Hell Around the Horn

16. A Fair Wind to Chile

Will stood his trick at the helm wearing a dry shirt, open at the neck. It was the first time in months that his clothes were not wet and salty. They were making good progress up the coast of Chile, having left 50 degrees south latitude in their wake a week before. They had been seventy-one days sailing from 50 degrees south to 50 degrees south, seventy-one days rounding the Horn. The gales were behind them. All sails were set and drawing as a gentle westerly wind carried them northward. If it hadn't been for the toll taken on the ship and the crew by more than three months of the Cape Horn winter, it might have all seemed but a distant and terrible dream.

The sick and injured had been brought out on deck and were laid out on the hatches in hope that the fresh air and broken sunlight would do them some good. The rest of the crew had been busy at the washtubs, which had been broken out for the first time in months. The ship's shrouds were festooned with drying clothes, no longer salt encrusted, finally washed in something approaching freshwater.

By the middle of Will's watch, the clouds began to clear, and he stared out at blue sky for the first time in what seemed like forever. Only the shout from Mate Atkinson, "Watch your helm, dammit!" shook him from his reverie. "Aye, sir," he replied, focusing again on the compass but incapable of suppressing the smile on his face.

The captain's wife and children came up on deck. The mate hurried to get Mary Barker a chair. Amanda squealed, "Look, Mommy. The sun is shining on Daddy's water!" Little Tommy clapped his hands and chortled.

Will laughed out loud. The sun was indeed shining on a deep cerulean sea. Had there ever been a color so beautiful?

The captain and Mary were eating alone in the messroom. Captain Barker felt free to spend less time on deck now that they sailed on warmer waters and gentle winds. He and Mary spoke of the children and of times at home. He had already agreed to send them home from Pisaqua, as Mary had asked. It would pain him to lose his family's company during the long voyage that remained, but they had gone through enough, and as much as he would miss her and the children he couldn't say no.

When Walter brought them coffee, Mary turned to him and asked, "So what will you do with Mr. Rand? I imagine that you cannot keep him locked in his cabin forever.”

“I intend to bring him up on charges in Pisaqua. Mutiny is a serious matter. Even the threat of mutiny.”

Mary smiled. "But there was no actual mutiny was there? A threat is not quite the same thing. And I understand that he was an adequate mate, for most of the voyage at least.”

“You may be a touch too soft-hearted, my love. Some things cannot be so easily overlooked," the captain replied.

Mary sipped her coffee, then took a different tack. "How long will the proceedings take? And will there be expenses involved?”

“Well, that is a consideration. I hadn't given it much thought. Pisaqua is a small port. Empaneling an Admiralty court could take some time. And there would be legal expenses.”

“I just thought," Mary suggested, "that we might not wish to delay the ship further or add to our costs. Perhaps you might discharge Mr. Rand in Callao and hire a new mate in his stead. That might serve us all for the better.”

James Barker smiled. He wondered whether his wife's concerns were merciful or merely mercantile. Nothing wrong with either. She had a decent head for business, another reason to be sorry to be sending her home.

After a long absence, Mary Barker sat down again at her writing desk in the cabin. She hadn't written for so long because she had had nothing to write about, save her own misery and hopelessness. She finally felt like writing again.

Captain Barker compared his latitudes with Mate Atkinson's sight, and gave the order to turn east toward the Chilean coast. Will was almost too excited to sleep. He left his bunk before dawn and climbed the ratlines to the main crosstrees to try to catch a glimpse of the shore. Acting Third Mate Paul Nelson saw him climbing; he smiled and shook his head, remembering his first landfall and how excited he had been.

At first, Will saw nothing but unbroken horizon. Then a brown haze seemed to float on the water. It grew to a low smudge. Finally, he could just make out an indistinct line. "Land ho," Will called out. He looked down at the poop deck and saw the captain walk over to Nelson. Not long thereafter, Nelson joined Will on the crosstrees. Nelson used Will's shoulder as a brace for his telescope. "There's Chile, all right. Just where she's supposed to be." Will yelled "Yahooeeee!" Nelson just laughed.

October 28, 1905 – 139 days out of Cardiff

The harbor at Pisagua was a little more than a shallow cove on a dun-colored coast. The town was the same drab brown as the hills that rose above a barren and featureless landscape. Were it not for the other sailing ships at anchor in the roadstead, it would be have easy to sail past the harbor without noticing the nondescript hovels of the town.

Donnie, Frenchie and Fred all stood by the rail watching the ships at anchor grow slowly larger and more distinct as the Lady Rebecca stood into the anchorage. The town of Pisagua itself was in the shadow of the sun rising over the hills behind it.

“Doesn't look like much, does it?" Fred commented. After four and a half months at sea, he had hoped for more than an assemblage of dusty shacks on a treeless sunbaked hillside.

