Wake of the Perdido Star (39 page)

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Authors: Gene Hackman

BOOK: Wake of the Perdido Star
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“Back off on the gig, mister! Pull back hard to port!” Quince shouted from the deck of the
Stuyvesant
.
As the ship's fantail spun slowly to port, the line from Cheatum's jolly boat passed under the
Stuyvesant
abeam of the helm, where she stuck hard on the damaged hardware of the rudder. Quince ran to the line that had passed under the ship, shouting orders to both boats simultaneously. As the jolly boat was dragged closer to the
Stuyvesant
by her caught line, Quince grabbed a new line coiled neatly on a belaying pin and tossed it to Cheatum. “Secure this line and I'll cut the old one. And Mr. Cheatum, I'll have a word with you when this be over. Rely on that.”
Cheatum secured the line. He ordered his men to take up the slack and pull hard to right the
Stuyvesant
. Jack, seated in the jolly boat, was startled by a loud commotion on board. He noticed that Quince was involved in a confrontation and was unaware of a snagged line on deck that entangled itself around Quince's left foot and came adrift from the rudder post, wrapping around a coral head. With the speed of a musket ball, Quince was swept from the deck into the sea. Cheatum, in his hostile mood, had not seen Quince disappear. But Jack and the men in the gig rowed quickly to where he had disappeared under the water. Jack dove in, bringing him to the surface.
Shaking the seawater from his eyes, Jack found Quince's right hand was a bloody mess.
Jack quickly transferred him to the
Stuyvesant
and wrapped him in blankets. Luckily the ship had cleared the inlet and the balance of the reef, drifting away from the island, for the time apparently out of danger. But that couldn't be said for Quince.
Hansumbob, Jack, Paul, and Quen-Li carried Quince below to a small berth, hard by the companionway ladder. They bundled him up with more blankets and gave him a tot of rum, which he promptly spit up.
“Leave me, lads, mind the ship,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Try to get her at least a half mile offshore, in case the wind backs around.” Jack nodded without moving, staring at Quince's mangled forearm and hand.
“Look lively now, up you go. One of you relieve Cheatum from the jolly boat and send him to me.”
Dawkins, mouth agape, left willingly. Quince's face was bathed in perspiration, his eyes wide and searching. He swore softly as Jack unwrapped the bloody bandage around his arm. The skin had been ripped from forearm to thumb and lay wrapped around the fingers like a piece of parchment. A small thread of blackened skin, stretched between the elbow and little finger, seemed to be the only thing holding Quince's arm together. The bone and muscle lay exposed, stark in their whiteness, the arm looking like a ripe fruit that had been peeled.
Jack motioned to Paul, and they moved out of earshot of Quince. “I have an awful feeling about the events of the past hour,” Paul said. “It doesn't bode well for the start of this short journey down to the
Star
.”
“I couldn't agree with you more,” Jack said. “But we have to keep alert so we'll make it. Why don't you go topside?”
Jack could hear Cheatum shouting for Quince on deck.
Mentor, working the port towing line, pointed down the companionway ladder. “He's in a berth below!”
Cheatum came rolling down the steep steps. “Bollocks! It's a helluva time for him to take to his kip if ya was to ask me.”
Jack nodded for Paul to leave.
“Who in hell do you think you're orderin' about, you trumpedup captain? If I had—” Cheatum caught sight of Quince's crushed arm. “Holy mother of God. What have you done to yourself, Skip? Jesus.”
“Never mind the blood and bones. Listen careful, now.” Quince hiked himself up on his left elbow to look squarely at Cheatum's surprised face. “I want us to forget our differences for the time being and try and get this rig safely down to our bay.”
Jack watched as the two old sea dogs spoke.
“Yes, of course . . . it's just that I can't take me eyes off that arm of yours. God, man. How did that happen?”
“When my foot got tangled in the line it pulled me overboard but not 'fore my arm got wedged between the bulwark and the chain plates. I became just another link in the line and somethin' had to give. It was my skin that lost the battle.” Quince took a quick breath. “If you and your bosom friend Smithers had been watchin', this wouldn't have happened.” Cheatum pursed his lips and dropped his head.
“As I said earlier, I'll deal with that later. For now, you are the most experienced seaman aboard and must get this ungainly barge safely to her berth next to the
Star
.”
“I've never liked you,” Cheatum said, shaking off his distracted manner. “I guess ya know that—and as you say we'll deal with our differences later. But beyond that, I want you to know I never believed in this stupid scheme from the start. Why in hell ya have ta listen to this snivelly faced lubber Jack O'Reilly, I'll not know. I've half a mind to thresh him as we speak.”
Jack took a long breath and blew it out, relaxing against a bunk.
“You'll do nothing of the kind, you ass,” retorted Quince. “The ship's in danger, can't ya recognize that? Whether we shoulda made this voyage or not is beside the point. We've committed now, and even a dunce like you must see that.”
Cheatum seemed to contemplate striking him; he probably
would have if not for Jack standing close. Quince gave him a withering glance. Common sense prevailed and Cheatum stood resolute, waiting.
“Think, man. The ship comes first.” Quince was near to passing out.
“Right. What would you have me do?” Cheatum stood with his arms locked firmly behind his back, jaw set. He was not unlike a punished schoolboy, Jack thought, waiting for further instructions.
“Keep her pointed easterly as long as possible, giving yourself plenty of sea room off this northern shore.” Breathing heavily, Quince dropped back down flat on the berth. “Don't try to cut too close to the cape at the end of the island. Once around the cape, you'll be able to see the islet and the mast of the
