Ocean Wall
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A storm was building, a great mass of dark clouds moving from the north. The wind was increasing and they had to reef sails for the first time since leaving England; it seemed as if every sail in the ship’s company was aloft at once. For an hour or so they rode the wind with all their canvas spread.
Then the wind began to drop away, but before long it came back again and the men were working like dogs again, hauling on lines, raising staysails, and filling foretopsail sheets. As soon as they could see the ship’s head again, the bosun called the men ashore to eat supper.
All hands ate quickly because the sea was beginning to heave around them and there would be no time later. After they had eaten the captain ordered his officers into the chartroom while he stood to watch by himself on deck. He did not think that any of his men would dare try anything tonight.
He hoped they wouldn’t, anyway. It would take some nerve to do anything against him now after what he had done this afternoon. His own conscience troubled him only slightly more than usual.
When he went below, however, he found two men waiting for him in the chatroom. One was Mr. McElroy, the surgeon, and the other was the chaplain.
“We thought you should know,” said Mr. McElroy, “that we’ve got one prisoner.”
The captain looked at the man who was standing stiffly to attention in front of him. The prisoner wore a red-and-white striped coat, trousers, and stockings—a sailor’s uniform. His hair was grey, though it had been dyed black earlier today. There was something about his eyes that made the captain uneasy.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
Mr. McElroy nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Where is he? Where’s the ship’s boy?”
“He’s with us here. In fact”—the surgeon spoke up—” he’s in my cabin.”
“What’s happened to the boy?”
“Nothing. He’s still alive.”
“Good!” the captain exclaimed. “Take him to my cabin immediately, then.”
“Yes sir. Will you want me to get a guard for him?”
“No, I won’t need a guard. Just make certain he doesn’t escape.”
They left the chartroom together. When the door closed behind them the captain turned to the chaplain. “Get the boy out of the way. Take him to your cabin and lock him in. Don’t let him come anywhere near me or anyone else. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” said the chaplain.
“And keep a close eye on that boy too,” the captain added, pointing toward the prisoner.
As soon as the chaplain was gone, the captain walked over to the prisoner and stood looking down at him. He had already decided what to do. Now he just needed to find a way to tell the prisoner what he intended without arousing his suspicions.
That was the tricky part. But there was no help for it. If the prisoner didn’t know what the captain wanted to say, there was nothing to stop him from saying whatever he liked instead. So he would have to find a way to warn the prisoner without letting him guess that anything was amiss.
That took a few minutes longer than it should have, but finally, he succeeded. At last, he had told the prisoner everything he meant to say without giving him any warning at all. Now the prisoner knew what was going to happen, but the captain hoped he might yet change his mind. The prisoner seemed to understand. He raised his hand and saluted.
The captain returned the salute and watched him walk away. Once the door closed behind the prisoner, the captain hurried to his cabin and locked the door behind him. He sat down in front of a small writing desk and picked up a piece of paper and a pencil.
He wrote slowly and carefully. A minute passed. Another. Finally, satisfied that he had written clearly enough, he folded the note and placed it inside his waistcoat pocket. Then he waited. He had hardly moved when the door opened and the chaplain stepped inside. The chaplain was holding a lantern and a short walking stick.
“Captain?” he asked.
The captain stood up. “Come in, Reverend.” He gestured to the chair facing the desk.
The chaplain lowered himself into the chair. “Is something wrong, Captain?”
“Not really.” The captain smiled. “In fact, quite the contrary. What brings you to my cabin at such an early hour?”
The chaplain shrugged. “I’d like to ask you something, if I may.”
“Of course, you may.”
The chaplain hesitated. “Well, sir, you were right about the ship’s boy being a spy, weren’t you?”
The captain frowned. “Was I?”
“Yes, sir. You were. He was spying on us from the moment he came aboard.”
The captain laughed. “Spying! Ha! Well, now, how interesting!”
“So what are we going to do with him?”
The captain paused before replying. It was hard to be completely truthful, but he had to try. “Oh, I think I’ll have some fun with him first.”
“Fun, sir?”
The captain grinned. “Yes. Fun.”
***
It was the same routine every night: the boy would take off his clothes and stand naked by the bunk bed while the captain inspected him. This time, though, something was different. For one thing, the boy had grown.
And for another, the captain could sense that this particular inspection wasn’t entirely accidental. It occurred to the captain that the boy might even be trying to seduce him. But the idea seemed preposterous. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. He tried not to let it show, but after a moment he found himself growing angry.
“Why don’t you speak up?” he snapped.
