The preceding day had actually begun
well but it hadn’t lasted. With John
Marriott’s confession and full explanation, the last of the doubts had been
laid to rest. Not all the questions had
been answered, that was true, and Derek didn’t feel they would be until October
4. He and Nick had managed to get a
full night of undisturbed sleep.
About twenty minutes after waking on
the last day of September, the ship’s bell rang urgently and the order had been
shouted – all hands on deck! People
scrambled to obey.
Soon after that, the Santa Theresa
started pitching and tossing, and, after the previous five days, the difference
was profound. Derek peered out into the
lantern lit expanse of the main deck and saw, apart from the sentries who
remained at their posts, everyone was gone.
Captain Marriott was still in his cabin but even he went up to survey
the depth and ferocity of the storm which had hit just after dawn.
Derek – an excellent sailor who never
got seasick – returned to Paul Delacroix’s desk, drew back the chair and sat
down to think. Nick decided to brave
the elements topside so he could get an idea of what exactly they could expect
over the next few days.
So .. diphtheria epidemic, Derek
mused. A Christian mission hospital in
Mexico had fallen victim to the disease.
Messengers were dispatched on horses north, back to the United States. There was a sanctuary outside Monterey where
staff versed in the treatment of this acute infection were prepared to care for
the victims. They simply had to get
there. They had traveled by land to San
Diego, always at night to avoid other people.
There, they had decided to sail the rest of the way. A messenger had approached Captain Marriott,
offering a reward if he would take the victims and ten nurses up the coast to
Monterey. They would bring all their
own supplies, remain in the hold where they could make their beds, and ask
nothing more from the crew or the officers.
They just needed the Santa Theresa to be empty when they went on board
and when they left. They meant no harm
to anyone.
It had begun well but then the wind
had died. A voyage of a week, maybe
two, had started to drag. The rumors
had started. The crew had begun to
suspect the worst. They were all
superstitious. The reason their ship
was becalmed was because of the cargo in the hold. A simple order to stay away had grown into dire tales of death,
curses, and God’s retribution. With the
arrival of the storm, it all appeared to be coming true.
Derek tried to imagine what it must be
like down in the hold. Dark. The lanterns swinging wildly. The creaking of the timbers as the waves
battered the ship. There were probably
bodies down there by now. Food would be
running short because the voyage had stretched. Water would be brackish or gone.
If the nurses had succumbed, there would be no one to treat the
others. Weak hands would pound on the
hatches. Weak voices would cry for
release. In vain. No one was there to hear them. That was before. Now the storm had taken away any hope of anyone being heard. It must be hell down there.
Nick returned after an hour. “It’s hell up there,” he remarked in an
almost cheerful voice. “Next time
there’s a storm over the island, remind me of today. I’ve never seen the ocean so wild.”
“Is it just a storm?” Derek
asked. “Could it be a typhoon?”
“I don’t know what it is. Tropical storm for sure but I’ve never heard
of them being this far north.” He
squeezed water from his shirt. “Lightning. Thunder.
The sea isn’t towering, not yet, but it won’t be long.”
“And we have another four days of
this.”
Nick smiled without humor. “Are we staying?”
Derek paused for a long moment. “I think we must, Nick. Now we know what is in the hold, I believe
we can safely say the passengers are not responsible for the ship sinking. We still have a mystery to solve.”
“How?
It’s pretty obvious. The crew
panic when the passengers get out – ”
“Get out?” Derek queried, frowning as
he cut in. “You said yourself a normal,
average man could lift the hatch but with the sandbags on top it would be
almost impossible. An average man
might, if desperate enough and in fear for his life, be able to move them. These are not average people, Nick. They are sick and dying. Terribly frail. Unless they are released, they will stay there. And the crew are now too busy and too scared
to take the risk.”
“Someone has to help them,” Nick said.
“I am beginning to think that is why
we are here,” Derek replied. “Because
we are not truly here. We are ghosts. We can do things others cannot.”
That day raced by in a rolling,
frantic gloom. Nick had predicted it
very accurately. From idling around and
sweating, the crew didn’t know which way was up. At least the smell was being blown away.
