by L. A. Meyer
Today after our duties, I'm sitting down with me shiv in my lap and I'm carving a rooster's head on the hilt of it in remembrance of Charlie whose shiv it was original. I borrowed the carving gouge from Liam, and I'm making the outline. I figure I'll rub some colors in later when I get 'em. We start talking about our old gangs and I'm tellin' 'em about Charlie and Hughie and the girls, when Tink pipes up with, "Me and me gang had a run in wi' Charlie Rooster's crew once ... I recalls a really big bloke and a bunch of girls throwin' rocks and red-haired Charlie, of course, but I don't recall you. Funny, that." Tink peers at me, curiouslike.
"That's 'cause I was up on Blackfriar's Bridge with a big rock ready to drop on your stupid head if you got any closer to our kip," says I, "and it would've been good riddance to the likes of you—and I wish I had done it."
Tink grins his good-natured grin. "You're right. It was at a bridge." He leans back against the mast and smiles up into the sun. "And now we's mates. Ain't it strange?"
Stranger than you know, lad.
Jaimy has loosened up considerable since he first came on board all stiff and horrified by the likes of us. He's one of us now, but there's chinks in his knowing about life and the lives of others. Like now we're all talking about our past lives and I'm talking about Charlie and the gang and then I tells about That Dark Day when me family died and how Muck come for me sister and I'm startin' to choke up a bit and then Jaimy up and says he don't believe a word of it.
"Ah, you're all having me on," he says, resentfullike. He don't like being made fun of.
"Nay, it's true, Jaimy," says Benjy. "Muck was one o' them what come and got the dead uns and sold 'em to the doctors."
But Jaimy's still sittin' there not believin' it, and for some reason I loses me head and gets all hot and I'm quick up on me hands and knees facing him and me eyes are wellin' up and I says, "Of course you ain't believin' it when all ye ever did then was ride in yer damn fancy coach and stare out at the kids in the street with their hands out to ye, and if ye ever did wonder where they come from, yer high-and-fine mum'd tell you they all come from the fancy houses, aye, and all their mums tarts and all their dads villains and drunkards, too, right?"
I jumps up to go and sticks me shiv and me carvin' tool in me vest.
"Come on, Jacky, it ain't his fault," says Davy.
"Yes, it is. He's a bleedin' toff what don't know nothin'!"
Jaimy's face is red and he looks at me mad and I glares back at him. "Watch your mouth, Jack," he says through his teeth. He clenches his fists.
"Piss off, James," says I through me own teeth. "I bet ye thought the street scum could go to fine orphanages and such anytime they wanted. They couldn't, James, 'cause there ain't no orphanages! There's only Muck and sickness and cold and starvin' and shame and brothels and the gallows!"
The tears are runnin' down me face for real now, and I turns and grabs a shroud and wraps me legs around it and slides down to the deck. Then I goes down to one of me hidey-holes way below deck and curls up and hugs me knees and looks off in the dark.
I wonder about these moods that have been coming over me lately when ever'thing's going along just fine. Why'd I have to light into Jaimy like that? It really wasn't his fault. I do know I'm going to have to control myself more or I'm going to be found out and The Deception will be over and I'll be put off to be a slave to some awful sultan and I know I cry much too much for a boy and I resolve to stop.
Saucy sea sailors don't cry.
Later we're all back up there in the foretop, with me a little shamefaced. Jaimy punches me in my arm and I punch him in his and all is forgiven and forgotten, and in the warmth of all this forgiveness we decide to set up a secret society, the Brotherhood of the Ship's Boys of His Majesty's Ship the Dolphin.
We make up secret handshakes and signs so we'll be able to recognize each other when we're locked in dark dungeons and pirate castles and such. We decide on the number three as our secret number, and we swear mighty oaths to stand up and protect each other and to never tell the secrets to others on pain of death. We swear never to forget each other when we are far flung across the face of the earth and famous in legend and song.
