Odyssey - 27. Chapter 27

October, 1797

Granger noticed the difference even before he was fully awake, a difference in the movement of the ship. For the past week, they’d fought against some of the biggest waves he had ever seen, struggled to make headway against strong westerly winds and raging currents. For the past week, they’d made little enough progress, although Granger was actually surprised they’d made any progress at all. He’d grown used to Bacchante’s movement, her violent pitching in the face of such big but erratic waves. Only now, she was seemingly not moving at all.

Granger jumped out of bed and grabbed for his trousers, which were wet and cold, and put on his shirt, which was wet and cold. Everything aboard Bacchante was wet and cold. Winkler must have heard him cursing, as he came in to wrap him up with a wet and cold jacket, and finally a tarpaulin. Granger said nothing to him. He was too exhausted to waste energy on things like unnecessary words. He wasn’t the only one. Either he or Calvert was up on deck constantly, and the rest of the officers were inevitably called as some crisis or another demanded their attention. A few days ago it had been a shortage of oakum, that vital substance that was nothing more than shredded rope threads. Such a small thing, but when mixed with pitch and crammed into Bacchante’s seams, it ensured that the ship kept the sea out.

And the oakum shortage had helped de Arana finally start to heal some of his demons. He’d been morose, and aloof, as if he didn’t want human company after suffering the kind of tortures that humans could visit on someone. He only spoke Spanish, so that limited his conversations to either Granger or Gatling. It was no surprise then that Gatling spent the most time with him. But with the oakum shortage, de Arana had come into his own, with a seeming knack for crafting the stuff, and had made that his responsibility. Any seamen who were not required for duty were sent down below to where de Arana put them to work. Having a purpose brought out his charismatic charm, and despite the language barrier, singled him out as a leader. Even the petty officers took to calling him ‘sir’.

Granger finished dressing and walked out of his cabin, surprising the guard, who may or may not have been asleep. He got to the deck to find it not quite light out, but that was no indication that it was morning. Here in these southern climes it never seemed to get completely dark; instead, at night there was more of a strange, twilight condition. The wind was moderate at most, and the seas seemed positively calm, at least in comparison to the last week. “Good morning, Mr. Calvert,” Granger said formally.

“It is indeed, my lord,” Calvert said cheerfully. “The storm seems to have abated.”

Granger studied the binnacle, and sniffed at the air, as if trying to decide if the weather would worsen or not. In the end, it didn’t matter. They should take advantage of these good conditions while they could. “Let’s shake out the reefs in the mains, and two in the topsails,” he said to Calvert. “Maintain this heading.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Calvert said, and began belting out orders.

“Mr. Weston,” Granger called.

“My lord?”

“Have the cook light the galley fire. It’s time for some warm food.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said. Granger suspected that even if it were dark out, he’d be able to see Weston grin. And so Bacchante woke up from the night, such as it was, with her men scurrying once again up the yards, only this time, they were increasing sail, and there was a warm breakfast waiting for them when they were done. The canvas bulged as more of it was exposed, and Bacchante surged ahead under the additional power, as if suddenly reborn.

“This is bizarre, my lord,” Calvert said.

“I am reminded of the stories I have heard of hurricanes,” Granger said conversationally. “They will have winds and waves as intense as is imaginable, and then it will suddenly become calm and even sunny. As soon as the storm has lulled its sufferers into complacency, it returns with an even worse fervor.”

“Do you think that is what this is, my lord?” Calvert asked.

“No, but I suspect that the storms will return soon enough,” Granger said. They stood on deck, Granger and Calvert, both too tired to walk, as they waited for the light to increase.

Granger gauged the wind and the force it was exerting on the ship, gauged the force of the waves, and labored with whether to increase sail or not. To add to the already billowing pyramids of canvas would be to risk disaster if a freak wind came up, but there was no sign of any freakish weather. On the other hand, adding enough sail to get them through the Horn may make the difference between spending additional weeks here. The big fear, at this point, is that they’d be blown completely back into the Atlantic. Granger remembered HMS Bounty once again, and how that had happened to her. She’d labored to get past the Horn for weeks, only to finally give up and sail eastward, across the Southern Atlantic, and past the Cape of Good Hope. That was not an option for him. Besides, he was sure that Bacchante was a much more weatherly ship than Bounty. No, Granger decided, at this time of year, the big fear was that they’d be forced to labor here, in horrible conditions, until they made it through, or Bacchante tore herself apart fighting the waves.

“Land ho!” came the shout from the main top.

“Where away!” called Granger. The man had forgotten that part of his report, probably because he was frozen stiff.