During the afternoon, Derek and Nick
chose to go to the upper deck to, perhaps, see where they were, how the ship
was faring, and, possibly, help in some way.
The rain was heavy but brief.
Short deluges which started with one or two drops hitting the already
soaked deck, then the sky would open.
It hammered down for fifteen, twenty minutes .. and stopped again.
Like someone turning off a faucet,
Nick remarked.
Gripping the starboard rail with
whitened knuckles, Derek peered toward the shore. He knew it was there and not all that far away, but he couldn’t
see it. The sky seemed low enough to
brush the tops of the masts.
“Mr Delacroix! Get those mainsails down!” John Marriott
barked. “Men aloft to reef the top
shrouds!”
“Aye, sir!” Paul responded
crisply. “Mr Mate!”
“Nick … ”
Nick turned from watching the
activity. “What?”
“The Shamrock,” Derek said, pointing
with his chin because he didn’t dare let go of the rail.
Nick stared. He was planted on the deck, his feet braced apart, riding the
ship and keeping his balance but the deck was slippery. He wasn’t taking any chances.
“They look to be having the same
weather conditions as us,” Derek shouted over the wind, flicking his soaked
hair from his eyes.
“They’re too close,” Nick
muttered. “Way too close.”
The Shamrock spun suddenly away,
slapped round by a wave. As they
watched, the motor launch began rolling and pitching toward the land.
“Leaving us ..?” Derek wondered,
feeling more scared than he sounded.
Nick shaken his head. “Nah.”
He straightened his shoulders.
“I got an idea.” He wiped his
hands as dry as he could then dug into the pocket of his jeans for his cell
phone.
“Who are you calling?” Derek frowned.
“Maybe no one. Maybe help.
We can see ’em, Derek. Either
we’re there, or they’re here, but we’re in the same place.” He blinked at the tiny display. “I got a message.”
“Quickly! What is it?”
Nick accessed his voicemail. “It’s Peri,” he relayed as he listened. “She says .. they’re sticking with us off
the starboard side. If we wanna jump,
they’re there to pick us up. She loves
me. Wants us to be safe.”
Derek was thinking fast. “We don’t know how long we have. Call her.
Leave a message in reply if you must.
Tell her to ask Rachel about diphtheria. What is it? How bad is
it? How is it communicated?”
Nick pressed out the number. “C’mon …
It’s ringing … ”
He turned away slightly and began to
talk fast, wanting to get as much information out there before he was cut off,
either by the service or by the Santa Theresa.
Then, task finished, he ended the call, switched off the phone to save
the battery and shoved it back in his pocket.
For almost twenty five minutes, they
stood at the rail and watched the Shamrock battle the waves to keep up with the
Santa Theresa. Lightning had hit the
third mast and several men had plunged to their death, either by hitting the
deck or missing entirely and drowning in the sea. When the lightning spat for the third time, the Shamrock had
vanished.
“Now we must wait and see if the
message has gotten thru,” Derek declared.
“We’re not so isolated and cut off as we once believed. However, I’ve had enough of this weather, Nick,
and I feel very refreshed for my long shower.
Let’s get back below.”
*****
Derek and Nick hadn’t been the only
ones to see the Shamrock struggling along off the starboard side. Paul Delacroix had seen it too, and so had
the bow lookouts and Nate Tucker.
Captain Marriott was another interested spectator but he had been in his
cabin by that time.
The Captain was impressed by the
motive power of the boat. For such a
small vessel, in comparison to his ship, it was making excellent progress and
staying afloat in the terrible conditions.
Paul Delacroix hoped the ghosts had
seen it and had taken advantage of the opportunity. The storm was severe and getting worse, and it kept the crew from
thinking about the cargo and the rumors of invisible ghosts on board. But the time would come when the change from
doing nothing to frantic activity would be over and the activity would become
second nature. That’s when their minds
would start to think again. If the
ghosts were gone, it would be easier.
One less problem to occupy his own mind.
