Under the Jolly Roger: Being an Account of the Further Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber (11 page)

When we get up under the top, he heads for the lubber's hole and I say, "Wait. Don't do it that way. The men will think less of you for it. Do it like this." And I turn and slip under the back of the ratlines so that I am hanging sort of upside down, but so I can gain the outside edge of the fore-top platform and so slide on that way, which is considered the seamanly way to do it. Me and the other ship's boys on the
Dolphin
would rather be stripped bare, whipped, and keelhauled than be seen going up through the lubber's hole.

He doesn't like it, but he does it. I can see that he's a bit scared, hanging up there all precarious like that, but he gets it done. We go and sit down, him with his back to the mast, and me sitting cross-legged before him.

"There is so much I don't know," he says, miserably.

"You will learn. I will teach you what I know and we together will teach the other lads. To begin with, I have set it up so that we will be standing watches as Junior Officers of the Deck, starting with me on the Midwatch and you relieving me for the Four to Eight. We'll put the boys on a regular schedule, but I think it would be well that they split the long night watches into two-hour sessions. What do you think?"

He regards me. That wounded male hurt comes into his eyes. "You know," he says, "I was well on my way to becoming a man before I was brought here. And now a girl ..."

I get up on my knees in front of him. "Robin, I know I'm just a stupid girl, but I know some things, a lot of things, Robin, and I will teach them to you, and then you will be better than me 'cause you're a man and you're stronger and brighter and braver. But right now it's a question of circumstance and experience, and I've got lots of experience in things that I know you want to know about, and I will see that you learn them."

I see that the laying on of hands is necessary now, and I do it. I put my hands on his forearms and lift my eyes to his. "So you see, Robin, that this is the way it has to be. I
must
have you with me on this, else all is lost. Else I am lost, and that's the truth."

I know, I know, it is a blow to your male pride, but it will be all right, you'll see...

At the beginning of the Second Dog, Robin and I slide back down to the deck. We have some things resolved and we go into the berth for dinner. The others are there, playing at cards. They look up as we enter.

"Stand up," I say, and when they do, I continue. "Tomorrow, lads, your education as naval officers begins. Mr. Raeburne and I have the two night watches tonight, but in the morn you, Mr. Wheeler, will be the Junior Officer of the Watch for the Morning Watch, and you, Mr. Barrows, shall have the Afternoon Watch. Mr. Piggott, the First Dog. And back again to me for the Second. And so on, in never-ending rotation. Is that clear?"

They gulp and say yes, but Georgie pipes up with, "But what will we
do,
Miss?"

"You will do what the Officer of the Watch tells you to do. If he tells you nothing, then you will stand there at Parade Rest until he does tell you to do something."

They look uneasy and I continue. "You might tell the Officer of the Watch that I expect you to know the name of every single sail that is drawing wind tomorrow, and if you do not know that when I come on watch at six in the evening, you two will each receive two demerits and no dinner. Do you understand?"

They nod.

"Good. And at noon we will join Mr. Barrows on the quarterdeck, and I will show you how to take a sun line to determine our longitude. And then all will join me on the Second Dog to shoot Polaris for our latitude, weather permitting. In the morning Mr. Raeburne shall conduct math class for those not on watch, and I shall drill you in writing, reading, and spelling. All right?"

More nods.

"Good. One other thing. When we are here in the berth, we are Robin, Jacky, Tom, Ned, and Georgie, as we are all fellow midshipmen. But when we are on deck, we are Mister and Miss, for that is how we want the men to address us. Clear? All right then, lads, let's eat."

Just then the door is kicked open and our food arrives, borne by the same surly cook's helper who had delivered our rations before. He is a miserable looking creature, slump shouldered and chinless and not very clean. He drops the tray upon the table and goes to leave.

As he does so, I stick out my boot between his feet and trip him, such that he pitches forth, facedown on the deck.

"Wot? Wot, the hell!" he says, scrambling to his feet, full of indignation.

