Weak light from the stove fire casts Raib’s face in a poor color; his mouth hangs wide but his windburnt eyes are tight.
You never heard me tellin Vemon dat I don’t stand for none of dat aboard of here?
Slowly Will gets to his feet; Byrum, Speedy, Wodie remain squatted. Buddy, perched upon the rail, is outlined on the night shine from the shore. Then Byrum, rising, picks the old conch shell from the scuppers, tosses it once on his big hand, and hurls it out into the night.
Triumphant, drunken, he confronts the Captain.
Copm Raib, de voyage done. You lost three de crew, and now it done.
The Captain stands expressionless, without movement.
Byrum holds out a red plastic cup. Slowly Raib’s hand extends and takes it. Byrum pours rum into the cup, grinning at Raib as the rum overflows and pours onto Raib’s hand.
Got enough, old mon?
The Captain is silent. Byrum, snorting, turns his back on him, sitting down again among the men.
Raib stands there, broad face in a mask. Then he drinks off half a cup, gasps, coughs, starts to laugh, stops short. The men watch him. For one instant, he looks bewildered, studying the cup.
Dis cup stink like hell, de plastic in it. In times gone back we used to have dem good old blue tin coffee cups …
He is silent again as Byrum laughs. Taking rum into his mouth, he holds it a moment, then spits on Byrum’s feet.
Mon dat drink dis log’red piss has got no self-respect.
He tosses the red cup overboard and moves aft toward the deck-house.
You finished, Copm Raib, know dat, old mon? YOU FINISHED!
Midnight.
Low murmuring. A cough.
One A.M.
Black rain squalls to eastward of the cay, black upon black. High in the dark, pale terns circle the masthead, their cries piercing the wind creak of the ship. Ashore, black figures fall across the firelight; the fire flares and dies.
By the Eden’s galley, sparks blow from a loose cigarette.
Mon, mon. What could dey be doin over dere!
Dis a bad night. See dat black water?
Yah, mon, dat tiger down dere somewhere.
Where dat Wodie get to? Gone below?
Don’t know, mon. (spits) Domn fuckin Jonah.
Wodie okay, y’know. Nice fella. He just kind of fufu.
Dogwatch.
The Captain comes, unseen.
Throw dat boat overboard! I goin ashore!
Huh? All by yourself?
I ain’t sailin without Copm Andrew’s knife!
Copm, it no good to fly up now! You askin to get dat knife back in de belly!
Lower de boat, I tellin you!
Speedy and Byrum get slowly to their feet; they do not help Buddy and Will swing the boat over the rails.
Watch dat—HOLD HER OFF!
The catboat smacks onto the sea, and the short chop heaves it back against the hull with a hollow boom.
Now Byrum sways unsteadily before the Captain.
So you abondonin dis vessel without no pilot and without no kind of crew, in time of storm, with bad reefs all around dis place—s’pose dey knifin you in dere?
boom
Why den, de best thing, Byrum, de best thing to do, boy, is notify de Union! Yah, mon! Call de seaman’s union! Ask dem what to do (shouts) ON DE BLEAK OCEAN!
Speedy points at Will and Buddy. He looks sleepy.
Dem two takin you ashore? (softly) You ready to get dem two killed just cause you sick of life?
And leavin only three aboard de vessel? We never get dat anchor up!
Raib starts to speak, stops; he turns toward the rail.
Get out de way, Will. I take her in myself.
You ain’t goin dere alone.
Dass right, Papa!
Will? (gently) You a goddom idiot, know dat, Will?
Speedy has moved between Will and the rail; he puts light finger-tips on Will’s chest.
Ain’t no crew goin down into dat boat, Mist’ Will. Maybe Doddy dere got nothin to lose, but I got fifty-five acres, mon, and cows. I goin home.
Speedy! You been drinkin!
Raib watches both through squinted eyes; he is not quite smiling. When Will picks up a marlin spike, Speedy taps his knife.
