An Officer but No Gentleman

by M. Donice Byrd

  Surely, even a blockhead like Morty would understand he couldn’t tell anyone.

  With the doctor and her father, the trouble had been in the pronouns at first. It’s hard to know that someone is one sex and use the other gender’s pronoun. Even when dealing privately with each other they always referred to Charlie as he because if they called her she in private, they were more likely to slip at other times. For the sake of the lie, it had been a good thing that Charlie hadn’t spoken for more than two years after the fire. It was probably the only reason they had been able to get away with telling everyone she was a boy. By the time she did start talking again, she was used to it and at times, when she was still small, she really wasn’t sure if she was a boy or girl.

  Maybe, just maybe, if she pretended nothing had changed, Morty would think he had dreamt the whole thing. In the morning, she would continue to pretend to be male just like every other day of her life. Morty was so drunk; he would probably doubt his memories if she acted like nothing had changed. Eventually, he would confront her and she would just laugh in his face and make him think he was crazy.

  Charlie still felt a little drunk at 4:00 AM when her shift started. Morty appeared highly inebriated. They were preparing to set sail with the tide and although most of the preparation had been completed, there was still ample work to keep everyone busy. Charlie knew Morty was a danger to himself if he went into the riggings so she put him to work stowing a last minute delivery. After he moved all the crates and barrels into the hold, Charlie did not see him again until they were underway. When he reemerged an hour later, the crew was swabbing the deck and he picked up a mop without instruction and joined the others. Charlie climbed down in the hold to check that the cargo was properly stowed and secured. Most of Morty’s knots were messy or loose. She re-tied them then locked the hold and returned to the deck.

  “Morty!” she yelled. He set aside the mop and walked towards her. “If you ever show up for your shift drunk again it’ll mean lashes. I just checked your knots and had to redo half of them.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  When he didn’t immediately return to his task, she yelled at him again. “Don’t just stand there twiddling your thumbs—get back to work!”

  “Aye-aye.”

  Charlie didn’t know why she was so harsh dealing with Morty that morning. It was not like her to yell like that. Normally, she was direct and concise, but rarely raised her voice. Was she mad at him for stumbling upon her secret, knowing she was obligated to tell her father and he would insist that Morty be put ashore? Criminy! The bond she felt for Morty was stronger than any person in her life, including her father. Why did he have to find out?

  Although sailing the ship fell mostly in the hands of Mr. Byron and Charlie, Captain Sinclair preferred to be on the quarterdeck as the ship entered or departed port. They were just hitting open seas when Charlie began noticing the ship’s complement distracted by the passing of another ship off the starboard bow. Baltimore clippers were a relatively new design and although not large, they were sleek and nimble and most of the men had never seen one before. Where the crew admired the refined lines and cannons at the rails, it was the captain who captured Charlie’s attention as he stood on the quarterdeck. They were too far away to clearly see his features, but she could not pull her eyes away from his striking presence. The ship was abuzz with activity yet he stood akimbo on the bridge observing. It seemed time had ceased to move in his presence. He cut a fine figure with narrow hips and wide shoulders—his black hair, unbound and bluntly cut at the length of his open collar and blowing in the wind. He looked young and hard bodied. Charlie tried to memorize everything about him in hopes of bringing him forth in her dreams.

  Suddenly, Charlie’s father blocked her view and scowled menacingly into her face.

  “I know a young man who has work to do,” he gritted.

  “Sorry,” Charlie said, knowing her thoughts must have shown on her face. Then she said the first thing to pop into her mind. “I was just contemplating the color choice of the officers’ uniforms on that ship.”

  “Fashion is a woman’s pursuit,” he said. “We’ve worn black since your mother died. I see no reason to change it.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Charlie began calling out orders as she headed to the boatswain’s locker to pass out tools and supplies they’d need to do their work.

  She cast one last glance at the other ship, carefully schooling her countenance and trying not to sigh. How she longed to stop pretending to be a man and to sail away in the arms of a man like that. Exciting as that might seem, the prospect frightened her more than she cared to admit.

  Charlie kept the watch busy until 8:00 AM when their four-hour shift ended and went straight back to her quarters to get four hours of sleep until her next four-hour watch started. Normally, the watch coming off the 4:00-8:00 AM shift went to the galley for breakfast when their shift ended, but Charlie had barely slept an hour the previous night and the idea of food turned her queasy stomach.

  As far as she could tell, Morty acted normally. Maybe he had been so drunk; he blacked out the whole thing. Deep down she knew it was only wishful thinking on her part. Something this monumental would be hard to forget.

  Morty suffered the aftermath of his debauchery the rest of the day. They were back on duty at noon—off at four and then back on for the two-hour dogwatch at six. She felt bad for him. His hangover made his skin pale and blotchy with a fine sheen of sweat making him look clammy. When she was still a crewman, she would have teased him mercilessly about his condition. She would have made retching sounds to see if she could make him throw up every time they were near enough to speak without getting caught. She would have made excessive noises at her task to see him wince and rub his temples.

