The Nine Lives of Jacob Tibbs

by Cylin Busby

  Chippy’s hand quickly went to his eye before I could see much, but what I did see was enough—a red, puckered scar where an eye should be. Though the black fabric was menacing, what was beneath was worse.

  “Have this,” Moses said. He bit the bottom of his shirt and tore off a long strip of fabric, which he wound over Chippy’s head, tying it tightly behind. Chippy looked too thankful to speak, so he just nodded at his mate, and they both turned to take in the view behind us: the breakers cresting white over the black rocks, and just beyond them the green gem of an island that we had called home for so many weeks.

  “Are we all together, men?” the captain asked, looking over the stores in the bottom of the boat. I paced back and forth, inspecting everything, even the round brown fruit shells that Moses had filled with fresh water, and meowed to the captain that all looked well; nothing had been lost in our journey over the waves. Moses checked the rigging and said the same. “Then we set sail,” the captain said quietly. He secured the rope in his hands by tying it off on the bench, then angled the sail where he desired.

  The men were quiet for most of our first day back at sea, watching as our island slipped away behind us into a green dot on the horizon, then disappeared altogether. For a long while, no one spoke. Finally Chippy said quietly, “My lady will never let me go to sea again if I get out of all this.”

  Moses said his would feel the same, but that their young ones were grown now and he had no life other than to sail with the captain. I lay in the captain’s lap and looked up into his face, handsome and tanned after our time on the island. I could tell he was thinking of Melissa—maybe, too, of the woman in that portrait he’d had in his quarters. But he did not speak. He was still the captain, and these were the men who served him.

  The men spent the day steering the boat in what they thought was the best direction, based on where the captain believed our island to have been located. When the sun finally sank low into the waves, they studied the stars carefully over our heads and adjusted the sail as best they could. “This little boat will either take us home or bring us into the path of another packet ship,” the captain explained of his course. After a light dinner of dried fish and fruit, we tucked in for the night, listening to the waves lap against the side of our small boat. I curled against the captain’s side, happy to be back on the sea that I knew and loved so well. I slept soundly: no crashing rocks, no old bones, just our boat, my best mates, and the waves and stars to guide us.

  Our first days at sea were good ones, with wind in the sail and mostly clear skies. The fresh fruit began to go soft, and the men had to toss some overboard—not a problem for me, as I never cared for any of the bitter fruits the island had to offer. The water still tasted fresh, and we had enough fish to last for days.

  The men kept up spirits by playing the tile game Chippy had fashioned from shells, and by telling yarns. The captain had also brought my island toy, and I was delighted to have it aboard: a dead beetle, dried by the sun and tied to a thin vine. Its shiny shell was great fun to chase through the boat as the captain tossed it to me, then quickly dragged it back before I could catch it. Sometimes I was too fast for him and did catch the shiny creature in my paws, but I was always careful not to use my sharps with the toy, as I did not want to damage it, and this took great restraint.

  Moses had also brought a bit of the tincture he’d made for the captain’s leg, and I watched as he unwrapped the bandage. “It’s a wonder,” Moses whispered, inspecting the wound. It was now almost completely healed: a large red scar covered the spot where the bone had once broken through, but all the blackness was gone, and the captain reported that it gave no pain.

  “Mr. Moses, I owe you my life,” the captain said quietly. “And you as well, Mr. MacNeil.”

  Moses only nodded, saying nothing as he wrapped the captain’s leg in a fresh strip of cloth and secured it. I thought back to the island and the skeleton bones I had seen there. The memory brought a shiver down my spine. I was glad to know that now the captain would not end like that poor, unfortunate soul.

  That evening the wind picked up, and the men were happy to have our small sail filled with air again. When Moses served our fish dinner, I found that it did not agree with my stomach. Instead I paced the boat as the sun sank behind the clouds. I tried to lie next to the captain after dark, but restlessness overtook me. My stomach growled, and I went to find the fish head I’d been left. After a few bites I didn’t want more. I walked the length of the boat, back and forth, back and forth, stepping gingerly over the men as they talked into the night. I scratched behind my ears and gave myself a quick bath, but nothing could settle my nerves. It was as if something was moving under my fur. At last I took to digging my nails into the bottom of the ship, scratching away.

