by Avi
“Mr. Zachariah, I must beg you to refrain—”
“But Andrew Jaggery could find not one other jack to sign with the Seahawk. They were all warned away.”
As soon as he said that my mind went to the Liverpool dock men who fled, the one upon hearing the captain’s name, the other upon seeing the Seahawk.
But the next moment I turned and said, “But Mr. Zachariah, what about these men?”
“On this ship?”
“Yes.”
“Miss Doyle, I only said other men were kept away.”
Suddenly I began to understand. “Are these his former crew?” I asked.
His eyes were hard upon me now, frightening me.
“On the Seahawk?” I demanded.
He nodded. “Only Mr. Hollybrass is new.” Then he added, “And Mr. Cranick could not sign.”
I stared at him for a moment and by sheer force of will said, “If Captain Jaggery was so cruel, why should they have signed on again?”
Zachariah leaned close to me. “Revenge,” he whispered.
“Revenge?” I echoed weakly.
The old man nodded. “Because of all this I gave you that dirk.”
Automatically my hand touched it in my pocket.
“They”—he lowered his voice even as he indicated the deck with a movement of his head—“know your father’s name. They know the captain works for him. They assume you’ll stand …”
“Mr. Zachariah,” I cut in with the only voice I had—a faint whisper—“I have nothing but respect for the captain.”
“Exactly.”
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Then Zachariah asked, “Where have you kept this dirk I gave you?”
“Under my mattress.”
“Miss Doyle, I beg of you—keep it there still.”
At that very instant we were startled by a noise. We looked around. It was Mr. Hollybrass, peering at us from behind his shaggy brows like some spy, his frown indicative of his displeasure in seeing us closeted so.
“Miss Doyle,” the first mate said. “Compliments of Captain Jaggery. And would you be kind enough to join him in his quarters for tea?”
NEVER HAD I MET WITH SUCH IMPERTINENCE! THAT THIS ZACHARIAH, MY INFERIOR, a cook, should tell such a slanderous tale of violence and cruelty regarding Captain Jaggery to me—as though it were a confidence—was deeply mortifying. I would not, could not believe it! You can imagine then my relief at being rescued by Mr. Hollybrass.
With head held high and fingers smoothing dress and hair as best I could, I hurriedly followed the first mate from the galley to the captain’s cabin—at the far end of the steerage—under the ever-watchful eyes of the crew. More than once I touched the dirk that lay in my pocket. I was resolved to give it to the captain.
Whether or not I should tell the captain what I’d just heard was a more delicate question. To confess that I’d even been spoken to in such an offending fashion would have made me feel acutely uncomfortable. But not to speak of it would smack of complicity.
Before I could make up my mind, Mr. Hollybrass had knocked upon the captain’s door, and upon hearing an “Enter!” he opened it. I stepped forward.
Every other place I’d seen aboard the Seahawk had a rough, crude look, with not the slightest hint of style or culture about them. The captain’s cabin was a world apart.
It extended the full width of the Seahawk. And I found I could stand up in it with room to spare. The walls were richly paneled and hung with miniatures and pretty pastoral prints of dear England. On the back wall—the stern of the ship—there was a row of windows, below which stood a handsome stuffed sofa. A high bed was built into the port side. A desk with neatly stacked charts and nautical instruments in velvet boxes faced it on the starboard wall. Next to the desk was an iron cabinet that I took to be a safe, not unlike my father’s. In one corner I spied a chessboard, pieces at the ready. Finally, a table, with a few chairs about it, had been laid with a silver service for tea.
Had there been no creak and groan of timbers, no rattle of rigging and chain, no hiss of waves, I might have been excused for forgetting that we were at sea.
To complete this elegant picture, Captain Jaggery sat upon one of a pair of armchairs in fine full dress, an open book on his knee. It was, in fact, the Bible. When I came in he rose to his feet and made an elegant bow.
Could anything be in greater contrast to my meeting with Zachariah? I was charmed.
“Miss Doyle,” he said, “how kind of you to visit.”
Wishing to present myself in the best possible fashion, I moved forward with one hand out. He took it graciously. Then he turned to the first mate. “Mr. Hollybrass,” he said briskly, “that will be all.”
Mr. Hollybrass presented a salute and retired.
“Miss Doyle,” Captain Jaggery continued with a gracious smile even as he carefully closed and put down his Bible, “would you be good enough to sit.” He held the other upholstered seat out for me.
“Thank you,” I said, thrilled to be treated in this ladylike fashion.
“You seem surprised,” he said, “to find such fine things in my cabin.”
I blushed that he should discover me so. “It is very nice,” I admitted.
“How gracious of you to appreciate it,” he said soothingly. “It’s not often I have a person of cultivation—like you—aboard my ship to notice. I fear a crew such as mine has little liking for good taste or, alas, order. It offends them. But then, you and I—people of our class—we understand the better things of life, don’t we?”
Again I blushed, this time with pleasure.
“May I,” he said, “offer you some tea?”
I was awash with tea, but was not about to refuse him.
“Some biscuits?” He offered a tin of Scottish thins. I took one and nibbled daintily. Crisp and buttery. Delicious.
