‘Won’t last,’ said Goodschall, indicating the side current.
‘Hope you’re right,’ said Briggs.
‘Lessening this past hour,’ the man assured him.
For the first time Briggs noticed that there were other crewmen on deck. The Lorensen brothers were to starboard, checking the ties on the furled sails. There was always a danger in such weather that the hastily secured sails might be ripped open and then either blown overboard or, worse, trail in the water to snarl the steering gear and even endanger the ship. Briggs had sailed in many vessels where the crew would have waited until the weather abated.
He moved on, to the fo’c’sle head. Richardson and the second mate, Andrew Gilling, were hunched in its protection.
‘Helmsman says it’s lessening,’ said Briggs.
‘About time,’ said Gilling. His Danish parentage showed in his accent, despite the time he had lived in America.
‘How’s the baby?’ asked Richardson. From the first mate’s concern over the preceding week, it would have been easy to imagine the child was his.
‘Took some porridge today. Now she’s sleeping,’ said Briggs. He indicated the brothers straddling the spars on the port side now.
‘Seem to have nearly all the crew aloft,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t there be a watch in their bunks?’
‘There’s time enough for rest,’ said Richardson. ‘Better to ensure the ship safe.’
‘Any damage?’ Despite his conviction in the cabin, it was an instinctive question.
Richardson gestured to the bow of the vessel.
‘Martens was checking the bowsprit and found some odd splintering.’
‘Splintering?’ said Briggs, immediately concerned.
‘Not deep, as far as we can see,’ reported Richardson, ‘although I’ll be happier when this weather drops and we can maybe examine it from a boat. Runs for six or seven feet on either side and looks to be cut as clean as with a knife.’
‘Either side?’ queried Briggs. ‘That’s unusual.’
‘I’m minded it’s the corkscrewing caused by getting the sea on two quarters at once,’ said Richardson. ‘There’s been a lot of strain on the timbers.’
‘I’d have expected them to sustain it better than that, though.’
‘Could have been faulty planking.’
‘How close to the water?’
‘High enough,’ assured the first mate. ‘When the sea comes down it’ll be a good three to four feet above the waterline.’
‘Checked for’ard leakage?’ asked Briggs.
‘None at all,’ said Richardson.
‘Let’s examine it, at the first opportunity,’ said Briggs.
‘I’d like to get the hatches open, too,’ said Richardson. ‘Temperature has gone up since we got into the Gulf Stream. Must be three to four degrees’ difference since we left New York.’
‘How is it?’ asked Briggs.
‘Smelly,’ said Richardson. ‘I checked through the for’ard hatch,’
‘Leaking then?’
‘Almost inevitable, through red oak.’
‘Breathable?’
‘Yes,’ said Richardson.
‘So no immediate problem?’
‘Still like to get some air circulating down there. It’s unpredictable stuff.’
‘No risk of any shifting?’
Richardson shook his head confidently. ‘We double-lashed in New York,’ he reminded the captain.
Briggs determined he would give Richardson the best report possible before the man signed off in New York on their return. There had been nothing about which he had had to correct or instruct the first mate since the commencement of the voyage.
‘Goodschall was right.’
Briggs and Richardson turned away from the cover of the fo’c’sle, looking out to sea, as Gilling spoke. The squall was still high but the side waves had subsided.
‘Should get even better, when we get into the lee of the Azores,’ said Richardson.
‘Still some way away,’ warned Briggs.
‘At least the worst is behind us,’ said Gilling.
Because the wind was still high, they were too far away to hear the cry, but Sarah detected it, screaming out for her husband.
Briggs turned as the woman cried out again: ‘Sophia. Something’s happened to Sophia.’
She was hauling herself along on the safety line, slithering against the deck. Surer-footed, Briggs ran along the deck, so that he was beside his wife when they got to the companion-way. From the cabin came the sound of Sophia’s screams.
Briggs went in first, stopping just inside the door. The child’s nightdress was smeared with blood and there was more upon her cheek, pale from her constant sickness and therefore showing an almost unreal brightness.
‘Dear God,’ said Sarah, from behind.
It was only when he got nearer that Briggs saw the souvenir sword he had bought in Naples when he had commanded the schooner Forest King. The blade had been half withdrawn from the scabbard; while taking the sword out the baby had cut deeply into her thumb.
He snatched the weapon up as his wife took the child into her arms, cradling the tear-stained face into her breast.
For once Briggs’s control went.
‘Confounded thing!’ he said angrily, hurling it away from them. It struck his bunk and then fell to the deck.
Richardson had followed them to the cabin door and had seen what had happened. Within minutes he was back with a first-aid kit, cupping the child’s hand in his palm and carefully cleaning the wound with diluted spirit.
‘It’s not too bad,’he said. ‘In a child this young, it won’t even scar.’
As quickly as it had erupted, Briggs’s anger began to subside.
‘It was careless of me to leave it lying around in the cabin, where she could get to it,’ he apologised to Sarah. ‘I’m sorry.’
The woman smiled, her concern less now she could see the extent of the injury.
‘It’s nobody’s fault,’ she said.
‘Better put it somewhere where she won’t get it again,’ said Richardson.
Briggs walked across to the weapon, hefting it in his hand. Quickly he opened the cupboard beneath the bunk and tossed it inside.
‘She won’t get it from there,’ he said, testing the lock.
Thumb bound, Sophia nestled against her mother’s chest and began to sleep again.
‘Poor mite,’ said Briggs. ‘It’ll be a long time before she wants to come to sea again.’
‘See how quickly she’s settled,’ said Sarah. ‘She feels so safe.’
The custom had arisen for Martens with his flute to accompany Mrs Briggs upon the melodeon, but because the weather had lessened and the child settled comfortably to sleep after another meal of William Head’s porridge there had been no music that night in the captain’s quarters.
Instead Martens had played a while for those members of the crew not on watch, finally putting the instrument aside and settling down with his pipe.
‘I’m glad the child seems to be improving,’ said Richardson. The crew had invited him to the fo’c’sle.
The German nodded. ‘She reminds me of my own children,’ he said.
