Ocean Crest Inn
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“It’s the damnedest thing I saw!”
The captain stared at his lieutenant in astonishment. The man had not uttered a sound for hours; he seemed to be sleeping with both eyes open, and his face was pale and pinched. But then he spoke, with sudden enthusiasm and animation.
His words were punctuated by violent twitches of the body which made them impossible to follow. It was as though every muscle must express its opinion, or else it would die. “The damnedest thing you ever saw—that’s what! And no mistake about that!”
The captain looked up from the table and shook his head doubtfully. “No mistake, sir,” said the lieutenant doggedly. “You can’t say that there is.” He paused dramatically for emphasis, then went on: “And no mistake about that either!” Then he stopped abruptly.
His mouth twisted as though he tasted something disagreeable. “I don’t know how it happened, but I know one thing,” he added slowly. “If the ship hadn’t been righted—”
Again came a spasm, this time a deep groan. The lieutenant put his hand on his chest and swallowed audibly as though in pain. His eyes fluttered again.
“But she was righted, Lieutenant,” replied the captain quietly. “You heard her come up on deck when I did.”
The lieutenant’s face contorted into an expression of such horror that the captain felt his own skin begin to crawl. With a cry like that of a dying woman, he leaped from the chair, ran to the window, seized the sill, and leaned out of it, his arms extended straight above his head.
“The ship! The ship! God Almighty! She’s righted!” He began to climb rapidly back toward the window frame until his fingers were almost torn off, clinging like ivy to the metal.
The captain rose from his seat, feeling a cold chill creeping over him. The lieutenant’s voice sounded muffled and distant to him. “It’s the damnedest thing you ever see!” he yelled in the direction of the door. Then, with an abrupt turn toward the captain, who stood staring stupidly at him: “What do you think of that, sir?”
“Lieutenant,” said the captain firmly, “I have already answered you—twice.” As he spoke, he felt his heart begin to beat more quickly and strongly. This man was mad, and he himself must watch him closely now and keep an eye on the situation. There would be trouble if the crew found out about this.
For an instant, his mind turned in that direction, and then he dismissed it. They would never understand it anyway. No wonder they laughed. It was so ridiculous that they might actually believe that he had fallen down drunk in front of his messmates. What could they expect? A man jumped overboard because his ship was righted. It was beyond belief.
He smiled grimly, remembering that other officer who had once jumped from a bridge while his ship was underway. That had been a fine example for the men. And that officer, too, had been right-handed. He felt quite sure that he would remember that detail later on. Perhaps he ought to mention it just as the lieutenant finished talking. But not yet.
As the lieutenant began to shout again, the captain walked slowly toward him. “I’ve told you before, Lieutenant,” he said softly, “and I’ll tell you now—I do not wish to hear your theories concerning my ship. I am in command here.” He paused deliberately for emphasis. “Now if you will please get back into your chair”—he waved dismissively—”I shall go on reading that report.”
The lieutenant looked up in blank amazement. He sat down slowly. “Yes, sir,” he said faintly, “of course. You’re right. I’m sorry. Of course, you are the commander.”
With a sigh of relief, the captain resumed his place beside the table. He picked up a paper and continued to read, but after a few moments his attention wandered and he looked up in surprise. The lieutenant was gone.
His footsteps echoed in the hall as he hurried to his room. It was dark and still inside. He lit the candle and looked around curiously. There was a single chair against the wall at the left side of the room. On top of it lay the uniform trousers and jacket that the captain had worn earlier in the day.
The captain frowned as he thought that the man had taken them. The clothes should have belonged to the first lieutenant. He glanced down at the floor. The pants were lying there. The jacket had been removed and placed somewhere else, perhaps under the bed, which seemed to be made of wood.
He picked it up carefully and examined it. The lining had been neatly taken out and laid across the footboard. It was a very nice coat; he wondered where it was going.
“Lieutenant!”
There was no answer from below, and he climbed cautiously down the ladder. He reached the bottom quickly, then hurried forward to look into the main cabin. There was no one there. In the forecastle, the lantern light showed him that Lieutenant Rufus Scranton, First Division of the Marine Corps, was sleeping soundly in his bunk.
