by Tom Blair
Barely a day passed without Mister Johnson interrupting his day to speak to Nathan and me. Often we would ask questions about the sea. Always he took time to respond. Many things we understood. Many things did not. One we did not was the setting sun. During our first days at sea the sun would rise on our left, the port, and set on our right, starboard. I told Mister Johnson that the setting sun always shone through a small grate on the right side of the ship and cast the most lovely patterns on our hanging tarps. His response I could not understand. To Nathan and I he explained by the end of our journey the sun would be setting on the left and rising on the right. How could this be? In our cottage in Tewkesbury the sun’s first rays always shone through one window and through another as it bade farewell. He tried to explain, but I could not understand. Several days passed and he came to Nathan and me with apple in hand. With the knife he always carried as partner to his belt, carefully he cut back the skin of a portion of the apple. On the other side of the apple he cut yet another portion. Then with the stem pointing upward he carved what looked to be an arrowhead pointing down next to one portion where the skin had been taken. Then next to the other portion where the skin had been peeled away he carefully carved yet another small arrowhead that was pointing upward toward the stem. When holding the apple upward in the blaze of the sun, he slowly rotated the apple, as the earth rotates around. He explained that during the first part of our journey, south toward the bottom of the apple was our journey, as the direction of the arrow. He then slowly turned the apple so the sunlight hit one side and then the other with the dividing between light and sun slowly moving across the arrow, thus day and night. Then he explained that the second part of the journey we would be moving upward on the earth, along the New World, back to the stem of the apple. He then rotated the apple again from light to shadow and showed the light moved from the other side of the arrow than before. After his explanation he paused. There was silence. I spoke but not sincerely. I thanked him and told him that I then understood. Nathan asked if he could eat the apple.
Mother more quiet, less conversation. Still coughing. Sometimes her eyes stayed closed, but no sleep. I tried to make pleasant conversation. Happy recountings. Happy hopes. Asked her one day to recount her wedding. The story I knew, but it made us feel warm to hear it.
One calm day Mister Johnson took Nathan and me to the quarter deck, above the chart house, never allowed there before. High in the back of the ship, looking down on the crew and passengers. We felt important, seeing what others doing, nothing hidden. A challenge for us, he says. Another month for our journey, a test to be given at the end by him to us. If we pass, a prize to both. “What?” I ask, “A test of what knowledge?” Sailing he said, he would teach us to be apprentices, much to learn, weather, seas, navigation, commands. Mister Johnson then gave us a small plank of wood, no longer than four hands, with a drawing of a ship. A sketch from the side, masts, sails and spars, the deck, both above and below. All with names written next to them. In just a few days Nathan and I learned the names, and how to inscribe them. Still I remember, mizzen, main, fore, and sprit be what I called trees. With plank in hand as a map Mister Johnson went through the ship. With permission of Captain Jones, even the Great Cabin seen. Most interesting the steerage where helmsmen pushed and pulled the whipstaff, rudder. A rudder half the size of a barn door. As a shutter swinging on hinges, the rudder port and starboard to nudge the ship’s aft in its journey. This helmsman, with broad shoulders as Father’s. This sailor I remembered from before, he was the one who quickly up the plank with our trunk.
While the crew were more old than young, there were five apprentice sailors, twelve to fifteen years, I think. All wore the same dark trousers, loose white or cream shirts, perhaps the cream being white shirts long before. Like squirrels in Tewkesbury, moving from branch to branch and tree to tree, they glided among the masts, spars, and rigging in a manner that seemed not possible. These lads were not often pardoned from their task. One corner of the deck was where they would break. All were young and fresh, one was of particular note. By listening carefully to their yelled exchanges among the sails that pushed and pulled our ship, I came to know his name. It was David, the same as my uncle.
Then one day, a pleasant turn. The young apprentices on a rest, one moved toward me, he was David. I smiled. Then he saw and came to me. Asked if this was my first journey on a ship. My yes was met with his claim of his third passage. As he turned to join his fellows, he was surprised when I spoke his name and wished him a good day.
After twenty, but no more than thirty days at sea, the doldrums. Sea smooth, ship without motion. With no breeze, heat and smells returned. But this was not the worst.