“Don't, 'cause it ain't," Donnie replied. "Nothing there, really, and the whores are about as ugly as the town. Just wait till we call at Callao. Now that's a sailor's town. You know what Pisagua means?" He cast a sideways glance at his shipmates. "Means piss water. Good name for it, too.”

“Alor," Frenchie replied. "You make that up. Didn't he make that up?”

Fred shrugged, "Agua is water in Spanish and pis means piss, so I guess it could be right.”

“Merde." Frenchie shook his head. "We sail round Cape Horn in ze winter, all for piss water?”

Captain Barker stood next to the helmsman as the Lady Rebecca ghosted under topsails into the anchorage. Mr. Rand, recently released from confinement on promises of good behavior and the understanding that he would be leaving the ship in Callao, assumed his station on the bow in charge of the anchor. Captain Barker looked over the anchorage and chose his spot. He said a few words to the helmsman, who spun the wheel, slowly bringing the bow into the wind. He nodded to Mr. Atkinson at the break of the poop. Atkinson bellowed, "Main, loose the halyard, up bunts and clews.”

Barker yelled, "Mr. Rand, let go the anchor. Three shots.”

Rand responded, "Let go the anchor. Three shots, aye." He yanked back the hand brake and a gritty red cloud rose up as the rusty chain flew through the hawse. At the third shackle, linking each fifteen-fathom shot, he hauled back on the brake and then secured the devil's claw to the chain.

“Back the fore topsail," Atkinson shouted. The ship began sailing backwards, snubbing the anchor chain. "Loose the halyard. Up bunts and clews. Furl the topsails. A harbor furl, if you please.”

Paul Nelson sent up the yellow "Q" flag, requesting free pratique from customs.

Mary Barker came up on deck. The captain walked over to her. "Welcome to Chile, my dear.”

“When may we go ashore?" she asked.

Captain Barker chuckled. "Unfortunately, we are a bit short of boats, at present. We have the signal up for customs, so they should be sending out a boat shortly. I am sure that we can arrange for additional boats from shore or from the ships in the harbor. Please try to be a bit patient, my dear. I know that that is not easy after so many months at sea.”

Within about an hour, a boatload of Chilean customs officials and an English-speaking pilot put off from the mole in a small steam launch and headed for the Lady Rebecca. After completing all the preliminary customs documents, they agreed to carry Captain Barker to shore to visit the British consul and the shipping agent.

As they pulled away from the ship, the captain did all he could to retain his composure. The Lady Rebecca sat low in the water, her freeboard less than four feet. The black hull had been scrubbed free of paint by brash ice and was now an ugly rusty red. The jib-boom was canted up while the derigged fore and mainmasts made her once lofty rig look stunted, almost crippled. He knew his ship's condition in minute detail and yet the one thing he couldn't do while sailing her was to take her all in, in one glance. Now the sight of the damage to his beautiful ship took him full aback.

He turned away. The damage to the ship was not the only damage he had to account for. Tucked beneath his arm was the official log with an account of the deaths and the injuries incurred during the voyage. He also needed to find a doctor as quickly as possible, for he feared that several of the sick would die if they did not receive medical attention soon.

He was responsible for his ship and its crew and both had suffered grievously. He squared his shoulders and straightened the blue jacket that he had saved these months precisely for going ashore. He had done all that he could do. Five or six ships simply disappeared every year attempting to round Cape Horn. He had brought his ship, its cargo and most of his crew to port. All else were the hazards of the sea. He had done his duty and if he had any doubt of that, this not the time to show it.

Captain Barker's first order of business was to present the official log to the British consul in Pisagua, an elderly gentleman named Morris, who worked behind a large desk in a small but comfortable office near the nitrate docks.

“Sir, Captain Barker from the Lady Rebecca, one hundred and thirty-nine days from Cardiff, with a cargo of coal.”

“Hunh," the consul snorted. "There was talk that you might have been lost. I understand that your agent received several telegraphs from your Mr. Shute when you were overdue, inquiring as to your arrival. Looks like you had a difficult passage, Captain. Any loss of crew?

“Four, sir. All properly logged. We also have injuries. I would like to see to it that those in need of attention are brought to a hospital to be looked after.”

“Four dead. My word. You did have a difficult passage. Well, I shall review the log and take the appropriate action. As to the sick, we do have a hospital of sorts. Not much to speak of, really, but it may serve.”

“Thank you, Consul Morris.”

The old gentleman merely nodded and Captain Barker left to find the ship's agent.

The shipping agent was a florid little man named Johnson who greeted Captain Barker warmly.

“So sorry, sir, to hear of your dreadful voyage but you have arrived and the mines are in desperate need of your coal. I regret to say, however, that several German ships have swept the coast clean of nitrates. I have been telegraphing Mr. Shute in search of alternative cargoes.”