There was some movement on the quarterdeck—a figure had stepped into view near the wheel. The captain went aft at once, his steps light, and his movements are quick.
He arrived just in time to see the lieutenant rise quickly from behind the wheel. The captain saw that the man held a lantern high above his head; its bright light revealed the man’s face, which showed unmistakable signs of fear and agitation.
“Lieutenant!”
The man hesitated at the top of the ladder. The captain advanced quickly. “You are relieved of duty,” he said, “in connection with the operation which is underway on board this ship.”
The man’s eyes widened. His expression changed as he took in what the captain had said. “What! You—you can’t mean me!” he cried suddenly, dropping the lantern and backing away from the ladder. “That isn’t fair, Captain; this isn’t a mutiny.” He paused momentarily to catch his breath. “I didn’t do anything. Nothing! Not a thing, sir. I haven’t even seen the deck since noon.”
“And you are supposed to know all about it?” snapped the captain angrily. “Well, we’ll see. Get below!”
The man stumbled over to the hatchway and disappeared below. The captain stood looking up at the ladder for a moment. Then he turned and walked aft, leaving the hatchway open behind him. He returned to the table and seated himself once more, picking up the report to continue reading it.
As he did so, his eyes caught sight of a familiar form standing motionless by the rail on the opposite side of the quarterdeck.
There was only one man in the world who could wear a uniform such as that, the captain thought.
One man whose appearance was always so unexpected, so completely unexpected: one man whom he could never forget, one man to whom he owed his life, one man who had once been in command of his own ship; one man whose memory filled him with horror whenever he thought of it—the man who was now standing at attention beside the rail on the opposite side of the quarterdeck.
***
It was raining hard when I awoke, a thin cold drizzle that fell straight down upon my face, filling my nostrils and soaking through my clothing. For a moment I lay still, trying to regain consciousness. I was wet and tired; it felt like someone had wrapped their arms around me and squeezed.
The fog had cleared away sometime during the night; I knew it by the sound of the waves breaking against the hull. They were coming in much faster than before; the sound of them seemed to grow louder and closer as each wave came crashing against the stern.
A few seconds later I realized why the sound was so loud. There was another noise, a thumping noise—a sound that was coming from outside. My eyes opened slowly as the rain ran down my cheeks and neck. I was lying on my back, and the wind from the sea pushed my hair flat against my scalp and neck.
Something had happened to my uniform—the collar of my blue jacket was wet, and it hung loosely around my shoulders as if it had shrunk. A chill went down my spine as I sat up and looked around the compartment.
Someone must have drugged me—that was obvious. My clothes were soaked to the skin. The cabin had become stuffy—it stank of damp wool. My hands trembled uncontrollably as I tried to get out of my jacket—all my muscles felt weak.
Someone had taken my belt off, but they hadn’t bothered with my trousers or boots. My legs were bare except for my stockings and shoes—and the stockings were sodden with water.
I pulled myself together as best I could, then started searching the compartment for clues. Everything was wet—my bedding was soaked through and hanging from the bulkhead where it had slid across the deck when the waves broke over the railing.
There was no food in the cabin, not even a piece of bread; I found nothing in the storage locker, nothing in the washroom. My hat and coat were missing—they must have thrown them overboard while I slept. That was something else I would have liked to have seen, but it was impossible now.
My shirt, however, showed signs of having been cleaned—but I couldn’t say whether it was fresh, or whether the saltwater had merely washed out some of the stains. It was difficult to tell under such conditions. Still, there was enough light from the porthole to help me see clearly; I decided to take a chance at it.
With my left hand, I reached into my pocket for some money; it wasn’t very much, but it might be useful later. With my right, I searched through my shirt and coat pockets.
When I got to the back, however, I encountered something unfamiliar; a piece of paper. I held it up to the dim light coming through the window; it appeared to be a letter, addressed to me in neat handwriting. My heart leaped at the sight of it, and my mouth became dry. I unfolded it carefully, then read it quickly as I scanned it.
It was short—only three paragraphs long.
Dear Johnnie,
The weather has taken a bad turn; it will not get better until tomorrow morning. We are making our way to an island that is supposed to hold several thousand soldiers. I’ll send you a telegram once we get there. Please try to make it in time!
