by P. N. Elrod
“I suppose my wild days are over,” said Quinton. His pipe had gone out and he knocked the bowl against the rail to empty it. “Not that I’ve any regrets. I’ve a real treasure in my Polly and little Meg. For all the unrest, I count myself a blessed man. We’re all together and in good health, well . . . that is to say . . . .”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine, given time. This malady is a nuisance, but no one’s died from it that I’ve ever heard.”
“Thank you for that comfort, sir. Now that I’ve reminded myself of their troubles, I think I’ll see as to how they’re getting along.” He excused himself and went below.
I leaned on the rail and fervently wished myself well again. Without his company to take my mind from it the illness within rose up, once more demanding attention. As the ship heaved and plunged, so did my belly. My poor head was ready to burst from the constant ache between my ears. On each of my previous voyages I’d been sick, briefly, but it had not been as horrid as this. Was the difference in the ship, in the roughness of the sea or in myself?
Myself, I decided unhappily. If I had difficulty crossing a stream, then a whole ocean would certainly prove to be infinitely more laborious. I gulped several times.
“Perhaps you should be in bed, sir.” Jericho had appeared out of nowhere, or so it seemed to my befogged brain.
“Perhaps you’re right. Where’d Elizabeth get to?”
“In bed as well. It was a tiring day for her.”
Yes. Day. The one I’d missed, like all the others. And she’d been up for most of the night with packing. Having had more than my share of rest, it was damned inconsiderate of me to forget that she would need some, too.
“My insides are too disturbed for me to retire just yet. The air seems to help a bit.”
Jericho nodded, put his hands behind his back and assumed a stance that would allow him to remain sturdily afoot on the pitching deck. “Very good, sir.”
And it was doubly damned inconsiderate of me to forget that of all people, Jericho might also be exhausted. Yes, he was; I could see that once I wrenched attention from myself to give him a close look. “None of that ‘very good, sir’ nonsense with me,” I said peevishly. “Get below and go to sleep. I’ll be all right sooner or later. If it turns out to be later, you’ll need your strength to deal with me.”
Along with the fatigue, amusement fluttered behind his dark eyes. “Very good, sir.” He bade me a pleasant night and moved off, his walk timed to match the rhythm of the ship’s motion. By God, the man was a natural sailor. Would that some of that inborn expertise could transfer to me.
Alone and with the whole night stretching ahead, I had ample time to feel sorry for myself. Hardly a new experience, but never before had it been so . . . concentrated. I couldn’t just float off to visit Molly or gossip at The Oak. Any social activities I could enjoy were restricted to those swift hours between sunset and the time everyone had to sleep. No wonder Nora read so much. I’d brought a number of books, but the idea of reading held no appeal as long as I reacted so badly to the ship’s rolling progress.
Despite my profession of not wanting to feed just yet, it occurred to me that perhaps fresh blood might be of help against this miserable condition. It was a wonderful remedy for anything that ailed me on land, after all. Jericho and Elizabeth both made a point to mention that the cattle were secure in their stalls below and to provide directions on how to reach them, but I’d since forgotten what they’d said. Might as well use the time to see things for myself.
I spied one of the officers who had been introduced earlier and staggered over to make inquiries. He was on watch and could not leave his post, but detailed one of the seamen to take me below. The fellow led the way, surefooted as a goat and full of merriment for my own inept efforts at walking. Things improved somewhat below decks. The passages were so narrow that it was impossible not to remain vertical, as long as one fell sideways against a wall.
The darkness was so profound that not even my eyes would have been of use if our lantern went out. We slipped through a number of confusing areas, occasionally spotting a feeble gleam from other lanterns as we passed tiny cabins and a somewhat larger chamber filled with hammocks, each one swinging heavily with the weight of a sleeping man. Snores filled the close air; the air itself made me more thankful than ever that I had no pressing need to use it.
Our journey ended in another chamber not far from the slumbering sailors, and the lowing sounds coming from it blended well with the deep noise of the ship. I thanked my guide and gave him a penny for his help, for which he volunteered to lend me future assistance should it be required. He then sped away, leaving the candle behind, apparently having no need of it to make his way back topside.
The heifers appeared to be all right, given their situation, though none could be said to look happy about it. Most were restless and complaining, which I took as a good sign; better that than with their heads hanging and voices silent with indifference. Father and I had picked the healthiest from our dwindling herd in the hope that they would last the journey, but sometimes one just could not tell. One moment you’d have a strapping, bright-eyed beast and the next it could be flat on its side, having dropped dead in its tracks. Those were the realities of life for a gentleman farmer. Or any farmer, for that matter.
Well, if it happened, so be it; I was nowhere near the verge of starvation, nor ever intended to get that far. I felt absolutely no hunger now, but the hope that blood might ease things impelled me to pick one of the animals to sup from.
