The Delirium Passage

  The Delirium Passage

  Georges Carrack

  Neville Burton ‘Worlds Apart’ Series

  Volume 6

  © Copyright Carrack Books 2013

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  Story by Georges Carrack

  Cover design by Joshua Courtright

  E-Book ISBN: 978-0-9968671-3-9

  Carrack, Georges, 1947-

  The Delirium Passage: fiction/historical

  Visit our website at www.CarrackBooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. It is historical fiction, however, so several ship names, captains, places and time references appearing in this work may be found in historical documents or are set closely within the time of their existence. The protagonist and his family, friends and most close associates are fictitious. The names of all characters, historical or otherwise, are surrounded by a purely fictitious story. Any resemblance to businesses or companies is also fictional and entirely coincidental.

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  The Neville Burton ‘Worlds Apart’ Series

  Volume 1: The Glorious First of June

  Volume 2: The Experiment at Jamaica

  Volume 3: Mutiny at Port Maria

  Volume 4: The Stillwater Conspiracy

  Volume 5: The Atlantic Campaign

  Volume 6: The Delirium Passage

  The Delirium Passage

  Volume 6 of “The Neville Burton ‘Worlds Apart’ Series”

  1: Passage to Baltimore

  The passage from London, England, to Baltimore, Maryland, may have begun well enough on a fair day nearing the close of 1806, but any enjoyment decreased rapidly. Mr. Borlund, the Master of the small merchant ship Hudson, had come below a few days after setting out to provide a bit of information to three people huddled in the small space allotted for passengers to fraternize privately below decks. An English navy officer and two young American women anticipated his remarks.

  Borlund spoke quickly to take advantage of a lull in the noise. “We passed ‘round Ushant at three this afternoon, so we’ve begun our crossing of the Bay of Biscay. This bloody bay should be the least comfortable part of the passage; much nicer afterwards. I apologize in advance for a cold evening meal, as cook will not be lighting the fires.” He turned to go.

  “Wait a moment please, Master Borlund. I would…” Marion Stillwater had begun her sentence in a normal tone and raised her voice steadily to surpass the noise. She gave up when the thump of a wave booming against the bows drowned out her voice. The wind in Hudson’s rigging created a rising screech. The ship’s thrash south across the face of enemy France had begun in earnest. Marion waited another moment for the noise level to drop. “I’d like to inquire about Mister Garby,” she continued.

  Her two friends looked to Borlund’s face, all knowing the reason for the question.

  Borlund paused for a moment before answering, “He’s not well, for sure. We’re lucky to have a doctor aboard.”

  “He seemed well enough two days ago,” said British Navy Captain Neville Burton, Marion’s fiancé. “I spoke with him before this weather came upon us. He was more anxious to go home than concerned about any illness.”

  “It came…” another wave crashed… “on very quickly,” Borlund said. “Doctor Notter’s not sure what to make of it.”

  “It’s not merely mal de mer, though? He’s sure? Has anyone else shown symptoms?”

  “One of the foremast jacks is sick, but Doctor thinks it’s not the same – most likely just the seas. I’ll keep you informed. Doctor’s not going to do anything more today; might bleed him tomorrow.” Borlund tipped his hat and left.

  “Not very comforting, is it, Neville?” asked Ellen Dagleishe, the third of the three. “We have – what … two months or so – to get to Baltimore? And we have a sick man, already.”

  “He could be put ashore at Madeira if it is serious enough,” Neville suggested. “We should pray for his health, surely.”

  Another booming wave stopped the conversation for a moment. “How long will this awful motion continue?” asked Marion when the rush of water past the hull quieted.

  “I’m certainly sorry for the discomfort,” Neville said. “I had hoped for better weather, but this is December in the Bay of Biscay, after all. We should be pleased it’s not worse.”

