by Cylin Busby
But as I searched the quarters, I did not happen on her face. Only the captain was there, with his first mate, Archer, and of course my mother. Where was Melissa? I paced, my paws taking in the softness of the woven rug that lined the floor, and finally found my Melissa upon the wall…but it wasn’t really her. Instead it was only her face, flat and unmoving, set in a great gold frame on one wall above a shelf of books. And there was a woman with her, someone who looked just like Melissa, except that her blond hair was all piled up on her head and held there with a wide blue ribbon. And the woman wasn’t smiling like Melissa; she was staring straight out into the room, as if she were looking at someone. I stopped dead in my tracks and stared back at the blond woman and at Melissa, too. What a strange thing, I thought, to have a pretend Melissa here in this room!
I quickly took in the rest of the quarters. It was a grand place, with all manner of lovely things. There was a set of stuffed and fluffy chairs that looked like a very nice place to curl up for a nap and a cozy small bed that was built along one wall. Toward the front of the cabin was a great wooden desk with paper slips and instruments piled on top. There was the picture of Melissa and the woman, who I presumed to be her mother, on one wall, and along the other wall was a picture of a big swath of green and a big blue sky. I’d never set foot on grass in my life, so it took me some time to know what that picture was. On this, my first sighting, it looked to be a big green square topped by a big blue square, with a little redbrick house on the horizon. It was puzzling to me, but I assumed the captain must like it for some reason and like it well enough to hang it in his quarters with a portrait of Melissa.
The captain picked me up and held me in the crook of his arm, adding a nice scratch under my chin as he resumed a conversation with his first mate. “I know to the eye it’s clear, but this cat of mine has not been wrong once in her nine lives. Something has her on, and I’ll wager there’s a storm brewing.” I noted then that my mother was pacing upon the captain’s desk and looking out the small window above it. I couldn’t believe that the captain would allow her to step across his papers and maps but he didn’t seem to mind. She pawed at the desk, pushing important-looking documents around, then stopped to glance out at the sea.
Archer coughed into a handkerchief, his face still pale from his latest bout of seasickness. “Sir, pardon me for breathing it out loud, but your cat here has seen better times. How long has he been with you? Ten years or more?”
The captain quickly corrected him, without directly answering his insult to my mother’s abilities. “Her name is Mrs. Tibbs, and this is her young one, Jacob.”
Archer petted my head with a thick hand and sent a wave of fear through me. There was something about him I didn’t like, and it was more than the words he’d spoken about my mother—and in her presence, no less, the cheek of him! He was insincere, and yet I could tell he was worried as well. But why didn’t he speak his mind?
“Perhaps we should batten down, just in case…” As the captain spoke, my mother pushed—by accident or by design—a metal tool off the desk, and it hit the floor with a loud thunk. Both men stopped and turned to look.
Quickly Archer picked up the metal triangle. “Captain, I hesitate to mention this, but I have been made aware of your sad fortune: the recent passing of your wife, and your child ill with the same—”
The captain’s face was stern as he cut off the other man midsentence. “What business is my family to do with you or your command of this ship?”
“Ah, but it is business indeed, Captain. Please, hear me out.” Archer turned and folded his arms behind his back, pacing the cabin, before continuing. “It is only this: that I would not want to see your vessel, named for your beloved daughter, make poor time crossing and miss a bonus that awaits us all in New York. Imagine what good an extra wage would do for your child’s care and medicines. Not to mention the reputation of the Melissa Rae.”
As he spoke, I watched the captain’s face soften, and he began to nod.
“And of course, none of us want to spend too long away from our loved ones. A quick crossing is welcome to all—not only those with a sickly child back in port.”
The captain put me down upon his desk, right next to my mother, who took to licking my ears and face with her rough tongue. “Perhaps you’re right,” the captain said. “Mrs. Tibbs can be a bit odd after passing a litter.” My mother seemed not to hear his words, but she did stop her cleaning and glanced out the starboard window, still watching the sky. “We’ll need to catch every bit of this wind to make our time,” the captain finished, putting his hand out for my mother to come closer.
