In the last part Ben rested as he rode the train from Chicago toward San Francisco. Just short of Donner Pass in the Sierra Nevada Mountains the pressure in the locomotive boiler exploded killing the engineer and fireman. Ben prayed the dying engineer to salvation. Ben ran ahead to notify a switchman, and then behind to set a signal fire. He eventually made it to San Francisco.

^^^^^^^

Ben woke with a start. His room, or wherever he was, was rocking, shaking. The first thing Ben thought of was an earthquake. He’d heard of such, but had never experienced one. There was a huge earthquake in his home state of Arkansas, but that was even before his parents were born. The second thing Ben thought of was the painful knot on his head. Then he heard the groans around him.

He was in the hold of a ship.

“Up here, Maties. Up now. Here we go. A move on.”

Ben saw what must have been a sailor silhouetted at the top of a ladder that led to some sort of trap door. Ben and his half dozen fellow-Shanghaied compatriots began to make their way to the ladder and up to the deck. Once assembled, Ben saw that there were eight of them, all gawked at by ones he figured to be regular sailors.

“Listen here, Maties. Yer all sailors now. Look about chee. See any land anywhere? ‘Cause there ain’t none. Just you, me, and the sharks. Be tellin’ you yer job. Mates around jee will be showin’ ye how things is done. Learn it right off an’ you git no taste a’ me whip.” He snapped his whip for emphasis.

“Ye’ll be fed twiced a day. Ye’ll say ye don’t care for it. But chee will. Bes’ tell yerself ta like it right off. Better fer ye. Ye throw up, ye clean it up. Nobody wants ta walk in yer vomit, now. Ye don’t quit heavin’ … well.” The man indicated overboard with his thumb.

“You’ve already missed this morn’s meal, so ye won’t ‘ave much ta pitch. Make a line, now, and I’ll assign ye.”

As if an afterthought, the man continued his speech. “Ye’ve been conscripted. Jist like in the army. Ye could say ye’ve been conscripted into the Superbia’s navy. Where we’re goin’, an’ how long we’ll be is not cher concern. What is yer concern is ta mind yer betters. An’ here, that’s ever’body.”

When it came to Ben, the man, who turned out to be Sly Barrett, said, “Yer a big ‘un. Fore deck, the stay beam, ropes and canvas.”

Ben was glad that he’d pointed. Fore was easy enough to figure out, but Ben wasn’t anxious to get crossways with a man with a whip and authority to use it. Directly behind Ben was a youngster of a man’s height, but not old enough to sprout whiskers yet. Ben figured him for about sixteen.

“The riggin’,” the man said. Ben saw the man’s right arm rise, indicating the rope ladders that ran up to the top mast.

The boy burst into sobs and tears. “Heights,” he managed to squeal. “I’m terrified!”

Sly chuckled to himself. “Well, let’s see who yer more terrified of, the pretty view from aloft, or Miss Whip-poor-will.”

“Might not be necessary to whip the boy,” Ben said, turning to face the man.

Sly squared himself to Ben. Everyone on the deck stopped to watch.

Ben set his gaze onto Sly’s. “Boy could get up there all right. Then sure as world he’ll be down right there, dead as a hammer.” Ben pointed to the deck. “He’ll be more use to everyone as a cook’s helper. Might even make a career of it, cooking you roasted duck.” Ben continued his gaze.

Sly reared back his shoulders and jerked his jaw upward. Ben knew what was coming. The man’s pride demanded it.

“Cook’s helper with ye,” he motioned for the boy to move aft. “Then to Ben, “Off with ye shirt, les’ ye want it cut ta ribbons.” Sly motioned for one of the regular sailors who moved to tie Ben’s arms around the main mast. “Miss Whip-poor-will says seven lashes fer speakin’ outta turn.”

Ben complied.

As soon as the seventh broke the skin of his upper shoulders, whipping around and to catch his cheek, a sailor splashed Ben’s back with a bucket of salty sea water. Ben grimaced, but hadn’t uttered a sound the entire time.

“Fore deck!” Sly commanded.

Waiting to put his shirt back on until up the gangway and in the area he thought he should be, a sailor approached, introducing himself. “Not terrible smart, but a good thing you did. Everybody on deck knew that boy wouldn’t survive the day. Extending his hand, he introduced himself. “Hans. They got me goin’ on a year ago. Keep me locked up when we’re in port.”

