and deeper into the blackness. He tried to scream. Nothing.
A loud crash against the hull woke Peter from his dream. His heart was beating quickly, and he was sweating profusely. He sat up on his elbows and tried to get his bearings. Thank god it was just a dream, he thought relieved. As he started to calm down, he noticed that the ship was rocking more than usual. The groans and creaks from the hull were far more pronounced, and every so often, there was a tremendous thump from the bow, just below his bunk. Peter turned and tried not to think of his dream or the storm. Instead, he thought of the happy memories he had with Charlotte and the kids. And of the happy times, he hoped would come. He fell back asleep.
Dawn came with a full gale lashing at the Paragon. Peter woke to the shriek of the rigging in the wind as if it were in pain. This must be it, he thought. His bunk was leaning heavily, and he could hear the men’s sea chests sliding around the floor. He propped himself up and let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He surveyed the other bunks and was surprised to see a number of the men still asleep while others were awake but clearly feeling the effects of the storm. Two were seasick and vomiting while three others sat quietly in their bunks, mumbling prayers.
Peter could make out Ichabod across the way, looking back at him.
“Ichabod,” Peter whispered loudly, “what’s going on?”
“We’re in the storm. And it’s a bad one.”
Peter felt a surge of adrenaline through his body, his fear ratcheting up. “Have you ever been in a storm like this?” he asked nervously.
Ichabod replied, “Only once, and we barely survived. The storm lasted for several days, and the ship took a horrendous beating. On the third day, the hull opened up in the forehold, and the water started coming in. We had to bail for our lives while the ship’s carpenter and the mates were able to make repairs to stop the water.”
Peter’s eyes went wide, and Ichabod could see his fear even across the dim room. “It’s okay,” he said, “Master Nelson is the best captain I have ever sailed with.”
“I hope so,” replied Peter. “But if you don’t mind, I need to go and see for myself.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” said another voice. Peter looked down to see Thomas staring back at him. “The captain has given orders for us to stay below. Ichabod is right, Captain Nelson will see us through this safely. We just need to stay here and wait it out.”
There were many traits that Peter could claim about himself, but patience and ignorance were not among them. He looked at Thomas, “I’m sorry, but I need to know what is going on.” With that, he swung his legs over his bunk and jumped down to the floor, almost falling flat on his face as the Paragon was hit by another large wave. He caught himself and made his way over to the ladder. He grabbed the rung, looked over his shoulder to Thomas and Ichabod, and started to climb. The boat was rocking so heavily that Peter nearly fell off halfway up, his body dangling from one arm. Regaining his foothold, he was able to climb the last few rungs and make his way on deck. Clearing the hatch, he was met with the full force of the storm. He stepped out into the weather and started making his way to the stern. It was tough going as the deck was rising and falling beneath him; the wind was whipping his clothes, and a fierce rain assaulted his face.
He paused by the leeward side of the foremast, the massive piece of timber providing some shelter from the wind and the rain. He squinted through the deluge and looked out over the water. The ocean was in a rage. Seas were thirty feet high and breaking, the wind whipping foam across the crests. The water had the appearance of a fine sirloin that had been left in the sun to spoil, a green-gray color with white veining. Peter could see that the deck was awash in water, from the sea and the sky, and knew getting to the stern was going to be a challenge.
The Paragon was struggling through the waves and was flying very little canvas. Captain Nelson had ordered only the mainsail, the spanker off the mizzen, and a jib on the bow be raised, just enough to maintain steerage in the storm. Every thirty seconds or so, the bow of the Paragon would drop precipitously into a trough and then slam into the face of the oncoming wave, sending a shudder through the entire ship and huge sprays of water over the bow and down the deck. Peter felt his bowels loosen but would rather soil his clothes than try and use the head right now. He put it out of his mind and continued astern.
He paused again at the mainmast when an unusually large wave crashed over the windward rail, flooding the deck in several feet of water. Peter was knocked off his feet, carried across the deck and slammed into the leeward rail. Gasping for air and spitting out seawater, he struggled to his feet and stumbled back to the lee side of the mainmast. He was breathing heavily and soaked through but knew he had to get to the stern and check with Tris. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and started back to the wheelhouse, leaning on the windward rail and struggling to maintain his balance on the pitching deck, slick with water.