  “Worse? You must be joking,” Ellen said. “We had cold mutton for last night’s dinner and the only warm thing this morning was…” she paused for the expiration of the following gust, “…the tea, and I prefer coffee, anyway.” She paused again. “I’m sorry to sound so spoiled, Neville, and I know it’s none of your fault. Even a Royal Navy Captain can’t control the weather at sea.”

  “It’s a nice thought, though, I should write the King and request his authority.”

  “Oh, poof,” Marion said. How did we end up on this little thing, anyway?” she asked, “instead of a proper ship?”

  “Such stuff, Marion. “You know exactly why,” scolded Ellen. “The two of you are so anxious wed you were willing to take anything floating with sails on it. The Standard of Britain was set to sail in three weeks, remember? We aren’t on that ship, are we? No. Here we are bouncing about in a storm.”

  “It doesn’t matter which ship we’re on. It wouldn’t change the weather,” Neville said. “I don’t think I should have to apologize, but I was at wit’s end to get away. I am lucky as a cat being allowed such leave in the middle of a war, so when Sir William finally managed it, I thought it time to fly.”

  “He owed you a favor, I’d say,” Ellen said.

  “He owed us all for rescuing him from the clutches of mutton-headed Michael Stearns then, didn’t he?” retorted Marion. “It doesn’t bother me if he had to climb out on a limb for us. It’s too bad Georges couldn’t come with us, though.”

  “He may be French, but I don’t think weddings are Georges’ joie de vivre, if you know what I mean. Sneaking back into France is more to his liking. He wouldn’t take time away from his causes, just as Sir William wouldn’t be absent his duty,” Neville said. “He couldn’t, really, after being away as long as he had been.”

  “Why did the whole fiasco take us until mid-December to get away, then?” queried Marion.

  “Do you not remember? As short as three weeks ago we were sitting in that little pub on the Pall Mall complaining about the lethargic wheels of bureaucracy turning so slowly? I couldn’t book any passage until my orders came in the post. It was all I could do to keep from being conscripted by some admiral.

  “And there’s a good question, Captain Burton. I know we are about to wed, but why is it you never seem to want for money? You’ve never explained to me how you will keep me in the comfort I have enjoyed all my life – or even how you afford to keep a flat in London. Have you told Father? I am amazed he hasn’t complained. Without a ship you are on half pay, I know, but why don’t you care? I don’t suspect I am marrying a rich man. Do you expect to live off your wife – the heiress to the Stillwater Rum Trading Company fortunes?”

  “Marion, really,” Ellen said. “At least have the decency to interrogate him in private. But tell me when you find out, please.”

  “I’ll give you a full explanation for all of it one day, my dear, but this doesn’t seem the time. Not in the middle of nasty weather in the Bay of Biscay…”

  “Oh, now the storm is your excuse, Neville,” Ellen said. “You must be glad of it then?” Her tone verged on cold, and she paused while the ship rolled to larboard. It didn’t stop its roll quickly but continued a fe
w more degrees. She held out a hand to brace herself against the bulkhead and looked at Neville as if she expected his face to tell her whether she should be worried or if this motion was the normal action of a small ship in a storm. Ellen was neither a timid woman nor new to the sea. Her previous passage, from Baltimore across the North Atlantic to England, had also been aboard a small ship. It had been driving hard, as well, but they were lucky enough not to have encountered such weather. Some events that seem to take hours are, in fact, only seconds of time. Neville didn’t even blink, as if he hadn’t noticed. Some wooden structure nearby creaked loudly, adding to Ellen’s obvious agitation, before the ship rolled slowly upright, almost to level. “You know my complaint is not about the storm. It’s about the choice of ship.”

  “Well, here we are, aren’t we? Shall we…” a drop of water landed on Marion’s lap. She looked to the deck above, and the gaze of the others followed. A tiny spot of water had appeared where the deck planks crossed above a heavy beam. Nothing more dripped. “Shall we not bicker? What will you do once we get to Baltimore, Ellen? I’m surprised we haven’t had that conversation, either.”

