Owned by the Ocean

by Christine Steendam

  James’ face contorted in sorrow and tears filled his eyes, but he swiped them away angrily. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be crying. I knew this was coming.”

  Brant went over to his brother and hugged him. “Our father died, it is right to grieve.”

  James nodded his head against Brant’s shoulder and allowed his tears to soak through Brant’s nightshirt. He clung to Brant for a long time, sobbing, letting out emotion that Brant wished he could feel for his now dead father. Instead, he felt nothing.

  “Let’s get you out of this room. Markus will see to it that his body is looked after. The lawyer should be here shortly and we can attend to business.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll be in his study.”

  Brant called in the maid who was still standing in the hall sobbing. “Please, settle down. There is no need for this hysteria. I need you to take this breakfast back to the kitchen and then send for Markus to attend to the body. He will know what to do. Also, ask him to send for the coroner when he’s done. It is not good for him to be here.”

  The girl nodded and ran off with the bowl of hot porridge in hand, tears still streaming down her face. Brant felt sorry for the girl but there was much to be done and he had his brother to worry about. The maid would be fine, likely just shocked at finding a cold dead body.

  He left his father’s room and went to join James in the study where they would await the arrival of their father’s lawyer.

  * * *

  Russell Johnson, Calvin Foxton’s lawyer, looked too grave when he walked into the study and shook hands with Brant and James, as if putting on a show for the benefit of the grieving sons.

  Sitting across the desk from Brant and James he began to pull out a few papers and lay them on the desk.

  “We had been preparing for some time for this day. Things are in order. This estate is in James’ name and I will arrange for it to be sold as your father requested. All the money will be held in a trust for James, of which he will receive a sum of twenty pounds per week as an allowance until he graduates, at which time the entire sum will be transferred to his name. Does this all seem satisfactory?”

  The brothers nodded so Russell continued. “Your father and I made a few changes to the will in the last couple weeks. First of all, James will no longer be inheriting the Jamaican sugar plantation but I believe Calvin had discussed that with you already, James.”

  “And what will be happening to the plantation?” questioned Brant.

  “Your father has decided that you, Brant, have inherited it.”

  Brant looked at Russell in shock and shook his head. “That cannot be right.”

  “It is. You can look over the paperwork yourself if you like but his signature is on it. Call it the last sentimentality of a dying man. It is a thriving plantation that brings in a great deal of money; I would be happy with your inheritance. Now, there is something I have to discuss with Brant alone if you don’t mind leaving us for a little while, James.”

  “Of course,” said James, looking slightly concerned, but getting up and leaving the room without any question.

  “Brant, your father sent me a letter a few days ago outlining some changes he wanted made. I was on my way over this morning to have him sign but I’m afraid I was too late.” Russell handed a letter over to Brant to read over.

  Brant carefully looked it over and then looked at the lawyer. “This means that my father wanted me to become the guardian of James?”

  “Yes. There are a few guidelines though. When James turns sixteen he is to attend school here, in London until he is twenty, or some other school that you deem fit for a gentleman of his standing. You are also to spend summer every year either in London or at the sugar plantation. James is not to take part in any illegal activities and he must be given every opportunity to lead the life of a gentleman and a member of the King’s court. Your father never signed the alterations so I can use this letter as his consent or we can burn it and forget it ever existed.”

  Brant looked at the man and looked back at the letter. “I would like nothing more than to be my brother’s guardian, but it’s a choice he will have to make. I’ll call him back in.”

  Brant called James back into the room and Russell Johnson once again explained the situation. James looked serious, much too serious for a ten year old.

  “So I would live on Brant’s ship, with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I would still go to school?”

  “That is correct. When you turn sixteen.”

  “If Brant doesn’t mind I very much like this arrangement.”

  “I would have it no other way.”

  “Then it is settled. I will arrange the liquidation of Calvin’s possessions here in London and have the money wired to an account in Jamaica.”

  “That would be fine. I only have another few weeks before I leave London.”

  Russell got up from his chair and extended his hand first to Brant and then James. “I offer my deepest condolences to both of you. Calvin Foxton was a good man.”

  Brant thanked him and showed him out. He had a few weeks to arrange a funeral for his father, the uprooting of his brother and the setting sail of his ship and he wasn’t sure he could handle it all. In fact he was quite sure he couldn’t handle it all.

  * * *

  Calvin Foxton’s funeral took place in a large church in the heart of London. It was well attended, treated like more of a social event than a time to mourn the loss of a decorated commodore. Brant and James heard enough well wishes and condolences and platitudes to make Brant feel sick. Everyone had something to say about what a great man Calvin Foxton was and poor boys, having lost both parents. They must have forgotten that James had never known his mother and Brant had been missing from the family for the last four years. Women that Brant had never met in his life cried on his shoulder expressing how much they would miss “dear Calvin” as he was such a good man and had given so much to his country. Brant wanted to know what he had given to his family.

