In the Belly of the Bloodhound

by L. A. Meyer

  "I plan to drop the oars over the side and slit the sails so they cannot follow us by either rowing or sailing. I would get rid of their rudder, too, but as that hangs outside the canvas covering, the fact that it's missing might be spotted, and so we can't chance it. No, the rudder will have to be the last thing to go, on the night before we escape."

  "Suppose they discover the slit sails and the missing oars?" she asks. "Won't they blame it on us? Won't they conduct a thorough search?"

  "No, they will blame it on the Black Ghost. He's gonna leave footprints there tonight. I'll explain later. Come on, let's go."

  I get into the lifeboat without incident. Leaving Clarissa on the lower level with a warning not to do anything daring or stupid or both, I gained the deck, looked, and saw that the entire watch was huddled on the quarterdeck, no doubt a bit fearful of going off alone to possibly encounter either a ghost or a once-human heap of seaweed, neither of which would be much to their liking. As before, I loosen the line holding down the canvas cover and crawl in.

  From the inside, I slacken the canvas on the outboard side and carefully put five of the six oars over the side—they are long enough so that I can just about touch the water with them, such that when I let them go, they slip into the water with nary a sound.

  Having done that, I pull out my shiv and silently but thoroughly slice up the mainsail and the jib. That job finished, I put my shiv back in my waistband and pull out the oilskin wad I had also tucked in there before leaving the Hold, then open it up. I'm glad enough moonlight is shining in so I can see to do this work.

  Earlier in the day I had taken a rag, soaked it down good, and on it I sprinkled the powder I'd made by crushing the red cake of dry watercolor from my miniature-portrait-painting kit. I added a touch of brown pigment to bring the color to reddish-brown, the same shade as dried blood. Then I folded the rag and mashed it and kneaded it till the color started to seep through. Opening it back up, I saw that I had a nice, blood red printing pad. I wrapped it in the piece of oilcloth where I stored my brushes and put it away for later.

  Now I lay the open ink pad on the lifeboat's rear seat and ball up my fists and start making baby footprints—I take my clenched right fist and press its right, or pinkie, side onto the pad and then push it down on the deck. Then I put the tips of my right-hand fingers on the pad and then push them all down, in a slightly curved way, on the top of the print I had just made, and behold, a perfect little child's footprint ... or a perfect little ghost's...

  I do the same with my other hand and place this print to the left and a bit ahead of the other one for the left footprint, and so on up the deck from the rear seat to the next, and then on top of that seat. Then I stop, as if the creature who made these tracks disappeared into thin air.

  I learned this little number from Rooster Charlie back in the Blackfriars Bridge days. Oh, Charlie, I think fondly, always the trickster you were, always laughing and joking to give us cheer when we was all gathered together in the kip and maybe down a bit on account of bein cold and havin nothin to eat. You, Charlie, who said, "Now, ladies, you never can tell when these little tricks'll come in handy..." Right you were, Charlie, and right you are...

  I refold my pad and stow it away. I retie the boat's outer canvas and peek out through the opening on the near side, the way I had come in. I see no movement. The coast being clear, I crawl out, tie down the canvas, and head back for the hatchway.

  There, I say to myself, by leaving tracks I have covered my tracks.

  I slink around the corner of the hatch and Damn! I am confronted by two men who have plainly gone up on some errand and were afraid to go alone.

  "Good God!" gasps one. The other is scared speechless. I see only eyes wide with terror.

  I am just as terrified as they, but I make myself think, You see them as men, but they see you as a black shadow, a black demon, and I reach up and pull myself to the ratlines, curling my arms about myself in imitation of a black spider. I twist those same arms in weird ways, and I reach deep down in my throat and rumble out, "Taboo ... taboooo ... taboooooooo..."

  They cannot move.

  I, however, can. After I have uttered the last taboooooo, I leap from the rigging to the rail, and then, seeing them transfixed, I drop over the side.

  I do not, however, drop into the ocean. No, I drop onto the anchor, which I know is hanging there by the side. I quickly clamber up the anchor shaft and onto the chain and into the hawsehole, the opening in the bow where the anchor chain is drawn. It's a very tight squeeze and I leave a good bit of skin with the barnacles that cling thereto, but I make it in. Sitting on the pile of chain, I put my ear to the hawsehole.

