All was quiet. The crew was asleep, excepting those on duty. Faster couldn't sleep. He was exhausted from a day of hard work, but for some reason he was unable to rest. His hammock swung back and forth with the pitching of the ship. In the darkness he allowed his mind to wander. He imagined something horrible was happening. He was being tossed from side to side and water was sloshing about the deck. He felt as if he was drowning, the cold water submerging his bare feet. He shivered. Was he dreaming? Was he asleep? Something dripped onto his face and pooled in his eyes, causing him to lift his hand and wipe it away. When it happened again, he opened his eyes.
Shivering, he sat up and rolled his sleeves down. The wind was howling. He looked around in the dark--Nagel was gone and so was Will Warley, Nagel's best mate. No, he wasn't supposed to be on duty, but he climbed out of the hammock anyway. He left his shoes where they were and walked bare-footed to the other half of the berth deck. "What's going on?" he asked.
"Storm," said Joe Plaice, Bonden's cousin, "big storm." Faster sat down next to him. Since Plaice's trepanning operation, he had developed a great amount of respect for the wise old man. The wind was howling more loudly now and the crew stared up at the ceiling. Suddenly there was a loud cracking noise and the ship shuddered. Mugs and plates clattered to the floor as the ship tipped sharply upwards. Faster tumbled off of his stool, but managed to take hold of one of the wooden pillars. Water was spilling furiously into the cabin. After the initial cries had ceased, many began muttering worriedly to themselves, some were even praying. Faster said nothing, he simply listened to the chatter and hoped whatever had happened to the ship would be repaired. He shut his eyes as a wave of water poured into the deck, soaking them all. He looked around at the crew--some were vomiting, crying, others remained silent, staring out from sunken faces.
The ship lurched again, which forced another cry out of most, and righted itself. The crew cheered and Faster even joined in. Though it had only lasted for a few minutes, it had been terrifying--more terrifying than battle by far. He sighed, relieved. The young midshipmen were crying and dancing around, happy to be alive.
Nearly an hour later, the crew came down to the berth deck. Nagel walked slowly to a more secluded area, carrying a sea chest. "Warley's gone down to the deep, Doodle," somebody said quietly to him. Faster looked at the pained expression on Nagel's face and he made to go over to him. "No," said Joe Plaice. "He doesn't need anyone right now."
Nagel gulped down a good portion of his grog and wiped his mouth afterwards. He tried not to look at anyone, Faster noticed. He felt terrible even though he hadn't known Warley that well. Faster had met Warley not long after launching, but they hadn't exchanged many words, which Nagel had explained was because "He gets nervous round people he doesn't know." He wanted to approach him, to say something comforting, but he knew that he would never say the right thing. Besides that, Old Joe had advised him against it. Instead, he approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, Joe."
Nagel looked up at him, startled. He nodded slightly, and then looked away. His lip quivered and his eyes were blinking rapidly, tears glistening on his lashes. Faster gave his shoulder another squeeze and walked away.
In the following days Nagel became more surly than usual. He spoke to no one unless he had to. He responded to superior officers with respect, but with a touch of curtness, even spite, especially for Mr Hollom, who was said to have been climbing the rigging when the mast that held Warley had broke. He also drank more, considerably more. If there was any deal he could make with another crewman for his grog, Nagel would make it.
"You'll be flogged for that," Faster said at one point, as he held fast to the rope. The wind was unusually strong and Bonden was having trouble holding his course.
Nagel, who was standing above Faster, asked, "For what?"
Faster's eyes skimmed the deck for nearby officers and he replied heatedly, "What do you think, Joe? You can't be three sheets to the wind on duty!" he hissed.
"You're saying I'm drunk, then?" Nagel replied in a somewhat annoyed tone. "Maybe you'd like to let the Captain know, then. Go on."
Faster sighed in exasperation and gave the rope an angry tug. "Getting yourself in the brig's not going to bring Will back," he said at last.
"What do you know of it?" Nagel snapped. Faster wasn't used to this anger in him. Even when he had been upset, he'd always managed to remain calm around Faster. "You hardly knew Will," he said later.
"Look," Faster began with slight annoyance.
"Oy, you there!" Mr Hollar shouted. "Quit yer gabbing and tie off those ropes!"
Faster sighed and took the rope from Nagel, fastening a knot with his infamous celerity (something that only applied to tying ropes). When both their shifts had ended, Nagel disappeared below deck before Faster could stop him. Faster, though usually even-tempered, was beginning to tire of this game. But for some reason, he could not just let it go. He was on edge, anyway, the whole crew was. Dr Maturin thought it was something in the grog that was troubling everyone, but the crew knew there was a Jonah on board, a bringer of bad luck, a curse upon them all.