The bow lookouts, roped to the rail
and drenched, said nothing. Their
earlier orders were still in force.
Keep quiet. Don’t raise an
alarm. Old hands that they were, they
obeyed.
Nate Tucker, however, had stared long
and hard at the strange, little boat.
It had shone. Its hull was
white. It glistened in the dank green
gloom of the last day of September.
“It’s trouble,” he muttered. “Sent by the Devil himself. Mark my words, it’s a sign. This is the beginning of the end … ”
*****
October 1 started much as September 30
had ended. Violent motion, incredible
noise, shouting, running, and, in the cabins, a sense of tightly controlled
calm. Derek and Nick were, by now,
accustomed to being dirty, disheveled, and wet. Sleeping on the floor in Paul’s cabin was no hardship to
them. They hadn’t even woken when Paul
had eventually stumbled in, exhausted, and collapsed on his bed to sleep.
The first thing Nick did upon waking
was check his messages. There was
nothing new but he felt sure it would come.
Maybe Rachel, despite being qualified and eminently experienced, had to
research the answer.
His next act was to go in search of
breakfast because he was starving.
There had been no food the previous day because everyone was too busy
getting the Santa Theresa prepared for the onslaught. Now those preparations were done and some kind of routine had
re-established itself. Nick stole what
he could from the Captain’s table and smuggled it back to Paul’s cabin. Paul, unsure whether the ghosts had left or
not, had left half his own breakfast just in case they were still there. Nick shared out his bounty with Derek and
they ate ravenously, enviously wondering what the crew of the Shamrock were
eating.
“Something hot. Bacon strips. Eggs. Toast. And coffee,” Nick said. “I think I’d kill someone for a cup of hot
coffee right about now.”
“I’ll be second in line,” Derek
muttered. “Any messages?”
“Nothing yet .. but maybe the service
doesn’t exist yet. It’ll come. Just needs time.” Nick grinned. “About a
hundred years’ worth.”
Derek grunted, smiling briefly. “We need that answer from Rachel.”
“I thought diphtheria wasn’t serious,”
Nick commented. “I had a shot when I
was a kid.”
“So did I,” Derek agreed. “You’re speaking from the vantage point of
the early twenty first century. Diphtheria
is practically unknown and, where it does occur, can be treated.”
“So .. what’s the big deal?” Nick
inquired.
“The big deal is that this is the
early twentieth century and penicillin won’t be discovered for another,” he
shrugged, “twenty seven years. Because
this disease is .. so rare in our time, I am not familiar with it, but I can
hazard a guess that the Captain believes it is spread by the air we breathe.”
“Which explains all the sandbags
around the edge of the hatches and around the masts.” Nick was silent for a moment.
“Are we at risk?”
Derek considered. “It depends on how virulent the disease is,
how effective a barrier the sandbags are, and how real we are in this place.
Rachel will be able to tell us most of what we need to know. As soon as we see the Shamrock, check your
messages.”
“Aye, skipper,” Nick grinned.
“I can also understand why the crew
were not told the details. If the
passengers cannot travel by land because of the risk of spreading the infection
to a much larger area, it makes sense for them to travel by ship where the risk
is contained. Plus, under normal
conditions, it would be faster.
However, the mere mention of the word would be enough to prompt
mutiny. So .. the crew were only told
it was dangerous for them. True but not
the whole truth.”
“So you figure it could be the
passengers after all who cause the Santa Theresa to become a ghost ship?” Nick
asked. “Even if it is indirectly?”
“Possibly. We’re not at journey’s end yet, Nick. We won’t know for sure until we reach that point.”
“Life’s never plain sailing, is it?”
Derek laughed softly. “Not on this ship. Six days becalmed, and now five days of storm. From being bored and irritated to curious,
to having some answers but not all and being tossed around into the
bargain. Your field trips are never
simple."
“Knew I’d have to get the blame
somewhere down the line.”
“I’m not blaming you, merely pointing
out that, in some respects, you are no different to any other Legacy member.”
