An Officer but No Gentleman

by M. Donice Byrd

  “Oh.”

  “My father decided not to give any reason for it. He feels they should trust his judgment and mine blindly.”

  “Oh.” Morty seemed to fully understand what was happening above deck. “Benjy, you go tell everyone I’m fine. I’m not chained to the wall. I have a nice hammock and all my things. Mr. Sinclair even let me keep a lantern. You tell them what I did was very wrong and I’m being treated fairly.”

  “Benjy, before you go back to the galley, empty the bucket and leave it out there.”

  Charlie and Morty sat cross-legged on the floor of the brig. The door was open, but provided little air movement. Charlie pushed the food on her plate around with her fork. The meal was a salted meat and potato hash. Every potato cube seemed to have an eye or a bad spot and the meat was nothing but fat and gristle. She set the plate aside. Apparently, Melvin was angry with her as well.

  Charlie waited until Benjy returned with the bucket and had gone to the galley before she spoke. “Thank you for what you said to Benjy.”

  “Twas pretty rough today?”

  “Aye.” There was no point in telling him she was going to be bruised from all the accidental bumps and elbows. “My father wants me to ask you; what gave it away?”

  Morty shoveled his last bite of food into his mouth. “I don’t know. I mean I didn’t really know until I helped you up. I suppose I really started thinking about it after a dream I had,” Morty said. “It was the last night of the fair back home. There were dancing bears and puppet shows and a big dance. So I go to this dance, and there’s this girl in a red silk dress. The dress is really low cut and she’s got these big….” He holds his hands in front of his chest and casts a chagrined smile at her. “They’re playing that Oh, Dem Golden Slippers song. So we’re all jumping around and I’m just lookin’ down her dress 'cause she was nearly popping out and all. Then the music stops and I look up at her face and it’s your face on her body.” Morty met Charlie’s eyes. “Woke up in a cold sweat, I did.”

  If he had told her that story two weeks earlier she would have chortled and teased him unmercifully in an attempt to cover up the truth. But now she only nodded.

  Suddenly, Morty tried to kiss her again, but she pushed him away.

  “Stop that.”

  “But I love you, Charlie.”

  “Stop saying that. You don’t love me. You don’t even know me. I don’t even know me.”

  “How can you say I don’t know you? I’ve known you for nearly a decade.”

  “And until recently you had no idea I was female,” she said dropping her voice to a near whisper when she said female. “Just how well do you know me, Morty? Do you know I hate cigars? And I certainly have never slept with any of those women I paid for. My only scar is the one on my arm and I’m not the least bit sensitive about it. And sometimes I pretend to pee over the railing because I know no one will notice that I’m not and I think that’s funny. And I don’t like puppies or apple butter.”

  “I knew about the apple butter,” he said confidently. “I hadn’t really thought about the women, but it makes sense. But no, I didn’t know those things.”

  “If you knew me, you’d know those things.”

  “I know one of your secrets,” he said. “I know you can’t swim.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  When he began to speak, she cut him off. “A moment ago, you called me girl. You were wrong. My body may be female, but my brain is not. I don’t have the slightest idea how a woman acts, talks, walks, eats or even laughs. You probably know more about what a woman wears beneath her skirts than I do. There are seamen on this ship with better table manners than me. Young maidenly girls aren’t supposed to know what a man looks like unclothed. I’ve seen scores over the last sixteen years including you.”

  “And…? What’d you think?” he teased.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t been around enough genteel women to know how to fend off a remark like that.”

  “Ah, but you knew not to answer,” he pointed out. “You don’t need to learn to act like a girl. I like you just the way you are.”

  “It’s late,” she said getting to her feet and gathering the dishes. Morty reached outside the cell and retrieved the bucket before she locked him in.

  6

  Charlie turned in at midnight when the mate’s watch took over the running of the ship. As she lay in bed, Charlie felt miserable over locking up Morty. He had been in the brig for several days and if she could take his place she would have. Taking her meals with him was nearly unbearable. He pushed so hard, trying to make her feel something she just didn’t feel, she couldn’t enjoy being with him.