Ben was surprised that someone named Hans wouldn’t have even the slightest accent. “Ben. Thank you. Now, I just need to figure out how to keep from kissing Miss Whip-poor-will again, at least until these scratches heal up.” Ben grinned.

"How did I get here?" Ben asked.

"if it was like myself, my ale was drugged. Some just get beaned. You wake up on a ship sailing for who-knows-where."

Ben rubbed his bean.

+++

“What kind of ship is this?” Ben asked his friend, Hans the next day. That first day Ben was too busy watching and listening to get off topic.

“Clipper barque. Built for speed mostly, cargo comes second. They get extra trips, which means more money for the owners, and we can outrun most pirates.”

“There’s still pirates out here?” Ben asked.

Hans gave Ben a look of incredulity.

“Guess so.”

“And we’re copper clad. No barnacles to slow us down. Can’t outrun a storm, though.”

One thing amazes me,” Ben said. “How we can sail against the wind.”

“Not really against the wind – sixty degrees. The reason we’re all the time adjusting sails. Can’t tack with rudder alone.”

Ben was to learn a foreign language, it seemed.

“Now, look at these.” Hans had three ropes tied to the pin rail. “You have to know these three knots like your life depends on them. Because it might. You have to know ‘em, and know when to use each. That one’s the bowline. You’ll be using that one mostly. The next one is the clove hitch, and then the cleat hitch. The cleat hitch is obvious. The clove hitch is a quick tie off. The bowline …”

“Makes a loop that won’t cinch up on ya. And easy to untie after the load is released.”

“You’ve sailed!” Hans exclaimed.

Grinning, Ben answered. “No, but I’ve been a miner. I know the bowline.”

“Then let’s get to the other four. There’s a double half hitch …”

“Used that one farming,” Ben said.

“The stopper knot is like this.” Hans quickly made a stopper knot, sort of hoping to playfully catch Ben up.

“Used that one building railroad trestles with block an’ tackle. Keeps the rope from slipping through the gear.”

“This is a clove hitch,” Hans said, expecting Ben to already know it. When he didn’t, Hans advised him to watch the clove hitch because it could work loose.

“And finally the sheet bend. As you can see, we use it to tie two ropes together. It’s better than a square knot.”

“Square knots can come loose,” Ben interjected.

“And the sheet bend is better for when the ropes are different sizes. Lemme show you one more. This is a rolling hitch. We use it to pull out a jammed line from a winch. Look around wherever you go on deck, or below. Look at the knots used. You’ll be able to figure out why. Now, sure you can tie the knots. And the right ones for the right uses. But when we get into a storm – and we will – your life, and all our lives, will depend on tying a knot you can’t see while holding on for dear life … quick like.”

Ben nodded as if he understood the seriousness.

Later that day Ben asked what they were hauling, what the cargo was.

Hans grinned, winking. “Levi’s britches.”

“Why the look?” Ben asked.

“You’ve been below. You see us loaded with boxes of britches?”

Ben looked puzzled.

“Everything on a ship is all about weight. We load more weight than the weight of the water we displace, we sink. We run empty; we topple over top heavy. We need weight. If the cargo doesn’t do it, we add ballast.”

“So …?”

“Britches don’t weigh much. And there aren’t that many boxes of ‘em. We’re hauling gold. Maybe not much in weight, a few thousand pounds, or so. But that’s the only answer I can see for not filling up with Mr. Levi’s finest.

“Coming in, we brought in rice. But not much, not enough to profit from. I’m thinking we brought in cases of opium.”

Ben grimaced remembering his last experience with an opium dealer, and what happened when he stopped Mason Salinger by causing the cave-in that killed them both.

+++

At supper that evening, the young, skinny boy Ben had saved from the loft brought him an extra lemon, thanking Ben profusely after introducing himself.

“Glad I could help, Jimmy”

“I’m really sorry you got whipped.” Jimmy was sincere.

“Aw, did me good, Jimmy. Keeps me humble.” Ben smiled his friendliest.

After Jimmy went back about his duties, Hans leaned in, “No matter what it looks like, eat all the fruit you can get – scurvy.”

Ben didn’t tell him that he knew about scurvy from being a miner.