apple crate so that his instrument would be as close to the sole of the captain’s cabin as it could get, played the part with a perfection of timing, as loud as he could.
He heard the galley door open, felt a blast of cold wind sweep away the steam heat. He looked over, expected to see a furious Samuel Bowater. Instead, he saw Ruffin Tanner, framed in the door, lit by the soft light of the single lantern burning in the galley. Tanner stepped in, shut the door behind him, leaned with folded arms against the door.
Taylor looked away, closed his eyes, finished the movement, but the mood was broken with Tanner there, and he felt a bit foolish, having been caught standing on top of the crate.
He bowed the last note, opened his eyes, let the bow fall to his side, and took the violin from his chin. He turned and regarded the sailor, who was patiently waiting for him to finish. He found Tanner gruff, often unpleasant, highly competent at his job. Tanner was the kind of man he liked, a kindred irascible bastard.
“That there,” Taylor said, hopping down from his crate, “is what you call ‘classical music.’”
“That a fact? Reckon I’d call it a lot of goddamned noise for seven bells in the evenin watch.”
“Would you, now?” Tanner’s attitude was something different for the sailor. Aggressive. He wondered if he was going to have to whop Tanner’s ass. Wondered if he could. It would be a good fight.
“Well, lucky for you, you done broke the mood, you know what I mean?” Taylor laid the violin and bow in the case. “You done broke my creative spell.” He snapped the case shut, set the instrument well out of the way on the galley counter. Turned, faced Tanner, arms folded the way the sailor’s were. “I don’t much appreciate that.”
“No? Well, I don’t much appreciate bein kept awake by some white trash peckerwood standin on an apple crate like some kinda dumb ass.”
“‘Dumb ass,’ you say?” Taylor let his arms drop to his sides, shook them out. Didn’t know what was up Tanner’s behind, but he reckoned it was time to beat it out of him. “You want to do somethin about this problem of yours?”
Tanner nodded. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his heavy overcoat, reached a hand in. Taylor braced for what would come out of there-a knife, a blackjack, a gun.
But it was a bottle, a flask-style bottle more than half full of a liquid that looked very much like whiskey. “Long as your goddamned fiddle’s put away, guess I can give you something, might bring back that ‘creative spirit’ you s’all fired worried about.”
Tanner pulled the cork from the bottle, took a deep pull, wiped the neck on his coat, and handed it to Taylor. Taylor tipped the bottle back. Whiskey. Quite good whiskey, in fact. “Yup. Yup. I hear that ol’ muse singin again.”
He handed the bottle back, and Tanner stepped across the galley, rustled up two glasses, half-filled each with the liquor. Handed one to Taylor.
“Tanner, you got a goddamned funny way of sayin you’d like to have a drink with a man.”
“That ain’t what I want to say. I want to say, you too damned hard on the cap’n.”
“‘Hard on the cap’n? Are you jokin?”
“No, I ain’t. And you know it. Ride over him every chance you got. I don’t know what the hell you was doin up on that crate, but I bet it ain’t no coincidence you was right under the old man’s cabin.”
Taylor took a sip of his whiskey, hoped he was not flushing red, or at least that Tanner would not see it in the muted light. “This here the master’s division gettin all uppity about what us engine-room niggers is doin? Y’all think we should keep to our place? Don’t try to come into the big house, like?”
“Ain’t about that. I don’t give a damn about that. Some of my best friends is black gang. Do what you want to the luff. It’s just Cap’n Bowater. I don’t appreciate the grief you give him.”
“And why are you so concerned about good Cap’n Bowater?”
“’Cause he saved my life, oncet. Man don’t forget that.”
Taylor took a drink, pulled out the remainder of his cigar, sparked it to life. He needed a moment to consider this. Bowater did not seem the life-saving kind to him.
After a long silence, Taylor said, “All right, Tanner. Reckon you best tell it.”
Tanner looked at Taylor, and for a moment seemed to consider whether or not he would. “You got another one of them cigars?” he asked at last.
Taylor frowned, but he reached in his pocket, withdrew his penultimate cigar, handed it over. Waited patiently while Tanner bit off the end, then handed him his own smoldering cigar to use as a light.