Mist’ Will? I fast, mon. Very very fast.
To disobey de Coptin, dat is mutiny!
I ain’t disobeyed de Coptin. Not yet, anyways.
All wait for Raib, who is gazing at the cay.
Okay den, darlins, put dat rum away. Get set to sail.
Byrum howls.
In de night time? You sayin yourself dat Misteriosa Reefs ain’t no place to navigate in de night!
Well, speakin fair now, I de one mon left in de Cayman Islands dat would try it. But if dis crew ain’t too domn drunk, I believe I manage it.
Can’t wait till first light? Shit!
On the cay, wild shapes move back and forth across the firelight.
We could lose dis vessel between dis time and first light. I ain’t sailin before daybreak less dey force me to it, but we gots to be ready for no motter what—don’t hear dem pirates?
You always tellin us dat we are stupid! But you de one told dem domn pan-heads dat Desmond would not come! And you de one called Brown a thief just when he try to help us!
Speedy casts a spray of rum across the rail.
Dem dreadlocks tell us dey be back. No tellin when.
Dey be back soon’s dey find out from Brown dat he can run dese engines.
The men look at one another. Then Speedy steps forward, hitching his pants; one by one, the others form a line. The Captain nods.
You a fine-lookin crew of fellas. (sighs) We ready? Where’s dat Wodie?
WODIE!
When you start de motors, Copm Raib, ride forward over de hook—save time dat way.
Ain’t gone to start no motors, Will.
Huh?
No, mon. (laughs) Winchin dat chain against dis wind might get you fellas sober. (shakes his head) No, mon. Got to feel my way—can’t do dat with motors. I got to listen to de sea fall on dem reefs to get my bearins, cause I sailin by remembrance—ain’t no moon.
So you takin dis schooner through night reefs with dem short masts and patchy sails and no goddom sea room, and no moon! Mon, dat is crazy!
Raib turns toward Byrum.
Dat is crazy, okay, if us six here thinks we can hondle maybe sixteen pan-heads like dem ones we seen tonight. (pause) Nothin more to say? Okay den, boy, de talkin time is done.
He walks up and down the deck.
Now maybe dey too drunk to come out after us, or maybe dey just drunk enough to try. But I believe dat dey will try, because dey desperate. Probably dey slip out here without dem outboards, take us by surprise, so I wants two men on watch.
What if—
DE TALKIN TIME IS DONE! (resumes walking) First thing, we winch dat chain right to de place where de anchor barely holdin, and de two on watch can slack her off a little if de vessel start to drag; den we unlash dem sails and clear de lines. After dat, we waits for daybreak light.
The fire ashore casts a glint on the black water.
Soon’s de hook is up, she gone to fall off by de head, but even with dis goddom wind, dere is plenty of reach before we would strike into de reefs, and in dat time we h’ist de sail and bear away to de sout’westward. (pause) I be up on de mast. Speedy take de helm, and mind you holler back loud whenever I yell de change of course. Will and Byrum managin de sheets—till you hears me sing out, let her run before de wind.
Wodie emerges from the fo’c’s’le; he stands entranced.
You okay, Wodie? You still with us? Cause I wants you to keep dat stove wood burnin so dey sees it good, right until dat hook is clear; den damp her down quick as if some mon had shut de galley door, so dey don’t see dat fire movin. Got dat? I say, Got dat?
Got dat, Jonah?
When Byrum smacks Wodie hard across the back, Speedy steps between them. Byrum is c
ursing.
Tonight you men are crewin on a sailin boat dat finds herself in a very ugly corner of de reefs. If dey any mon here dat don’t understand his job, den speak up now.
Speak up, den, you fuckin Jonah!
Papa? Where you want me, Papa?
Copm? How about dat boat? We take her back aboard?
No, mon. Leave her astern, and rig de other to de block and fall so’s we can throw her over quick, if de ship strike.
Raib looks once at each tense face.
