Shock Wave

THE LEGACY

September 17, 1876

Aberdeen, Scotland

After Scaggs’ return to England and a brief reunion with his wife and children, Carlisle & Dunhill offered him command of their newest and finest clipper ship, the Culloden, and sent him to engage in the China tea trade. After six more gruelling voyages, in which he set two records, Bully Scaggs retired to his cottage in Aberdeen, worn out at the early age of forty-seven.

The captains of clipper ships were men grown old before their time. The demands of sailing the world’s fleetest ships took a heavy toll on body and spirit. Most died while still young. A great number went down with their ships. They were an elite breed, the famed iron men who drove wooden ships to unheard-of speeds during the most romantic era of the sea. They went to their graves, under grass or beneath the waves, knowing they had commanded the greatest sailing vessels ever built by man.

Tough as the beams inside his ships, Scaggs was taking his last voyage at fifty-nine. Having built up a tidy nest egg by investing in owners’ shares on his last four voyages, he was providing his children with a sizable fortune.

Alone after the death of his beloved wife, Lucy, and his children grown with families of their own, he maintained his love for the sea by sailing in and around the firths of Scotland in a small ketch he’d built with his own hands. It was after a brief voyage through bitterly cold weather, to visit his son and grandchildren at Peterhead, that he took sick.

A few days before he died, Scaggs sent for his longtime friend and former employer, Abner Carlisle. A respected shipping magnate, who built a sizable fortune with his partner, Alexander Dunhill, Carlisle was a leading resident of Aberdeen. Besides his shipping company, he also owned a mercantile business and a bank. His favorite charities were the local library and a hospital. Carlisle was a thin, wiry man, completely bald. He had kindly eyes and walked with a noticeable limp, caused by a fall off a horse when he was a young man.

He was shown into Scaggs’ house by the captain’s daughter, Jenny, whom Carlisle had known since she was born. She embraced him briefly and took him by the hand.

“Good of you to come, Abner. He’s been asking for you every half hour.”

“How is the old sea dog?”

“I fear his days are numbered,” she answered with a trace of sadness.

Carlisle looked around the comfortable house filled with nautical furniture, the walls holding charts marked with daily runs during Scaggs’ record voyages. “I’m going to miss this house.”

“My brothers say it is best for the family if we sell it.”

She led Carlisle upstairs and through an open door into a bedroom with a large window that overlooked Aberdeen Harbor. “Father, Abner Carlisle is here.”

“About time,” Scaggs muttered grumpily.

Jenny gave Carlisle a peck on the cheek. “I’ll go and make you some tea.”

An old man, ravaged by three decades of a hard life at sea, lay unmoving on the bed. As bad as Scaggs looked, Carlisle couldn’t help but marvel at the fire that still burned in those olive-gray eyes. “I’ve got a new ship for you, Bully.”

“The hell you say,” rasped Scaggs. “What’s her rigging”

“None. She’s a steamer.”

Scaggs’ face turned red and he raised his head. “Goddamned stink pots, they shouldn’t be allowed to dirty up the seas.”

It was the response Carlisle had hoped for. Bully Scaggs may have been at death’s door, but he was going out as tough as he lived.

“Times have changed, my friend. Cutty Sark and Thermopylae are the only clippers you and I knew that are still working the seas.”

“I don’t have much time for idle chatter. I asked you to come to hear my deathbed confession and do me a personal favor.”

Carlisle looked at Scaggs and said sarcastically, “You thrash a drunk or bed a Chinese girl in a Shanghai brothel you never told me about?”

“I’m talking about the Gladiator,” Scaggs muttered. “I lied about her.”

“She sank in a typhoon,” Carlisle said. “What was there to lie about?”

“She sank in a typhoon all right, but the passengers and crew didn’t go down to the bottom with her.”

Carlisle was silent for several moments, then he said carefully, “Charles Bully Scaggs, you’re the most honest man I have ever known. In the half-century we’ve known each other you’ve never betrayed a trust. Are you sure it isn’t the sickness that’s making you say crazy things?”

“Trust me now when I say I’ve lived a lie for twenty years in repayment of a debt.”

Carlisle stared at him curiously. “What is it you wish to tell me?”

“A story I’ve told no one.” Scaggs leaned back on his pillow and stared beyond Carlisle, far into the distance at something only he could see. “The story of the raft of the Gladiator.”

Jenny returned half an hour later with tea. It was dusk, and she lit the oil lamps in the bedroom. “Father, you must try to eat something. I’ve made your favorite fish chowder.”

