Nightbirds on Nantucket

by Joan Aiken

  She heard a sleepy stir from beyond the panel. "Papa, what's the matter?" said a scared voice. "Is it a storm?"

  Dido made no answer. She climbed up onto the chart table and then, after carefully judging the distance, jumped four feet to a wall shelf, where she clung like a squirrel. From there, making use of the hanging compass, she swung to the bed, landing with a thud. Then she crawled to the bedfoot, put her knee on an open drawer, and clawed herself across to another shelf, aware, as she did so, though without showing it, that the panel had opened a crack and that she was being watched. She balanced on the shelf, gauging the distance to a chair.

  "Who are you?" asked an astonished voice. "And what do you think you're doing? Where is Papa?"

  "I told you already," Dido said without looking round. "I'm Dido Twite. Your pa's given me his cabin." She steadied herself and sprang. The chair fell, and threw her to the floor. "Drat it," Dido said coldly, getting up and rubbing her knee. "Now I shall have to start again."

  "Start what again?"

  Taking no notice of the question, Dido climbed back onto the chart table. This time she chose a different route, throwing herself like a flying fox onto a large sea chest, which seemed full of bottles, to judge from the loud clatter when she landed on it.

  She scowled in concentration, considering a sideways clamber across the door as against an awkward diagonal jump to the bed. She chose the former.

  "What are you doing?" the voice repeated.

  Dido dragged herself up with difficulty and turned round. She was now perching like a gargoyle on a sort of dresser. "Why!" she said exasperatedly. "What d'you think I'm doing? What does it look as if I'm doing? Making cheese? I'm getting round the room without touching the floor, o' course, I shoulda thought any ninny coulda seen that. You must be a slowtop. Now, don't interrupt again. You put me off." She knit her brows and pressed her lips together, then with a mighty spring succeeded in launching herself from the dresser to the fallen chair, which slid conveniently across to the bed.

  "Now I'm going to sleep," Dido announced. "Mind you don't make a noise and wake me." She turned out the light. All this time she had never looked towards the open hatchway. Yawning loudly, she snuggled down under the blankets. Silence fell.

  After a longish pause the voice asked, "Why didn't you want to touch the floor?"

  Dido made no answer, but, instead, let out a slight snore.

  Very early next morning Dido, who needed little sleep after her ten-month nap, woke and scurried up on deck before any sound came from Dutiful Penitence.

  The Sarah Casket, all her barrels now filled with whale oil, was speeding south under a clear sky. Some of the men were hard at work hammering in the lids of the great hogsheads, twice the height of Dido, before these were lowered into the hold; others were scrubbing every inch of the deck and bulwarks with ashes and bits of blubber, even climbing into the rigging to wipe the shrouds. Soot and ashes flew away on the fresh breeze, and the ship by degrees began to look so tidy and clean that Dido could hardly believe it was the same in which, only the day before, whale oil had run like greasy, dark ink over the deck.

  The kindly Mr. Pardon had contrived time out of his duties to make a shuttlecock. He gave it to Dido. "It ain't very grand; I made a bit of a mux of it," he apologized, "but I reckoned you'd druther have it soon than fancy. I'll make a better one now I got the hang—I'm real pleased to do it. Young 'uns should have playthings. And Nate, he's fixing ye a right handsome battledore, but 'twon't be finished yet a piece, because Mr. Slighcarp's sent him up to scrub the crow's-nest."

  Dido looked up and saw a tiny figure—miles up, it seemed—in the clear, piercing air. Nate waved a scrubbing brush cheerfully, and she waved back.

  "This here's a fust-rate shuttlecock," she told Mr. Pardon. "Jist what I wanted. Cap'n Casket's little girl will be astonished, I reckon."

  "Don't forget your breakfast, dearie," Mr. Pardon said as she turned to go below.

  "That's a notion," Dido said. She added to herself, "I dessay Dutiful Pen has had enough o' plum jelly to last a lifetime; let's see what a sight o' summat else does for her." She skipped along to the camboose by the wheelhouse. "What's for breakfast?" she asked briskly.

  "Ah! Is little chick passenger!" The black cook gave her his beaming grin. "I have nice fu-fu, also nice plum duff; we celebrate last barrelful, see?"

