Midwife of the Blue Ridge (4 page)

ing his ability. The
Good Intent
had left port six weeks before.

Skimming along smartly, she eased past the Portuguese coast on

a westerly course, but just beyond the Canaries she’d blundered

onto the notorious region of calm known as the Horse Latitudes

and now they had sat adrift without a whiff of a breeze for six

days running.

The evening sky glowed with residual light from the setting

sun, still a bit too bright to make out the stars. Carlyle turned his

attention to the silent crowd assembled on the main deck. Most

of the ship’s inhabitants—seamen and passengers alike—gathered

every eve ning to hear MacGregor read aloud from his cherished

copy of
Robinson Crusoe
.

“. . .
we committed our Souls to God in the most earnest

Manner, and the Wind driving us towards the Shore, we hasten’d

our Destruction with our own Hands . . .
”

One hundred and twenty souls crammed together like so

many hogsheads of tobacco—in daily peril on the high seas—all

24 Christine

Blevins

mesmerized by the adventure of a solitary, shipwrecked man.

Although Carlyle found the irony amusing, he was grateful for

the diversions that kept tensions from running high. Periods of

calm could be just as life threatening as a hurricane, for the lon-

ger his ship went without touching the wind, the greater the

chance of running low on rations and fresh water.
I would do

well to recall what befell the Sea-Flower
.

Stocked with only eight weeks’ worth of provisions, the
Sea-

Flower
floundered lost at sea for sixteen weeks. Forty-six people

starved to death as a result of their captain’s poor planning. In

the end, the
Sea-Flower
survivors resorted to cannibalism and

ate six of the dead, the captain included among those consumed.

“Mr. Stark!” Carlyle shouted. His lanky ship’s mate quickly

disengaged from the crowd of listeners and scrambled up the

quarterdeck stair.

“Aye, Cap’n?”

Carlyle lowered his voice. “If the wind’s not shifted by tomor-

row, move to half rations—victuals and water.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Josh Stark nodded in agreement.

Mr. Stark kept the crew on their toes, making use of the idle

time to maintain fi rst- rate condition and keep the ship tight. The

ship’s mate saw the bilge pumps engaged and the corrupt water

collected in the bottom of the ship purged. He had the caulker

seal every leak with oakum and tar, and the sailmaker fi nish

mending all three sets of sails. Tackle, blocks, and rigging were

all examined and repaired. To minimize infestation, today all

bedding was aired and the sleeping berths sweetened with a

swabbing of vinegar.

A groan went up from the crowd when MacGregor snapped

the book shut and slipped his precious spectacles into the breast

pocket of his jacket. Daylight faded completely and it was a

strain to read by lantern light.

Someone called for a song and the Duffy twins began to tune

their instruments. The good- natured brothers had boarded with

Midwife of the Blue Ridge
25

nothing more than the shirts and the fiddles on their backs, and

never needed much encouragement to oblige their audience.

Moira Bean, a robust Glaswegian washwoman, stepped up to

join the fiddlers with a powerful voice. After two bawdy songs

and one soulful ballad, Carlyle signaled Pebley, the boatswain, to

begin dousing the ship’s lights. Fire was the

ever- present and

most deadly danger aboard. It was Mr. Pebley’s duty to see every

lantern extinguished and collected, save one lamp to illuminate

the compass and one for the watch.

The passengers hurried to settle their sleeping places below

before Pebley called for all lights out. They collected their pallets

from where they hung along the rail and took turns shuffl ing

down the hatchway stairs to tween deck.

Located between main deck and the cargo hold, tween deck

quartered all passengers traveling on indenture to the Colonies,

providing both space for their berths and storage for any bag-

gage they’d brought aboard.

The captain never ceased to wonder at the endurance of these

desperate pilgrims. His own tiny cabin was a luxurious retreat

compared to the cramped quarters of the tween. Carlyle knew he

could not suffer even one night in that airless pitch black, sand-

wiched between strangers, privy to his fellows’ every grunt,

groan, snore, and fart.