"Belay that," I say. He looks at me in openmouthed wonder. I put on the Lawson Peabody Look and gaze down my nose at him. "Pick up the tray and go back out and ask permission to enter." He now looks confused. "Do it, or you shall feel the Nine-Tailed Cat scratch your worthless back!" I hiss, and he jumps to his feet, takes the tray, and scurries back out.

Soon there is a scratching at the hatchway door.

"Yes," I say, as icily as I can.

"Dinner, Miss."

"You may enter."

He comes back in.

"What is your name?" I demand.

"Weisling, Miss."

"Very well, Weisling, you may serve us our dinner."

The now thoroughly cowed man enters and goes to put the tray on the table.

"No," I say. "Serve each of us our plates. From the right, if you please. Thank you."

He does it and puts a pitcher of hot tea on the table and a pint of rum in front of Robin and another in front of me.
Hmmm.
At least I'm to get a full ration. I pick it up and hand it back to him.

"I do not drink spirits. Take it back, please. If there is wine, I will have some. If not, I will content myself with tea.
And,
" I say, "make sure that pint finds its way back to the Bo'sun. I
will
check, count on it."

He leaves, and we fall to, talking easily among ourselves of the day's events. Presently, our reluctant servant comes back in bearing a bottle of red wine. He uncorks it and pours me a glass. It is not a great vintage, but it is drinkable.

"Thank you," I say. He leaves the bottle on the table and goes out, no doubt to spread tales of my vicious nature.

"A glass of wine with you, Robin," I say, tipping the bottle over his still empty glass. "It would be better for you to help me with this, rather than to drink that, for you will have to get up for the Four to Eight."

Later, the gentle roll of the ship lulls me as I lie curled in my bed. I think:
It has been two days since I got here and at least half the crew knows my name and who I am. I think I can count some as my friends, and that is good. Tomorrow I shall acquit myself in the same way. If enough are on my side, then maybe I will be all right.

Little mutinies it will have to be, if I am to be saved.

I wish I had my pennywhistle and was allowed to play it. I wish I had Amy here by my side. Or Judy. I wish I had my seabag and my paints and brushes and disks of ivory—I would do a portrait of Joshua Langley for his Rose. I would like to do that.

I know I have one portrait I will erase so I can use the ivory disk again ... no, no ... I won't do that at all. What I'll do is wrap that one in a cloth and put it away and maybe someday I'll be able to take it out and look at it again.

A line from a song comes unbidden into my mind.
I wish that my love were in my arms and I lie in my bed once again.

It doesn't matter what you wish, girl. Just go to sleep. The Midwatch is a scant three hours away.

James Emerson Fletcher
9 Brattle Lane
London, England
September 9, 1804

My Dear Lost Girl,

My hopes that you were merely off pouting somewhere and soon would turn up all dewy eyed and sorrowful were cruelly dashed this morning when what proved to be your servant, a Judy Miller, appeared in tears on our doorstep with your seabag under her arm.

Poor, red-nosed thing, snuffling about her mistress and how she warned her not to go off dressed like that and how she was supposed to wait till her mistress got back:

"But she never come back, Sir, no, she didn't and I fears that somethin' awful has happened to Mistress Mary, I do, Sir. And she told me to come here if she didn't come back; and she didn't come back, so here I am, Sir. Is she here, Sir?"

My heart sank for I knew that you would never leave your precious seabag, much less leave this poor girl to her own de
vices if you were not in some serious trouble. I told your Judy that you were, alas, not here, but I assured her we would find you and she would stay with us until we did. I eagerly questioned her about you and was thunderstruck to be told that you, yourself, had been here at my house the day before yesterday and had been turned away by my mother. Most cruelly turned away, it seems. I will give you an account of what passed that day, as scratching away with my quill keeps my mind off what you might be going through right now.

"Surely your mistress was mistaken," I said, standing there astounded.

"Oh no, Sir, yer mum throwed her right out in the street! It was your girl Hattie what told me mistress you'd be at the races the next day, which was why she dressed up that way 'cause she thought that would be the only way into the track and I said, 'No, Mistress, don't do it. We'll get in—ain't we the last of the Rooster Charlie Gang what can get into any place in Cheapside,' but she wouldn't listen. No, Sir, she wouldn't. She thought it'd be such a lark and that you'd like to see her in that old carefree way. But it didn't work out like I knowed it wouldn't work out, and now what have we got?"

