L. Meyer - Bloody Jack - Being an Account of the Curious Adventures of Mary Jacky Faber, Ship's Boy

A month or so after I made my pants, I wheedled some more cloth out of Deacon Dunne with the promise that I'd learn some Scripture by heart. This time I got a bit of blue cloth as well as the white and a length of white piping, and I made me a shirt. It's white with a drawstring on the bottom and a blue flap on the back, and I stitched the white piping around the outside edge of the blue flap, about an inch in, and then above that, on the bottom edge, I stitched in hms DOLPHIN in white thread.

The whole outfit looks smart as new paint, and I prance about in it in front of the boys, who hoot and holler and swear they'd never be caught dead in such a rig, and the next time we Beat to Quarters for exercising the great guns, I wear my uniform. The officers dress up for Quarters and battle, I think, so why not me?

When we first started doing the gunnery drills, we did them without firing the guns. We did them just to see how fast we could all get on station. It was a hopeless mess at first with everyone running into each other, but after a few weeks it all got worked out and everyone got to their spot lightning fast, even when the drill was in the middle of the night and everyone had to pile out of their hammocks in the dark. The Captain was satisfied, and the next drill, we knew we would really be firing the guns. I was all excited, but the first time the Captain yelled " Fire! " and I hit the drum, the tremendous crash of the full broadside sent me tumbling to the deck and my nose ended up between the Captain's black and shiny boots.

"Looks like the crew still needs a bit a work, Mr. Haywood," says the Captain to the First Mate, both of 'em lookin' down their long noses at me lyin' there in disgrace.

"Afraid so, Sir," says Mr. Haywood. At least the Captain don't kick me as I get up all red and shamefaced.

But I'm used to the sound now, and today after we'd had a number of rolling broadsides (each gun fires in turn as the target comes into its range) and gun number twelve (Jaimy's gun, hooray!) blows the target barrel to pieces, the Captain looks satisfied with the performance of his crew, and we secure from Quarters. I go to leave the quarterdeck, but the Captain stops me.

"What is your name, boy?" he asks, claspin' his hands behind him and rockin' back on his heels and peering at me quiverin' down below.

"Faber, Sir," I quavers, thinkin' I'm gonna catch it for somethin', I don't know what but..."Jack Faber, ship's boy," I manages to gurgle.

Please, Sir, no switches, please.

"Well, Faber. You are well decked out. Where did you get the uniform?"

"I made it, Sir."

"Good work, then. It's good to see spirit and initiative in the low ranks. Especially in the lowest of ranks," he says, and then calls, "Mr. Haywood."

"Sir?" says the First Mate, coming over to also tower over me.

"The boy has made this uniform for himself. Issue out enough cloth for him to make uniforms for the ship's boys. How many are there?" he asks me.

Six, Sir.

"Very well," says the Captain. "Cloth for six uniforms. They will make very presentable sideboys when we make port. Make it so, Mr. Haywood."

"Begging your pardon, Sir," says Mr. Haywood, looking at me as he would at an annoying kind of bug, "but the midshipmen usually are the..."

"Make it so, Mr. Haywood," says the Captain evenly. "Our fine midshipmen will have to deal with it."

So, for my troubles, I have received a commission from Lord Captain himself. Furthermore, I now know how our Captain feels toward our middies, and I tuck that away in a corner of my mind.

Chapter 13

"Hold still, Davy, I mean it," says I, crossly. To drive home my point I bring my fist up with the measuring tape in measuring the inside of his leg for the trousers and gives him a whack where he don't want to be whacked. He howls and grabs himself and allows that he always thought I was one of the sods the Professor was talkin' about today, and this was proof in front of God and everybody.

Mr. Tilden's words for today were buggery, sodomy, and pederasty.

"I give you these words only to protect you from the sin, the Sin That Dare Not Speak Its Name," he said, his mouth set primly, and then he commenced to tell us, in detail, what the words meant. "Now, you boys don't get caught in any situation like that. A pure mind in a pure body. Stay away from dark places. It's a hanging offense, you know."

Our mouths are hanging open speechless. Then the boys roar up and say they'd die before some cove did that to them. I am struck dumb. I am completely amazed and disgusted.

I may yet be hanged, thinks I, but it will not be for that.

"So watch yerself, sodomite," says Davy, as I again bring my tape to bear, and I, of course, have to follow that with a burst of my best and vilest curses to keep up my standing as a true lad.

It's funny about Davy and me—we look so much alike, sandy hair and pointy noses and chins, we could be brother and sister. Which is probably why we fight so much. More than once the others have said, "Why don't you two just shut up?" or "Stop with the bickerin' or we'll drop you both over the side."

We are up in the foretop and I am measuring the boys for their new uniforms and they are fidgeting around more than usual. I think they're a little resentful that I caught the eye of the Captain. Let 'em be jealous, thinks I, there's more than one way to promotion and pay, not just in the brave swinging of swords and in the hacking and hewing of your fellow man.

The cloth for the uniforms is in a neat pile in our kip, waiting to be measured and cut up. I went and got it this morning with Benjy 'cause he wanted to see what was down there. He stood gawking at all the cloth and ribbons and other fine things on the shelves in the small stores room, while I dealt with the Deacon.

"So. Eighteen yards of white duck, three yards of blue, fifteen feet of white piping, spool of white thread, spool of blue thread, two needles, one piece chalk. Is that correct, Faber?" Deacon Dunne looks over the top of his spectacles at me.

"Yes, Sir, it is."

Deacon Dunne checks a ledger and scrawls some figures on his slate. Then he looks at me with suspicion. "For your last foray into sartorial splendor you needed three yards white duck, one half yard blue, and thirty inches of piping in total. Am I again correct?"

"Yes, Sir. As I recall."

"Well, then, according to simple arithmetic, you are trying to swindle His Majesty out of four yards of cloth and thirty inches of piping, because you already have a uniform and we only need cloth for five."

"The Captain said six, Sir."

"Cloth for five uniforms," says the Deacon, firmly. He writes in his ledger.

"It isn't fair, Sir," I says. "I already paid for mine and it isn't fair." I sulks for a moment. "Shall I tell the Captain you've changed his order, then?"

Instantly, I regrets my cheek.

"Shall you relieve yourself of your pants and bend across that bench while I give you several dozen, then? " hisses the Deacon, holding aloft his metal yardstick, which would be a very serviceable switch. "Shall I, then, you insolent young pup?"

"Oh no, Sir!" I bleats, falling to my knees and hanging my head and cursing myself for my stupidity. Out of the corner of my eye I see Benjy lookin' wary and easin' away from the bench I may be stretched across, as he don't want to be included. I clasps me hands 'neath me chin and looks up at the Deacon with me best street-orphan-supplicatin'-teary-eyed look and cries, "Beggin' yer pardon, Sir! I didn't mean it! Please, Sir, no switches. Five uniforms it is, Sir!"

***

"You should have seen our brave Jack down on his knees before the Deacon," crows Benjy when we're back up aloft. He falls to his own knees and mimics my craven performance. "Please, Sir, please don't make me drop me drawers and bend over that horrid bench, Sir!" My so-called mates are all laughing and rolling around holding their sides.