Tween deck measured a scant five feet six inches from fl oor to

ceiling. Most of the emigrants housed there could not stand fully

upright. Baskets, wooden chests, and canvas sacks were stuffed

into every available nook and crowded the narrow aisles. Ventila-

tion was poor at best, and in the event of rough seas with hatches

battened down, fresh air was non exis tent. On those days, the stench

of vomit and latrine buckets could be particularly hard to bear.

Will Carlyle had weathered hurricanes with the force to split

sails and snap a mainmast in two. His ship had been boarded

and ransacked by pirates. He’d twice been washed overboard and

lived to tell of it. Able to endure the worst of a seaman’s life, the

26 Christine

Blevins

captain still avoided going down to tween deck at all costs—and

so did Maggie Duncan.

Carlyle smiled.
There—she stands her post like clockwork . . .

Maggie dawdled at the portside railing every night. Will Car-

lyle sympathized with her plight, but he could not have the beau-

tiful young woman distracting the watch. As it was, half the men

aboard were besotted with the well-rigged healer, and the other

half stung by her rejection of their coarse overtures.

Though a pretty woman aboard usually spelled trouble, Cap-

tain Carlyle considered Maggie Duncan to be the most valuable

passenger his agent had recruited. Unlike many of his peers, Car-

lyle understood that be it tobacco or laborers, the quality of the

cargo determined the amount of profit he reaped at voyage end.

Will Carlyle maintained a solid reputation up and down the Vir-

ginia coast as a merchant who always delivered

top-quality

goods. Maggie Duncan occupied her time maintaining the good

health and humor of his cargo, forever delving into her basket to

bring comfort and relief to passengers and crewmen alike.

The staunch champion of her fellow shipmates, Maggie earned

praise early on by standing toe-to-toe with Cook, who was not an

easy man. She asked Cook to prepare a clear broth for the unfor-

tunates racked with seasickness, as they were unable to stomach

the usual fare of salt pork, hard cheese, and biscuit. She did not

relent until Cook obliged her request.

But Cook bellowed like a bull elephant when Maggie sug-

gested the ship’s drinking water be boiled and strained. Maggie

insisted Carlyle inspect the most recently opened cask of water.

“Captain,” she began, “though I dinna doubt this water was

once fresh, ’tis no longer the case. Look here—every cask

coated with this vile green scum—” Her nose crinkled in dis-

gust as she stirred the contents with a stick. “Dead bugs and

worms form the second layer. It’s no great wonder so many are

laid low with the flux. Boiling our water is but a small bother

for Cook, and there are many willing to help.”

Midwife of the Blue Ridge
27

The captain saw no harm in the suggestion and ordered surly

Cook to follow Maggie’s advice. The effect upon everyone’s

health was immediate and Cook ceased his grumbling.

As much as Carlyle liked and admired the young woman, she

tried his patience every night with her continued dawdling on

deck after hours.

“Mr. Stark, please escort Miss Duncan down to the

tween . . .”

Joshua Stark skittered down the stair before the captain could

even complete his order. Carlyle grinned. His stalwart mate was

definitely counted among the severely lovestruck.

H

She leaned into the rail and stretched her underused muscles,

determined to delay the trip down to tween deck for as long as

possible. Maggie’d grown accustomed to the many discomforts

of sea travel, but she would never grow accustomed to the tween’s

unholy combination of fetid air and total darkness. Most morn-

ings found her curled in her plaide at the bottom of the stair,

where a trickle of fresh air managed to fi lter down.

“Och, the evil hour is upon me,” Maggie muttered when she

saw Mr. Stark ambling toward her. She did not budge from her

post by the rail. She smiled. In this game, she held all the

cards.

“I’m sorry, Maggie, but Cap’n says it’s time for you to get

below . . .”

Maggie ignored him, and bent over the rail, searching for

something alongside the ship.

“What’re you lookin’ for?” Joshua peered over her shoulder.