The last statement struck Captain Barker like a hammer blow. For a moment he felt like he could not breathe. They made money transporting the coal but if there was no backhaul cargo, the voyage might still be a loss. As part owner of the ship and cargo, the loss would be his. All his dreams of establishing himself in one voyage vanished in an instant.

Barker did all he could not to show how the news affected him. His ship was damaged and would require repair, and now they had no homeward-bound cargo. He saw his dream of a highly profitable voyage slip further from his grasp.

“I have confidence in Mr. Shute." It seemed all that he could really say. "Do you happen to know when the Susannah arrived in Iquique?" He wanted to get all his bad news at once.

Agent looked dour. "I am afraid, sir, that she is overdue. There have been no reports of her anywhere on the coast.”

Captain Barker felt an instant's elation and then a deep dread. Suddenly, the idea of racing one square-rigger against another seemed a game played by children when compared to the fury of the Southern Ocean. The Susannah overdue? Given how terrible their own voyage indeed was, he would say a prayer for Captain Frederich and his crew.

Will wore what passed for his best uniform, a white shirt and pants, as clean as he could get them. Captain Barker had purchased four boats for the ship and now he and Jack had to row him to shore and back on ship's business.

He was tanned and, at long last, warm. Hot, actually, but that was just fine with him. Unlike the rest of the crew, who were stuck working on the ship, he and Jack had time ashore. They were supposed to wait by the boat but had learned how long the captain took on his rounds so they could wander the streets a bit and still be ready to row the captain back. They were even earning some pocket money smuggling pisco, the local hooch, back to the rest of the crew.

The worst part of the job had been rowing Lindstrom, Hanson and Jerry the Greek ashore to the hospital. Of the three, Jerry looked in the best shape. Shore labor was brought out to unload the cargo, while the rest of the crew were set to work on repairs. Pugsley got the pump cleared and Will enjoyed seeing the old ship floating on her lines again. Slowly her rust-streaked sides were returning to black as his shipmates on bosun's chairs scraped and painted the hull. Once again, Will has happy to be at the oars of the captain's launch.

It had only been five months since he stood on the dock in Cardiff, and yet he felt that he was entirely a different person. His shoulders were broader and waist narrower. He wore his belt was several notches tighter and had no problem hauling the oars to carry the captain across the harbor. He was different physically, but that seemed to be the least of it.

What he had lived through was only beginning to sink in. Only now were the months of storms, danger and death coming into focus. He had been too tired, too frightened and too overwhelmed to think about what he was doing or where he was. Now, in the warmth of the Chilean sun, he could marvel at his own survival and feel proud that he had carried on regardless. He smiled, thinking about the fourteen-year-old boy who had stood on the Cardiff dock five months before. He was only a few months older, but was no longer that same boy. He felt like a different person entirely. He had survived the worst of Cape Horn. No more need be said.

Within a fortnight, a squat German steamer chugged into the harbor. Two days later, all the apprentices turned to to row the captain's family ashore to meet the steamer. Paul Nelson who was still acting Third Mate volunteered to help row as well. Captain Barker, Mary and the children were in one boat, with a second reserved for their luggage. The wind had picked up, raising a short chop in the roadstead. Will and Jack, rowing the captain's boat, took special care to see that his wife and children stayed dry.

At the dock, Mary forced back tears and Amanda and Tommy hugged their father's legs until they were pulled away by their mother. Captain Barker maintained the same stoic demeanor that he wore while pacing the bridge. Will wondered if he could really be so unfeeling.

Mary and the children stepped away and came over to each of the apprentices. She gave Will a hug and little Amanda looked up and said, "And you take care of yourself, Mr. Will.”

“I will be sure to contact your parents, William," said Mary, "and tell them that you are a fine young man who will make a fine ship's officer if that is the course you choose.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barker. Thank you very much. Have a good voyage home.”

“Thank you, William.”

Mary spoke quietly to each of the apprentices, lined up on the pier, and turned to see James having a few words with the mate from the steamer, who was directing his sailors on the loading of their luggage.

James looked older than she remembered him in Cardiff. He was still a young man but his face was weathered and there was something in his countenance that seemed worn and weary. Nevertheless, at his core, he had the same vigor and determination that he always had. Seeing him now, she was amazed by that determination, the absolute, indomitable strength of will. She wondered whether it was his greatest virtue or his greatest flaw.

They had said their goodbyes in the cabin, so little more need be said. He smiled at her. "I hope the voyage is comfortable, my dear.”

“Thank you, James," she replied squeezing his hand.

His only hint of emotion was when he picked up both Amanda and little Tommy at once and hugged them tightly, for the longest time, not wanting to let them go. He seemed to be whispering something to them. Finally, he let them down. Amanda started to cry and a few moments later Tommy followed her example. "You both obey your mother. I will look forward to seeing you when I return home.”

