Captain's Log, Part 6

Refitted and Rejected

When Apores resigned his commission and left his ship for the island, he assumed that he would never command another vessel. As he visited ship after ship, however, he became convinced that the Admiral’s navy was in horrible disarray. He began to reflect that perhaps the Admiral had allowed him to pass through his experiences so that he might help to correct the problem.

What is more, he began to remember that some of his old friends and mentors—those whom he had known in command school—had said more about the Destination and the Star than he had recalled. He thought about the Didymus brothers, for instance. Remus had taught him to travel through time and to put himself inside the minds of men long dead. Romulus had first helped him to read charts and to plot courses through difficult seas—and if those had been mere classroom excursions, they were nevertheless the foundation of all that he knew about navigation. He thought fondly of the aged Sardonis, who loved the Destination and knew the old captains. Sardonis was the one who had first raised Apores’s eyes toward the Star. Most of all, he thought of his friend Snedissid, whose bantering remonstrances had introduced him to certain charts and logs that he would never have encountered on his own.

He knew that these men loved the Admiral. They were men who loved the Destination and the Star. They hadn’t abandoned him when he had left his ship for the island. No, they were friends who loved at all times. They had invested in him, and he owed them some return on their investment.

Apores no longer questioned himself or his beliefs. He had come to settled convictions about what a captain’s duty must be. He knew how a ship ought to be ordered and sailed. Surprisingly, he no longer concerned himself with whether he could actually command a ship, for the simple reason that he no longer thought much about himself at all. He was in the grip of an idea, and the idea had consumed him.

Nevertheless, he was also a crewman aboard the Southern Fundie, and even his newly strengthened convictions told him that he had a duty to that ship. His duty, he knew, was definitely not to take the command away from Captain Fardeau. Rather, he must assist the crew and its captain in any way that would make the Fundie a better vessel and that would help it reach the Destination.

Captain Fardeau’s attitude toward Apores, however, seemed ambivalent. He had been glad enough when Apores volunteered for service, but then he had given Apores no duties. He seemed simply to want Apores to sit as quietly as possible aboard ship. Since Captain Fardeau was no man to be trifled with, Apores complied.

He soon noticed that all was not well aboard the Southern Fundie. Indeed, the ship was about to face a terrible storm—not from without, but from within. The first hint that Apores had of the approaching tempest took the form of an address to the crew by Captain Fardeau. Upon the astonished sailors, the captain unleashed a torrent of threatenings and slaughter, using the sort of language normally reserved for the worst mutineers. Apores had heard of no mutiny, but Fardeau assured him that a mutiny was indeed under way. Foolishly, Apores inquired how he could help the captain. In return for his concern he was told, “Steer clear, ye lubber!”

And so Apores did. He tried to keep out of the captain’s way. He tried to keep out of the mutineers’ way, too, though he had no idea who they might be. To his surprise, he later discovered that the captain was telling people that Apores himself was one of the mutineers! But he knew nothing of this at the time, which was just as well.

After the captain’s tirade against the crew, relationships aboard the ship grew more strained with each passing day. A couple of months later, Captain Fardeau announced that he had found another ship, one that would honor him and follow his orders like the Southern Fundie would not. After firing another verbal carronade against the crew, he thumped down the gangplank and never looked back.

For a moment, the sailors looked at each other in astonishment. Then the storm broke. Almost immediately, officers within the crew split into two gangs. Hard words were exchanged, and it became clear that a battle was imminent. At this point, Apores tried to intervene. “Brothers!” he cried. “There is no cause to fight one another. Do we not all serve the Admiral? How can the Admiral’s sailors go to battle against each other?”

But sailors on both sides thirsted for blood. Steel was drawn, and blade clashed against blade. Shots were fired. Eventually, members of each gang turned the ship’s cannons against the other gang.

Most of the crew was simply caught in the middle. They could not understand what would provoke this kind of butchery among leaders of the Admiral’s vessel. Slowly at first and then more rapidly, they began to abandon ship.

Because the two factions were about evenly matched, the battle dragged on and on. Many innocent members of the crew were mangled in the melee. Some jumped overboard while others were made to walk the plank. The first mate was heaved bodily into shark-infested waters.

Meanwhile, the wheel spun crazily, and the ship’s rudder shattered. All restraint was cast off, and the ship drifted in its own gale. As the violence increased, huge sections of the superstructure were blown away. Masts disappeared, sails were shredded, and cannons blasted enormous holes in the hull. The ship itself floundered and was about to sink, but still the fight went on.

Angered by the spectacle, Apores seized a cutlass and aimed a stroke at the nearest aggressor. At that very instant, however, he saw his own ferocity reflected in the eyes of the other. Horrified at what he was about to do, Apores felt the fury draining out of him. He let the cutlass slip from his grasp. Looking at the aggressor he said, “My brother, I will not fight you. What I was about to do would dishonor our Admiral. I have wronged you, and I am sorry.”

Instead of forgiveness, he saw the gleam of victory in the other’s eyes. “What a weakling,” the other spat out. “You don’t even have the courage to stand and fight me. Well, I’m not letting you off so easily.”

“It’s not a question of courage,” replied Apores. “It’s a question of love.” He turned to go—and at that moment the other plunged his blade into Apores’s back. Full of pain, Apores began to gasp for breath.

At that exact moment, the Southern Fundie was rent by a tremendous explosion. Apores was thrown high into the air. As he came down, he found himself plunging into icy water. Sputtering and gasping in pain, he struggled to the surface and grasped a piece of wreckage. There he clung like a bedraggled rat, wondering whether he would live or die.

Teach Me, My God and King

George Herbert (1593-1633)

Teach me, my God and King,
In all things thee to see,
And what I do in anything,
To do it as for thee.

A man that looks on glass,
On it may stay his eye,
Or, if he pleaseth, through it pass,
And then the heav’n espy.

All may of thee partake:
Nothing can be so mean
Which with this motive, “For thy sake,”
Will not grow bright and clean.

This is the famous stone
That turneth all to gold;
For that which God doth touch and own
Cannot for less be told.

This essay is by Dr. Kevin T. Bauder, president of Central Baptist Theological Seminary (Plymouth, MN). Not every professor, student, or alumnus of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.