  “Quite the question, isn’t it?” she said. “I mean nothing awkward by this, but I hope your father is not there, Marion.”

  “Why-ever so, Ellen? Our wedding would be delayed for months.”

  “It might, I know; but you don’t really expect him to be there, do you? And you don’t expect to hold the wedding in Baltimore.”

  Marion screwed her lips into a strange grimace. She waited a moment before answering, partly for the noise of another gust in the rigging above and a short roar of water passing along the side of the ship only a few feet away, and partly for her thoughts to congeal, it appeared. “No. You must admit, it would surely be a surprise. But we couldn’t take the chance we might miss him. If we went straightway to Jamaica and he was off in Baltimore, then the wedding would be even further off. But what is the reason for your wish?”

  “I’m as selfish as you two. I’d like to see my husband.”

  “Ah, yes,” Neville said. “Galatea is in the Caribbean, is she not?” Neville asked, referring to the ship commanded by Ellen’s husband and his best friend, Joseph Dagleishe.

  “Yes, so if Marion’s father isn’t in Baltimore, we must go to Jamaica, mustn’t we?”

  “Yes, and Jamaica is far superior to Boston in the winter, anyway,” Marion said. “I feared you would be straight off home if Father wasn’t in Baltimore. I would miss your company, you know.”

  “The worst of it is past, I think,” announced Neville.

  “Whatever do you mean, my dear?” asked Marion. “Why do you make such a comment about my feelings for Ellen?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you and Ellen. I know you are the grandest of mates.”

  “What, then?”

  “The storm. It’s the way they go… like a fever breaking. They get worse and worse, and then nasty, and then they go. Not quickly, maybe, but they go. I think the nasty part has passed. We must wait another half glass to know for sure, but I wager she has blown through. Do you not hear the silence?”

  “Silence? I hear no silence. Have you gone deaf and daft? The waves still crash and rush along the sides, and I can only hear your words over the wind when you speak loudly. Silence? What nonsense.”

  “Our surroundings have changed, I tell you. Possibly the master has made a small change in course, but I heard no calling out or tramping of feet to accomplish the task, so I think not. The waves do not strike the bows so hard, the rush of the seas alongside is smoother, the wind no longer screeches in the rigging – it merely squawks a bit – the creaking of hull and deck is only heard on the most extreme gusts of wind, and the decks must no longer be awash. Marion is no longer being dripped upon, you see?”

  “I feel so much cheerier now,” Marion said.

  “Verily, I do not mean it won’t be a dirty night. You shall want to keep your lee boards on your berths, and perhaps take a dram of toddy for comfort, but we might see the sun in the morning – or by noon, anyway, and take a bit of air. The thought of being stuck in the foul air of below-decks with a sick man aboard vexes me, sure. At the least, we shall be beyond Finisterre in three or four more days’ time, and the worst of this entire passage will be behind us.”

  “If we’re not all ill,” Ellen said.

  * * * * *

  The night was indeed dirty, and the only people about the decks were the sailors carrying out their necessary duties. The following morning was still not like any pleasure cruise but also not so dangerous as to prevent a short morning gathering on the poop deck. With a long history of commanding ships in whatever weather came, Neville could no longer force himself to stay below. He had also found a way to obtain a cup of hot coffee in the morning. With it in hand, he found his way up through the hatch to the main deck. Surveying the visible world around the small ship, he saw a glow of the sun behind some clouds, only just above the horizon. The wind continued to blow between force three and four, and the waves continued to march rapidly past at seven to ten feet of height.

  “Good morning, Master Borland,” Neville said, finding the man standing by the wheel, “How are you this fine morning?”

  “I’d not call it a fine morning,” said Borland, “but we’ve not foundered. I daresay we’ll see a bit of sun by mid-afternoon, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’d say we should… Oh, look. Here come the ladies. I see they have also found a way to obtain tankards of your coffee. I thank you for having it available.”

