Rich Man's Coffin (3 page)

         
Arthur lifted himself timidly, sipping from the jigger without tipping it, and replied with a slight slur. “Thank you, sah.”

         
The Captain reclined.
 
“Now, Arthur.
 
The First Mate tells me that you want to be a whaler.
 
Is this true?”

         
“Yes, sah.
 
I hear it's good.”
 
Said Arthur. The brisk harbor air washed through an open porthole and flooded his gently plied mind. Staring at the bright white walls, his eyes began to swim.

         
“That’s excellent,” replied the Captain.
 
“Because we have an offer that you cannot refuse.”
 
The Captain’s words echoed in Arthur’s ears.
 
“Right now, we have several openings which we are hoping to close.
 
We have made some changes within our staff, and we are looking for some very quality personnel to fill the gaps around here.
 
There are some general seaman jobs available; however, there are also a handful of other, more select positions which we are offering to the right people.”

The thought of the job swirled in Arthur’s head.
 
Where was the Master dragging him by the cuff?
 
Where is the whip?
He wondered.

The Captain continued, “Now, you are a Negro, are you not?”

         
Arthur snapped out of his daydream, stammering, “Y-yes... I believe so.
 
My folks came from Africa first, if that’s what you mean.”

“That is fine.
 
You have never sailed in a ship yourself, though, correct?”

         
“No.”
 
Said Arthur.

         
“Very well.
 
Now, I understand that your people have had some hard times in this country.”

         
“What do you mean?”

         
“Well, with this issue of slavery and gross mistreatment and such.
 
You see, our laws don’t allow any of that in my country.
 
I don’t own slaves, for sure, nor would I want to.
 
With all of this talk about liberty, freedom, and justice that this country brags about
 
--
no offense to you
 
-- we just think that your people are not sharing in those so-called ideals.
 
We want to help you.”

         
“Well, you know, I’m all right, sah.
 
We get along all right.”

         
The Captain paused, turned to his First Mate who gave a nod, and then said, “Well, Arthur, my point is, we’re prepared to charge you with a commission on this fine vessel which will elevate your privilege beyond what the average sailor will experience during the next few months at sea.
 
Here it is:
 
I want you to be my personal assistant, to be by my side in all of my most sensitive operations, and to take care of some very important jobs for me.
 
How does that sound?”

         
“I don’t know, sah.
 
If you’ll have me, then I guess I’ll try.
 
Jes’ don’t give me something too important to handle. I don’t want to mess somethin’ up.”

         
The Captain slapped his palm down on the desk, and exclaimed, “Arthur!
 
I think you’ll do just fine!
 
I think that you’ll find that this opportunity is just what you’ve been looking for.
 
From what we’ve seen already, we really want you!
 
Do you think you can handle it?”

         
Arthur considered his options.
 
It was either brave the cold in Philadelphia scouring for work, or who knew what else, he thought.
 
This offer sounded like the answer to his prayers and persistence.
 
He perked up. "Well, yes sah!
 
I'll do the job."

         
The Captain smiled and nodded.
 
"That's the spirit, Arthur.
 
You'll see that you've made the right choice.
 
Now, there's a small matter of a contract that we need to square away. Then the First Mate can see you to your quarters and get you your uniforms."
 
The Captain's smile began to slip away and his movements became less hurried as he rifled through his drawers.
 
"Ah, here it is.
 
Now, this just states that you agree to provide service to the ship for one full year in return for berthing and grub, and the rest is just quite simple, really.
 
You can read it later.
 
Just sign here."
 
Said The Captain, as he slid the contract across the desk with a single, middle digit turned straight down. He handed Arthur a quill with his free hand while holding the paper in place with his sharply pointed finger.

         
Arthur hesitated.
 
He had signed his name only once in his life.
 
As before, he carefully scrawled a large
A
, followed by some wavy lines.
 
It sufficed.
 
The Captain snatched the contract back and held it up to his knitted brow.
 
He motioned for the First Mate, who stepped forward and hurriedly signed as a witness. The Captain lit his wax stick and smashed his official seal onto the document.
 
He tossed the paper with a spin to the side of his desk and folded his hands behind his head.

         
"Very well.
 
That is all.
 
The First Mate will explain everything to you. Mate, see the Cabin Boy to his chamber, if you would be so kind."

         
The First Mate stepped up to Arthur and said, "Let's go, sailor." He pointed to the door.
 
Arthur stood, confused, and shuffled out.
 
He stopped down the passageway a bit, realizing that the First Mate had not followed him.
 
Arthur heard low voices again.
 
He heard the Captain say,
...and douse that nigger down.
 
Jesus Christ, he smells worse than a dead whale.
 
When he's dried and dressed, have him empty my chamber pot.
 