“A ship like the Seahawk,” he went on, “is not designed for comfort, but for commerce, for making money. Still, I do the best I can.” He poured a cup of tea for himself.
“I was informed,” he said, resuming his seat, “that you had recovered, and was so glad to hear it. May I urge you, Miss Doyle, to promenade in the fresh air as much as possible. You will soon be as healthy—healthier—than you ever were.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It is regrettable that those other two families could not join us. They would have made your voyage that much more pleasant. Mine too.”
“Yes, sir.”
He smiled. “Do you know, I have a daughter.”
“Do you?”
He got up, removed a little picture from a wall, and held it up for me to see. It was the face of a dear little child, her eyes large, her mouth sweet. “Victoria is her name. She’s only five. Some day I hope to have her and her mother on board with me. But for the moment the child is too delicate.”
“She’s very lovely, sir,” I said, reaching for the picture. He drew it back as if unable to part with it even for a moment.
“If I may take the liberty of saying so, Miss Doyle, you and she could be charming sisters. I do miss her.” His eyes lingered on the picture in a most affecting way. Then he placed it carefully back on the wall, never for a moment taking his eyes from the child’s face. He turned about. “Are you comfortable in your cabin?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, sir,” I assured him.
“A bit cramped no doubt.”
“Only a little.”
“Miss Doyle, I offer you the freedom of the ship. As for your meals, you may join me whenever you choose. I don’t think you will find the crew to your liking, of course, but there will be no harm in being friendly to them. The truth is, you will do them a world of good.”
“It’s kind of you to say, sir,” I replied, appreciating the compliment. He was watching me with an earnestness I found irresistible.
“Talk to them, Miss Doyle,” he urged. “Show them a little softness. Read to them from your moral books. Preach the gospel if you have a mi
nd. Listen to their tales. I promise, they will fill your pretty head with the most fantastical notions.”
“I’m sure, sir,” I said, thinking back to all Zachariah had told me. The captain’s behavior at tea was proof enough—for me—of his true goodness.
“I gather,” he continued, “that Mr. Zachariah has already befriended you.”
I drew myself up. “He’s been a bit presumptuous.”
“These sailors …” the captain said lazily. “They have no natural tenderness. They must be instructed.” He studied me a while. “How old are you Miss Doyle?”
“Thirteen, sir.”
“And your father, I understand, is an officer of the company that owns this ship.”
“Yes, sir.”
He smiled. “Then, you see, I have even more reason to make sure your time with us is as comfortable as possible. I shall want a good report from you.”
“Oh, sir,” I exclaimed enthusiastically, “I’m sure I’ll not be stinting in my praise. You seem so—”
“Yes?”
“You remind me of my father,” I said, blushing yet again.
“High praise, which I hope to deserve!” he cried with such obvious pleasure that I could not help but be gratified. Then he set down his teacup and leaned forward. “Miss Doyle, forgive my rough tongue, but, since we are to be friends—we are already friends, are we not?”
“I would very much like that, sir.”
“And you said I remind you of your esteemed father.”
“You do, sir.”
“Then may I be frank with you?”
“If you wish, sir,” I returned, flattered anew.
“A ship, Miss Doyle, I will be the first to admit, is not the most wholesome place for a refined young lady like yourself. And a captain has not the easiest of tasks, considering the nature of the crew he must command. They are godless men, I fear. Sailors often are.
“There will be moments,” he continued, “when I will appear harsh to you. Believe me, if I could with kindness encourage the men to achieve their tasks I would do it. Alas, I would gain no respect. They don’t understand kindness. Instead, they see it as weakness. Instead, they demand a strong hand, a touch of the whip, like dumb beasts who require a little bullying. I must do what is best for the ship, the company—which is to say your father—and for them. I am a punctilious man, Miss Doyle. Without order there is chaos. Chaos on shipboard is sailing without a rudder. As for danger …” He gestured toward the iron safe.
“Do you see that cabinet?”
I nodded.
“A rack of muskets. All loaded. But locked, the key secured. You have my word, Miss Doyle, there are no other guns aboard but mine.”
“I’m very glad, sir,” I replied with a shiver.
“And so you and I, Miss Doyle, shall understand one another, shall we not?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I’m sure, sir.”
“You do my heart good!” he cried. “And you have permission to come to me if you are troubled in any way, Miss Doyle. If something frightens you, or … if perhaps, you become … how shall I say … apprehensive. If you hear rumors among the men … This crew, like all crews, grumbles and complains. You go to school?” he asked suddenly.
I nodded.
“And though you love it, and love your mistresses, I’m sure even you and your companions have critical things to say.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“It’s much the same here, Miss Doyle. All friends, but … a few grumbles too. In fact I shall ask you to help me. You can be my eyes and ears among the men, Miss Doyle. May I depend on you for that?”
“I’ll try sir.”
“If ever you see something like this …” From the Bible he withdrew a paper. On it was a drawing of two circles, one within the other and with what looked like signatures in the space between.
I looked at it blankly.
