Mean Sun (7 page)

Greyson watched the two captains depart, then pressed his foot to one of the pirate’s chest and shoved him onto the deck.

That night we turned directly southward, leaving the dead ship still showing her stern. It was a windless, brilliant evening. The waves were placid and glassy, and my roost was a most pleasant corner to view the waxing midnight, despite the gnats that were in my eyes and mouth. Grimmel approached and observed my study,
but simply stood there in obstinate silence, occasionally darting a look here and there on the horizon.

“Venus can be seen in daylight, what months?” Grimmel suddenly demanded.

“From November to—”

“Nay!” he cut me off. “Mid-December to the end of the year, then again in January through the middle of April! On a morning shot you have a day moon, too.” He softened a bit. “You have three spheres rotating, Mr. Wren—the moon and sun, the planets, then the stars—all reeling around you, one inside the other. Paint them in your head, mister.”

For the next several minutes he threw up the names of constellations and I pointed to each with accuracy. These examinations became almost a nightly ritual, shifting from quadrant, to log line, to leeward drift. Grimmel spoke of the sea’s treachery—the deathlike stillness of the Sargasso Sea, the Doldrums; to the North, the swift and icy currents which can lull a vessel into its frozen arms and crush her hull before she can flee; of the hot trade winds to the south; of the shifting monsoon winds, gales and hurricanes. And the clouds above, which augur the secrets to these perils.

“The secret to seamanship, Mr. Wren,” Grimmel concluded, leaning so close I could smell the meat on his breath; “when the currents turn queer and the wind fitful, is to be calm in yourself. Out here in blue water there are no natural markers to betray onward movement. Sky, ship and sea can be as still as a picture on canvass. You must make a log count every hour by the hour and record your drift. If you don’t, you’re lost in Time. Remember that!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” I replied.

“You have improved some, Mr. Wren,” remarked Grimmel.

Those were Mr. Grimmel’s first encouraging words and I stammered out a thank you. I slept easier that night and for the first time enjoyed a brief reprieve from my yearning thoughts of family and home.

Grimmel, it seemed, could be won over by no man, for his friends were few. I learned more history about the man from the other crewmembers. Grimmel had been impressed at an early age
as a servant to ship’s master navigator Robert Locke, who served aboard
The Queen Anne.
He had been married for a time, and had two sons. His family, however, had been taken by the plague while he was at sea. It was said that he had taken part in a great many battles and had earned a reputation as a man of brass on these occasions. His authority as a pilot was unsurpassed.

Chapter 6

Our Dutch Friends

My difficulties with Lieutenant Brooks did not abate. He was joined in his persecutions by one of the boatswains, Mr. Trout, who carried with him in his belt a hard piece of rope he called his “starter.” At the slightest provocation I would receive a lash and a threat of more to follow. Once when I protested, I was tied up and gagged with an iron bar fixed in my mouth. Mr. Grimmel offered no protection or assistance to me.

If the truth be known, the man’s poisonous hatred bled away much of the salt in my spirit. Mr. Trout was a useful tool in breaking a man. My stomach would contract and my hands shook every time he came near.

I was taking water at the scuttlebutt one hot afternoon when he appeared out of nowhere. I responded by jostling the barrel and spilling a cup of water onto the deck. He cracked me viciously with his starter, and I began to bellow, an utterly broken man.

“Stop, Mr. Trout!” I pleaded.

“Water is more precious than your worthless hide, Wren,” he said, raising his arm to deliver another blow.

It was Lord Douglas who interceded.

“His punishment is not equal to the crime, Mr. Trout,” he declared, stepping in between us. “That is all today.”

“I take my orders from Mr. Brooks, my lord,” returned Trout.

“I will take this up with my cousin,” Greyson said. “For the time, however, I ask that you be more deliberate in your duty.”

Trout put his starter back into his belt and walked away, as did Lord Douglas. I returned to my duties, but an hour later observed Mr. Trout and Mr. Brooks conferring a short distance away. I sensed I had become a small cog in the disharmony between Mr. Brooks and his cousin. The thread of their acrimony, from the few fragments that was passed to me from others aboard, was attached
to Greyson’s Catholic family history. The one family (Mr. Brooks’) renounced the faith in favor of the King’s and gained considerable profit by the other’s refusal. Neither man, however, displayed much by way of religious temperament. By his father’s lights, Mr. Brooks had become a dissolute young man in need of proper shaping. Lord Douglas, indeed, was said to be a man sternly set on the course of reclaiming his family name.

As I watched them, Mr. Grimmel laid a hand on my shoulder.

“You have the favor of one and rancor of the other,” he said in a quiet voice, indicating Brooks with a discreet glance. “Both will bring misery on you, Mr. Wren.”

“Would you help me, Mr. Grimmel?”

“In good time,” he replied. He peered up at the sun, then handed me a quadrant. “It is near noon. Practice your shots, then go below and report to the captain. He wishes to see you.”

As Grimmel understood, I feared Lord Douglas’ kindnesses as much as I did Mr. Brook’s wrath.

To my great relief, the captain came to trust my record keeping, not for my accuracy so much as for my discretion. The records I kept would eventually find their way to the Admiralty for review. I scrupulously removed any candid and offensive remarks Captain Hearne made about those gentlemen in his more frank moments. When I reported to the captain that afternoon he had my records spread out on the table before him.

“Well done, Mr. Wren,” he said, indicating the records. “Only the glowing news.” He collected the records and held them out to me. “I trust you sufficiently now that I have been delivered the burden of reviewing these entirely.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“No, thank you, Mr. Wren,” he replied. “On a ship, order is freedom. You will come to appreciate that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Old Grimmel tells me you have the makings of a pilot.”