I believe we make it okay, but it never hurt to have things ready. Soon’s de vessel under way, den Wodie and Buddy prepares stores and water for both dem boats. Okay? I make a crew out of you yet!
4 A.M.
The crew is huddled by the galley. No man sleeps.
See dere, Copm Raib? Down by de point? Dey up to something.
Yah. Takin dem outboards off—dass dere mistake!
We lift de hook, den?
No, mon. Let dem come a little way downwind. Once dey see us underway, dey got to row back into dat breeze to get dem motors, and den dey ain’t no way dey can come up with us.
Okay. Dey comin. In two boats. You ready?
Yessir.
I goin aloft. You fellas raise dat hook when I raise my hand.
Black wind.
The ship heels as the wind takes her, and the sea quickens; across the wind fly shards of human voice.
The skiffs turn back toward the cay.
LET HER RUN FREE!
Black clouds in a black sky, and the reef booming.
At the blind helm, Speedy is alone: he can see no man but the Captain, who swings to all four quarters on the masthead, holding a shroud with one hand and cupping his ear with the other.
SOU’WEST BY SOUTH!
SOU’WEST BY SOUTH!
dancin on dat masthead like a child!
de wind in reefs like dis! He crazy, Will, he crazy! Hear dat surf? We never—COPM RAIB! WE SAILIN TOO FREE, COPM RAIB!
He got to keep steerage way
BYRUM!
laughin up dere! We in de mouth of hell, and dat mon laughin!
BYRUM? CALL DE SEAMAN’S UNION, BYRUM! TELL DEM I SAILED TOO FREE ON DE BLEAK OCEAN!
YOU A CRAZY MON, KNOW DAT?
Hush, Byrum, hush! Dat mon de Coptin!
YOU HEAR ME, RAIB, YOU HEAR ME?
GET DE HELL BACK ON DAT LINE! HAUL HER UP CLOSE!
CRAZY OLD WIND COPTIN SONOFABITCH!
HAUL HER UP CLOSE, I SAY!
Wodie and Buddy crouch in the galley door. They stare at the deck, not daring to look outboard.
SHE NOT FAR FROM DE OPEN WATER, BOYS! NOW FALL OFF A LITTLE TOWARD DE SOUTHWARD!
SOUTHWARD!
Byrum and Will, exhausted, stare into the blackness. The ship is encircled by white wraiths of reef.
Oh Jesus, Will—!
Hush, mon, hush! We got to trust him!
WEST-SOU’WEST!
WEST-SOU’WEST!
HOLD HER ON DAT POINT! SHE GONE TO MAKE IT!
Black clouds rush past the mast; the sail is ghostly. On the cross-trees, the Captain flings his free arm wide, exalted.
SHE CLEAR, SHE CLEAR! WE IN DE CLEAR!
The ship strikes.
A shriek of twisting timbers.
The gear in the galley crashes, and bound turtles slide overboard.
Shuddering, the Eden rights herself, and in a din of flopping canvas, screeching blocks, drifts downwind from the reefs.
Black wind and rush of water. Figures running.
—Shit! My shoulder!
—Christ A’mighty!
Hear dat water? Shit! Get dat boat overboard!
Got him, Speedy?
We got most of him.
Got enough to start dese engines? Shit! I told him! Domn old rotten riggin! Shit!
Never mind dem engines, Byrum, mon! Dey flooded out!
A gathering of oceans.
The Eden drifts downwind in the black seas.
The crewmen hunch in a circle around the Captain, who lies on deck beneath a soiled gray blanket. They eat rapidly and gulp down water.
What you think, Will?
Maybe she got till daylight. Maybe not.
The Captain’s eyes are wide, but they see nothing. His mouth opens.
Copm Raib? You hearin us?
Ain’t no rock dere. Ain’t no coral in dat reach at all. We in de clear now, boys, we in de open water.
Lie easy, Copm Raib—don’t stress yourself.
