Captured on the High Seas

by Marianne Hering

  Patrick sat down on an empty barrel. He still felt ill. But he knew they had a problem.

  “Our clothes,” he said.

  “What about them?” Beth asked.

  “I’m not dressed like the other sailors,” Patrick said. “And you’re still in a dress. It’s not safe for a girl.”

  “It’s not safe for any of us,” James said with a deep frown. “They’ll send me to the West Indies as a slave.”

  “They’re allowed to do that?” Beth asked.

  “We’re their prisoners,” James said. “They can do whatever they want.”

  Patrick looked up at James. “We need to blend in. Do you have any extra clothes we could change into?”

  “Yes, but we must hurry,” James said. He moved away. Then he stopped and looked back at Beth. “You should cut your hair,” he said.

  “What? I’m not cutting my hair,” Beth said.

  “You need to look like a boy,” James said. “It’ll be safer.”

  “Do you have a cap?” she asked. “I can tuck my hair inside to look like a boy.”

  James nodded. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll get you both some clothes.”

  James was back in a minute with a canvas bag. It had dry clothes and jackets inside. He dropped it at Beth’s feet. “Everything you need is in here,” he said. “I’m going to get other supplies while you change.” He quickly climbed the ladder and was out of sight.

  Beth disappeared behind a stack of barrels to change clothes.

  Patrick waited for her. He used the time to silently ask God for help. Keep Beth safe, he prayed and then added, Keep all of us safe. And don’t let them make James a slave.

  Beth came out wearing sailor’s clothes and a jacket. She had a soft gray cap on her head. “I hope this works,” she said. She clicked the heels of her brown boots. She tucked her hair inside the cap.

  Patrick was relieved that she looked a little more like a young boy now.

  Patrick grabbed some clothes. Then he went behind the barrels to change. The dry clothes felt warm.

  James came down the ladder. A large canvas bag was draped over his shoulder. He held a large pewter mug with one hand. In the other hand was a stack of biscuits. Steam rose from the mug.

  “Hot coffee,” James said. “And hardtack.”

  “Is that another name for biscuits?” Beth asked.

  James nodded and then showed them how to eat it. He dipped the hardtack into the coffee. Then he nibbled on the biscuit.

  He handed the mug to Patrick. Patrick drank the hot coffee. The warmth spread through him. Eating bits of hardtack made his stomach feel better. Patrick handed Beth the mug.

  Beth sipped the coffee and frowned. “Ewww,” she said.

  A face appeared at the hole in the deck above them.

  “All prisoners topside,” the man said in a British accent. “On th’ double.”

  James motioned for the cousins to follow him. He moved toward the ladder with his sea bag.

  Beth put down the mug and followed James up the ladder.

  Patrick was the last one up. They gathered on the top deck with all the other sailors. The British sailors were there too. They held guns, clubs, and pistols. The Americans were unarmed.

  One of the British sailors barked a command. He ordered all the Americans to gather into groups. Then they were ordered over to one side of the ship. Rowboats waited for them in the water below.

  Patrick, Beth, and James climbed down a rope ladder into a rowboat. The soldiers rowed through the wind and icy waves. All the passengers were soaked to the skin. No one had the energy or the will to speak.

  The waves were huge. Patrick felt as if they were riding a bucking horse. He started to feel queasy again. And cold.

  He turned back to look at the Royal Louis. It was already sailing away with its new British crew.

  Patrick shivered. He and Beth were in the hands of the enemy. He wondered, What was going to happen to them now?

  Troublemaker

  Patrick stood on the deck of the British warship. He was lined up with the other American prisoners. Beth and James stood on either side of him. He felt better in the fresh air. But he was still worried.

  A tall man stood on a raised deck. He wore a fancy blue jacket with gold trim. His three-cornered hat matched his jacket. His pants and vest were white with gold buttons. He gripped a book in his hands.

  The British crew stood along the ship’s railing. The men held their weapons at the ready.