“I guess we should keep our own
lookout,” Nick suggested. “If the
message can only be delivered when we see the Shamrock, it makes sense to stay
on watch.”
Derek nodded his agreement. “Only three more days of this. Nick. We’re not so much stowaways as
castaways. Robinson Crusoe and his man
Friday. We certainly look the part.”
“I’ll go first,” Nick offered. “Think my nose has shut down I smell so
bad.”
“Then mine has too.”
“Beard’s coming along well,” the
younger man commented.
Derek scratched at his chin. “I want to go home, Nick. I want this to be over and be just a bad
memory.” He sounded worn out and
dispirited, but then he straightened.
“When you’re up there, listen to what’s being said. Something has to happen between now and
Thursday. I need to be warned in
advance.”
“Right.” Nick turned and eased out.
*****
Jonas was feeling uncertain. He was a sailor and he was young. This was his third voyage and he was
starting to wonder if he’d made the right career choice. He was happy enough up aloft among the
sheets and shrouds, feeling the fresh air on his face, hearing the comforting
rhythmic creak of the stout timbers.
But he was not happy manning his post by the hatch, carrying a rifle
which he had never used in anger, and under orders to watch the First Officer.
Paul Delacroix had always appeared to
be the finest example of a ship’s officer.
He looked out for the crew serving beneath him. He was firm yet he was fair. If someone was punished it was because they
deserved it. His praise was always
quiet but always sincere. Nate Tucker
had said the First Officer was unwell.
Jonas couldn’t reconcile that.
True, the Fist Officer looked tired, drawn and was getting thinner but
his eyes were still clear, his gaze still steady, his words just as measured.
Jonas felt he was playing a big part
in a plot and he didn’t like that.
How could he watch the First Officer and stay at his post no matter
what? He couldn’t. He wanted to be topside doing his proper
job, not stuck down here on the dark and stinking main deck. He wanted the voyage to be over.
His bored gaze rested on the First
Officer’s cabin door. He knew Paul
Delacroix wasn’t in there because he’d already seen him climb the steps into
the rain lashed, howling storm. Jonas
hadn’t followed. He couldn’t. He had to stay here.
So he saw the door open and close
again. No one had come out. Jonas tried to swallow but his throat had
dried. The ghosts were up here now …
*****
Ulysses Farnham was navigating by the
seat of his pants. He had no way to
check the stars because the cloud was too heavy. The land was obscured by mist, spray and sea. He had a compass which provided an overall
heading but he couldn’t use it to tell him how close they were to land, how far
they’d come nor how far they had to go.
He was working by memory and instinct born of experience. If, by some miracle, they managed to reach
the area of Monterey Bay, he had to guess right so they could turn toward land
and haven. Too far, that wasn’t so
ill. It was too short which was
worrying him.
The other main area of anxiety was the
storm itself. Studying the weather and
the patterns it followed was more than a hobby, it was an abiding
interest. He knew that, out at sea, in
the middle of the ocean, storms were never really bad. The wind could be fierce and the rain bitter
as it lashed down, but the seas were only ever rough. Storms passed overhead, moved on faster than the ship beneath. It was only as a storm neared land that it
became extreme. As the seabed rose from
the abysmal depths to the shallower levels of the continental shelf, the waves
grew mountainous, rain became heavier, and the wind seemed to increase. Once it had moved over the land and could
gain no more sustenance from the ocean, it rapidly dwindled. After a hundred miles or so, it would die of
starvation.
So, armed with this insight, Ulysses
Farnham knew that they would stand a better chance of surviving this fury of
nature if they went farther out. A
course of west north west rather than north west. Just for an hour or so.
The sea would calm slightly.
Being the diligent officer that he was, he went to Paul Delacroix to
make his suggestion.
Paul listened, hunching into the tiny
patch of shelter by one of the masts, and he shook his head as he sighed.
“But, sir – !”
“I know. I understand. I agree with you!” Paul raked a hand thru his sodden hair; he’d
long ago abandoned his uniform cap. “It
would be better for us. It’d give us room
to maneuver. But the Captain won’t
order it, Mr Farnham. He wouldn’t order
it before when it was flat calm. He
certainly won’t order it now.”
