Stranger, I know ye not. But in the name of Jesus hearken unto my plea, and read of the fate of my shipmates and I! For we know not what sin we committed, or commandment we broke. Yet truly, we were delivered to the Pit of Satan himself.
Our fair ship, the \"Mark van Sciver", was a two-masted brigantine in fine shape. Veteran of two cruises to the coast of Spanish California, she was a hearty and fast vessel, if a bit clumsy in light airs. And her crew was a hearty lot, all of us shipped on shares and well suited to each other's company. We were loaded with tobacco and whiskey, and planned to make our return voyage laden with the hides such as we had dealt in before. All in all, we expected a two-year voyage and a profitable though not spectacular payoff. The only real danger expected was from the sea herself, especially the peril of rounding the horn. Most of the crew had done it before, some like the Captain several times. But I was Ship's Boy, and looked forward to the world's most difficult passage with eagerness and excitement. Little was I to know what else this trip held in store...
The winds were fair on our Southern leg, and the crew settled well into ship's routine like the old salts they were. Captain Thomas, who had taken me in after the death of my parents from smallpox, took me aside and instructed me in the rudiments of navigation while the crewmen taught me seamanship and how to be a good shipmate. It was Captain Thomas's hope that after such a trip I might have the makings of an officer, and that perhaps I could serve under him in the future. Meanwhile, Mrs. Thomas looked out after me like she might one of her own, and saw to it that I kept up my lessons in Bible study. It was a happy trip for me, an adventure that would have taken my mind off the passing of my family had it been given a chance. One that would have given me a trade, and the Thomas's a partial substitute for their own dead son Ewell, killed on the Great Lakes under Commodore Perry.
A trip that could have ended in happiness and healing, instead of death and misery. And worse-than-death.
There were only two memorable happenings for me prior to our attempt to round the Horn. One was our Line-crossing party. Captain Thomas himself played King Neptune at the traditional event, while I was scrubbed and forced to eat vile things and mocked terribly by my friends as the price of my admission to Neptune's realm. The other was just before the rounding itself, when one morning we encountered what Captain Thomas said was the largest iceberg he'd ever seen.
Now, Captain Thomas was a kind and generous Captain, not at all like some I've heard about. And fresh water is always short aboard ship. We'd been sailing for several weeks through the tropics, and all of us continually felt a little thirst. We weren't suffering, mind you. But the thought of a good long iced drink, well...
I was allowed to pull an oar on the ship's boat, and other than catching a couple crabs and upsetting the stroke of my fellow boatmen I did a man's work, too. Captain Thomas found us a safe approach, and we men climbed up the slippery slope and hacked away until we got below the salty crust to the good sweet water below. Then we mined great chunks, so that our boat was almost awash as we made the hard pull back to our good ship.
Captain Thomas declared it a "make and mend" day, giving our crew a time of rest before the coming trial, and issued a double spirit ration. Great tales were swapped on the maindeck as we made Southing under easy sail. Jones told his yarn about raiding the English on the USS Enterprise, while his mate Wells spoke of surviving the defeat of the USS Argus. And then, by popular demand, old First Mate Bush told of the greatest battle any of us had ever seen, when he had served the English Crown at the Nile. Once again, he regaled us with the crash of cannon as whole fleets fired broadsides, cannon smoke so thick and dense that it took minutes to clear, and the mighty, mighty explosion of the world's largest warship. Bush had been wounded by debris from the famous blast, an old statue that had hit him in the head at it fell from its dizzying height. When he had recovered, a crewmate had given it to him as a keepsake, and it had been with him ever since.
