Sailing home, p.38
Sailing Home, page 38
“Very well,” the commander allowed. Giving notice to the soaking wet uniforms of his two guests, he said, “I will see to it that you gentlemen are suited into some warm, dry clothing. Are you hungry?”
“I’m famished,” Jude blurted out, but shrank back a little under Marin’s sideways glare.
“I am sorry for the loss of your ship, Captain. I take it your crew abandoned safely.”
“Yes, in two small dinghies. But I worry about their ability to survive in such waters.”
“Well, the good news is, the storm seems to be abating. We will carefully keep an eye out for them on our way back to Newport.”
“Newport?” Marin asked, a beat ahead of Jude.
“Yes, we are about a hundred miles out of Newport. Where did you think we were?”
Marin and Jude looked at one another. “We weren’t at all certain,” Marin confessed. “How did you find us?”
The commander hesitated a moment, giving a sideways glance toward Jude before answering. “We have been doing our best to follow you since you left Perth Amboy. We lost you in the fog as you reached to the northeast. We ran as best we could toward Newport in hopes of beating the storm, but were caught in the swirling mass. When we regained control, we came across you under attack. We gave chase to the pirate ship, but decided to turn back and find you. We saw your light and flares and came to your side.”
Jude turned his head to Marin, but Marin was focused on the Commander.
“Pirate ship?” Marin barked.
“Yes sir,” Ernst noted.
“Commander, with all due respect, that was not a pirate ship.”
“It wasn’t?” the Commander challenged.
“No sir...”
“What was it, then?” Ernst asked, with a hint of condescension.
Marin drew in a deep breath, as if that would lend credibility to what he was about to say. “I believe it was an American Navy ship flying British colors,” he said, watching for the Commander’s reaction.
Ernst quickly turned aside and pulled on a small rope that was attached to a pulley on the wall. A bell rang outside the cabin, followed by a knock outside the door.
“Enter,” he ordered. “Mister Mason, take these two gentlemen to supply and get them some warm clothing, and then escort them to the mess hall.” He placed his hand on Marin’s back as if to guide him toward the door. “I believe you two gentlemen will benefit from a hot meal and some rest. Sun up is but a few hours away. I will see you then.”
“Why were you following us?” Marin asked, holding his ground.
“We can discuss this later,” the Commander replied, dismissively. “Right now, we had better begin our search for your crew.”
“Something is askew,” Marin made clear before he and Jude followed Mason out of the Commander’s quarters.
While changing into common swabbie attire, Marin stewed over the Commander’s refusal to answer his question.
Jude was busy complaining about the clothing he was struggling to get into. “Why so many Goddamn buttons?” he cursed, and began counting the buttons on the front flap of the trousers. “Thirteen,” he said, as if it were a new swear word. “Pity the poor sailor in a hurry. Pity the poor woman who is—”
“Why were they following us, Jude?” Marin interrupted. “Why would the navy have one ship sent to sink us, only to have another rescue us?”
“Would ya look at this shirt they give me?” Jude said, shaking his head. “Don’t I look the dandy, all puffed up?”
“Jude, can you forget about the clothes for a moment? Don’t you wonder about what just happened?”
“Now that you mention it, Captain, yes, I do. And while I’m wonderin’, perhaps you could tell me why you told them there was only the two of us aboard? Why didn’t ya mention Armstrong?”
“Armstrong was dead.”
“...Dead?”
“Dead.”
“Ya mean, good as dead?”
“No, I mean, dead.”
Jude held his thoughts for a few moments, but eventually they seeped out. “I don’t understand. How could a man I was talkin’ to but a few hours ago have—”
“I killed him,” Marin blurted out.
Jude leaned back as if to put a little distance between himself and his captain. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“I am not sure I do either,” Marin confessed.
Jude thought for a moment before saying, “Captain, I want ya to think long and hard about this. Ya can’t go around telling people ya killed somebody, when what you really mean to say is—”
“I suffocated him,” Marin said. “I put his pillow over his face and held it until he breathed no more.”
