Free Rough Passage to London: A Sea Captain's Tale by Robin Lloyd Page A

adjusted and trimmed the sails. On the new tack, the packet was now pointed on a northerly heading toward Greenland, what some sailors called the uphill road. The storm had blown them way to the south, some six hundred miles off the coast of Ireland. At this rate, with the wind and the waves on their nose, the best they could hope for would be to make thirty to forty miles a day. Just then, Morgan felt the hot breath of someone standing closely behind him. He turned abruptly, and jumped back, as Mr. Brown thrust his bushy black whiskers into his face, his beady eyes glistening with malice.
    “You’re on my watch tonight, Morgan.”
    “Aye, aye, sir,” replied a startled Morgan.
    “Where’s Smith?”
    “Don’t know, sir.”
    “You tell that two-bit nancy boy to report to me, ye hear!”
    “Aye, aye, sir.”
    That night Morgan and Hiram were ordered to report to the pump station just forward of the mainmast. All night long, they pumped ship, their hands moving back and forth in unison as the bilge water from the belly of the ship spewed out into the ocean.

6
    On that rough westward passage, Morgan often thought of Old Jeremiah’s warnings. He took more notice of John Dobbs, the hollow-cheeked man with the droopy jaw. It wasn’t just the worry in his eyes and the unsmiling face. Dobbs kept looking over at Morgan as if he wanted to tell him something, but when Morgan returned his gaze the man would look away. One morning, Morgan was walking the deck on his watch when he spotted Dobbs looking over the side, his clothes hanging loose on his body like baggy old sails. The man seemed to be in a trance as he looked forlornly at the jagged landscape of whitecaps before him.
    Without warning, Dobbs grabbed hold of one of the topsail halyards and climbed up onto the waist-high bulwark on the side of the ship. Morgan began to move toward the sailor to try to say something, but the foaming seawater sweeping the decks prevented him. A tremendous wave crashed over the side with a thundering roar. All he could do was to catch a proper handhold and brace himself for the impact of the next wave. To his horror, Dobbs looked back at him with eyes flat and expressionless and then, zombie-like, he leaped over the side without making a sound. It took Morgan several seconds to realize that John Dobbs had jumped into the ocean.
    He shouted in desperation, “Man overboard!” Morgan quickly turned to go aft to man the falls of the quarter boat, the waves sweeping him down the decks with such force he could barely keep his footing.
    The helmsman turned the wheel sharply. “Bring the ship’s head round!” the first mate yelled out. Slowly the Hudson turned back into the wind, pitching and heaving as the vessel hove to. By this time, several sailors had come to Morgan’s assistance, lowering the quarter boat so that it was hanging just above the surging sea. The clouds of flying spindrift made it difficult to see. Several men finally spotted the man’s head floating above water, rapidly coming toward them in the waves. Morgan positioned himself with both feet squarely in the middle of the boat and threw a rope at the bobbing head approaching.
    “Catch it, man. Catch it!”
    The rope had reached its mark, but Dobbs seemed unable or unwilling to grab it. Morgan could see his head and his fear-stricken eyes disappear below the waves and then pop up again. Dobbs floated by and Morgan swung the rope again and this time the man grabbed it. He called on him to hold on.
    “He’s got it,” yelled Morgan as he started to pull Dobbs in. Hand over hand, he pulled the frightened sailor through the water until he could haul him onto the edge of the quarter boat. At that point, Morgan yelled, “Man the falls! Pull us up!”
    Slowly the quarter boat was lifted upward toward the bulwarks. Morgan kept pulling underneath the limp shoulders of the gasping man until most of his body was safely inside. Finally, as the quarter boat was raised even with