Star
. By any means possible, try to make land before nightfall. You'd be in extreme danger if you're caught between this mass of islets if night comes.”
“We're making maybe a knot,” Cheatum proclaimed. “How would you have me get this whale of a craft 'round this cape and then start beatin' into the southerly winds? We'll be goin' fantail to the north with no canvas up.”
“Use your seamanship, lad. Use every bit of knowledge you've squirreled away in that blockhead of yours. Think, man. I'm about done in. Think.”
“I can't think of a way to move this vessel against the wind without sail. The jolly boat and the gig being rowed and towing this hulk won't do it. We need sail.”
Quince again rose up on his left elbow. “When the explosion occurred, it took away the mizzen and the backstay for the main and the foremast. Don't bother to try and brace the main. Concentrate on securing the foremast, run several lines from the foremast just above the fore topsail yard, secure them aft on port and starboard on the chain plates. That should brace the foremast well enough for a working jib. Only use it to swing the bow 'round and in very light air when tacking. It should give you enough headway
to maneuver. With the jolly boat and gig pullin', it should be enough.”
Jack smiled. Even half unconscious, Quince was a better seaman than Cheatum fully awake.
Cheatum worried his lower lip. “Any first-year apprentice could have told me that. I thought ya had an idea.”
“Whatever you do, don't use more than a small jib or you'll have the mast in the water. And splinters up your arse,” Quince continued, ignoring Cheatum's attitude.
Jack saw Cheatum gawking at Quince's battered arm and thought the second mate wanted to poke at it with his dirty index finger. Instead, without a word, Cheatum walked slowly out of the ill-lit berthing area.
Jack went aloft, securing lines run up the ratlines by Paul and several sailors. The work on bracing the foremast proceeded slowly. Cheatum was used to giving orders and having men jump to, but with nine men running the small boats, there were few to do the heavy hauling of double and triple lines up the mast and cinching them to the chain plates with block and tackle, as he had commanded. By late afternoon they had a working jib up, and at least directionally they were able to guide the ship without the small boats having to do so much of the work.
It seemed apparent to Jack, though, that the crew would not make the islet this day. They were close enough to shore to set a kedge and secure the small boats. Once back on board the ship, the men, who had been rowing all day, collapsed on deck.
“There has to be a better way of moving this hulk,” an exhausted voice rose from the group.
“There is,” Cheatum said, staring up at the foremast. “Tomorrow I'll run out a staysail, and if need be, a reefed foresail.”
“Will she hold?” Mentor asked. “Those lines ya ran today look pretty flimsy.”
“She'll hold, and you just mind your own domain and leave runnin' of the ship to me.”
“I don't know who put you in charge. But I for one will be glad to see Mr. Quince back on his feet.”
“Listen to me, you poor excuse for a bosun.” Cheatum took hold of Mentor and jerked him up quickly. “It don't matter none who put me in charge. I'll beat the living daylights out of any man who wants to argue with me. Quince, from the look of his arm, ain't gonna be back, so quit your bellyachin'.” Cheatum dropped him and strolled to the port rail. Smithers joined him and they spoke together quietly.
Jack, sitting against the starboard rail, wondered how long it would be before there was serious trouble on the
Stuyvesant
. Without Quince, it seemed impossible to accomplish all the tasks that needed to be done on the
Star
. But Jack was determined to get the
Peter Stuyvesant
and the
Star
mated, and if he had to put Cheatum and Smithers in their place, so be it.
Quince was in distress. Hansumbob had put himself in charge of trying to make him comfortable but there was very little that could be done. He carefully peeled Quince's skin back over his arm, cleaning it as well as he could. One of the problems was that the arm was broken, the exposed bone fragments piercing the already battered flesh.
“Hansum, get Peters to sew me up so I'll start to healin'.” Quince's lips were parched, his skin cold.
“There be plenty of time to sew ya up, Mr. Quince. The wound needs to clean itself. There be tar and who knows what else in that arm. Just you mind what Ole Bob has to say, there be time.”
It had been nearly twenty hours since the accident, and Jack knew the first mate had been in excruciating pain since. He lay back, weak and disconsolate.
By mid-afternoon the following day, the
Stuyvesant
had made it three quarters of the way across the bay toward the small islet. But
a contrary breeze picked up and the large ship made little headway. Smithers and Cheatum were at the bow, peering longingly at the islet shore, less than a half mile away. Jack and a few other restless souls stood nearby.
“Cheat, you're going to have to make a decision soon as to what to do; ya can't stay out here tonight,” Smithers said. “Who in the hell knows where we'll drift to, with this little setup. We could be on the rocks by mornin'. And we can't anchor probably for another six hours, if then, as we won't be close enough in.”
“All right, men, hear this,” Cheatum said. “We're going to have to man the boats again. We're not making enough way. And should we be caught out here tonight if weather comes, we'll be lumbered.”
The men grumbled but set to in the small boats. By midnight they arrived at the small islet and dropped anchor. Still, they were another half day from getting the ship safely around the southern side to the small protected bay where the
Star
lay fantail to the wind. With no real leadership, the men were tired and angry, taking to arguing and blaming each other for their plight. Little work was done, and Cheatum seemed torn between shouting and threatening. On occasion he would drift off by himself, or complain to Smithers.

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