A Press of Canvas: Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy Page 4

  This time, he thought, it would not be a simple chore, as it was when they furled the t’gallants some six hours before. Now the wind was up, the sails straining in their buntlines and the braces and bowlines taut as ever they might be. The waisters had to brace the yards around to spill the wind from the sails so the topmen could reef or furl as necessary. Timing for the evolution was critical, and a false move aloft or the early release of a halyard or sheet on deck could result in loss of life. The first sail to be dealt with would be the mains’l, or as most called it, the course. The yard was hauled around to spill the wind, and the sheet was eased. The men aloft, under Ben Jakes, moved out on either side of the yard, both hands on the jackstay, and feet shuffling crablike on the footropes. When they reached their assigned positions on the yard, Jakes bawled out the order to furl. Leaning over the yard, now with an arm through a convenient becket, the men grabbed the wildly flapping canvas and hauled it up over the yard, tucking it between their bodies and the yardarm. Once it was up, brails and gaskets were passed and the sail was secure. On order from below, the topmen moved up to the topmast and the main tops’l yard which the waisters were already beginning to ease down. When it was lowered sufficiently to tie in a reef, the men went out on the yard and repeated the ballet they had performed on the main yard, effectively reducing the sail area.

  As the job finished, the maintopmen came down off the mast, some by “riding the backstays” other more conservatively down the shrouds and their ratlines. The foremast hands started aloft while the waisters and heavers moved forward on the gyrating deck, trying to maintain their footing, sometimes knee-deep in the water rushing down the length of the ship, and find a secure hold on their assigned halyard, brace, or sheet. The foretops’l and course would be furled, leaving only a forestays’l up to give the ship some weatherly ability. To say the work was dangerous was understatement at its finest; the thrashing canvas could knock an unprepared man off the yard in a trice. From there, the next stop was the deck or the sea. In either case tonight, a fall was a death sentence; there was no way a man in the water could be found even if a boat could be put over the side without foundering in the heavy seas.

  Working beside his men on the foreyard, Isaac Biggs kept one arm through a becket with his splayed bare feet seeming almost to grip the footrope. As the forecourse was hauled up by the men below, he and his other foretopmen took handfuls of the stiff canvas sail and tucked it between the spar and their bodies, much the same as the men on the mainmast had done. When they had all of the sail thus hauled up – not an easy task by any means – they would pass the gaskets and secure it to the yard. As the sail area was reduced, the ship seemed to stand a little straighter and labor less, but the frenzy of the elements was not diminished a whit; in fact, up on the foreyard, the storm seemed more ferocious than below. The roar of the wind made it almost impossible to hear a shouted word unless it was from the man next to you. The rain, driving horizontally, made everything slick, and the footropes under the yard were swaying crazily with the motion of the ship, amplified ten-fold at the main or foretop.

  The fores’l was almost furled now, and after taking the final few tucks, the topmen would pass the gaskets around the spar and sail. After that, they would move up to the tops’l yard and furl that sail. The men worked at their task without thought of the peril of their jobs – it was instinctive to keep an arm through a becket, or hang on to the jackstay while engaged in this dangerous enterprise. Biggs felt a hand grabbing at his soaked nankeen shirt and the footrope jerked under his feet. He turned to look at the man next to him, Reese, thinking he was trying to get his attention by pulling at his shirt, and to his surprise, saw no one next to him on the yard. Reese wasn’t there! There were only five men on this side of the yard. The footrope was swaying crazily and he heard a faint shout over the scream of the wind. Biggs realized the screaming he was hearing wasn’t just the wind and, following with his eyes the additional sound to its source, saw Reese, wide-eyed in fear, hanging onto the footrope, suspended over the deck with nothing but wind and rain between him and perdition. Reese looked up at Biggs imploringly. Isaac could see his shipmate’s mouth forming words, and only by listening carefully could he make out, “Help me, Biggs.” Reese was screaming it, but the wind snatched the words away before anyone could hear them. Biggs loosened his hold on the becket and eased himself down to where he was almost sitting on the footrope. Grabbing a handful of Reese’s shirt, he shouted at him. “Take hold o’ my hand, Reese! You got to let go of the footrope; I won’t drop you.” Reese, clearly terrified, had a death grip on the footrope. There was not a chance in Hell he would let go of the only thing between him and the deck!