His eyes seemed to glisten slightly and Mary wondered whether it was tears or just the wind. It didn't matter. She took her children by the hand. They turned and walked up the gangway to the steamer that would take them home.

A week later, Mr. Rand knocked at the captain's dayroom door. Once they had rounded up into the Pacific he had returned to duty as if nothing had ever happened. They agreed that he would leave the ship at Callao. The captain had in turn agreed to remove any reference to mutiny from the ship's log, always wondering if he had made the right choice in doing so. Avoiding additional cost and delay overbalanced the scale of justice.

“Come in, Mr. Rand.”

“I've changed my mind, Captain. My back still is hurting me something awful. I thought it would get better in the warmer weather but it hasn't. I think I'd like to see a doctor after all.

Captain Barker accompanied Mr. Rand ashore to see a physician that the agent had recommended. After a period of time, the doctor came out to speak to the captain.

“How is he, doctor?”

The doctor shook his head. "That man has the largest carbuncle that I have even seen in his upper back, next to his spine. It must have caused him terrible pain. We will have to operate immediately if he has any hope of survival.”

Barker was stunned. "I had no idea. He complained of pain, but...”

“You had no way of knowing. A remarkable case. I am surprised he walked in here unassisted.”

“How long will he be in hospital? I expect to sail within two weeks.”

“Then, sir, I suggest that you find yourself a new mate. If he survives the surgery, he may never walk again.”

Once back out on the street, Captain Barker stood for a moment, amazed at Mr. Rand. An excellent seaman who bore up under such physical pain, yet lacking the moral stamina to do his duty. A puzzle indeed. The best of mates and the worst of mates, Captain Barker thought, with a silent apology to Mr. Dickens.

The cargo of coal was finally discharged. The Lady Rebecca looked very much like her old self, notwithstanding her damaged masts. Will and Jack rowed the captain back from shore. He had the ship's papers and the official log signed by the British consul. Will was nearly dying from curiosity as to what it meant, where they were bound, but as still only an apprentice, thought it best not to ask. He had already heard ashore that Hanson had died in the hospital and that Lindstrom was still in a bad way. Jerry the Greek, however, was on the mend after an operation on his leg. They would be left in Pisagua with passage money home.

When the captain climbed aboard, Will followed close behind and tried to get as close to the break of the poop deck as he could so that he could hear the captain talking to the second mate.

Will walked quietly forward to pass along the news.

“Have you heard?" Fred asked Donnie.

“What?”

“Callao for repairs and then bound for Australia in ballast to load wool. The apprentice just told me.”

“Australia, is it? Well isn't that a fine kettle of mutton?”

“What do you have against Australia?”

The Irishman laughed. "Nothing at all, though if we call at Sydney, there are a couple of Sheilas who might not be happy to see me.”

“Hah," Fred replied. "You think they remember you?”

“Every time they look at their young'uns, they pr'olly do. Hear that they bear a strong resemblance.”

“And you know what else?" Fred asked. "The Susannah finally arrived in Iquique yesterday. The agent got a cable. Two hundred and seven days from Cardiff.”

Donnie hooted. "What? Two hundred and seven days? That must be some sort of record for the slowest rounding ever. So the Old Man beat the German by a month after all. Son of a bitch, I don't believe it. Amazing.”

Fred stood at the rail, looking to seaward. In the weary days, slogging against the westerlies off the Horn, he had promised himself that he would jump ship in Chile and wander a while in South America. Now, he had changed his mind. He felt no great love for the captain, but he no longer hated him, as he had for months in the Southern ocean, well, Barker was a real seaman, and that deserved respect. And like every sailor, Fred was fond of the ship. She had carried them all through the worst of gales. And Australia sounded interesting. Perhaps it was time to add the Antipodes to his world tour.

That afternoon the provisions arrived, along with a crimp's boat with six new sailors, all drugged or drunk, by their appearance. All hands turned to to secure the hatches and to store the provisions and gear.

Just before sunset, the crew began the long stomp around the windlass to raise the anchor. Donnie began singing, at first almost as if to himself. Since Harry had died, the ship had had no real shantyman. After a verse, he raised his voice and sang out, "Ooooh, I wish I was in Madame Gashay's down in Callao..."

After a moment's pause, the rest answered back, "Horrah, me yellar girls, Do'na let me go me," and Donnie bellowed, "Where the girls will grab and they never let ya go. Horrah, me yaller girls do'na let me go…"

The clank of the capstain and the click of each link of the anchor chain in the hawse kept time with the shanty until the chain was finally up and down, and the backed fore topsail broke the anchor out of the muddy bottom. With the anchor hove and catted, Lady Rebecca bore away, her topsails filling in the light air. Soon her t'gansails and royals were sheeted home and the fine ship stood northward up the coast to Callao, as Pisagua faded into the mist astern.