The Work and the Glory (282 page)

The captain stopped playing with the paperweight. He folded his hands across his stomach and leaned back, studying the boy before him. “How old are you, Steed?”

“Sixteen.”

One eyebrow came up.

“Well, I will be on my next birthday.”

“Which is?”

Will looked away. “Next March.” That was still ten months away.

There was a hint of amusement in Sperryman’s eyes. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a piece of paper, folded in thirds. Will recognized it instantly. It was the letter he had written to his mother several weeks before. Then his eyes widened. The last time the captain showed that letter to him, it had been tied with a string. Now the string was gone.

Captain Sperryman was looking at Will steadily. “I told you before, I don’t read other people’s mail. I think that’s a man’s own affair.”

Will looked at him sharply. But the string was gone. The letter had been opened.

“Until this morning,” the Captain added, seeing the disbelief on Will’s face, “I was going to mail it from Liverpool today, like I promised. But then”—he shrugged—“I thought it best to know more about you.”

Will’s lips set in a hard line. He had poured out a good deal of his heart and emotions in that letter to his mother. “You could have asked,” he said tightly.

Sperryman seemed unperturbed. “I’m sorry about your father.”

Will was staring at his hands, which were in his lap. He was both embarrassed and angry to be uncovered like this.

“Who killed him?”

Will hesitated; then, strangely, he wanted the captain to know. He had held it in for months now. He looked up. “The Mormons.” There was an instant tinge of guilt for that. Hugh Watson and Riley Overson were Missourians, not Mormons, and it was they who had killed his father. He had learned that in a warehouse in St. Louis. But going into all that required such a convoluted explanation, it was easier to just say it was the Mormons. Besides, if it hadn’t been for the Mormons and the problems they created in northern Missouri, his father would never have been up there in the first place. So in a way . . .

“Mormons?” the captain said, pronouncing the word tentatively.

“A group of religious fanatics,” Will said shortly, not wanting to explain further.

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry.”

There was another pause, this time longer, but the captain’s eyes never left Will’s face. “How’d you come to get sold down the river?”

“I was stupid,” Will said without hesitation. He would not be soft on himself. “I trusted a man that I should have known wasn’t trustworthy.”

“And your mother has no idea what has happened to you?”

“You took my letter, remember?” Will retorted, not trying to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“That I did.” It was said without either rancor or regret. He reached in the drawer again and pulled out a pipe. The bowl was carved in the shape of a dragon. It was very Oriental-looking, and Will wondered if it had come from China. He stared at it as Sperryman pulled over a tin of tobacco, stuffed the pipe, then put it in his mouth without lighting it.

Shoving the pipe to one corner of his mouth, Sperryman began talking as though Will weren’t there. “I wasn’t shanghaied and sold off to a ship’s crew. I ran away and became a stowaway on a warship. The War of 1812 had just begun. I wanted to be in it. I was just barely thirteen.”

Thirteen? Will leaned forward, surprised by this sudden turn in the conversation.

“It took me fifteen years to make first mate. Another seven to make captain.” Finally, he looked directly at Will. “But I loved it from the first. I was born for the sea.”

Will nodded slowly, his mind calculating quickly. If Sperryman was thirteen at the beginning of the War of 1812, that meant he was forty now. Will had not thought much about his age before. He seemed timeless. His face was like untanned leather and the blue eyes perpetually squinted. But he was right. It showed in every part of him. He was born for the sea.

“So were you, Steed.”

Will jumped a little.

“You were. You’ve taken to sailing like you’ve been walking the deck of a ship since you were a toddler.”

That was an exaggeration, Will thought. For the first three days out of New Orleans the weather had been rough, and he had been as sick as he could ever remember being. But that had passed, and he had found himself exulting in the freedom of the ocean’s vastness. He was fascinated by the intricacies of the rigging and determined he would quickly master how it all worked. And though he missed his family fiercely, being on the rolling deck of a ship felt like he had returned to something that was second nature to him.

