4.1 Of Columbus, fish and rum
The morning sun shines directly in Simon’s face as he climbs the narrow stairs and steps onto the deck of the “Norfolk” ...
The morning sun shines directly in Simon’s face as he climbs the narrow stairs and steps onto the deck of the “Norfolk”. He is still a little sleepy, but in the warming sun, his life spirits return within the shortest time. In the night, like so often, he dreamt fiercely of Lindsay Rowley, of Marala, but also about Alexander Rickleby and Mr. Howard – his cabin mate, Callum Milton, had to wake him twice because he was thoroughly worried about Simon’s restlessness. But in bright daylight the dreams fade away quickly. On deck only a few men have gone about their work until now. Simon heads over to the railing which is covered with a fine, pearly film of water – the dew is evidence of a cool, clear night.
“Good morning, Mr. Brown,” the pithy, dark voice of the captain sounds in Simon’s back. Surprised, the addressed party turns around.
“I did not want to shock you, Brown,” the captain excuses himself. “Up on your feet so early?”
“Good morning, Mr. Mac Brodie,” answers Simon amicably.
“Sir!” is the short but definite reply from the grumpy old sea dog.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Mr. Brown; it is enough if you address me as Sir.” On the captain’s facial expression, Simon recognises unambiguously that he wants to have a serious discussion with him. “It is good that we have a few minutes to ourselves, Mr. Brown. You know – I did not seek you out as a holiday guest on board. But you are here now … So be it. You are accompanying us under contract from Ringfield & Lewis, meaning on business. And seeing as you are already present, you can make yourself useful – otherwise you get the idea of being bored. Just be sure: I will certainly find something suitable for you. In the rank order, I assign you the position between the officers and the crew.”
“Yes, Mr. … Sir,” answers Simon amicably. He is in fact happy about the captain’s idea, because lazing around was never something for him.
“And Mr. Brown – do not become friends with the crew!”
“Excuse me?” Now Simon looks somewhat confused.
“Mr. Brown, we are not a tourist party. We live together for many months in the closest quarters; the work is hard and the sea often capricious and unforgiving. We are a partnership of convenience in which everyone fights for themselves and looks for his own advantage. The respect that you gain from the crew is of enormous significance because it helps to protect your life. If push comes to shove, then a few officers are standing opposite a much superior crew in terms of numbers.”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Good, we understand one another. Ah, there is Mr. Milton.” Captain Mac Brodie lifts his right arm to draw attention to himself and officer Milton comes over to him. “Good morning, Sir,” he greets the captain. “Looks like it will be a lovely day.”
“Mr. Milton, take Mr. Brown in tow. Show him the map room and instruct him in the route that we will be sailing, as well as in the routines that everyone on this ship has to follow. Then go with him through the whole ship. He probably knows every plank, but it will be of benefit if he knows what we have loaded and where the things are stored.”
“Aye, Sir,” answers officer Milton and turns to Simon, “So, Mr. Brown, let’s go.”
“Sir,” Simon says, taking leave of the captain, “thank you for the clear words.”
“Aye, Brown.” The captain lifts his right index finger in salutation to the peak of his cap.
Simon follows officer Milton down the steep hatchway with the crude wooden hand rails into the belly of the ship. Two, three doors swing open and close, then they are standing in a small room with a large, round table in the middle. There are no chairs, but many shelves and presses on the walls, in which are rolled up maps and navigation devices. Daylight falls directly through a large window onto the table that is completely covered by a spread out sea chart of the American Atlantic coast.
“This is our map room so, Mr. Brown. But you know everything anyway from the construction plans.”
“True, but fully equipped it looks completely different.” Impressed, Simon allows his gaze wander along the shelves. Then he turns to Milton again. “My name is Simon, and I would be delighted if at least we two could go by first names, seeing as we share a cabin as well.”
“Gladly. I am Callum,” answers the other, visibly happy. “I also presume that we are around the same age – I am twenty-four and come from Chicago by the way.”
“I am twenty years old and come from Boston.”
