the Elizabeth Ann goes to the bottom of the Atlantic. He originally had considered spreading gunpowder around the hold and then lighting a trail of it once he got the lifeboat for himself ready. Now, he thinks of a much more simple solution.
He goes to the carpenter’s berth and finds a heavy hammer and an awl and with these simple tools he begins bashing holes in the sides of the schooner, first allowing only a small stream of seawater into the hold, then still more as he widens the hole. He does this eight more times in different places around the hold and, as he surveys the mounds of lifeless black men, swarming with flies, he also notes with satisfaction that the water is already a foot deep in the hold.
This will give him plenty of time to make his way to his own locker and to pack provisions into a lifeboat before the ship finally sinks. And, it will allow time for him to break into the captain’s safe, where he knows that more than $10,000 waits in new bank notes―money laid aside to pay the crew and to buy provisions, along with the Old Man’s life savings. Willingham even begins to whistle a tuneless melody as he works, beginning to look forward to his new life as a prosperous landowner in Cape May, New Jersey.
As he turns to climb the ladder, however, something floating on the rising water bumps his leg. He looks down to see a small polished mahogany carving of a man, perfect in every detail, and rubbed smooth as glass, as though it has been stroked thousands of times. Willingham picks it up and examines the idol, apparently brought on board by one of the slaves as insurance—a means of keeping its former owner safe against harm. The idea makes Willingham give a sharp bray of laughter and he thrusts the carving deep into his own pocket before climbing the ladder to freedom.
the strangest thing happened last night
what was it, my dear?
a young man came to the shore with the intention of
throwing caution to the four winds, and he danced on the balcony stark naked while the moon shone full upon
their captain who crouched with his muzzle-loaded pistol at the ready, waiting
for the endless stream of conversation to reach that point in any good party where you have to shout into your partner’s ear to be heard.
And so what happened, darling?
The shots were fired: bang, bang, bang, bang, but the towel that was wrapped around the barrel deadened the sounds and
ended with the young man floating face up in the surf, wearing only a tuxedo coat with tails
well, at least he was dressed in style
my dear, that was in bad taste
yes, but the taste of the oysters was divine in season and you know how little China Miller would cry until she had her fill
of men three times her size and when she was done, she enjoyed licking the blades of the meat grinder just for the salty taste.
The voices were running day and night, up and down the shoreline, racing to keep pace with the surf that pounded on the gritty, snowy sand, the waves that had borne in with them so long ago the small dark cargo of malice and dread.
But not all the voices that chirped approval now were in accord, and, for the first time in more than a century, in the midst of their giddy, exultant girl-talk, at least one voice had fallen silent and now only listened in sad resignation.
Chapter 6
Nathan rapped his bare knuckles against the freezing panes of Sarah’s front door, rattling the glass. It was just past 2 p.m. on Tuesday and he wondered if Sarah might be taking a nap. But her lithe frame suddenly appeared in the hallway and she came to the door quickly.
“Hi,” she said. She was dressed in jeans and a bulky fisherman’s sweater the color of vanilla bean ice cream. But her hands were covered from fingertip to elbow in yellow rubber gloves. The overall effect was that she had just stepped off a seagoing salmon trawler, but Nathan decided to keep the observation to himself.
“Doing a little spring cleaning?” he asked.
She
He goes to the carpenter’s berth and finds a heavy hammer and an awl and with these simple tools he begins bashing holes in the sides of the schooner, first allowing only a small stream of seawater into the hold, then still more as he widens the hole. He does this eight more times in different places around the hold and, as he surveys the mounds of lifeless black men, swarming with flies, he also notes with satisfaction that the water is already a foot deep in the hold.
This will give him plenty of time to make his way to his own locker and to pack provisions into a lifeboat before the ship finally sinks. And, it will allow time for him to break into the captain’s safe, where he knows that more than $10,000 waits in new bank notes―money laid aside to pay the crew and to buy provisions, along with the Old Man’s life savings. Willingham even begins to whistle a tuneless melody as he works, beginning to look forward to his new life as a prosperous landowner in Cape May, New Jersey.
As he turns to climb the ladder, however, something floating on the rising water bumps his leg. He looks down to see a small polished mahogany carving of a man, perfect in every detail, and rubbed smooth as glass, as though it has been stroked thousands of times. Willingham picks it up and examines the idol, apparently brought on board by one of the slaves as insurance—a means of keeping its former owner safe against harm. The idea makes Willingham give a sharp bray of laughter and he thrusts the carving deep into his own pocket before climbing the ladder to freedom.
the strangest thing happened last night
what was it, my dear?
a young man came to the shore with the intention of
throwing caution to the four winds, and he danced on the balcony stark naked while the moon shone full upon
their captain who crouched with his muzzle-loaded pistol at the ready, waiting
for the endless stream of conversation to reach that point in any good party where you have to shout into your partner’s ear to be heard.
And so what happened, darling?
The shots were fired: bang, bang, bang, bang, but the towel that was wrapped around the barrel deadened the sounds and
ended with the young man floating face up in the surf, wearing only a tuxedo coat with tails
well, at least he was dressed in style
my dear, that was in bad taste
yes, but the taste of the oysters was divine in season and you know how little China Miller would cry until she had her fill
of men three times her size and when she was done, she enjoyed licking the blades of the meat grinder just for the salty taste.
The voices were running day and night, up and down the shoreline, racing to keep pace with the surf that pounded on the gritty, snowy sand, the waves that had borne in with them so long ago the small dark cargo of malice and dread.
But not all the voices that chirped approval now were in accord, and, for the first time in more than a century, in the midst of their giddy, exultant girl-talk, at least one voice had fallen silent and now only listened in sad resignation.
Chapter 6
Nathan rapped his bare knuckles against the freezing panes of Sarah’s front door, rattling the glass. It was just past 2 p.m. on Tuesday and he wondered if Sarah might be taking a nap. But her lithe frame suddenly appeared in the hallway and she came to the door quickly.
“Hi,” she said. She was dressed in jeans and a bulky fisherman’s sweater the color of vanilla bean ice cream. But her hands were covered from fingertip to elbow in yellow rubber gloves. The overall effect was that she had just stepped off a seagoing salmon trawler, but Nathan decided to keep the observation to himself.
“Doing a little spring cleaning?” he asked.
She
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