I was careful to make sure the thin partition between the cattle and the sleeping men was firmly in place. Only one other time had anyone witnessed my feeding and it had not been pleasant for any of us. Two Hessians had chanced upon me just as I’d finished, blood smeared round my mouth and my eyes flushed red, presenting an alarming sight to them and a depressing aftermath for me. Blutsäuger, one of them had cried in his fear. I hadn’t liked the sound of that appellation, but was more or less used to it by now. There were worse things to be than a bloodsucker in the literal sense . . . such as being one of those damned rebels.
Calming an animal was the work of a moment, then I dropped to one knee and felt for the vein in its leg. Conditions weren’t exactly clean here, but that could be remedied with a little water. My God, we were surrounded by the stuff. All that was needed was to pay one of the sailors to try his hand at grooming.
Such were my thoughts as my corner teeth lengthened enough to cut through the flesh and reach the red fountain beneath. I hadn’t fed from cattle for some time, preferring horses. Shorter hair. The taste of the blood was nearly the same, though my senses were keen to the point that I could tell the difference between the two as easily as a normal man knows ale from beer.
I managed to choke down a few swallows and they stayed down, but only under protest. It was the same as it would be for any other person with the seasickness; food might be necessary, but it was not especially welcome.
I pinched the vein above the broken skin until the bleeding stopped, then rinsed my stained fingers in the dregs at the bottom of a slimy water bucket hanging in a corner. Well, something would have to be done about that. I’d paid plenty of good money for their care, which included keeping them adequately supplied with water. From the condition of the straw on the deck one could tell that they’d long since passed whatever had been in the bucket.
A quick search for more water was futile. Perhaps it was kept under lock and key like the crew’s daily tot of rum. A note to Jericho or Elizabeth would sort things out.
I was about to quit the place and hazard the maze back to my cabin when I heard the achingly familiar snort of a horse. None of the other passengers had mentioned bringing stock aboard, though they’d all commented on my endeavor. Reactions varied from humor to curiosity at the eccentricity. Strange that no one had mentioned this.
Opening the partition between this s
table and the next solved the little mystery. Inside, snug in his own stall, was Rolly. His ears pricked toward me, his nostrils quivering to catch my scent.
Now was I flooded with understanding on why Father had said nothing about what was to be done about this, my special pet. Father must have put himself to some trouble to arrange this last-minute surprise. God bless him and his accomplices. Elizabeth and Jericho had not given away the least clue.
I lavished a warm greeting upon Rolly, rubbing between his ears and down his neck; that was when I discovered a scroll of paper tied to his mane with a ribbon. A note?
A note. I cracked open the drop of sealing wax holding the ribbon to the paper and unrolled the brief missive.
My dear Jonathan,
I hope you will forgive me for this liberty with your property, but I deemed the risk to be worth the taking. I know how much Rolly means to you, and it would be a cruel thing to bear for you to have to give him up because of my plan to leave. Bereft as we are now of the influence you have over the commissary, it is not likely that so fine an animal could long escape their future notice.
He has sufficient food to keep him for the duration of even a lengthy voyage. Remember that throughout that time he will miss his usual exercise, so take care to bring him back to it gently once you’re in England.
In prayer for a safe journey with God’s blessings for all of you,
Your Loving Father
The writing swam before my eyes. For the first time since awakening, a warmth stole over me. God bless you, too, sir, I thought, wiping my wet cheeks with my sleeve.
* * *
I spent an hour or more with Rolly, checking him over, petting and talking to him, letting him know why he was where he was. Whether he understood or not was of no importance; he was a good listener and sharing his company was a much better distraction to the ills of my body than conversation with Mr. Quinton. I discovered Rolly’s tack and other things stowed in a box and filled the time by brushing him down and combing his mane and tail out until they were as smooth and shining as the rest of his coat. A groom’s chore, yes, but for me it was pleasure, not work.
Having seen to his comfort and taken some for myself, I was ready to return topside and see how the night was faring. With occupation came forgetfulness and I had to keep track of the time, being determined to forevermore avoid further panicked diving into cellars to escape the dawn.
I had naught to fear; upon emerging, one bleak glance at the sky told me that the greater part of the night still remained. It had to be but a glance; the sight of the masts swaying drunkenly against the background of the more stationary stars brought back the dizziness in full force. Shutting my eyes made things worse. Would to God this misery would pass away. I made a meandering path to the rail and held on for dear life, gulping air and cursing my weakness.
There was soon something else to curse when a wayward gust of wind splashed a bucket of sea spray in my face. Ugh. I swatted at it, clearing my eyes and sputtering. It was colder than iron.
“Wind’s freshening,” said one of the ship’s officers, by way of a comment on my condition as he strolled past. “Best to find some cover or you’ll be drenched right through, sir.”
Thanking him, I made a last look around, which convinced me that no further diversions were to be found this night, unless I wanted more chill water slapped in my face. Better to be seasick and dry than seasick and wet. I went below.
Jericho left the cabin’s small lamp burning for my return. He was deeply asleep in his cot jammed against the opposite wall. I was glad that he was getting rest and took care to be quiet while slipping off my damp clothes. Not quite knowing what to do with them, I left them piled on the traveling box before gratefully climbing into my own bed.