“Ol’ Pete says there’s a huge sea beast lurking beneath us—a

remora
. Pete claims he’s seen one latch onto a ship’s keel and

pull it under the waves quicker than a blink of the eye. D’ye think

it’s true?”

Joshua relaxed and leaned onto the rail next to Maggie. “I’ll

tell you what I think, Maggie. I think Pete should spend less time

28 Christine

Blevins

spinning frightful yarns for gullible girls and more time mending

the canvas.”

“Ah no! Ol’ Pete’s a darlin’.” Maggie gave the ship’s mate a

playful elbow to the ribs. “I ken it’s but a tale—a tall tale at that.

Don’t be bothering Ol’ Pete on my account . . .”

“I won’t scold Pete. He’s been at sea a long lifetime, and Lord

knows, these ol’-timers have seen a thing or two to tell about.

But really, Maggie, you need to get below . . .”

“Joshua, look!” Maggie flung her arms wide to the perfectly

smooth sea stretched before them like a huge black mirror re-

flecting the spray of stars twinkling in the heavens. “I ken fair

wind is the seaman’s best friend, but I canna help but think this

calm is verra bonnie indeed.”

“I’ll grant you,” Joshua said. “On a still night like this it’s easy

to imagine creatures lurking beneath the surface. Sailors have the

most—”

An unfamiliar noise interrupted his speech. Maggie and Joshua

both glanced upward in time to see an eerie, liquid blue fi re hiss

and crackle at the top of the mizzenmast. For a few seconds the

blue light danced along the uppermost spars and rigging before

dissipating into the atmosphere.

“Megstie me!” Maggie inched close to Joshua. He slipped an

arm around her shoulders.

“Just a bit of St. Elmo’s fire. Why, I’ve seen where the blue

flames shoot across the spars and climb up and down the shrouds

for hours at a time.”

“St. Elmo’s fire!” Maggie sniffed the ozone in the air and

stared in wonder at the topmast, hoping the strange event would

repeat itself.

“Some say it’s a good omen—a blessing from the patron saint

of sailors. It’s not really fire as such—more like lightning. They

say St. Elmo’s fire portends a strong wind on the way.”

The helmsman turned the hourglass and struck the aft bell,

signaling the beginning of the first watch. “Come along now,

Midwife of the Blue Ridge
29

Maggie.” Joshua slipped his arm from Maggie’s shoulder and

glanced toward the quarterdeck, relieved to see Captain Carlyle

engrossed in his celestial navigation. “I’ll be whipped and pick-

led if Cap’n sees you’re still on deck during the watch.”

“Joshua, I was wondering.” Maggie laid a warm hand on his

forearm. “What harm is there in my finding a wee corner to curl

up in, here, on main deck? Quiet as a mouse I’d be . . .”

The mate’s gaze swept across the ordered chaos of the crowded

deck. Spars and spare mast pieces rested amid coils of tarred rope.

Yards of anchor cable caked with dried mud were piled near the

iron-banded casks filled with water, salt meat, and other stores.

Near the chicken coops and pigpens, the four mariners standing

first watch were busy arranging sea chests around an upended

cable reel for their nightly game of euchre. In all likelihood Mag-

gie’s presence would go unnoticed.

“All right . . . but mind, steer clear of the watch,” he warned.

“If anyone finds you out, Maggie Duncan, you’re on your own.”

They tugged her pallet far from the quarterdeck, back behind

a stack of canvas near the foremast. Maggie bid Joshua good

night, very happy to be granted one night’s reprieve from the

grim quarters below.

H

“G’ way . . . leave me be . . .” Maggie groaned, dismissing her

tormentor with a wave of her hand. Her eyes blinked open. A

cool breeze washed across the deck and the ship bobbed on

waves slapping up to the rails. Bright lights flashed in the distant

sky. Propped up on one elbow, she pushed the frizzle of hair from

her face and squinted at the dark silhouette hovering over her.