Home > Under the Jolly Roger(19)

Under the Jolly Roger(19)
Author: L.A. Meyer

Crrraaaacccckkkkkkkk! Another salvo from the heavens hits the ship and he shudders and burrows into my side.

"I'm scared, Jacky, please let me stay with you!" That's backed up with another Crikkklecrikklecaraaaaakkk from the sky and his trembling redoubles.

"It's just lightning and thunder now, Georgie, and I can tell it's moving away. Come, let's try it on the next one. Here."

There is a flash of lightning—I can see the faint light flicker through the seams in the wall to my left, which is also the side of the ship. The boards do not fit all that tightly together and there is a coating of droplets on the inside tonight—they will collect and form rivulets and course down my wall and then down into the bilges. It will be damp in here for a few days after this storm, I know, but still, better in here than out there.

Upon seeing the flash of lightning, I put my arm around his shuddering form and count, "One, one hundred, two, one hundred, three, one hundred, four..." and then the roll of thunder comes. Rumblerumblecrrraaaaaaackkkkkkk!

"See, Georgie, it's four miles away now."

"Don't care, don't care. I'm scared and I want..."

"What, Georgie, what do you want?"

He gasps at the next thunderclap and says something that I know is from the very bottom of his little soul.

"I want my mother..."

The breath goes out of me. There it is.

Ah. Georgie, we all want our mothers, don't we...

I gather him to me and say, "All right, Georgie, but this has to be the last time you do this."

He burrows his face in my chest. His breath is hot for a while and then it is not. Soon his breathing becomes regular and I know he is asleep.

I smooth back his hair from his damp brow with my fingers and I look off in the darkness and think:

I know all of the reasons why we are here and why we fight, but still I do not know why little boys have to stand up in front of cannons. I do not understand it and I do not have to like it.

Chapter 11

Comes the morning, I give Georgie a nudge, and rubbing his eyes, he slips out of my bed and stumbles out the door of my room.

Little sod! I hear from outside, and then the sound of a solid punch, then ... Ow! In with our Jacky, are you? Take this! Again I hear Oooff! as another fist is put in his belly. Little bastard!

I poke my head out my door. "Let him alone. He promises never to do it again." Wrapping my blanket around myself, I stumble out and plop down at the table. I know my hair is tangled and my nose is bright red and dripping. "Got any tea, Mates? Me mouth tastes like I been cleanin' out the head wi' me tongue."

That oughta take the bloom off the Jacky Faber rose for 'em, I'll wager. They recoil, but their eyes still show resentment and many a barbed glance is directed Georgie's way.

"I'm probably on report for my conduct last night. I may be busted down to Seaman. So be it. But right now I am Senior Midshipman and I want some tea or some coffee, and I do not care who gets it for me."

Several sets of feet scurry out. Robin does not. He sits down across from me. "So you think you are in trouble, then?"

The coffee appears with Georgie's hands around the mug, and I take it and sink my nose in it and I drink. "I'm always in trouble," I say, and then gulp down some more. "I don't know. I only know that Mr. Pinkham was mad. And I did get above myself, as I am sometimes wont to do."

"What a surprise," says Robin, drily, sipping at the coffee that was slid in front of him by Ned.

"We will see. Tom, will you go get my wet uniform and give it to the Weasel to dry up next to the cook fires? Thanks."

Georgie nurses his wounds but does not seem sorry for his transgression. In fact, he comes over and sits next to me, enduring the barbed looks from his fellows.

"Well," I say, rising. "I must get dressed and we must get the watch rotation going again or we will be seen as less than scrubs. Tom, you take the Morning Watch. Go out now and assume it. I'll be out in a minute to see how things lie. As soon as I dress." Tom and Ned give Georgie some final nasty looks and go out together.

I get up and go back into my room and throw off the blanket, making sure the door is closed behind me. Jockey pants, jockey top, stockings, and boots is all I got so I put 'em on and stride back out.

"Are you sure you're going to go out like that, Jacky?" says Robin, rising.

Before I can reply, Ned comes back into the berth. "Mr. Pinkham wants to see you," he says ominously.

Uh-oh.

"What else shall I wear while my other clothes are drying?" I look at my face in the communal mirror, which is placed there for the midshipmen to shave. Robin is the only one who could use it and him just barely. They shan't see me looking worried. I take inventory of my appearance. Clean enough, I think. I take my hair and twist it and pile it up under my hat. There. I'm presentable.

"Ned, lend her your jacket," orders Robin.

Ned strips off his midshipman jacket and goes to hand it to me, but Robin takes it instead and holds it open for me to put on. Well, it won't hurt to be a little more modest when I go out to face Mr. Pinkham, I'm thinking.

"Ned, Georgie, go find out where the Weasel is with our breakfast," says Robin.

They leave, a little resentfully, but, after all, Robin is second in command of midshipmen.

I grab the cuff of my jockey top with my right fingers and shove my right arm through the proffered jacket. Then the same thing with the left. Not a bad fit, I think, as I bring the front together and start to button up. I face Robin. "I wish Ned and Tom weren't being so mean to Georgie over last night. I mean, he is just a boy."