  The mild pitching of the waves slowly rocked her asleep. The storm she expected had mostly been confined to lightning strikes in the distance, a strong wind and a choppier than usual sea.

  At 4:00 AM, Charlie turned out for her watch fully dressed as she would for any daytime shift. Rarely did she have to be roused. Her sleep patterns had adjusted to the ship’s schedule with years of repetition.

  With the moon and stars hidden behind a thick ceiling of clouds, the world was dark as pitch. The glow of the lanterns seemed to end at the ship’s railing. The world had ceased to exist beyond the light’s reach.

  Charlie didn’t like the sensation. Her world always felt too small, too confined, so not to being able to see beyond the prow gave her a hint of melancholy. If the devil added flames, this would be her hell.

  As her shift wore on, Charlie continuously searched the Eastern horizon for the first signs of light. Finally, the first gray shades of dawn delineated the seas from the skies. A sense of relief filled her knowing that morning lay minutes away. She loved this time of day as the blacks and grays of night were replaced by color and the seas would stretch to the edges of the earth until it met the sky. Her eyes followed the horizon.

  Suddenly, her stomach lurched into her throat.

  “Sail ho!” she bellowed. “All hands!”

  She grabbed the spyglass, though in truth she didn’t need to. The ship was close. For a stunned moment the whole watch seemed unable to move their feet as each man turned to the horizon. As soon as they, themselves spotted the ship, they bolted into action.

  More cries of, “All hands,” echoed throughout the ship, waking their sleeping counterparts.

  Charlie began barking orders to the helmsman to change course to south-southeast. She sent the remaining sailors aloft to unfurl all the sails, including the studding sails, and wet them so they would hold more wind.

  She did not think the other ship had spotted them yet, as the horizon astern their ship remained dark and the sun had yet to cast its light at them. With the spyglass, she had not seen any change to their sails or their course. She knew their only hope would vanish with the light.

  As each second ticked away, the outline of the ship became more visible. She felt sick. It was a British warship, heading west. In land measurement, it was a mere mile and a half away. Charlie knew in the right hands, the range of a sixteen-pound cannon was about a mile. All she could do was put as much distance between them as she could.

  The larboard watch poured out from below deck and immediately joined her men in the riggings, manning the ropes and hauling water aloft. Soon the captain and the mate joined her.

  The old ship creaked in protest as the sails filled with wind. Charlie could feel their speed increasing, but knew at that range it would be a short pursuit. Their ship was more than thirty years old, built just prior to the War of Independence. Her sole purpose was to carry heavy payloads. She was not built for speed. It certainly did not help that the ship had not been put in dry dock to have its barnacles scraped in years. The added drag kept the ship from her full potential.

  When the warship changed course, they knew they had been spotted.

  Pursuit at sea is a slow process that can take hours, or if the ships are equally matched, days. But they were not equal. Within an hour, the warship fired its cannon
s. Men jumped from their perches twenty feet or more to get out the sails before the grapeshot ripped through the sheets and split chunks of wood from the masts and yardarms. Captain Sinclair tackled Charlie as calls of, “Hit the deck,” sang out.

  Volley after volley thundered moments before the grapeshot whistled through the air. Yardarms broke with a sharp crack of splintering wood above their heads as the rounds hit their mark. The shredded sails lost their air making the ship slow as if they had just hit the doldrums. If it had been their intent to sink the Arcadia or to kill its crew, the warship could have easily done so.

  “Run the white flag,” Captain Sinclair ordered sounding shaky as he climbed off Charlie to his feet.

  Getting up, Charlie ran for the boatswain’s locker and retrieved the flag. Her hands shook so badly, she could barely attach it to the rope and send it aloft.

  “Captain!” she heard Mr. Byron shout and turned to see her father collapse on the quarterdeck.

  “Get Dr. Kirk,” she yelled to the man standing closest to her. As she started to run to her father’s side, she realized the order to heave-to had not been given. “Drop the anchor! Lie-to!” The anchor would not find anything below to grab, but would create resistance that would slow them further as the helmsman turned the ship into the wind.

