Page 28 of Miss Whittier Makes a List
“Is Mr. Lansing dead?”she asked when he had stopped close to her.
He must not have seen her there in the shadows because he jumped back.“Lord, youscaredme, Miss Whittier!”he exclaimed.“Place is full of ghosts. Thought you was another.”He touched hisarmagain.“Yes, he’s dead.Practically from the first.”
She sighed and drew Spark’s boat cloak tight around her.“And theBergeronis sunk,”sheaddedas flimsy consolation.
“Aye, Miss Whittier, but do you know, weighing that against Mr.Lansing, I would rather fight her again and stillhave him roaring out orders from the gun deck.”
She watched him until her eyes grew heavy, then she lay down andarrangedthe cloak around her. She thought of Adam Winslow, and wondered if he stilllived. And then AndrewLease, with his desperate eyes and drawing room chatter, shouldered his way into her thoughts and stayed there, cutting and tying, as she closed her eyes upon troubled dreams.
When she woke, she was in her hammock again, but still covered by Daniel Spark’s cloak. She snuggled deeper into the woolen warmth, loath to open her eyes on chaos by daylight. When she was unable toavoid the new day, she opened her eyes and sat up. The bulkheads knocked down so quickly before yesterday’s encounter with theBergeronwere in place again, effectively shutting her off from the main gun deck. She sniffed the gun below her, which was still heavy with the odor of expended powder and shot.
She lay on her back, staring up at the deck,whenshe heard several heavy splashes. Her heart in her throat, she climbed from the hammock and wrenched open the tinyporthole. As she watched,another shrouded body slid into the water from the main deck. Hurriedly she dragged a brush through her tangled hair and ran onto the deck above.
She stood in silence as Captain Spark, dressed impeccably, and with all his medals this time, stood before another row of bodies sewn into their hammocks.“‘I am the resurrection and the life,’”he read from the little Bible in his hand, his eyes on the words without seeing them.“‘He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’”He removed his hat then and bowed his head.“Merciful Father, God of Battle, we commend these thy servants at the guns, to rest in the deep. God rest their souls and God bless the King and his Regent. Amen.”
The next row of shrouded bodies was tipped off the deck and into the water. Hannah scanned the sailors standing alert on the main deck, her eyes anxious. She sighed. There was Adam, looking much older than his sixteen years,with a stained bandage on his neck. She looked around for the otherNantucketseaman who had been impressed, and sighedagain. He was not in sight.
Another scripture, another entreaty to the Almighty,and a third row of bodies slid into the water. Her heart sore, Hannah looked at the captain and moved closer,alarmed at the agony on his face. Why did I ever think him so hard, she thought as she watched him, head bowed, feet wide apart on the deck,trying to retain what shreds of composure clung, tattered, about his tall form. She looked at the faces of the sailors and saw her own concern mirrored there. How could I have seen only rough men, she asked herself. They all have followed him to hell and back without a murmur. I have, too.
Then there was only Mr. Lansingleft,sewn into a length of sailcloth, his hat resting at the head of the plank, his sword at the foot. She waited for Captain Spark,but all he could do was clear his throat over and over, unable to speak at the loss of his first lieutenant.
Hannah took a deep breath and stepped forward. She took the Bible from Spark’s hands and turned to Job. Spark rested his hand on her shoulder and she looked back at him, wondering if she was completely out of bounds, and due for a scolding. She glanced at his face, a winter landscape, his eyes filled with tears, and turned back to thebook. Her voice was calm.“‘For I know that my redeemer liveth,andthat he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth.’”
She paused, overwhelmed, and looked at Adam Winslow, who watched her, a half smile on his face. He nodded to her, and she gathered the courage to continue.“‘And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.’”
The ship was silent. Even the riggings had stopped humming for once. There was only the slap of water against the ship, as though the sea were eager to receive another offering. Hannah bowed her head.“Heavenly Father, accept thy son to thy merciful bosom, where there are no guns, and no war. Let use worthy to see Mr. Lansing again in the resurrection. God save theUnited States, the King, and his Regent. Amen.”