  “Attention!” the tall man shouted to them. “I am Captain Bazely. You are prisoners of war on His Majesty’s ship, the Amphion. Officers and crew will be taken below and held under guard. Cabin boys and powder monkeys will be under my command. You will be assigned duties to repair and clean the ship.”

  Captain Bazely opened his book. “March below deck if your name is called,” he said. Then he called out a list of names. One by one the sailors were led away.

  The captain read another list of names. Then more. Each time a different group of sailors was led away. Patrick watched the other powder monkeys go below deck. He heard a British crewman shouting at them to start repairs on the ship.

  Everyone had been taken away. James, Patrick, and Beth were the only Americans left.

  Captain Bazely looked down at his book and then up again. “Which one of you is James Forten?” he asked.

  “I am, sir,” James said. He stepped forward.

  Captain Bazely said, “Your captain told me about you. He said you’re the only powder monkey who knows his letters. You have received an education then?”

  Patrick saw James square his shoulders. “Yes, sir,” James said.

  “Quite so. It will be your duty to teach my twelve-year-old son, Henry,” the captain said. “He needs to learn to read and write.” He turned to a nearby sailor who had a sunburned face. “Bring Henry to me.”

  The sailor saluted and then left the deck.

  Captain Bazely looked in his book. “I have no more names on the ship’s muster.” He looked down at Patrick and Beth. “Are you cabin boys?”

  Patrick and Beth looked at each other. Patrick didn’t know what to say. Beth turned red but kept silent.

  The captain pointed at Beth. “Your name, boy. What is it?”

  Beth shoved her hands in her jacket pocket. She stared back at him. “My name is . . . Seth,” she said.

  “Quite so,” the captain said. “You will help the cook.”

  One of the British sailors stepped up and led Beth away.

  Patrick watched her go. It worried him when they were separated. He hoped she could take care of herself.

  “And your name, boy?” the captain asked.

  “Patrick,” Patrick said.

  Just then the sunburned sailor returned. A wiry boy with messy hair followed him. He was dressed in a formal jacket. It had a double row of brass buttons. A handkerchief was tied around his neck.

  Patrick noticed the boy’s suit was dirty. He looked as if he needed a long, hot bath.

  “Ah, Henry,” Captain Bazely said. He turned to James. “Your orders, James, are to stay with Henry at all times. Small boys are nothing but trouble on a big warship like this. They can fall overboard, climb the rigging, or disarm the cannons.”

  “You want me to be a nanny, sir?” James asked.

  “Yes,” the captain said. “For Henry and for this child as well.”

  Patrick realized the captain meant him. He felt embarrassed. “I’m not a child,” he said.

  “I’ll be the judge of what you are,” the captain said. He turned on his heel and left.

  Henry looked at Patrick and James. He grinned. “We’ll have a jolly good time together!” He jumped up. Then he climbed on the lower ropes of the rigging.

  “Get down from there,” James said.

  Henry ignored him. “Sailing is boring. So I tie knots in the ropes. And I stuff nuts in the cannons. I even taught the cook’s parrot to steal coins. He snatches them with his beak and g
ives them to me. Now that was fun!”

  James reached for the boy. “Henry—”

  Henry pulled himself up to the next rope. “The parrot was on a pirate’s ship we captured,” he said. “You should have seen the sword fights! And the cannon blasts! We blew that pirate ship to smithereens!”

  Henry climbed up the rigging.

  “Come down here!” James shouted.

  Henry laughed. Up and up he climbed.

  “Come on,” James said to Patrick. “We’ve got to get him.”

  Patrick grabbed the lower ropes of the rigging.

  James followed. “This boy is trouble,” he said, grumbling.

  Patrick wondered if Mr. Whittaker had really planned this. Had he put Patrick on a Revolutionary War ship to babysit?

  Onion Jim

  Beth followed the sunburned sailor below. British sailors hurried back and forth. This deck was wide open. But it was as crowded as a shopping mall during a sale.

  Barrels were lashed to beams so they wouldn’t roll.

  Beth saw two rows of cannons. They were lined up against the sides of the deck. Their large iron bodies were tied down with ropes. The cannons creaked as the ship rocked up and down.

