We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [275]
He realized that nothing would ever come of his plans, whatever they'd been, exactly. Miss Kristina was lost to him. He was alone with three boys who might do just about anything out of panic, and who didn't care whether they lived or died. He could snap their spines one by one, but what good would that do?
Disgust welled up in him. It was time to move on and do what he always did in these situations, when all other exits were closed: show the world that he didn't care and that he could leave it all behind. His life heaved and collapsed like the rise and fall of a wave.
He returned to the wheel. From now on it was an endurance test. He'd get no more sleep. The French Atlantic coast stretched to the east. In harsh weather like this, its surf could mean ruin for a schooner, especially one without skilled mates.
It was sometime later that day that he changed their course.
THE HOMECOMING
MONSIEUR CLUBIN WAS the first person to notice that the topgallant sail schooner pitching in the sea by Pointe de Grave was in distress. At first he wasn't sure there was anyone on board, but after watching the ship through his binoculars for a few minutes, he realized that some desperate will was fighting to keep the ship clear of the dangerous beach. No distress signals were being sent, but Monsieur Clubin's sense of duty, forged over thirty years as a ship's pilot in Royan, demanded that he investigate.
On board the Kristina he found three boys and a young woman, all of whom seemed bewildered. The captain lay dead in the fo'c'sle. There were no able seamen and no first mate, and the lifeboat was missing.
The boys' explanation, as presented to the port authorities and subsequently to the police in Royan, was that the first mate had murdered an able seaman and the captain, and then assaulted the captain's daughter. Precisely what they meant by assault, the boys either could not or would not specify, and the young lady herself refused to open her mouth: during her entire stay in Royan, the young woman uttered not a single word.
They further claimed that the first mate had committed a murder in his hometown, the same town they came from, though he'd never been punished for it. He'd jumped ship earlier that morning when Monsieur Clubin came on board, and used the lifeboat to make his escape.
After a thorough examination, the police found no cause to charge the missing first mate. The captain's body showed no signs of violence, and the subsequent autopsy established that he'd died of heart failure. The circumstances surrounding the drowning of the able seaman were not sufficiently well documented to bring charges, and his death was ascribed then, and later, in the maritime inquiry that followed in Copenhagen, to one of those unfortunate incidents that occur at sea, though it was acknowledged that the first mate's disappearance might justify any number of suspicions. However, none of them could be proven.
Ultimately what triggered the unfortunate chain of events that culminated in the Kristina of Marstal drifting around Pointe de Grave was her captain's lack of judgment in signing on as first mate a notorious character without proper papers. Nor did the alleged assault on the young woman lead to an indictment. The lack of evidence was due to her stubborn and persistent silence, along with the boys' unclear description of the nature of her assault.
The captain was buried in the town cemetery. Because the local newspaper, La Dépêche de l'Ouest, had written about the ill-fated ship— "le navire maudit"— a number of curious onlookers turned up for his funeral.
Monsieur Clubin's compact figure was also to be seen there, but it was duty, rather than curiosity, that made him attend. After all, he had come to the ship's rescue, led her to a safe port, and looked after the crew, who in his eyes were nothing but children. He'd welcomed them into his home, and Madame Clubin had provided the young lady with a room and lent her a black hat and veil so she could be suitably