Privateer's Apprentice (10 page)

After supper, I fill Cook's scalding tub with seawater for my bath. I no longer feel shy about stripping in front of the others. On a ship the size of
Destiny
, privacy is impossible. I pull off my shirt and am standing in my breeches when the Captain appears.

“A bath feels good after a day's battle,” he says. “You have earned the right to a soak.”

I nod, wondering how to ask for the uniform. Taking a deep breath, I say, “Sir, there is a crate below that holds two uniforms of the Royal Navy. I thought … I thought perhaps …” Suddenly, asking seems impudent. I am a boy from Charles Towne, not a royal sailor.

“You thought what, Jameson?”

I raise my head. “I thought I might wear one, that is, until you take on new men and need it back.”

The Captain rubs his chin. “The uniform you speak of is to be worn only by those who serve Queen Anne gladly—those who will risk their lives for her good.”

“It is true that I did not want to serve at first,” I say. “But I have done as commanded.”

“I can see that your heart remains in Charles Towne,” the
Captain says. “You would return tomorrow given the chance. Isn't that also true?”

I shake my head. “I will return only when I can follow my father's trade … when I can return as a free man and not as a servant to a baker.”

“So the baker's trade is no longer fit for you?” he asks. “Three months at sea and you have forgotten the debt you owe?”

“I've forgotten nothing,” I say. “But lately I have thought about that day in the bakery. I was starving, but I never would have left the shop with the bread. The baker took advantage of me.”

“How so?” the Captain asks.

“It makes no sense that the baker would purchase the term of the thief who stole from him. Did he not worry that I would steal his coins when his head was turned?”

“Perhaps he thought to redeem you.”

“No,” I say, scowling. “The baker accused me falsely and then saw an opportunity to purchase my term cheaply at the auction. He is of low character, for sure.”

The Captain smiles. “You will do well in this world, Jameson. You do not look for the bad that exists, but you recognize it when you see it. Life often sends us hard lessons, but you have learned this one well. It is not likely you will be caught off guard again.”

A breeze blows across the deck and gently ripples the water in the tub. I pick up my shirt from the deck and move it away from the tub so that it will not get wet. “Tell Peep to issue you a uniform,” the Captain says. “You fought like a loyal subject this morning, Jameson. You have earned the right to wear Her Majesty's colors.”

I lift my chin. “I will wear Queen Anne's colors and fight for her good. But I must tell you honestly that someday I will
follow in my father's steps and put the skills he taught me to good use.”

“Aye, Jameson. Someday, but not too soon.
Destiny
needs a sea artist.”

“Then I shall serve as one until the time comes that I can go safely home to Charles Towne.” With those words, I grab my tattered shirt from the deck and fling it over the railing, smiling as the shirt floats slowly away.

A
fter my bath, I go below to feed and water the animals. Then I pull on the clean sleeping shirt that Cook gave me from one of the crates. The pain that shoots through my arm as I dress reminds me that much has changed since the sun rose in the morning sky.

The sleeves of the nightshirt are long, with cuffs that have two rows of silver stitching sewn in loops around the edge. The soft ivory cloth feels cold against my skin. I rub my finger gently over the threads. Cook told me that the shirt came from the Orient where magical worms weave the fabric day and night. He said ‘twas likely I would find myself curled up like a grub in the morning if I wore it to bed.

For the first time since leaving Charles Towne, I am excited for morning to come. Solitaire Peep wouldn't tell me a lot about the island to which we sail, only that it is crossed, much like the St. George's Cross that adorns Her Majesty's flag. Jabbart said he hoped it was the same island they had sailed to several seasons ago, as the trees were plentiful and he would be sure to find what he needed for the new mast.

The ship dips hard tonight, and I can hear the waves beating into its sides. Cook says that the lack of stars in the sky means that come morning, we will be in the midst of a battle between the gods of the sea and wind. He claims a starless
night means the gods have all taken cover so they will not be pulled down from the heavens or washed away by the sea. Already the ship rocks, and each dip causes my stomach to roll. I lie back down and try to settle in, but the pains are so sharp that they force me up a few minutes later. Holding my stomach, I belch loudly several times, but the ache does not subside. The spasms spread from my naval to my ribs, and each throb flushes my body with heat. The goat nudges me, bleating softly. I shake my head and gently push her away. “It was that awful sea creature,” I mutter, wondering why Cook didn't toss it back into the sea. The storage room is filled with food; eating such a beast makes no sense. I curl up on my mat and hope the pain will pass so I do not have to go in search of the night bucket. Instead the throbbing grows worse. Finally, I throw off my sheet. Morning is hours away, and I cannot wait.

The ship tilts abruptly and I stumble down the unlit hall, pressing my palms against the wall for support. The ship heaves and lurches as if in a game of tug-of-war. The night bucket is nowhere to be found, so I am forced to go up on deck.