  "What's fu-fu?"

  "Mush with molasses. Is varry good."

  "No, thanks," Dido said, eying the black stuff distastefully. "Can I have two helps o' plum duff? I'll take some down for Dutiful P. She might fancy it."

  "Is picky and choosy, that one," the cook said, shaking his head. "Is not fancy, my cooking." However he dealt out two large portions of delicious raisin pudding, made with dripping and potash.

  "You like some coffee?"

  "Thanks, mister. Any milk?"

  "Not yet, honey. Goat she took and died. In some month we make Galapagos Island. Then maybe coconut milk."

  Dido ran down the companionway with the food. Back in the cabin she limbered up before breakfast by doing two circuits of the room, falling only once. While so engaged, she noticed that the panel had opened an inch, and that an eye was peering at her through the crack.

  Refreshed, Dido sat down at the chart table, where she had put the plates of plum duff, and began to eat one portion with smacking sounds of enjoyment.

  "Nibblish good pro," she remarked loudly. "Better'n my ma makes, anyhows."

  When she had finished her plateful she got up, leaving the second portion untouched and well in view, took the shuttlecock out of her pocket and began to kick it into the air. As Mr. Pardon had said, it was not a very well made one, being slightly unbalanced, and at first Dido found difficulty in keeping it up for more than two or three kicks. She persevered, however, bounding about the room until she was breathless and bruised from collisions with the furniture. Meanwhile she was watched with silent, astonished attention from the hatchway.

  "This room ain't big enough," Dido complained presently, when she was becoming more experienced with the shuttlecock and had worked her score up to twenty-three. "I'm a-going on deck, I am, where there's plenty of room."

  She departed, slamming the door behind her. Although strongly tempted to linger and look through the keyhole, she knew this would be foolish. Instead, she clattered up the companion stair and went out to the quarterdeck.

  However, she soon found that there was little room, even here, to practice her game, for the men were tidying out the hold, to make room for the last casks of whale oil, and had brought all the stores up on deck. There was such a general hubbub of to-and-fro activity that Dido seemed to be constantly underfoot and in everybody's way. Mr. Slighcarp gave her a scowl and muttered something about putting her to mend sails or lipper the decks. Dido looked about for Mr. Pardon but saw that he was busy encouraging the men at the pumps while Nate, playing on a sort of zither made of whalebone, helped them keep time.

  They were singing:

  "Strong to Pleasant, Wake to Guam,

  Winds are favoring, seas are calm;

  Midway down to Pokaaku

  Typhoon cuts our mainmast through.

  Easter, Disappointment, Nome,

  Through the watery world we roam;

  Tristan, Fogo, Trinidad,

  Winds contrary, weather bad;

  Christmas, Easter, Kwajalein—

  When shall we see Brant Point again?"

  The zither gave Dido an idea. There were bundles of whalebone pieces lying about the deck, of assorted sizes and shapes. "I reckon they can spare me a bit," she said to herself. "I won't bother to ask Cap'n Casket; he looks a mite cagged."

  The captain was taking no part in the bustle; he leaned against the mainmast with his eyes fixed on the far horizon.

  Dido picked up a piece of bone about the size of a walking stick and quietly made off with it.

  "Now all I want's a tool; land's sakes, they must have plenty on a ship this size—if I coul
d find out where they keeps 'em."

  There was a smith's forge by the foremast and a carpenter's bench aft of the tryworks, but both these were too much under observation at present; hoping to find other stores, Dido nipped down the forward hatchway into the blubber room. This was unoccupied now, and silent; a sort of tidemark on the wall showed where yesterday the blubber had been stacked knee-deep. At the moment, the room was being used for the temporary storage of things taken from the hold; a pile of oakum and sail canvas occupied most of the floor. Dido turned to leave, seeing nothing she could use, but then stopped, arrested by the unexpected sight of a boot protruding from under the canvas.

  It was bottle green, elastic-sided, quite unlike the brogans worn by the sailors. It looked like an English lady's boot. Where could it have come from? Puzzled and inquisitive, Dido gave it a tug, and then jumped back with a yelp of alarm as the boot disappeared swiftly beneath the canvas. There was a foot inside it!

