by L. A. Meyer
I'm talkin' fast, tryin' to make the deal. "Be right comfy with the bunch of you snugged up in there."
"What about Hugh?"
"He'll follow your lead. He's slow, but he's strong and loyal. You kin be the brains and he'll be the brawn. It worked for Charlie."
"You're not goin' back, then."
"No, I got to go. You tell 'em I died with Charlie ... no, tell 'em I went to sea and will come back rich and famous. That'll give 'em a laugh. Tell Hughie I hopes he gets to be a hostler. That way he'll know you came from me with my blessin'. They got a loaf of bread and some cheese. They'll share it with you."
"You think it'll still be there?" says Toby all doubtful.
"I know it'll be there 'cause that's the way we done things. So it's done, then?"
"Awright, it's done," says he. "Come, me girls, let's go see your new sisters and brother." The girls get up all excited by the happenings and the thought of some bread and cheese. They gathers up their rags.
"And, Toby," says I, "don't let Hughie go after Muck. Ye'll have to calm him down 'cause he loved Charlie like we all did. Tell him if Muck is onto makin' his own corpses, it won't be long 'fore Muck does the Newgate Jig his own damned self."
"That's one hangin' I won't miss," says Toby with feelin'.
"Luck, Toby."
"Luck, Mary. Sorry about Charlie."
"Aye."
That's the last time anyone on this earth ever calls me Mary.
Chapter 5
God is a tricky cove, all right, as I didn't mean for Charlie to die so's I could be delivered, but that's what He come up with. I'd like to think of Charlie up in heaven, his red mop shinin' in the celestial light, crackin' up the archangels and such with his japes, and meetin' up with Mum and Dad and Penny and all the others I've known who've died, but I don't know. I don't know nothin'.
'Cept now I knows to be careful what I prays for as it might be granted. In the future I'll pray like "God, deliver me from this, if you please, but don't be killin' Charlie in the doin' of it."
But what's done is done.
The first thing I do after I leaves Toby and his bunch is to take out me shiv and hack off me hair, grabbin' handfuls and sawin' away, leavin' it in clumps in the gutter along me way. I cuts it as close to me head as I can get it. I figures I'll follow the Thames down towards the sea as no one knows me face down there and it is a good a place as any to make a new start. I hears that's where the navy ships are and maybe I'll find a way to make meself useful and so get to keep body and immortal soul together for a bit longer.
That night I walks till me clothes dry out and then I kips in a dooryard, cold and hungry and miserable.
Charlie, why'd y have to go and mouth off to Muck like that? If you hadn'a done it we'd still he like we was, the Rooster Charlie Gang against the world, but you did it and now yer dead and gone 'cause of it and nothin's ever gonna be like it was. Yer dead, Charlie, and that's it and that's all, but I still can't believe even though I seen you lyin there all still all quiet all dead.
I wipes me nose and me eyes on me sleeve and curls up into a tighter ball.
Y' know, Charlie, it's stupid, but I sort of thought that we would get together someday when I got older, like gents and ladies get together, like. At least for a little while before ye went off to be a brave soldier. At least for a little while we'd walk along, ye all cocky and fine and me beside y with me arm through yers, even though I know I'll never be a lady. I sort of thought that, I did. But, no. Nothin' now.
In the mornin' it begins to rain and I'm wet again. I walks on and don't scare up no food this day, neither, and I knows that body and soul might start to separate themselves soon if I don't get some right quick. I lie down on a bed of stones in a dark alley when night comes and the cobblestones bite me skin where me bones poke through and I'm thinkin' that I ain't never slept alone before and I don't like it. I misses the feel and smell of the others in our cozy kip when we were in for the night. Yes, and the whisperin' and gigglin' and snugglin' up together. I could go back. I could get along with Toby.
No. I've got to go on. I'll come back someday, I will. Stop yer cryin. Stop it now.
I'm keepin' close to the river on me way to the sea, as I won't get lost that way and I'm used to the river 'cause of our old kip bein' so close to it and all, and it gives me some comfort somehow.