When our space belowdecks was divided between men and women, care was given to the women. A large grate open to fresh air was over the portion of space for women and children. Without wind, the belowdecks air was stale and warm. With wind and movement, a rushing and churning noise was loud and constant, but without there was silence, all conversation overheard. With no winds to move the air belowdecks and with no pitching of the ship, the crew moved to the main deck at night to sleep. Many spoke among themselves, and I listened. Most words of family and home. Sometimes food and ale. It was on the third day of our doldrums that words of a single sailor made my heart stop and my head faint. My only thankfulness was both Nathan and Mother asleep and did not hear. The seaman thought all journeying to the New World as fools. Bragged he had made two journeys to Jamestown. The stories he told could not be true. They were of hunger and savages. Most of the first travelers of 1607 no longer lived. For many starvation was a salvation. Told of savages raiding village, carrying out most horrible of deeds. Settlers set upon by axes and clubs, left to die with arms and legs hacked off. Others tied to trees, fingers were cut free one by one, until God gave them mercy in heaven. Of all recountings, one most horrible. A settler man, starving and desperate, set upon his wife and killed her. Butchered her, cooked her, and ate her. When found out, judged rightly and hanged. Because of the desperation of many, the loved ones of newly dead buried in unmarked sites so not retrieved for sustenance. This could not be. We could not be traveling to such a place.
Morning after, Father saw my distress. Asked Mother why, but she did not know. This day I did not eat nor move from my blanket. The following morning my mother beseeched me to tell her my woe. This I could not do to my mother. I told her I would speak to Father. That afternoon we went to the deck above and to a railing far. I told him the words that I heard. He touched me on the shoulders and turned me around so I looked at the sea with him standing at my back. These were not real stories. These were stories sailors told when ale was plenty. I was told all was well, and a wondrous land was where we would be. I knew this was not true, but I smiled.
Mister Johnson’s teaching of the ways of the sea gave relief from the sailor’s tales. Clouds, clouds. Mister Johnson points, Mister Johnson speaks. Know their shapes, know their voices. Some flat as dough rolled under the pin, others long and round as a bed sheet rolled. Some tall and round, a mountain of pillows. Some not white but gray. Others not gray but black, with flashes of light. One not seen but spoken of. High gray black saucer, from it a cone with the small point touching the ocean. Told best not to see.
Mister Johnson one day took Nathan and me below. Under the tween deck was the cargo hold. Open wide, only the main mast and windlass intrude. Scores of barrels holding peas, meal, and butter. Tools for every task, spades, shovels, axes, and scythes, more than in Tewkesbury. More barrels, pitch and tar. Soft goods, linen, canvas, rugs, blankets. Also, but not understood, rocks. More than in a garden wall. Asked I why stones to Jamestown. Not cargo, he said, they stay with the ship as ballast. Counter the masts high above. Two rocks I would see again.
From the cargo hold up we go two decks then forward. Then up again to the top of the forecastle looking down. The bow of the Essex, parting the sea, as shears through cloth. Leading the bow the beachhead and bowspirit. As the
beak of a bird, forward from the bow a bridge to nowhere, ending in a point five strides in front of the bow. Out we go, over the waters rushing forward. Nothing but clean wind in front, nothing but green water below and blue sky above. We were birds.
On the main deck David saw me again today, from his rest he approached. A good day he wished me and then he asked my name. I told him. That night I lay below and think of him. The first young man to seek my name.
Mother did not leave the tween deck. No sun, no fresh breeze. Still a cough. Her voice not hers, breathing not easy. I bathed her with warm water from the forecastle, soap from our trunk. Words of strength from her, but I was fearful. Speak to Father, all will be right. Mrs. Sandys also, Mother to be well. They must be true, any other answer God would not allow.
Again David joined me on the deck for a brief conversation. Unlike Jack, this lad looked right at me, not to the side. His eyes were bright. They seemed to smile. His hair was a dark, dark brown. His build slender but not frail. Muscles from apprentice tasks were there. His height between me and Father, his complexion reddened brown from the wind and sun.