  “Quit that racket, cat,” Chippy growled, and brushed me away with his foot. Moses was telling a yarn, and the men wanted to listen, but I had no interest in their sea stories on this night. As I crossed the ship, I felt a funny vibration in my paws that stopped me. I stood still and let the feeling wash over me, as terrible as it was. It was oddly familiar, but it took a moment for me to place the feeling: It was the one I’d had on the Melissa Rae that morning, with my mother by my side, the day she died. And again, later, when we were put out into the longboat. A storm was coming!

  I jumped onto the captain’s chest, startling him. I meowed and pawed at him, jumping down quickly to set my claws into the wood. Then I remembered the sign my mother had taught me, and drew my paw across the wood slowly, three times. The captain held up one hand for Moses to stop his story, and looked to the sky. No stars were visible, as the dark clouds blocked even the moon. He took a deep breath and put his hand over the side of the boat, into the water, then held his fingers up in the air over his head, turning to and fro.

  “What is it, Captain?” Moses asked.

  “Foul weather. Let’s put our sail at the southwest,” the captain ordered.

  “Southwest, Captain?” Moses questioned, sounding very tired. “That’s the way we came—you mean to go backward?”

  “Yes, I mean to go backward; we’re headed dead into it, from what I can gather, and we need to turn about until she passes. Then we can continue on.”

  Chippy did as he was told and adjusted the sail, but I could hear him and Moses talking quietly about “no drops yet” and good winds. I made my mark again, pulling my paw back on the wood to show them that I meant it, that I felt it. The captain pulled me into his lap and petted down my back.

  “Good work, Jacob. You’ve done well,” he said, staring out over the horizon, watching the dark clouds slowly move.

  When the men had checked our stores and settled onto benches for the night, I knew there would not be much sleep. Moses threw me a bite of fish, but I ignored it. “How do we know he’s not just off his food?” Chippy growled, looking at me. “He might be peaked.”

  “He’s a fine cat, Captain, but pardon me for saying…he’s no Mrs. Tibbs,” Moses added. “Perhaps we stay the course and turn about if we see something amiss by morning light—or feel even one drop of rain.”

  The captain kept his hand on my back, and I could feel the tension run through him. “I’ve sailed many years, and on many ships, some of them with a fine crew, and some with lesser men. I’ve seen sea cats come and go. A few lazy and fat, who lay on the deck. Those that worked themselves lean catching rats. But none were as Mrs. Tibbs.” He paused for a moment, as if to gather himself. “Mistakes I’ve made—and plenty to last me a lifetime. But ignoring that lady when she gave fair warning is perhaps the greatest mistake of my life. And to think I did it for profit, for speed! What it earned me was the opposite.”

  I saw Moses bow his head, perhaps thinking of Sean, or of Slattery and my mother.

  “I lost two men their lives. I lost my ship, and her crew. And Mrs. Tibbs.” Here he paused to run his hand down my back. “But I will never be that man again, the man who chose profit over the safety of his crew. As long as
I am fit to command, I assure you that I will get you both safely home again, if it’s the very last thing I do.” The captain looked from Moses to Chippy and back again, but neither man had anything to say.

  As if on cue, I felt a raindrop hit my back just then, followed quickly by another. The night stretched long and dark, with drops on and off, as if we were racing just ahead of the storm, at its edge. The men slept, as they could, between squalls, until along the horizon a thin pink line formed. “Red sky by morning,” I heard Moses whisper.

  “Sailor take warning,” Chippy answered. He pulled hard on the rope that secured our meager sail, and tied it into place, sending our boat farther in the direction that the captain had ordered.

  By the time the light of day should have been over our heads, we were still wrapped in darkness, bouts of hard rain coming and going as clouds passed over us.

  “Chasing us, she is,” Moses said, huddled under his shirt, the collar turned up. It seemed impossible to escape the driving rain when it came, and the men were all sitting in damp clothes. I sat beneath the captain’s bench and tried my best to clean my fur, but it was ruffled by the wind and would not obey me.