“Off the starboard side, midships, my lord!” he called back.

“Mr. Weston,” Granger said, addressing him since it was his watch. “Relieve the lookouts. Have that man lay aft,” he said, referring to the lookout who had sighted land.

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said.

“Pass the word for Phillips,” Granger said. He waited for Phillips to arrive, as well as the lookout from the maintop, who was so cold his teeth were chattering. “Describe this land,” Granger ordered.

“It’s a small mountain, my lord. It’s craggy at the top, but smoother near the water,” the man managed to say, even as his teeth chattered.

“That sounds like Cape Horn, my lord,” Phillips said.

“Thank you,” Granger said to the lookout. “Go and assist the cook.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” the man said with a smile. The galley stove was the only source of warmth in the whole ship. The galley would be blessedly warm.

“Phillips, go aloft and confirm that,” Granger said. Phillips acknowledged the order, and returned to deck some fifteen minutes later, and agreed that they were upon Cape Horn.

“We will alter course two points to larboard,” Granger ordered, taking Bacchante further south, and giving them some additional sea room. “And shake out the other reefs in the topsails.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Calvert said.

“After that, you can join me for breakfast,” Granger said to Calvert.

“With pleasure, my lord.” Granger left orders to be notified if anything changed, then went below to his cabin.

“My lord, let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” Winkler said.

“And what are you going to replace them with?” Granger asked dubiously.

“I think you will be pleased, my lord, if you will but trust me,” Winkler said with a smirk.

“Very well,” Granger said, and stripped off his clothes. He wondered if it was possible for him to be any colder with them off his body, but he was dismayed to find that, indeed, it was.

“Here, my lord,” Winkler said. He put a deliciously warm shirt onto Granger, and then helped his captain into trousers so hot they almost scalded his skin.

“And how did you achieve this miracle?” Granger asked.

“The galley stove is lit, my lord. I appropriated some space for your clothes.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Granger said. “I am planning to break my fast with Mr. Calvert, and then I am going to retire to my cot.”

“I will make sure both are ready, my lord,” Winkler said.

Calvert arrived, and observed Granger’s dry, warm clothes with blatant jealousy. “You have found something dry to wear,” he observed with a grin.

“Perhaps you can find a steward as efficient as Winkler some day,” Granger joked.

“He would also have to find a way to find room next to the galley stove to dry off those garments,” Calvert said. “It appears someone else has appropriated all the space.”

“That is as it should be,” Granger said, making them both laugh. Lefavre had made a wonderful breakfast, with bacon and eggs and some sort of gruel, which tasted sugary, and was wonderful. He and Calvert savored the hot coffee, coffee which had been perfectly brewed, and plowed their way through the meal, rarely pausing to talk. It seemed as if once they started eating, they couldn’t sate their hunger. But finally, his stomach fully bloated, and the food almost completely gone, Granger had had enough.

“That was a truly wonderful breakfast,” Calvert said. Granger yawned, just remembering to cover his mouth.

“I must apologize. I fear I am a bit tired,” Granger said with a smile. That was an understatement. “I am going to sleep for as long as is practicable.”

“That’s good,” Calvert said. “I am going to go check on the ship, with your permission, my lord.”

“I would like you to lay us on the starboard tack, and then join me,” Granger said, raising an eyebrow.

“It will be my pleasure, my lord,” Calvert said, grinning, and left the cabin. Granger went into his sleeping cabin and stripped off his shirt and trousers, while Winkler appeared just in time to take them from him.

“Lieutenant Calvert will be joining me,” Granger said. He felt Bacchante heel over as she shifted onto her new tack. “And quite soon.”

“I’ll assist him, my lord,” Winkler said, stifling a grin. Granger climbed into his cot, and was so tired he was asleep almost as soon as he did. He was awakened a few minutes later when Calvert climbed in and spooned up behind him. At first, his cold body was an unpleasant shock, but then its warmth seemed to emanate directly into Granger’s chilled frame. For the first time in a long time, they were both warm, and they both slept soundly.

“We knew this would not last,” Granger said to Calvert as they stood on the deck, watching the waves build in size as if by magic. The wind was increasing as well. “Two reefs in the topsails, and a reef in the main course,” Granger ordered.

He watched as the men climbed up the masts and fought against the billowing canvas, pulling it in and securing it, to reduce the amount Bacchante exposed to the elements. For three wonderful days the ship had plowed ahead, making good progress. Granger had wondered if they might work their way around the Horn without experiencing more terrible weather, but it was not to be. And so it began again, the same thing they had endured before, with huge waves pounding at them, and strong winds blasting away at them.

