Tillamook Passage. Brian MD Ratty
would always be bright.
Christmas came and went with hardly a nod. While the cook made a special meal of beef and potatoes, and even passed out some sugarplums, for the most part the crew didn’t celebrate. When I was on watch that day, I gazed at the vast horizon, reminded myself of the meaning of the day, and thought of home. But Christmas in the tropics just didn’t seem to fit.
To celebrate the New Year, the skipper passed out a double rum ration for all of the men getting off the watch. But the day was so hot and the winds so calm that most of the crew retreated to shade of the forecastle to drink their brew. Out of sight of the watchful eye of Captain Gray, I shared half my ration with Sandy. Sitting at the table, he told me that the ships had entered the doldrums, an area close to the equator that had light and variable winds.
“If we get becalmed, we’ll have to use the longboat to tow the Orphan.”
“In this heat? The skipper wouldn’t let that happen,” I answered.
“He can only harness the wind, not create it. I’ve done it before.”
And like providence, that’s what we did for the next three days. With our bodies sweltering, we pushed and pulled the oars of the longboat, dragging the Orphan ever so slowly. Each watch seemed longer than the last, and each pull seemed harder than the one before. The sea was as flat as a lake and the wind as calm as death. There was no beginning or end, only rowing.
On the third long day, Sandy looked up from his oars with sweat running down his face and mumbled, “Sunshine or thunder, a sailor always wonders when the fair winds will blow.” And then, like a miracle, just when I thought my arms could take no more, we caught a breeze that filled the headsails. The longboat was recalled and the spent but gleeful crew returned to the deck.
A few days later, having just come off the morning watch, I went forward to shave. Just as I finished, the ship’s bell started ringing, and the deck officer’s whistle blew. Dropping everything, I quickly ran up the ladder to turn to. By the time I got to the quarterdeck, the whole crew was gathered around – all except Mr. Gayle.
Just then, he popped up from the stern hatch, wearing a white sheet. Just below his rosy red cheeks, a mop head was tied to his chin. The crew snickered as he moved to address the ship’s company.
“I be King Neptune,” he shouted in a deep voice. “Who among you wishes to cross my line?”
“We do!” the sailors shouted back.
“Who has crossed my line before?”
All hands went up, except for Marcus and me.
The silly looking cook made his way through the crew and stopped in front of me.
Motioning for Marcus to stand by me, he said, “Well, lads, you will have to pay me tribute to cross my equator for the first time.”
“And what tribute would that be?” I asked with a grin.
“A week of your rum rations?” He paused and slowly glanced towards the sour faced Captain. “Well, no… I guess not.”
The crew laughed.
“A week of your food prepared by that great ship’s cook?” He paused, shaking his head. “No.”
The crew laughed again.
“Let me see… What tribute can you give me?” Turning, he walked to the stern, where I noticed that two ropes had been tied to the rail. “I have it! You will swim with my fish until you find your scepters.”
The crew yelled their approval, grinning, and began herding Marcus and me to the stern. Once there, King Neptune tied a belaying pin – a long wooden dowel – to the end of each rope. “These pins will be the scepters that will give you leave to cross my line.” Turning, he threw the pins overboard and let the rope rush out. “Once you return with your scepters, you will be allowed over.”
I looked at Marcus and noticed fear on his face. He had no idea of what was happening. Glancing over to the skipper, I nodded my head in Marcus’s direction.
He got the idea, and was soon telling the boy in Portuguese not to worry, that this was all in good fun.
Or was it? That’s when I noticed the Mate by the rail with a musket.
“Why the musket, King Neptune?” I asked.
“So none of me fish thinks ye to be their dinner. Now, over the side, lads.”
As we grabbed onto the ropes, I could still see fear on Marcus’ face. I yelled to him, “Do as I do.”
He nodded back.
The morning was hot, the water looked cool, and, with a soft breeze, the sloop was only making a few knots. Like monkeys, we scrambled down the ropes and into the ship’s wake. The green coral sea was refreshing, and I discovered that if I let go of the line, the speed of the ship pulled the hundred-foot end of the rope to my hands. When it did, I untied the pin and placed it in my month.
Marcus watched and did the same.
Now the hard part started – going hand-over-hand, against the oncoming sea. As we surfed and struggled forward, I felt a fish pock against my body. Startled, I looked over to find a porpoise swimming playfully next to me. The animal dove and twisted in the crystal clear water, then bumped me again. It was glorious.
Looking up, I spotted the Mate with his musket pointed our way. Taking the pin from my mouth I shouted, “Only a dolphin.” He withdrew his aim.
A few moments later, we reached the stern. With the crew at the rail, laughing and yelling, we were dragged aboard, dripping wet. When we handed the pins to a smiling King Neptune, he gave us each a crown of seaweed and a cup of rum. Then he welcomed us to his equator. I had read about this whimsical ceremony before, and now I had experienced it.
We slowly moved in a southwesterly direction, but, with the light and variable winds, we traveled only fifty or sixty miles a day. A week later, the Orphan was helped by the southeast trade winds, and our daily runs increased.
Finally, the island of Fernando de Noronha was spotted on the leeward side, which told the Captain that we had reached the broad shoulder of Brazil. Here, a course correction was made to follow the South American currents. By sailing south with the contour of continent, our daily runs increased to over one hundred and twenty miles. But these long runs proved tiring for the crew, and the ship still had sixteen hundred miles to travel. Soon, many of the crew started griping disrespectfully about the Captain, the food, the weather, and everything else. All this rancor made me uncomfortable, even though Sandy took me aside and told me that this was normal for a crew on a long voyage. But I still didn’t like hearing all the insults and laments.
A few days after changing course, the flagship came to an abrupt halt and raised its emergency signal flags. Quickly, the sloop came alongside and reefed sails. Then the two captains talked, using the voice horns.
From their conversation, we learned that Mr. Nutting, the astronomer, was missing. The Commodore had dispatched a party to search the ship and was waiting for their report.
Shortly, he called across that the party couldn’t find the astronomer and that they guessed that he had fallen overboard. “He was last seen by the midwatch,” the Commodore shouted.
“If he went in during the night, he’s gone,” replied Captain Gray.
“Aye…he must have drowned. Let’s get underway.”
Later, we learned that most of the crew on the Columbia believed that Mr. Nutting had gone mad and jumped overboard. He had been unstable during the voyage and an unusual addition to the expedition from the very start. He was probably the first American astronomer to view the southern skies, but there were no records to show that he had ever done so. Hopefully, with both Captains now navigating, the expedition would make more progress.
Being