  Charlie saw Benjy coming out of the forecastle and stopped him. “Go ask Dr. Kirk to make up two cups of willow bark tea.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  She really wanted to yell at him for going back into her cabin when she wasn’t there, but decided that placing the clean, folded quilt and the wash basin in her quarters was not the worst infraction. She never let any cabin boy clean her quarters unless she was present. Most of them would have used the time alone to snoop and Charlie always guarded her secrets.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t Benjy who brought the tea. Brody Kirk emerged from the ship’s belly with a tin cup in each hand. In many ways, Charlie felt closer to the doctor than she did to her father. He had been her teacher and as such, they spent countless hours together. Where her father was stern and exacting, Dr. Kirk was kind and encouraging. He even encouraged her to become his loblolly boy or as some people called it; surgeon’s mate.

  “Two cups?”

  “Morty’s hung over.”

  “The other one is for you?” he asked, one eyebrow shooting upwards.

  “Aye.”

  Brody Kirk looked at her askance. “Do we need to talk privately?”

  In other words, was she having female problems? Warmth reddened her face. “No, I just have a headache.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. She did have a headache from too much brandy and not enough sleep, but she needed it because she was incredibly sore from the walloping she took during her fight.

  “You must really have a bad headache if you’re asking for willow bark tea. I know how much you hate the taste.”

  It was true. The bitterness of the brew was sometimes worse than the malady. When she was younger, it made her gag, but now, with effort, she willed herself to swallow it down.

  Brody Kirk handed her one of the mugs. “Drink up, my boy,” he said and laughed at the expression she made as she threw it back, drinking it in large gulps. As she held the empty cup towards him, he slapped her on the back.

  Charlie winced in pain.

  “Charlie? What the hell is going on?”

  “I’m just sore. I must have picked up something wrong,” Charlie lied.

  The doctor scrutinized her expression, and then, not
icing a slight swelling in her jaw, he moved her head to the side to put the swelling into the sunshine. “Did you get into another brawl? Damnation, Charlie! When are you going to stop this nonsense?” The doctor thrust the second cup into the helmsman’s hand. “You’re in charge, man. See that Ness gets this.” Then he turned to Charlie, “Let’s go.”

  “It can wait ‘til the watch is over,” Charlie protested.

  “Maybe I should ask your father if it can wait.”

  Knowing she had no choice, Charlie reluctantly left the bridge. “Nothing’s broken,” she said as she followed him to his quarters where he had set up a medical bay.

  He handed her a sheet. “I’ll step out for a minute.”

  “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to do this,” Charlie said, fighting to keep her voice from rising in pitch.

  The doctor’s eyes narrowed at her. “The more you resist, the worse I know it is.”

  He knew her well, too well.

  Within a few minutes, she had removed her clothing above the waist except the strip she used to bind her breasts and wrapped the sheet around herself allowing it to drape loosely around her back. The doctor knocked and waited for her answer before coming in. Her face burned with embarrassment, her eyes never leaving the floor as he moved behind her.

  “Dear God,” he gasped at the sight of the massive swollen bruise stretching the width of her back between her shoulders. He tugged slightly at the sheet and his finger slipped into her bindings, pulling down.

  Charlie clamped her arms down at her side as embarrassment flooded her body with heat.

  “You’re going to have to take this off, Charlie. It’s too tight for me to see to the bottom of the bruise. I’ll turn around. Tell me when you have the sheet back in place.”

  Charlie wanted to cry. Could this be any more humiliating? She craned her neck around to make sure Dr. Kirk turned away before she removed the strip.

  “It’s off,” she whispered, her eyes shut tightly.

  She heard the rustle of his clothing as he turned. “Have you seen this?”

  “No. I don’t need to, I can feel it.”

  None too gently, he pushed through the tender flesh trying to feel the bones. She fought to keep from wincing with every poke and prod.

  “Did you get thrown against a bar counter?” he asked trying to understand the injury.

  “I got hit with something—a board or chair leg, I think,” she admitted.

  “Your father is going to tan your hide when he finds out,” the doctor said, sternly.

  “There’s no reason he has to know,” she said quickly, hopefully.

  Brody Kirk sighed. “We have to explain why you’re not working for the next few days. I want you in bed, on your stomach with a poultice on this.”

  “No!” Panic raised the timbre of her voice. “It must look worse than it really is. I’m fine. Really,” she tried to convince him. “I was fine all day long—I’m just a little sore. Tomorrow I’ll be even better than today,” she said, though in truth, she suspected she would feel worse before she felt better.

  “I’m not going to argue with you, Charlie. You know when it comes to this sort of thing, my word is law. Just stay like you are. Your father is going to want to see for himself why you’re not working.”

  “No! Please….”

  He strode out the door before she could argue leaving it slightly ajar. She heard him knock on her father’s door. “John, Charlie’s been in another fight. I think you need to see this,” she faintly heard the doctor say. A moment later, her father stood behind her. He had an immediate visceral reaction and cuffed the side of her head with an open hand. Charlie didn’t see it coming, but somehow managed to suppress her reaction to only cringing slightly.