Granger stood on the deck, the frigid wind ripping through his clothes as if he were naked, watching as a mountain of water headed toward Bacchante’s starboard bow. It was a massive wave, probably taller than the rogue wave Granger had encountered with Belvidera in the Mediterranean. “A point to starboard!” he shouted to the helmsman, who merely nodded to acknowledge. Bacchante turned her nose directly at the wave, while those on deck stared at it in awe as it rushed toward them.

“Lash yourself to the mast!” Granger ordered Kingsdale, who stood next to him. The young man blinked, then nodded, and grabbed a length of rope to tie himself to the mast. Granger and the others held on to whatever they could. The hatches were covered, the sails were reduced; they had done all they could to prepare for this massive wall of water.

And then it hit them. Bacchante climbed up the face of the wave, until it seemed as if she were vertical, while water cascaded down her deck, trying to pluck men, artillery, or anything in its way off the ship and over the side. Granger watched, horrified, as one of his men lost his grip and was dashed over the side. There was no hope of rescuing him; there was no hope for him at all. And then, Bacchante leveled out, but only briefly, as her nose plunged as she began to ride down the back side of the wave, so that she seemed to be in a free fall. They stared at the water that seemed to rush up to meet them, and then it did, as Bacchante plowed the better part of her nose into the sea. The ship spun frantically in the eddy the wave left behind.

“You there!” Granger shouted to the helm. “Larboard your helm. Get her into the wind!”

There were three helmsmen, all of them tugging mightily on the wheel. Before they could get the ship head on into the sea, another wave hit them broadside, forcing the ship over at a perilous angle. Granger was worried that Bacchante would be forced over so far they’d roll her masts out, but she gallantly began to right herself, and the men at the helm turned her nose back into the waves. He looked over at Kingsdale who was wide-eyed with fear, and the look made him smile in a somewhat hysterical way, getting a smile from the lad in return. “Rough seas,” Granger said, as if it were no mean feat to survive waves the likes of which they’d endured.

“Indeed, sir,” Kingsdale said.

The only good news was that waves like that one were rare, but the bad news was that the normal waves they encountered were almost as challenging. And so they went, battling stormy seas for another week. The weather had shown no signs of abating, and the ship itself was literally working her seams open. Granger wondered if they’d make it, if they’d ever get through this challenge the Pacific was throwing at them.

He was on deck, yet again, his body so frozen by now his appendages were numb. “My lord,” a seaman said, standing in front of him to get his attention. “We’ve sighted land; close in, off the larboard bow!”

Granger grabbed a glass and went forward, moving as best he could across the heaving deck. He held tightly to the foreshrouds and looked forward, and there it was, an island, and they were indeed quite close to it. He scanned it with his glass, and noticed a small bay on the leeward side of it. There were no rocks, nothing to indicate it was a shore that contained a shoal.

He worked his way back to the quarterdeck. “Mr. Robey! There’s an island yonder. We’re going to work our way to the leeward side, then anchor in that bay!”

Robey looked at him dubiously, but simply said “Aye aye, my lord.” Granger sent him forward to tend to the anchor, while he managed Bacchante from the quarterdeck. Slowly they approached the island; the tension high as they worried about some unseen shoal that would rip out Bacchante’s bottom and send them all to their deaths. Granger thought for a minute they’d be pushed away from the small clump of land, but as soon as they got to the leeward of the island, the land blocked the wind and the waves, making their approach much more tenable. Granger found his little bay, and when he was content that they were close, but not too close, he ordered a sounding.

The lead was hove out and brought in, but there was no sand to be found on the bottom. It must be solid rock beneath them. Still, the water was shallow enough for the anchor, so they dropped their main anchor with a carronade lashed to it, to make sure it wouldn’t drag. Then, and only then, did Granger allow himself to relax. They were lying at anchor in this little bay, with easy motion, and moderately gusty winds, but after what they had experienced, it was as if they were becalmed.

“Light the galley fire!” Granger ordered. “Mr. Calvert!”

“My lord?”

“We’ll have a hot meal, and then we’ll set the ship to rights. We’ve got some rigging to repair, and some seams to re-caulk.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said.

“My lord, what are those creatures?” Eastwyck asked.

Granger trained his glass over to the shore and saw the strangest looking beasts. They appeared to be birds, but they were walking around on two feet in what was more of a waddle than a walk. “I believe those are penguins, Mr. Eastwyck.”

“Indeed,” he said, and they paused to stare at the remarkable animals.