Your loving husband,
Sergt.-Gen. J.F. Smith.
At the bottom of the sheet, I noticed a stamp. It looked like the kind used on letters from Washington; perhaps he’d sent it to me from the States.
As I turned to put it away, however, I saw that the envelope was sealed with wax. I hesitated—then took my knife from its sheath inside my boot, and slit the top edge of the envelope. A folded note slid out onto the table between us. I read it quickly, then re-read it twice before I understood what it meant:
This ship is heading towards Europe. You will never get to your destination this way. If you can reach the island within two days of sailing, you should make it just fine. But I’m afraid you’ll have to leave me behind; my orders state that I cannot take passengers, and that includes officers. Good luck, Johnnie.
I crumpled the paper in my fist but did not cry. Not yet, anyway. I knew that my life was about to end—but I would die knowing that my wife was safe. At least she wouldn’t die alone. She deserved more than that—she deserved to know who murdered her father and grandfather and shot down our son and unborn child…but I couldn’t do anything to stop it now.
I put the letter away, then pulled my hatchet out from beneath the bunk. I took a long look around the room; there was only one way to escape.
I climbed over the edge of the bed, then swung myself forward over the edge of the deck. I landed on my feet, and ran forward along the rail, keeping low so the wind wouldn’t blow my hat off.
The ship rolled sharply, almost throwing me overboard. I clung tightly to the railing as I waited for the seas to calm down again; then I jumped over another railing.
The next deck was the quarterdeck, and there I stopped for a moment. The ship was rolling violently now, and I wasn’t sure how stable the deck was, especially with all the sails and rigging. Even without any of those things in place, it would be difficult to run across it—especially since it had no railings to keep people from falling overboard.
Still, I had no other choice, so I forced myself forward. I didn’t dare stop to look around; I simply kept running, trying to stay close to the railing and keep myself as flat as possible against the side of the ship.
After a few moments, I came upon a ladder that led up to the forecastle. I scrambled up the rungs as fast as I could, but after only a few steps I felt my foot slip; I went tumbling backwards onto the deck.
I lay there for a moment, then tried to get up—but I found myself staring up at a man’s boots standing inches away from my face. They were large, thick-soled military shoes; they belonged to a big man wearing black trousers and a long dark jacket. He was holding a saber at his side—and judging from the way he was moving, he was ready to fight if I made him angry enough.
“Get up,” he commanded. “You’re trespassing on my ship.”
My mind raced—was he from the British navy? I thought so at first, but then I realized he was speaking Spanish. That’s when I realized I knew him: Captain Antonio Cárdenas of the Royal Guard.
He was an imposing figure; his head barely reached my shoulder even though he stood at least six feet tall. His hair and beard were jet black—and his eyes were the same color. He was probably in his mid-thirties; he wore a small mustache above his lips—though I noticed it didn’t extend much beyond the corners of his mouth.
Cárdenas pointed back toward the quarterdeck. “I saw you come through the hatchway,” he said. “You’ve been spying on me!”
“No,” I lied. “I’m just—”
But just as I started to say more, someone else interrupted. “Stop talking to the prisoner,” he ordered, his voice sounding like metal scraping together. He had a deep, raspy voice, and his accent sounded strange to my ears. “And leave him alone. This isn’t your ship.”
“Yes, it is,” he replied, turning to face his companion. “This ship belongs to me; my name is Manuel de Godoy y Tordesillas—Captain of the Sea—and I command it. And you are not welcome aboard it.”
The captain turned back to me, then gestured for me to follow him. I glanced over his shoulder and saw a man dressed in a long black coat approaching us. Unlike Cárdenas, he looked like a regular soldier: his hair was gray, his face was weathered, and he carried a sword at his waist.
“You see?” Cárdenas asked. “That is the King’s man.”
The King’s man…the man who would become my master. He seemed like a very scary person, and he reminded me of the stories of pirates I used to hear while growing up. Still, I couldn’t deny that it was nice having some kind of authority around—even if he was an arrogant asshole.
At least I’d be free from this prison. Now, what to do about Captain Cárdenas…?
The End