The Pirate's Apprentice

by L.M. Batstone

  ***

  It was late evening when he woke. John rubbed his swollen eyes and stretched out his aching legs. A cold bowl of salted pork soup and two sea biscuits had been left beside him. John stared at the meal wondering if his mother had left the food, and then realized it was most likely the cook.

  He stuffed the two biscuits in his pocket and put a spoonful of the soup in his mouth. It tasted even saltier cold and the gelatinous consistency of the meal turned John's stomach. He pushed the uneaten portion as far away as he could with his foot.

  John thought about throwing the bowl overboard, but couldn't muster the will or the strength to do it. His whole body ached from the punishment he had received. He began to shiver, but couldn't tell if it was from the cold night air, or from the memory of what his mother had done.

  John's hatred burned like a coal fire inside him, and wouldn't easily be put out. He had never been so angry at her in his entire life. As he stared intently at the basket wall, he found himself wishing the pirates had killed her when they took the ship. I'd be better off without her, he thought bitterly.

  But a nagging inner voice harshly reminded John of his reality. He knew he would have to face his mother again, just as he knew he'd have to face the crew of the Bonetta, and the pirates. But not now, he thought, I'll stay in the crow's nest for the night. The star-studded sky was clear of clouds, and he was sheltered from the worst of the wind by the nest's wicker walls. He tried to go back to sleep, but the night air was damp and cool, and he couldn't get comfortable.

  Frustrated, John banged the back of his head against the wall of the crow's nest. But instead of hitting something hard, his head hit something soft. John turned to see what it was and soon realized someone had hung a gray wool blanket over the edge while he slept.

  Smiling, John wrapped the thick blanket around his shoulders and legs and felt instant relief from the chilly night air. Now that he was all wrapped up, John felt safe, secure and loved. Just knowing the cook cared made all the difference. John knew then if he wanted to come down he could stay in the kitchen galley, and find protection from his mother. Maybe I'll like peeling potatoes after all, he thought. He leaned against the wall of the crow's nest, and let the constant roll of the Bonetta rock him back to sleep.

  Early in the morning, John woke with a start. His body was cold and stiff. He quickly ate a sea biscuit, keeping his scratchy wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders. When he was done eating, he rubbed the life back into his numb legs with the palms of his hands.

  Eager to get moving, John tied the blanket around his neck and grabbed his cold bowl of soup. He held the lip of the bowl in his teeth, so he could use both hands as he descended the rope ladder. Once on the deck, he threw the contents of his bowl overboard, tiptoed past the sleeping pirate guards and descended to the common room.

  Men slept in their hammocks and on the floor, wrapped in scratchy wool blankets. The room was quiet. Not a single man stirred as John stepped off the ladder. While the pirates had control of the Bonetta, her crew's duties went unattended. There was no need to rise with the sun as the men were accustomed to doing.

  John walked slowly through the hammocks and stepped over a few men huddled on the floor. He tiptoed to the galley, where he hoped to find the cook. When he reached the doorway, his heart warmed at the sight of the one-eyed man.

  "Ah … John, there ye are. So glad ye could join me. I trust ye found the soup?" the cook said.

  John nodded. He held the empty bowl up to prove that he had.

  "If yer thirsty, an' still hungry," the cook whispered, "help yerself to some hot broth and sea biscuits. Wash up in that bucket over there if ye need to."

  John used the bucket to wash his bowl, and then ladled a large helping of broth into it. Then, while he grabbed a handful of sea biscuits from basket by the door, the cook pulled a small wooden stool out from under the counter and offered it to John to sit on. Grateful, John took the stool and sat uncomfortably, facing the doorway. He was afraid his mother would appear, and he wanted to be ready to run at a moment's notice.

  John tried to shift his weight off his sore buttocks by leaning forward on his toes, but it didn't help much. He drank his broth and tried to ignore the dull, throbbing pain. The cook noticed his discomfort and grimaced.

  "I once was whipped with a cat o' nine tails," the cook said. "It was the worst kind of pain I've ever endured in public."

  "What's a cat o' nine tails?" John asked around a mouthful of biscuit.

  The cook's expression darkened. "It's a nasty whip that they use to dish out corporal punishment in King's royal navy." The cook took off his apron, turned his back, and lifted his shirt so John could see a cluster of long, thin scars between his shoulder blades.

  "Oh!" John exclaimed and choked. He almost had to spit out what was left in his mouth, but instead he took another sip of broth and swallowed the dry dough. The cook's scars looked like they had once been very painful wounds.

  "Why were you whipped?" John asked in a hushed, awe-stricken voice.

  "I was caught gambling while on duty. It was the nightshift and many of the sailors did it to pass the time," the cook shrugged. "Some of us were caught and that was the punishment. I was discharged soon after. M' heart just wasn't in it no more."

  John didn't know what to say. Being whipped sounded a lot worse than what he had endured the day before.

  "Do pirates get whipped like that, too?" John asked.

  "Don't know," the cook tied his apron around his waist again. "Truth be told, I don't know much about pirates except for what Captain Savage has told me. I'm mighty surprised with the way that they've treated us thus far."

  "When they leave, I'm going with them," John said. "And I don't care what my mother or anyone has to say about it."

  "She cares about you in her own way. She just has a funny way of showing it," the cook said as he began peeling potatoes.

  John ignored the cook's comment about his mother. He had no intention of forgiving her. "Can I stay with you for a while? I can help in the galley."

  "Course ye can. There's an extra paring knife in that box on the floor," the cook said as he pointed to a shallow wooden tray under the counter.

  John set aside his empty bowl and looked through the tray for the knife. When he found it, he pulled the stool over to the counter and climbed up so he could help. After the potatoes were peeled, he helped chop them and then dumped them, as he was shown, into a tin pot filled with water. As they worked, the cook told John stories of his time in the royal navy.

  John was glad he had decided to seek refuge in the galley. It felt good to lose himself in mindless activity and help the man who had been so kind to him.