  Curiosity overcoming her caution, Dido approached the heap once more and pulled aside some folds of canvas. A sort of writhing motion went on in the middle of the heap, the sailcloth was displaced, and suddenly, rather as a serpent darts out of its hole, the figure of a tall, veiled lady uncoiled and shot from under the pile of stuff. She towered over the quailing Dido, who would have run for it had she not been held fast by the ear.

  "What are you doing here?" the lady said in a low, grating tone.

  "P-p-please, ma'am, I d-didn't mean no harm!" gulped Dido. "I was only looking for a c-c-corkscrew!"

  "A likely story! Prying and meddling where you'd no business to be! Repulsive child! You deserve to be severely punished. Now, listen here, miss!"

  "Y-y-yes, ma'am?"

  "If you so much as mention that you have seen me to anyone—anyone at all—I shall learn of it. And it will be the worse for you. You wish to return to England, do you not?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Dido whispered, very much astonished.

  "Then you had better keep a still tongue in your head! Otherwise, your chances of ever seeing London River again are very, very small. Do you understand? Now—go!"

  Dido needed no encouragement—something in the veiled lady's aspect had struck her with mortal terror—but she received a final warning in the form of a box on the ear that shot her out of the doorway.

  Numb and chattering with fright, she scurried up the companionway and back on deck. Luckily, nobody had noticed her come out. The whole crew were trying to manhandle a spare anchor out of its usual resting place so as to cram a few casks of oil underneath it. Frightened though she was, Dido kept her wits about her; she grabbed a handful of tools from the carpenter's bench and then, still gasping for breath, ran down to the captain's cabin.

  She was too discomposed to notice that the closet door shut with a click as she entered the room, but she did observe, when a little more recovered, that the plum duff on the second plate bad been eaten. She grinned to herself and, sitting up, inspected the tools she had taken. Choosing a drill, she set to work on her whalebone rod.

  It proved a long, fiddling task, which occupied most of the day. Though aware that she was often watched, Dido pretended not to notice. Twice she broke off to make a tour of the room without touching the deck, each time attempting a new route. She also played several games of shuttlecock, and chalked herself out a hopscotch square on the chart table. Here she encountered a difficulty, however.

  "I wisht as how I had a pebble," she remarked aloud. "Or a marble, or a penny, or even a button would do. Oh, well," she sighed, "I can't play hopscotch, that's all. Funny how I has a fancy to play hopscotch. Anyway, I reckon it's dinnertime; I'll nip up to the camboose and see what's cooking."

  She took the empty plates and left the room.

  All the time she had been working and playing, part of her mind was occupied with the puzzle of the mysterious veiled lady in the blubber room. Could she be a stowaway? She might have been hidden in the hold and obliged to take refuge elsewhere because of the general turnout. But where could she have come on board? What did she live on? Did none of the crew know about her presence?

  "Somebody must know," Dido said to herself as she absently accepted two bowls of porpoise chowder from the cook. "Somebody must know, and musta told her about me. Else how did she twig I was English? I wonder who told her?"

  She returned to the cabin, ate her meal, and flung herself on the bed for a nap, burying her face in the pillow and letting out snores. For a long time there was silence; then she heard a cautious clink. She redoubled her snores, shutting her eyes so tight that she saw red and green stars. At last, yawning loudly, she opened her eyes. The second chowder bowl was empty. Beside it lay a large leather button.

  "Well, I never!" Dido exclaimed in astonishment. "Fancy my not noticing that there button afore! Jist what I needed for hopscotch! Now, can I remember the rules, I wonder?"

  Having dumped the chowder bowls on the floor, she climbed onto the table. Addressing herself as if she were a slow-witted pupil, she proceeded to rehearse the rules of hopscotch, and then played it very enjoyably for an hour or so.

  Tired of hopscotch, she set to work once more on the piece of whalebone. When this was hollowed into a tube, she made a series of holes along it and a mouthpiece. If blown on hard enough it produced a plaintive sound, like the call of a hungry bird. After much labor Dido had several notes adjusted to her satisfaction and was able to play "God Save King Jim" and "Who'll Buy My Sweet Lavender?" This was received with awe-struck and flattering silence from the watcher behind the panel.