  Suddenly, Biggs saw another of his foretopmen beside him on the footrope reaching for Reese’s arm. With a secure grip on it, he pulled up and Reese, realizing he would not now fall, let go of his hold, making it possible for the two men to pull him to a sitting position on the footrope. When they were standing up and holding on to the jackstay, Biggs shouted at Reese.

  “What happened, Reese? Did you slip?” For answer, Reese moved down the yard a few feet and picked up the becket he was using while furling the foresail; it was in two pieces, and even in the driving rain and pitch darkness, Biggs could see it had been cut so that only one strand of the three normally there would take the load imposed on it. Naturally, as soon as Reese had leaned into it, it parted and, losing his balance in the violent motion of the mast and pummeled by the shivering sail, he fell. It was only through his experience and quick reaction that he was able to grab the footrope, and save himself from a certain death. The words Reese shouted were indistinguishable, but the look on his face, white with the realization of his close call, was not. Biggs motioned to him to go down to the deck and he and the remaining foretopmen finished furling the sail quickly. After moving further aloft, to the tops’l yard, with his men to perform the same task there, he made a final check to ensure everything was secure and as was his habit in weather good or bad, Biggs took the fast way down, sliding down the tops’l downhaul to the deck. He was followed by two of his men, the others preferring the windward ratlines as safer in bad weather.

  Biggs and his men found Reese heading aft on the heaving deck, oblivious to the seas sweeping it, and the wind driven rain and spray making the atmosphere palpable. They caught up to him as he grabbed onto the pin rail at the foot on the mainmast, more to keep from washing down the deck than for balance. Seeing the look on his face, Biggs and one of the men who accompanied him, took his arms and steered him to the after end of the deckhouse, more or less out of the wind and water. In the darkness and frightful weather, neither the waisters handling sheets and braces for the men furling the mizzen tops’l and reefing the spanker, nor O’Malley who was supervising the task, were aware of anything save the chore at hand.

  “What the Sam Hill are you doing?” shouted Biggs as they ducked into shelter. He wiped his dripping face, pushing back his sodden curls, as he peered deep into his fellow topman’s eyes.

  “I know how that becket came to be cut like that, Biggs. It was Jakes’ done it. I know. He wanted me to cut it so you would fall. I didn’t play his game and he must’a’ found someone else, or done it hisself.” The older man’s eyes again grew wide, this time in anger.

  “That’s serious business, Reese. If it ain’t true, Jakes’ll rightly have your ass.” One of his mates from the foremast looked hard at him and then at Biggs, to whom they all looked for leadership. “Why do you think Jakes done it, and not someone else?”

  “Jakes told me afore the watch changed that if I helped him, he’d make me captain of the foretop. Said Biggs would fall and that no one would be the wiser, long as I kept my mouth shut.” Reese forced his words out through clenched teeth. “I told him I wouldn’t be part of killing someone, least of all Biggs. Then he said I better watch my own self, or I’d have an accident. I’m gonna gut that whoreson.”

  Isaac’s brow furrowed as he considered the problem.
“Hold on now, Reese. Let’s see what Mr. Clark thinks about this. We’ll get to him as soon as Jackson’s men finish on the mizzen. He’ll know what to do. For now, we got to go on watch.”

  The final part of shortening sail was coming along nicely, and the ship was starting to once again behave like the lady she was, handling the sea with dignity and grace. While still the occasional wave did thunder down the deck, making use of the safety lines imperative, walking and working on deck again became possible. All that remained was to tie in a reef on the spanker, the big fore and aft sail rigged to the mizzenmast. O’Malley stood on the after end of the quarterdeck, next to the sheet for the big mizzen boom, waiting for the men on the peak and throat halyards to take their positions for easing same. He would signal the helmsmen to bring her up a trifle so that the mizzen would shiver some and allow the sail to come down enough to tie in a reef.

  Seeing that all was ready, he blew his whistle and waved his arm; the men on the wheel brought the ship’s bow closer to the wind. If they brought her up too high, they ran the risk of backing the reefed main tops’l and stopping the forward motion of the ship; if they didn’t get the bow up enough, the men tying in the reef on the mizzen would have to deal with a sail that might as well have been carved from wood as made from flexible canvas. O’Malley watched the helmsmen and the main tops’l; he saw the tops’l begin to shiver, and shouted to the men at the wheel.