Sperryman reached in the drawer and pulled out a long self-strike match, scratched it against the side of the table, and touched it to the tobacco. As he puffed the pipe into life, he watched Will steadily through the smoke. When he had it going to his satisfaction, he pulled it out of his mouth and jabbed it in Will’s direction. “I can save you five or six years,” he said bluntly.

“What?” Will blurted.

There was a hardness now, a challenge in the line of his jaw. “You come with me and I’ll make you a ship captain by the time you’re thirty.”

Will rocked back, stunned.

“But if I’m going to do that, you gotta be with me, Steed.”

“I—” Will clamped it off. He was too dumbfounded to know what to say.

The captain jammed the pipe back in his mouth, then picked up the letter. “I’m sorry about your family. And I don’t blame you for wanting to let your mother know where you are. I’ll mail this as soon as we dock.” He tossed it across to Will. “Add anything you want, then get it back to me.”

Will picked it up slowly.

The captain puffed twice, blew the smoke out of his nose, then moved the pipe to the corner of his mouth again. “Like it or not—legal or not—I paid good money for you, Steed, and I can’t throw that away. You fight me, and I’ll throw you in that locker every time we sail into port. You owe me two years and I’ll not have a day less.” Then his eyes softened a little. “If I had my way, I’d give you a couple of months leave, let you go look up your mother. But I don’t have my way, so that’s that.”

“Are we going back to Savannah soon, sir? That’s where my mother is. That would only take a day or two of shore leave for me to see her.”

Sperryman shook his head. “Life doesn’t always work out as neatly as we’d like.”

“What are you saying, sir?” Will asked slowly.

“Haven’t you heard? I told the crew they were not to say a word to you, but I never thought we’d go this far without your knowing. We’re taking this load of tobacco and shoes on to China.”

The breath went out of him. “China?”

“Yes. We’ll stop in France and add some wine to the cargo, then it’s on to Canton.” Suddenly his face was infused with excitement. “Ah, you’ll love China, Steed. And there’s a fortune to be made there. Last ship the company sent made a profit of three hundred percent.”

Will barely heard him.
China!
China was an eighteen-month round-trip voyage out of America.
Eighteen months!
No wonder the captain didn’t want him to know. That would be enough to tempt a man to steal one of the lifeboats and see if he could make his own way to land.

Now there was the slightest touch of sympathy around the captain’s mouth. “Look at it this way. When we’re back, your time will be up. You can go home if you choose.” He was all business again. “You’ve got real promise as a sailor, Steed. And that’s why I’ve called you in. Jiggers wants to make you apprentice bosun.”

“Bosun?” Will pulled away from his thoughts. The bosun (shortened by generations of English sailors from
boatswain)
was the officer in charge of all the rigging, anchors, and cables on a ship. Jiggers was the bosun for the
Bostonia.
It was an important position on a sailing ship.

“Yes. And I concur.” Sperryman shook his head in amazement. “But at fifteen? That’s two years quicker than I made it. That ain’t bad.”

“But, I—”

“From your letter it sounds like your pa left your mother pretty well fixed.”

Will was still dazed by it all—China, now an opportunity to be apprentice bosun. “Yes,” he murmured. “I suppose she is.”

“Then it’s not like she needs you there to care for her.”

He shook his head. Not in that way.

Then as quickly as it had come, the kindness was gone. The captain’s voice became clipped and efficient. “It’s not like you’ll see her if you say no. But say yes, and you’ll not spend your days in port rotting in that storage locker.” He puffed furiously on the pipe. “Jiggers is due to become first mate on another ship when we get back. You prove yourself on the way to China and back and I’ll make you full bosun in his place.”

He stood up abruptly, signaling that the interview was over. “But I’d have to have your word on it, Steed. I think you’re an honest man. Give me your word you won’t bolt, and you’ll have a chance to see Liverpool. Otherwise, it’s back in the locker before we start in.”

Will stood slowly. “I understand.” He wanted to rub his eyes, see if he could make things come into focus a little quicker. “Can I have a little time to think about it, sir?”

“You’ve got until the steamer arrives.”

“Thank you.” He turned and started for the door.

“Will?”

He looked around in surprise. It was the first time the captain had used his given name. “Aye, Captain?”