I'm workin' me way down a street on the outskirts of the city, tryin' to escape notice and to look like a simple lad out runnin' an errand for his mum and up to no mischief, Officer, honest I ain't, when a man in front of a tavern calls out to me, "Here, boy, hold me horse," and passes the reins of the beast to me. Me and the horse stands there for a couple of hours, each of us real suspicious of the other, whilst the cove inside eats and drinks his fill, and when he comes out aburpin' and pattin' his gut I puts on a look like I've been real sharp in the performance of me duties and he gives me a penny.
When he gets on the horse and leaves, I heads into the same tavern and for me penny I gets a bowl of stew and a bit of bread, which is something wonderful. I licks the bowl clean, tucks the bread in me vest for later, wipes me mouth on me sleeve, and heads out.
It's easier bein' a boy, I reflects.
It's easier bein' a boy, 'cause nobody bothers with you. Like, I couldn't have gone into that tavern yesterday as a girl 'cause they would have shouted, "Get out of here, you filthy girl," while they didn't say anything when I went in as a filthy boy. My filthy penny was as good as anyone else's.
It's easier bein' a boy, 'cause no one remarks upon me bein' alone. Lots of boys are alone but girls never are. The girls gets scooped up into beggin' and stealin' gangs, or workhouses, or worse. True, on my journey south I was eyed by some gentlemen of the street who thought as they would look better in me vest than me, but a flash of me shiv put some caution in 'em and that was that.
It's easier bein' a boy, 'cause when someone needs somethin' done like holdin' a horse, they'll always pick a boy 'cause they think the dumbest boy will be better at it than the brightest girl, which is stupid, but there you are.
It's easier bein' a boy, 'cause I don't have to look out for no one but me. I'm feelin' a great sense of freedom, like a weight's been lifted from me shoulders, as I'm dartin' me way down to the docks. I'm feelin' a little ashamed for feelin' so light, too, what with Charlie dead and me leavin' the others and all, but that's the way it is.
I slips between two loose boards into a stable that's all closed up for the night, and I burrows in the warm and sweet smellin' hay.
I decide my name will be Jack.
Chapter 6
There's a great bustle and fuss down at the set of piers that I chances on where the Thames starts to really widen out and look like open sea, and me mouth is hangin' open and me eyes are wide with the spectacle of it all. Ships like these never got up the river as far as our kip, only dirty old barges and scows. These ships are huge and beautiful and there's hundreds of 'em and their poles what stick up are impossible high and there's a right forest of 'em. It's a blue and glorious summer's day and there's flags snappin' in the breeze and men in grand uniforms struttin' about and sailors with great long pigtails coilin' rope and runnin' up the poles and doin' other sailor things.
There's men on the dock shoutin' and cursin' and groanin' under the loads they're carryin' on one of the ships, and I works me way over in that direction to see what I can get up to. I ain't et since that stew awhile ago and me belly is in its usual spot, plastered up flat against me backbone, and while that ain't an out-of-the-ordinary thing for me, I wouldn't mind seein' me condition bettered. Body and soul will be kickin' up and thinkin' of partin' soon if I don't get somethin' down me neck fast.
I see that the ship is called the Dolphin, from the name carved on its fat end. The name has a couple of fishes carved to either side of it, and both the fishes and the name are painted a shiny gold. The pointy end of the ship has a carvin' of a lady who's mostly comin' out of her dress, which is also painted with
a lot of gold and some red. And a lot of skin color.
Towards the middle of the boat there's a board laid across to the dock where the workers are carrying the stuff onto the ship and there's a gang of street boys on the dock hangin' about.
"Hey, Mate, wot's the word?" says I, lowerin' my voice all hearty and boylike to one of the boys, and he tells me the ship is takin' on six ship's boys for the comin' voyage and they're leavin' today and what would they want with a scrubby runt like me?
I contains meself and don't tell him to sod off but instead worms me way to the front of the mob. I spies a likely piling next to the water. Hookin' me toes in the ropes what are tied round it, I climbs to the top, nimblelike, and sits down to better catch the proceedin's but not before I have to put me toe in the eye of someone who tries to climb up after me. "Find yer own perch, Mate," I says. Serves him right, too, 'cause it's the boy what called me a runt and he should watch his mouth.