Ulysses Farnham had a terrible
idea. It made his stomach clench and
his knees tremble. The blood drained
from his face. But he had to speak.
“Sir .. then you give the order.”
Paul’s head whipped round to stare at
the younger man. “You do know what
you’re saying.”
He nodded quickly. “Aye, sir, I do.”
“It’s mutiny,” Paul persisted.
“Maybe it is, but it is also survival,
sir. You agree with my suggestion. You said it would be better for us.”
“Don’t twist my words,” Paul warned.
“I’m not!” Ulysses Farnham sounded desolate and in despair. “Sir .. a captain’s first duty must be to
his ship. His crew come second. Where is our Captain now? Does he not care that he risks
everything? Moving farther out to sea
would be better for the ship, not for
us. We’d gain by association, because
we’re on board. If we take care of the
ship, she will take care of us! If we
stay on this course, I cannot guarantee that we will not strike rocks, or
land. I can see nothing! Please, if there is any decency in your
soul, I beg you to give the order.”
His voice caught. “What would he know of it anyway? If I cannot see the land, he cannot see it
either.”
Paul felt torn between his duty to the
ship and his duty to the Captain. “It’s
still mutiny,” he said.
Ulysses Farnham laughed bitterly, an
edge of hysteria in his voice. “We’ll
like as not die anyway so what does it matter?”
The navigator had a point. The chances were they would all die in three days so whatever action they took or didn’t
take made no difference at all. Slowly,
Paul nodded. His feet heavy, he went to
the helmsman.
“Steer twenty two degrees west north
west,” he said. The helmsman met his
eyes. “And not a word to the
Captain. Take it gradually.”
“Aye, sir. Twenty two degrees west north west,” he confirmed, smoothly
spinning the wheel. “And I never heard
that order.”
It’s better for the Santa Theresa,
better for her crew, and it must be better for the cargo. We all benefit. How can it be wrong? And
.. maybe .. it will mean that we do survive.
I can only pray to God that He will understand.
He went back to the navigator. “Mr Farnham, you will wait by the helm. When you deem we have sailed far enough, you
will bring us round to a northerly heading.
It is your responsibility.”
“Aye, sir. And thank you.”
Paul smiled thinly. “May God have mercy on all our souls ..
because, if he finds out, it’s damn sure the Captain won’t.”
*****
Nick had overheard most of this. His mind was racing, alternating along two
tracks. One, the Shamrock wouldn’t know
of this change in the barkentine’s course.
Two, Ulysses Farnham would most likely guess wrong and start his turn
into Monterey Bay too soon. For a
while, it would be easier on them, that was true, but the ship would still
sink. The order to change course – an
act of insubordination rather than mutiny because it had been made for the good
of the ship and it was a solitary order not an incitement to the crew in
general to rise – could just be the fulcrum, the pivotal point in this entire
chain of events. Derek had said
something would happen. Maybe it just
had.
Derek was pacing when Nick eased back
in.
“This cabin is too small for effective
pacing,” he remarked. “I believe I am
actually starting to get claustrophobic.”
“I’ll warn Rachel to get the
psychiatrist’s couch ready.”
Derek sat down at the desk. “I’ve been looking, as best I can anyway,
and I haven’t seen the Shamrock.”
“I doubt you will,” Nick
commented. “Between you an’ me, no word
to the Captain, we’ve changed course.
Heading farther out to sea where it’ll be a little calmer. Not much but .. there’s more room to
maneuver.”
Derek nodded slowly. “Why no word to the Captain?”
“Order didn’t come from him.”
“Oh .. so it is mutiny.”
Nick looked uncomfortable with
that. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Derek agreed amiably. “You have never had any of your orders deliberately disobeyed,
whereas I have. I see it as mutiny.”
“I see it as insubordination,” Nick
countered. “An order given for the
general good and welfare of everyone, even the Captain, is not mutiny.”
“It’s challenging the established
authority.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Are we talking about the situation on board
or at the San Francisco Legacy house?”