“Mr. Phillips! Mr. Broom! I will see you below in my chart room,” Granger ordered. They followed him below, and studied the map. “Where are we?”

“I believe we are off of Noir Island, my lord,” Phillips said.

“We seemed to have found a place to shelter ourselves until the storm abates,” Granger noted.

“Doesn’t seem to be too much of a risk of being tossed onto a lee shore, my lord, what with the direction the wind is blowing,” Broom noted.

Granger climbed up to the foretop, carrying his glass with him. He’d done this countless times since they’d cleared the Horn, surveying this ocean that was seemingly endless, and the land that lined the horizon to their east. When Granger had first started climbing the tops on this voyage, he’d been out of breath when he’d arrived. He’d done it so often now, that it seemed as effortless as walking from his cabin to the quarterdeck.

“What of this sail you sighted?” he asked the lookout, as he situated himself at the foretop.

“It comes and goes, my lord,” he said. He gestured at a point almost dead ahead of Bacchante. “I saw it not long ago, and then it vanished again.”

“Staying just out of range of us, eh?” Granger asked. Were the Spaniards expecting him? “Are you sure you’re not just imagining things?”

“No, my lord,” the man said firmly.

Granger trained his glass forward and stared at the empty horizon. He alternated eyes periodically, as one got tired. The officers on the quarterdeck looked up at him expectantly, as if he would see more than the lookout saw and spur them into action, but Granger ignored them. Patience was important in this task, and it was even more important to show the others how unperturbed he was. Still, it was frustrating to be here, staring forward, seeing nothing. “I swear I saw it, my lord,” the lookout said, as if worried that Granger wouldn’t sight the sail, and would hold him accountable.

“I’m sure you did,” Granger said smoothly. And then the sail appeared, a white blot way off in the distance. “And now I have as well.” The lookout took his own glass and trained it forward. Granger watched as the sail got bigger, and then, just as suddenly, it turned and vanished beyond the horizon again.

“That’s exactly what it did before, my lord,” the man said.

“You did well. Keep an eye out and let me know when it returns,” Granger said. He pulled a guinea out of his pocket and handed it to the man.

“Thank you, my lord!”

Granger just nodded, and then grabbed a back stay and slid down to the deck in his normal, agile way. All of the officers were assembled on the quarterdeck, even Weston, who’d gone off watch a full hour ago. “We are being shadowed,” Granger announced.

“What kind of ship is it, my lord?” Calvert asked.

“It is difficult to say at this distance, but I would guess it to be a brig of sorts. It drops down into range, until it sees us, and then claps on sail to move out of sight again,” Granger noted. “But she is sloppy in her work, and leaves herself visible in those moments when she sights us.” Granger said nothing, but retired to the lee side of the quarterdeck and began to pace. They all left him alone, giving him room to think and walk.

Granger gazed off at the shoreline, admiring its magnificence and beauty. One of the old sailors had said it reminded him of Norway, with its pine trees and fjords. Granger couldn’t make that comparison, having never been to Norway, but it was beautiful. A mist seemed to hang over the forests, as if shrouding them, making them appear mysterious. De Arana said that was where the spirits lived, and seemed a bit apprehensive about them closing with the shore, which Granger had no intention of doing.

Until that moment. An idea suddenly struck Granger. He reached for his glass and scanned the shoreline. “Mr. Calvert, please join me in my chart room with Mr. Broom and Phillips,” Granger said abruptly. He strode below without waiting for an acknowledgement and pored over the chart, estimating first their current position, then looking for a suitable bay or harbor close to them.

“You sent for us, my lord?” Calvert asked, as he led the others into the chart room.

“We have a ship shadowing us,” Granger said, restating the obvious. “I am of a mind to close with the shore. I reason that we can fill our tanks with water, and gather some firewood.”

“And what of the ship that shadows us, my lord?” Calvert asked.

“She will lose sight of us,” Granger noted. “If her orders are to shadow us, as I believe they are, she will ultimately have to come looking for us.”

“Perhaps we can capture her, my lord,” Calvert said with a grin.

“That would be a pleasant course of events,” Granger said, grinning back. “In the meantime, let us try to find a suitable place to hide.”

“There is an inlet here, my lord,” Phillips noted.

“There’s only one depth marking there,” Broom noted.

“The fact that there is a depth marking at all, and the fact that it is relatively deep, gives me confidence that the inlet is usable,” Granger noted. The inlet was hooked, so it may be possible to anchor Bacchante around the point and hide her from view. “It appears to suit our purposes.”

