Bluewater Bride: The Voyage of the Halcyon

Chapter 1

September 1858

New Bedford

The rain had the smell of the sea. Few were out on Johnnycake Hill as Henry Gifford made his way carefully across the narrow cobbled street toward the brick two-story building on the corner. The rain spattered on his tall beaver hat and the shoulder of his black coat. It was September and the storm that hung over New Bedford contained the chill of fall.

Henry Gifford walked carefully across the slippery cobbles, careful to step around the mounds of horse dropping that littered the roadway. His clothing and shoes were new and he didn’t want to soil them.

At the building entrance Henry Gifford stopped and knocked vigorously on the oak door. Enter, a muffled voice called from within.

Henry Gifford pressed the iron door handle and pushed. The door swung open silently and he stepped into a large room lighted by four oil lamps. The large windows at side and rear of the room added little light from the dank day.

A small, bald man seated at a small table looked at the wall clock, which read almost 3 p.m., then looked at a paper on his desk. Gifford? he asked. Henry Gifford nodded.

Upstairs, the small man said. They are waiting. He pointed to a steep staircase to his left. Henry Gifford shook himself to shed the rain before he climbed the stairs. At its top he stopped and turned left into a large room where three older men sat around a large rectangular table. Henry Gifford could hear the rain against the window behind them. Henry Gifford could also see part of the New Bedford harbor.

The trio seated at the table all wore dark coats, all were bearded. Their tall hats were arranged at one end of the table.

Take the chair, commanded the white bearded man.

Henry Gifford removed his damp hat and sat it on the table near the others. Then he dropped into the straight-back wood chair before the table. The trio looked at him impassively.

You must be Gifford, from Falmouth, the older man said, his comment almost but not quite a question.

Here to ship on our Halcyon. I am Captain Lowery. These, pointing to the other two men in order, are Abraham Meller and Hiram Wright. We are the Halcyon principals. Captain Lowery picked up two small papers from the table. You have been recommended by Captain Joyce of Falmouth. And, waving the second letter, your credentials say you captained the schooner Algonquin Trader until last month.

Henry Gifford leaned toward the men behind the dark wood table. That is correct. I have shipped since 14 as cabin boy. Ten years awhaling. Last two as master of the Trader. Quit that.

Why? asked red-faced Hiram Wright.

Henry Gifford shifted on his chair. The storm last month caught us coming down from Portland with a load of lumber...

That storm wrecked many ships, Wright interrupted. Algonquin Trader too?

Henry Gifford shook his head no. "We came close, off Marblehead. We didn’t

make safe harbor before it was on us. Then, too late. We rode it out. Day and a night."

Henry Gifford was silent for some moments. Brought the ship in to Boston. Didn’t lose the load.

The men were silent for more moments. Abraham Meller cleared his throat. Why do you want to ship now on Halcyon?

Henry Gifford turned to Meller. The owners of the Trader didn’t recognize that their investment had been saved. They paid on a calm voyage. Gifford shifted his weight on the chair. I would like to ship as master where I would be paid for what I produced.

Meller replied, Fair enough. You know that bad business conditions last year have made investments in whaling this year of 1858 a risk. The price of whale oil has moved greatly.

Gifford smiled. I recognize that. Business is off. But, after a decade after the beast, I believe I know how to chase the beast and bring back 300 casks, at least.

Meller changed the subject. Where is your home?

Chappaquoit Harbor, Gifford said. My mother lives in the house my late father built for her. I am an only child.

How old are you? Captain Lowery asked.

Twenty-eight, Gifford replied. Shipped as cabin boy to old Captain Higginson, and later, Captain Joyce, whose letter you have before you. I was four years as boat steerer, then third mate, and moved to first mate four years ago.

Why coastal shipping? Lowery continued.

Gifford grimaced. I left Captain Joyce two years ago when he retired to Falmouth home port. My father was ill. He died last year.

Did your father ship? Lowery asked.

No. He raised sheep. Sold sea salt, and some shell fishing. I did not want to follow. I’d rather chance the lays rewarding a successful voyage for the beasts.

Lowery grunted.

Do you think you can find the beasts better and faster than older masters? Meller asked.

Gifford coughed. I have made a study of the habits of the different whales and have come to some conclusions about their activities. Anyone who captains Halcyon should be on order to find the beasts and return earliest as possible. These four-year voyages do not put coin in your accounts as principals.