  The men scurried about like rats. Each man knew from years at sea what to do. Charlie barely noticed any of it as she rushed to her father’s side.

  “I’ll see to him,” she said to the mate, who kneeled next to her father. “Run the ship. Find out if anyone else is injured.”

  Immediately, she saw the blood soaking her father’s clothing and pooling on the deck. She pulled the knife from her waistband and cut away part of his shirt. The smell of blood wafted to her nostrils, salty as the sea itself, as she rolled him onto his side. He had caught grapeshot in his back. Charlie knew the area in question housed his kidney and was very close to his liver as well. She grabbed the material she had cut off and pushed it against the wound. Her father made a moan of pain, but appeared to be unconscious. A weak, wet cough involuntarily tightened her father’s chest making a gush of blood soak the rag.

  “Dr. Kirk’s here, Father. Hang on. You’re going to be fine now.”

  Everything happened so quickly, Charlie didn’t have time to think. Dr. Kirk began operating right where the captain had fallen. He pushed sponges into the wound and gathered his scalpel and clamps. He handed Charlie a needle and some catgut.

  “Thread it,” Brody Kirk ordered.

  Charlie’s hands shook so badly, she had to brace her hands against the deck to slide the catgut through the needle’s hole.

  “Breathe, Charlie,” Dr. Kirk said calmly. “I need you to help me and you’re not going to be any help if you’re in a state of panic.”

  Charlie’s concentration focused on Dr. Kirk and her father. The training the doctor had given her began kicking in as she tried to anticipate Dr. Kirk’s next request. She had not been aware of the warship’s arrival nor had she noticed that they had boarded until a stranger stood over them blocking the sunlight. He said not a word, but left before even a minute passed.

  Minutes later, Brody Kirk sat back on his heels and wiped his hands on a towel. Dr. Kirk’s eyebrows knitted as his eyes met hers. “I’m so sorry. His heart has stopped, Charlie.”

  She stared at him, trying to wrap her mind around what he was saying. If his heart had stopped, did that mean her father died? Was that what he was telling her? She covered her mouth with her hand. Silent, gulping sobs racked her body. She took her father’s hand and held it to her cheek. He had been a hard man, but she had never doubted his love for her. She cried for the loss, and she cried for herself. She was alone in the world now. As much as she tried, she couldn’t get control and make herself stop. You were supposed to get to say goodbye and I love you when someone died. He hadn’t been able to tell her he was proud of her or give her sage advice. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

  The doctor set his hand on her back. “He felt no pain after he lost consciousness,” he said quietly. “I’ll watch out for you now. Your father would have wanted me to.”

  Dr. Kirk took her by the arms and helped her to her feet. “I need you to pull yourself together, Charlie. Wipe your face,” he said looking into her eyes. “This is not the only crisis at hand. The English are here to shanghai your crew. Your father’s stake in this ship has now passed to your hands.”

  Charlie suddenly became aware of her surroundings. The British in their smart uniforms had assembled the Arcadia’s crew on deck, salt and idlers alike. Charlie watched as a British sailor escorted Mr. Byron toward the man who appeared to be in charge. They were coming from the officers’ quarters. As he shoved Byron at the lines of men, she noticed the guard carried several log books.

  The warship’s mate took the books, opened the first and tossed it on the deck. She recognized the second book he opened as the payroll ledger. She knew it was what he wanted. The name of every man and his job description was written inside. If they were looking for a specific tradesman, it would be listed there in black and white. He began walking along the queue of men asking each man his name and nationality. He pulled Hugh McNamara, the Scot and two strapping American able seamen out then walked to the quarterdeck where Charlie and the doctor still stood.

  “Your name?”

  “Charlie Sinclair,” she said, her teeth clenched together. “And that man lying dead is my father, Captain John Sinclair, you murdering, Limey bastard! Take me; I dare you, because the first opportunity I get, I will cut out your heart and your captain’s as well.”

