style="font-size:15px;"> “Louie is a Frenchman. The chap likes to dress up like a woman to waylay and shanghai sailors like you.”
With my mouth open in disbelief, I sputtered, “That can’t be. She’s so beautiful!”
“In the tropics, lad, beauty can kill. You better run along to your ship.”
Thanking the officer, I shouted into the tavern for Sandy. Moments later, as we rushed towards the ship, I told him my story. As we reached dockside, my mind was still reeling from the experience. It was the first time in my life that I’d gazed upon a rose that turned out to be a weed. One thing was for sure – I had much to learn about life.
The skipper missed the evening meal and came aboard around eight bells. As he walked by me in the lamplight, I told him that I had stowed the cigars in one of the aft lockers. He was pleased, and showed me the two small boxes of cigars he carried under his arm. They were made with the new Virginian blend and were a gift from the old man.
After saying good night, I walked to the bow and smoked my first pipe with the African tobacco. Just like the rum, I found the flavor bold, bitter, and harsh.
The next evening, Captain Gray told the Mate disturbing news. Someone had over-stowed four water casks on the flagship, and the main hold would now have to be uploaded to retrieve the barrels. But because the deck was crowded with livestock, there was no room to stack the supplies. Captain Gray had suggested stowing the animals on the dock, but Captain Kendrick thought the livestock would be a temptation for harbor thieves. And, worst of all, the Commodore blamed the problem on his chief mate, Mr. Woodruff. Those two officers had had a strained passage, and now they were going at each other, verbally, in front of the crew. The skipper worried about the rancor and the delay it would bring.
Later the next morning, we learned that Mr. Woodruff had resigned and was demanding his pay. Captain Kendrick had agreed but was disputing the amount owed. Over the transoms, we could all hear the yelling of the two angry men.
Finally, out of frustration, Captain Gray went aboard the flagship and mediated an agreement. When he returned, I overheard him telling the Mate that the loss of Mr. Woodruff was a blow to the expedition. He had been third in command, was an expert navigator, and been with Captain Cook on his last voyage, when they had traded for sea otters pelts. Now he was gone.
That afternoon, the Columbia slipped her moorings and sailed to a small, grassy island in harbor. Captain Kendrick had made arrangements with the harbormaster to rent this strip of land for the livestock. After the animals were unloaded, the hatch cover could be opened and the cargo uploaded to the deck. This would take many days.
Late in the afternoon, the skipper took the longboat over to the flagship to see if they needed any help. When he arrived, he found the Commodore, bare-skinned, working with the crew in the hot hold. Mr. Haswell, the new second mate, stood topside watching the work party and talked to Captain Gray. Mr. Haswell assured him that they had more than enough hands for the uploading, although, because of the Commodore’s interference with the work gang, the process was slow going. He added that there was much discontent aboard the ship. It seemed that when the officers moved up from the vacancy of Mr. Woodruff, the Commodore’s son had gone from fifth officer to third, and that nepotism was not well received by the officers and crew.
Captain Gray gave assurances that he would talk to Captain Kendrick after the cargo problem was resolved. The skipper hoped that his words might inspire confidence and calm the dissension.
I learned all this news during the evening meal, and by eight bells the whole crew knew the scuttlebutt.
But that clamor for calm didn’t last. A few days later, the Surgeon, Dr. Roberts, asked for his discharge, claiming ill health. Captain Kendrick seemed accommodating, but only if the doctor paid for his passage. The surgeon refused, and the two men had a heated argument. Later in the day, the doctor left the flagship and reported his problems to the Portuguese governor. When the doctor failed to return from shore by the next morning, the fuming Captain listed him as a deserter. Moments after that, the governor’s brig pulled alongside the flagship with a summons for the Commodore.
When Captain Kendrick reached the government offices, he found the doctor having tea with the governor. As the Viceroy tried to mediate the difficulty, another loud argument broke out. With no hope of a resolution, the Commodore stormed out of the office, screaming obscenities at Dr. Roberts.
A short time later, while the surgeon was leaving the government house, he was approached again by Captain Kendrick. The Commodore calmly asked that he return to the ship. The good doctor declined. Irritated by his response, the Captain drew his sword and started shouting more obscenities. Luckily, some Portuguese soldiers, who had witnessed the confrontation, stepped in and broke them up.
Now the doctor was gone for good.
During all these delays, the Orphan remained quietly moored to the pier. With only light duty needed, Captain Gray began granting the crew some limited shore leave. All of those with liberty were to return to the ship by eight bells.
On my first leave, I wrapped a bandana over my hair and walked the streets, making sketches of the quaint little town. There were markets to mingle, churches to wander, and shops to explore. Now that I wasn’t the center of unwanted attention, I had a grand time.
After returning to the ship, I learned that Captain Gray had made arrangements for sending mail home. There was an American whaling ship out of Nantucket in the harbor, and she would be returning home within the year. Her Captain had agreed to take our mail at ten cents a letter. This was delightful news.
The next day, I sat at the mess table writing my letters. The first was to Father and Fredrick. It was short and chatty, telling them about the passage and the beauty of Porto Praya. I kept it all upbeat and didn’t mention any of the problems. In closing, I told them that I was learning seaman’s ways and that, when I gazed at the sunsets, I always thought of them.
Miss Becky’s letter was written more carefully, as I didn’t want to invite her father’s disapproval. In it, I wrote with praise of Captain Gray’s seamanship, and told her of the fair seas and gentle breezes of the tropics. I talked of the quaint town and its colorful people. In my final line, I wrote, “This prospect looks promising, and I’ll keep a keen eye out for that Eagle.” There was so much more I wanted to say, so many more words I wanted to write…but I couldn’t.
Having completed my letters, I took them to Captain Gray in his compartment.
When he looked up from his log, I said, “I beg your pardon sir. Here are my letters. But I have a problem.”
“And what would that be?”
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out all the coins I had. “I only have seventeen cents, sir.”
A grin crossed his face. “I guess that’s because I haven’t paid you yet.”
Reaching into a drawer, he removed a handful of coins and counted them out. “Here’s for two months, less the twenty cents for your mail. You should have reminded me earlier.”
As he handed me the money, I smiled back. “Yes, sir.”
A week later, I went on liberty with Sandy. We walked around town for a while, but it was so beastly hot that Sandy convinced me to seek the shade of a public house. Just up from the piers, we found a tavern named The Salty Dog, and went in. As we
