by Cylin Busby
The captain coughed, and water came from his throat. “You’re half your size soaking wet. How you’ve managed, I have no way of knowing.” The captain’s eyes drooped closed for a second; then he coughed hard and spit up more seawater. After a deep breath, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. “You’re to find your mother and stay with her for the duration of this weather. Now go.” With those words the captain slumped forward, his body leaning across the wheel, and he seemed to be a rag doll, too, held in place only by the ropes that bound him. I found my voice and mewed, a waterlogged gargle at first, then loud and clear, hoping someone would come to his aid, for surely he would die tied here to the wheel. But the sky was slowly growing dark, and the waves were once again pounding the ship, my cries drowned beneath the noise.
And here is where I had to make my choice: to leave the captain and find my mother, as I had been ordered, or stay with the man who made this ship my home, protecting him as I could. I knew the captain had been lashed to the wheel so that he could steer the Melissa Rae through the storm. Now his limp body hung on the spokes as the ship made a hard starboard turn. Perhaps I could wake him? I had little time to consider my options as a huge wall of water—twice as tall as the Melissa Rae—suddenly struck the ship, and I found myself trapped between the captain’s good leg and the base of the wooden wheel, under the dark, cold water, my eyes again stinging in the brine.
The ship righted herself and pitched to the other side as I latched onto the captain’s leg. I knew not what to do—surely, this was the end. With no captain to steer the ship, we were all lost, to a one. Without a moment more of deliberation, I dug my claws into his leg and sent my teeth in as well. I prayed not to hurt him, but only to wake him from his unconscious state. And I was successful! As the water slopped off the deck, the captain jerked his leg in pain and coughed awake. I looked up to see him grasp the wheel and turn us in the right direction, away from the storm, just as another black wave closed over our heads.
When I came to, all was dark and still. I could see nothing, even with my night eyes, and quickly realized I was still tucked up inside the captain’s trouser leg. I shimmied out and plopped onto the waterlogged deck. I first noticed the stars overheard. Bright, sharp, and lovely, they shone down from a freshly washed sky, drifting behind puffy bits of clouds.
The captain was still tied to and slumped over the huge wheel. But I could not see any sign of misfortune, no blood or pale skin. I scratched at his ankle, just lightly, and he twitched a bit, as if in a dream, but it was enough to tell me he was still living. A lantern came our way, and I recognized the blond sailor called John Smyth carrying it.
Smyth whistled through his piano-key teeth. “Will ya ’ave a look at that! The little wee kitty—” Just then, Smyth caught sight of the captain slumped over the wheel. “Cap, are you shtill with us?” He touched the captain’s shoulder and shook him gently. The captain rattled awake and coughed up a bit of water.
Smyth put the lantern near his face. “You all there, Cap?” he asked, and the captain gave a nod, turning his head to the side to cough out more liquid.
“I’ll undo your ties now.” Smyth put the lantern on the deck and began unknotting the ropes that held the captain to the wheel.
“Mind the leg, man, and steady as you go,” the captain said, his voice a rasp, and Smyth glanced down. I looked, too, and saw that the captain’s bad leg was swollen up to twice the size of his good one; the ropes that Moses had used to secure it now cut deep into the flesh. He held his foot at an unnatural angle, and I knew something was terribly wrong.
“We’ll have Moses take a look-shee at that, Cap, and you’ll be good as new,” Smyth said nervously. I could tell he was as worried as I was about the captain.
When the ropes were undone, Smyth helped the captain over to his cabin and took him within. I followed behind them as close as the door and then leapt down to the main deck to survey the damage.
The second half of the storm had done little more than the first, as the sailors had had a bit of time to batten down in the middle of it. Now the men walked around on deck, each holding a lantern, doing what they could in the dark to make repairs. Most important seemed the pumping and the bailing. The Melissa Rae was sitting heavy at sea, the bilge full to brimming with ocean and rainwater. The sailors said there was no chance of making speed again until she was bailed entirely.