The first mate looked on as the captain scratched my mother’s chin, and, if possible, he went a bit greener about the gills. He seemed to be sickened by the captain’s affections for us. Perhaps it was just the pitch of the ship affecting his stomach again. “Shall I give the order, then, sir?” Archer asked, breaking the spell that seemed to surround the four of us.
“Yes, Mr. Archer. You may give the order,” the captain replied.
As Archer made for the door, my mother hopped down from the desk to follow him, and I was quick on her tail. This must be some sort of official ship business that called for the presence of the ship’s cat, and I did not want to miss a moment of it, despite the lure of a possible nap in the soft chairs of the captain’s quarters.
We left the captain behind and trailed Archer as he stepped out and made his way toward the steps leading down to the main deck. But instead of stepping down, he stood on the edge of the quarterdeck and called to a sailor below him. “You there,” he said. “Ring for all hands—I’ve got word from the captain.”
I recognized the sailor at once. He was the brown-eyed, red-bearded fellow called Sean who had secured me in his pocket as we loaded to. Sean looked up at Mr. Archer now and answered curtly, “Not for me to do, sir. That’s Chippy MacNeil’s job, to do the ringing. He’ll have my hide or yours if we touch his bell.”
“Fine, then, would you bring this Mr. MacNeil to me so that I may give him the order?” Archer spat out.
“I would, sir, but he was on the morning and the forenoon watch and is asleep in his bunk now.”
“Well, then, who’s to ring the bell if he’s asleep—I mean, surely someone else can ring the bell?” Archer was getting flustered now, and turning quite red in the face and all down his neck.
“You won’t find a sailor aboard who’s willing to suffer Chippy’s rage. You’d best just step down here and ring it yourself.”
“I will not!” Archer squealed. “I’ve got orders from the captain, and you will ring that bell this instant!”
I could tell from the way Sean’s brown eyes got all crinkly that he was trying terribly hard not to laugh at poor Mr. Archer.
“I tell you, sir, I cannot, and what’s more, I won’t,” Sean said, and turned his back on us, returning to his work. The other sailors around him pretended not to hear the exchange, but I could tell they all had, and were quietly laughing to themselves as they ducked their heads and went about their jobs.
Just then the captain came around the quarterdeck. “Orders given?” he asked.
“Not just quite, sir,” Archer answered, trying to hold down his temper. “It appears that only one man aboard is able to ring for all hands, and that man’s asleep in his bunk at the moment.”
“Well, that hardly matters,” the captain pointed out, “as all hands will call him up, and he’s bound to be awake for that.” There was a glint in the captain’s eye as he took the steps to the main deck. “In that case, you just have to ring the bell yourself. I’m sure you can manage that. Here, I’ll show you how.” The captain rang the bell three times, calling out deeply, “All hands!”
Then he came back up the steps and said to Archer, “I’ll leave you to it?”
Archer, his face and neck now gone crimson, murmured an angry “Yes, sir,” as the captain strolled by.
“Then I’ll be in my cabin,” the captain
said with a little grin, “should you find that you need me.”
As the sailors lined up just below the quarterdeck, Archer let out a loud sneeze. And another. And another. “Ah-choo,” he sneezed one last time, then swatted his handkerchief toward my mother, who was sitting beside his feet. “Go on then, you disgusting creature! Get off,” he sputtered.
My mother jumped out of the way just as Archer kicked at her, his boot barely missing her side. A low growl escaped her throat—the first time I’d ever heard her make that noise—and she picked me up by my scruff, carrying me down the steps to where the sailors stood. I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Archer had gotten a bit of loose flour up his nose, as I had had the misfortune to suffer through a similar fit of sneezing that very morning. I puzzled over his intense dislike for us as Mother and I quickly slid into the crowd. All attention was back on Archer as he finally cleared his throat to give the orders.
