When he came on deck, Barker found that the wind had indeed strengthened. The ship was having a bad time of it. Looking forward, through darkness in the blinding spray, he wondered how long the fore course would last before being ripped to shreds in the wind. He shouted to Mr. Rand, "The fore course.”
Rand nodded and bellowed above the wind, "All hands, all hands! Haul up the foresail!”
Both watches scrambled across the heaving deck, slipping in the rolling water and howling darkness to find the clew garnets and buntlines. Atkinson and Donnie were sent to the fo'c'sle head to tend the tack and Fred and Frenchie stood by the capstan to slack off the sheet.
On the mate's signal Fred and Frenchie slacked off a couple of fathoms on the sheet. The surging of the wire cable against the capstan drum reverberated through the deck. The mate shouted to each watch. They could only just hear him over the wind, but knew what to do. The starboard watch hauled away on the weather clew garnet and the port on the weather buntlines. Fred and Frenchie kept slacking the sheet as Atkinson and Donnie eased the tack.
With the wind howling at seventy knots and the sail and lines strained to almost breaking, the fores'l was hauled up to the yard in good order. No wild out-of-control canvas or snarled lines.
“Now get up there and furl it," Rand bellowed.
Barker shook his head. It was as pretty a piece of sail handling as Captain Barker could recall. He had to give that much to Mr. Rand. He was a consummate seaman. Barker wondered if he would ever fathom the various sides of his mate.
Over the next week, the westerly winds continued to howl, yet the Lady Rebecca was making slow but steady progress in her westing all the same. The crew, however, seemed different. They were either reaching the limits of their endurance or something else had happened. Their glances aft at the poop deck seemed more hostile. Captain Barker sensed an anger building in the exhausted sailors.
On one hand, he was afraid that he was beginning to imagine things. The burden on him was as great as that on the crew. All the days and nights looking for the slightest shift in the wind, the countless hours in the icy cold wind and spray, were taking their toll on him as well. He kept pushing back his own doubts and uncertainties until his resolve had hardened to steel, yet now he was afraid of letting it blind him to something that he didn't quite grasp.
At the end of the second dogwatch, Mr. Atkinson stood outside the captain's dayroom.
“Sir, there is something I need to discuss with you.”
“Come in. Have a seat.”
Thomas Atkinson sat down and took off his cap. He looked considerably older than he had when they set off from Cardiff. Perhaps it was just the constant windburn that had darkened his face and deepened the lines around his eyes. Or perhaps it was the burden of command settling on the young man's shoulders.
“Sir, I have been hearing a rumor. I don't usually bother myself with such things but I've heard it more than once. Crew seems to believe it.”
“All right," Captain Barker replied, "What is it?”
“The rumor is that we buried Harry . . . alive.”
Captain Barker sat back, stunned. "But that makes no sense. How could anyone believe such a thing?”
Atkinson shrugged. "I agree. It is crazy talk. Why would they believe it? I think everyone is just so worn out that they might believe anything that someone told them.”
“And who might have told them something so outrageous?”
Atkinson shook his head. "I couldn't say, sir.”
“But you do have suspicions, do you not?”
The second mate paused for a moment before answering. "I would rather not say, sir.”
“Consider where your loyalties lie. With your shipmates or the ship?”
Mr. Atkinson sat silent for another moment. "I think Rand is spreading the story. He still thinks that we should square away and run back east. I have heard him say as much when I passed by the fo'c'sle.”
It was the captain's turn to be silent. Earlier in the voyage he would have exploded in rage. That seemed a very long time ago. Now, he was merely thoughtful, calculating.
“Go get some rest, Mr. Atkinson. And thank you for your candor. I'll take matters from here.”
Captain Barker waited until the first dogwatch the next day so as not to disturb anyone's rest. He called all able hands to the mess room, where he stood at the far end of the table. The ship's log lay open before him. His pistols were on his belt but he wore his coat to cover them. He wanted them close by, just in case, but would rather not be too provocative. As the men filed in, they lined the far bulkheads. They all looked thin and haggard, as weather-worn as the old ship herself. There was silence as the captain looked at his crew and the crew, their captain.
Then Captain Barker spoke. "What's the nonsense I hear about Harry being buried alive? That is a serious charge and a damnable lie. Who believes it to be true?”
The only response was silence.
He turned to the sail maker and the carpenter. "Mr. Pugsley, you sewed Harry into the shroud. What say you?”
Pugsley took off his hat. "He was dead, sir. No doubt about it.”
“Mr. Gronberg, you assisted in the burial.”
“Ya, he was gone. Dead and gone.”
“So who believes that we buried Harry alive? Speak up now, damn you," the captain said, raising his voice more than he intended.
Jensen shook his head. "We are all used up, cap'n. We're all so tired. Gets easy to believe anything you hear.”
The captain looked around the room. "And who told you this damnable lie?”
There was silence. Some sailors stared straight ahead. Some averted their gaze.
“Who told you that Harry was buried alive?" the captain demanded. "I will have an answer!”
Fred looked around the mess room. No one was willing to speak. But who were they protecting? Standing fast for another shipmate was one thing. Protecting an officer was something else entirely.
“First time I heard it, it was from Mr. Rand," Fred replied.
“Rand?" the captain roared. "Where is Mr. Rand? Where is the mate? ”
Will spoke up. "Believe he is in his cabin, sir.”
“Get him, now," the captain growled.
The apprentice hurried off.
The captain opened the logbook. "I will not have the charge stand that we buried a shipmate alive. I've entered into the logbook that Harry died of an accident and was buried in accordance with the practices of the sea and all pertinent regulations. I want every man to step forward and enter his name or mark in the log that he witnessed this and knows it to be true. I will not tolerate such monstrous lies on my ship. Now step up, each and every one of you.”
The sailors shuffled forward, one by one, without a word, and signed or marked the logbook. Then they fell back where they had been.
When they were all finished, Captain Barker demanded, "And has he been telling you any more lies?" His question was again met with silence. "What has Mr. Rand been telling you?”
Jensen finally spoke up. "He told us that if we all told you to square away, sir, that you would have no choice.”
Captain Barker shook his head. "Is that what you think? That we should turn around and sail before the wind?”
Again no one responded.
“That is no choice and you are all good enough seamen to know it yourselves. You should know what would happen if we squared away and ran back east in these seas. We are too deep in the water. The stern would never lift to the waves. We would be pooped and worse. The ship would sink and we would all die. I have my family aboard this ship. Do you think that I would keep on if I thought we had any other choice?”