Davy says we must put a mark upon ourselves to prove the Brotherhood or it don't count for much, and we have to agree. For starters we each takes out our knives and nicks our left thumb to draw blood and then puts all our thumbs together so that we are blood brothers just like the savages, but Tink don't think it's enough for such a dread Brotherhood as ours and why don't we cut off our right earlobes and sew 'em all in a packet and send it overboard with a note to Neptune, which makes me sick but I say nothing, and Davy pipes up with, "Why don't we all get the same tattoo when we go ashore?"
Everyone thinks that's a great idea, 'cept me, but I don't say nothin' 'cause I don't want to stand out and who knows when we'll go ashore again. A worry in the future is better than a mangled ear right now.
They all fall to deciding what sort of tattoo to get and where to put it and Willy says, "Why not get a naked dancin' girl like Big Morty has on his arm which 'e can make dance by flexin' 'is muscle? We could get it done on our right butt cheek."
The others admit that would be prime but maybe we ought to have somethin' a bit more nauticallike. I agree with all my heart, thinking about how I'd have some real explainin' to do if I grow up to be a lady and get married and on my wedding night my husband discovers a naked dancing girl tattooed on my tail. Course, I'd rather not get a tattoo at all.
We decide to leave what and where till we're ashore and can see what can be had. We solemnly adjourns the meeting of the Brotherhood and decide to meet at the bowsprit for a bit of a splash, a baptism of our new Brotherhood, so we slide down the shroud lines like the salty sailors we are and do not climb down the rope ladder like pathetic landsmen.
We make it to the bowsprit without being waylaid by any who might think the Dolphin might be better served by us doing some actual work. The bowsprit is the pointy thing on the front of the ship that has a narrow gangplank running out on it and has one of the fore-and-aft sails hooked on its end. There's a net rigged under the bowsprit to catch any sailor who might fall off the gangway in heavy weather.
The net might have been rigged for that serious purpose, but it ain't what we use it for. When the ship hits gentle rolling swells, like it's doing right now, the bowsprit dips down toward the wave and the net goes under the water a bit. We doff our shirts and climb down in the netting and try to stifle our squeals as the water surges up to meet us. The water hits us powerful hard, but the net holds us safe.
We're getting near Gilbraltar now and the water is turning a clear blue and dolphins, the most amazing things, come up close to us in the net. They look at us with their bright little eyes and they seem almost to be laughing at us and our ship, which is named for 'em but which ain't near as fast. We laugh at them and each other as we plow through the foam, the dolphins larking about and jumping clean out of the water and not working hard at all to keep up with us. We 'specially hoot and jeer at Davy since the shameless monkey has taken off his pants as well as his shirt, but the other boys don't follow his lead as they are already soaked, which is lucky for me 'cause now I don't have to make up some lame excuse and leave.
When we come back on deck and put our shirts on, Bill Sloat is there and he's looking at me, smiling.
Chapter 11
Mr. Tilden holds the class for the midshipmen at a long table set up in the gun room, which is where the officers eat, all cept the Captain, who eats his own fine dinners in his own fine cabin. After the officers are done with their breakfast, but before the midshipmen come in, Tilly gives us ship's boys some instruction, him being an American and democratic in his ways. Also, I think he's doing an experiment, like, to see what can be done with rabble such as us. He gives us some science and arithmetic and navigation, and he gives us new words to learn. Today's words were consolation, solace, and balm. I think he picks 'em out of the air.
Tilly wa
nts all us boys to learn to read and talk right 'cause he says that will take us far in the world and make us the equal of any man, no matter what his birth. That's Tilly's American nature coming out, I guess, but I don't know how true it is. We'll see.
Since I can read better than any of them, from my days as a professional reader on Hugh the Grand's shoulders, I'm to help tutor the others. This makes them hate me in a good-natured sort of way, but it pleases me.