The presence of my home earth delivered an instant comfort so overwhelming that I wondered whatever had possessed me to leave it in the first place. Until this moment I hadn’t realized how much I needed it, and lying back, I finally identified the feeling that had been creeping up on me for the last few hours, one that I’d not experienced since before my death: I was drowsy.
I’d known what it was to be tired, known all its forms, from the fatigue of a dark and discouraged spirit to the weary satisfaction that stems from accomplishing a difficult task. Much had happened in the last year, but not once had my eyes dragged shut of their own accord as they were doing now.
Damned strange, that.
But wonderfully pleasant.
To escape into sleep . . . . I’d thought that luxury forever lost because of the changes I’d been through.
Out of old habit rather than necessity, I made a deep inhalation and sighed it out again, pulling the blankets up to my chin. Oh, but this felt good; my dizziness and bad belly were finally loosening their grip on my beleaguered frame. The earth-filled bags were lumpy and hard, but at the same time made the most comfortable bed I’d ever known. I rolled on my side, punched the pillow once to get it just right . . .
. . . and then someone was tugging at my shoulder and calling my name most urgently.
Damnation, I thought, then said it aloud. “What is it?”
“Don’t you want to get up, Mr. Jonathan?” Jericho asked.
“I just got to bed. Let me finish what I’ve started.”
“But it’s long past sunset,” he insisted.
Ridiculous. But he was probably right or he wouldn’t be bothering me. I pried my eyes open. The cabin looked the same as before, or nearly so. If his cot had not been made up and my clothes neatly laid out on the box, I would have had good cause for continued annoyance.
“Miss Elizabeth’s been by to ask after you. She thought you might still be ailing from the seasickness.”
“It’s not as bad as before.”
“Do you wish me to convey that news to her?”
God, but I wanted to stay in bed. “No, I’ll talk to her, perhaps take the air.”
He seemed about to ask another question, for he was plainly worried, but I got up and requested my coat. That was all that was required to change the subject. In the next few minutes I was summarily stripped, dressed again, combed out, brushed off and otherwise made ready for presentation to polite company, though how he was able to accomplish so much in the tiny space we had was a mystery.
My hat in place and my stick in hand, I was bowed out into the passage.
“You’re trying to get rid of me so you can tidy things, is that it?” I demanded.
Jericho’s smile was one of perfect innocence. It was also his only reply as he shut the door in my face. Somehow, the way he did it, it wasn’t in the least way impertinent. Oh, but the man was gifted.
There being little point to contest with him, I made my way topside. Long habit dictated I check the sky, which was clear, but I was surprised at the hour. Except for steady Polaris, the other stars were well along their march across the sky; sunset was ages ago, and soon everyone else but the crew would be below and abed. How could I have overslept for so long?
Elizabeth spied me and waved from a place she’d taken on the port rail. There was a good color in her cheeks and her mood cheery. Perhaps it had to do with the three smiling young ship’s officers gathered about her. Apparently she was not in want for company or amusement. If they were anything like the lot I’d met upon my last voyage they’d be trying to outdo each other recounting their sailing adventures to impress her. Doubtless between them they would have bravely dispatched any number of bloodthirsty pirates, or rebels. They were all one these days.
One of the sails made a banging noise overhead. Who would have thought mere air against cloth could sound so much like gunfire? I was too tired to jump, and Elizabeth must have become familiar with the sound during the day, for she ignored it. One of the officers snapped an instruction to a seaman, who ran aloft to tie down something or other. That was a good sign. The crew was alert to its b
usiness, which was most reassuring to one such as myself, who hadn’t the least idea of how to make a ship move in the right direction.
“I thought you’d never show yourself,” Elizabeth called over the wind.
“Must be the sea air,” I said, strolling over as best I could. Damn little deck space was safe for passage what with ropes and things lying about, and the ship pitched and swooped unpredictably. My legs and balance were still adjusting to their change of circumstance.
“You’re feeling better?” she inquired hopefully.
That subject again. “I wish you hadn’t reminded me.” I clutched the rail hastily, nearly losing my stick. Should have left it in the cabin as I’d done last night. Though an elegant affectation for walking in the city or country, it was quite the impediment on a shifting deck. Though we were out of sight of land by now, the movement of water was still under its influence. Once we were truly upon the broad face of the Atlantic these choppy waves would smooth out, or so I fervently hoped.
“Still seasick?”
“Oh, please don’t say it. I’d forgotten until now.”
“Sorry. You looked well enough a moment ago.”
“It’s rapidly reasserting itself, unfortunately.”
One of the officers, anxious to make a good impression on Elizabeth, suggested that I consult Mr. Quinton. “He brought several cases of medicines with him. I’m sure he’d be happy to provide something to ease your difficulty,” said the fellow with some eagerness. He had more than half an eye on my sister. Shouldn’t he be minding the sails or something?
“Thank you, Lieutenant George. I shall give that consideration.” About two second’s worth, I thought.