Dark Waves - Chapter 1
Elizabeth joins her husband aboard a whaling ship to save her marriage, but the voyage holds dark secrets of love and death.
Through the veil of mist and fog hanging over the West India Docks, the wooden behemoth’s shadow lurched over me like a cloud, blotting out what little morning light cascaded through the haze. I remember, wavering along the rain-slicked gangplank, thinking the Cornucopia was larger than any ship that could ever exist.
A froth-edged wave crashed against the ship and tilted the plank beneath me. The luggage in my hands became anchors threatening to pull me into the emerald depths below. As I felt my body sway over the edge, Samuel’s bear-like hands steadied me from behind, keeping me from falling.
Oh, how badly I wish I had fallen that day, how much death it could have spared us from.
I hurried off the plank, taking my first steps aboard the Cornucopia as the family ahead, a married couple with a daughter I guessed to be somewhere between eight and ten, crossed the deck and disappeared within an entry aft of the ship. Around me, dozens of ropes fastened to metal anchor points ran in curved lines up to wrapped sails along the mastheads. My stomach whorled as my eyes followed them upwards, the whole world inverting itself in my head – gulls flying in circles above no bigger than ants crawling on the ground.
“Next,” a crewman said. He stood beneath one of the masts, wearing a royal-blue jacket with a hole in the left elbow and holding a leather-bound journal. “Name?”
“Elizabeth Graham,” I replied.
He rolled his eyes and sighed, the exaggerated sound of it carrying across the deck. Laughter of the men boarding behind us broke through the sounds of cawing gulls and lapping waves.
“Name, sir?” he said again, looking past me.
“Samuel Graham,” my husband said, stepping forward.
The crewman scanned the blue cursive lines written in the book, smudged wildly by the falling mist. I looked to Samuel to say something, anything. He looked at me, eyebrows pinched in anger, and remained silent.
“Thank you. Weapons of any kind are prohibited aboard,” the crewman said looking at our luggage. “Toss them ashore now or find another ship.”
“We only carry aboard necessities,” Samuel said. “Clothes in these bags, and a fiddle in that case.”
“Necessities, huh?” the man chuckled, looking at the fiddle case. "By boarding, passengers and crew accept that they are liable to be charged and sentenced at sea for reprimandable crimes aboard as Captain Thomas Daniels sees fit. The Cornucopia is an active whaling vessel with every danger and hardship of the open seas upon her. Passengers and crew forgo all claims of liability against Captain Thomas Daniels for any, and all, occurrences of harm should it come upon them, including death.”
“That last bit is for you, lass!” a burly voice barked from behind us. My face reddened at the chorus of male laughter in the air.
Say something, Samuel!
The crewman pointed aft, “Down two decks, third cabin on the left. Welcome aboard the Cornucopia. Next!”
I hurried across the deck with Samuel, more eager to be away from the other men than the weather. We passed a set of metal pots set into an unlit brick furnace, the boards below them stained and stinking with the heavy scent of oil. Crewmen in similarly colored jackets scrubbed the pots and dropped firewood through an open hatch nearby.
The smell of salt and fish within the aft entry was overwhelming, and we entered the mouth of a stairwell that coiled like a snake around the base of the main mast. Carved upon the mast was a mural of men sailing ships, spearing whales, and dissecting them in great parts. Daylight faded the further down we went, the mural lit by flames dancing in oil lanterns hanging overhead.
Past the second deck landing, the lanternlight glimmered off metal clasps on each of the cabin doors. The clasps allowed each cabin to be locked – from the outside. Samuel hesitated, then unhooked the latch and entered the room.
The locks worry me too, Samuel.
I took one last look at the mural, the wooden crew pointing harpoons at a figure crawling out of the water. The figure was manlike, yet, different somehow, the details hidden past the influence of the light. I shuddered, unwilling to venture further down the stairs to see more. Thoughts of horrors stalking the depths of the ocean crept into my mind – their bodies magically pouring in from between the boards of the hull and crawling up the stairs from the lower decks. Suddenly, the locks felt far more reassuring.
This whole ship worries me.
“Have the other ships been like this one?” I asked, entering our cabin.
“No,” Samuel said. He set down the luggage he carried, “I expected her to be large considering the captain is taking on passengers, but her size is still impressive.”
“Strange to allow such a thing – passengers, I mean.”
“Perhaps.” He motioned toward the fiddle case in my hand. “Hand me that.”
He turned the fiddle case over in his hands, checking the clasps holding it shut and sliding it beneath a bed that took up most of the room. He hadn’t played for me in years.
I passed him in the tight room, moving toward a small round porthole that emanated grey light. As I got close, I found the dirty glass blurred my view of the outside, and the rocking hull suddenly made me feel like I had had too much wine.
“You’ll get used to it, ship life,” he said, reading my mind. “Lower decks aren’t well lit, even at night. Saves on oil. The crew will boil blubber from our first whale, they'll light more after that.”
The thought didn’t help my twirling stomach.
“And until then do what, Samuel? Stay down here in the dark?”
“Better that than embarrassing me in front of the crew any more than you already have.”
There it was, that resentment surfacing from the depths like the figure in the mural. He paused, then stood and walked toward me with arms wide.
“No,” I said, pushing him away. “You don’t get to say that, and everything goes back to normal. Why don’t you speak up when they talk to me like that?”
“You do not understand life at sea, Elizabeth. Men aboard are rougher than on shore. Every time I head to sea it hurts me. It hurts us. This is a chance for us to stay together, you mustn’t allow them to ruin that. The Cornucopia is our chance at survival.”
Survival? Were things between us really that bad?
This was the most we had talked since the night he convinced me to join him on this trip, and that night was the most for weeks before that. Maybe he was right, maybe the Cornucopia was what we needed. Samuel had always been persuasive, and luckily for him, desperation can drive a person to do unreasonable things – like spending seven months inside a whaling ship to fix a marriage. Yet, part of me couldn’t help but feel that this voyage was more what he wanted than what we needed.
He reached forward, and I kept my arms at my side this time. He wrapped one arm around me, and his other hand reached through my hair as he pulled me closer, kissing me on the lips.
“I still love you, Elizabeth,” he said.
Did he, really?
“And I love you.”
Did I?
Continue to the next chapter here:
Really enjoyed this, Matthew. I know it’s early days in the story, but its similar in tone to a book I read last year called The Devil and the Dark Water by Stuart Turton which I would recommend
Looking forward to see where this goes next 👍🏼