Then have him pump the bilge. I can see shite floating around down there.
With that, the Captain and the First Mate began laughing insanely. The First Mate came bounding out.

         
"Aye, aye, Captain."
 
He chuckled grotesquely, as he curtly shooed Arthur down the passageway.

Chapter 4

"Station the piloting party!"
 
Yelled the First Mate at regular intervals as he roved the ship.
 
It was a cry that struck dread and ecstasy alike in the hearts of sailors, depending on the time of day, condition of weather, or purpose of the particular port of call at hand.

         
This day it came at dawn on a clear and beautiful April morning.
 
It was only the second time that Arthur had heard the order issued, the last having been departing Philadelphia.
 
Now, more than two months later, the command came as a welcomed announcement that heralded the impending mooring of the ship to dry land.
 
Arthur would walk on earth once again, he thought, at a place that his shipmates had raved about in anticipation for weeks. They had even begun to sing songs about this wonderful destination, called Rio de Janeiro.

         
The ship had been forced to sail a course well outside the Gulf Stream, and in so doing, had avoided all of the Caribbean Sea and its legendary liberty spots.
 
Arthur had suffered rolling ocean for seventy-five straight days.
 
He looked forward to escaping the confines of the ship, and to eating something other than the sailor’s soup of hard bread boiled soft in seawater.

         
The ship had been well supplied at the beginning of the voyage, with extra stocks of bulk items being stacked in passageways and other hidden places; but, one by one, certain things had begun to run out at different times throughout the trip, until all that remained was the barest essentials of survival.
 
The coffee had been one of the last things to go, and its absence compounded the misery of missing tobacco.
 
The crew was a insufferable lot.
 
Leaving their vices for wishes, they fell prey to the monotony of austerity at sea.
 
Sometimes the wind was the only sound that shunned the silence, and it was said that a man's suffering its singular song for hours on end could either soothe him or send him senseless.
 
It never bothered Arthur much.
 
He would simply hum a tune to himself while the wind howled wickedly.

         
Seasickness was another scourge that had passed Arthur over.
 
The other sailors had warned him about it, and they had even watched
the Negro
, as they called him, to see how he responded to the swells. Their fears came to naught, as Arthur often watched in modest amusement when several of his more salty shipmates would sour a freshly swabbed deck with their unsettled stomachs.
 
To their surprise, Arthur took readily to the sea.
 
He sensed his shipmates' doubts, but he brushed them all aside, swinging freely through the rigging.
 
His cavalier performance on deck and his knack for learning knots endeared him to some of the bolder buccaneers onboard.

         
So much so, that it even came to the attention of the Captain.
 
He assigned Arthur several tasks, many of them more menial in nature than usual.
 
Arthur was extremely eager to fulfill the Captain's wishes for the first forty days, carrying out his duties to the last dirty detail in an effort to please his new boss.
 
But it seemed to Arthur that the harder and more meticulously that he worked, the more that the Captain expected him to do.
 
Arthur didn't mind at first, being used to working tirelessly without appreciation. He felt the Captain's actions as mild agitation at most.
 
Then, as Arthur's duties began to span to other ship's posts such as rigging seaman, Lookout watch, galley wash, and the like, the Captain continued to increase his demands on Arthur in his role as Cabin Boy.
 
It was as though the Captain had turned a blind eye to the significant and additional amount of work that Arthur had recently been required to perform. The Captain seemed to completely disregard the importance of Arthur’s operational duties in favor of little meaningless tasks that he began to heap on Arthur more and more.
 
Arthur tried to work faithfully without any personal opinion or attitude about the matter, but after a time he began to grow weary of it. He could not help but feel strained under the burden.
 
It seemed to Arthur that the Captain was trying to work him to death, out of spite in some secretive, unspoken way.
 
The situation confused Arthur.
 
It was not the amount of work that bothered him, just the way that the jobs began to conflict in timing and importance.
 
Arthur felt silly wondering why the Captain would undermine his own authority by contradicting himself.
 

The more Arthur thought about it, the less it made sense.
 
There was no humanly possible way to complete the tasks in the order and the time that the Captain assigned them to him.
 
One evening, the First Mate came to Arthur as he was helping to set a gyb, and told him that the Captain requested to see Arthur immediately.
 
Not wanting to release the boom and send the ship careening, Arthur stated that he would be there as soon as possible.
 
No sooner than the words had left his mouth, it seemed to Arthur, the Captain was standing by his side with the First Mate.

         
"What's this I hear about your disobeying my orders?"
 
Asked the Captain.

         
Ropes in raw hands, Arthur said, "Sah, no sah, I didn't disobey.
 
I jes' can't do two things at once."

         
"Step down from your post and come with me!"
 
The Captain shouted.