An Excerpt From David Grann's Most Recent Book, The Wager
I fist became acquainted to David Grann’s writing via a long piece published in The New Yorker way back in 2005: The Lost City of Z. Encouraged by the audience’s positive reactions, Grann went on and expanded upon the aforementioned piece, publishing few years later a book with the same title. It is a fascinating read about the adventures of one Col. Percy Harrison Fawcett, a British surveyor. Having stumbled upon on a document (i.e. Manuscript 512 held at the National Library in Brazil), he developed an obsession for what he thought were the ruins of an ancient city buried deep in the Amazonian forest. There’s a movie as well, released back in 2016, perhaps not as good as the book but an engaging experience nonetheless.
David Grann’s success continued and now we’re expecting yet another Hollywood movie based on one of his writings: Killers of The Flower Moon, directed by Scorsese. And I have a feeling that his latest non-fiction piece, i.e. The Wager* is slated for an adaptation, since it has solid movie material. *It tells the story of a British shipwreck that happened during the war with Spain in the 1740s. Below is an excerpt from the book to whet your appetite.
“Each man in the squadron carried, along with a sea chest, his own burdensome story. Perhaps it was of a scorned love, or a secret prison conviction, or a pregnant wife left onshore weeping. Perhaps it was a hunger for fame and fortune, or a dread of death. David Cheap, the first lieutenant of the Centurion, the squadron's flagship, was no different. A burly Scotsman in his early forties, with a protracted nose and intense eyes, he was in flight — from squabbles with his brother over their inheritance, from creditors chasing him, from debts that made it impossible for him to find a suitable bride. Onshore, Cheap seemed doomed, unable to navigate past life's unexpected shoals. Yet, as he perched on the quarterdeck of a British man-of-war, cruising the vast oceans with a cocked hat and spyglass, he brimmed with confidence — even, some would say, a touch of haughtiness. The wooden world of a ship — a world bound by the Navy's rigid regulations and the laws of the sea and, most of all, by the hardened fellowship of men — had provided him a refuge. Suddenly, he felt a crystalline order, a clarity of purpose. And Cheap's newest posting, despite the innumerable risks that it carried, from plagues and drowning to enemy cannon fire, offered what he longed for: a chance to finally claim a wealthy prize and rise to captain his own ship.
The problem was that he could not get away from the damned land. He was trapped-cursed, really-at the dockyard in Portsmouth, along the English Channel, struggling with feverish futility to get the Centurion fitted out and ready to sail. Its massive wooden hull, a hundred and forty-four feet long and forty feet wide, was moored at a slip. Carpenters, caulkers, riggers, and joiners combed over its decks like rats (which were also plentiful). A cacophony of hammers and saws. The cobblestone streets past the shipyard were congested with rattling wheelbarrows and horse-drawn wagons, with porters, peddlers, pickpockets, sailors, and prostitutes. Periodically, a boatswain blew a chilling whistle, and crewmen stumbled from ale shops, parting from old or new sweethearts, hurrying to their departing ships in order to avoid their officers' lashes.”
Grann is masterful at both telling the larger tale and inserting wonderful turns of phrase throughout. So far it’s been a most rewarding read.