“Why would ya do such a thing?”
“Hope. I lost all hope, Jude ...and I didn’t want Armstrong to wake up and find himself about to drown without a mate at his side.” A long silence followed. Marin raised his head and looked directly at Jude who was struggling to maintain eye contact, but managed to look in Marin’s general direction. “But not you, Jude. You never lost hope. Did you?”
“Not much point in that, sir.”
“But I did.” Marin confessed.
Jude shrank back from reply.
“Have you never lost hope, Jude?”
Jude stepped away from Marin, sat down on a bench and began to put on his boots. As he fed the aglets through the eyelets, he laced his words as well. “When I’m at sea...I understand all too well...I’m at her mercy...but she’s a stern mistress ...she demands that we earn it.” He gave the laces of his right boot a tug, and tied them. Then he began lacing-up his left boot. “When she sees ya give up...she claims you all the quicker...and it is my intention, Captain...to remain topside...and sail as long as she allows.” He gave the laces of the left boot a tug, and tied them. He picked up Marin’s boots, stood up and handed them to his captain. “What say we get some grub and maybe a little rest?”
December 30, 1811
The storm had lost most of its temper by morning, although the sky, heavy with mist, remained overcast with dark clouds lying low and scattered, as though they had been broken apart by a great turmoil.
When Mister Mason summoned Marin and Jude from their sleeping quarters, he found Marin lying glassy-eyed and awake.
“Have you not slept, Captain?” he asked, but Marin did not reply. Jude stirred awake and Mason deferred to him, saying, “Commander Ernst awaits you and the Captain in the mess.”
Jude managed to rouse Marin from his trance-like state and they followed Mason to the mess deck, which was full of sailors either chowing down a breakfast upon waking, or a light scratch of a meal before retiring. Commander Ernst was sitting with a group of men who were ready for their four hours of sleep.
“Sit yourselves down,” he said, greeting the two of them while directing the men seated in front of him to make room. “Mister Combs get our guests a couple bowls of oatmeal and some coffee.”
“Guests, or prisoners?” Marin contested.
“I beg your pardon,” the Commander objected, raising his brow at Marin and glancing over at Jude. Jude in turn, glared at Marin. The Commander addressed Marin, asking, “Are you feeling alright, Captain?” When Marin didn’t reply the Commander continued, “Yes, well gentlemen, we have been tacking a path toward Newport in search of your crew. Nothing to report as of yet, but the seas have calmed somewhat and we will do our best to locate them as we make our way back home. You do make your home in Newport, do you not, Captain Carpenter?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Marin mumbled.
“And you, Mister Prince?”
“I’ve a house there, but I’m a sea dweller, sir. Home is a boat afloat.”
“I see. Well, you may consider this your home for the remainder of our journey.”
As Mister Combs placed two bowls of oatmeal and a couple cups of coffee in front of Jude and Marin, Marin pushed his away and addressed the commander in a direct, if not testy tone.
“Why were you following us?”
The commander gave a knowing look to the other men sitting at the table, and they gathered their plates and cups and moved elsewhere. He then leaned in, and softened his voice.
“We were anchored off of Staten Island when I received word that the Magister Maris was docked across the channel at Perth Amboy. Our orders were to await your departure. We were told that if you turned south, we were to let go and let you sail. If, on the other hand, you turned north, we were to follow you.”
Jude force swallowed a mouthful of oatmeal, put his spoon into his bowl, and turned to Marin.
“You were to let us sail south?” Marin quizzed.
“Those were ours orders, yes sir.”
“Did they inform you as to why you were to follow us north?”
“Only that we were to insure your safe passage to Passamaquoddy Bay. I might add, there was scuttlebutt that a Senator Wallace of Rhode Island was somehow involved in the directive, so it may be that our orders came from higher up.”
Marin pulled his coffee toward him as Jude pushed his oatmeal away.
“They had to know we held no cargo,” Jude declared.