Mr. Futtrell stepped forward and took the sword while Captain Spark tipped Mr. Lansing into the water. He stood beside the railing as the shrouded body, loaded with shot like the others, sank swiftly. Hannah hesitated. She longed to touch Spark, but she knew better. She stood next to Adam, who put his around her shoulder. They watched quietly, no one moving, as the captain stared at the water.
“Bosun, change the pump crew,”he said at last, his eyes still on the water.“Send the starboard watch to Chips for orders.”
“Aye, aye.”The bosun’s whistle piped and half the men hurried below to relieve the sailors at the pumps. The others gathered around the carpenter.
Spark turned aroundthen;his composure restored, and settled his hat back on his head. He nodded to Hannah as she handed him his Bible.“Can you spend the day in the lookout?”he asked her.“I can’t spare anyone to change off, and we must watch.”
“Of course,”she replied.
“My straw hat’s in the cabin, and so is my glass. You can get them. Take this, too,”he said, handing back the Bible. He turned on his heel for the quarterdeck, where a crew was preparing to jury-rig a new mast.
She hurried below deck to Spark’s cabin. The black-and-white-checked canvas had been returned to the floor, the guns lashed down again, and thefurniturearranged as before. She found the hat in the sleeping cabin and put it on her head. The telescope rested on the charttable in the great cabin. She looked at the charton top, with the parallel rulers pointed to theAzores.
A half-finished letter lay on the chart. She picked it up, her mouth dry.“My dearMrs.Lansing,”she read,“please accept my consolation on the death of your son Edward.”
She put down the letter, unable to continue. Imagine a lifetime of writing such letters, she thought. I could never. How does he? There was another such letter, and another, these finished and signed. As she turned away, a scrap of paper caught her eye. It was anarrowsheet,with pen wipings, blots, and doodles. She picked it up and read aloud.“Cheerful to a fault (Careful here: this could become tiresome). Courageous. Not afraid to argue. Lovely of face and body (at least to me). Places my welfare before her own.”There were numbers scratched through andrearrangedbefore each sentence, but she dropped the page as though it burned her fingers and hurried from the cabin.
I refuse to think about it, she told herself as she climbed the rigging. He cannot be serious, and I won’t consider it.Numb with some emotion that was strange to her, she sat in the lookout and scanned the horizon, while the ship sailed more slowly towardEurope. She wished herself home inNantucketand attempted a bargain.“Lord, if I am ever there again, I will not complain if my life is boring,”she said out loud as she searched the ocean.“I promise to be very, very good and never write another list.”
To her great relief, she saw no other sails that day. From her perch far above the deck,she watched as the crew juried a new mast to the stub remaining of the mizzenmast, working efficiently with block and tackle. The sounds of hammer and saw on the deck competed with the clanking of the pumps far below, as the men sweated to empty out an ocean that continued to seep back in through planks damaged by theBergeron’sdirect hits. She trained the telescope on a quarterdeck conference between Spark, Futtrell, and the bosun, which ended with a sail being passed under the bow of theDissuade,in another attempt to slow down the leaks. Still the pumps poured water over the side.
She remained in her perch until dark, then came down, stiff with sitting immobile for so long. Four more shrouded bodies waited on the deck for tomorrow’s services. She stood by the still forms a moment, Spark’s hat off, then hurried below to the orlop deck, which Andrew Lease had turned into a sick bay. The makeshift operating table of midshipmen’s sea chests was gone, but there were ten men lying on the deck, some fairly quick, and others nearly dead.
Lease was bending over one crew member. He looked up and nodded to Hannah. She came closer, noting the exhaustion on his face. He smiled at her.“And how does our Hannah?”he asked in that drawing room manner of his that only increased her discomfort. He pulled her collar away from her neck.“Sunburned again? I recommend another regimen of salve, if Daniel insists on keeping you aloft.”
“He has no choice,”she said.
“Who of us does?”he asked in turn, then paused, his head cocked to listen to the sound of the pumps.“And now the ocean has turned on us.”He took herarm.“Come sit, and tell me about your day.”
It was all so weird that she backed away.“No, sir,”she said, wishing that she did not sound so breathless.“I am too tired.”