Some do, Lowery said, smiling for the first time. The captains send oil back with other ships, on account, and that keeps the business fresh.

Gifford did not smile when he replied, First, they have to find and cut the beasts. I have learned some lessons shipping, mostly about the beasts and some about crews.

We can get any number of hands, Meller interrupted.

True today, Gifford said. But after months in the horse latitudes with no sightings, or a stop for victuals at a Pacific island and some decide they want another occupation. They do not stick.

The three older men leaned forward, interested in Gifford’s explanation.

And how might that be changed? Meller asked.

My position is that the crew needs to be carefully selected, and they need to understand from the sailing that they will share only in what they catch, and that the voyage has limits--that they will return to home port within a reasonable time. Gifford paused. And I have other thoughts about shipping.

Meller grumbled. And what are those?

Gifford rearranged himself on the chair. Soon some will ship for the beasts in steam vessels. They are fast and can make distance. They will be more efficient. Also, the lances could be fired from cannon on deck, saving us from taking to the boats.

Meller smiled. All well and good, sir, but costly. He looked at his fellow investors. We don’t have pockets for all that. We are simple Yankees. Do you know Halcyon?

Gifford shook his head no. I shipped on barks from Falmouth, and once from Edgartown.

Captain Lowery cleared his throat. "Halcyon is a bark of 300 tons, about 105 feet length. She carries three whaleboats now and we will add two replacements. She will built in 1849 over in Fairhaven. She is hove in drydock down below right now, having her bottom coppered. She is a solid ship and has the means to hunt the beasts. She can ship up to 20 crew, plus mates and master.

Lowery waved the letter of recommendation, and continued, Captain Joyce is well known by the factors in this town, and his endorsement of you carries a lot of weight. We have, of course, spoken with a few masters now on the beach. We do want someone with energy and experience. Lowery stopped, uncertain whether to continue. The voyages take a lot out of masters. They become old, but fortunately, many become rich before they land on the beach.

Meller asked, Are you married, Captain Gifford? Or are you betrothed?

Gifford shook his head no. Haven’t been on the beach long enough to find a wife. The life does not work that way easily. The older men nodded.

Meller cleared his throat. Thank you for coming over today, Captain Gifford.

Gifford stood and took his hat. He bowed to the trio and left. On the street he found the rain has stopped and a cool wind was blowing tatters along Johnnycake Hill. He walked the three blocks to the boardinghouse where he had stayed overnight. His small carpetbag would be in the parlor, ready for pick-up. Head down, Gifford mulled whether to take the stage back east over the Cape, or find the ferry slip at New Bedford and wait for the next ship. It would be faster, he decided, on the small, steam vessel. He would be at Woods Hull by 6 p.m., and after finding a carriage to carry him up to West Falmouth, he would be at his mother’s table by 7 p.m.

Gifford would take the ferry.

The three older men were silent for some minutes after Gifford left the upper room. Captain Lowery shuffled the papers on the table, and said, Well, he’s the youngest. Seems fit. I think he has salt in his veins...

Meller cleared his throat. I agree. The others are too old, too set in their ways. And, he might have new approaches to finding the beasts. And that would mean added barrels of oil for us.

Lowery smiled. Well said. The question, sirs, is whether we tell Captain Gifford now or later.

Meller’s head bobbed with silent laughter.

Chapter 2

Next day--Falmouth-by-the sea

The sun splayed rays through the clouds onto the salt meadows below the Gifford house. The house was a decade old, plain clapboard not cedar shingled as so many Cape houses.

The house had a dirt cellar, safe for root vegetables and cooling milk. Four rooms comprised the first floor--the west-facing rear kitchen, with its iron coal stove that heated both the kitchen and most of the floor. The diningroom and parlors were separated by a hallway that led to the front door. The main parlor was the family sitting room. The second parlor, smaller, had been a tool room when the elder Mr. Gifford was alive. It still contained shovels, pruning shears, and picks.

This morning Gifford sat at the dining table, even though he had finished breakfast an hour before. He could hear his mother in the kitchen, cleaning plates and fry pan. She spent her whole life in that room, Gifford mused. He stared out the window and not at the two-day old Boston newspaper he had been reading. Its columns this late September day in 1858 were filled with Washington political news, the unending controversy over states’ rights, and the new Whig party, to be called Republican.

