The sailcloth shroud - By Charles Williams Page 0,15
the Topaz.”
I stuck my head out the companion hatch. The shadowy figure on the wharf was tall but indistinct in the faint light, and I couldn’t see the face. But he sounded American, and judging from the way he’d hailed he could be off one of the other yachts. “Come on aboard,” I invited.
I stepped back, and the man came into view down the companion ladder—heavy brogues first, and then long legs in gray flannel slacks, and at last a brown tweed jacket. It was an odd way to be dressed in Panama, I thought, where everybody wore white and nothing heavier than linen. The man’s face appeared, and he stood at the foot of the ladder with his head inclined slightly because of his height. It was a slender, well-made face, middle-aged but not sagging or deeply lined, with the stamp of quietness and intelligence and good manners on it. The eyes were brown. He was bareheaded, and the short-cropped brown hair was graying.
“Mr. Rogers?” he asked politely.
“That’s right,” I said.
“My name is Baxter. Wendell Baxter.”
We shook hands. “Welcome aboard,” I said. “How about some coffee?”
“Thank you, no.” Baxter moved slightly to one side of the companion ladder, but remained standing. “I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Rogers. I heard you were looking for a hand to take her north.”
I was surprised, but concealed it. Baxter had neither the appearance nor the bearing of one who would be looking for a job as a paid deckhand. College students, yes; but this man must be around fifty. “Well, I’ve already got one man,” I said.
“I see. Then you didn’t consider taking two? I mean, to cut the watches.”
“Watch-and-watch does get pretty old,” I agreed. “And I certainly wouldn’t mind having two. You’ve had experience?”
“Yes.”
“Offshore? The Caribbean can get pretty lumpy for a forty-foot yawl.”
Baxter had been looking at the chart. He glanced up quickly, but the brown eyes were merely polite. “Yawl?”
I grinned. “I’ve had two applicants who called her a schooner, and one who wanted to know if I planned to anchor every night.”
A faint smile touched Baxter’s lips. “I see.”
“Have you had a chance to look her over?” I asked.
“Yes. I saw her this morning.”
“What do you make of her?”
“This is just a guess, of course, but I’d say she was probably an Alden design, and New England built, possibly less than ten years ago. She seems to have been hauled recently, probably within two months, unless she’s been lying in fresh water. The rigging is in beautiful shape, except that the lower shroud on the port side of the main has some broken strands.”
I nodded. I already had the wire aboard to replace that shroud in the morning before sailing. Baxter was no farmer. I nodded toward the chart. “What do you think of the course, the way I’ve laid it out?”
He studied it for a moment. “If the Trades hold, it should be a broad reach most of the way. Once you’re far enough to the north’ard to weather Gracias a Dios, you can probably lay the Yucatán Channel on one course. Do you carry genoa and spinnaker?”
“No,” I said. “Nothing but the working sails. We’ll probably be twelve days or longer to Southport, and all I can offer you is a hundred for the passage. Are you sure you want to go?”
“The pay isn’t important,” he replied. “Primarily, I wanted to save the plane fare.”
“You’re an American citizen, I suppose.”
“Yes. My home’s in San Francisco. I came down here on a job that didn’t work out, and I’d like to get back as cheaply as possible.”
“I see,” I said. I had the feeling somehow that behind the quiet demeanor and well-bred reserve Baxter was tense with anxiety, wanting to hear me say yes. Well, why not? The man was obviously experienced, and it would be well worth the extra hundred not to have to stand six-and-six. “It’s a deal, then. Can you be aboard early in the morning? I’d like to get away before ten.”
He nodded. “I’ll have my gear aboard in less than an hour.”
He left, and returned in forty-five minutes carrying a single leather suitcase of the two-suiter variety. “Keefer and I are in these bunks,” I said. “Take either of those in the forward compartment. You can stow your bag in the other one.”
“Thank you. That will do nicely,” he replied. He stowed his gear, removed the tweed jacket, and opened the mushroom ventilator overhead. He came out after a while