Chapter 12 – Setting Sail
Rhett strode impatiently up and down the deck of his ship, a massive 902-ton side-wheel steamer that had been built in the Liverpool shipyards ten years earlier. In its prior life, it had been used as a merchant ship but when war broke out, Rhett purchased the ship and adapted it for high-speed dashes through the Union blockade. It had a large mast in the forward quarter of its length. Behind that, abeam to port was a massive paddlewheel; behind that, in the center of the ship, were two large smoke stacks. Finally, in the aft quarter was another large mast. Crewmembers were hustling about as the ship was making its departure. Ropes tethering it to the dock were tossed to waiting hands on deck and a handful of women. Some were old, others young; some were mothers to those whose who labored on deck, others were sweethearts and all waved to loved ones with eyes filled with tears of goodbye.
"Captain, everything is in order, sir," shouted a redheaded man.
Rhett nodded and gripped the iron railing on the starboard, his lips set in a grim line as the steamer pulled away from the dock.
"Good to be setting sail again, wouldn't you say?" asked another man who sidled up to Rhett at the railing. He was a tall man, very nearly a blonde version of Rhett, with skin bronzed from the sun and twinkling blue eyes.
"Umm…" was Rhett's only reply.
"Aw, my friend, pardon if I say, so, but you look like hell. A little too much hair of the dog last night, yes?" he said with a slight German accent, elbowing Rhett and giving him a sly wink. "Who was that lady I saw you with just moments ago, eh? Was she the one you told me about? She certainly seemed to get under your skin. Now, I know how smooth you are with the ladies, but this one, well, Rhett, to be honest, she seemed to get the best of you. From my vantage point, she was doing all the talking and well, if I do say so, it wasn't exactly sweet talking if you get my meaning, eh?"
Rhett's only indication that he heard his friend was a slight twitch at the corner of his mustache. Otherwise, he remained stoic and unblinking as he watched the horizon drift away.
"As for me," the man continued, "I abstained from any libations and instead, took my fill of a very lovely fräulein. Ah, yes, she quenched my thirst all right. Why she could do things with her ton—"
"Karl, I'd appreciate it if you spared me the details of your exploits," returned Rhett in a smooth voice that was stern yet as soft as a whisper.
"Well, I'll be damned," retorted Karl with a shrug of his shoulders, continuing to mutter under his breath as he took his leave. "I have to listen to your stories all the time, but no, when I have a tale to tell…"
Rhett's eyes didn't follow his shipmate; they never left the dock, even as Charleston's skyline, which was one of the world's identifiable ports, became smaller. Saint Michael's steeple rose above the other buildings and although they were well into the harbor by now, the bells tolling the hours could be heard in the early morning stillness …one…two…three…
With each bell, a memory flashed in his mind. Scarlett at the French Market. Scarlett with powdered sugar on her nose. Scarlett in her Aunt Eulalie's front yard…her body pliant and willing in his arms.
Four…Scarlett's red lips that tasted so sweet and having only sipped of them, he yearned to drink more fully.
Five…Her fiery green eyes. Eyes so green they reminded him of the color of absinthe and he wondered forlornly like many men before him if he would forever be addicted to his own Green Fairy.
Rhett continued to stand at the rail even after Charleston had long since disappeared from the horizon. Karl, sensing his mood, kept his distance and as his second, he took charge of the ship, navigating it carefully out of the harbor and past the Yankee gunboats. There was some shuffling about on board as orders were shouted and followed but through it all, Rhett remained unmoved. Finally, as the ship rose and fell as it met each wave in the open sea head on, he turned resolutely and made his way below deck. There he remained for hours. What he did, Karl, nor any of the crewmembers ever knew. They only knew that it was highly unusual for Rhett Butler, who took such an active role in everything that had to do with his ship, to take leave of the deck during the first hours of a new voyage. These were the critical hours. This was the time he established the tone and the rhythm of the workings aboard ship, especially among the newly hired hands. This was when the hierarchy of command was reinforced and every new hand learned quickly that while Rhett was a stern taskmaster, who was all business, he commanded with a disciplined hand, yet a wise one. Never would he place a higher value on the profit inherent in his cargo over safety. Never would he risk a man's life for a dollar. He paid his men handsomely, was loyal to a fault and expected the same in return. Anyone attempting to finagle his own deal, steal or cheat him of his profits would find that Rhett's cool demeanor could turn deadly on the flip of a coin.