“It was in the Mex War,” Tanner said at last. “In ’46. At Veracruz. I wasn’t in the navy but five years or so. Thought I knew it all, ’course, but I didn’t know shit. Anyway, we was bringing ammunition ashore for a navy battery they was setting up south of the city there. Had these big, flat barges, crazy sons of bitches. Couldn’t hardly control ’em, even when the weather was good. They’d get four or five of ’em on a hawser, get one of them little paddle-wheel schooners to bring up to the beach.
“So there’s Ensign Bowater, fresh from the Navy School, looks clean and proper, like a little sailor doll you’d buy for your daughter. He’s in command of this little paddle wheeler ’cause her proper captain’s assigned to the battery ashore. They figured that was the real work, let the green-horn take the barges back and forth.
“We’re bringin our barges on and off the beach, ain’t no thing. Made the last run of the day, sun’s goin down. We got about five miles to steam back to the fleet. They was anchored around that island the Mex call Sacrificios.
“Halfway there, and one of them Mex northers come rippin through. You ever experience anythin like that?”
Taylor nodded. “I know about them northers.”
Tanner nodded as well. “Then you know, they come right outta nowhere, come tearin down like a bull gone mad. Right in the middle of that big bay, and a norther come down on us, just as it was getting dark. First ya feel that blast of cold air, then the wind starts fillin in. Next thing we know we takin green water over the sides, fillin faster than we can bail. Seas gettin bigger and bigger, and mind, them barges warn’t nothin in a seaway in the gentlest of times. Rain’s comin down, lightnin flashin around, and ol’ Ensign Bowater jest drivin that little schooner for all she’s worth, right for the fleet.
“But a mile from the fleet and I start thinkin, ‘Damn, we may live through this after all.’ Then, sure as hell, the hawser parts, right at our bow. We was the last barge in the line, see? So away we go, twirlin around downwind, jest like a leaf in a damn stream. Last I seen of the schooner and Ensign Bowater, he’s jest steamin along still. I don’t reckon he even knew we was gone. And I jest shake my head, don’t even bother to cuss him out, on account of I didn’t reckon we could expect much more, and him a boy right outta school.
“For about an hour we bailed like hell and some prayed and some was cussin and finally we hit the surf, due south of where we lost the tow. It was full night by then-dark comes quick when you got one of them northers-and we didn’t know we was on the beach till the barge grounds out. Two good hits and it breaks all to hell and all us sailors on board, there was about twenty of us, we all in the water.
“’Bout fifteen of us managed to get ashore, the rest drowned, or was beat to death by the surf. Some of us managed to snatch up rifles and even some cartridge boxes and we kept ’em dry, and that was a good thing. See, the Americans was nearly surrounding Veracruz, but surrounding the Americans was all these gangs of Mex irregular cavalry, and guerrillas and any damn Mex got his hands on a gun and reckoned he’d kill and rob him an American soldier.
“So we didn’t know what in hell we was going to do, but we set up some kinda defense, there on the beach, ready to fight off whatever Mex comes at us. Didn’t take too damned long, either. We’d drifted way south of the American lines, right in Mex territory, and them guerrillas come on, just like sharks. Didn’t know they was there till we hear rifles and one of our boys jest falls dead.
“You got to understand, it was dark as hell. Couldn’t see a thing. And most of our powder was wet, and us sailor boys, we ain’t so good at loading and firing in the rain, not like them infantry sumbitches. We figured we was done for, and it was only a matter of time. I seen that first one go down, and I figured that was it. Never reckoned to get it on no damned Mexican beach.
“Then, right out of nowhere, we hear a steam engine! Steam engine, there on that beach, and we don’t know what the hell it was. Then there’s a flash of lightning, and there’s the paddle-wheel schooner, with them barges still behind, but they’re empty now, and backing down into the surf. I never thought no one would come for us. Twenty sailors? On a night like that? Didn’t reckon anyone would think it was worth it. Then I reckoned someone musta relieved Bowater of his command, ’cause I sure as hell didn’t think that toy sailor’d do it on his own.”