“I’m sorry about all that’s happened. I can’t do anything about that now, and neither can you. But I think you can make something good out of it, if you’re willing.”

Will considered that, then nodded. “Aye, sir. I’ll let you know, sir.” He opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him. For a moment he stood there; then he walked slowly down the passageway and out into the thick fog that hung over the ship.

Will looked out of the tiny porthole, the only source of light in the small room that served as the crew’s living area. The sky was definitely lighter. The fog was lifting. He dipped the pen in the inkwell, and wrote even more quickly than before.

I hope you can understand, Mother. Even if I had a choice, I would probably still choose to go with the captain. When Pa was alive, I thought I would be happy being in the freight business with him. But now that he’s gone, I couldn’t bear to go back to it. I have wondered what to do with my life. I know Mr. Montague has offered to bring me in with him on the plantation, but I find the thought of that not at all to my liking. I really do love the sea, and to be a ship’s captain by the time I am thirty. Where else could I get such an opportunity?

He looked up sharply. The sound of a boat’s whistle pierced the air. The steamer that would tow them up the Mersey River and into Liverpool was approaching. Writing furiously now, he finished:

Don’t hate me. I still miss Father terribly, and this may help me get it from my mind. I shall be returning in the fall of next year. Then, even if I choose to remain a sailor, I shall get shore leave and come and see you. I am excited about China. I can still remember back when we were living in Savannah. I heard sailors talk about China and dreamed that I might go there someday. Now I shall. Kiss Olivia and Savannah for me. I miss them terribly, as I do you. Be safe.

Your loving son,

   Will

He picked up the blotter, rolled it across the page, folded the new sheet in with the other one, then stood up. The string was gone. He would have to leave that to the captain.

As he came out on deck, he saw immediately that the fog was thinned out to the point that he could see a hundred yards or more of water. Jiggers was standing right above him, beside Mr. O’Malley and Captain Sperryman at the wheel. Off the bow, the steamer from Liverpool was swinging around, coming in close enough to throw them her lines.

At the sight of Will, the bosun’s head jerked forward, his jaw jutting out. “Steed,” he screamed, “who told you you could spend the day getting your beauty sleep? Your ugly face is beyond help. Now, get amidships and help those men with the lines.”

“Aye, sir,” Will answered cheerfully. He stepped forward, reaching up toward the captain, holding out the letter with its latest additions. “Sir, could you mail this for me?”

The captain took it, his eyes narrowing. “I could.”

Will kept his face expressionless. “Could you read it and check my spelling?”

There was the tiniest flicker of understanding behind the somber countenance. “I could,” he said again.

“Thank you.”

Jiggers watched for a moment; then, satisfied they were done, he leaned forward. “You got pilings in your ear, Steed?” he roared. “Get yourself amidships, mister, or you’ll have midnight watch until the good Lord sees fit to make the sun shine in England again.”

“Aye, sir!” Will shouted back at him, then turned and trotted away.

Chapter Eight

As the Saints gathered for the third day of the conference on Monday morning, Joseph Smith was watching the incoming people. When he saw the Steeds, he motioned to his daughter and whispered something to her, pointing in their direction. She nodded, then walked quickly toward them. “Good morning,” she called as she came up to the family.

“Good morning, Miss Julia,” Mary Ann said warmly. “And how are you this morning?”

“Very well, thank you.” Julia was just barely eight. The Steeds had been part of the large assembly that gathered at the river to see her baptized by her father a few days before. She turned to Derek. “Brother Ingalls?”

“Yes?”

“Father would like to speak with you for a moment.” Then she looked at Matthew. “And you too.”

Derek looked at Rebecca in surprise, then shrugged. “All right.” He and Matthew fell in behind Julia as she trotted back to her father.

Joseph immediately pulled away from the people with him and came over to shake their hands. “Thank you, brethren. I’d like to visit with you for a moment, if we could.”

“Certainly, Brother Joseph,” Matthew said. “Is there something you need?”

He smiled, the blue eyes crinkling around the corners. “Well, actually it’s not me who needs it.”