“They had to know a lot more than that,” Marin concluded, looking over at the Commander and waiting for a crack in his silence. None came.
Marin and Jude excused themselves and went topside, positioning themselves on opposite sides of the deck, searching the choppy waters for signs of the two small boats holding their crew. Marin strained to see through the thin fog, and after a while his anguish began to consume him. He continually crossed back and forth from port to starboard until Jude finally chastised him.
“Damn it, Captain, don’t ya trust my eyes? I’ve got the starboard watch.”
Marin returned port side and desperately scanned the troubled waters for any sign of his crew. The longer he stared out over the vast maze of unconnected waves, the more his vision began to blur and his mind grew heavy with fatigue and despair. His thoughts became as random and disjointed as the white caps breaking out over the ocean. Several times he thought he saw a boat and he would call for Jude, and each time Jude would assure him there was nothing there. The sounds of the wind through the sails and the waves lapping against the boat began taking on a distinct vocal quality. Marin’s mind wove them into the sounds of a distant beckoning.
“Phillipe!” Marin began calling out, bringing Jude to his side, yet again. Marin’s glare was focused on a distant nothing as he continued calling out Phillipe’s name. Jude gently pulled him away from the side of the ship and attempted to calm him.
“Come along, Captain ...we’ll assign someone else to the watch.” Jude said.
“Bring her ninety degrees to port and hold her steady,” Marin called out to the helmsman.
“You’re needed below, sir,” Jude intervened, and escorted him below deck and sat him down on a bench while holding onto him to keep him from tipping over.
“I need for you to go and retrieve Phillipe’s Bible,” Marin ordered.
Jude stared at Marin’s glassy, doll-like eyes, and started to explain that the Bible was not with them, but stopped himself, saying instead, “Yes, Captain,” and he leaned Marin against the wall and left to find a Bible.
When he returned, he witnessed Marin standing butt naked while attempting to put on his still damp Captain’s uniform. Jude stood aside and watched the painful episode as Marin struggled with the moist material. After Marin was at least partially clothed, Jude said,
“Here’s the Bible as requested, sir.”
Marin grabbed the book and quickly began leafing through it. “Here it is,” he declared, “Proverbs Two,” and he began to read in a soft voice to himself. He paused a moment to say to Jude, “You see, Jude? This is what Armstrong was trying to tell me.”
He began reading again as Jude slipped out of the room and went to find the ship’s surgeon.
When he returned with the doctor, Marin was still seated on the bench with the Bible in his hand. He appeared to be addressing a few imaginary people who were gathered at his feet.
“I have failed you as a son,” he moaned, his head dipped low, eyes raised to his left. His head jerked up and his eyes came straight forward, as he exclaimed “I have failed you as a brother...” He paused as his voice faltered, and after clearing his throat, he looked directly to his right and struggled to say, “And I have failed you as a Captain.” He shook his head, looked directly into the distance and added, “All I have to offer any of you, by way of amends, is comfort.” He bowed his head, closed his eyes and concluded, “I have failed to know my own purpose, and for that, there is no forgiveness.”
The doctor gingerly approached, holding out a cup to Marin. “Will you receive this offering?” he asked.
Marin opened his eyes and gave a startle. He looked around as if he had awoken from a dream. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Marin,” Jude said, approaching swiftly and taking the cup from the doctor’s hand. “I want you to drink this.”
Without comment, Marin reached out, took the cup, and drank the contents. “Thank you, Jude. How did you know I was thirsty?”
“First mate’s bones, Sir.”
“Your water is a little bitter,” he said to the stranger, “but still appreciated.”
The doctor retrieved the cup, nodded, and walked to the door. Jude came over to thank him.
“The opium should help him sleep,” the doctor said. “Hopefully his present state is only one of simple exhaustion.”
Marin awoke shivering, his damp clothes like ice against his clammy skin. Still somewhat disoriented, he looked around the dark interior for a few moments to regain his sense of place.