  “You are quite welcome, sir. Good morning ladies. You are a brave lot to come on deck in this weather.”

  “We have been to sea before, Master Borland, and have learned that if we don’t come on deck sometimes when the weather is bad, we’ll miss too much of the joy of crossing an ocean.”

  “I agree, ladies, but we’re not crossing an ocean yet – only this nasty bay. And what causes you to wake so early?”

  “Captain Burton, I suppose. He makes more noise rummaging about than he believes.”

  “I am most sorry to hear it, ladies. I shall endeavor to be a better mouse in the future.”

  “No matter, Neville. I don’t see Mister Garby here, though, Master Borland. I assume this means he has not made a turn for the better yet?”

  “I am afraid not, despite that the doctor bled him again, and it looked as if it might be having a positive effect. The man is conscious today, so I believe the doctor plans to try a poultice this morning, using some herbs he’s brought. We still have several more days before we must decide if we shall put him off at Funchal. Please excuse me, as I have my morning log to write.”

  “Please carry our best wishes below,” Marion said.

  “Oh, wait, Master Borland,” Ellen said. “Are there others? How does your crewman fare?”

  “No, ma’am, no others. It appears our crewman’s problem was no more than a serious case of mal-de-mer. I thank you for your concern.” Borland turned and disappeared down the hatchway.

  “I can appreciate the sentiment,” Neville said. “I had the problem myself as a young lad. It doesn’t happen much anymore, although I say any man is subject to the malady, given the right seas.”

  * * * * *

  “Mister Garby is up and walking, did you see, Captain Burton?”

  “I did see him, Master Borland, this morning. He went below from taking some air on deck. Just in time, I’d say. We should come upon the Madeira islands tomorrow morning, should we not? Do you still think to put him ashore?”

  “Aye, we should see the mountains tomorrow. I doubt we will be putting him ashore, however, but I shall check first with Doctor Notter. Ah, look. Here he comes now.

  “What have you to say about Mister Garby, Doctor?”

  “And a good morning to you, too, Master Borland.”

  “I am sorry, Doctor Notter. Good morning. I forget my manners, but I must make a decision very soon regarding Mister Garby. In your opinion, s
hould he stay aboard?”

  “It’s your ship, Sir, but I think the concern has passed. Mister Garby has responded well to bleeding every other day and my poultice. Only yesterday I added a slime draught of rhubarb and tincture of iodine, which seems to have done the trick. He has taken some dry toast and a bit of tea, as well. Did you see him on deck not long ago?”

  “I did, yes…” Master Borland turned and leaned on the weather rail. He stood watching a flock of small white birds bobbing on the waves a hundred yards away. They took to flight, flapping their way across the ship’s path in the approximate direction of land. “I suppose we shall keep him, then. He’s paid his passage. I have no right to put a paid passenger off as long as he is no danger to the ship.”

  Over the next week as the Hudson sailed south and then turned east for the Bahamas, Mr. Garby seem to improve even further for a few days. He joined his fellow passengers in some light conversation, mostly in the mornings, as the ship flew peacefully eastward in the arms of the trade winds. He remained absent from conversation for another week and a half during which time Dr. Notter returned to his bleeding, poultices, and slime draughts. The treatments brought Mr. Garby on deck again. Although he appeared even further improved, he constantly complained about his aches and pains. Before the Hudson had reached the Bahamas, the others had learned Mr. Garby’s intentions were to continue to Jamaica, and there establish contracts for purchasing sugar and molasses.

  Once more, Mr. Garby relapsed for over a week and then regained strength. By the time they saw Baltimore, the man appeared almost normal, despite his continuous complaints. He said his good-byes in an unenthusiastic tone and departed down the gangway soon after the Hudson came alongside the wharf.

  2: Baltimore

  “I thought, when I saw the snow on the land as we sailed up the Chesapeake, Baltimore would be a most unpleasant stop,” Marion said, “but for mid-February, this day is not bad, is it?”