A chilly blast of wet air envelopes me as I ease open the hatch. Rain cascades across the deck, and I regret that I did not wrap a tarp around myself before coming up. I glance uneasily toward the back of the ship, my eyes finding the flat board that hangs beyond the railing, high above the water. A round hole has been cut in the middle of the board. I have seen others use the contraption, but I have never dared try, preferring the bucket instead. The thought of balancing upon a board that dangles over the sea terrifies me. Tonight though, I have no choice; the bucket is not in its usual place, and I cannot wait a minute longer.

Jabbart, on lookout near the cannons, shakes his head when he sees my predicament. “You're not the only one sick
from Cook's feast,” he says. “Half the ship has been up here since supper.”

I double over as another spasm hits. “The creature squeezes my gut something awful.”

“There are rags beneath the steps,” Jabbart says. “Take a few and leave some for the others. I will have more company this night, I'm sure.”

Climbing atop the board turns out to be easier than I imagined. Two crates serve as steps, and I need only to reach out and grab the ropes to bring the board to me so that I can climb atop. Staying seated, however, proves more difficult. The heavy wind causes the board to swing from side to side. More than once I must push away from the railing so that I do not bang into the ship's side, all the while hoping that I don't fall into the sea. A steady rain beats upon my back as I clutch the ropes, and I try not to think of the churning water below me and the sharks that I saw earlier.

When I drop back onto the deck a few minutes later, I say to Jabbart, “I will starve before I eat anything with legs from this sea again.”

Jabbart sighs, his eyes upon the water, “'Twould surprise you what you might eat if you're starving,” he says. “I've seen men boil boot leather to fill their bellies.”

I remember the hunger I felt after being turned out of my father's shop. For days I wandered through Charles Towne's streets without a shilling to buy a rotting apple. I recall how good the fish stew tasted on my first day aboard ship. For the few minutes I spent eating that meal, I forgot my fears. The Captain's words about hunger come back to me and I repeat them to Jabbart.

“Aye,” he agrees as I lift the hatch to go below. “Hunger is indeed a powerful master.”

The hall seems darker as I make my way back below deck;
not a speck of light filters through the planking. When I open the door to the storage room, the goat bleats loudly. “Quiet,” I whisper. “If you wake Peep, 'Twill be my skin he takes.” She cries louder still, and I reach out to rub her side.

“What's this?” I murmur when I feel her wet fur. “How did you get soaked?” Too tired to worry, I sink down onto my pallet, only to bolt up again when I feel water seeping through my clothing. Patting the floor with my palms, I follow the water to where the floorboard meets the side of the ship. Water spurts through the seams. Large puddles have pooled beneath the hens' crates.
This is bad
, I think, hurrying toward the door. Whatever caused the leak must be fixed—and quick.

Solitaire Peep's hammock swings next to Cook's in a narrow room off the galley. Both men lie sleeping beneath a tightly woven fishing net that shields them from the flies and mosquitoes that terrorize the ship at night.

I give Solitaire Peep a shake. “Wake up! There's a leak in the storage room!”

Peep's head is tilted back and his breath comes in loud drawn-out snorts.

“Wake up!” I shout again.

He springs up wide-eyed and grabs my wrist. “What are you doing to me whilst I sleep?” he snarls.

I try to wrench my arm away, but Solitaire Peep holds fast and pulls me closer. “Did you think to steal my patch?”

“For what reason?” I ask, turning my face from Peep's breath, which is fouled by the creature he ate earlier.

“Lucky for you I can think of no answer,” Peep says, releasing me. “Why then do you wake me from my sleep?”

I rub my wrist. “The storage room leaks. Already the animals' crates are soaked and puddles run along the sides.”

“Does it leak from the ceiling?”

I shake my head. “On the floor where the barrels are stacked.”

Adjusting his eye patch, Solitaire Peep swings out of the hammock. “Wake Cook and have him heat some tar. The crack will need sealing.”

Cook and I are in the galley stirring a small cauldron of bubbling hot tar when we hear Solitaire Peep yell. We leave the cauldron and hurry to the storage room. I freeze in the doorway. Water sprays out like a fountain from the side of the wall. The floor is flooded. “Clang the bell, lad,” Solitaire Peep shouts. “We're taking on water!”

“I'll heat more pitch,” Cook says, hobbling back toward the galley.

Up on deck, I grab the gong and slam it twice against the bell.

Jabbart raises his head in alarm. “Where's it coming in?”

“Storage,” I say, pausing to catch my breath. “Water is shooting through the sides.” From below I can hear the Captain rousing the crew from their sleep. When I return to the storage room, the men have gathered. Cook and Peep are on their knees packing the leaking crevices with strips of hemp and steaming hot tar. It seems as if the ship's entire side has split open. Whenever they seal a spot, a new gush of water erupts nearby. The smoke from the pitch burns my eyes and fills my lungs.