"They are just jealous," he says, getting a bit red in the cheeks. "As I was jealous, as well."

Hmmmm...

"I can button my own buttons, Robin," I say, as he begins to button the jacket. He steps away, shamefaced and confused. I finish the buttons and go to him and put my hands on his shoulders. "But it's nice of you, Robin. Most males I have met so far have tried to unbutton my clothes, rather than the opposite."

He blushes all the more.

I pause for a bit and then say, "I'll wager you have no sisters, Robin."

"What ...?" he says, confused. "No ... no, just two brothers. How did you know?"

"Because you are not easy with me, Robin, and you are probably not easy with any girl. If you had sisters, especially older sisters, then you would know that girls are not mystical beings but people just like you, and then you would be easy with them. But you will never know that ease, and that is all right, because you are a shy, sweet boy and you will do all right with the girls because of it. We like shyness in a boy ... sometimes. Now, brush me off and I will go see Mr. Pinkham."

He flicks some pieces of lint off the jacket with the back of his fingertips, careful not to touch my front.

"You must know, Robin, that I have decided to live single all of my life," I say, putting my hand on his chest and looking in his eye.

"If that proves to be true, then it will be a shame, Jacky," he says. "Just because he was not good enough for you does not mean that another might not be more true."

What?

"That James Fletcher. He was not good enough for you. He should never have left you alone in Boston."

What?

"I would never have left you there in Boston. I would have run away with you."

That damned book!

"Robin. I don't want to hear that name mentioned again. And I don't want to hear about that book anymore, either!"

With that I wheel and stalk out of the berth.

I go to the quarterdeck and present myself to Mr. Pinkham who lets me cool my heels off to the side for a long time before addressing me. Finally, he does.

"You left the quarterdeck without being ordered to do so last night. Do you admit that?"

"Yes, Sir," say I. It would do no good to protest that I was doing it for the good of the ship.

"You endangered the men in the top who were trying to do their duty while you were showing off and who had to rescue you instead of doing that duty. Is that true?"

I grit my teeth. "Yes, Sir."

"And what do you have to say about that?"

"No excuse, Sir."

"Very well. Into the foretop till noon."

I salute and head up into the top. I have always wondered at the mildness of this traditional punishment for wayward midshipmen, it being so mild in comparison with that dealt out to the common seamen. I guess it's supposed to have a certain amount of humiliation in it, but it doesn't bother me any. I just settle in at the top and look at the clouds drifting by and wish I had my pennywhistle and was allowed to play it. Or the Lady Lenore. Or my concertina. But that all seems so long ago, so I put it out of my mind.

The other lads ain't allowed to visit during this punishment time, so when I see Ned down below, I just take his jacket off and float it back down to him so he can wear it when he relieves Tom on watch. He catches it and waves. Then I settle back and watch the coast of France drift by on the starboard beam, the Wolverine being on the northern leg, and think about things.

I think about how lucky I've been so far on this voyage, and I'm hoping that my luck holds. If the Captain stays sick, or even dies, then I should be all right. I'm sure to be put off if the Captain is replaced, and then I'll be able to get back to poor Judy. I hope she's all right. I imagine she went to ... his place, but what happened there, I can't guess. Probably got booted out, and then headed back to Cheapside. Hope I gave her enough money to get by for a while. I had some scrimshaw in my seabag that I told her I was going to sell when I got a chance. Maybe she'll sell those to get enough money to keep herself till I get back. Hope she gets a good price, 'cause that is some prime scrimshaw, some of which I had done myself, some of which was done by others to pass the time on the whaler. We would take a piece of white whalebone, scratch a drawing on it with a needle, rub ink on it, and then wipe it off quick. The ink would stay down in the scratches and there we'd have a nice black drawing against the white bone. Mostly I'd do whaling scenes with harpoons and boats and lines and whales, of course, but the men would sometimes do mermaids and such, so you knew where their thoughts were. Men, I swear...

"On deck there! Boat heading out from the land!"

That jerks me out of my reverie right quick and I jump to my feet and look at the coast. What, another smuggler that's going to get away? No ... strange ... it is a large boat that has no sails, but instead has great long oars sticking out either side. But what's that big thing in the middle? It looks like...

"It's a gun shallop!" roars the lookout. "And it's headed right for us!"

"Beat to Quarters! All hands clear for action!" shouts Mr. Pinkham on the quarterdeck and the sounds of whistles and shouts and pounding feet are heard as all hands head for their battle stations. I slide down the port ratlines right into mine.

"Mr. Piggott! Tucker!" I shout as I see the boys running up to our gun. "Powder! Now!" They hie off in the direction of the magazine as the rest of the men get into position.

"Haul 'em back! Open the gun ports! Harkness, we'll load One and Three first, then the other two!" I say. "Swabbers! Make sure your buckets are full! Carriage men! Pull now!" Guns One and Three rumble back on their little wheels. On any decent ship, they would be loaded already, us being close to the enemy as we always are. I will keep my mouth shut about that as I think the folly of the Captain's ways are about to be forcefully shown.

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