“Yes,” replies Milton and has to laugh. “You work for Ringfield & Lewis. The captain said that.”
“True,” nods Simon. “But I only do that on the side. Actually over the last few years I have been studying in Harvard. But that is another story …”
“Look here,” officer Milton interrupts at the map table, and indicates with a sharp pencil a point before the American coast. “We are located around here now. We will keep sailing southwards, until the West Indian Islands. Our next destination is Kingston on Jamaica. There we will round off our cargo.”
“Is there still room on board?” wonders Simon.
“Always room for rum!” replies Callum with a wide grin.
“Rum?”
“Yes, we are taking rum to Java. As far as I know, it has already been sold to a trader in Batavia.”
“Where is Java?” Simon wants to know.
“You don’t know Java?” Officer Milton turns to a shelf behind him and begins to search in it. “One moment, I’ll find it now – it is best I show you Java on the map.” He is already pulling out a lightly yellowed and crumpled rolled-up parchment from the shelf and spreading it out on the map table.
“Look, Simon,” Callum moves his right index finger over the map. “Here lies India and the Ceylon Islands. This group of islands further underneath, between the Indian and Pacific Ocean is Dutch India, and … mmh … here we have Batavia in the north of the island of Java. Normally we take the Sunda Strait, where the sea narrows between Sumatra and Java. Then we are already almost in Batavia. But sometimes we sail through the Strait of Malacca between Sumatra and Malaysia. It depends on whether one has heard about pirates again. They are meant to be in the area – but I have never seen any yet.”
“What type of people live there?” asks Simon. “And what language do they speak?”
“Asians live on Java. Friendly people with a somewhat darker skin type.” Callum has to grin. “They do not have white skin like us. I think that skin with a little colour looks prettier, especially with women.”
“Tender, light skin is the wish of most women though,” counters Simon. “That is why they wear big hats in summer, so that their skin just doesn’t get any sun.”
“You are right, although I just find it nicer when it is different. You will see when we are there. Most people who live there are Muslims by the way; they believe in Allah not in God.”
“They do, Callum,” Simon argues. “In Islam, Allah is God for the Muslims, in the same way there is God for the Christians and Jews. Our teacher explained that to us back then.”
“That may be true … By the way, our rum trader on location is a Dutchman.”
“Did he emigrate?”
“Java is a Dutch colony. On my last journey I saw him briefly and he did not look Asian … Perhaps he did indeed emigrate. Many people on Java speak Dutch, but of course they have an Asian mother tongue on top of that; it sounds very strange. But do not worry, with English you will easily get by.”
“I am not worried,” answers Simon. “I find this all extremely interesting.”
Over the next days, Simon, with the help of Callum Milton and Roger Harrison, the first officer, is very busy trying to understand the practical side of navigation and finding a routine for reading sea charts. The two officers react with astonishment to Simon’s theoretical abilities which he has acquired from books and in conversations during his time at Ringfield & Lewis. However, during these days it becomes apparent to him how important practical experience is. Although he is able to precisely determine his position with a sextant, with a swaying ship under his feet, he must still practise.
At around midday of the fifth day, Simon is on his way to the ship’s bow with a message for Roger Harrison when suddenly, out of nowhere, somebody jostles him so that he has to make an effort to stay on his feet. Appalled, Simon glances around him and looks into the seemingly unfeeling eyes of a skinny sailor with a scar on his left cheek.
“Excuse me,” Simon hurries to say. “I was completely lost in thought.”
The man does not reply directly, just mumbles a few words to himself and directs his gazes at the open sea. Simon is surprised, but does not want to make a fuss about it. So he continues on to the bow where Roger Harrison is just hanging a coiled rope onto a belaying pin.
“Mr. Harrison, captain Mac Brodie sends the message that you should relieve him at the watch. I should continue here for you.”
Harrison looks up briefly. “That is not necessary, Brown, I am just counting the ropes and will be finished in a few minutes. On an earlier voyage the captain found out that several sailors secretly sold more than a quarter of all the ropes in a port. In bad weather that can have fatal consequences. For this reason, we officers have to convince ourselves every so often that the number of ropes on board agrees with the inventory.”
