Another Excerpt: From Sailing Dangerous Waters
A couple of weeks ago, I posted a short excerpt from Beyond the Ocean's Edge: A Stone Island Sea Story. Today I'm posting a bit from the sequel, Sailing Dangerous Waters: Another Stone Island Sea Story. This is from near the end of the book, from Chapter Nineteen of Twenty-Six. And yet, this is one of the very first scenes I remember writing for this story. After working ahead from this point for a few chapters, I decided to go back and add material between the end of the first book and this point in the second. This early material kept getting pushed farther and farther towards the end of the book. I hope you enjoy this.
Dave
The Island Expedition coasted along under minimum sail, riding easily over the white flecked waters of the southern Pacific. Until today, that largest of oceans had not matched its benevolent and calm name. Under reefed mainsail, reefed topsails and jib, the schooner carried more sail than she had in three weeks. Storm after storm had thrown their fury against her, winds shrieking and seas building into veritable fluid mountains. Sail had been taken in, a little at first, and then nearly all, and at one point they had thought to heave to and ride out nature’s fury. But she had been put before the wind, racing with it, staying one step ahead of the giant seas that threatened to crash unrestrained upon the tossed about craft. Such sailing had been an exercise in diligence and precision. The smallest error could have put the vessel beam-on to the giant swells or caused her to have been pooped by a following sea. As one storm had weakened and blown itself out, another had taken its place. There had been no respite for the bone tired crew, the weary captain, nor the battered vessel.
Pierce stood easily on the weather quarterdeck, matching his movements to those of the Island Expedition and reveling in the comparative calmness of this late afternoon. It was calm enough that did he desire it; considerably more sail could be set. But he was tired, and so was the rest of the crew. Battling through storm after storm had exhausted them. They had been cold, wet, hungry, tired, and seasick as the winds had increased, the temperature had dropped, and the rain, bits of ice, and snow had pelted them like musket balls. The galley fires had gone out and had been impossible to relight. What they had managed to eat had been consumed raw and cold. It had never been enough to really satisfy them.
A wisp of smoke curled from Charlie Noble, the galley smokestack. The fires were going! He hoped they would remain in this relative calm weather long enough that a real meal could be prepared for all, and that they would have time to eat it. He wondered briefly what Eubanks and Franklin could be preparing. Then it occurred that what really didn’t matter. Something hot and satisfying was being prepared that would put life back into his weary crew.
What Pierce desired more than anything was a cup of hot and fresh coffee. He hoped fervently that the cook and his mate had started some brewing. Momentarily he felt he could forgo the anticipated meal, as long as he had a steaming and delicious mug. With his entire being craving coffee, he thought about sending someone to see if it was brewing and threatening the cruelest punishment if it wasn’t. But Pierce was a kind-hearted soul who abhorred so much of the violence and physical abuse that seemed integral to the Royal Navy. While he may have harbored thoughts of vengeful wrath, his very nature would not allow him to actually order it.
Even as captain, he was only one of sixty odd souls aboard the schooner. It was imperative that all soon have something warm and filling. His personal cravings would simply have to take a lower priority and await the proper time to be fulfilled. Still, it seemed like forever, and in fact it had been several days since he had last had a cup. With an inward and unnoticed sigh, he committed himself to waiting longer.
Late in the afternoon watch, the weather calmed even more, and the hands could move freely about. While the sea and sky were considerably more benign, a thick overcast still obscured the sun. Pierce hoped fervently that the storms would hold off for another day or two, and that the skies would clear enough to allow noon observations.
The pumps steadily emptied the seawater that had found its way into the schooner’s bowels. Some had seeped through the seams as the hull flexed in reaction to the violent seas. Much had cascaded down the one hatchway that had remained open for access below. The carpenter, much to Pierce’s disgust continued to compare the soundness of the hull to the carnal qualities of a young woman. He allowed upon reporting only eighteen inches of water in the well that, “she was still pretty tight considering how she’d been used as of late!”
Dave
The Island Expedition coasted along under minimum sail, riding easily over the white flecked waters of the southern Pacific. Until today, that largest of oceans had not matched its benevolent and calm name. Under reefed mainsail, reefed topsails and jib, the schooner carried more sail than she had in three weeks. Storm after storm had thrown their fury against her, winds shrieking and seas building into veritable fluid mountains. Sail had been taken in, a little at first, and then nearly all, and at one point they had thought to heave to and ride out nature’s fury. But she had been put before the wind, racing with it, staying one step ahead of the giant seas that threatened to crash unrestrained upon the tossed about craft. Such sailing had been an exercise in diligence and precision. The smallest error could have put the vessel beam-on to the giant swells or caused her to have been pooped by a following sea. As one storm had weakened and blown itself out, another had taken its place. There had been no respite for the bone tired crew, the weary captain, nor the battered vessel.
Pierce stood easily on the weather quarterdeck, matching his movements to those of the Island Expedition and reveling in the comparative calmness of this late afternoon. It was calm enough that did he desire it; considerably more sail could be set. But he was tired, and so was the rest of the crew. Battling through storm after storm had exhausted them. They had been cold, wet, hungry, tired, and seasick as the winds had increased, the temperature had dropped, and the rain, bits of ice, and snow had pelted them like musket balls. The galley fires had gone out and had been impossible to relight. What they had managed to eat had been consumed raw and cold. It had never been enough to really satisfy them.
A wisp of smoke curled from Charlie Noble, the galley smokestack. The fires were going! He hoped they would remain in this relative calm weather long enough that a real meal could be prepared for all, and that they would have time to eat it. He wondered briefly what Eubanks and Franklin could be preparing. Then it occurred that what really didn’t matter. Something hot and satisfying was being prepared that would put life back into his weary crew.
What Pierce desired more than anything was a cup of hot and fresh coffee. He hoped fervently that the cook and his mate had started some brewing. Momentarily he felt he could forgo the anticipated meal, as long as he had a steaming and delicious mug. With his entire being craving coffee, he thought about sending someone to see if it was brewing and threatening the cruelest punishment if it wasn’t. But Pierce was a kind-hearted soul who abhorred so much of the violence and physical abuse that seemed integral to the Royal Navy. While he may have harbored thoughts of vengeful wrath, his very nature would not allow him to actually order it.
Even as captain, he was only one of sixty odd souls aboard the schooner. It was imperative that all soon have something warm and filling. His personal cravings would simply have to take a lower priority and await the proper time to be fulfilled. Still, it seemed like forever, and in fact it had been several days since he had last had a cup. With an inward and unnoticed sigh, he committed himself to waiting longer.
Late in the afternoon watch, the weather calmed even more, and the hands could move freely about. While the sea and sky were considerably more benign, a thick overcast still obscured the sun. Pierce hoped fervently that the storms would hold off for another day or two, and that the skies would clear enough to allow noon observations.
The pumps steadily emptied the seawater that had found its way into the schooner’s bowels. Some had seeped through the seams as the hull flexed in reaction to the violent seas. Much had cascaded down the one hatchway that had remained open for access below. The carpenter, much to Pierce’s disgust continued to compare the soundness of the hull to the carnal qualities of a young woman. He allowed upon reporting only eighteen inches of water in the well that, “she was still pretty tight considering how she’d been used as of late!”