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

the deck, Morgan succeeded in hauling the shivering man into the boat. He spotted Captain Champlin and the cluster of cabin passengers that stood behind him. He caught a glimpse of the cold, hostile eyes of Jeremiah and Curly Jim. Dobbs was pulled onto the deck of the Hudson , wrapped in warm woolen blankets, and taken into the cook’s quarters, where Scuttles tried to pour hot soup into him.
    Morgan stayed with the cook to help keep the man warm. Dobbs was in shock, shaking and shivering uncontrollably. Morgan and Scuttles started to undress the emaciated man, stripping him of his shirt, and it was then that Morgan saw something unexpected. There on Dobbs’s bare back, framed by his two protruding shoulder bones, was a large tattoo with two anchors intertwined. Beneath it was written something oddly familiar: “Bosom friend and Brother.”
    Morgan looked at these words on the man’s back, letting them slowly resonate in his mouth. Scuttles tried to feed him more pea soup with a spoon, but the man vomited it up. The cook made him drink some water and he fell back onto the table. He tried to speak, but he opened his mouth and no words came out. Dobbs’s skin was a deathly blue. Morgan couldn’t take his eyes off his back. How strange that he knew those words. Something connected him with this man. What was it? At that moment, the first officer came down below to check on the nearly drowned man and told Morgan to go and get his clothes in the forecastle. Scuttles volunteered his observations.
    “Ain’t no way about it, Mister Toothacher. Sir, from the looks of Dobbs, he’ll have to bunk here in the sick bay. If we put him back in the forecastle, he’ll either die on his own or they’ll do it for him.”
    Above decks, the ship was rolling and pitching, the winds gusting over thirty knots. Morgan was met in the foredeck by the ugly, threatening stares of Old Jeremiah and Curly Jim. They seemed to be the ringleaders, but there was a motley group who stood right behind them. Morgan had been around these sailors long enough to know that the mood of the crew was in a dangerous state.
    “You the Devil, ain’t ye,” cried out Curly Jim with an ominous tone in his voice. “You saved Jonah, the sinner. He should have drowned in the sea.”
    Morgan didn’t answer. He jumped down into the dark forecastle and walked toward the area where Dobbs kept his clothes. The same group of six sailors who’d met him at the foredeck followed closely behind. They stood there holding two lanterns as he collected the small bundles of clothes and personal effects around Dobbs’s bunk. He saw a letter that he had been writing and decided to put it in his pocket. He could feel the men’s cold, hostile stares, and knew that trouble was ahead.
    It was Old Jeremiah who spoke first.
    “The man needs to be thrown into the sea.”
    “If you won’t do it, we will,” another cried out.
    Old Jeremiah then continued, his voice sounding like a prophet. “Jonah fled from the Lord. He must pay the price. Those are the Bible’s teachings. It is the Lord’s will.”
    A low murmur reverberated in the gloom.
    “Aye, aye, ’tis the Lord’s will.”
    Morgan looked at the weathered faces of these older men who were his shipmates, the scruffy beards and the sagging, haggard cheeks. Despite oil skins and boots, they were soaked, their faces and beards streaked with water. The anger and fear in their bloodshot eyes told the story. Morgan had no weapon. For a brief moment, he thought of trying to run through this gauntlet of men. Instead he spoke up in a stronger, more authoritative voice than he thought possible.
    “Maybe this man is a Jonah,” Morgan said, looking Curly Jim squarely in the eye. “That’s not for me to say. It’s the first mate who wants Dobbs’s possessions and I’m here to collect ’em. Now I mean to do what I was ordered to do. If you have a quarrel with that I reckon you will want to take that up with Mr.