“Selling ropes? What is the sense of that?”
“Very simple: It brings money into the pocket of the seller – for beer, rum, whisky and … women!”
“But the ropes are tools that are essential for survival.”
“Of course, but the money is more important for the sailors. In every port that we sail into, they get an advance on their pay, but only when we reach New York again do they receive the rest of the agreed sum. Some sailors are not happy with this procedure. On some trade ships, part of the cargo is smuggled ashore even and sold.”
“That cannot be!” cries Simon in dismay. “The procedure sounds perfectly in order to me. Where is the problem?”
“There are ship-owners who promise a lot but deliver little,” says Harrison.
“But surely not Henderson Transatlantic!”
“No, of course not. Some sailors though have had bad experiences and therefore have very little trust. Others get to know a pretty woman in a port and still others allow themselves to be fleeced after an intense booze-up. In short: After the voyage they have just as little money as beforehand.”
“During the first days I didn’t really notice, but can it be that there are relatively few sailors on board?”
“Now, Mr. Brown,” explains Harrison, “firstly we are not a passenger ship, and secondly sailors are not just lying around on the street. The job is dangerous and one is away from the family for a long time. Not everyone wants to do that. Therefore the composition of the team also changes from voyage to voyage.” The first officer points discreetly in the direction of the main mast. “Do you see that powerful small man with the dark complexion and the black hair? That is Alvaro Campillo, a Mexican. He is sailing for the second time with us.”
“And the one over there, behind the main mast, to the right?”
“That is Octavian Bonepeak. He is English and is sailing for the first time with captain Mac Brodie. I cannot gauge him yet – perhaps a bit rude. The muscular man beside him is Louis Durant, a Frenchman and a decent guy. This is his sixth time already.”
Something else still interests Simon. “On which ship did you and Mac Brodie sail previously?”
“Well, her name was ‘Rose’, but this flower had slowly become withered. It is highly likely that she will be scrapped. The way I know Henderson though, he might find somebody who will pay him a tidy sum for her.”
“How does it feel to be travelling on a completely new ship from one day to the next?”
Harrison has to think about the question for a moment. Then he says, “It is exactly like riding: every horse is a personality and therefore different, but if you can ride one, you can usually ride them all.” Harrison laughs loudly and then ends the conversation with a determined “Onwards so!”
...
“Good morning, Mr. Brown,” the pithy, dark voice of the captain sounds in Simon’s back. Surprised, the addressed party turns around.
“I did not want to shock you, Brown,” the captain excuses himself. “Up on your feet so early?”
“Good morning, Mr. Mac Brodie,” answers Simon amicably.
“Sir!” is the short but definite reply from the grumpy old sea dog.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Mr. Brown; it is enough if you address me as Sir.” On the captain’s facial expression, Simon recognises unambiguously that he wants to have a serious discussion with him. “It is good that we have a few minutes to ourselves, Mr. Brown. You know – I did not seek you out as a holiday guest on board. But you are here now … So be it. You are accompanying us under contract from Ringfield & Lewis, meaning on business. And seeing as you are already present, you can make yourself useful – otherwise you get the idea of being bored. Just be sure: I will certainly find something suitable for you. In the rank order, I assign you the position between the officers and the crew.”
“Yes, Mr. … Sir,” answers Simon amicably. He is in fact happy about the captain’s idea, because lazing around was never something for him.
“And Mr. Brown – do not become friends with the crew!”
“Excuse me?” Now Simon looks somewhat confused.
“Mr. Brown, we are not a tourist party. We live together for many months in the closest quarters; the work is hard and the sea often capricious and unforgiving. We are a partnership of convenience in which everyone fights for themselves and looks for his own advantage. The respect that you gain from the crew is of enormous significance because it helps to protect your life. If push comes to shove, then a few officers are standing opposite a much superior crew in terms of numbers.”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Good, we understand one another. Ah, there is Mr. Milton.” Captain Mac Brodie lifts his right arm to draw attention to himself and officer Milton comes over to him. “Good morning, Sir,” he greets the captain. “Looks like it will be a lovely day.”