Gifford had shipped to southern ports, such as Charleston and Savannah in his recent maritime past. The cities had impressed him with their buildings and warm way of life. It was the people, however, that had bothered him. They had all seemed determined that he know how they felt about slavery. He didn’t care for slavery but found that their defense was louder than he could bear. If there is no good reason to say it, his late father had taught him, don’t say it.

As he watched the sheep move slowly across the salt marsh outside the diningroom side window, Gifford remembered he would have to take the dog and herd them later. The hired man had found new employment at the salt works in Falmouth, and Gifford would have to find a new hand. The sheep and their wool kept his mother as financially secure as any local widow could be in the town.

He mused about her argument the night before, as they sat before the small fireplace in the front parlor. Why don’t you return to the schooner? she had asked. It would mean you would be home twice a month. If you go back to blue water shipping it would be for years... Her unspoken thought was that she wouldn’t see her only son for years, and by the time he returned, she might be gone. Gifford was unsure how old his mother was. It was not a topic to be spoken in his family. He guessed she was in her 50s, at a time when women, if they had survived diseases of the young, and childbirth, succumbed to the prevalent consumption that thinned population of every town in the country.

Gifford had seen it among his own sailors, men who at first seemed hearty, and who over a short time, paled, thinned, coughed blood and died because their body broke.

He heard his mother’s step behind him. Without turning, he said, I will take the trap and go down to the village for the mail. Haven’t collected it for two days. Do you need anything? He knew his mother would give him a short list, hurriedly scrawled on a scrap of wallpaper with her short pencil stub. Gifford had learned not to suggest items, nor buy them because he thought she needed them. His mother was proud and would not admit she could not afford items.

They had made a bargain the year before when Gifford had shipped out as master on the coastal schooner, home from his last long voyage. He would give her an allowance, rather than most of his lays at one time. As master of the schooner, he was paid upon completing a voyage and delivering a cargo. The lay was a share based on the cargo value, less expenses to the ship’s owner. His last voyage had netted Gifford $300. He had considered asking one of his father’s relatives in town to distribute the allowance to his mother, but decided against it. It would be too much temptation, he decided, for relatives who had to scratch a living in the town by the sea, to handle the money. His relatives lived from season to season as shell fishermen, working in the sea salt ponds, and as hired labor.

Instead, Gifford spoke to the head teller of the bank in the village, a man he had known since his youth. The teller opened an account, and said he would see that Mrs. Gifford got a small monthly allowance once Gifford shipped again.

The sun warmed his back, as coatless, Gifford put the family horse in harness to the two-place trap. The road to the village was empty as he snapped the reins for the horse to move at a faster clip. The summer had been dry and the sandy roads were not pleasant, especially with carriage traffic throwing billowing dust in all directions. A mile south of his house, Gifford heard the clatter of a team behind him. Without turning he knew it was the Boston stage, making its final leg to the village, and Woods Hull four miles beyond. He tugged the reins, pulling the trap to the side of the road, as the stage rolled past. Gifford nodded to the stage driver whom he had seen on past trips.

Falmouth town, with its spread-out villages, was connected to the mainland by this stage. It was the overland route to New Bedford, Fall River and north to Boston. One could ship by sailboat or schooner to those places, or by the small ferries, but most visitors and goods came by stage. There was talk, Gifford knew, of extending the railroad from Boston to New Bedford, and perhaps to Falmouth. But no one had predicted when this would happen. Gifford dismounted the trap by the mercantile store, an old house on the village’s Main Street. He noticed a familiar figure approaching as he tied the reins to the post.

Ahoyཀ Captain Joyce, Gifford said as the older man approached. Joyce limped and leaned on a walnut cane. He was dressed in a dark, double-breasted coat and old gray trousers to big for his short frame.

Young Gifford. You still on the beach? Joyce asked in a loud voice. Gifford knew to respond loudly, as the older man’s hearing was diminished.

Yes, no word yet from New Bedford...

Ah, well, it’ll come, Joyce said.

If they chose another master, I’ll have to go up to Boston, or perhaps over to New York to find a ship.

Joyce grunted. You could stay on the beach, maybe farm, raise sheep. Buy some land. Do some more coastal shipping. We could use some service from this old town.

Would if I could. But there’s not much coin in it, Gifford said.