We have got nothing. Nothing but a growing, seething anger born of a sudden parting of the clouds of doubt and suspicion in my mind, that and a low, animal growl of rage working its way out of my throat ...
Motherrrrrrr...

I took Judy by the wrist and we went upstairs to my mother's room.

"What is this, James?" asked Mother. "We do not knock outside a lady's chamber?" Hattie was standing next to her, combing out her hair. She looked up but continued to comb the hair.

"Listen to this, Mother, then you will speak to me," said I, pulling poor Judy forward. Judy blubbered out her tale again.

A look of coldness came over my mother's face. Affecting calmness, she took the hairbrush from unsuspecting Hattie's hand and quick as a snake, whipped it across the astounded girl's face. "Get out! You are no longer in my service, Hattie!" Mother hissed, no longer calm.

Hattie, shocked by the pain of the blow, put her hand to her reddening face and tears came from her eyes. Then anger overtook her urge to cry and her voice hardened and she said, "I have served you for eight years, Mistress, ever since I was a girl of twelve. I considered your family to be my family, and this is the thanks I get for my years of faithful service—a kick out into the streets."

She paused and seemed to come to a decision. "All right," she said, "I'll go. But first..."

Hattie turned and looked at me. "Third drawer, right side," she then said, pointing down at my mother's desk. "I should have done that long ago and for that, Master James, I am heartily sorry. I thought I owed my loyalty to your mother. I was wrong."

With that she covered her face with her hands and ran from the room. I went for the drawer, got there before my mother's staying hand, and I pulled it open. There lay a pile of letters that I could plainly see had both your name and your handwriting upon them. I picked them up and looked at my mother in shock and disbelief.

"How could you do such a thing?" I asked, hardly above a whisper.

Mother rose to her full height, her eyes furious. "That girl is as common as dirt! I have seen her and I know! She is not for one such as you!"

"Mother, I love that girl to the depths of my being and I know she loves me the same and yet you felt compelled to turn her out? How could you do that when you knew how I felt about her?" I was breathing hard, consumed with hurt and outrage. "Or loved me, that is. She could well be dead now, lying in some gutter, because of your unkindness. How could you have watched my face every time I asked about letters, the crushing disappointment writ there each time, when all the while you had those precious letters hidden in that drawer? How could you do that to me?" I was close to tears of rage over such treachery. "I am your son. I thought you loved me."

"I do love you, James, I love you with all my heart and every fiber of my being. I was merely protecting you, my beloved son!"

"Protecting me? From her? From that girl who bestowed her affections upon me wholeheartedly and without reservation and without guile, with open eyes and open heart? From the trusting and brave girl who saved my very life at least twice?"

"Just because thy mare gives thee good service does not mean that thee will dine with her," hissed my mother.

That was the end of it. I knew I could stay no longer in that place. I stood and looked at my mother for what I believe will be the last time.

"Good-bye, Mother. I will send for my things. Judy, come along."

And so I left my beloved childhood home.

James Fletcher
Bartleby Inn
September 28, 1804

Dear Jacky,

The only possible clue to your whereabouts that we have found so far is the fact that, on that day, there was a press-gang roaming the neighborhood where you disappeared. It is possible that they scooped you up, thinking you to be male because of your clothing. If that was the case, you would have been taken to a ship, discovered, and then released; and you shall turn up shortly. That is what is to be hoped for. Until then, I have the bittersweet joy of reading your letters, over and over.

I hope you will not consider it a violation, but I went through your seabag for a possible clue to your whereabouts, an address where you might have gone or somesuch, but it yielded nothing, nothing but the scent of you on your clothing that I confess I pressed to my face and kept there for a long time. I also found the miniature painting of me that you had done and that you reported in your letters that you kept next to your heart. To think that you had kept up your affection for me during all that time with no letters, no word of mutual affection from my unworthy self. That your mistress Pimm and my mother could have caused such a thing makes my very blood boil, and I cannot bear to think of it.