I watched the fellows pitch and pump, calling out to one another in the dark, and walked the deck to find my mother. When I went below deck to check the galley, I heard moans coming from the sailors’ quarters, so I poked my nose in to investigate. I’d not been in this part of the ship before, but I knew by its smell that this was where the sailors must spend most of their time. Each man had a hammock here, and the odor of chewing tobacco, smoke, seawater, and sweat was overwhelming. Rocking in his hammock in the pitch black was Dougherty, the big fellow with the black muttonchop whiskers. The other sailors admired Dougherty as the strongest man aboard; a former fighter, he, along with Chippy, would do most of the heavy lifting required on our trip. But now his arm was set in a canvas sling cut from a downed sail, and he was cradling it. I jumped up to his hammock to see what the trouble was.
“Ugh.” Dougherty tried to kick me off. “Vermin!” I meowed to let him know that it wasn’t a rat come to visit him; it was just I, Jacob Tibbs.
I meowed again, and Dougherty whispered, “Is that you, Mrs. Tibbs? Your ghost haunting me already?” I meowed again, confused, thinking the man delirious in his pain, and crawled up to rest beside his barrel-sized chest.
He sighed, relieved. “So it’s Mrs. Tibbs’s little one, looking for a bit of comfort?” Dougherty asked. “Aye, mate, come on up here, as I know just how you feel. I lost me mum when I was but a wee lad meself.” Dougherty gently rocked the hammock and whispered, “Ah, the pain of this shoulder is terrible, but I feel for you, young Tibbs. And I’m sorry for your loss.” Then the big man sang a bit, quietly, an old sea song about missing one’s mum, and soon I could hear him breathing deeply, his snores rattling through the hammock. Once I knew he was well asleep, I leapt down and crept out of the sailors’ quarters, still puzzling over his words. Yes, I had lost sight of my mother during the worst of the storm, but I was on my way to find her, and this ship was only so big. I was sure my mother was looking for me, too, and that we would not be apart for long.
Back on the deck, I could see a sliver of light on the horizon behind us. The sun was rising just as it had yesterday over the ship, but this time there was no pink in the sky as it came up. A clear sky in the morning was meant to be a good sign, that’s what the sailors said. I moved to the front of the ship and stood as I had yesterday with my mother, right at the cathead by the anchor, staring out over the sea as the pale, watery gray light of dawn washed across the deck. I noticed that the feeling of fear from yesterday was gone. It was good to have that rock no longer in my belly.
As a matter of fact, there was nothing in my belly, nor could I remember the last time I had nursed, and the rumbling sent me again in search of my mother. I crossed the deck to the starboard side and tried to stay out of the way of the sailors as they repaired the railing in the dim light.
“How do you like that?” I heard Chippy say from over my head. “We’ve lost Slattery, and that little rat made it through. I never would’ve thought it so.”
“Aye,” murmured Sean, stroking his beard, “but more’s the pity. I don’t believe he’s weaned, so he’ll no doubt follow Mrs. Tibbs down. A shame.”
“Pity not, he’d be no good to us. No place for him on board.” Chippy turned back to his work as if I weren’t even there.
An urgency went through me then. Why were the sailors all speaking this way about my mother? Had she been hurt? The image of Slattery flashed into my mind, his head lolling around on his neck. Where was my mother? I had to find out, and meowed up to Sean to get his attention. He continued his work as well, so I mewed again, long and high. Finally he sighed and
dropped the tools he was holding, turning to look down at me.
While Chippy glared, Sean picked me up and carried me gently to the central hatch. “There you are, mate. Say your good-byes for now; we’ll send them off as soon as the sun is up.” Sean plunked me down on the deck beside the body of the young sailor, Slattery. He was stretched out on his back and looked as though he were sleeping. He’d been wrapped in his hammock with just his face showing. His eyes were shut, his lips pale, and his cheek was cold where I touched it with my nose.
Beside him, tucked in our basket, was my mother, also sleeping. She was curled in and under the stuffing, looking warm and snug. Relief washed over me: I had found Mother! I leapt into our basket to surprise her, but she did not stir. When I nudged her side and tried to rouse her, I found that she, too, was cold. Why would she not wake?