Willy is hopeless in the way of reading, but he tries and maybe someday he'll be able to write his name. I'm still on the alphabet with him and Benjy. Benjy don't seem to care too much for this kind of schooling, as he just sits there all dreamy and looking out the hatchway at the light while I'm trying to teach him something. He's good at the seamanship, though, so he'll do all right. He just wants to be a sailor, after all. Yesterday in the foretop he said he figures his dad must have been a Swedish sailor, 'cause of his really blond hair, or maybe a Finn or a Dane. He don't know, and his mum didn't know, either, on account of her occupation. Davy and Tink look down and away when they hear this, so I know they're thinking of their mums. Barmaids, chambermaids, milkmaids, maids all and all dead. Benjy says he don't hold it against his mum none for what she done, as she loved him and tried to do her best for him while she lived. Things got real quiet in the foretop for a while.
Davy and Tink are bright enough but both are scamps what can't sit still. They've each of 'em already been stretched bare-assed over a cannon and switched for devilment, where they cried and howled like babies and promised never to do it again, which ain't likely. They are beyond the alphabet and on to simple words.
Jaimy doesn't really need any help in reading, but I tutor him, anyway, just 'cause it makes him mad, and 'cause I like to be around him, mad or not. He can write a fairer hand than me and can talk better, so I'm learning from him, too, and that makes it better for his precious pride.
After the boys and Tilly leave, I set up the table for the midshipmen. It ain't my favorite part of the day, since I'll have to be around when the awful Mr. Bliffil bullies the others and makes them hate themselves. I can see the shame in their faces and I don't like it. Bliffil is one of those blokes who can be happy only when he's making someone else miserable.
The midshipmen straggle in and grumpily sit down and toss their books on the table in front of them. I try to stay out of sight back in the shadows, wishing Tilly would get here soon. I want this to be over so I can get back outside and practice my flute and my sewing and be with my mates.
Bliffil saunters in last, cuffs the backs of a few heads, pushes Mr. Eakins out of his chair and sits down in it. He looks blearily around the table, his hair uncombed, his shirt open and dirty. I wouldn't be surprised if he was stealing the rum ration from some of the smaller midshipmen and then terrorizing them into silence. As if he knows what I'm thinking, his gaze falls upon me.
"Come here, boy," Bliffil says to me.
"Sir?" I says, fearfully. I go over to the table. I know that this is not going to turn out well and I starts tremblin'.
He opens one of the books in front of him and says, "Read this." He shoves the book over in front of me, and hope rises in me breast. Maybe he's heard I can help with readin' and maybe I can help him and maybe this'll soften his hard heart.
"'Of arms and the man I sing,'" reads I, "'Who, forced by fate, and haughty Juno's unrelenting hate..."'
I don't get to go on 'cause Bliffil's hand whips out and the back of it catches me across the mouth. Shocked, I raises me hand t' me lips. He warn't lookin' for help, I knows now, he just wanted to shame me. I can tell by the look in his eye that he despises me for knowin' the words.
"Don't you raise your hand to me!" he hisses, and I puts me hands down to me side.
"I ... I'm sorry, Sir," I whispers. "I just sounds 'em out. I don't know what they means. It's a trick, like."
"What does this mean?" he says, pointing to another passage.
"I don't know, Sir."
The inside of my lip is cut and I can taste the blood.
"And this?"
"I don't know, Sir."
"You insolent little snot," he hisses, and he leans out to hit me again. I closes my eyes and waits for it with me arms held down tight to my sides.
His next blow catches me on my ear and it knocks me down.
"Get up," he orders. I get up, me ear ringin' and the room spinnin' around.
"What does this mean?"
"I don't know, Sir."
"Going to cry, snot?"
"No, Sir," even though I already am.
"We'll see about that." His hand cocks back again. I squeezes me eyes shut and cringes.
"Ma ... ma ... maybe the boy has had enough, Mr. Bliffil."
I pops open a cautious eyelid. It was Mr. Jenkins what spoke.
Bliffil slowly turns to face Mr. Jenkins, the look on his face that of total amazement. "Wot!" cries Bliffil. Mr. Jenkins has now gone white in the face and stares down at his tablet. "The Jellyfish opens its noise hole and tells me when enough is enough! Bloody cheek I call it and I won't have it, by God!"