I looks over to the ship and sees an officer dressed in a fine blue uniform, all decked out with gold and ribbons and sword and buckles. He's standin' all straight and grim next to a portly gent who's dressed in a black suit of clothes and who don't look military at all 'cause he ain't wearin' a fancy hat like the other bloke, and he's got these little round glasses set on his nose. And there's a little cove in a dusty suit sittin' at a table set up there and every time one of the beasts of burden goes by with his load, this bloke writes somethin' down in his pile of paper. Fillin' out the group is this fearsome lookin' sailor what's got a piece of heavy knotted rope in his hand and a mean and nasty look in his eye. He's got muscles like a horse and looks to have a brain to match.
I thinks to meself about the thought of goin' to sea: I sure as hell ain't got no prospects here, and it's just as dead you get from starvation, muggin', or bein' stepped on by a horse, as you get from drownin', which is, of course, the seagoin' option. And I hears that they'd feed us, even. I'll believe that when I sees it. True, I'd have a bit of trouble passin' as a boy, but I ain't had no trouble so far and I been at it for a week or so. And if they finds me out, I'm sure they'd just put me off somewhere and where they'd put me off might be a finer place than this. Maybe a place with oranges. I ain't never had an orange. I catches a whiff of somethin' they might be cookin' downstairs on the boat and that settles it. Trial by belly, case closed. I'll give it a try.
"Awright," calls out the evil one with the knotted rope to the mob of us, "what kin any of yiz do?"
Do? I wonders. What do we do? We all look around at each other. What does he think, we're all bloody runaway apprentices with trades? Missin' sons of royal houses? What we do is scavenge, beg, and steal—ain't it plain?
Some of the brighter ones furrow their brows and look deep into their heads to see if they had any hidden virtues that might please His Majesty's Royal Navy, and most come up empty, but not all.
"Sir, I can splice a line!" shouts a thin-faced boy, and he's motioned aboard.
The crowd then announces that they all can splice a line, by God, but now it don't wash. The mob murders the lucky line-splicer with their eyes as he makes his way up the gangplank, and then another boy calls out, "I'm strong fer me size, Sir, take me!" Another tops him with, "I'm strong as two of him!" Still another says that he don't eat much, and finally all the others chime in with their qualities and the place is a bedlam of shoutin'.
Shoutin' which comes to a quick end when the cove with the rope waves it at 'em and shouts with a voice to wake the dead, "Pipe down, ye whoreson guttersnipes, or I'll come over there and show ye what me nobby's for!"
The mob pipes down.
I gets me resolve together and me feet under me and I stands up on the top of the piling and puts me fists on me hips to show I know no fear.
"Sir!" I yells with all me might. "I can read!"
Well, that puts a right stopper in the boys' gobs. "What the hell's the good of that?" they mutters, and, "Bleedin' little schoolboy he is. Bloody cheek, it is."
But the officer on the ship looks over at the well-rounded cove and cocks a bored eyebrow. "What say, Mr. Tilden?"
Mr. Tilden, who looks like he'd rather be doin' a plate of sausages than doin' this, looks at me and says, "Is that so, boy? Then what's the name of this ship?"
"The Dolphin, Sir!" says I, joyfully pointin' to the name. "It's writ right back there on the arse end of the boat, Sir, with the fishies!" The mob grumbles in common hatred of me.
"And what does that say, boy?" He points to a huge sign painted on the wall of a building.
"Ships' Chandler, Sir! H. M. Wilson and Sons!" I says, less sure this time.
"And what does it mean, boy?"
"Why, Sir," says I, sweatin' now, "that's where Mister Wilson and his boys makes chandles for ships." I smiles hopefully and with all me charm, but there's some snorts of laughter from the ship.
"If you're such a grand scholar, boy, then why do you want to go to sea? You could apprentice to a printer. You could study to be a teacher. Why the hard life of a sailor?"
I places me hand over me thumpin' heart and says, "Oh, Sir, all me life I have longed for a life on the rollin' sea. It's in me blood, like, and can't be denied. I wants to see the Cathay Cat and the Bombay Rat and gaze upon the Kangaroo and all the other wonders of the world!"
The pack of boys is now booin' and hootin' and throwin' things at me, but the fat man looks at the officer and gives a short nod.
"Very well, boy, you can come aboard," says the officer, and I slides down the pilin' with me heart in me throat and suffers a few kicks and threats and jabs on me way to the plank but I don't care, 'cause I'm bein' delivered and goin' to sea.