  He raised his blunderbuss at her. “Would you like to join him, my boy?”

  Charlie stared the man in the face. At that moment she just did not care. With his stance, she knew she could easily flip him onto his back and disarm him, but she couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t fire his weapon in the process. She also knew that doing anything so stupid could get her men killed.

  The doctor put his hand on her arm, knowing the direction of her thoughts. “No, Charlie.”

  “Thought not,” the Englishman taunted. “You’re all mouth and no trousers.”

  Brody Kirk stepped between them, shielding Charlie. “He’s upset,” he said referring to Charlie.

  As he eyed Dr. Kirk, a haughty expression of superiority crossed his countenance. He opened the ledger and scanned the page until he found the doctor’s name. “I know you, Brody Kirk. We served together in His Majesty’s Navy,” he lied. “As I recall you jumped ship before your enlistment was finished.”

  “Seize him!” he yelled to his nearest men.

  “No!” Charlie cried.

  Two big brutes grabbed Dr. Kirk. “Wait,” he said to the mate. “Let me.…”

  One of the guards sent his elbow into the doctor’s gullet. Dr. Kirk grabbed his throat, his face turning red as he tried to pull air into his lungs. They dragged him across the plank to the warship. The other three men were forced across with guns to their backs. The remaining British filed back to their ship, the plank was pulled back and the grappling hooks and ropes holding the ships yardarm to yardarm were retrieved. In minutes, the warship was under sail returning to their original course.

  Charlie shook with unvented rage.

  “There was nothing that could be done,” Byron said beside her.

  Charlie walked away from him and began shouting orders.

  “Carpenter, get up there and start measuring to repair the yardarms and mizzenmast. Inspect everything while you’re up there. If you need help, recruit as many men as you need to assist you.”

  “Aye, sir,” the carpenter shouted from across the deck.

  “Mr. Peck we’re going to need new sails.”

  “I’m a step ahead of you. I think we’ve got more than what’s needed waitin’ below. We just need to sort them out.”

  “Good man.” Charlie looked up at the tattered sails and rigging. “Someone get that damn white flag down. Everyon
e else needs to get their asses aloft and get those sheets down.”

  The mate grabbed Charlie’s arm. “I’m in charge here.”

  “Then take command,” she said pulling her arm free. “But understand this; the Arcadia belongs to Dr. Kirk and me. You are in my employ. I will leave the day to day running of this ship in your hands for now, and you will get the captain’s cut and pay, but I have the final say in regard to the big decisions.”

  “We can discuss this later,” Byron stated.

  “With your permission, I’d like to prepare my father for his burial.”

  “Granted,” he said.

  Charlie turned away from him looking for Benjy to help her carry her father’s body below.

  “When you’re finished you can start cleaning out his quarters.”

  Charlie lunged, tackling Lionel Byron. She lifted the mate’s shoulders, neck and head off the deck then slammed them back down. “Show some respect. His body’s not even cold yet. That is not your cabin. You are only acting captain. Whether it is ever yours will be based on your performance.”

  7

  The crew gathered at the railing as six of the longest serving crew members carried John Sinclair’s shrouded body on a wide board into their midst. Every man doffed his hat in respect. Charlie read the twenty-third Psalms and said a short prayer. The board was tilted and John Sinclair’s body was committed to the sea.

  Charlie had intentionally kept it short and excluded the mate from making comments. The men filed by one by one, saying all the platitudes one says at funerals and shaking Charlie’s hand.

  Most of the men would not meet her eyes. They continued to act coolly toward hers as they had since she locked Morty in the brig and she suspected those who spoke kind words to her, did so more out of respect to her father than in sympathy for her.

  The mate surprised her by asking if she would like to take the rest of the day off. “Not until we are underway,” she said, flatly.

  The repairs seemed to drag on forever. Sails, ropes, winches, blocks, masts, yards all seemed to have sustained damage. Each had to be inspected and determined whether it needed to be replaced immediately or at a later date. The crew would remain at all hands until they were underway.