The ships bell rang signaling the end of a watch, and Marin hurried topside. An all but full moon almost cut through the densely packed clouds, providing just enough illumination to aid one’s illusions. The swift movement of the clouds across the sky gave the impression that the ship was moving much faster than it actually was. Marin made his way to the bow of the U.S.S. Fortune where he found Jude facing out toward sea. Without saying a word, Jude looked at Marin and gave an ever so sympathetic shake of his head.
“You get some sleep,” Marin told him, “I’ll watch for Phillipe.” Overcome by his own words, he bowed his head and covered his eyes.
Jude pulled Marin away from the bow, saying, “Come along with me, Captain. There is nothing left to see.”
They went below to the sleeping quarters, and Jude lay down for a well-deserved rest. After Marin had bid Jude good night, he returned to the bow and continued his search.
Commander Ernst came to his side, and said, “Well, Captain Carpenter, it is good to see you feeling better.”
Marin said nothing, but gave a nod of acknowledgement.
“We should see land by daybreak,” the commander continued, “I hope that will be a welcome sight for you.”
Again, Marin said nothing, and Ernst felt it best to retire from his side. Marin stayed at the helm, braving the cold winter winds and icy mist rising up from cold waters below. Looking out into the darkness, he understood all too well, that even if something were out there, he would not be able to see it.
December 31, 1811
When the sky at Marin’s back had begun to shift from black to blue, and the waters directly below the bow of the ship were once again visible, Marin could feel the winds shifting, coming now from the east and blowing strong against his collar. He heard the distant caws of seagulls off to the west. As the day’s light began to surround him, he heard the watchman call,
“Land Ho.”
The waters were much too rough to approach the shore and so the Commander anchored about a quarter of a mile out. A small boat approached the U.S.S. Fortune and two gentlemen came aboard. Once on deck, Ernst escorted the men to his private quarters for a chat behind closed doors. Afterward, Ernst went to retrieve Marin. Marin requested that Jude be present, but Ernst denied the request.
“Admiral Fairchild’s orders were clear, he requests a private meeting with you, sir.”
“Admiral? Since when is Fairchild an Admiral?”
The Commander chose not to answer as he escorted Marin to the cabin. As they entered, Ernst announced, “Admiral Fairchild, this is Captain Carpenter.”
The Admiral excused his assistant, as well as Commander Ernst, before addressing Marin.
“The Commander has informed me that the fate of your crew is unknown at this time. I want to assure you that the Navy will do will everything in its power to find and rescue them. I would also like to express my sympathies for the loss of your ship, Captain.”
Marin held his silence behind a stern glare into the Admiral’s eyes. As Fairchild stood waiting a reply, he grew more and more uncomfortable. Marin’s anger began to show in the tightening muscles of his jaw. The Admiral forged on.
“It is a most regrettable situation. I will do my best to see that you are at least partially compensated for the loss of your ship, although I must say, the United States Navy cannot be held totally responsible for the actions of a pirate ship. We —”
“THERE WAS NO FUCKING PIRATE SHIP,” Marin screamed while advancing toward Fairchild. The door behind Marin burst open as he was screaming,
“WE BOTH KNOW THERE WAS NO FUCKING PIRATE SHIP.”
Two men grabbed Marin from behind just as he had come within a whiskers length of the Admiral’s face; one of men was Commander Ernst, the other was Jude Prince.
“It’s alright gentlemen,” Fairchild said, stepping back. They each let go of Marin but stayed by his side as a precaution. “Perhaps we should discuss this later,” the Admiral offered.
“C’mon Captain, let’s prepare to go ashore,” Jude urged.
“What’s to prepare?” Marin barked, and turning to Fairchild added, “We have much to discuss, do we not ...Admiral? Then let us discuss it ...NOW.”
The Admiral nodded to Jude and Ernst as if to excuse them.
“I wish Mister Prince to stay,” Marin said.
“Very well,” Fairchild agreed. “Commander Ernst, you are excused.” The look on Ernst’s face revealed that he was uncomfortable with the command.