To interest and occupy the day for me, Mister Johnson taught knots, each with names not heard before. Sailor’s knot, rolling hitch, bowline loop, sheet bend, and reef knot be some. Asked me if I would learn a few. I did. Not because of interest, but because he was so kind. I recall some. Make a rabbit hole with one end, pull the rabbit up through the hole, he looks around, runs under one end, and down the hole, a noose knot is made. Nathan also challenged by Mister Johnson. With the loan of his fine large knife with its handle of some stone, Nathan taught to whittle. Small blocks of wood to some object of life. At first nothing to show but wood shavings by a stool and Nathan’s bandaged finger. But then a pig’s head carved. Later I learned it be a dog.
Another day, more conversation with David. No longer just a sentence or two. Small topics. The weather, the food, the other passengers. As he spoke to me his fellow apprentices noticed from a distance. David said he thought my hair very fair. I washed and brushed to make it even more so. But the wind between the sails on the deck above made it not so.
Seas not calm, heavy winds and spray, the ship and all within a coat of salt. Mister Johnson said only a day and night, but no relief. One day as the day before, ship rolling hard, no passengers above. Crew brings food and drink to our cots, only bread and dried meat, but no matter, no one was hungry. Lay in our cots, blanket’s sway marks the time. Mother sleeps, Father quiet, Nathan with a knife. Mrs. Sandys most attentive to Mother, Nathan, and me. The ship rolls and curtsies, Mrs. Sandys smiles. When I move from Mother’s side she is there, some water, bread broken small, a folded blanket under her head. Her happiness is others’ happiness. At night, when others sleep, I think, why some content, others not? Is it because of a decision made, or the cast of God? Both I think. Then the seas became quiet.
When tested by Mister Johnson, Nathan and I know well the ship’s map. All places on board known by their names. Clouds also known. And the knots. The lengths of rope making home to a dozen knots of different purpose. Navigation not understood. Too difficult.
Father never noticed my exchanges with the apprentice David. One morning after a few words of nothing important, David asked if I had seen the great shark swimming to the left, that is port, of our ship. I said not. To the rail we walked. Over he leaned, and next to our hull the shark be, he said. Then he told me to lean over to see the great large fish. This I did. His hand went to my waist. I thought to keep me from a fall. No shark was seen. Another few words were spoken and back to his fellows he walked. Grinning were they, something most amusing. I was perplexed. Nothing amusing I saw. Then from the forward deck strode Mister Johnson, a stride with a purpose. Right to the apprentices he flew. To David he spoke. I know not what, but nothing pleasant. For several days the apprentices did not count David as one. Days later, again, he was on deck. But no conversations.
Mother’s health worsened. Cough remained. Breaths more often and shorter. Strange noise as breaths taken. Food not often eaten. Eyes sunk, surrounded by dark. I sat by her, holding her hand. Telling her pleasant stories told me by Grandmother. Each she knew, but each she smiled. Father quiet. Mister Johnson not. Always a subject for Nathan and me. Walk here, see that, do this, keeping us busy. His intent good, but, the more he spoke, the more fearful I became.
If the weather fair, I went to the main deck at the highest sun. This was the time apprentices were relieved from their tasks. While seeming busy with something of importance, perhaps to study another knot on a line, I glanced to the apprentices. David faced my way, a smile I offered, he turned away. Then one day an apprentice, I know not his name, walked past me to the railing. Turned and back to his group, but first by me and passed me a paper. I went down to my cot. Paper unfolded. Kind Emilie. Not to offend, no disrespect intended. David Lane. I knew his full name.
Mrs. Sandys spent more hours with Mother. Often they spoke in whispers. Father told me not to worry, Mother would be fine. Worry much I did. Only soup eaten. Eyes closed many hours of the day. Each day the same, then another week the same. Mostly calm seas, but a stiff and steady breeze from the southeast.
For two days Mother did not eat. Then she moved to the far end of the women’s share of the tween deck. Her cot blocked from view by a blanket tied from above. Father one cold night took my hand, rarely done, and to my mother. A lamp above swayed with the ship. Shadows also swayed. Still she lay. Head slightly raised, Father’s great gray coat folded as a pillow to raise her head and shoulders. Ease her labors. In time her eyes open. When her glance crossed mine, a smile. A smile of warmth and love. My hand went to hers. I felt her bones. Close I moved. Face near dear Mother’s. A few soft words, love, hope, and promises, always with me. I had no words, only tears. Minutes passed. Then Father with Nathan came. I stood, then knelt. Kissed her on the cheek. Then back to my cot. Later Nathan was there. Little was said that night. He slept. I did not. With morning light I could see Father by Mother. Finally he stood, moved away, she was with Rebecca.
