MacAllister

onboard without the man on watch seeing him. As he considered how best to accomplish this, he saw a skiff tied up about one hundred yards down the dock.

Looking around to make certain he wasn’t being observed, Duff untied the skiff, then rowed it out a short way before turning back to approach the Hiawatha from the opposite side. There he climbed up the side of the vessel, over the railing, then into the shadows of the ship. Finding a dark, out-of-the-way place on deck, he settled down to wait and see what would happen next.

He had almost gone to sleep when he heard the sheriff’s voice.

“You, aboard! Sailor on watch! I’m Sheriff Somerled. I would have a word with you.”

“I ain’t done nothin’ that would draw the attention of a sheriff,” the sailor called back in a flat, twangy, American accent.

“Still your concerns, sailor, ’tis not yourself I am questioning,” the sheriff replied. “Has a man come aboard seeking passage to America?”

Looking out from behind a large stanchion, Duff followed the conversation between the sailor and Sheriff Somerled. On the dock with the sheriff, Duff noticed, was Deputy Malcolm.

“Sheriff, this here is a merchant ship. We ain’t got no passenger a’tall.”

“I’m looking for a murderer. He is a big man with light hair, brawny arms, and shoulders the width of an axe handle. He would have come on only in the last few minutes.”

“Like I told you, we ain’t got no passengers a’tall. We got nothin’ but wool, bound for New York.”

“Maybe he boarded without you seeing him,” Sheriff Somerled suggested.

“There ain’t nobody what’s come onboard, Sheriff, by that or any other description,” the sailor replied. “Not while I been on watch.”

“Lower the gangplank. I’m comin’ aboard to see for myself,” the sheriff said.

“There ain’t nobody comin’ onboard this here ship without the cap’n sayin’ he can.”

“Then do be a good man and inform the captain that Sheriff Somerled wishes to come aboard.”

“I ain’t wakin’ the cap’n for you or nobody,” the sailor said.

“Very well, I shall return in the morning and speak with your captain.”

“We’ll be pullin’ anchor with the mornin’ tide,” the sailor on watch said. “Won’t do you no good to come back, ’cause we won’t be here.”

“Come,” Sheriff Somerled said to Malcolm. “The brigand cannot have gone too far. I’ll see him hanged before sunrise.”

Duff had stayed very quiet during the exchange and remained in place until the sheriff and his deputy were well away from the dock. Not until then did he improve his position, crawling from behind the stanchion into a tarp- covered lifeboat.

The ship was well under way when Duff awoke the next morning, lifting and falling, rolling from side to side as it plowed over the long, rolling swells of the North Atlantic. When he looked out from under the tarp, he could see the sails of the Hiawatha shining brilliantly white in the bright sunlight, and filled with a following breeze. The propelling wind, spilling from the sails, emitted a soft, whispering sigh.

The helmsman stood at the wheel, his legs slightly spread as he held the ship on its course. Working sailors were moving about the deck, tightening a line here, loosening one there, providing the exact tension on the rigging and angle on the sheets to maintain maximum speed. Some sailors were holystoning the deck, while others were manning the bilge pumps.

Because all were busy, no one noticed Duff when he crawled out of the lifeboat. He approached a sailor who was twisting a turnbuckle to increase the tension on a line.

“Pardon me, but where might I find the captain?”

“Lord ha’ mercy, where did you come from?” the sailor asked. “And who are you?”

“I am,” Duff started, then he paused in mid-sentence. “I am Captain Duff MacCallister, and I wish to speak with the captain.”

“How did you get aboard the Hiawatha, Cap’n?” the sailor asked.

“Please. Your captain?”

“You wait here.”

“Yes,” Duff said. “Where else would I go?”

Duff walked over to the rail and looked back. In the distance he could barely make out the shoreline.

A moment later the sailor returned with another man whom Duff took to be one of the ship’s officers.

“Are you the captain of this vessel?” Duff asked.

“I am Mr. Norton, the bosun. Who are you?”

Whereas Duff had used his reserve rank of captain with the sailor, with the bosun he was more direct.

“My name is Duff MacCallister,” he said.

“Jiggs said you called yourself a captain.”

“Aye, in the Scottish Reserves I am a captain. I am sorry if the sailor misunderstood. I wonder if I might speak with the captain of this ship.”

“Look here,” the bosun said. “How did you get onboard this ship?”