“Mr. Milton, take Mr. Brown in tow. Show him the map room and instruct him in the route that we will be sailing, as well as in the routines that everyone on this ship has to follow. Then go with him through the whole ship. He probably knows every plank, but it will be of benefit if he knows what we have loaded and where the things are stored.”
“Aye, Sir,” answers officer Milton and turns to Simon, “So, Mr. Brown, let’s go.”
“Sir,” Simon says, taking leave of the captain, “thank you for the clear words.”
“Aye, Brown.” The captain lifts his right index finger in salutation to the peak of his cap.
Simon follows officer Milton down the steep hatchway with the crude wooden hand rails into the belly of the ship. Two, three doors swing open and close, then they are standing in a small room with a large, round table in the middle. There are no chairs, but many shelves and presses on the walls, in which are rolled up maps and navigation devices. Daylight falls directly through a large window onto the table that is completely covered by a spread out sea chart of the American Atlantic coast.
“This is our map room so, Mr. Brown. But you know everything anyway from the construction plans.”
“True, but fully equipped it looks completely different.” Impressed, Simon allows his gaze wander along the shelves. Then he turns to Milton again. “My name is Simon, and I would be delighted if at least we two could go by first names, seeing as we share a cabin as well.”
“Gladly. I am Callum,” answers the other, visibly happy. “I also presume that we are around the same age – I am twenty-four and come from Chicago by the way.”
“I am twenty years old and come from Boston.”
“Yes,” replies Milton and has to laugh. “You work for Ringfield & Lewis. The captain said that.”
“True,” nods Simon. “But I only do that on the side. Actually over the last few years I have been studying in Harvard. But that is another story …”
“Look here,” officer Milton interrupts at the map table, and indicates with a sharp pencil a point before the American coast. “We are located around here now. We will keep sailing southwards, until the West Indian Islands. Our next destination is Kingston on Jamaica. There we will round off our cargo.”
“Is there still room on board?” wonders Simon.
“Always room for rum!” replies Callum with a wide grin.
“Rum?”
“Yes, we are taking rum to Java. As far as I know, it has already been sold to a trader in Batavia.”
“Where is Java?” Simon wants to know.
“You don’t know Java?” Officer Milton turns to a shelf behind him and begins to search in it. “One moment, I’ll find it now – it is best I show you Java on the map.” He is already pulling out a lightly yellowed and crumpled rolled-up parchment from the shelf and spreading it out on the map table.
“Look, Simon,” Callum moves his right index finger over the map. “Here lies India and the Ceylon Islands. This group of islands further underneath, between the Indian and Pacific Ocean is Dutch India, and … mmh … here we have Batavia in the north of the island of Java. Normally we take the Sunda Strait, where the sea narrows between Sumatra and Java. Then we are already almost in Batavia. But sometimes we sail through the Strait of Malacca between Sumatra and Malaysia. It depends on whether one has heard about pirates again. They are meant to be in the area – but I have never seen any yet.”
“What type of people live there?” asks Simon. “And what language do they speak?”
“Asians live on Java. Friendly people with a somewhat darker skin type.” Callum has to grin. “They do not have white skin like us. I think that skin with a little colour looks prettier, especially with women.”
“Tender, light skin is the wish of most women though,” counters Simon. “That is why they wear big hats in summer, so that their skin just doesn’t get any sun.”
“You are right, although I just find it nicer when it is different. You will see when we are there. Most people who live there are Muslims by the way; they believe in Allah not in God.”
“They do, Callum,” Simon argues. “In Islam, Allah is God for the Muslims, in the same way there is God for the Christians and Jews. Our teacher explained that to us back then.”
“That may be true … By the way, our rum trader on location is a Dutchman.”
“Did he emigrate?”
“Java is a Dutch colony. On my last journey I saw him briefly and he did not look Asian … Perhaps he did indeed emigrate. Many people on Java speak Dutch, but of course they have an Asian mother tongue on top of that; it sounds very strange. But do not worry, with English you will easily get by.”