Peter pulled himself along the rail, pausing to duck under it each time a wave would crash over the side of the Paragon. Exhausted and drenched, he finally made his way into the wheelhouse. Tris was at the wheel, his feet spread wide, and doing all he could to maintain his balance and keep the bow pointed into the waves. The wheelhouse on the Paragon was little more than a roof and sides and open to the bow and stern. In a storm of this magnitude, it provided minimal shelter for the crew from the wind and rain.
Peter braced himself against the wall of the wheelhouse and shouted to Tris, struggling to be heard above the roar of the wind and waves, “Do you need me to take the wheel?”
Tris was about to respond when a massive wave hit the Paragon broadside and rolled her slowly on her beam, nearly putting the masts in the water. That same wave sent thousands of gallons of water down the deck and directly into the wheelhouse. Tris lost his grip on the wheel and was carried across the deck and over the rail. Arms flailing, his hand fell on the davit for the stern whaleboat, and he held tight. The whaleboat was swept overboard and into the Atlantic. Tris was about to follow.
“Tris!” shouted Peter and scrambled across the deck. He could see his friend was hanging on for dear life and didn’t have much time. One more wave would wash him into the ocean with no hope for rescue. Peter slid himself across the nearly vertical deck, locked his feet against the rail, and leaned forward. “Grab my other hand!”
Tris released his grip on the davit and grabbed Peter’s outstretched hand. Fingers locked together, Peter used all his strength to pull Tris back onboard. They collapsed in a pile on the deck just as another wave came over the windward rail. The rush of water pinned them down.
Captain Nelson had come bursting out of his cabin when the first wave hit and immediately grabbed the unmanned wheel. He spun the helm, trying to get her bow pointed back into the waves. Slowly the Paragon started to right herself and regain her trim. The captain had witnessed Tris’s rescue and shouted at Peter, “Take him to my cabin!”
They struggled to their feet, and Peter half-led, half-carried Tris to the master’s cabin. It was warm and dry, but the entire room was moving from side to side and up and down. He helped Tris sit down in a chair at the table. “Are you okay?” asked Peter.
Spitting out seawater, Tris said, “I’m okay, I think.”
“Good,” replied Peter. “But, I need to get back out and help Captain Nelson.”
“Very well, but be careful. And thank you for saving my life. Again.” Tris smiled faintly.
Peter smiled back. “Anything for you, Tris.” He paused, putting his hand on Tris’s shoulder, before turning and heading back on deck and into the storm.
* * *
The Paragon struggled for most of the day. Captain Nelson, Benjamin Gale and Peter all took turns at the wheel, working to keep the bow into the waves and minimizing the impacts to the ship as much as possible. It was mid-afternoon when Peter realized that the sky had brightened, and he could see shadows across the deck. He looked up to a pure blue sky and realized they were in the eye.
“Captain.”
“Yes, Starbuck.” replied the Master.
“I believe we’re in the eye of the hurricane. I’d recommend that we quickly survey the ship and assess any damage before the eyewall approaches,” he paused, “in case any immediate repairs are needed.”
Captain Nelson looked at Peter with admiration at the man’s resilience. “Very well. Perhaps Mr. Coffin will have recovered sufficiently to assist you.”
Peter smiled and went down to the captain’s cabin. Tris had made his way to the couch and looked as if he had just woken from a nap.
“How are you?” asked Peter.
Tris sat up on the couch and rubbed his eyes. “I’m fine now. All that seawater I ingested made me feel quite ill, but that has passed.”
“Excellent,” replied Peter. “We’re in a lull in the storm, and the captain has asked us to gather the crew and assess any damage to the ship. Are you up for it?”
Tris stood up. “Absolutely!”
Peter smiled at his friend. “Very well, you gather the mates, and I’ll get the crew from the fo’c’s’le. We will scour the holds and the hull. I suggest you focus on the rigging and the deck.”
Tris smiled at Peter. “Now which one of us is the mate, and which one of us was just a greenhand?”
Peter blushed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”
Tris slapped Peter’s back and laughed. “Not at all, not at all! I think you could even captain this ship if we needed you to!”
Exiting the cabin, they separated to complete their plan. Tris went below to gather the mates and the carpenter while Peter went forward and rustled the crew from their bunks in the bow. They completed their assessment and were back at the captain’s table in under an hour. Captain Nelson, Tris, and the first mate, Gale, sat in chairs at the table. The other mate, George Henry, was handling the wheel. Peter stood, leaning against the wall, trying to maintain his balance. Despite the lull, the waves were still significant, and the ship continued to roll and pitch heavily.