I felt a hand on my back then, and looked to see Bobby Doyle kneeling beside me, his yellow hair dark and wet, just combed and braided. “When the lines broke last night, down they both came, man and cat. She tumbled so, I thought, ‘She’s landed feetfirst, and she’s with us’—but it wasn’t to be. Slattery, poor lad, held on for a bit, but…” He didn’t finish his thought.
It took a moment for me to understand his words. My mother would not wake, not ever? I thought of how Moses had held his hand over Slattery’s face and closed his eyes, whispering something to the boy though he was already gone. I licked Mother’s face and smoothed her white whiskers back, the way she liked them. Tired and hungry, I longed to curl up beside her, the way I always did, but I knew somehow it wouldn’t be right. Where she was to go now, I did not know. But I could not go with her. I longed for our days below deck with my brothers and sisters. When Mother was near, I would always be safe. As I stood beside our basket, the sun rose over the ship. It was but my second day at sea, and I was entirely alone.
The sun rose, and light washed across the deck. Still I stood at my mother’s basket, not knowing what else to do in my sorrow. A hand closed around my middle as the bells rang six o’clock in the morning. “Come on, little fellow. I know shomeone who’d like a word with you.” Smyth picked me up and carried me across the deck and toward the captain’s cabin. “I’ve just told the cap about your mum, and he’s taken it hard. But sheeing you might cheer him. Put on a brave face, mate,” he added, looking down at me as he knocked on the captain’s door.
“ ’Tis Smyth, shir, with a visitor.”
“Enter,” the captain called from within.
“Master Jacob Tibbs, is it?” the captain said as he saw me. The great man was stretched out on his bed, his clothes and hair rumpled. His trouser leg had been cut away up to the thigh, and his lower leg was secured with a wooden plank, held in place by thick strips of fabric. He motioned to a chair beside him, then spoke to the sailor. “Mr. Smyth, send in Mr. Archer and Mr. Reid before the next bell. That will be all.”
Smyth plopped me into the chair, then closed the door behind him, and the captain’s blue eyes were upon me entirely. I realized that I had never been in the presence of the man alone, and I felt myself shake with fear. I wasn’t fit to be sitting in this fancy velvet chair, and certainly not to take the captain’s attention. What would my mother have thought of this?
“Master Jacob Tibbs,” the captain said sadly, “you’ve come to keep me company here, have you? We can share our sadness.” He sighed. “I did not listen to your mother, Jacob, and now pay the price, not only with her life but with that of a young Christian sailor, Mr. Slattery. I take the responsibility for both lives, for your loss.”
The captain paused and grimaced in pain, clutching the top part of his thigh. He let out a heavy sigh and turned to me again.
“Many a sailor thought me insane to prattle on as I did to your mother,” he continued. A quick knock at the door interrupted the rest of his statement.
“ ’Tis Smyth, with Archer and Reid, shir,” a voice came from outside.
“Enter,” the captain called out, and the two men ducked into the cabin.
Archer walked in and looked around the room. “I could’ve sworn I heard you talking to someone, Captain,” he said. Then, shaking his head, he made to sit in the chair where I was perched and very nearly crushed the life out of me. When he noticed I was beneath him, he leapt up and tried to shoo me from my seat. “Scat, you flea-bitten vermin,” he hissed. “How many of these creatures are on this ship? They are constantly underfoot.”
The captain glared and cleared his throat. “If I desire your extended presence in my cabin, Mr. Archer, I will ask you to seat yourself. As it is, I do not. You will stand for your orders. And before you say another unkind word about my new ship’s cat, I beg your attention here.” With much effort, the captain pulled up his cuff around his good leg, and I saw two red claw marks and, between, an angry, swollen-looking bite—my marks from the day before. As I peered closer, I could see small red dots where each one of my teeth had sunk into the captain’s leg. I certainly hadn’t intended to attack him so furiously, and I was horrified by what I had done. I looked to the captain’s eyes but found no anger there. Was he not terribly displeased with me?