“Right, then…ah…,” Archer started. He crossed his arms over his ample belly and looked out at the men blankly.
“You’ll be wanting our names, sir?” suggested one sailor.
“Yes, that’s it. State your names!” said Archer boldly, as if he had thought of it himself.
The sailors fell into a rather rumpled line and started calling off:
“Sean Reid, sir, second mate,” called out Sean as he gave Archer a grin from under his bushy red beard.
“Charles MacNeil,” growled the surly sailor with the eye patch whom I knew to be called Chippy. “Third mate, ship’s carpenter,” he added with another grumble.
“Douglas Dougherty,” said the next sailor, a giant of a man with black muttonchop whiskers as large as my whole self.
“Smyth, sir, John Smyth,” whistled out the tall blond fellow next to him, but the way he said it, it sounded more like “Shh-myth, shir.” This lanky sailor had teeth like piano keys, with big spaces between. When he talked, the air whistled through his mouth, giving certain words a sh sound. The other sailors teased him a bit, but I later learned he was a vicious cardsharp, so I suppose they didn’t laugh for long when they lost a week’s wages to him in a card game.
“Slattery,” called out a young redheaded sailor, and on it went down the line, each sailor calling out his name.
“Moses, ship’s cook,” called out a fellow that I’d not seen before. He was very small and could not have weighed much more than Melissa. His head was empty of hair and gleamed like well-polished brass in the bright sun. He stood in an odd way, as if leaning forward, and I realized all at once that he had only one leg. Where his other leg should have been was a thick stick of wood that vanished into his trousers. His arms, which were bare to the elbow, were tanned and covered in marks and letters and drawings of all sorts of things—anchors and boats, even a lady with a fish tail! He looked down at me and winked when he caught me staring up at him. I glanced away, embarrassed to have been caught, and scooted under my mother’s legs.
Archer clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace the little space of the quarterdeck. “I’ve been sent with orders from the captain. All sails up, and at full mast. We’re to make good use of this wind while it lasts.” Archer stopped pacing and looked at the men.
“So you’ll be wanting all hands until the second dog, sir?” Sean asked.
“Er, second dog…” Archer furrowed his brows in thought.
“That would be the last evening watch, sir, from six hours to eight hours past noon bell.”
“Yes. Second dogwatch. All hands until then. Good.” Archer nodded and turned on his heel.
“Sir, if I may,” Chippy rumbled, his voice a raspy growl. “There’s been some talk that this strong wind means poor weather. And we had a touch of red sky by morning. Is it wise, you think, to open full sails?”
Archer took a deep breath. “The captain has passed these orders. If you doubt them based on an old wives’ tale, or, worse yet, on the temperament of a silly sea cat, then you are hardly fit to be on this ship. The captain’s orders remain, and will be executed as given.” Again Archer turned to leave.
Sean cleared his throat loudly and spoke up. “If you’re through, you’ll be wanting to dismiss us, Mr. Archer, sir.” There were a few snickered laughs among the other sailors.
Archer glanced back, looking humbled. “Indeed, and I was just getting to that.” He turned and faced the men, setting his heels together and sticking out his round belly. “Dismissed!” he yelled, looking more flustered by the minute. This time he practically ran back to the captain’s cabin. And no sooner had he closed the door behind him than the sailors all burst into raucous laughter.
“If he’s not heaving his insides out, he’s giving orders, then, is he?” Chippy said with a deep laugh. “If not for his father, he’d never have set foot on board the good Captain Natick’s ship.”
“His father buys the shipping company, and shuddenly his shon is fit to be our firsht mate,” Smyth added, with his funny way of talking. “And him calling ush ‘not fit to be on board’ indeed! I’ve not heard shuch wash in ages!”
“Did you see him this morning, with his head over the side, gasping and spewing? On me mum’s good name, I’d swear he’s never been aboard before in his life!” Dougherty roared.
Sean did not join in their laughter; instead he stood looking out over the sea. “Mates,” he said quietly, “much as we doubt and distrust this Archer fellow, the issue remains: Captain did give those orders. Are we to carry them out, or no?”