  "D-d-disappeared, it did, right into thin air. You saw it, don't say you didn't."

  "Nay, I saw it go right down into the sea, and it grinned a hideous grin at me as it went under and ... Oh, my God! We is lost! We is lost! We seed it, we did! We seed the Black Ghost, we did!"

  And chaos rules on the Bloodhound.

  These two run back to the quarterdeck, shrieking out their story, and the ship's bell starts ringing and ringing, and I know a very unhappy Captain's gonna come roarin' out of his cabin, shoutin' out death and destruction to any who would disturb his sleep. I climb blindly over the piled-up chain in the anchor-chain locker to find my way to the door, where I can see light around the edges, and I wait there, crouched and fearful, 'cause I know the whole crew has been roused. A lamp has been lit in the kitchen and I hear shouts of "Muster on the quarterdeck!" and feet pounding out of the crew's berth. Then, when I don't hear nothin', I wait for another second, open the latch, which, thank God, opens from the inside, too. When I look out, there's no one around.

  I bolt down the passageway and down the ladder. Clarissa is still there.

  "Damn!" she says. "What happened?"

  "I got spotted! We've got to hurry! They're mustering the crew, which means they'll muster us, too! Hurry!"

  We go through the storeroom and worm our way through the Rat Hole and hear the other girls starting to wake up from the noise outside.

  Beatrice is there with the candle.

  "Get the boards up quick!" I say, and pull off my hood and black shirt. "They'll be down any minute!"

  Clarissa and Bea get the boards up with one screw in the end of each, 'cause there's no time to do the others. We keep a little puddle of candle wax mixed with candle soot and brown color from my painting set next to the boards. Clarissa and Bea each take some up and thumb it into the screw holes to hide them.

  Meanwhile, I'm strugglin' out of my black boots and stockings when I hear, "Lord, save us!" from above and I know that Sin-Kay and who-knows-who-else have entered our Hold.

  "Bea," I whisper, "leave the candle and get back topside! Cause confusion! Give us some time!"

  She nods and goes to do it.

  I pull off my black top and gather everything into a bundle and hiss to Clarissa, "We've got to get this stuff into the hidey-hole!"

  The top board to the hidey-hole cache is off and I cram in my black rig.

  "Inspection line!" roars Sin-Kay from up above. "Now!"

  There are sounds of great commotion overhead. Feminine cries of "Oh, my Lord," and, "Saints preserve us," and, "Please, God!" are heard, as well as Sin-Kay's "Dammit! Line up! Get up from there! Get out of my way!"

  The girls are doing a good job of obstruction, but will it be good enough, will we have time, will...?

  My burglar gear bein' in, I spit on my thumb and forefinger and snuff the candle and throw it in with the rest, and we put the top board back on. Screws in, sooty wax over the holes.

  Now for my drawers and undershirt. It's dark, but I know where I left them and I feel around and find them.

  "Hurry!" whispers Clarissa.

  I figure out which one is the drawers and I try to pull them on, but I get them backward and have to twist them around and try again. I get them on.

  "There's two missing," I hear Sin-Kay say. "That goddamned Faber an
d Howe, the two biggest troublemakers of the bunch!"

  "Let's check down below," says a rough voice I recognize as belonging to Captain Blodgett. Uh-oh...

  The light of the lamp starts swinging toward the edge of the Stage.

  "They'll wonder what we're doing down here," whispers Clarissa. "They might decide to look at things real close..."

  Legs are seen on the stairs down into the Pit as the hand bearing the lamp comes down. No time for the shirt. I reach out and grab hold of her hand.

  "They ain't gonna wonder about nothing," I whisper and fling myself down on my back. "C'mere! Lie down on top of me! Put your arms around me!" I know she does not understand, but she will.

  I pull her down on me and I wrap my legs around her waist. I put my left hand on the back of her head and pull her face toward mine as I see the lamp bearer reach the bottom of the stairs. Then I push her mouth on mine and close my eyes. I feel her tighten up under my grip, resisting, but then...