  “Hold her there…meet her.” His words were barely audible over the sounds of the storm, but the men hanging onto the ship’s wheel heard and obeyed. Unfortunately, at that moment, the wind decided not to cooperate and shifted a point to the south. This caused the tops’l to back, briefly, but more importantly, the shift caused the mizzen to shiver violently. O’Malley, seeing that the tops’l was backed and that the ship was in danger shouted to “Pay off” and “Let her head come down!” Captain Smalley had also seen the situation developing and had stepped to the wheel to add his weight to the effort of the four men trying to correct the problem before Anne had lost headway, or worse, begun to make sternway, a condition which could tear off the rudder. O’Malley, seeing there was nothing he could do in that direction, looked at the mizzen boom and saw one of his men hanging on to the sheet tackle, trying apparently to tame the wildly thrashing sail. Shouting “Hang on,” he stepped aft without a second thought to grab the hapless seaman before the boom shook him into the sea. He had managed to get a hand on the sailor’s trousers to guide him to the deck when, with a stunning crash, the sail filled. With the sheet tackle loose, there was nothing to stop the sail as it filled, and the heavy block slammed into the second mate. Backwards over the taffrail he fell, his head pretty well stove in. For the hands under the mizzen boom, time stopped as they watched O’Malley tumble into the churning froth of Anne’s wake. Instantly, he was gone.

  The cry “Man overboard!” sprang from half a dozen mouths simultaneously. The words were unnecessary as both the captain and Mr. Clark had seen the accident, but their instinctive reaction to heave to and get a boat in the water had to be overcome tonight; no small boat would make ten feet before foundering. The captain shouted above the storm at his mate; “I don’t think there’s anything we can do for him. I can’t risk a boat and crew in this sea, and bringing Anne to would do no good without we put the cutter over.”

  “Looked to me like his head got stove in by the boom, Cap’n. My guess is that he was dead when he cleared the rail.” The mate said, trying to ease his and Captain Smalley’s frustration and guilt over being unable to rescue their shipmate.

  Clark moved aft and took charge of the stunned men left leaderless when O’Malley was killed. His calm and commanding presence brought them back to their unfinished task, and they moved to carry out his orders.

  “Ease the halyards now. Lively there. Reefers, get your reefs tied in smartly now.” And finally, “take up the slack in the halyards. Belay and secure.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Burial at Sea

  “Mr. Clark, pass the word for the crew to assemble in the waist for the memorial service, if you please. I am going to my cabin. Please join me for a word or two, and when the hands are mustered, have Mr. Jakes send Billy for us and we’ll lay Mr. O’Malley’s spirit to rest.”

  “Aye aye, Cap’n.” Clark turned to Ben Jakes who was enjoying the warm and pleasant weather at the rail near the quarterdeck. He had a self-satisfied smirk on his face, and seemed to be thinking that things were going quite well for Mr. Benjamin Jakes, Third Mate, and soon, he thought, to be named second mate. “Jakes, since you seem to have taken on as acting second, call the hands to attend the service for O’Malley. When we get done with it, I’ll want to have a word with you in private.”

  As Jakes started to move off to muster the crew, Clark turned and disappeared into the deckhouse, heading for the captain’s cabin as he had been ordered to do. He went down the ladder to the berthing deck and headed aft through the mates’ dining compartment. The captain’s door was closed, and Clark knocked once on it, getting a response almost immediately. He walked into the cabin, and stood with his hat in his hands waiting for the captain to look up from the chart he was studying at his writing table.

  “Sit down Mr. Clark. I was checking our position and figuring when we might expect to pick up St. Maarten. Near as I can see, we didn’t lose too much to the storm, and with this nor’easterly holding steady, we should see the mountains during the morning watch – probably at first light – tomorrow. Means we’ll be in St. Bartholomew by supper time, assuming we don’t run afoul of any privateers and have to run for it.”