“So you admit it then,” Derek
remarked. “You have deliberately
disobeyed my orders.”
“Sure. I’ve got nothing to hide,” Nick answered. “I believe in following the spirit of the
law, not necessarily the letter of the law.
When I don’t do exactly what you tell me to do, there’s always a damn
good reason.”
“Have you ever considered the fact
that I may need you to do exactly what I’ve said? That I may know more than you and that your actions and reactions
could be crucial?”
“Then you should tell me what you
know.”
“I can’t always do that,” Derek
stated.
Nick glanced away for a moment as he
damped down the outburst. “When I
disobey an order, it’s because I don’t believe the outcome would be best for
the house or the people in it, including you.
I still believe in the Legacy an’ what it does, what it stands for. I’m insubordinate, Derek, I confess to that
freely an’ openly. I don’t incite the
others to mutiny. If anyone in that
house is guilty of that, it’s you.”
Derek was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. “Fair comment. I suppose
you think that way because you were enlisted in the Navy. You see me as an officer.”
“Maybe.”
“Like William Bligh on the Bounty and
John Marriott on the Santa Theresa, I have a reputation for not listening and
riding roughshod over reasonable suggestions and objections.”
Nick shook his head. “You’re not like them. If you were .. you’d be on your own. I wouldn’t be here, staying with you to the
end. Alex an’ Rachel wouldn’t be
risking their lives on the Shamrock in this storm, ready to rescue you. Even when you’re an unreasonable
sonofabitch, you still have our loyalty.
Sometimes .. I wonder why but then I know the answer. You’d put yourself on the line for us,
wouldn’t think twice. So we do what you
want an’ need us to do .. but we don’t always do it the way you tell us. That isn’t mutiny, Derek, no matter what you
think.”
Derek smiled, thankful for the other
man’s blunt honesty. It shone a light
into some enduring darkness.
“I’m glad you think that way,
Nick. I’m grateful you’re on my
team. So .. the Captain is not aware of
this change in course. It could be that
he does know more than he has told his crew and his officers .. but I don’t
think so. In this instance, I believe
the decision is the right one to take.”
“Except,” Nick said, “that Alex won’t
know so she’ll not be around for a pickup.
And maybe this is the turning point you wanted to know about.”
Derek
frowned slightly. “Having disobeyed one
order could lead to disobeying more, and thus the rocky road to ruin?” he
queried.
“Not
exactly. The navigator, that Farnham
guy, he’s pretty smart. He’s got a
lotta the angles figured. But he can’t
get an accurate fix on our position.
All the time we’ve been following the coast at a more or less constant
speed, he can do the math in his head, work from memory an’ the charts. We’re moving out to sea now in less than
ideal conditions. Our speed is
erratic. Distance is difficult to judge
when there’re no landmarks or stars to use as a fix. I think he’ll make the turn for Monterey Bay too early. The ship’ll sink at Lopez Point.”
“The
rocky road to ruin,” Derek repeated soberly.
“It may well be the single event which causes the Santa Theresa to
become a phantom ship. And we can do
nothing to prevent what must be from happening.”
“Road
to Hell is paved with good intentions,” Nick commented.
Derek
was silent for a few moments. “You’re
the expert, Nick. How long would we
survive in this sea?”
“On
a good day, few hours, then the cold would get us. On a day like this .. you’re talking minutes,” Nick replied. “It isn’t only the cold, it’s the sea
itself. Alex’d never get to us in time
.. she wouldn’t even know where to start looking.”
*****
“Hsst!”
Jonas hissed.
Nate
Tucker scowled ferociously and backtracked to where the sailor stood fidgeting.
“What
is it?” he asked sourly.
“We’re
haunted, aren’t we?” Jonas accused.
“What we saw down below .. it’s ghosts, isn’t it? They were down there but now they’re up
here. I’ve seen things!”
Nate
took the young man’s arm in a tight grip and pinched hard. “What have you seen?”