Bliffil grabs Mr. Jenkins by the neck and forces his head down to the tablet and rubs his face on it. When he lets go and Mr. Jenkins raises his head, his face is splotched with the white of the chalk and the red of the shame. There is no fight in his eyes, nothing but humiliation. He looks to be fighting back tears.
Then Tilly finally comes roaring in with, "Gentlemen, gentlemen, compose yourselves! We continue today with..." And I am able to fall back into the shadows and nurse my lip.
I decides then and there to never go into the midshipmen class again without Tilly being there.
Chapter 12
We have long since gone through the Strait of Gibraltar, which was the most amazing thing with the great rock itself and the salutes from the port and the gay dolphins playing at our bows. I wish we could have gone into the port to look about, but, no, we are off to the coast of North Africa, where we will search for pirates. It's getting really hot. We have been having nearly daily drills with the big guns, and the boys get worked right hard as they run the sacks of powder to the gun crews. They doff their shirts, and their chests fairly gleam with sweat. I doff my shirt and pound my drum and sweat with the rest of them.
My shirt, however, is not my problem as you could still play a tune on my ribs had you the proper hammers and musical training. No, the problem is with my pants. They are getting tight across the rear. When first I put on poor Charlie's pants, there was room enough to spare and I had to roll up the cuffs several times to keep them from flopping around my feet. What with the three full meals a day that I've been getting and what we've been cajoling out of the cook, my haunches have filled out and are getting right round, which is not good in the furthering of The Deception. I've got a little taller, too. I only roll up the cuffs once now.
But I am some skilled in the sewing now and I resolve to make new pants. Baggy ones. I go to see Liam and he tells me I'm to go see the clerk, Deacon Dunne, down in ship's stores, and draw some cloth and thread against my wages, and off I go.
Deacon Dunne casts a wary eye on me. "Jack Faber, is it?"
"Aye, Sir."
"Two yards of white duck?"
"Aye, Sir."
"This essentially uses up your pay so far. What with the mess kit you were issued when you came on board lacking one. That's charged against your name, too."
"I know, Sir," says I, still marveling that I get paid at all.
Deacon Dunne nods to his assistant clerk who goes to get the cloth and thread. "Have you been reading your Bible, Jack?" he asks, drilling me with his gaze.
"Oh yes, Sir," say I, and put on a face of all honest innocence, "and I find it a great consolation and solace. A balm, even."
He looks at me doubtfully, but he delivers the goods.
I am good at the sewing and I am prideful about it. I can sew a straight seam and I can cut the shapes out of the whole cloth and see how it's all going
to come together and and how it's going to fit and hang. The boys are not good at the sewing. Willy is too clumsy with the needle and Davy and Tink and Benjy lack the patience and Jaimy considers it beneath him. We'll see when his clothes turn to rags on him just how far beneath him it is, the snob.
Within a day and a half I have a new pair of trousers. They have a drawstring at the waist, lots of room in the butt, and wide cuffs so I can roll the legs up above my knees for the deck washing and such.
I also have some cloth left over, so I make myself a pair of underdrawers, the first I've had since That Dark Day. Then an idea comes to me, an idea so wonderful in its cunning and boldness that I am grinning and giggling as I carry it out. I take a piece of the remaining scraps of cloth and roll it up into a sort of soft tube. Then I fold another piece up to make a soft round pad. I sew the tube onto the pad and then take the two of them together and sew them in the front of my drawers, so that if anyone is ever checking out the front of my pants for evidence of male equipment, I won't be found lacking.
I am well rigged out.
The north coast of Africa is all dull, barren brown rock broken up by patches of sandy desert with dunes that come all the way down to the edge of the sea. The sand whips up into clouds that reach all the way out to us sometimes and we can taste the grit in our mouths. We chase what we think to be pirates, but they always slip away from us, dodging into tiny harbors or running into waters too shallow for us to go. It makes the crew mad, 'cause they're hungry for plunder and prizes. But not me. I don't care if we ever catch a pirate.