“He has said so, sir.”

“He is not the man to say what he does not mean.”

“Yes, sir.”

“On your way, Mr. Wren.”

I saluted and left the cabin twelve feet taller than when I had entered. It was the sustenance needed to lift my heart and endure. And it was Mr. Grimmel who had delivered it to me.

For the next few weeks Mr. Grimmel led me through the gentle art of helming a ship, which was a welcome relief from the book learning. It was a starlit night when he led me to the helm, where one of the mates stood with his hand on a stout vertical rod that disappeared down through the deck.

“This we call the whipstaff,” he said. “She’s attacked to a yoke on the tiller below. The whipstaff works opposite the tiller. If you give her a nudge to larboard, the ship will to move to starboard. Take hold of it.”

The mate, Mr. Walters, stood aside and I put my hands on the whipstaff.

“Starboard the helm!” ordered Mr. Grimmel.

I shifted the rod to my right and cheerfully received a knuckle on my head.

“You pushed in the wrong direction, Mr. Wren.”

“I cannot see above the prow,” I protested.

“A helmsmen listens for orders and does not trouble himself with a view of the sea,” he instructed. “Port the helm, starboard the helm, amid ship, these direct him which way to steer. His eyes are on the compass.”

He clapped a hand on a cupboard just before the whipstaff. In it were a candle and a compass as large as my open hand, which was fastened to a board and plainly in view. With the soft flame dancing intimately above the compass, together in its sacred little confine, it recalled a pretty church tabernacle.

“What do you notice about the construction of the closet?” inquired Mr. Grimmel.

I inspected the cupboard, which he called the closet, and saw nothing to remark on. I shrugged.

“It is all held together and fastened down with wooden pegs, no iron nails,” said Grimmel. “Iron will draw the compass. Never place anything of iron in or near her. Understood?”

“Because she won’t steer accurately, Mr. Grimmel?” I ventured.

“We don’t ‘steer’ a ship, we con her,” said Grimmel. “How does the tiller feel? Feel resistance?”

“Yes, Mr. Grimmel,” I replied, now noting a constant tension on the whipstaff.

“If you can feel the helm, she’s being governed,” he said. “When a ship draws down the helm or sucks wind, the whipstaff can be torn from your hands or you feel nothing at all, like she’s floating in air.”

“Why is that, Mr. Grimmel?”

“It means the ship gripes, Mr. Wren,” he responded. “She’s trying to tell you something is foul. The standing of her masts are too much aft or the sails are out of trim.”

Grimmel continued with the points on the binnacle compass, but I wasn’t listening. Steering the ship, with the breeze embracing me, and the stars chasing overhead was nothing short of magic.

The Scarborough continued to bruise the sea southwards. The Dutch were true to our treaty, and our ship was granted victualing rights at Arguin and Goree. There was not a Dutch ship in sight at either port, save a handful of coasters. The men were given shore leave, while the other pressed men and I stayed aboard. Captain Hearne exempted himself and most of the officers from leave and remained on board while supplies were ferried to the
Sovereign
. Soon our manger was alive with the squeal of pigs and the squabbling of chickens.

The African capital for the Dutch East India Company was Elmina, located halfway down the African eastern coast. After more than ten days of fighting fitful headwinds, I discerned lively apprehension among the officers as we drew near. Of all the Dutch colonies, Elmina was the most formidable of all.

Mr. Hines’ discussions with himself became livelier at mess when the rumors of Elmina became certain knowledge.

“About Mr. Gabriel Hines, you ask?” said Hines to Hines. “Oh, indeed, he was run through by a Dutch sword at Elmina and died a hero. A gallant fellow, mourned by all.”

“What do you say, man?” demanded Stempel with great irritation. “We don’t want that talk here.”

“Gabriel Hines will say what he pleases,” replied Hines. “A man who would trust the Dutch would trust Lucifer himself.”

“You just be ready on the gun,” Mr. Stempel retorted. “And no further remarks from Gabriel Hines, or he’ll receive a knock on the head.”

“‘Mourned by all,’” repeated Hines, stubbornly.

The morning we arrived the sunrise was hidden behind a bank of grey clouds well off in the distance, obscuring the port itself with tawny shadows. Captain Hearne had given the order to extinguish all lamps and to reef the courses and royals. We approached on cat’s paws. The Captain paced the deck, watching and listening. I stood beside Grimmel at the rail.

First one or two ships, armed Dutch traders appeared, then several more, all anchored. As the light kindled we saw nigh a hundred of the ships at anchor in the harbor, all idle and peaceful.

Through their scopes Hearne and our officers scrutinized the decks of the ships for activity, but all the ghostly hulks seemed deep in slumber. We maneuvered closer, passing within yards of one then another.

“Some ‘ave long beards, Captain,” Grimmel quietly observed. “They ‘ave been at anchor for a time.”

“It is strange that so many traders collect and sit idle,” joined Mr. Whitehead.

“What do you make of it?” Hearnes inquired.

“I don’t know, sir,” said Whitehead. “It appears they are all waiting for Judgment Day.”

“Perhaps our pirate friend was right about the opium,” replied Captain Hearne. “We’ll set out a splendid meal and invite the governor-general aboard, gentlemen. Now is the time to test our new friendship.”

As we neared the capital the town’s fortresses came into view, a broad stone wall with forty cannon directed at the sea. Flags waved atop the battlements and soldiers could clearly be discerned.