“A round robin,” he said. “The men sign it this way so no name shall appear on top, or bottom. How typical of them not to accept responsibility for their own wayward actions. It’s a kind of pact.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Miss Doyle, those who sign such a thing—a round robin—mean to make dangerous trouble. For me. And you. If ever you see one about the ship you must tell me immediately. It might save our lives.
“Well,” he said briskly, changing his dark tone as he put the paper away, “I believe you and I shall be fast friends.”
“Oh, yes, sir,” I assured him.
He drank the last of his tea. “Now, is there anything I can do for you?”
“My trunk was put away, sir. I should like to remove some clothing from it, and my reading.”
“Do you wish the trunk up?” he asked.
“My room is too small, sir. I thought I could go to it.”
“I shall have one of the men lead you there.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What is it.”
I drew the dirk from my pocket. He started.
“Where did you get that?” he asked severely.
“I don’t know if I should say, sir.”
His face had grown stern. “Miss Doyle, was it from one of my crew?”
What flashed through my mind was Zachariah’s kindness that first night I came aboard. In truth, I didn’t care for the black man; he had been most unpleasantly forward. But the severity that had crept into the captain’s eyes as he asked his question gave me pause. I did not wish to bring trouble to Zachariah. No doubt he meant well.
“Miss Doyle,” the Captain said firmly, “you must tell me.”
“Mr. Grummage, sir,” I blurted out.
“I don’t know the man.”
“The gentleman who brought me to the Seahawk, sir. A business associate of my father’s.”
“From Liverpool?”
“I think so, sir. A gentleman.”
“Quite!” he said and, seeming to relax, he reached for the dirk. I gave it to him. He tested its point. “A true blade,” he exclaimed. Then to my surprise—he offered it back.
“If it gives you a sense of security, put it … under your mattress.”
“I had it there, sir. I don’t want it.”
“I think you had better.”
“Why?” I asked faintly.
“In hopes you never need it,” he replied. “Now, I insist.”
I returned the dirk to my dress pocket but resolved to fling it into the ocean at the first opportunity.
Captain Jaggery laughed pleasantly, and then asked me questions about family and school that quickly helped me regain a sense of ease and comfort. I was speaking of Miss Weed when five bells struck. The captain stood.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I must return to the deck. Let me find someone to go with you to your trunk. Do you know exactly where it was stowed?”
I shook my head. “A Mr. Barlow had charge of it,” I explained.
“Come then,” he said. “I’ll get him to accompany you.”
At the open door he paused, and with a flourish, extended his arm. Glowing with pleasure, I took it and the two of us swept out of his cabin.
NEVER MIND THAT MY DRESS—HAVING BEEN WORN FOR FOUR DAYS—WAS CREASED and misshapen, my white gloves a sodden gray. Never mind that my fine hair must have been hanging like a horse’s tail, in almost complete disarray. With all eyes upon us as we crossed the ship’s waist to the bowsprit and figurehead, I felt like a princess being led to her throne.
Not even the same lowering mist I’d observed when I first came from my cabin could dampen my soaring spirits. Captain Jaggery was a brilliant sun and I, a Juno moon, basked in reflected glory.
“Captain Jaggery, sir,” I said, “this ship seems to be moving very slowly.”
“You observe correctly,” he replied, ever the perfect gentleman. “But if you look up there,” he pointed beyond the mainmast, “you’ll notice some movement. The cloud cover should be breaking
soon and then we’ll gain. There, you see,” he exclaimed, “the sun is struggling to shine through.”
As if by command a thin yellow disk began to appear where he pointed, though it soon faded again behind clotted clouds.
From the forecastle deck we crossed to the quarterdeck and then to the helm. Foley, a lean, bearded man, was at the wheel. Mr. Keetch, as unsmiling as ever, stood by his side. The wheel itself was massive, with hand spikes for easier gripping.
When the captain and I approached, the two men stole fleeting glances in our direction but said nothing.
Captain Jaggery released my arm and gazed up at the sails. At length he said, “Mr. Keetch.”
The second mate turned to him. “Yes, sir.”
“I believe,” the captain said, “we shall soon have a blow.”
Mr. Keetch seemed surprised. “Do you think so, sir?”
“I hardly would have said so otherwise, now would I, Mr. Keetch?”
The man darted a glance at me as if I held the answer. All he said however was, “I suppose not, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Keetch. Now, I want to take advantage of it. Tighten all braces, and be ready with the jigger gaff.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“And bring the studding sails to hand. We may want them to make up for lost time.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” After another glance at me, Mr. Keetch marched quickly across the quarterdeck and at the rail bellowed, “All hands! All hands!”
Within moments the entire crew assembled on deck.
“Topgallant and royal yardmen in the tops!” he cried.
The next moment the crew scrambled into the shrouds and standing rigging, high amidst the masts and spars. Even as they ascended Mr. Keetch began to sing out a litany of commands—“Man topgallant mast ropes! Haul taut! Sway and unfid!”—that had men hauling on running lines and tackle until the desired sails were shifted and set. It was a grand show, but if the ship moved any faster for it, I didn’t sense a change.
The captain now turned to Foley. “One point south,” he said.
“One point south,” Foley echoed and shifted the wheel counterclockwise with both hands.