The green coral sea was refreshing, and I discovered that if I let go of the line, the speed of the ship pulled the hundred-foot end of the rope to my hands. When it did, I untied the pin and placed it in my month.
Marcus watched and did the same.
Now the hard part started – going hand-over-hand, against the oncoming sea. As we surfed and struggled forward, I felt a fish pock against my body. Startled, I looked over to find a porpoise swimming playfully next to me. The animal dove and twisted in the crystal clear water, then bumped me again. It was glorious.
Looking up, I spotted the Mate with his musket pointed our way. Taking the pin from my mouth I shouted, “Only a dolphin.” He withdrew his aim.
A few moments later, we reached the stern. With the crew at the rail, laughing and yelling, we were dragged aboard, dripping wet. When we handed the pins to a smiling King Neptune, he gave us each a crown of seaweed and a cup of rum. Then he welcomed us to his equator. I had read about this whimsical ceremony before, and now I had experienced it.
We slowly moved in a southwesterly direction, but, with the light and variable winds, we traveled only fifty or sixty miles a day. A week later, the Orphan was helped by the southeast trade winds, and our daily runs increased.
Finally, the island of Fernando de Noronha was spotted on the leeward side, which told the Captain that we had reached the broad shoulder of Brazil. Here, a course correction was made to follow the South American currents. By sailing south with the contour of continent, our daily runs increased to over one hundred and twenty miles. But these long runs proved tiring for the crew, and the ship still had sixteen hundred miles to travel. Soon, many of the crew started griping disrespectfully about the Captain, the food, the weather, and everything else. All this rancor made me uncomfortable, even though Sandy took me aside and told me that this was normal for a crew on a long voyage. But I still didn’t like hearing all the insults and laments.
A few days after changing course, the flagship came to an abrupt halt and raised its emergency signal flags. Quickly, the sloop came alongside and reefed sails. Then the two captains talked, using the voice horns.
From their conversation, we learned that Mr. Nutting, the astronomer, was missing. The Commodore had dispatched a party to search the ship and was waiting for their report.
Shortly, he called across that the party couldn’t find the astronomer and that they guessed that he had fallen overboard. “He was last seen by the midwatch,” the Commodore shouted.
“If he went in during the night, he’s gone,” replied Captain Gray.
“Aye…he must have drowned. Let’s get underway.”
Later, we learned that most of the crew on the Columbia believed that Mr. Nutting had gone mad and jumped overboard. He had been unstable during the voyage and an unusual addition to the expedition from the very start. He was probably the first American astronomer to view the southern skies, but there were no records to show that he had ever done so. Hopefully, with both Captains now navigating, the expedition would make more progress.
Being in the crosstree as the lookout when the seas were rough and the winds brisk was a miserable job. But when the seas were calm and the winds warm, I enjoyed the duty. Sitting in the crosstree always provided spectacular views. Some days I watched clouds stack up like firewood and see lighting behind them, like a tattered shade. Then came the thunder, rolling across the sky like cannon fire. During the night watches, there were the brilliant southern stars to admire and sometimes a bright moon. On one such night, just after a big, full moon had risen in the eastern sky, and with my mind reeling with thoughts of home, I lost all sense of time. When a bald Indian head popped up from the shrouds below, I was so startled that I about fell off my perch.
“Hopi, you gave me a start,” I yelled.
“My watch,” he said as he pulled himself to sitting position next to me.
Pointing out to the horizon, I said, “Look at that moon! Have you ever seen it so big and blue before?”
“Nay.”
Hopi was a quiet, half-breed with Wampanoag Indian blood in his veins. He shaved his head each morning, leaving only a stump of black hair at the back of his skull. That stump was tied together with leather and small sticks, allowing the long hair to fall onto his back. Other than bushy black eyebrows, his bronze head was devoid of facial hair. On one cheek, he had a tattoo of a circular blue swirl, and he wore large, round earrings on both ears. If you didn’t know him, you might think him a savage.
In the blue moonlight, I watched his face as he gazed at the moon. Then I asked, “What does your name mean in your native language?”
Turning to me, he answered, “Restless one.”
“Are you restless? Is that why you’re a sailor?”
“Aye, I search for answers.”
“Answers to what?”
Turning his gazed back to the moon, he said, “Life.”
“Have you found any?”
“Aye, many.”
After thinking for a moment, I asked the question that had been on my mind all voyage. “Would you know why the eagle is feared?”
Looking back at me, the blue twinkling ocean reflecting on his face, he thought for a moment and then answered, “Aye… because he can soar.”
This was the longest conversation I had ever had with Hopi, and his answer made me think. After all, Indians would know best about eagles.
A few days later, I helped row the skipper to the flagship for a council. After having coffee in the galley, I went to the forward rail, waiting for the meeting to end. As I heard the ship’s bell signal a watch change, I observed Mr. Haswell, the second Mate, having a problem getting a sailor to turn to. At first, he calmly approached the forecastle hatch and ordered the crewman to the deck. When he received no response, he went down the ladder.
From where I stood, I could only hear what happened next. In a firm, loud voice, Mr. Haswell ordered the sailor topside. The seaman responded with loud and scurrilous language. For a few seconds, the two men just yelled at each other, and then I heard a scuffle and the cracking of a fist. Moments later, the Mate returned to the deck with the seaman, who was holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose.
As this commotion was unfolding, Captain Gray and the Commodore came to the quarterdeck. When Captain Kendrick saw the bleeding sailor, he exploded with anger and rushed forward. He confronted the two men, but instead of supporting Mr. Haswell, he yelled at him. The Mate yelled back. With the two men now loudly cursing one another, and with all the crew watching, Captain Gray came forward to intercede. Finally, calm was restored, and the three officers moved back to the stern...but without anyone saying a word to the bleeding sailor who had started the fracas.
Still angry, Captain Kendrick would not let it go and soon ordered Mr. Haswell off the deck and told him to move from his cabin to the forecastle. The Mate agreed, if he was given leave of the ship’s company. But Kendrick would not agree to that and, after much yelling, Mr. Haswell stormed off the deck.
As we rowed back to the Orphan, the skipper sat quietly, gazing at the flagship. We had just watched the Commodore go a little berserk, and
