* * *
Surprisingly, life on the ship quickly became routine for the ex-prisoners. Patrick saw most of them between shifts and while they were eating their double rations. All of the men had already put on weight. Patrick quickly discovered on the ship that, besides being a surgeon and a carpenter, he was also expected to be a barber. Mandrik informed Patrick that the captain was complaining about the smell of the former prisoners and ordered him to sheer all the hair off his friends. Patrick had no idea how to actually do this and employed the help of Mr. McLain. The surgeon took a very sharp blade and sawed the mats of hair away roughly. Yanking, pulling, tearing, and sawing the thick mats was slow, tedious work. It was painful and he spied some blood coming from the nicks suffered when he was removing Sam Scurvy’s long, mangy beard.
Isaac was ready to fight when Patrick and McLain came to trim his beard. Protesting, he complained that his religion forbid him from shaving his beard. Patrick calmed his friend down and a compromise of a trim and a wash was made after much negotiating. Isaac also seemed to have fashioned himself a little hat out of leather that he pinned to his hair. Such an outright display of Judaism would not have been tolerated by most captains’ standards but Gibbons seemed not to care. The crew was intimidated by Isaac's monster size and gritty attitude and not one man worked up the courage to say anything derogatory to the Jew about his new hat.
When it was Patrick’s turn, it seemed to take hours. Removing seven years of matted and tangled hair was a slow and agonizing ordeal. Blood flowed from his scalp all over the makeshift barber's chair, down his shoulders and down his back. When it was finally and mercifully done, Patrick felt lighter, cooler and reborn. Free from hair, his scarred up face was now apparent. Being mugged in London and fighting for seven years in prison had left their mark on his portrait. When he looked at his reflection in the bottom of a brass pot, he did not recognize the face that stared back at him. For the first time he saw himself as a full grown man, not a teenage boy. The food and sun had agreed well with him and he was already looking much healthier.
Later that day Patrick heard a ruckus when he was walking about the main deck. Isaac told him that Shamus had been trading away most his food for extra grog. Shamus was now madly skipping along the slick spars in the rigging singing a happy shanty. No one knew if he was really drunk or if this was just part of his normal behavior. Shamus was now lobster-red with large patches of burnt skin peeling off his body. He wore only a loincloth. The skinny man had complained his long clothes, or ‘land clothes’, were being caught in all the riggings. To be fair, very few riggers would ever wear long clothes and usually wore skintight clothes to avoid entanglement. To the crew’s horror and delight, they were taken aback in seeing a sailor working in nothing but his skivvies. Shamus recklessly hopped around in the rigging and seasoned sailors were shocked that he had not fallen to a broken back yet. Most quartermasters would never tolerate such dangerous behavior, but Mr. Mandrik had started a wager with members of the crew to see when the fool would fall.
“I need to see ya tonight,” Shamus yelled down to Patrick, “to take a wee look at me bite.”
“Come see me when your shift is done," Patrick called up, "if you live through it.”
Patrick was above deck to join Mr. McLain for a routine health inspection walk. They would lexically examine the crew looking for signs of pox or fever. fhey then went below to check the surgeon’s chest. The chest was mainly a collection of bottles of rum and opium. It also had some blades, saws, braces and bandage rags. As Patrick was being instructed in the finer points of how much opium to administer for various conditions, Shamus’s bright red, burnt body walked in. Since entertainment was lacking on this vessel, Isaac followed the Irishman down to watch the surgery.
“Shamus! Let me put olive oil on that burn,” Patrick exclaimed.
“I don’t need no pribblin' Roman-horse-oil salve all over me skin. I am ‘ere for me bite." Shamus began to rub his jaw. "I gots so much fire in me front tooth here I can’t sleep or even tink. I needs ya to yank it out, lad, but I gets real nervous when people gets near me mouth." Shamus lowered his voice sincerely and somberly said, “Perhaps a wee bit of the creature could help me relax.”
Mr. McLain fell for the ruse. “We got plenty of rum. I think we can spare some to make this go easier.” Patrick actually had never seen Shamus drink before but he knew he loved Satan’s nectar. Thinking Shamus would take only a few swigs of the bottle before they pulled out his rotten, green tooth, Mr. McLain made the foolish mistake of handing the entire bottle of rum to the Irishman. The master surgeon turned his back to Shamus to dig through the chest and find a small tooth hammer. Shamus lifted the bottle straight up and begun to guzzle it down. When McLain found his hammer and turned back around and was shocked to see one entire bottle empty on the table and Shamus was downing a second one. He shrieked, “HEY! Stop that man before he drinks all the rum!"
Patrick and McLain grabbed for the Irishman but Shamus dodged and weaved deftly trying to finish the bottle. Isaac laughed heartily as he watched the two men try to catch the wiry, sunburned man squirm and wiggle until the last of the rum disappeared.
“Curse you, man! The whole crew might need that later," McLain shouted angrily. "We can’t waste all this medicine on a tooth!” With the bottle of rum drained, Shamus finally stood still and belched. McLain was breathing heavy through his nose like an angry bull, "Don't just look at me dumbly. Sit the heck down and let me knock that tooth out."
In response, Shamus let out another loud, long belch and confessed, “I’m not ready yet, ya churlish doctor. Me needs more rum to relax.”
Patrick tried to tackle him again, but to no avail, beginning the chase once again. Isaac laughed even harder as Shamus somehow kept away from the two men chasing him with a hammer in the small chamber. Every so often, Patrick would catch him but Shamus would easily break free and the wild chase would start all over again. Patrick and McLain would become exhausted and give up. Shamus would then continue begging for them to remove the painfully rotten tooth initiating the chase all over again. The chase highly entertained Isaac but he knew that he had to help end this game. Tapping Shamus on the shoulder, the Irishman turned around to be met with Isaac's heavy right hand punching him in the teeth. When Isaac pulled back his fist to inspect his knuckles, he saw two of Shamus's rotten teeth stuck in them.
“Ya pribblin', ill-nurtured, maggot-pie!” Shamus yelled as he spit blood on the wooden planked floor.
“Do you got any other health issues you want me to fix while I am here, Irishman?” Isaac smirked. Patrick and Mr. McLain immediately began laughing.
“A plague upon ya, ya canker-blossoms." Shamus cursed.
“Your breath already smells better," Patrick laughed. "And you’re welcome."
The laughing was interrupted by the sounds of the watch bell ringing madly and the ship sprung to life. The bell rang over and over until the entire crew was hastily mustered on the deck. The sun was setting in the West, but a small outline of a ship could be seen quickly approaching.
“Man battle stations! Pirates amidst! Man battle stations!"
Chapter 3
Pirates AHOY!
News from the crow's nest
All hands were madly scrambling and manning the stations. Patrick was frightened. He had hardly participated in any battle drills. Nervousness could be seen in all of the eyes of the new crew or greenhorns, who had only performed some basic war maneuvers. They all questioned their abilities in real action.
Reports from the crow’s nest were shouted down. “She fly no colors, Captain! I see no jack at all!"
Spanish Sloop
Pirates of Savannah Trilogy: Book One, Sold in Savannah - Young Adult Action Adventure Historical Fiction Page 7