The Brave New World - 175 Sail Ahoy

But it was hard to resist the ale. It had been brewed especially for the ceremony preceding the maiden voyage of the first ship built in Fort Baker, Kirk’s capital in the New World. Then there was also the roast duck – seven ducks! They had been brought in by the settlement’s hunters along with several hares and half a dozen squirrels. Game was visibly becoming more abundant in the New World.

It was even harer to resist the roast duck – such a treat did not come often. And now, it was the fish that were feasting on Kirk’s largely undigested meal. What a waste!

“Is everything all right, sir?”

Kirk straightened up and turned to face David Craw, captain of the Albatross and commander of Kirk’s colonial navy. Back on good old Earth, David Craw was a former naval officer and a renowned sailor, winner of many yachting trophies. He was also very interested in historical sailing ships, and had at one point built an exact replica of an eighteenth-century schooner.

He was the perfect man to take command of the Albatross. Well, maybe not perfect, but definitely the best man available. Kirk smiled at Craw, and said:

“Yes, I’m fine now, thank you. How’s the ship? You like her?”

“Oh, she’s fine, she’s fine so far. Of course, a few things are bound to come up by the time we dock back in port. I think we should have taken more ballast. She rolls a little strongly.”

“Rolls?”

“Sways. Like, a sideways motion.” Craw illustrated the discussed motion by wagging and tilting his hand.

“Is this something normal?”

“Pretty much, yes. Only she rolls and yaws a little too strongly for my liking.”

Kirk finally realized Craw was offering him an excuse for being sick earlier on. What a gentleman! He said:

“David, given your leadership I’m sure this ship is capable of sailing all the way to Asia.”

“I don’t know, sir. Well, maybe if I went north along the coast, all the way up to Bering Strait. She’s a solid ship, but she won’t be able to sail twenty thousand sea miles without landfall.”

“Twenty thousand?”

“Or more. Remember, sir, the distance is going to be ten times greater.”

“You wanted to have a look at Angel Island, sir. Because of the settlement you ordered set up there. We’re carrying some supplies for them. With this wind, we should be there before nightfall.”

Kirk looked up at the enormous square sail above his head. It wasn’t even half-full. His doubt must have showed on his face, because Craw said:

“We’ll be turning east in an hour or so, once we get clear of Point Caballo. We’ll pick up speed then. It’s a good westerly breeze, should stay that way for a while.”

“I see.”

“Would you like to go up to the bows? Or maybe up on the poop deck? You’ll have a better view.”

Going up anywhere was out of the question. The only direction Kirk wanted to move was down, as in lying down. He said:

“I think I’ll just stay here awhile. Get my sea legs.” He smiled at Craw.

“As you wish, sir.”

Craw left, and Kirk turned and put both of his hands on the railing. He felt it going up and down, up and down in a relentless rhythm. Perhaps the swaying would be gentler if he moved towards the center of the ship? No, he was going to stay where he was, and absorb the view.

It was stunning. It was amazing. There was no Golden Gate Bridge, and Golden Gate was miles and miles wide – Kirk could barely make out the coast on the southern side of the strait. Sunlight sparkled on the water; above, several seagulls swooped and circled, looking for prey. It was an almost cloudless day; solitary, fleecy clouds moved majestically across the vivid blue sky. It would be a perfect day, everything would be perfect if it wasn’t for the bad taste in Kirk’s mouth.

He glanced to his left, then to his right. The ship seemed to be sailing itself: he could see no crew except for the two lookouts: one in the bows, and another in the deep crow’s nest high above the deck. His head was little more than a dark dot in the sky. The water hissed softly as the ship’s hull cut through the sparkling surface of the bay.

For a moment, Kirk considered climbing the steps to the poop deck: the helmsman and Craw were there. But then the low door to the crew’s quarters under the foredeck banged open, and several crewmen emerged. The last in line was wiping his mouth and Kirk realized they’d all been having a hurried meal. Craw had told him earlier that everyone was up an hour before dawn, and that the entire morning had been filled with frenzied preparations for the ship’s first journey.

Kirk had asked about those preparations, and Craw rattled off a whole list of things Kirk couldn’t understand. However, the last item on that list caught his attention.

“Water pump? What’s wrong with the water pump?”

“The pistons don’t fit properly. We have to take it apart, and put it back together again. We can’t put out to sea without a working pump.”

“You’re anticipating an accident?”

“No, of course not. The ship leaks and – ”

“Hold on! The ship is leaking? The hull is letting water in? And you’re proposing to sail?”

“All wooden ships with a hull of planks leak a little, sir. It’s normal. Brand-new ships leak more because the wood is dry. When it’s bloated with water, it makes things tighter. It’s just a few gallons of water per hour. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“You’re saying gallons of water coming in every hour are nothing to worry about?”

“Correct, sir.”

Kirk had spent a fairly restless night prior to journey. Now, standing on the deck of the Albatross, he performed some rudimentary calculations: sixteen to ten hours earlier – that was while he was talking with Randy Trueman and later Bernard, back home. He shook his head. They’d sail all the way to Angel Island and back before he awoke in his bed back home. Two or three days full of discomfort! Why the hell had he wanted to sail all the way to Angel Island? It was at least twenty miles, and that was in a straight line. It simply wasn’t safe to undertake such a long journey in a brand-new, largely untested ship.

He saw Craw descending the steps from the poopdeck. Craw looked at Kirk and waved and walked up to him as surely as if he’d been walking down a paved street. Kirk noted that Craw’s knees were slightly bent, absorbing the movement of the deck. Craw came to a stop a few steps away from Kirk and grinned and said:

“She’s good, sir. Great piece of work by the builders considering that’s the first time they ever built a cog. And using pretty primitive tools, too. Great job. The tiller’s a bit of a pig to operate but otherwise she’s easy to steer. The bows are true, she holds course without any trim.”

“Uh?” Kirk said. “Tiller? You have a tiller operating the rudder on this ship?”

“You didn’t know? Oh, I see, you haven’t been up on the poop deck yet. Yes, we have a tiller. A steering wheel would have meant a month of mucking around with ropes and pulleys, so we settled for a tiller.”

A tiller! Like in some fucking rowboat! This definitely wasn’t a proper seagoing ship. Kirk made up his mind to issue a governor’s order limiting the Albatross to the waters of the bay.

Craw said:

“What I wanted to ask you, sir, is to move elsewhere. We’re about to execute a turn, and the boys need space to work the sail sheets.”

Kirk became aware that a sailor was standing nearby, frowning at a long rope fastened around a T-shaped cleat. The rope ran up to the yardarm of the single, huge sail.

“Of course,” said Kirk. “Where should we go?”

“The poopdeck. I need to give orders to the helmsman.”

“And I’ll get to view the famous tiller in operation,” said Kirk. Craw grinned.

“Correct,” he said. “Now, if you’ll just follow me – ”

He was interrupted by a shout from the crow’s nest. The lookout was shouting:

“Sail! Sail ahoy! Bearing around forty degrees port!”

“A sail? What the hell?” said Craw.

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