“Tell Jabbart to get down here,” the Captain snaps. “We need a carpenter to repair this leak, not a cook.” He motions to Ferdie. “Go up and take over as lookout.”

Startled by the commotion around them, the hens cackle loudly and flap their wings hard, sending white feathers into the air. I grab their crates and carry them into the hall.

A few minutes later, Jabbart shoves past me and goes to where Cook and Peep still work at sealing the leaks. Kneeling down, he runs his hands along the side, shoving his fingers into the crevice to determine the damage. After a few moments, he stands and wipes his hands on his pants. “We can't properly fix a hole this size while we're under sail,” he says. “We can plug it now, but these boards will need to be replaced when she is careened on the island.”

“What has caused this?” the Captain asks.

Jabbart shrugs. “Could be the new mast is unbalanced and is putting too much pressure on this side of the ship. Mayhap we hit something beneath the water that ripped a hole in the outer plankings. Can't say whilst she's in the water.”

“We're five days sail to a safe beach. Can she make it?”

Jabbart hesitates before speaking. “If we lighten her load and the weather's good, mayhap we can.”

“How much weight can she take?”

“The crew and the guns and a couple of barrels of food, but not much more than that,” Jabbart says. “She needs to sit higher in the water.”

I draw a deep breath and survey the crates and barrels in the room, most still full of food.

The Captain turns to Cook. “Keep a barrel of meat, a sack of flour, all the cheese and salt, some ale, and the tea. Everything else goes into the water.”

His words draw a gasp from me and others in the room. A low murmuring begins.

“You cain't mean to throw out our food,” Gunther objects.

“We have no choice,” the Captain responds. “We toss it or risk sinking.”

“We can turn back and sail to a closer beach,” Ferdie says.

Solitaire Peep snorts. “Beach in Spanish waters? The enemy will sneak up on us whilst the ship's careened.”

The Captain holds up his hand and the room grows quiet.
“Where we head is a week's sail from Charles Towne. Once the ship is repaired, we'll sail back there and refill the hold.”

The Captain's words startle me.
Sail to Charles Towne
. A few days ago I would have been thrilled to hear such news. But now … Things are different. I need time to think about what going back to Charles Towne would mean. The thinking will have to wait, though. Solitaire Peep shouts at us to get moving. I grab a sack of barley near my feet and drag it down the hall and up to the deck. I throw it over the side and head back to the storage room. There is little talk amongst the crew, but I hear much grumbling as we toss overboard dozens of sacks of barley and flour, two barrels of dried red beans, three kegs of dried beef, and all the other food that was taken on back in Charles Towne. Cook stands guard beside the barrel of salted beef, a sack of flour, the cheese wheels, and the half-dozen small kegs of ale he has been allowed to keep. When the last sack of barley hits the water, I grip the railing and stare out over the sea. The moon's bright light upon the black water taunts me as I watch
Destiny
's food supply disappear beneath the waves. My thoughts turn back to the morning when I awoke in the alley and saw the yellow-striped cat nibbling a shiny sliver of pig fat. The hollowness in my stomach had driven me to try to snatch the fat from the cat's claws. I hoped never to feel such hunger again.

Disheartened, I return to the storage room. A gray haze from the hot pitch fills the room. The hens wander about freely, their crates having been tossed overboard with the rest of the supplies. My pallet has been kicked to the side of the room, and cornhusks poke through holes made when it was trampled. I bite my lip as I look around the room, which has become a home to me in the weeks since my capture, a place where I can shut the door at night and sleep or call back the memories of my life before the plague. Now it looks as if the
Queen's army has galloped through. I gather up the straw that was dumped out of the hen's crates and form a mound in a dry corner for them to nest in. Old sails that were used to mop the water lie all around. They are heavy, but I manage to drag them into a sodden heap by the door. Tomorrow, I will hang them over the railing to dry.

As I work, I think about what lies ahead. Without the barrels and sacks, there is more space in the room for the animals to roam. I can help Cook net fish every day, and that will help make our food supplies last longer. Though the Captain has said he will refill the hold as soon as
Destiny
has been repaired, something gnaws at me, a feeling of unease that won't go away.
That is because it's night
, I think.
Everything appears worse in the dark
. Tomorrow, when the sun glistens on the deck and
Destiny
sails toward English waters, I will feel better.

Yawning loudly, I find a dry sail atop a barrel. I fold it several times and place it over my wet pallet. I close my eyes and try to sleep, but images of water pouring through the sides and barrels of food being tossed into the dark sea fill my head. Though the room is stifling hot, a chill runs through me, and I shiver. A long while passes before I finally drift off.