Chapter 3

October--New Bedford, blue-water hands

The New Bedford quay bustled with carpenters and iron men climbing aboard and off the three barks tied up along the main pier—two on one side. The lone bark was Halcyon, righted on her beam after the two weeks’ coppering her bottom. A gang of men from the sail loft on the quay hauled wrapped new sails aboard.

Henry Gifford watched from pier side, resting his own bottom on a stack of barrel staves. Gifford smoked a long, curved pipe. He had just finished a mutton-chop and potato lunch at his boarding house and he was at peace with the day. He felt the morning had gone well—he had interviewed and hired his first, second and third mates. First mate was Eli Goffen, who had shipped with Gifford on the coastal schooner, a tall, silent Maine man born to blue water. Second mate John Manning, of Boston, a short Irisher, was a carpenter by trade, valuable to direct the seamen in all the coopering tasks needed to build whale-oil barrels at sea, as well as keep the ship afloat.

Third mate James Silversing was a whaleman from Fairhaven, across the harbor, a tall, quiet Yankee. Silversing claimed to be a hard man with the spike. All three, plus Gifford, would command the three whaleboats aboard Halcyon. Two other boats were stored atop the hurricane deck on slats, as whalers expected boats to be stove in during the hunt when whales surfaced and smashed them with their flukes.

Goffen was the only mate Gifford was sure of, and the one he gave the order that morning to find an able crew. Gifford had shipped with Goffen before the mast aboard the whaler Ada King and on the coastal schooner. Normally, a bark of Halcyon’s size would crew from 18 to 20 men. Gifford was direct when he spoke to Goffen over lunch. "I intend short voyage, none of this four-years and water rationing. We will hunt the beasts and find them and quick back.

I think it wicked to ship without purpose over the earth. These beasts move with the seasons and we shall move with them. Find me a crew that knows blue water. But watch, Gifford warned, That you don’t ship men who need to leave the beach, or who will leave us at first victual port.

Goffen grunted his understanding and left the captain on the street, off to find a crew to meet Gifford’s requirements.

Gifford mused pier side that it would be luck to find such seamen, as the run of available men this year was not superior. Even in this business slump. There was no lack of older hands but they were time worn and dangerous to ship. The older hands fell from rigging; they often carried disease that felled them at sea; and they had a disturbing tendency to jump ship at distant ports if all was not to their liking.

On the other hand, it was difficult to ship with a green crew, young men without experience as blue-water hands. They needed older hands to show them the rigging, how to stand watch, especially at night, crew the bounding whaleboats when they pulled for the beast. And stay with the beast when it took the spike.

The serious work began after—bringing the beast to ship side, where the dangerous cutting began with sharp saws on poles, then hauling the strips to the on deck boiling try pot where the blubber was reduced to oil and scrap. It was work for lively men. Ideally, the best age for seamen was from 17 to 22, Gifford knew. The life was too rugged beyond 30, unless one was an officer or master carpenter, or maybe cook.

Food, he knew from experience, was a main concern aboard. Ports needed plot well ahead; weather interfered, and crew grew tired of the same boiled potatoes and salt pork and beef, and then they groused that the officers got better food. Gifford was determined to cut that—he and the other officers would take the same meals as crew, filling their plates at the cook shed on deck, though they would eat aft in the small room forward of the captain’s cabin below deck.

The sun warmed Gifford as he watched the sail riggers move along the spars, and yardarms. The sails, he knew, could make Halcyon a successful voyager, or a wreck.

Gifford turned as he heard a carriage roll to a stop at pier end. He saw Hiram Wright climb down and dismiss the driver before ambling toward him.

Hoཀ Cap’n. The old bark looks shipshape. Should be, considerin’ what it cost us to redo her bottom and put ‘er sails right.

Gifford grunted. Of the three principals financing the voyage, he found Mr. Wright the least agreeable after Gifford had gotten the letter offering him the captaincy two weeks before, while the warm winds still blew.

Now it was chill enough to wear a wool coat when out of the sun. Chill or not, he was pleased to be going back to sea—to warmer seas. He was pleased—now he could return to blue-water sailing on his terms. He found, however, his position was not entirely on his terms after meeting again with the three owners. He found them arguing among themselves about their lays, and whether or not the cost of outfitting Halcyon was to be deducted first from all shares, crew included, or just from the principals’ shares. Captain Lowery was outspokenly in favor of the latter. We will take the majority share, he yelled at one point, and we can damn well take the expense. Men will not risk their lives on the deep if they know that we are asking a portion of their share for the upkeep of our property.