“I’ve no appetite, Daughter.”

“Abner must be starved, listening to you all afternoon. I’ll wager he’ll eat something.”

“Give us another hour,” ordered Scaggs. “Then make us eat what you will.”

As soon as she was gone, Scaggs continued with the saga of the raft.

“When we finally got ashore there were eight of us left. Of the Gladiator’s crew, only myself, Thomas Cochran, the ship’s carpenter, and Alfred Reed, an able seaman, survived. Among the convicts there was Jess Dorsett, Betsy Fletcher, Marion Adams, George Pryor and John Winkleman. Eight out of the 231 souls who set sail from England.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, dear old friend,” said Carlisle, “if I appear skeptical. Scores of men murdering each other on a raft in the middle of the ocean, the survivors subsisting on human flesh and then being saved from being devoured by a man-eating shark through the divine intervention of a sea serpent that kills the shark. An unbelievable tale to say the least.”

“You are not listening to the ravings of a dying man,” Scaggs assured him weakly. “The account is true, every word of it.”

Carlisle did not want to unduly upset Scaggs. The wealthy old merchant patted the arm of the sea captain who in no small way had helped to build the shipping empire of Carlisle & Dunhill and reassured him. “Go on. I’m anxious to hear the ending. What happened after the eight of you set foot on the island?”

For the next half hour, Scaggs told of how they drank their fill in a stream with sweet and pleasant water that ran from one of the small volcanic mountains. He described the large turtles that were caught in the lagoon, thrown on their backs and butchered with Dorsett’s knife, the only tool among them. Then using a hard stone found at the water’s edge and the knife as flint, they built a fire and cooked the turtle meat. Five different kinds of fruit that Scaggs had never seen before were picked from trees in the forest. The vegetation seemed oddly different from the plants he’d seen in Australia. He recounted how the survivors passed the next few days gorging themselves until they regained their strength.

“With our bodies on the mend, we set out to explore the island,” Scaggs said, continuing his narration. “It was shaped like a fishhook, five miles in length and a little less than one wide. Two massive volcanic peaks, each about twelve to fifteen hundred feet high, stood at the extreme ends. The lagoon measured about three quarters of a mile long and was sheltered by a thick reef to seaward. The rest of the island was buttressed by high cliffs.”

“Did you find it deserted?” asked Carlisle.

“Not a living soul did we see, nor animal. Only birds. We saw signs that Aborigines had once inhabited the island, but it appeared they had been gone a long time.”

“Any evidence of shipwrecks?”

“Not at that time.”

“After the calamity on the raft, the island must have seemed like paradise,” said Carlisle.

“She was the most beautiful island I’ve seen in my many years at sea,” Scaggs agreed, referring to his place of refuge in the feminine. “A magnificent emerald on a sapphire sea, she was.” He hesitated as if envisioning the jewel rising out of the Pacific. “We soon settled into an idyllic way of life. I designated those to be in charge of certain services and appointed times for fishing, the construction and repair of shelter, the harvesting of fruit and other edibles, and the maintenance of a constant fire for cooking as well as to signal any ship that might pass by. In this manner we lived together in peace for several months.”

“I’m keen to guess,” said Carlisle. “Trouble flared between the women.”

Scaggs shook his head feebly. “More like among the men over the women.”

“So you experienced the same circumstances as the Bounty mutineers on Pitcairn Island.”

“Exactly. I knew there would soon be trouble, and I designed a schedule for the women to be divided equally among the men. Not a scheme to everybody’s liking, of course, especially the women. But I knew of no other way to prevent bloodshed.”

“Under the circumstances, I would have to agree with you.”

“All I succeeded in doing was hastening the inevitable. The convict John Winkleman murdered able-seaman Reed over Marion Adams, and Jess Dorsett refused to share Betsy Fletcher with anyone. When George Pryor attempted to rape Fletcher, Dorsett beat his brains in with a rock.”

“And then you were six.”

Scaggs nodded. “Tranquility finally reigned on the island when John Winkleman married Marion Adams and Jess married Betsy.”

“Married?” Carlisle snorted in righteous indignation. “How was that possible?”

“Have you forgotten, Abner?” Scaggs said with a grin cracking his thin lips. “As a ship’s captain I was empowered to perform the ceremony.”

“By not actually standing on the deck of your ship, I must say you stretched matters a bit.”

“I have no regrets. We all lived in harmony until ship’s carpenter Thomas Cochran and I sailed away.”