  Then I hear, "Wot the hell!" and I pop my eyes open in mock surprise to see Sin-Kay, Captain Blodgett, Chubbuck, and Sammy Nettles standing there looking in at us.

  I release my hold on the back of Clarissa's head so she is able to lift her face from mine.

  "Lookee there, lookee there," says Nettles, gleefully.

  "What the hell is going on here?" says the Captain.

  "We are particular friends, Captain Blodgett," says I, pretending to breathe hard. "We are merely looking for a bit of privacy so as to give each other some comfort."

  "Peculiar friends if you ask me," says the Captain, which seems to me to be a perfect case of the pot calling the kettle black, but I let it go. "Chubbuck, check it out back there," barks our Captain.

  I hold my breath as the Bo'sun parts the washing hung there and goes back by the Rat Hole and the Powder Hole and the hidey-hole, to inspect, but as he expects to find nothing, he discovers nothing. What could a bunch of silly females be up to? would go through what passes for his mind.

  "Nothin'," he says, coming back out from under the Stage.

  Sin-Kay crouches down and steps under for a look. He comes back out and as he does, a hanging petticoat brushes by his face. He looks startled. He takes the garment and holds it to his nose.

  Uh-oh...

  "Soap. This rag has been washed with soap," he says, glaring down at me. "Who gave you the soap? You know that was forbidden."

  I think fast. There must be an answer other than that we've been getting it from the storeroom on our own. There is...

  "Nettles got it for us," I say. "He said if I showed myself to him in the altogether, he'd get us some soap. I did it, and he got it for us."

  "That's a lie!" shouts Nettles. "That's what she's been doin' to get—"

  But the back of the Captain's hand catches Nettles across the mouth and he don't say nothin' after that, he just falls back and whimpers, his hands over his sore and now quite bloody mouth.

  "Go back to my cabin, Sammy," says the Captain. "I don't want you messin' around down here anymore. Sin-Kay, I don't want him down here again. These vile vessels are a corrupting influence on the boy. Get along with just the Dummy. If need be, I'll assign another sailor to the duty. Now I'm going up to talk to the crew. About them seein' things and such." He heaves a heavy sigh, and I know he wishes this voyage were over. "Everyone's accounted for. There ain't no ghost. Let's all get back to sleep. That's what I'll say. Let's all get back to sleep."

  With that, he turns and leaves, with Chubbuck and Sin-Kay following him.

  There is still light from their lamp as they go out, and I see many curious faces hanging down over the edges of the Stage and Balcony, looking at Clarissa and me lying there still, one on top of the other.

  "You can get up now," I say, and then add huskily, "if you want to." At that, Clarissa leaps to her feet and makes a big show of spitting and retching and wiping off her mouth for the benefit of our audience. Then she stalks off and the total darkness falls upon us once again.

  But I do not act as she does. I slowly put my shirt back on and I lie back in sweet relief at how things turned out for the best this night, and I say to myself, Hey, I've been kissed by worse.

  Chapter 45

  "We could be gone tomorrow, if the weather holds," I say, in conference with Clarissa and Dolley.

  "Good," says Clarissa. "The sooner the better. The summer social season is about to begin and I do not want to miss it."

  "I'm sure they will cancel the entire season if Miss Clarissa Worthington Howe is not able to grace the proceedings with her divine presence," I say.

  That gets me a glare and a low growl from Miss Howe, who is still smarting over the teasing she's been getting concerning our little embrace of the other night. In fact, Rebecca had to be saved from physical harm when Clarissa went after her this morning because of that whole thing. Rebecca was performing that bit of pantomime everybody knows: She turned away from the audience and wrapped her arms about herself and ran her hands slowly up and down her back so it looked like someone else's hands were doing the caressing. Well, Rebecca was very good at it and she did it standing up on the Balcony while all the rest of us were down on the Stage, waiting for breakfast. All eyes were upon her as she did the bit, all the while moaning "Oh, Jacky ... Oh, Clarissa..." Clarissa almost got to her before cooler heads intervened.

  "I don't know, though," I say thoughtfully, back on the subject of the weather. We're sitting on the Balcony looking out at the sky. "See that big area of clouds there, the ones with the little bumps on it that look like scales on a fish? They're called 'mackerel skies.' And see those high, long wispy ones? They're called 'mares' tails.'"