Gifford was not surprised by the owners’ discord. He had heard worse in other counting houses. He did not, however, care for the way that Wright seemed to shift from owner to owner, smiling wide and urging compromise.

Gifford was pleased with his lay, spelled out in a precise document at 27 ½ percent of the whale oil captured during the voyage, at the market price when Halcyon returned. Depending on season and the market, the net could vary widely. Gifford was authorized to carry $200 gold for victuals and crew payments.

Gifford also made the owners put in writing, to show crew that purchases from the equipment and clothing locker, called the slop chest, would be at owners’ cost—no mark up. Seamen wore out trousers and jackets quickly. They lost tools overboard. There was no good reason to pay extra, even though this practice was standard on whale ships.

Whaling, once the principal occupation of New Bedford and New England, was lagging as young men found easier work in the new textile mills. These brick barns offered regular pay for a 12-hour day, inside, out of the winter weather. The jobs of spinners and sorters were left to young women from the farm but a young mechanic handy with mill machinery could make a career, and, a family he could return to each night. The sailor’s life, while adventurous still to many young men, was recognized as dangerous. Accidents and disease far from home kept the nervous on the beach.

The rewards of whaling were well known, too. A young man on a lucky voyage who returned home to a strong market in whale oil could earn enough to buy a farm and marry. Or return to the sea, leaving his earnings in a tavern keeper’s till. Gifford knew from experience seamen spent faster than they earned.

Mr. Wright wandered the pier while Gifford mused. A few moments later the older, heavier Wright approached and pushed his right index finger in Gifford’s chest.

We want Halcyon ready to sail Sunday after services. Gifford wondered why Sunday, normally a day of rest for the pious of New England.

It’d be a push, Gifford replied. The chandlers need to pack away the supplies, after the riggers get the sails unlimbered. Dozens of chores before a whaler could leave port.

I’ll see to it that we make the tide Sunday, if that’s your wish.

It is, Wright said. I’ll have my bags delivered to the ship Saturday, the older man added.

Before Gifford could ask why a principal was shipping, Wright turned and walked stiffly up the pier.

Chapter 4

Dockside--Edgar Dillingham

Gifford held muster for his new crew at 8 a.m. Saturday. It was chill morning, with a south wind that promised rain. The first mate had rounded up 19 men, not counting the cook and a cabin boy, a youth named Edgar Dillingham. At first Gifford thought the boy was a runaway, as were so many who shipped at his age. Instead, the 13-year-old came with a letter from Captain Joyce at Falmouth that explained the boy had been orphaned the month before and needed a berth.

The captain had talked with the boy and found him an alert young fellow who had worked sail with his parents and other relatives for years. Gifford decided Edgar was seaworthy.

Silversing had recommended the ship’s steward, Abe Taber, another Fairhaven man, a whaler who was crippled on a past voyage. A whale’s fluke had broken his boat, and Taber’s right leg in two places. Taber survived, but at age 28 was not nimble in the shrouds, thus he took a steward’s position. The steward was responsible for meal service and cabin upkeep for the ship’s officers, and whatever chores the master found. Gifford found Taber to be as silent as Silversing, and he was not surprised to be told they were relatives.

Gifford gave out the printed copy of ship’s articles to those who could read, but all had to sign it, even with an X. The articles explained how the ship’s crew would get shares, or lays, of the whale-oil harvest. They would be fed at the expense of the ship’s principals, but if they needed new clothing beyond what they brought to the forecastle, the below deck quarters at ship’s prow, they would have to pay—at cost.

"You know what you came awhaling for. You came to make a voyage. You didn’t come to play-you came for oil. You came to work.

"You must do what the officers tell you, and work when there’s work to be done. We didn’t ship you to be idle…We will all work.

"I will not allow any fighting on this ship. Come aft to me and I’ll decide any argument. If I find anyone fighting, then they will be fighting me.

"I’ll have no swearing, neither. It’s bad practice and leads to bad feeling among crew.

"If any one steals, he can expect punishment. And that will be a flogging and hanging in the rigging.