  Following the funeral Brant and James went back to their father’s house where a small group of their father’s friends came and had tea and cake with them. It was now that people finally began to acknowledge Brant’s absence for the last five years. They asked him where he had been and what he was doing with his life. Most of them expressed disapproval for his chosen lifestyle but a small few were interested and wanted to know more about the life of a privateer and how exactly he served the country. There was even one or two who commended him for his bravery and service, but they did so in hushed tones. Brant smiled and answered their questions as they came to the best of his ability.

  The following week was spent entirely with Brant being pulled in two different directions. He was busy making arrangements for the departure of the BlackFox and preparing to uproot James and move him away from everything he knew.

  James wanted to take everything with; his furniture, his bedding, every little thing that reminded him of home. Brant had to work hard to convince him to leave it behind and sell it. There would be furniture in Jamaica and anything else he needed could be purchased. In the end James packed up a few trunks with his book collection and clothing.

  Arranging to have his brother’s things transferred to the BlackFox, Brant set James up with a bunk on his ship and took his leave to track down a blacksmith. He wanted to buy James a cutlass of his own—he would not have his brother defenceless on a privateering ship. The more Brant thought about it the more he realized that the BlackFox was no place for a ten-year-old boy who had been sheltered most of his life. His father had entrusted him with the well-being of his brother, and Brant would be exposing him to a dangerous and immoral lifestyle. He wasn’t ready for this new responsibility. He barely knew how to look after himself and command a crew, how could he be expected to be a good parental figure? Calvin had the same experience as Brant and his parenting had resulting in a bitter boy. The whole situation was quickly turning from overwhelming to terrifying.
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  Stepping into a blacksmith shop Brant determined to concentrate on the task at hand: finding James a suitable cutlass.

  “Can I help you?” asked a large sweaty man wearing a leather apron.

  “I’m looking for a cutlass.”

  “Let’s see what I have.”

  The man pulled out a few ornate blades which he presented to Brant.

  Brant accepted each one at a time and tested their balance and took a few experimental swings and thrusts but each time he shook his head.

  “What is the best one you have?”

  “It’s nothing fancy.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  The man pulled out a relatively plain sword. The handle had beautiful metalwork but it wasn’t encrusted with any gems or inlaid with any gold. The blacksmith handed it to Brant and he followed the same ritual as he had with the others.

  “How much?”

  “Thirty pounds.”

  Brant pulled out a bag and counted out the allotted money, handing it to the blacksmith.

  Walking back to the ship Brant carried his purchase proudly at his side. He had never gotten a gift for his brother and he was looking forward to giving it to him. A boy’s first sword was an important part in one’s life—a rite of passage and a step closer to manhood.

  Walking the ramp onto the BlackFox Brant went in search of his brother who was likely trying to grasp the huge lifestyle change that was coming over him—especially after he saw his living quarters. Brant could remember quite fondly the first time he had seen where he would be sleeping. The BlackFox was outfitted with wooden bunks in the crew’s quarters but the beds were short and narrow and the mattresses made of straw that were refilled once a year for cleanliness reasons. That was not a common practice on most ships but LaFleur had enforced it strictly and Brant had continued to do so. However, the beds were far from the standards of what James was used to. But Brant had gotten used to them and so would James.

  Sure enough, Brant found James staring appallingly at the crew’s quarters.

  “I don’t actually have to sleep here, do I? This is a joke, right?”

  Brant laughed. “Would you rather sleep in the brig?”

  “Does the brig have a softer bed?”

  “No, it doesn’t have a bed.”

  “And how long are we at sea?”

  “Oh, a few months. We make various ports but you and I will be remaining on the ship for the most part.”

  “And Karl doesn’t have to sleep here? Or you?”

  “Karl is the quartermaster and I am the captain. We have special privileges. I have something for you.”

  James looked at Brant in excitement, his distress over the sleeping arrangements apparently forgotten for the time being. “Really? What?”

  Brant pulled out the sword with a flourish. “Your very own cutlass. I’ll teach you how to use it.”

  James took the sword from Brant and turned it around in his hands. “Wow!”

  “This is a weapon, not a toy. You must keep it sharp and clean at all times. If you ask some of the men they’ll show you how to look after it. If you don’t do so there are consequences. We have to always be ready to defend ourselves or fight others. You will not be taking part in any raids but you will be held to the same standards as the other crew members, that means keeping your effects in good repair, you understand?”

  James nodded furiously, a huge grin plastered on his face as he gripped the hilt of his brand new blade.

  “Good. Then as cabin boy you can go report to Karl and he’ll keep you busy until we cast off.”

  “Busy?”

  “Chores, James. There aren’t servants here to do your bidding. We have to do everything ourselves and everyone does their part.”

  “Oh.”

  Brant laughed at James’ dejected face. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sure enough James did get used to it and he quickly fit in amongst the crew. Brant took a walk down memory lane when he saw James emptying latrines and swabbing the deck; it hadn’t been that long ago when those had been his daily chores.