“Did you and Cochran not have desire for the women?”

Scaggs’ laughter turned into a brief coughing spell. Carlisle gave him a glass of water. When he recovered, Scaggs said, “Whenever my thoughts became carnal, I envisioned my sweet wife, Lucy. I vowed to her that I would always return from a voyage as chaste as I left.”

“And the carpenter?”

“Cochran, as fate would have it, preferred the company of men.”

It was Carlisle’s turn to laugh. “You picked a strange lot to share your adventures.”

“Before long we had built comfortable shelters out of rock and conquered boredom by constructing many ingenious devices to make our existence more enjoyable. Cochran’s carpentry skill became particularly useful once we found proper woodworking tools.”

“How did this come about?”

“After about fourteen months, a severe gale drove a French naval sloop onto the rocks at the southern end of the island. Despite our efforts to save them, the entire crew perished as the pounding of the breakers broke up their ship around them. When the seas calmed two days later, we recovered fourteen bodies and buried them next to George Pryor and Alfred Reed. Then Dorsett and I, who were the strongest swimmers, launched a diving operation to recover whatever objects from the wreck we might find useful. Within three weeks we had salvaged a small mountain of goods, materials and tools. Cochran and I now possessed the necessary implements to build a boat sturdy enough to carry us to Australia.”

“What of the women? How did Betsy and Marion fare?” queried Carlisle.

Scaggs’ eyes took on a sad look. “Poor Marion, she was kind and true, a modest servant girl who had been convicted of stealing food from her master’s pantry. She died giving birth to a daughter. John Winkleman was horribly distraught. He went mad and tried to kill the baby. We tied him to a tree for four days until he finally got hold of his senses. But he was never quite the same again. He rarely spoke a word from that time until I left the island.”

“And Betsy?”

“Cut from a different cloth, that one. Strong as a coal miner. She carried her weight with any man. Gave birth to two boys in as many years as well as nursing Marion’s child. Dorsett and Betsy were devoted to each other.”

“Why didn’t they come with you?”

“Best they stayed on the island. I offered to plead for their release with the governor, but they didn’t dare take the chance, and rightly so. As soon as they’d have landed in Australia, the penal constables would have grabbed the children and distributed them as orphans. Betsy’s fate was probably to become a wool spinner in the filthy squalor of the female factory at Parramatta, while Jess was sure to end up in the convict barracks at Sydney. They’d likely never have seen their boys and each other again. I promised them that as long as I lived they’d remain forgotten along with the lost souls of the Gladiator.”

“And Winkleman too?”

Scaggs nodded. “He moved to a cave inside the mountain at the north end of the island and lived alone.”

Carlisle sat silent and reflected on the remarkable story Scaggs had related. “All these years you’ve never revealed their existence.”

“I found out later that if I had broken my promise to remain silent, that bastard of a governor in New South Wales would have sent a ship to get them. He had a reputation for moving hell to regain an escaped prisoner.” Scaggs moved his head slightly and stared through the window at the ships in the harbor. “After I returned home, I saw no reason to tell the story of the Gladiator’s raft.”

“You never saw them again after you and Cochran set sail for Sydney?”

Scaggs shook his head. “A tearful good-bye it was, too, Betsy and Jess standing on the beach holding their baby boys and Marion’s daughter, looking for all the world like a happy mother and father. They found a life that wasn’t possible in the civilized world.” He spat out the word “civilized.”

“And Cochran, what was to stop him from speaking out?”

Scaggs’ eyes glimmered faintly. “As I mentioned, he also had a secret he didn’t want known, certainly not if he ever wished to go to sea again. He went down with the Zanzibar when she was lost in the South China Sea back in ’67.”

“Haven’t you ever wondered how they made out?”

“No need to wonder,” Scaggs replied slyly. “I know.”

Carlisle’s eyebrows raised. “I’d be grateful for an explanation.”

“Four years after I departed, an American whaler sighted the island and stood in to fill her water casks. Jess and Betsy met the crew and traded fruits and fresh fish for cloth and cooking pots. They told the captain of the whaler that they were missionaries who were stranded on the island after their ship had been wrecked. Before long, other whalers began stopping by for water and food supplies. One of the ships traded Betsy seeds for hats she’d woven out of palms, and she and Jess began tilling several acres of arable land for vegetables.”

“How do you know all this?”

“They began sending out letters with the whalers.”

“They’re still alive?” asked Carlisle, his interest aroused.