Captain Nelson looked at Tris and said, “What is your assessment?”
“Sir, we have lost all but one of the whaleboats. The main mast has a significant crack at the base and runs about ten feet up from the deck. The sails are torn, and we do have some tangled rigging as well as two spars missing from the foremast and one on the mainmast. Only the mizzen is in good shape,” Tris finished.
The captain stared down at the table, absorbing the news. He looked up and turned his attention to the ship’s carpenter. “Zaccheus, what is your assessment on the mast?”
“It’s quite serious, sir. I’ve asked the blacksmith to fashion some hoops that we can use to reinforce the base. Unfortunately, he will need to wait until the seas settle before he can light the forge.”
“Hmm,” said the Master. He turned to the first mate. “Mr. Gale, I’d suggest we lower the canvas on the mainmast to reduce the stress. Can we add additional sail on the mizzen or foremast to compensate? We need to maintain sufficient speed for steerage.”
Gale replied. “Yes, captain. I will add a topsail to the mizzen.”
“Excellent,” replied the captain. He turned to Peter. “And you, Starbuck? How are things below?”
Peter replied, “Sir. We’re in good shape overall. We had some shifting of barrels in the lower main hold, but the crew has added additional ropes to secure them fully. As for the hull, it appears to be sound and in good shape. No damage was visible.”
“Very good,” replied the captain. He looked around the table. “Men, the worst of the storm is ahead of us, and nightfall is fast approaching. We will be facing the most dangerous part of the hurricane in the black of night,” he paused. “May God watch over our souls.”
The men dispersed, and Peter started walking toward the door.
“Starbuck,” said the captain.
Peter stopped and turned. “Yes, sir?”
“I’d like you to stay here with me,” said the captain. “I may need your help before the night is out.”
Peter was taken aback. “Of course, sir. I’m at your service.”
The captain smiled and nodded.
Outside, the eyewall was approaching, and with it, the most violent quadrant of the storm. The sun began to set just as it crossed the Paragon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Peter had never been more terrified in his life. The Paragon entered the strongest part of the storm in complete and total darkness. Robbed of any visual cues, it was all Peter could do to not imagine the worst; towering waves that would hit and sink the boat, being pushed onto a rocky coastline where they would break up, or that he was going to be swept off the deck and into the water to drown and die alone. He pushed those fears from his mind and tried to focus on the job at hand. Captain Nelson had requested his presence, and he directed his energies into helping out the master as best as he could.
Initially, one of his responsibilities had been to keep the candle lit above the compass. It was meager light but enough for the master to see the heading and adjust as needed. But the rain and wind had other ideas, constantly snuffing the candle and pitching them back into darkness in the wheelhouse. Peter did his best, but eventually, everything was too wet to even try. The only light in their vicinity was a soft glow from the skylight of the captain’s cabin. Strangely, it made Peter think of Christmas.
“I’m sorry, captain,” Peter shouted over the roar of wind and waves. “I can’t keep it lit, it’s too wet to take the flame.”
The captain shouted back, “I can manage without the compass.”
“But how will you know the heading?”
“I can feel it,” the captain replied. “The pitch of the deck, the way the ship labors, the vibrations through the hull, the sound of the wind in the rigging...” the captain’s voice trailed away, muffled by the roar of a breaking wave.
Ichabod had been right about the captain. He was entirely in control of the ship and was steering her masterfully through the storm even though he couldn’t see a thing. Peter didn’t sense any fear from the man, only a steeled resolve and determination to see them through. This man is a true leader, thought Peter. What a CEO I could be if I only had a fraction of his composure.
The rise of the moon had helped bring some relief from the darkness. Nearly full, it penetrated the storm clouds sufficiently to allow Peter to discern basic shapes and give him some idea of what was going on around him as if seeing through a dense fog. He could just make out the frame of the captain at the wheel, the rise of the mizzen mast, the galley hatch, and a seething gray mass of ocean.
He felt a body saddle up next to him and could just make out the face of his good friend. “How are we doing?” shouted Tris, struggling to be heard above the roar of the wind.
Before Peter could even answer, a huge wave hit the boat, forcing her over and nearly putting her masts in the water. Peter lost his grip on the frame and fell into Tris, slamming both men into the other side of the wheelhouse. Captain Nelson spun the wheel, using the turn to try and right the ship. As the Paragon started to recover, they heard a tremendous crack and suddenly felt the ship slow and veer further to port, putting her nearly beam-to in the high seas.