He right, y’know. I knocked down dere by de rails, nearly went overboard when she heeled over, and I look down to see what she had struck on, and all I seen was darkness. And de next moment she had righted herself in good deep water—
It were dark, mon, with no moon! How in de hell—
Mon, mon, don’t matter how she mashed up. I knew she were gone soon’s I heard dat water rushin.
first light
She goin now—dere go de stern. Dem diesels gone to corry her down fast—
Dere! She slidin! Oh! She gone! De Eden gone!
Drifting.
Far Tortuga, in the east, is a shimmering black burning in the sunrise.
The catboats bump together in the seas.
In the starboard boat, Byrum grips the tiller, his big face shocked by pain. Wodie hunches on the seat amidships, Speedy is in the bow. In the port boat, the Captain lies eyes wide to the fired sky, his head in his son’s lap. Will Parchment bails doggedly with a half coconut. In the bilges of each boat lies a green turtle.
Will? Goddom it, Will, it’s a pity you never changed dat boat for de one dat Conwell left at Half Moon Cay!
Will looks up at Byrum, then resumes bailing.
How de Coptin, Will?
He breathin peaceful, Speedy, dass about it.
Know something? With de high old masts dat was on dat vessel when she come dere to French Harbour, he would have cleared dat rail!
Yah, mon! See him strike? Back must be broke, de way he lie so still.
Between the boats a dark-haired face swims round and round in the gray sea; salt water slops across hard bright black eyes.
Look dere! A rat!
Just de one? Old hulk like dat, I s’prise de sea ain’t littered with’m.
From Buddy rises a low whine of dread; Will pats his knee.
Well now, Jim Eden, your doddy done what he said he would do; he could not have known about dat one wild rock. We de first ones ever sailed out of Misteriosa Reefs in de night time and lived to tell de tale.
Jumping up, Byrum drives the rat down with an oar blade, scattering water across the other boat.
Tell de tale to who? Goddom wild mon! He never cared if he sailed us straight to hell!
With his shirttail, Buddy mops his father’s face.
Wodie straightens; the new sun glints on the mirror shard on his black chest.
I hearin dem wonderin at East End! Dey wonderin what was de fate of Wodie Greaves!
Hush up, Wodie.
Oh my! It seem like de thing for me to do was to sail away down to de cays, and now I dyin!
Ain’t nothin de motter with you, Wodie.
Nothin de motter, no! Just crazy!
Hush up, Byrum.
The boats drift steadily downwind. The sea increases.
Well, den, best take advantage of dis wind, start for de coast.
Dis all de water, boy?
Each boat got dis one big bottle, Byrum. One bottle and one turtle and one box of breads, and fishhooks.
Shit! I a big mon, and I needs water!
Dere weren’t no kegs!
No kegs, no! And no fire equipment, no life jackets, no nothin!
The rat swims back and forth between the boats.
Will? Call dat fair? Dey three men in dis boat!
Water laps around Will’s ankles. He stops bailing.
Three here, too.
Can’t count dat old mon dere! He dyin!
Raib’s iron hair strays on his forehead. His mo
uth is gaunt.
Not … yet!
The brief choked laugh turns to a cough of pain, and the eyes water.
Lie easy, Copm Raib, mon—you gone hurt youself.
Raib’s voice comes in a series of harsh breaths.
We best sail back to Bragman’s, pick Up Vemon.
Papa?
Dat you, Sonny?
Raib’s hand gropes in the air, and Buddy takes it.
No, Papa, dis is Buddy. Dis is Jim Eden.
Sonny and dem other boys would never sail no more down to de cays … Jim Eden? Best pick up Vemon, den, Jim Eden, and set sail for home, cause de season has got away from us, and de turtles have all gone to Turtle Bogue.
A silence. Raib looks straight up at the sun. Tears glisten in his eyes.
Too late now, ain’t it. It’s too late.
Papa? Lie easy, Papa.
Oh, dat sun wild. Oh, dat sun wild.
Far Tortuga sinks beneath the sea.
We got de good boat, Byrum. Dass enough.