"It's Hollom," said the captain's servant, Killick, later that week. They had lost their wind and working in the sweltering heat had done nothing for their morale.
Nagel had at least calmed down. He no longer tried to pick fights with everyone on board, but kept quite to himself, surlier than ever. He looked up at Killick from his plate curiously.
"He's the Jonah," Killick continued. "He's making all this…badness happen." He looked around at the other crewmen for support, but received none from Faster. "It was on his watch that the Norfolk turned up on our tail, and the day we lost our wind. And he was climbing the rigging when poor Warley was lost."
Joe Plaice nodded meaningfully. "I don't want to wait around to see what'll happen on his next watch."
Nagel finished his grog with a troubled mind and retired to his hammock. Faster stared after him, thinking about what Killick had said. Much of it had been true, but they must have been coincidences. Then again, what if they weren't?
"It's absurd, it's absolutely absurd," Dr Maturin nearly shouted. "You're making a mockery of modern science, Jack."
"You're overreacting, Stephen, I am doing nothing of the sort," said Captain Aubrey, chuckling. "I am sorry if you have not yet discovered that sailors are a superstitious lot. I cannot make them stop thinking of it."
"I'm not asking you to," Dr Maturin replied quietly, though loud enough for Faster to hear him. The Doctor's quarters were on the berth deck with the rest of the crew, and Faster could nearly hear every word that was said. "I am simply informing you of what I perceive to be going on."
"I will speak to Mr Hollom," said Captain Aubrey in a pacifying tone. "Goodnight, Stephen."
Faster breathed deeply. He was beginning to worry about the Jonah, beginning to see that what Killick had said was reason and that Dr Maturin didn't know a thing about it. An excellent doctor he may have been, but what did he know about God's power?
The next day, Nagel decided to take matters into his own hands. They had just finished scrubbing the deck; Nagel had spent the entire time making rude remarks about Mr Hollom while the other four men had listened. When they had finished, Nagel stood up and made his way toward the bow of the ship. Faster was directly behind him when he not only failed to salute Mr Hollom, but also forcefully shoved his shoulder. As Faster raised his hand in a salute, he heard Captain Aubrey shout out, "You, there, Nagel, stop where you are! Master-at-Arms, take that man below and clap him in irons on the half-deck." Faster turned around long enough to see the Captain's angry and flushed face.
Faster, thinking about his poor mate in shackles on the half-deck, went about his business with the rigging until his duties were completed. Nagel would be there all day, no doubt, and then they would surely flog him. At the end of Nagel's punishment, Bonden was sent by the Captain to retrieve him. A very sullen Nagel was brought out in front of the entire crew and he looked on, unconcerned, as Captain Aubrey read out the thirty-sixth Article of War. "Two dozen," he said at once.
Faster found it extremely difficult to watch. Nagel hardly uttered a word after the first stroke. His pale back turned red from the strength and sharpness of the rope whip. It didn't take long for him to begin to bleed, and by the time twenty-four lashes had been dealt, the blood had begun to stain the rim of his trousers. He leant against the grate, pressing his nose onto the splintering wood.
"Cut him down," Captain Aubrey ordered and the Master-at-Arms removed the bonds on Nagel's wrists and ankles. Faster and Bonden led him slowly away to wash the blood from his back.
Nagel winced as Bonden used a rag to wipe the blood away. "There's not much more, Joe, almost done," he said gently. Nagel bit hard into his lip, trying to block out the pain of the salt water that was entering his wounds. "The Doctor'll get you some salve for that. Don't fret, that always clears it up straight away." When Bonden had finished they wrapped his body in cloths and all three went below deck.
Nagel sat down and began eating his supper. He didn't seem to regret what he had done, nor did he seem proud of it. Faster sat down beside him and handed him a mug of grog. "Here," he said, "you can have my ration."
Nagel shook his head. "No, Doodle, it's your grog." He managed a weak smile. "You've earned it." He winced again. "Besides, I don't deserve anyone's pity. It's my own fault I've shredded me back." He pushed his greasy hair back, so it was out of his face, and sighed.
Faster set his grog down next to Nagel anyway and smiled. Nagel would be all right in a few days.
The following day they got back their wind. It was, however, at the cost of Mr Hollom's life, which furthered the suspicion that he had been cursed. Faster believed that he had, but was ashamed for it when the crew paid their respects in recognition of his death.