It was clear to Jack - though I don't see why - that it was murder. The captain ordered a fore to aft search throughout the ship for the 'missing' preacher but not a hair could be produced after a half hour.

"Must have been blown overboard in the storm last night," said Chief Mate Hawkins as the crew exchanged theories about the missing preacher.

"Ah, no doubt," said Captain Pendleton, who ordered an immediate ceremony and absentee burial at sea in honor of Master Whittemore. "Perhaps a bit of rum played a part in this tragedy," the captain told the crew. "Such a tragedy. What a waste."

"Aye sir, no doubt, the preacher liked his rum," said Master-at-Arms Tom Foster, a short barrel-chested man who liked to whack crew members on the side of the head with the back of his hand if he caught them day dreaming or slacking off when they were supposed to be working.

"And he was careless about how he walked the deck in a storm," said Hawkins. "Should have had a line attached to him but you couldn't tell him nothing. I told him to lay off the drink just yesterday but he told me to mind my business - it was insubordination. But I let it pass. He was drunk too when he gave that sermon on Sunday."

"Twas bound to happen sooner or later," said the cooper, John Andrews. "I mean, the man had no sense coming aboard with all this doom and gloom talk about abolishing slavery or else. The man was asking for trouble. Nay, he was a'beggin for it."

"And trouble he got," said the carpenter, Horace Wilkins. "Aye, the man was a darn fool if ya ask me and didn't belong at sea."

"You're right about that. He belonged up in Massachusetts with those damn Yankees," said the cook, Wendell Atkinson. "Ain't had no business on our ship talkin' like he was, and a'tellin' us what we are supposed think about the darkies and all."

I wanted to go to the master's defense but Jack, sensing my agitation, placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered, "Not now. Son!" The rain was driving sideways now. The service was kept short. Jack whispered to me, "Someone on this ship hated what he said enough to kill him and we owe it to master to find out who it was."

Then the captain spoke: "Many of us did not really get a chance to know this fine sailor. And we hope that his family will be alright, assuming he has family somewhere. He was a good man, although some would say, misguided, and others had tried to stop his drinking which, as we all know, is prohibited while on this ship on the high seas. This is what happens, men, to those who go against the ship's rules. And yet, he was a good man. He'll be missed and we commend his soul now to the deep and pray to God, men, that he will rest in peace and we all are glad that his resting place be with you, dear Lord, in the deep sea - a fitting place to end for any sailor. God be with him. We commend the soul of this preacher to the deep. Amen."

"Amen," said the entire crew. The rain poured out of the grey skies.

The official cause of death entered into the ship's log by the captain was "washed overboard in heavy seas, no line tied to his body, the first mate and others suspect rum a factor, Mr. Whittemore earlier told one or more to 'mind your own business' when warned about violating the alcohol prohibition."

But Jack said the captain and the first mate appeared to be concerned and angry after the sermon two days past. "We've got to keep low like master warned and bide our time," Jack said. "Keep an eye and an ear out to what is up now!"

"Right," I said. "Don't want to end up washed overboard!"