  A large man with greasy red hair stood nearby. Beth could only see his back. He was busy cooking at a tall black stove. Beth held out her frozen hands toward the stove. She rubbed them together to warm them up.

  “Ahoy, Cookie,” the sailor said. “Seth’s your new helper.”

  Cookie turned his big frame around. He wore a filthy apron over his sailor’s clothes. He flipped a coin in the air, caught it, and put it in his pocket.

  “This one is a bit skinny to be toting buckets,” Cookie said.

  The sailor nodded, turned around, and left.

  Cookie looked at Beth and scowled. He looked closer at her.

  Does he think I’m a girl? Beth wondered. She was worried. Then she remembered the onion in her pocket. She pulled it out and held it up to distract him.

  “Can you use this?” Beth asked the cook.

  “I don’t need an onion,” Cookie said. “I’ve got barrels of them.”

  Beth saw that Cookie was missing a front tooth. “Oh no!” he said suddenly. “Onion Jim goes daft when he sees onions.”

  “Onion Jim?” Beth asked.

  “Yes,” said Cookie. “Onions are poison to birds. But he thinks they’re sweet as treats. He ate one once and almost died. Put it away, now!”

  A flurry of feathered wings burst into the cooking area. The flurry was screeching and squawking.

  “Aaah!” Beth cried in surprise.

  A parrot landed on her shoulder. “Give us the onion,” the parrot squawked. “Pretty please.”

  “Too late,” Cookie said. “Now Onion Jim knows you have an onion. He won’t stop pestering you until you give it to him.”

  Cookie reached out a beefy hand. “Give it to me,” he said. “I’ll put it in my stew. That way he’ll know you don’t have it anymore. You can get another one from the hold.”

  Beth handed over the onion. Cookie grabbed it and then turned around. He started chopping the onion with a big knife.

  “Give us the onion,” Onion Jim squawked again. He poked his beak in Beth’s pocket. He was looking for another onion. But the pocket was now empty.

  Onion Jim snatched Beth’s cap off her head. Then he dropped it on the floor.

  Beth’s hair fell to her shoulders. She panicked. She bent down, grabbed the cap, and stuffed her hair back underneath. Onion Jim flew to a nearby barrel.

  Cookie turned around with bits of onion in his hand.

  Beth’s heart pounded hard. The cook hadn’t seen a thing.

  Cookie put the chopped onion in a pot of boiling stew. Then he set a piece of hardtack on the barrel. Onion Jim cocked his head. He looked at the biscuit sitting next to him.

  The bird pecked at the hardtack with his beak. “Thank you, dearie,” Onion Jim squawked. The bird sounded just like an old lady.

  Beth giggled.

  “Here,” Cookie said. He handed Beth a pewter mug. Then he pushed a plate of beans toward her. He dropped a hard biscuit on top. “Take this down to the officer in the hold. Then come back double-quick. I need you to tote buckets of salt meat up here.”

  Onion Jim flew over and landed on Beth’s shoulder. She reached up with one hand to hold on to her cap. She tried to shrug the bird off her shoulder. But Onion Jim wouldn’t move. His claws clamped onto Beth.

  Beth hurried down two sets of ladders into the hold. It smelled like an outhouse. The stink was so foul that she could hardly breathe.

  A small lantern hung on a hook. The dim light shone on fat rats. They scurried away from Beth. She recognized barrels of gunpowder stacked in rows. There were different barrels, too. Beth guessed they were full of food and supplies.

  Off to the side sat a man inside a metal cage. He wore an American officer’s uniform.

  “This is for you,” Beth said. She pushed the plate and mug between the iron bars.

  The prisoner took the plate and mug. “Thank you,” he said. He sat down on his bunk. He placed the mug beside him.

  “Hungry?” Beth asked.

  The man looked up at her. “I’m Lieutenant Prescott in the Continental navy,” he said. “They captured my ship a week ago.”

  “We got captured this morning,” Beth said.