  "I wisht I knowed a few more tunes," Dido said at length. "Seems as how while I'd been asleep I forgot most o' the ones I used to know. Ah, well—maybe I'll remember some more tomorrow. I'll jist step out for a breath o' fresh air now, and then go to kip."

  She went in search of Nate and found him sprawled on the main deck, weaving a rope mat in a rather inattentive and dreamy fashion while he hummed over the words of a chanty:

  "Oh, it's gaily and roll, me boys, ripple and run,

  So hold to your hand lance, the chase has begun,

  Tally-ho! till she breaches, come, join in the fun—

  We're off on a Nantucket sleigh-ride.

  It's flurry and scurry, she bolts and she sounds,

  And something and something turn tiddle turn grounds,

  And something else ending in 'bounds' or in 'rounds'

  —Hey ho! for a Nantucket sleigh-ride."

  "Oh, hallo, chick," he broke off on seeing Dido. "I've got summat for you. Finished it as soon as old man Slighcarp went below." And he brought out a beautiful little battledore, ingeniously made from woven strips of bone.

  "Coo!" said Dido, "it's naffy! Ain't you clever? I'll lay Dutiful Pen won't be able to hold off when she sees this! Could you make another one, d'you reckon?"

  "Guess so," Nate said agreeably. He started singing again:

  "Turn tiddle turn tiddle turn tiddle turn grounds,

  Pull on! head to head as his noddle he rounds..."

  "Can you think of some rhymes for 'sounds,' chick?"

  Dido could not. "Does you make 'em up, then?" she asked, much impressed.

  "Sure. I allus used to make up verses at home, about sheep and funerals, you know, and pickled tamarinds and so forth, till my ma—she's a widder and so she gets fidgety—"

  "Cagged, like?"

  "I reckon so. She allowed as how I'd better go to sea before I drove her clean wild. So, as Uncle 'Lije was second mate with Cap'n Casket, he fixed it. They don't mind my verses on board ship; in fact, they come in quite handy."

  Finding Nate such a kindred spirit, Dido showed him her whalebone pipe.

  "That's cunning," he said, blowing on it. "Mighty smart work for a liddle 'un. Who learned you to do that?"

  "My pa," Dido said proudly "He plays on the hoboy, so he learned me how to make a tootlepipe."

  "Say, we'll be able to have some fine concerts now when old Slighcarp's under hatches."

  "It's time I was
under hatches too," Dido remarked, looking up at the moon. And she added to herself, "I've a kind of a notion that Dutiful P. might surface tonight, so I'd best be there."

  It had been an energetic day, with the hopscotch, the shuttlecock, the climbing, and hard work on the pipe; Dido turned out the lamp as soon as she reached the cabin, flung herself into the bed, and went straight to sleep.

  About two hours later she found herself suddenly broad awake. The Sarah Casket was still speeding south before a following wind; Dido could feel the rush of the great seas as they lifted and drove past the ship's sides. Every timber creaked, and even down here the hum of wind in the rigging could be heard. Moonlight came through the ports; a patch of it on the floor hardly shifted, so steady was the ship on her course.

  Dido wondered what had waked her.

  Then she felt the clutch of little cold hands on her arm.

  "Who is it?" she whispered.

  "It's me. Dutiful Penitence."

  "Ain't you cold, jist? Best come under the quilt, hadn't you?" Dido said matter-of-factly. She felt a small shape huddle up against her under the patchwork. Just at this moment the steersman evidently altered course a point or so, and the oblong of moonshine slid round, revealing the visitor.

  She was a thin little creature, frail-looking as a cobweb (and no wonder, if she's been living on plum jelly ever since Santa Cruz, thought Dido), with long silvery hair, not very well brushed. She stared gravely at Dido.

  "Are you really a girl?" she asked after a while.

  "Yes, what d'you think? A mermaid?"

  "But where did you come from?"

  "Your pa picked me up, off the coast of England. I was in a ship what caught on fire and sank. And I've been asleep for ten months—so Nate says—all the time you was in storage."

  "You were in the sea? Didn't you get scared?"

  "It wasn't bad. I hung onto a mast."

  "You must be brave! Are you English?"