“I was unconscious, tied to the wheel, and something sharp—some pins sticking into my leg—woke me. It was enough for me to gain my wits and steer this ship to safety. I am sure you can each recognize that those marks were made by young Master Jacob here, so indeed you have him to thank for the very fact that you are alive today. He saved our ship and every one of us.”
If a cat can smile, I was smiling then, and I sat firmly on my velvet cushion, enjoying the tongue-lashing that Archer took standing up. Sean Reid stood beside him, seeming to enjoy it as well.
With that the captain pushed his cuff down and demanded, “Men, report on the ship’s condition.”
Sean began. “Captain, the tween deck is all but bailed out. The rail of the starboard side is off, but we’ve rigged a rope and what remains of the wood in the place of it, for now. We can likely use wood from the damaged jolly boat to finish it. As it is, no one will fall over, save maybe Master Jacob, if he’s not careful.” Sean glanced at me and gave a little wink. “The hold is dry as a bone. And we ’ave one sailor down, sir: Dougherty, with his shoulder out again. Moses says he can have that right in a day’s time.” Sean lowered his head and stepped back.
“And what of your report, Mr. Archer?” The captain turned to his reluctant first mate and waited for a reply.
“Ah, all is just as Sean reported,” Archer stumbled. I wondered if he would include the details of how Chippy had held him by his collar and almost put him on his back. But he did not tattle. Instead he stood mute before the captain.
“Do we not have two dead to cast overboard?” the captain asked.
“We’ve only one dead, sir, a young sailor,” Archer said. After an awkward pause, he finally cleared his throat and added, “Oh, and the cat, of course.” The callous way in which he spoke of my mother made my claws come out.
“And do you wish to do the honors, Mr. Archer, or shall I?” the captain asked.
“Honors, sir? Wha…oh, yes the honors, indeed.” Archer swallowed hard. “Ah, you shall—I mean to say that you will have the honors, sir, as this is your ship,” he said.
“And as you’ve no bloody idea what you’re doing,” Sean cut in with a harsh whisper.
“Enough!” barked the captain. “Mr. Reid, I’m surprised at you. Do you not know better than to address the first officer that way?”
“Sir, if I may, it is Mr. Archer’s responsibility that we’ve lost Slattery and Mrs. Tibbs. If only he’d listened to reason—”
The captain cut him off. “I’ll not have blame cast upon any but myself. It was my own decision to put up full sails yesterday, and my own decision to sail through. So you’ll kindly hold your tongue on the issue.”
The captain looked at both of the men standing before him. “I’ll need to be carried out to the main deck. In Mr. Dougherty’s absence, send back Mr. MacNeil for the job
. Mr. Archer, you’ll ring for all hands for the proceedings. Let’s have this done with haste, as I’ve not the heart for it. Dismissed.”
With that the men filed out of the cabin, and I alone held the captain’s attention. As I leapt down from my chair, I paused by his side, and he reached down and gently petted my back for a moment. I nudged his hand with my head, longing for a scratch behind the ears. “Go on then, Jacob,” he sighed. “You’ve work to do, my lad.” I saw a small, sad smile cross his face as I went out through the door that the men had left ajar.
The bell rang for all hands, and the sailors gathered at the starboard bulwark of the ship. They stood without speaking, in a semicircle around the body of young Slattery and the basket where my mother lay. Slattery’s face was now covered; he had been sewn up into his hammock completely. Mother was in her basket, curled up as if asleep, the calico cloth that Melissa had given us just days before we left port now tucked in around her. She looked peaceful, her whiskers just as she liked them to be, her fur orderly. I longed to see her wake, to feel her loving gaze on me, one last time.
Sean carried a sturdy chair down to the deck for the captain to sit in, as Chippy supported the captain’s weight and helped him make his way down on his one good leg.
“I’ll not need that,” Captain Natick said, waving away Sean and the chair that he offered. “These two honorable sailors deserve a proper burial, and a captain who can stand and deliver the last words before they are committed to the deep.” The captain leaned against the railing and grimaced in pain as Chippy took his arm from around his shoulder, yet he stood on his own weight. Clearly, the pain was overwhelming, the bleak task at hand making the situation all the worse.