  "So?" says Dolley.

  "So sailors got a saying: 'Mackerel skies and mares' tails make tall ships carry low sails.' It means we're in for a blow and it's almost always right," I say. "But we'll see. If the weather holds, I go out tonight and disable the rudder on the other lifeboat and we'll go with the Plan in the morning. All agreed? Good."

  But the damned weather doesn't hold. By noon we have whitecaps and by the time the flaps come down, the wind has whipped up into a full gale. We ain't goin' nowhere tomorrow. I sigh, resigned to yet another day in the belly of the Bloodhound. Ah, well, think about the story you will tell tonight, I say to myself. That'll keep you occupied, and the tale will keep them occupied, as well. They know we are going soon and they are about to jump out of their skins and we can't have that.

  I reached into the trash pile and picked up the baby. I expected him to start screamin' but he don't...

  He just looks at me and gurgles. Spit runs down his chin and onto the little dress he's wearin'. It's got a little J on it in blue thread. Must be his initial, I'm thinkin'. Wonder why Muck let him keep the dress? He's got a nappy on, too, and it ain't very wet yet, so he must not have been in the rubbish for very long.

  I hold him to my chest and put my right forearm under his bum and he nestles his little face into my neck and...

  "All right, Clarissa, if it makes you sick, don't listen then."

  And he puts his thumb in his mouth, and I head back to the kip.

  Judy and Nancy are in the kip when I get there and they look up in wonder at what I'm carrying.

  "Coo," says Judy. "Look at that. Mary's got 'erself a baby. Whatcha gonna do with it, Mary?"

  "It ain't an it, it's a he. His name is Jesse, 'cause of the J there on his chest, see?" I say, then sit down on the edge of the stone platform that serves as the gang's bed at night. "I'm gonna keep him, is what I'm gonna do with him."

  I set him on my knee and bounce him a bit. "Look at what a good baby he is, no crying at all, and him just a simple orphan like the rest of us. I can tell you, when I was in his place and first brought into this kip, I was crying like any ten babies."

  "Any twenty," says Judy, who was there at the time.

  "Well, he'll be cryin' soon enough, when he gets hungry," says Nancy. "I had a little brother ... once." So she knows, and she don't have to
say it.

  Sure enough, the little bugger starts rummaging around on my chest. I pull down my shift and he fixes his mouth on what there is of me, which is nothin' and he gets nothin'.

  "Here. Let's try 'im on Nancy," I say, and pass him over to her. She's started to come out a bit on top, you know how we swells up a bit in the beginning.

  She pulls down the top of her shift and Jesse clamps on but all we get is an "Ouch!" from poor Nancy, and all he gets is nothin'.

  Just then Charlie, Hughie, and Polly come back in for the night.

  "Good God, what the hell is that?" says Charlie upon seein' Jesse. "And what are you doin' with it?"

  "Tryin' to feed 'im, is what," I says. "And 'is name is Jesse and he's the newest member of our merry band."

  "Were dumber twits than you two ever born?" says Charlie, all incredulous at seein' what we been up to. "You've got to have a baby before them milk things start up, don'cha know that? Don'cha know anything?"

  "I have a baby. He's right here." I pull Jesse off of Nancy and hold him up to prove my point.

  "No, no, you stupid twit. The baby's got to grow in your own belly and come out of that same belly for that to happen," says Charlie, steamed. "And I'll tell you another thing—I says who's gonna be a new member of the gang, and not you."

  "Oh," I reply. I wasn't too clear on how all that stuff happened then, so I let the feeding bit go, but ...

  "Rebecca, please, if you want to find out all about that stuff, I'll tell you tomorrow, not now. All right? Good. Now, hush."

  But I don't let it go completely. "He could be a help to us, Charlie, like in the beggin'—a big-eyed, beautiful boy like him next to our Polly? Who could resist?"

  Hughie kneels down by him and lets Jesse grab his big fingers in his tiny hands. "I like 'im," says Hughie, grinning hugely. Everything Hughie did was huge.

  "Christ, Mary, what next?" says Charlie. "Last year it was them three kittens..."