Short staccato knocks on Rhett's cabin door emitted a terse, "Come in" from Rhett.
"What are you doing, mate? You've been hiding out in your cabin all morning," said Karl as he strode casually into the well-appointed room that doubled as an office and bedroom.
"Had some paperwork to do," was Rhett's reply.
"Really? I've never known you to put paperwork ahead of greeting your crew once we've set sail. What's is troubling you?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Come on, Rhett. We've known each other since we were wet behind the ears. You don't really think I'd believe that, do you?" Karl chuckled and put a friendly arm around Rhett's shoulders.
"I don't give a damn what you choose to believe," Rhett answered smoothly, turning swiftly back to his desk where he absently shuffled through a handful of papers.
"Well, I apologize for stepping out of line—Captain." Karl paused momentarily, staring at Rhett. When he received no response, he swung open the door to leave.
"Karl—"
"Yes." Karl turned back to see Rhett comb his fingers through his hair, a gesture Karl knew signaled a problem, mounting frustration or both.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. You're right. I am out of sorts. I…I…I didn't get much sleep last night," Rhett explained with a weak smile.
"Aha, ja, that explains it then," returned Karl all too quickly. He turned to leave and then, as if thinking better of the idea added: "Well, then are you coming down to the mess to welcome the new crew members?"
"Yes, I suppose I should." Rhett put down his papers and stared out at his porthole. "I'll be down in a moment."
"Ja, I'll see you there then."
Several minutes later, Rhett descended the narrow, steep wooden steps that went below deck to what was currently serving as the crew mess hall. On the return voyage, the mess would be regulated to a storage area for cargo and the men would be left having to balance their plates of food on their knees. In the meantime, they enjoyed eating in relative luxury. The crew of five sat assembled around a table that hung suspended on ropes tethered to the ceiling. It required some skill to eat at a table that often swung at the most inopportune times but the men, accustomed to life at sea, took it all in stride, as if a sixth sense told them the precise moment they could sip their steaming hot coffee without scalding their chest hairs.
Three of the men had been with Rhett since his first voyage. While in Charleston, he hired two additional men when two of his best decided to join the army. Upon Rhett's entrance, the men, who just seconds earlier were engaged in ruckus conversation, suddenly quieted. His eyes quickly scanned the table. Karl sat at the head of the table. On his right was a red-haired man, Edward; on his left, sat James. All three men had been with Rhett since the early days of the war. Glancing at each, Rhett nodded in turn and noticed on either side of Edward and James and at the end of foot of the table sat three of the newly hired hands.
What? Three hands, Rhett questioned his gaze quickly scanning the table. He only remembered hiring two. Well, maybe Karl retained a third, he reasoned. Karl was always saying they needed another hand. "Strong of backbone and weak of mind" was how Karl described the ideal candidate for the job. But somehow, this young boy at the foot of the table, whose head was bent so low that the brim of his hat nearly dragged through his porridge, didn't look big enough to tote a basket, let alone a bale of cotton or some of the heavier cargo they routinely loaded and off-loaded from the ship.
"Adam, how are you faring?" Rhett asked the first new hand.
"Wonderful, sir. It is good to be at sea again," said the mate, who though only 19 years of age had already crossed the Atlantic a dozen times.
"And, how about you?" Rhett asked, turning his gaze upon Johnny, a young boy who looked young enough to still be wearing short pants had it not been for his height—all six-feet and three inches of it.
"Oh, Captain, I must thank you again for the honor of having me here. It is indeed a privilege to be setting sail with the likes of Captain Butler," Johnny said, beaming with pride and admiration for the man who stood before him.
"I'm glad you're here. Both of you," Rhett answered. Then, turning his attention to the third new hire, he inquired: "And you, mate. I don't believe we have met—"
"Oh, surely you remember hiring me," returned the new hire with his head down. He spoke in a voice that while gruff, belied the fact that he was nothing more than a child whose voice had still not yet gone through the change.
"I think you'll have to refresh my memory," said Rhett, turning for to Karl for clarification.
"I'm sure you remember," continued the boy raising his head and giving Rhett a defiant stare with his piercing green eyes. "We met outside of Atlanta. In Jonesboro at a family barbeque to be exact."