“Aye, but the cap gave those orders because of Archer—we’ve got to make our best time across, for fear he’ll report back to his father otherwise,” the red-haired sailor called Slattery answered.
The cook, Moses, knelt to my mother’s side and ran his hand down her back as she purred her greeting to him. “I’ve sailed with this lady for more years than I care to recall. And in all that time, she’s been wrong never. I say we listen to Mrs. Tibbs—this Mr. Archer be damned!”
“Hear, hear!” said Slattery, and the other sailors called out their agreement.
But Sean spoke up again. “As a free man, I’m agreeing with you. But as second mate, you know I’ve got to ask that you fulfill the good captain’s orders, even if they be delivered to us by an unseaworthy imbecile.” He paused and gave the sailors a moment to laugh. “So I propose this: We’ll put to full sails, but we’ll be on the ready for anything. We’ve run this ship through a good bit of weather in our time, and we can see her battened down in a half bell if there’s trouble to be had. Is there any among you who would call me wrong?” Sean looked to the men standing around him. Their faces were grim, but no one spoke up. “Then it’s orders as given, and all hands ready until second dog.”
“Aye,” said Chippy.
“Aye,” answered Moses. The other sailors chimed in, and in no time the deck was busy with the scrabbling sailors, again hard at work.
Everywhere I looked, large white sails were billowing, and sailors were calling out orders or singing group songs as they did their duties tying off ropes and pulling up the heavy canvases. I watched as my mother resumed her post at the bow of the ship, and I toddled after her, trying to make my way through the sailors’ quick-moving feet, the lashing ropes, and the sweeping wind.
When I reached her side, she stood as she had before, trancelike, near the dangling anchor. I would soon learn that the angled piece of wood where the anchor was stowed was called the cathead—a fitting name, as it was situated at the bow and made a perfect lookout for agile sea cats. As Mother stared out to sea, I took my place beside her and tried to see what she saw in the line of the horizon. What was she looking at? To me it appeared nothing but water and wind and sky. Then, all at once, a feeling came over me. It is hard to put into words, harder than most feelings because it is not an emotion like “sad” or “happy” or “scared.”
Instead it started in my paws, like a little tickle. Then a vibration that traveled up my legs and seemed to settle in my chest. My heart beat faster as I st
ared out over the ocean. I felt my ears hum, and around me the noise and activity of the sailors slipped away without my notice. My fear of the trembling ship left me as well, for I was suddenly sturdy on my legs and felt them lock into place, my head held high. In my mind one thing took focus, one thought that I knew without doubt—something was waiting for us, just beyond the sunlight, just beyond the day. Something wicked was waiting for us, and with our sails full up, we were now rushing to meet it.
The storm came from nowhere, or so it seemed to the men on board. But to me, and to my mother, it came on slow, and the agony of waiting for it is perhaps the most punishing feeling a true ship’s cat can have.
The sails were full up and the sky was clear when the bells were rung eight, signaling the end of the afternoon watch and the start of the evening. I didn’t know ship’s clock just yet, as this was my first time out, but I did know that most hands had been on deck since we’d left port many hours before. This meant that not many sailors had had a bit of rest, or a bite of food, since sunrise. The men were tired, and longed for the four bells that would signal the end of first dogwatch. At that, half the men on deck could go below for rest and a drink of water, and maybe Moses, the cook, would grub up some food. The other sailors, though, would stay on deck for second dog, another two hours, until the night watch, when their rest would begin.
It was still a bit before sunset when the sky took dark. It did not grow dim, as normal twilight does. Instead the shade moved across the deck, like an eclipse, from port to starboard, crawling up the ship. And with the darkness came even stronger winds. The sails had been full all day, but this was a change, blowing hard, steady, and showing no sign of letting. The captain was out of his cabin before the sun was off the bowsprit. “Aye, why was I not told about this change in the weather?” he snapped at Mr. Archer.