“Look,
sir,” Jonas began, his voice hostile, “I know you told me to stay at my post no
matter what, an’ stay I have. You told
me to watch Mr Delacroix. I have done
that as best I can but I cannot watch him if I have to stay here. And I don’t want to stay here! I want
to get off this ship!”
Nate
could sympathize with that. He wanted
the same thing. He released the
hold. “What have you seen, lad?” he
asked in a more reasonable tone.
“I
know Mr Delacroix wasn’t in his cabin because I’d seen him go topside. The door opened. The door closed. No one
came out or went in.”
“The
First Officer’s cabin?” Nate queried, frowning sharply.
“Aye,
sir.”
Nate
could have taken a step back at this point and considered the evidence. Paul had told him a storm would hit – and it
had, exactly when he’d said it would.
Paul had said he’d spoken with the ghosts, seen them in his cabin. It seemed they were haunting his cabin,
according to Jonas. Paul had said the
ghosts had warned him of the storm. And
that they’d come from the strange boat, the same boat Nate had seen. A boat sliced in two by the Santa Theresa
yet showing no sign of damage. A boat,
and men, supposedly from the future.
Men from the future would know the past …
He
did consider the evidence but Nate Tucker was a man of his time and he put an
entirely different, superstitious spin on the facts. The boat, gleaming so eerily white in the green gloom, had been
sent by the Devil. It must have done
because there was not a sign of damage on it.
It should be in pieces back near Morro Bay. It wasn’t. It was
shadowing them, ready to pick up the two evil spirits once they’d done their
devil’s work on board the Santa Theresa.
They’d spoken of the storm because they’d known it was coming, not so
men could save themselves but as a warning, a portent, a sign that they were
going to wreak vengeance on this ship for carrying cursed cargo. It wasn’t so much telling them it was coming
as they had caused it to happen. Paul,
being a trusting soul, had swallowed their story about being from the
future. Nate Tucker wasn’t so
gullible. The evil spirits were still
on board, still pouring their poison into the First Officer’s opened ears.
They’d
also said the Santa Theresa was going to sink in less than three days. They would send it to the bottom as a final
punishment.
“What
should I do, sir?” Jonas inquired in a hoarse whisper.
“Nothing. Say nothing of this to anyone. If you see anything else, tell only me. I’ll figure out a way.”
“A
way ..? To do what?”
“Stop
those ghosts before they can do any more harm.”
*****
Paul
wished there was a chapel on board.
There wasn’t. Captain Marriott
did not appear to be a religious man – he rarely held prayers on a Sunday. He was, all told, a rather distant and aloof
figure. The nurturing and nourishment
of Paul Delacroix’s soul was down to Paul Delacroix. He felt in need of unburdening that soul to God. His decision to give the order was laying
heavily upon him. His heart said it was
right. His head said it was wrong and
the conflict was like a millstone around his neck as his conscience constantly reminded
him of the penalty for mutiny.
Paul
couldn’t even pray in his own cabin.
Speaking to God was a private matter, even if no words were said
aloud. The words in prayer came from
within, from the soul. They said God
listened, no matter where or how the words were said. Maybe Derek and Nick would understand why Paul felt the need to
get down on his knees and clasp his hands, bow his head over them. But maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they were there, maybe they
weren’t. Paul didn’t know and he didn’t
want to share his communion with the Almighty with anyone.
The
main deck was half full with soaked, shivering sailors. The upper deck held the other half of
soaked, shivering sailors. Paul
couldn’t go down to the lower deck where it was empty and fairly quiet because
he didn’t have written permission from the Captain. There was nowhere to go and pray. He felt abandoned. It was
an omen, he felt.
Paul
was beset on all sides and in every way.
He trudged up the steep steps to the upper deck and felt the rain lash
down on his forehead. He closed his
eyes against the darkening sky.
God
.. forgive me. Send me a sign that I’m
doing the right thing. If I know I have
Your blessing, I can die shriven of my sins.
God,
as ever, was silent. Paul sighed and
opened his eyes. He blinked, peering
uncertainly thru the gloom, but his soul was suddenly singing, soaring.
There
was an angel on the deck.
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