We worked together and strung a rope from a pole to a tree and placed sheets of patched and dirty canvas over it. The canvas pieces had once been sails and were now little more than rags. We anchored the edges of the tent on the ground with rocks so the pounding of stakes would not wake people sleeping. Stakes were set aside for those remaining on shore to drive in during the morning.
I stepped back and admired our work. We’d hung and end flap so the inside couldn’t be seen from shore. A boat could have been under there. If someone had an imagination. The middle sagged, the whole thing was too narrow, and even in the starlight, it wouldn’t have convinced me.
Will stood at my side. I said, “Not very realistic, is it?”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
That was not the answer I expected, but similar to the one Captain had given. To see if Will’s explanation matched Captain’s I asked, “Why not? I mean, that’s why we constructed it, right? To fool them?”
“Wrong. Do not think the villagers are stupid. This is their home and they will take notice of the change right away. They’ll also realize at a glance there is no boat under there. They will also realize why it was done.”
“To hide the fact our boat has sailed?”
“Not at all, Damon,” he sounded disappointed in me. “It is here to give deniability to the villagers, to protect them. They will tell anyone, especially the army if they ask, that they thought a hull was under there. The hull that had been on the shore for weeks getting repaired. Why would they think anything different? It gives them a way to be innocent.”
“I see,” and I finally did. “If any of them happened to be outside tonight preparing their boats for departure, they would see and remember nothing. There were no lights, the moon was not yet up, and they wouldn’t hear us. Their families were safe from our actions if they saw and heard nothing.
I dumbly stood and thought to myself instead of speaking out loud again and admitting my ignorance. Fishermen by nature and occupation were smugglers, and therefore sneaky. They had probably all carried illicit cargo or escapees at one time or another. Knowing that history, they would be quick to look the other way.
My estimation of the village and fishermen in general escalated. At a soft call, we went to the end of the dock and passed the goods there from one set of hands to the next and loaded it all inside the boat in remarkably little time. We climbed in and Captain raised the single sail as the boat was released from the dock.
He tied off ropes and shifted cargo, so he had a space to move about. We were ordered to the sides of the boat to give him space to move freely. Five of us sailed with Captain. Coffin and his sons stayed to help Captain’s sons fish in the other two boats. The nearly still wind popped the sail and filled it before going slack again. He settled at the stern with a steering arm for the rudder under his armpit and adjusted the sail and rudder, then waited until the breeze picked up. As the moon rose, we couldn’t see the shore and the gentle motion of the boat had us all sleeping.
We woke with the rising sun reflecting off the water so harshly it penetrated our eyelids like on a brilliant day—only more so. There was no land in sight. Captain told us to eat, which meant to gnaw on hard biscuits and drink warm water. I could have made better water for us, but Captain started giving more orders and I didn’t wish to distract people from listening to him.
“It’s harsh on the skin out here. Tie a rope from that ring on the mast to the peak of the bow.” We did. “Use that canvas over there,” he pointed near me to a folded flat canvas, “to cover it like the tent you made on shore. Use the piggin’ straps to tie it to the rail.”
Just that. There were five landsmen, three of them women to do the job. The boat was crowded, but not lumbering from too much weight. A small amount of water had seeped inside and while that worried me slightly, Captain didn’t seem bothered, so I got to my feet and helped unfold the canvas sheet. He said the wood would swell and stop the leaks.
The sun was on our left. The tent we made didn’t reach all the way down to each side rail and I quickly realized that was intentional. The open space on both sides allowed air to move under the tent so it didn’t become stifling underneath. The straw hats, conical things looking like bowls with tall sides, made of loosely woven of straw, covered our foreheads and ears and provided shade for the backs of our necks. There were no brims, but they were not needed, we found.
The odd shape of the hats was like short, fat socks woven for the head. While providing protection from the sun, they also kept the usual wind on the sea from entering the ears, and the lack of brims gave the wind no purchase to blow them off our heads. To be honest, the others of my group looked silly in them. Only I sported mine with style as I wore it, but you wouldn’t know that if you looked at the others laughing at me posing for their enjoyment.
So, what had been a hulk of a fishing boat on the beach last night was now sailing sedately out of sight of land, complete with a cabin for shelter under the canvas. Elizabeth broke out the food, such as it was, and passed around the small hunks of hard-bread. I opened a keg of water and used a pigging to tie it to the handle and to the hole in the keg put there for that reason.
Things on a ship or boat are orderly and constructed for changes in the weather. A keg of water rolling around the inside of the hull in foul weather could sink the boat. We sailed upon a sea of glass, but later it could turn to marbles, and after that crashing waves. The tent cover helped in sun and rain, the pigging strip kept the mug near the keg, and from underfoot.
Not that there was much room to move around.
I asked Captain why we didn’t stay close to land. Being in such a small vessel so far out to sea made me uncomfortable.
“Two good reasons, but a good question all the same,” he called so all could hear. Others were as worried as me, he thought. Of course, he had experience with people who were not fishermen and didn’t know the life of a fisherman. “Next to shore are shallows that’ll rip the bottom from a boat. Rocks that lie just under the surface. Deep water, especially if you don’t have experience sailing along the shore, is always better.”
I saw several heads nod in sudden understanding.
He waited a moment, then continued, “Before too long, near midday, we’ll see land in front of us. That will be Dead Isle, a strip of land between Fairbanks and the Brownlands in the center of the sea. Nothing there, thus the name. No water, little grows, and no people that I know of.”
I found my voice. “So, we’ll sail to the east of the island and then south.”
“Hell of a lot shorter than sailing all the way down the west side, then around the southern tip and back up north again to reach Fairbanks. But you’re paying my fee, so we go where you wish.” He chuckled to himself and turned back to the tiller and sail.
Elizabeth said, “Do you have a chart or map? Or can you sketch out the shoreline for me?”
Captain slowly turned to face her. “Didn’t you understand my explanation?”
Before our eyes, Elizabeth slowly stood and squared her shoulders. She transformed herself again, as she had on the ship, from a young girl into a formidable princess. “I did. Now, would you be kind enough to answer my question?”