No casket, no flowers, no grave to visit and speak my thoughts. Her body placed in a long stained gray canvas sack for sails to hold. With her as companions two large stones from the ballast below, they I knew. Then the open end sewed closed forever with an iron needle and black cord. In the evening’s fading light the ship turned so that the pink sky of the setting sun was aft, where Father, Nathan, and I and others stood. How could this be? Mother to be plunged into churning sea. Some words spoken by the Captain. I could not hear. I did not care. Nothing worse. A few cried. Toss her body into the sea, my mother of warmth, my mother of gentle love, always there for me. Only Father, rigid and distant, to guide and comfort me. This could not be. This night no prayers said. Shame I felt. Mother dying and David’s glance I had sought.
Mrs. Sandys talked to me each day. Nothing of importance. Asked if she could brush my hair. She told me of her niece, who lived in Oxford. Her name was Victoria. Very pretty said Mrs. Sandys, but not as fair as me. I knew she wished to bring happiness to my face. But grief was too much. My sweet Grandmother Alice, home in Tewkesbury, her daughter no longer. Her grief I must have. To the deck I go, over the Great Cabin, sat down on the deck with my back to the mizzen mast, faced the railing, then leaned back, not too far, or the sails I see. But if my gaze just right not the sea or ship cross my eye. Only sky and clouds. With this view I took myself home. Thought of past times, happy times, times with Mother in Tewkesbury.
At night the boat was quiet of voices. I lay in my cot. Only light a far-off yellow glow from a lamp above the decks. While no voices, constant waves against the ship. Thump after thump. Each followed by a muted splash. One after another. As the groaning spoke on the cart measured the greater and greater distance from Grandmother and home, each slapping of a wave made known more distance from dear Mother, with no hope.
Mrs. Sandys came to see me, my dresses she wanted to wash, they’d not touched water and soap since Mothe
r and I laundered our last in London. She asked to wash both, the brown one I wear, the gray one in the trunk. Why wash both together? I wondered. To wear while laundry done, Mrs. Sandys provided a fine dress, one of hers. Much care she takes to pin it to fit. Most beautiful dress ever worn. Blue, a skirt with embroidery, white flowers. Sleeves quite full, with cuffs of white not blue. Sad I was when my dresses back from the wash. But trade not all bad. To my brown dress had new buttons of pearl. White against the brown. So kind.
Days and nights passed. Weeks became our cadence. Father did not speak. Or very seldom. Nathan sad, but busy. Busy doing nothing of matter. Soon, voices of the ship became more. Landfall was hoped and prayed near. Then it was there. Martinique. Nothing more beautiful. Large round green hills dipped to the sea. Between the blue sea, with its whitecap punctuations, and the emerald hills, a wide curved beach. Air warm, sun bright, a breeze of sweet smells. Something pleasant after long despair.
At this island we did not pause. Some said savages there were. Sailed on, past other most beautiful risings from the sea, then to Mevis. Here the anchor dropped. Off to shore went a party of crew. Food and water gathered. Fruit of different colors and flavors than known. Some sweet like honey. Two fine pigs brought aboard. Squealing soon turned to the aroma of meats. Warm weather, still seas, full stomachs, smiling faces, all content. I slept a content sleep. Next morning Mister Johnson spoke to Father, then Nathan and I he took down a steep plank to the ship’s boat tied by its side. With a crew on the oars, toward the beach, then pulled to a spit of rocks that arched from the island, thus stopping the marching waves. On the tranquil side of the rocks the boat was held by a small iron tied to rope. Mister Johnson then pointed down. The water clear, sights not seen before. Fish, many fish. But not as any in the streams of Tewkesbury. Not gray. Not black. Color after color. All bright. These rainbows drifted and swam over and around rocks. Perhaps not rocks, bee nests of pinks, blues, and yellows.