  “We should have sailed through, kept course,” Chippy mumbled, as if to himself.

  The captain’s face was grim, his mouth a thin, tense line. Did he doubt himself? Did he doubt me?

  “What did I tell you, Moses, about that cat? Four mittens. I knew he’d be bad luck, and look where we are now,” Chippy said. It seemed like he could be joking, but maybe not. Maybe he really did blame me.

  Moses glanced over at me, his brown eyes sad, but he said nothing in my defense. I thought back over the journey since we’d left Liverpool, now months ago. I had to agree with Chippy; it had been nothing but bad luck followed by more of the same. A storm, the loss of lives, the captain’s grave injury, a mutiny. But how could all of this be my fault, just because I had white paws?

  I came out from under the bench and slowly crept to the captain’s lap, hoping to find some solace there. But his hand did not find my back; instead he sat and watched the sky as more dark clouds rolled over us.

  Maybe Chippy was right. I had never been a great ratter, and I hadn’t been able to catch fish on the island. And I clearly wasn’t able to read the waves like my mother had. Now I had surely turned our little vessel in the wrong direction; we would never outrun this storm and should have sailed through. Who knew if our longboat would survive it? I was a failure. Four mittens indeed! I jumped down from the captain’s lap and curled into a ball under the bench, in a dark, damp corner. I shivered there, hungry and cold and ashamed. What my mother would think of me now, I did not want to know. I thought of my brave, strong brothers and sisters, picturing them to a one standing on the decks of great ships. I did not know what I had done to deserve this life, an unlucky runt. But I hated the knowledge that I had brought my mates and the captain down with me.

  When evening finally fell, Moses offered me a bite, but I wouldn’t take it. Not that I wasn’t hungry; my stomach growled as it hadn’t since I was a little kitten. But I refused food on principle. I had earned nothing, and I would have none of their stores. As the men huddled in the driving rain, I felt the boat shift suddenly. It was Chippy on his feet, standing, almost overturning us.

  “Cap, what’s that yonder—a light? A light!”

  The captain turned quickly, dropping the bit of dinner he was eating. “I believe you’re right, Mr. MacNeil. Moses, have a look.”

  In the excitement I came out and put my paws on the side of the boat, longing to see. What did a light on the waves mean? Was it from the storm or some type of fish? On our previous journey in the longboat, we had, in the dark of night, seen a glowing jellyfish at times, under the water. But this light, I saw quickly, was not bluish in tone as those sea creatures were. Instead it was a warm yellow, and it bobbed far off on the horizon, as if above the sea.

  “It’s a vessel, I know that it is! We’re saved, mates; we’re saved at last!” Moses picked up oars and began to row furiously in the direction of the glowing ball, and Chippy picked up the other set of oars. The splash of their rowing and jubilant calls rang out over the sea as I watched from my vantage point at the front of the boat. Could it be, finally, some good luck for us?

  “Ho there, ho there!” the captain called out as we neared the light. “We hail from Liverpool, the Melissa Rae; I’m her captain, Nicholas Natick! Ahoy! Is anyone on watch?”

  The ship came toward us, and grew before our eyes from a dark shape to a full vessel, lit by several lanterns. She was four-masted, larger than the Melissa Rae, and rode heavy in the water, as if her hold was full. Finally, movement on the deck as a man called down, “Ho there! Ahoy!”

  Our longboat suddenly seemed very small indeed as we pulled into a space beside the big ship. We could not see up to the deck, as it was too high over our heads, but we saw as ropes were lowered down to us, and men’s faces appeared over the side, calling, “Ho there, sailors!”

  “They speak the Queen’s English; we are indeed saved men.” The captain treated us to a rare smile. When the ropes were low enough, the men tied them to either side of our boat, and we were at once lifted from the waves, pulled in yanking starts and stops, until we were even with the gunwale of the great ship. Hands reached over the side for the men, and they were quick to pull themselves up. I watched, pacing the bench, waiting for someone to remember me in the longboat. As the men set foot on the deck, I started to mew. The distance was too great for me to leap. I was afraid I would slip between the longboat and the side of the ship, go down into the dark waves of the storm over our heads, and never be seen again.