  “Aye, sir. I understand from the carpenter that the hold is drying out. Says the water we shipped during the storm never damaged the cargo since we got on the pumps right quick and kept the level down. Without we unload the holds, I can’t check the hull for damage, but I’m thinkin’ there won’t be much when we do. Maybe a little caulkin’ be necessary, but we’d still be shippin’ water if there was more ‘n that. The usual hour a watch on the pumps has kept her pretty dry. Aloft, as you know, we made out pretty good; only problem was the maintops’l yard splittin’ and Jakes’s men replaced that yesterday, right after the storm blew itself out. No, I think old Anne’s in pretty fair shape.”

  “That she is, Mr. Clark. That she is. I’m more concerned about the men than the ship right now, though. With O’Malley gone, we need to have a new second, and I’m not real easy with putting Jakes into the job. I don’t trust him, and although he’s a fine seaman, the second’s job is more than seamanship, as you know. I’m thinkin’ that maybe we won’t name anyone to the position until after we get to St. Bartholomew. We might find us a better man there, and we shouldn’t have no trouble making the island without a second. You and Jakes’ll just have to take up the slack.”

  “That’ll be no problem for me, Cap’n. I’ll take O’Malley’s watch with the starbowlines. Jakes’ll have to pull a little extra weight too, but I’ll take him out of the maintop to free him up some. I don’t know who we’ll put on as captain of the maintop, but I guess Jakes can make that selection. I want to leave Jackson on the mizzen – he’s got him a bunch o’ landsmen with him, and they need to be watched pretty close so’s no one gets hurt. What are you gonna do if you don’t get a new second in St. Barts? I don’t think we wanta sail home without a qualified second mate. Also, O’Malley was pretty good with the carronades, and Jakes don’t know the gun tackle from the touch hole on ‘em. We need someone what knows guns as well.”

  “Aye, that we do. I’m sure we’ll find some men in St. Bartholomew who’ll ship as gunners. The second concerns me more, but there’s nothing I can do about it at sea. I guess we’ll have to see which way the wind is blowin’ when we get there. Let Mr. Jakes know he’s not going to be named second mate. I don’t ‘spect he’ll be real pleased. He’s been kinda puffin’ some since the weather cleared. Guess he thought he’d slip right into it. I wish I trusted the man, but you know as well as me he’s selling sh
ip’s stores ashore. I’d like to catch him up in it and have done with this whole mess once and for all. I can’t put him ashore on suspicion, so until we catch him, I think we’ll let him stew for a while; maybe he’ll slip up.”

  “Yessir,” nodded Clark. “Biggs, the Captain of the Foretop, was tellin’ me just the other day ‘at he was missin’ some blocks and spare line he kept for emergencies on the foremast. Said none o’ his men moved ‘em. One of the maintopmen musta said something, cuz Biggs seemed to think Jakes had something to do with the stuff goin’ missin’. I also heard some scuttlebutt that Jakes was involved with a foretopman fallin’ durin’ the recent weather. Nobody’s hurt or missin’ so’s it couldn’a been much, and Biggs ain’t said a word to me ‘bout any of his men fallin’. I think we’d best keep a weather eye on Mr. Jakes for the next few days.”

  On deck, the men were assembling from throughout the ship. Since it was late in the morning watch with fine weather and moderate seas, there was only routine maintenance being performed, and the men not on watch were sewing clothes, dozing, and taking their ease forward. They stood in a loose formation, more in groups based on jobs, as was their habit when mustered, in the waist of the ship, forward of the quarterdeck to await the appearance of their captain and the start of the memorial to their late second mate. While only a few men had actually seen the accident, all had heard, and were genuinely sorry to have lost O’Malley – for two reasons: O’Malley was well liked throughout the ship by almost everyone. He was known as a friend, and could be counted on to lend a hand when needed, even though a ship’s officer. They also grieved because, in all likelihood, Ben Jakes would be named second in the natural progression of things; if not permanently, at least until the ship returned to Boston or received word from their owner’s agent confirming or denying the advance. Of course, only a small few of the men knew that there was a reason why Jakes should not have the promotion. With the death of O’Malley, Reese’s problem seemed to pale , and neither he nor Biggs had yet talked to the first mate about their suspicions that Jakes had tried to murder a foretopman. In fact, with the passage of a few days, the incident had not seemed quite as pressing as it had when Reese came off the foreyard with the intent to “…gut that whoreson.” Maybe the becket had not been cut; maybe it was frayed and worn, and the strain put on it by the topman in the storm had sufficiently weakened it so that it parted…or maybe not.