We will have good grub aboard, and all will share—me, the other officers and you. No favorites. Don’t grumble. We shall make port for vittles when it’s necessary. Cook here, or as we call him, ‘Doctor,’ will do his best. The cook was a free born black man, well regarded from other voyages, according to Goffen, who found the older black man in a local restaurant and talked him into shipping. Too many whaler captain used the cook’s job as punishment for the crew. Gifford and Goffen knew that was a mistake. Better someone with skills.

I want the foc’s’le kept clean. And yourselves. It helps with sickness. This is a rough business we’re in.

Here Gifford paused and paced the deck for a minute. Do the work. I intend a quick voyage but a greasy one, so we can dock at New Bedford will a hull full of oil. So, keep an eye out for whale—the sooner we fill the hold, the quicker we get home.

Gifford went on to explain that the crew could take issue from the locker and a charge would be logged and deducted when lays were determined at voyage end.

Once the formalities were completed, Gifford introduced his mates and the cook—who had prepared coffee in his shack on the main deck, The men fell into line, chose tin cups and waited while the cook poured from a large pot. Meals for the men would be put in small wood buckets called a kid. Officers would be served on tin trays and eat in the aft compartment below, often carried to them by young Dillingham.

Gifford studied the men closely. Aside from his mates, the men were strangers who may or may not prove to be good sailors, may or may not be signing on for good reason, may or may not be sought by the authorities. Such was the pool from which such commercial ventures drew crew. There was no telling now, Gifford thought, how many would stick.

The men, holding the hot tins of coffee, arranged themselves along the deck. Gifford noted some had carried fiddles and guitars among their sea chests still on the pier. The chandler had delivered the necessary gear the voyage required. The pier was crowded with lumber.

Gifford stepped forward. "When you finish your coffee, the mates will direct you in hauling our goods aboard. You can see we have barrels, boxes, cordwood, chains, harpoons, lances, cutting spades, oil ladles, and grind stones. All need to be stored.

"The cooper here, Mr. Manning, will also direct a party to put a wood shed around this open wheel—we call it a hurricane house -- so that the watch will be protected in hard weather. I’ve inspected the new brick try works forward and it appears well done.

The provisioner will be aboard this afternoon, with sides of beef, pork, hard bread, flour, potatoes, apples and the water casks, Gifford said.

Gifford cleared his throat. "I intend a short voyage, and we will run down as many beasts we can find. I have no taste for sailing for the enjoyment of it.

Most of you know blue water is hard work. If you are not up to it, or know you are ill, get off this ship now. No one will complain. Gifford knew his offer was most unusual, as most masters would not allow any crew to leave once the articles were signed.

No seaman left. Soon they were at work, hauling equipment and stores aboard. A few were put to work repainting the white, blue and black false ports on the ship’s side that were made to resemble gun ports. A whaler did not carry guns; the false ports were a Yankee attempt to mislead pirates and other nations’ navies.

Halcyon’s weapons consisted of a dozen muskets, two short shotguns, and a brace of Colt pistols that Gifford brought aboard. By tradition, ship’s officers went unarmed, except in the face of mutiny or to repel unwelcome boarders.

By mid afternoon Gifford saw that most goods were stored. His cabin held his sea chest, and cook was making dinner. The men, Gifford decided, could sleep aboard this night. Tomorrow Halcyon would move on the afternoon tide.

Gifford, below deck, did not notice the arrival of Mr. Wright and a young woman. He was hailed to the boat deck to greet the principal. The captain noted the tall woman in the dark brown dress with a bow and removed of his beaver hat.

My daughter, Emily, Wright said. She will be sailing with us.

Chapter 5

Puzzling passenger--On the Tide

Mr. Wright smiled and looked around the deck at the men stowing goods. Captain Gifford stood mute for some moments, shocked by the owner’s statement. While it was not unusual for some owners to take passage on a whaler, it was damned unusual for a single woman, not the captain’s wife.

In fact most mariners thought a single woman aboard was bad luck.

Captain Gifford stared at the young woman in the blue cloak and dark dress. She wore a large dark hat that covered her hair and some of her face, She wore flat shoes and stood as tall as Gifford—about 5-9, tall for a woman, he thought.

Gifford cleared his throat before speaking. "Mr. Wright, I don’t

understand. No one told me that you were sailing with us, nor…" and Gifford waved to the young woman.

I guess not, Wright said. But here we are.

But we have no provision for yourself and…

"Of course you