  The first few weeks the boy had awful blisters on his hands but they soon callused and grew tough. James allowed his hair to grow long and his clothes became worn and dirty. Brant watched his younger brother transform before his eyes from a spoiled young aristocrat into a hard working cabin boy. Money suddenly needed to be earned to put food on the table and hard work made for a good night’s sleep.

  But, although James excelled at his new life of manual labour, he couldn’t seem to pick up or even enjoy his daily exercises in swordsmanship. He didn’t have the heart or desire to learn the deadly dance that was sparring, and Brant was quickly beginning to question his decision to take his brother on as a crew member. If he couldn’t defend himself, he was better off living on the plantation with a tutor where he could enjoy a life of luxury like he had been meant to. But he wasn’t ready to allow his brother to waltz out of his life and be looked after by strangers, so he stayed and Brant continued to push him daily to learn and improve. Soon enough the boy would turn sixteen and it would be back off to London and school for him.

  “Can we stop for the day? I’m not very good at this,” begged James as he let his cutlass drop uselessly at his side.

  Brant did his best to hide his disappointment and nodded. “Of course, but you’re doing just fine. It’s an art form and it takes time to learn.”

  “Did it take you so long?”

  Brant laughed. “It takes everyone a long time. I spent four years perfecting it and I still spend every day trying to get better.”

  “But you’re good. I heard the men talking; they say you’re the best.”

  Brant walked away and stood at the railing, James following. “Who told you that?” He laughed.

  “The men all say that’s the case. Are you telling me it’s not?”

  “The men like to embellish things. You shouldn’t believe everything they say.”

  “Why not? They have no reason to lie.”

  “They enjoy telling stories, James. It keeps life from being too boring. Now back to work if you don’t want to continue lessons.”

  “All work and no play makes James a very dull boy,” he chanted as he walked away to continue his daily chores.

  “Karl!” called Brant as he walked up to the helm. Karl stood up from where he was mending a sail and followed Brant.

  “Yes?”

  “How long has it been since we’ve made a raid?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “Are the men becoming restless?”

  “They are, but they are also concerned for the young master Foxton’s wellbeing. We had our first raid of the year and it scared him quite a bit.”

  “He said nothing to me.”

  Karl smiled. “Of course not. He wouldn’t want to disappoint his older brother. He works so hard for your approval.”

  “This is our way of life. We need raids or we don’t eat. James will have to get used to it.”

  “That is why you haven’t been ordering raids either? We’ve passed a few ships in the past weeks we coulda had any number of em. Who you trying to convince, me or yourself?”

  Brant sighed. “I’m concerned about him too but I’m also concerned about the state of this ship. It needs... work.”

  “Yer unsure of how to handle this.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes! I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I’m not a father, I’m a brother and I have no idea how to look after a ten-year-old boy. No idea at all. I have no idea if I should be sheltering him from my life or allowing him to be a part of it. We’re immoral men, Karl. Can we justify turning James into one as well? And who do I put first? James, or my crew?”

  Karl shook his head. “There ain’t no easy answer and I can’t tell you what to do. Your father entrusted James to you, so I assume he knew what kind of life he would be going into. You and I know we gotta keep this here ship afloat so we ha
ve to either raid or find a new way to bring in money. Like you said, James will be fine. He’ll get used to it.”

  “Thank you, Karl.”

  “Aye, Brant, tis why I’m here.”

  * * *

  After Brant’s talk with Karl he started ordering raids again and despite the late start in the season the BlackFox docked in Port Royale with a hull full of pillaged goods. After a percentage was paid to the crown the rest was divided among the crew according to their rank. There was a little less than the men were used to, but none gave a word of complaint.

  Brant and James prepared to go to their father’s plantation. Brant hadn’t been there for years, not since before his mother had died. He didn't have much memory of the estate but found himself pleasantly surprised. The grounds were well kept and the house seemed in order.

  Stepping into the house they were greeted by an older woman who introduced herself as Liza, the housekeeper. She was a single mother, her husband having died. Looking after the Foxton estate was a family affair for her; her son looked after the grounds and her daughter helped around the house, and was kept in pristine condition year-round despite the only inhabitants being the housekeeper and her children.

  “I didn’t know you’d be comin’, Master Brant, or I would have had rooms prepared. I got news that Sir Foxton passed on, so sad. And this is your brother?” she went off on a nervous series of questions and statements.

  “Yes, this is James. We’ll be spending the storm season here and then heading back to sea.”

  “Back to London?”

  “No, sailing—I am a captain. We’ll likely spend most storm seasons here.”

  “Oh, it will be wonderful to have people living here again! I’ll get Sarah to make you up some rooms and I’ll get started on dinner. Will it just be the two of you?”

  “Yes, thank you. You and your children are welcome to join us if you wish.”