Scaggs’ eyes saddened. “Jess died while fishing six years ago. A sudden squall capsized his boat. Betsy said it looked as if he struck his head and drowned. Her last letter, along with a packet, arrived only two days ago. You’ll find it in the center drawer of my desk. She wrote that she was dying from some sort of disease of the stomach.”

Carlisle rose and crossed the bedroom to a worn captain’s desk that Scaggs had used on all his voyages after the Gladiator went down. He pulled a small packet wrapped in oilskin from the drawer and opened it. Inside he found a leather pouch and a folded letter. He returned to his chair, slipped on his reading glasses and glanced at the words.

“For a girl convicted of theft, she writes very well.”

“Her earlier letters were full of misspellings, but Jess was an educated man, and under his tutelage, Betsy’s grammar showed great improvement.”

Carlisle began reading aloud.

Carlisle peered over his glasses. “‘The serpent sends his regards.’ What nonsense is that?”

“The sea serpent who saved us from the great white shark,” answered Scaggs. “Turned out he lived in the lagoon. I saw him with my own eyes on at least four other occasions during my time on the island.”

Carlisle looked at his old friend as if he were drunk, then thought better of pursuing the matter. “She sent young children alone on a long voyage from New Zealand to England?”

“Not so young,” said Scaggs. “The oldest must be going on nineteen.”

“If they left the island the early part of April, they may come knocking on your door at any time.”

“Providing they did not have to wait long in Auckland to find a stout ship that made a fast passage.”

“My God, man, you’re in an impossible situation.”

“What you really mean is, how can a dying man carry out an old friend’s dying wish?”

“You’re not going to die,” said Carlisle, looking Scaggs in the eye.

“Oh yes I am,” Scaggs said firmly. “You’re a practical businessman, Abner. Nobody knows that better than me. That’s why I asked to see you before I take my final voyage.”

“You want me to wet-nurse Betsy’s children.”

“They can live in my house until you drop their anchor in the best educational institutions money can buy.”

“The pitiful amount that Betsy made selling hats and food supplies to visiting whaling ships won’t come close to covering the cost of several years of boarding at expensive schools. They’ll need the proper clothes and private tutors to bring them up to proper learning levels. I hope you’re not asking me to provide for total strangers.”

Scaggs pointed to the leather pouch.

Carlisle held it up. “Is this what Betsy sent you to educate her children?”

Scaggs nodded slightly. “Open it.”

Carlisle loosened the strings and poured the contents into his hand. He looked up at Scaggs incredulously. “Is this some sort of joke? These are nothing but ordinary stones.”

“Trust me, Abner. They are not ordinary.”

Carlisle held up one about the size of a prune in front of his spectacles and peered at it. The surface of the stone was smooth and its shape was octahedral, having eight sides. “This is nothing but some sort of crystal. It’s absolutely worthless.”

“Take the stones to Levi Strouser.”

“The Jewish gem merchant?”

“Show the stones to him.”

“Precious gems, they’re not,” said Carlisle firmly.

“Please ...” Scaggs barely got the word out. The long conversation had tired him.

“As you wish, old friend.” He pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time. “I’ll call on Strouser first thing in the morning and return to you with his appraisal.”

“Thank you,” Scaggs murmured. “The rest will take care of itself.”

Carlisle walked under an early morning drizzle to the old business district near Castlegate. He checked the address and turned up the steps to one of the many inconspicuous gray houses built of local granite that gave the city of Aberdeen a solid if drab appearance. Small brass letters mounted beside the door read, simply, Strouser & Sons. He pulled the bell knob and was shown into a Spartan furnished office by a clerk, offered a chair and a cup of tea.

A slow minute passed before a short man in a long frock coat, a salt-and-pepper beard down to his chest, entered through a side door. He smiled politely and extended his hand.

“I am Levi Strouser. What service can I perform for you?”

“My name is Abner Carlisle. I was sent by my friend Captain Charles Scaggs.”

“Captain Scaggs sent a messenger who announced your coming. I am honored to have Aberdeen’s most renowned merchant in my humble office.”

“Have we ever met?”

“We don’t exactly travel in the same social circles, and you are not the kind of man who buys jewelry.”

“My wife died young and I never remarried. So there was no reason to purchase expensive baubles.”

“I too lost a wife at an early age, but I was fortunate enough to find a lovely woman who bore me four sons and two daughters.”

Carlisle had often done business with Jewish merchants over the years, but he had never had dealings in gemstones. He was on unfamiliar ground and felt uncomfortable with Strouser. He took out the leather pouch and laid it on the desk.