“I am not worried,” answers Simon. “I find this all extremely interesting.”
Over the next days, Simon, with the help of Callum Milton and Roger Harrison, the first officer, is very busy trying to understand the practical side of navigation and finding a routine for reading sea charts. The two officers react with astonishment to Simon’s theoretical abilities which he has acquired from books and in conversations during his time at Ringfield & Lewis. However, during these days it becomes apparent to him how important practical experience is. Although he is able to precisely determine his position with a sextant, with a swaying ship under his feet, he must still practise.
At around midday of the fifth day, Simon is on his way to the ship’s bow with a message for Roger Harrison when suddenly, out of nowhere, somebody jostles him so that he has to make an effort to stay on his feet. Appalled, Simon glances around him and looks into the seemingly unfeeling eyes of a skinny sailor with a scar on his left cheek.
“Excuse me,” Simon hurries to say. “I was completely lost in thought.”
The man does not reply directly, just mumbles a few words to himself and directs his gazes at the open sea. Simon is surprised, but does not want to make a fuss about it. So he continues on to the bow where Roger Harrison is just hanging a coiled rope onto a belaying pin.
“Mr. Harrison, captain Mac Brodie sends the message that you should relieve him at the watch. I should continue here for you.”
Harrison looks up briefly. “That is not necessary, Brown, I am just counting the ropes and will be finished in a few minutes. On an earlier voyage the captain found out that several sailors secretly sold more than a quarter of all the ropes in a port. In bad weather that can have fatal consequences. For this reason, we officers have to convince ourselves every so often that the number of ropes on board agrees with the inventory.”
“Selling ropes? What is the sense of that?”
“Very simple: It brings money into the pocket of the seller – for beer, rum, whisky and … women!”
“But the ropes are tools that are essential for survival.”
“Of course, but the money is more important for the sailors. In every port that we sail into, they get an advance on their pay, but only when we reach New York again do they receive the rest of the agreed sum. Some sailors are not happy with this procedure. On some trade ships, part of the cargo is smuggled ashore even and sold.”
“That cannot be!” cries Simon in dismay. “The procedure sounds perfectly in order to me. Where is the problem?”
“There are ship-owners who promise a lot but deliver little,” says Harrison.
“But surely not Henderson Transatlantic!”
“No, of course not. Some sailors though have had bad experiences and therefore have very little trust. Others get to know a pretty woman in a port and still others allow themselves to be fleeced after an intense booze-up. In short: After the voyage they have just as little money as beforehand.”
“During the first days I didn’t really notice, but can it be that there are relatively few sailors on board?”
“Now, Mr. Brown,” explains Harrison, “firstly we are not a passenger ship, and secondly sailors are not just lying around on the street. The job is dangerous and one is away from the family for a long time. Not everyone wants to do that. Therefore the composition of the team also changes from voyage to voyage.” The first officer points discreetly in the direction of the main mast. “Do you see that powerful small man with the dark complexion and the black hair? That is Alvaro Campillo, a Mexican. He is sailing for the second time with us.”
“And the one over there, behind the main mast, to the right?”
“That is Octavian Bonepeak. He is English and is sailing for the first time with captain Mac Brodie. I cannot gauge him yet – perhaps a bit rude. The muscular man beside him is Louis Durant, a Frenchman and a decent guy. This is his sixth time already.”
Something else still interests Simon. “On which ship did you and Mac Brodie sail previously?”
“Well, her name was ‘Rose’, but this flower had slowly become withered. It is highly likely that she will be scrapped. The way I know Henderson though, he might find somebody who will pay him a tidy sum for her.”
“How does it feel to be travelling on a completely new ship from one day to the next?”
Harrison has to think about the question for a moment. Then he says, “It is exactly like riding: every horse is a personality and therefore different, but if you can ride one, you can usually ride them all.” Harrison laughs loudly and then ends the conversation with a determined “Onwards so!”
...