  “You’re American then,” Lieutenant Prescott said. He took the biscuit and banged it on the floor. White flakes fell off. The flakes began to squirm and crawl.

  “Eww,” Beth said, stepping back.

  “Weevils,” the lieutenant said. “They get in the flour.”

  Onion Jim flew off Beth’s shoulder and landed on a barrel. “Shiver me timbers!” he squawked. Onion Jim flapped his wings. Then he flew up the ladder to the deck above.

  The lieutenant chomped into the hard biscuit.

  Beth felt sorry for him. She moved closer to the cage and said softly, “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

  Lieutenant Prescott looked at the ladder and then back at Beth.

  “You could fetch my sword,” he whispered. He pointed toward the barrels of gunpowder. “They stowed my sea chest behind the barrels.” He slipped a small key through the bars. “The sword is hidden in a secret compartment on the bottom.” He told her how to find the sword.

  Beth went behind the barrels and found the chest. She used the key to open the trunk. She followed Lieutenant Prescott’s instructions. She pulled out different pieces of clothing and a canvas bag. Beth found the false bottom, opened it, and lifted out his sword.

  Beth looked up through the square hole. No one was coming down the ladder.

  Beth crept from behind the barrels. She handed the sword to the lieutenant. He hid it under a pile of straw. Beth raced back to the trunk and locked it up again.

  Beth looked at the different barrels in the hold. An idea came to her. She passed a barrel full of onions and grabbed one. She hid the onion in her jacket pocket. Then she gave Lieutenant Prescott his key.

  “Thank you,” the lieutenant said.

  “The cook might come looking for me,” she said. “I have to go back.” She took the empty plate and mug from the lieutenant. Then she hurried back up the ladder.

  She wanted to find Patrick. He could help with her idea. It would keep the Amphion from capturing more American ships.

  If the plan worked.

  A Game of Marbles

  Patrick looked up. Henry was in the rigging, twenty feet above him.

  The boat pitched forward. Patrick’s jacket blew open. His heavy leather pouch fell out. It dropped straight as an arrow to the deck below.

  “What was that?” James asked.

  “Marbles,” Patrick said. Then he had an idea. He shouted at the boy, “Henry! We challenge you to a game of marbles!”

  Henry paused from his climbing and looked down. “Nobody has any marbles on board,” he shouted.

  “I do!” Patric
k shouted back.

  Henry began to climb down.

  Patrick and James dropped to the deck. Henry soon followed. Patrick grabbed his leather pouch.

  “Let’s play,” Henry said. “We’ll have a jolly good time together.”

  James held up his hand. “Not so fast,” he said. “First you have to practice your letters. And then we’ll play marbles.”

  Henry shrugged. “Let’s go to Father’s cabin,” he said. “There are quills and parchment in there.”

  Henry led them below deck. His father’s cabin was at the back of the ship.

  Inside the cabin was a bunk, a sea chest, and a small desk. Patrick spotted an hourglass and compass on the desk. There were also quills, ink, and paper.

  James made sure Henry copied all of his letters. Patrick noticed that they wrote in cursive. James’s lettering looked beautiful with its curls and slant.

  “Now copy this sentence for the letter A,” James said to Henry. “In Adam’s Fall we sinned all.”

  James watched Henry practice a few lines. Then he announced it was time to stop. Patrick pulled the bag of marbles out of his pocket. The three of them crouched on the floor.

  Henry took a piece of chalk out of his pocket. Then he drew a circle on the floor. Patrick put the smaller marbles in the middle of the circle.

  Patrick took the first turn. He aimed the big shooter marble at the other marbles. He hit one of the marbles in the middle. But he missed the second shot. The ship’s rocking made it difficult to aim.

  Next, it was Henry’s turn. “I can do better than that,” he said. Henry shot and hit two marbles. Then he missed.

  Now it was James’s turn.

  James crouched down even lower to the floor. He took careful aim. He hit his marble. Then the next. One by one James hit all the rest out of the circle.

  Patrick whistled. “You’re good,” he said to James.