“I won’t be sorry to replace our water, my lord,” Calvert said. The water they’d shipped in Rio had a decidedly sour flavor to it. Granger wasn’t entirely convinced that it had come to them directly from a lake, as the Portuguese had promised.

“I think we would be wise to flush our tanks,” Granger agreed. They went up on deck. “Lookout! What do you see of our friend?”

“No sign, my lord!” he said.

“Mr. Calvert, set the fore royal,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye, my lord.” That would make them visible from further away, and would force their follower further ahead of them. It would give Bacchante time to vanish. The whistles blew, and the men scrambled up the yard to set the fore royal.

“The ship is back, my lord!” the lookout shouted! They loosed the fore royal just as he said that. “She’s put about! She’s gone!”

“Excellent,” Granger noted. That would put their spy farther away, as it scrambled to put Bacchante’s sail under the horizon. “Square away for our cove.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Calvert said. And so Bacchante closed with the land. They watched it growing more and more ominous as they got closer.

“It looks as if it could be haunted,” Somers noted to the deck at large.

“I hope you are not afraid of ghosts, Captain,” Granger joked.

“I suspect I have seen worse, my lord,” Somers said. They chuckled even as they closed with the shore. The mist seemed to come out to greet them as they grew nearer.

“Have the launch lead us in, taking soundings,” Granger ordered. They lowered the launch and Robey conned her in front of Bacchante, far enough ahead that if the launch found a reef, she could notify the ship and they could avoid the hazard. But there was no shoal, and as Granger looked over the side, all he saw was grey water.

Bacchante passed the headland, and they expected the little bay to become shallower, but the launch still found more than enough water for her to sail safely into the small inlet. They conned her carefully in, and anchored her in the hook of the small port. “I suspect we will be invisible to all but the most diligent observer,” Granger noted.

“I think, my lord, that such an observer would have to be quite close to the shore to spot us,” Weston noted.

De Arana came on deck and looked nervous. “You have entered the spirit lands.”

“I fancy that if we do not defile them, and only take some water and firewood, the spirits will not hold it against us,” Granger said affably, in Spanish. “Is this area inhabited?”

“I know of no one who lives here,” he said, shaking his head.

“Captain Somers, I will need a small party to climb that peak and stand watch for our spy, or any other ships that come along. Attend to that if you please,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye, my lord.”

“Mr. Calvert, have the launch brought around. That stream over there appears to be a likely candidate to fill our tanks,” Granger noted. There was a waterfall, cascading picturesquely over a cliff, and then where it ended there was a pool and a short river that led to the sea. “Captain Somers!”

“My lord?”

“We’ll need an armed squad to protect us from any interlopers. Have scouts ready to send out as well.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Somers said.

The men began to load barrels into the launch, along with a small pump to fill them. Then Somers’ marines entered the craft. “You have the ship, Mr. Calvert,” Granger said.

“You can’t mean to go ashore, my lord?” Calvert asked, horrified that Granger would meander ashore in this strange, unknown place.

“I most certainly do,” Granger asserted. “You have the ship.” He nodded curtly, leaving Calvert behind, and then descended into the launch.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but is it customary for the captain to go ashore with a watering party?” Eastwyck asked. He was a charming and cheeky young man.

“When I first went to sea, my captain asked me what I most missed about being ashore. I told him that I most missed fresh water. Since that is what we have here, I am choosing to indulge myself.”

“I see, my lord,” Eastwyck said with a smile.

“What good is being captain if one cannot indulge oneself?” Granger joked, getting a chuckle from everyone.

The launch ground into the gravel shore, and the men scrambled out pulling the boat ashore behind them. Granger alit from the vessel and walked over to the stream. He bent over and cupped his hands, and reached into the water, which was frigid. It was so cold; Granger wondered that it wasn’t ice. He knelt down and drank the clear liquid, and smiled into his hands. This had to be the clearest, cleanest, purest water he had ever drunk. The other men joined him, drinking their fill from this source that seemed to spawn straight from nature. After months of drinking water that had either been in tanks, or had been processed through a city, this was heaven. Granger drank and drank until he thought he could drink no more. He stood up and walked around, enjoying the beautiful scenery, but it was only moments before the lure of the stream called him back. He stayed there, enjoying the water, until the launch went back a second time.

Once back, he allowed himself another treat, a fresh water shower. As they emptied their tanks of the water they’d gotten in Rio, they diverted some to cascade over their captain. Granger enjoyed his interlude, and by the end of the day, Bacchante had tanks full of pure, clear water, a galley fully stocked with firewood, and a very contented captain.