“Captain Scaggs requested your appraisal of the stones inside.”

Strouser laid a sheet of white paper on the desktop and poured the contents of the pouch in a pile in the center. He counted the stones. There were eighteen. He took his time and carefully scrutinized each one through his loupe, a small magnifier used by jewelers. Finally, he held up the largest and the smallest stones, one in each hand.

“If you will kindly be patient, Mr. Carlisle, I would like to conduct some tests on these two stones. I’ll have one of my sons serve you another cup of tea.”

“Yes, thank you. I don’t mind waiting.”

Nearly an hour passed before Strouser returned to the room with the two stones. Carlisle was a shrewd observer of men. He had to be to have successfully negotiated over a thousand business ventures since he purchased his first ship at the tender age of twenty-two. He saw that Levi Strouser was nervous. There were no obvious signs, no shaking hands, little tics around the mouth, beads of sweat. It was there in the eyes. Strouser looked like a man who had beheld God.

“May I ask where these stones came from?” Strouser asked.

“I cannot tell you the exact location,” Carlisle answered honestly.

“The mines of India are played out, and nothing like this has come out of Brazil. Perhaps one of the new diggings in South Africa?”

“It is not for me to say. Why? Is there a value to the stones?”

“You do not know what they are?” Strouser asked in astonishment.

“I am not an expert in minerals. My business is shipping.”

Strouser held out his hands over the stones like an ancient sorcerer. “Mr. Carlisle, these are diamonds! The finest uncut stones I have ever seen.”

Carlisle covered his amazement nobly. “I don’t question your integrity, Mr. Strouser, but I can’t believe you are serious.”

“My family has dealt in precious stones for five generations, Mr. Carlisle. Believe me when I say you have a fortune lying on the desk. Not only do they have indications of perfect transparency and clearness, but they possess an exquisite and very extraordinary violet-rose color. Because of their beauty and rarity they command a higher price than the perfect colorless stones.”

Carlisle came back on keel and cut away the cobwebs. “What are they worth?”

“Rough stones are almost impossible to classify for value since their true qualities do not become apparent until they are cut and faceted, to enhance the maximum optical effect, and polished. The smallest you have here weighs 60 carats in the rough.” He paused to hold up the largest specimen. “This one weighs out at over 980 carats, making it the largest known uncut diamond in the world.”

“I judge that it might be a wise investment to have them cut before I sell them.”

“Or if you prefer, I could offer you a fair price in the rough.”

Carlisle began to place the stones back in the leather pouch. “No, thank you. I represent a dying friend. It is my duty to provide him with the highest profit possible.”

Strouser quickly realized that the canny Scotsman could not be influenced to part with the uncut stones. The opportunity to obtain the diamonds for himself, have them faceted and then sell them on the London market for an immense gain, was not in the cards. Better to make a good profit than none at all, he decided wisely.

“You need not go any farther than this office, Mr. Carlisle. Two of my sons apprenticed at the finest diamond-cutting house in Antwerp. They are as good if not better than any cutters in London. Once the stones are faceted and polished, I can act as your broker should you then wish to sell.”

“Why should I not sell them on my own?”

“For the same reason I would come to you to ship goods to Australia instead of buying a ship and transporting them myself. I am a member of the London Diamond Exchange, you are not. I can demand and receive twice the price you might expect.”

Carlisle was shrewd enough to appreciate a sound business offer when he heard one. He came to his feet and offered Strouser his hand. “I place the stones in your capable hands, Mr. Strouser. I trust it will prove to be a profitable arrangement for you and the people I represent.”

“You can bank on it, Mr. Carlisle.”

As the Scots shipping magnate was about to step from the office, he turned and looked back at the Jewish precious-stone dealer. “After your sons are finished with the stones, what do you think they will be worth?”

Strouser stared down at the ordinary-looking stones, visualizing them as sparkling crystals. “If these stones came from an unlimited source that can be easily exploited, the owners are about to launch an empire of extraordinary wealth.”

“If you will forgive me for saying so, your appraisal sounds a bit fanciful.”

Strouser looked across the desk at Carlisle and smiled. “Trust me when I say these stones, when cut and faceted, could sell in the neighborhood of one million pounds.”[1]

“Good God!” Carlisle blurted. “That much?”

Strouser lifted the huge 980-carat stone to the light, holding it between his fingers as if it were the Holy Grail. When he spoke it was in a voice of adoring reverence. “Perhaps even more, much more.”