  “What are these marks?” he asked his fingers touching Charlie below the bruise.

  “Uh,” the doctor hesitated uncomfortably. “Charlie wraps his chest. Those are just marks from that.”

  Keeping her elbows tucked into her sides, Charlie lowered her face into her hands. She didn’t think she could possibly be more humiliated, but she was wrong.

  “Oh,” the captain said. “Of course, I—uh. I mean, uh, I just hadn’t thought about it. Francine had…. Of course, Charlie has…. Criminy! That won’t damage… anything, will it?”

  The doctor chuckled. “No, I shouldn’t think it would hurt anything.”

  “Good,” John Sinclair said tersely then marched forcefully to the door and stopped with his hand on the knob. “Get dressed and come to my cabin.” And then he was gone.

  The doctor gathered a few things then vacated the room as well.

  Charlie thought about taking her time getting dressed just to put off the stricture she knew was coming, but decided dawdling would just give him time to mentally add points to his lecture.

  “Be a man about it,” she said to herself aloud before leaving the doctor’s quarters. She stepped into her father’s cabin closing the door behind her. She stood at attention, her eyes fixed on the opposite wall.

  Her father paced the length of the room several times before stopping in front of her and rolling up on the balls of his feet. It always made her feel like he was getting ready to pounce when he stood on his toes and she felt herself shrink back a fraction.

  “I told the doctor I’m fit for duty, Captain,” she said before he could speak, hoping to just make it go away. “I’m sorry to put you through this.”

  “You told me the last time you got in a brawl; it would be the last time. Now, here we are again.” His face was livid, the veins on his forehead bulging. “I didn’t let Yori teach you to fight so you would go around starting donnybrooks. You were supposed to use it to protect yourself if you were ever attacked. By God, Charlie,” he dropped his voice to hushed tones. “When are you going to accept that you are a maiden? Why would you ever think you could best a man? We may get away with this farce here under my protection, but you are still just a girl. Even the strongest girl in the world could never be able to match the strength of a man. Ever. You could have been killed.”

  Charlie held her tongue. He didn’t need to know she fought three men or that Morty had stepped in to save her or even that the last fight he knew about was not her most recent brawl before this one.

  She also knew this was not the time to tell him that Morty knew she was female.

  “I am sorely tempted to have you flogged as soon you’re healed.” Spittle formed in the corners of his mouth. “If there is a next time, I will flog you myself. Are we understood?”

  Charlie saw the anger in his eyes and knew that he spoke sincerely. Even if he had to clear the deck completely to hide her secret, he would do it and he would wield the cat and lay into her.

  “Aye.”

  “You are confined to quarters until further notice.”

  “But my watch . . . ?”

  “Until further notice!” he shouted. “Without pay.”

  Charlie would have liked to mock that last part. She rarely spent her pay. She had saved a tidy sum; all but $50 was in a bank in Charleston. What did she have to spend it on except alcohol, cigars, wenches and an occasional book? Her father paid the bill for her uniforms. Her food and lodgings were provided for her on the ship. When they would go into the shops at their ports-of-call Charlie could not buy the things that interested her because her father would call them missish or girly. She vividly remembered once when she was little, they were in a store and she looked longingly at a doll on the shelf when he placed his large hand on her head and turned her head away from the doll to a nearby wooden boat. How she would have loved a kimono or a sari or jewelry. While the men were busy looking at knives and pipes, she would surreptitiously look at trinkets made of ivory and jade. Her favorite thing to do was go with the men who had wives and daughters and help them pick out the perfect gift to bring home. But Charlie never purchased those things for herself. And the things the men purchased were of no interest to her. So her money went unspent. She had been on
the payroll since she became cabin boy at eight and a half.

  “They are going to think I’m weak if you take me off duty. I was well enough to work ‘til now and suddenly I need bed rest? You are mollycoddling me because I am a maiden. If I were your son, you would make sure I worked injured so I would learn a lesson, but because I’m not, you’re babying me.”

  His brows knitted as he thought on her argument. “Fine. But you are confined to quarters when you are not on duty. You will be in your bed with the poultice on your back until Brody is satisfied you are better.”

  “Aye-aye.”

  “I am disappointed in you, Charlie.”

  Her face dropped. This may have been the first time the words had come out of his mouth, but Charlie had felt them many times before. She was a disappointment. She would never be the son he wanted.

  “Is that all?”

  “You’re dismissed.”

  “Aye-aye.”

  3

  Jaxon Bloodworthy stood proudly on the quarterdeck of The Dragon’s Lair, amazed for the hundredth time at the speed of his new Baltimore clipper. Her compact size and sleek hull were built for speed. Her sails bowed out with wind upon her three masts. Jax walked forward to the prow of his ship between the rows of jet-black cannons lining the railings of his ship, his limp making his stride uneven.