The boy stared back at him, his expression blank.
The captain shook his head. “You’re supposed to talk to me during these inspections. Say something, damn it!”
The boy didn’t respond. His eyes remained fixed on the captain, as did his lips.
The captain reached forward and grabbed him by the chin. He lifted the boy’s face so that they were staring directly into each other’s eyes. “Speak up!” he shouted.
At last, the boy whispered: “I can’t.”
The captain released his grip. He stared down at the boy, frowning. He glanced around the room, then pulled out a candle and held it high above their heads. He looked back down at the boy again.
“What is this? Is someone hiding in here?”
The boy’s gaze remained steady. “No,” he whispered.
“Then why aren’t you talking?”
Again, silence.
Finally, the captain turned to leave. As he passed through the doorway, he stopped suddenly and spun around. “One more thing,” he said. “Tell me where you hid your knife.”
The boy looked puzzled. “My… knife?”
“Yes, your knife. Where did you hide it?”
The boy blinked several times. “I don’t know.”
The captain nodded and left the room. He walked quickly toward his cabin, his mood darkening as he thought over the situation. By now, the boy had surely learned his lesson; there was no point in keeping him in the brig.
If only he knew who the spy was—he had already checked all of the crew, but maybe one of them was still lying low somewhere. At least, he hoped so. Otherwise, it meant that someone else had been spying on them all along. That could be disastrous.
The captain took a deep breath, then exhaled forcefully. He pushed open the door to his cabin and stepped inside. He lit the candles atop his desk, then dropped heavily into his chair.
He stared down at the paper in his hand.
Reverend B. M. Dufresne
P. O. Box 7051
New Orleans, La. 70197-7051
Dear Brother,
Thank you so much for sending the letter you mentioned. I will keep it with me always. I am writing to you today because I fear I have grave news. It has come to my attention that one of our own has become a traitor.
A few days ago, a boy named William Brown was caught spying on us from within the ship. He was beaten severely and locked in the brig until I arrived yesterday evening. Since then, I’ve interrogated him extensively, but have yet to determine exactly what he knows or whom he works for.
We must find out quickly. If he is indeed working for the French, they will soon learn of our presence. Our enemies are closing in fast. Please pray for us.
Sincerely,
Captain John Smith
***
“Now, tell me everything.”
The captain leaned back in his chair. The boy sat across from him, wearing only a thin cotton shift. It was late afternoon; the sun was setting outside, casting long shadows throughout the cabin.
“Everything?” the boy asked.
The captain nodded. “All right, start at the beginning.”
The boy frowned slightly. “I don’t understand…”
“I want you to go through everything that happened when you got captured,” the captain continued. “From the time you boarded the ship until now.”
“But I don’t remember any of it.”
“That’s fine,” the captain said. “Just describe what you do recall.”
For a moment, the boy just stared off into space, thinking about it. Then he slowly began to recount the story of his capture.
“So we came ashore after leaving St. Marys,” he told the captain. “We landed near the mouth of the river. There were three boats waiting for us, but the men in charge were surprised to see that we had brought so many prisoners with us.
They ordered us to take them aboard and get underway immediately, but the captain refused. He insisted that we wait until morning, which is when we were attacked.”
The boy paused. “The attackers were a group of pirates. One of them had an English accent like you do. He said they wanted to steal our cargo, which we didn’t believe. After a short discussion, the pirate leader agreed to let us go if we promised not to return to the island.”
The boy fell silent again. This part of the story wasn’t clear to him. Why would the pirates attack a boat full of unarmed captives? Surely they weren’t interested in stealing anything, since the cargo was nothing special. Maybe it was just random violence, though that seemed strange too. The pirates clearly wanted something. What could it possibly be?
The captain leaned forward in his chair. “And what happened next?” he asked.
“They tied up our hands behind our backs and blindfolded us.” The boy paused. “Then they threw us into their boat.”
A wave of pain washed over the captain, making his eyes water. He clenched his jaw tight to keep himself from crying out. His thoughts flashed back to his own captivity years earlier. He remembered how frightened and helpless he felt during those first days, unable to see, hear, or speak.
He remembered being terrified of the pirates’ intentions, even though they never once harmed him physically. They kept him alive by feeding him scraps of food and giving him clean water to drink. But still, he knew they intended to kill him.
All he could think about was getting away. So he spent most of his time trying to figure out how to escape—a task made difficult by his inability to move his arms or legs. He often wished that he’d been killed rather than left to suffer such terrible agony.
The End