As I cross the plank I look down into the dark water and give a bit of a shiver. Then I calms meself and goes on.
A girl what's born for hangin ain't likely to be drowned.
***
"What's your name, boy?" says the weedy little man at the table, his pen ready.
"Jack, Sir," says I, as steady as I can. "Jacky Faber."
"Age?"
I thinks fast. A wrong answer could get me tossed back off. I thinks I'm twelve, maybe even thirteen, but that's too old for a boy of me size. Ten, maybe. But what if they won't take boys that young?
"Ten, Sir," I says, and he looks up at me without sayin' nothin'.
"Ten and a half," I says quickly, "almost eleven."
"All right," he says, writing in his book. "You are now written into the record of this ship and, as such, you are now bound by all the rules that pertain to members of the Royal Navy. Should you wilfully disobey any of those rules or the Articles of War, you will be punished by imprisonment, flogging, or hanging. Do you understand?"
"Yessir." I quavers. Is there no place in this world without a handy gallows?
"Good. You'll be the schoolteacher's boy. Mr. Tilden?"
Mr. Tilden turns to me and tells me to stay out of the way until we get under way. He says he'll send for me later and hopes that I will be a good boy.
I promise that I will be, that I'll be ever so good, and thank you, Sir, for takin' me, and off he goes in the direction of the glorious smells that are coming up from below.
I takes meself over to the side of the ship so's I can be out of the way and not be noticed and so's I can watch the proceeding on the dock. The boys is still makin' a commotion, tryin' to get picked to be taken aboard. The boy what said he could splice a line comes up next to me and says his name's Davy and I say mine's Jacky and ain't it prime that we got picked to go, and we looks each other over and knows from the dirt and rags that we comes from the same kind of place. Under the dirt he's got light brown hair and a thin face and he seems like a decent bloke and I asks him if he really can splice a line and he says yes, if it's a little one. He's picked up some seaman lingo at a tavern where he used to beg and sometimes do chores. We both look out over the crowd, mates now.
Three more boys are picked and they hustle aboard. Guess they only needs five. The clerk signs them in and they wand
er about till they spies us at the rail and joins us. They be Benjy and Tink and Willy. Benjy and Tink seem like decent coves, but Willy, he bein' the one that said he was strong enough for two, he gets it in his head that he's gonna be the boss boy of all of us and figures to set things up right away and hauls off and hits me hard in the shoulder, me bein' the smallest and a good place to start. I don't want to fight, but I know I can't let him mess me about or I'll endure it forever, so I tightens me lips against me teeth in case I take a shot to the mouth and gives him a hard two-hand shove in his chest, which almost knocks him off his feet. I lets out a string of Cheapside's choicest curses, which settles things between us. It's all bluff but I'm glad it worked, and I'm glad the others sees this and knows I ain't to be pushed around.
"Here, here," says Davy. "They won't put up with fightin' on a king's ship, they won't." He points down the hatch at the hulkin' black cannons lyin' down below. "They'll put you across one of them brutes, pull down yer pants, and switch yer bottom till it bleeds."
Davy seems to have picked up a lot of seaman's lore at his tavern, and I takes him at his word. I resolves again to be ever so good as I can't have me pants pulled down and be switched, which sounds right cruel even if I was a boy and not in fear of bein' found out and tossed overboard, or, at the least, put ashore in a strange land full of cannibals. I want to be good, anyways, as it's me nature and I'm thinkin' I could be right content here, as they might feed me and it smells awful good whatever it is, comin' up from down below, and everythin's so clean. I ain't never seen anythin' as clean as this place. The deck under me feet is fairly gleaming, scraped down so's it's almost white, and I feels it's a shame me dirty toes is standin' on its loveliness, smearin' it up, like. All the gear is put away just so, and there's new paint on everythin', smellin' clean and fresh.
Then a terrible thought hits me. I looks around frantic and thinks What about the call of nature, you twit? In the streets it was just get over a sewer ditch and hike up yer shift and there y' go. This will have to be solved straightaway, thinks I with a sinkin' heart, as I feels the call right now and sorely regrets havin' that last big drink at the trough.