November 21st, 1811
We entered St. Catherine’s harbour this morning with our flag at half mast. We received a full gun salute from the fort and we returned in kind.
When we landed I ordered the men to obtain a few essentials and then dismissed them for the rest of the day. They need time to come to grips with the passing of young Albert Smedley and I can think of no better way than to give them shore leave so they can unwind from the snarls of these recent drastic events.
Herewith are the known details regarding Mr. Smedley’s death:
On the evening of November 18th I was in my quarters. I heard an unusual amount of cheering and cavorting coming from the men. When I went to see what all the merriment was about I learned that poor Albert Smedley was competing against Mister Wilson in a race to the top of the main mast. The true test of a sailor is to climb the height of the tallest mast. Wilson is one of my most experienced crewmen, while Mister Smedley was one of my clerks and certainly had not fully developed the strength or skills for such a feat. Unfortunately they were already near the top, where Smedley was about to make the fatal mistake of securing himself to the pulley. It was then that a strong wind picked up and it became imperative that we trim the sails. I ordered the men to come down immediately, but by then the young Smedley was fully stuck with fear. Wilson was instructed to help him to disengage from the mast. As he struggled to follow orders the lad tumbled off, hit the foresail, and was flung into the sea. Alas, like most of my men Mister Smedley could not swim. We tried throwing him a rope, but it was futile for the waves engulfed him like a hungry dragon. I had such a menacing reaction to the poor boy’s flailing and calls for help that my men had to hold me back from flinging myself into the water to save him. No good would have come of it, for I, too, cannot swim and would have simply joined him at the bottom of the sea. Since that night not one of us has slept easy.
I will report further on this tragic event when more details are learned.
Captain James Whittaker
Terrific, just what I needed to read after what I’d been through today. I threw the journal across the room. Just then Mom poked her head into my room.
“Peggy, TB’s at the front door. He wants to talk to you.” I rolled my head and sighed deeply. I didn’t feel like talking or seeing anyone, much less TB. I’d been awful to him, but I didn’t have the energy to explain myself right now.
“Tell him I’ve gone to bed.” It wasn’t a lie really.
“I think he’s worried about you. Just come and say hello.” I groaned.
“Mom, I just can’t face him right now. Just tell him I’ll call his cell phone.”
“Hi TB,” I said weakly a few minutes later. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’ much … just wanted to see how you’re doing. Are you still feeling sick? Hey, I’ll bet the Tornado’s leg will never be the same.” He chuckled and I had to smile too. “What I mostly wanted to say was I was sorry for calling your aunt. I never thought what —”
“No, you don’t need to feel sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry. Not only did I screw up our dive lesson, but I was pretty nasty when you were just trying to help. Friends?”
“Absolutely. So how did your mom take it? I sure would hate it if this got in the way of you going to find the Intrepid.”
“Ah, well about that … yah, it looks like that’s off.”
“Really, your mom was that upset? Give her a couple of days and she’ll —”
“TB, I gotta go. I’m still feeling kind of weak and want to go to bed. See you tomorrow, okay?” After I’d hung up I looked at the captain’s journal on the floor where I’d chucked it and shuddered. Since I was already bound to have nightmares I decided to find out what happened next.
November 29th, 1811
The past several days were much occupied with the task of taking on fresh supplies and this kept us all from dwelling on the recent tragedy. Now that we are back at sea and nearing Cape Horn I am grateful the weather is on our side.
I have inquired with a few more of the men about what they know of the day of Mister Smedley’s death. I am beginning to see the common thread that ties each of their stories together. It is clear from the start of this voyage there have been an inordinate number of disputes amongst the crew. Though they were mainly petty things, I already had an inkling that most of them originated in some way with Mister Lockhart. Now that I have heard from Mister Carver I am sure of it.
As mentioned, poor Smedley and Lockhart appeared to be friends, though it seems Mister Lockhart believed the boy to be weak and in need of muster. I learned that some of the men resented this friendship and taunted Smedley. The lad never complained to me about the matter, yet somehow I should have known. I am guilty of not seeing his agony and offering him guidance. The day of the drowning, Mister Lockhart offered up the boy as amusement for the men by betting that Smedley could best Mister Wilson in a mast race. As sometimes occurs when the work is done and the men idle, they enjoy some competition. They like to flex their strength in some test of skill. I do not usually interfere as it has always been done in good nature and with no harmful intent. The entire crew bet Wilson to win … I do not believe it was because they disliked the boy so intensely. They saw it as their opportunity to win back their wages lost to Lockhart while gambling. They knew with certainty that Mister Smedley was no match for the more experienced Mister Wilson. I cannot imagine what Lockhart was thinking, except perhaps he was trying to improve his standing with the crew, and young Smedley, who had become so eager to please the gentleman, allowed himself to be used in this way.
I find Mister Lockhart’s lack of compassion despicable and I still cannot speak civilly to the man. The last time we dined together I nearly hurled my prized porcelain china at him. That would have been a tragedy for it is part of a set presented to me by the Emperor on my last voyage to the Orient. For the time being I prefer to take my supper in my private quarters. This is better for me — and for the chinaware.
I have ordered Mister Carver to keep a closer eye on Mister Lockhart and report back to me twice daily his interactions with the crew. He may be part owner along with my respected master, Mister Astor, but I am still captain of this vessel. Should the need arise I will be forced to confine him to his quarters until some arrangement can be made. In the meantime I have forbidden the men to play cards or gamble in any manner.
Captain James Whittaker
The next morning sunlight poured through my window. After the fogginess in my head cleared, the previous day’s catastrophe crept back into my mind like a nasty little spider. I knew Mom was downstairs waiting to know what I’d decided to do about the scuba diving. If I told her what I was thinking she’d feel like I let her down — worse, that I’d wasted her hard earned money — and she’d be right. Instead of facing her I whipped on some clothes, grabbed my school bag, and snuck out the front door before she even knew I was awake.
When I was halfway to school the most annoying thing happened. Aunt Beatrix’s words stomped around in my head: “… it’s your moment-by-moment conduct that will determine the success of your life … be honest, temperate, polite, clean, and face up to your problems with courage … take care in even the small things and you’ll find when the going gets tough you’ll be able to stay the course.”
For the rest of the day I tried to push my great aunt and her advice out of my mind, but it was stuck in there like old gum on the bottom of my shoe. The other annoying thing was TB plastering me with questions. “When you nearly drowned did you see a white light, Peggy? How about angels and a pearly gate?”
“Can’t