Will thought of what the captain had said. He did want his own ship more than anything else.
“Look, they don’t consider me one of them.”
“But do ye believe them?”
“I believe God is real. But I am not a part of them.”
“But do ye believe as they do?” Jack prodded.
Will went silent, adjusting his hat on his head and keeping his gaze forward.
“Unbelievable! You don’t deny it!” Jack waited for Will to reply.
Will held out his arms and turned them over in front of Jack. “What do you want me to do, lie about the miracle? I was sick—deathly ill—and covered in smallpox three days ago. And then they prayed over me, and within twelve hours the marks were vastly improved. I can’t deny the facts, Jack.”
“Lucky coincidence, I say.” He rung his cap in his hands. “I’ll try to respect ye because ye are my friend, but a word of advice: Keep it quiet among the crew, or ye’ll see. Nothing’s scarier than a hungry sailor, especially when a scapegoat is nigh at hand.”
Will knew the man was right. But deep inside he couldn’t deny what he felt. What he’d come to know was true.
If only Ann were here. He wanted to talk to her about what he’d read in the book she’d lent him. Ever since they’d talked in the sick bay, he’d started to really feel of her spiritual strength. Now he wished to be near her again, especially since Jack’s questioning.
The boatswain said no more and returned to his post, leaving Will alone for another hour contemplating all that had happened to him up to this point in the journey. It had been like no other. He felt closer to God and closer to a captaincy than ever before. He only hoped that his two burgeoning futures could coexist.
Chapter 32
Evening, April 8, 1854
46 days at sea
Will couldn’t rememberthe last time he’d gone a fortnight without seeing the night sky, and he relished his time in the second dogwatch. The constellations calmed him, their ever-steady predictability a kind of balm. The stars helped him navigate too, always reliable when so much else was not.
It had been an uneventful watch, which was just what he needed. Though his sickness was gone, going about his daily duties weakened him. Despite his tiredness, a quiet night meant he retained enough strength to go see the captain after his watch like he’d asked yesterday.
Mr. Stevens was the night helmsmen, so they were in good hands. Mr. Wilson, the third mate, reported at exactly eight p.m. He would no doubt be promoted soon with his steadiness and promptness. Will apprised him of the coordinates and the course and then tipped his hat and bade him good night before heading to the captain’s quarters.
Will had stopped to take in the stars for one more moment when he heard hushed voices several feet away on the other side of the yards.
“The bloody captain favors him though he ’asn’t done a thing for the success of this voyage.”
It was the voice of an able-bodied seaman, and curious, Will pulled behind a mast and sunk down.
“The food has become so meager, and we’ll be down to even stricter rations soon,” said the other sailor. “And he’s off getting healed by some magic from the passengers. I fancy he faked his sickness just to shirk his duties.”
Will craned his ear toward them, guessing these men were talking of him.
“I ’eard Crenshaw saying that he thinks Boyd is to blame for the slow course at the beginning. If he would have charted a better coordinate, we’d be nearly there by now.”
Will’s teeth set on edge. He’d been meticulous on each of his watches before his sickness. It had been the storms and a lack of wind that had set them back, both of which he had no ability to control. And though he didn’t know exactly what Crenshaw did while in command, Will couldn’t imagine how the man could be given credit for what felt like incredible luck when the rest of the voyage had been so fraught with troubles.
The first sailor cut in again. “He’s not fit to lead, that’s what, and he doesn’t care about any of us. He and the captain seem so chummy; I bet they are saving stores of food just for themselves.”
Will pulled away from the mast to try to make out the faces of both men. The moon was waning and very slight, but he knew who they were. On his next watch with each of them, he’d study their behaviors. If this kind of talk was spreading among the crew already, when food portions were being stretched without calling it “rationed,” it would make for a combustible situation when rationing fully started.
From the corner of his eye, he saw another figure move across the deck. Remembering their few other meetings, Will knew at once the steady, feminine gait of Ann Fowles. She walked along until she was near the aft starboard rail, very near the sailors he’d been listening to.
Will watched the two men, every muscle in his body tense. He didn’t trust these men near her. Thankfully the sailors soon turned the other way and went down one of the hatches.
Once they were gone, Will skirted around the cabins until he made it to the rail, then walked along it until he was near Ann. She had walked down the side of the ship and was a good distance from any of the sailors and out of sight of most of them.