  I watched as the captain removed his hat, held it to his chest, and explained our situation to the other captain and crew. He told it quickly, in short terms, and I caught only a few of the words: a storm, mutiny, put out to sea, the Archer Shipping Company. Chippy and Moses stood at either side of our captain, as straight and brave as they could. Finally the great man of the ship nodded, and put his hand onto Captain Natick’s shoulder with much sympathy.

  I meowed again, forgotten and left behind in the longboat. Then I remembered Chippy’s comments about me, my four white paws, how I was bad luck, and I stopped my crying. Had I been left in the boat not by accident, but by intention? Perhaps they were done with me! I crouched low and darted, using all the strength left in my haunches, and launched myself from the boat and onto the deck of the ship, where I landed, I’m proud to admit, on all four paws—perhaps with a bit of a skid.

  My timing could not have been better, as I broke up a solemn discussion between the captains of maritime law, and of whether there had been any sight of the Melissa Rae since we were last aboard her.

  “We put in to North Africa about that time, if your calendar of events is correct, and would not have passed her coming back this way,” the head of ship said, just as I skidded by his feet. “What’s this?” He leaned down to get a better look, and put his hand onto my back. “You have failed to introduce us to this most important crew member.”

  “Yes, this is Mr. Jacob Tibbs, my fine sea cat.” Captain Natick smiled. “He’s pleased to have his paws on deck, Captain Goldney, to be sure. I am hoping an animal on board is not a breach of your policy?”

  “Indeed not, quite the contrary, as we have our own ship’s cat, not to mention the cook’s sow, who lived below on our journey out. My ship is friendly to animals, rest assured.” Captain Goldney smiled down at me. I took in his dark eyes and trim mustache, and I liked his appearance instantly.

  “Speak of the devil and he will appear!” one of the mates said. I smelled a strange scent—not quite that of a rat, but of fur and animal. And then, before I could react, a creature was before me: a huge tabby with brown-and-black fur, at least three times my size and as thick and fluffy as a down pillow. The cat froze, startled to see another of his species on board, then stepped to me quickly to size me up. One look in his cold green eyes told me he did n
ot care for Captain Goldney’s hand on my back, not a bit.

  “See that, they will be fast friends, no doubt.” Captain Goldney scooped up the big cat before he could reach me and cradled him in his arms. But the cat’s eyes stayed locked on mine in pure hatred. He turned his head and hissed, scrambling from his captain’s arms with full claws out and jumping back down to the deck.

  “Leo Bear is his name, as we are quite sure he’s either part lion or part bear—we aren’t confident of which!” the captain went on, speaking quietly, as if he did not want Leo Bear to hear. “He’s not exactly a friendly pet, but he does keep the ship free of vermin.” The captain brushed some fluffy fur from his navy jacket. He was obviously a man who took pride in his dress, as he was on deck in a suit of pressed navy and shined boots, a hat upon his head and his shirt starched and white.

  I glanced back to my captain and noted the state of his own appearance: His once carefully shaved face now had a week’s worth of stubble upon it. His hat—held to his chest—once a fine wool, was now tattered and had lost its shape. His jacket was faded and torn, the elbows stitched together with Moses’s handiwork on the island. “Our own Jacob was learning to become a good ratter himself, but his real trick is forecasting,” the captain bragged. “It was he who warned us of this storm, and we turned about. We would never have found your ship without him.”

  Captain Goldney raised an eyebrow and looked down at me again. “A weather sphinx, is he? Then I’m all the happier to have him on board. I did wonder at how your vessel had survived the storm we just sailed through, as I could see no way out of it, so he must be a lucky cat indeed.”

  I felt pride well up inside my chest at the captain’s words. Did he really credit me with saving the crew? My happiness was short-lived, as I noted Leo Bear approaching cautiously again to stand at his captain’s side and preen his long fur. He was a magnificent cat, and I felt puny and small in his presence, even with the captain’s compliments still hanging about my head.