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

Midshipman Bliffil is part of the prize crew and I am glad to have him off the ship, if only for a short time. The mood in the midshipmen's berth lightens considerably, and we boys venture in there for the first time. We tell them how sorry we are about Mr. Leigh, and we hang about and look at their stuff. The middies ain't really so bad—the younger ones are just boys like us. Mr. Jenkins's got a real flute, the kind you play from the side. He shows me how to blow across the hole to make the sound, but I ain't very good at it.

The morale of the ship is high, for we are officially heading into port to sell the prize, make repairs, and take on water. And have our first liberty call, with money in our pockets. We are going to a place called Palma, which sounds wondrously exotic.

So, in spite of ourselves, our boyish high spirits steadily return.

We feel guilty about it, but there you are.

Chapter 18

We're all in a line at the head of the ladder leading down the side of the ship, all the boys decked out in their spanking new uniforms, and I can't stand it, I'm just about to bust with pride seeing how splendid they look. The Captain and the officers are there beside us, too, waiting for the Admiral to come aboard for a meeting with the Captain, and the noble Dolphin is all bedecked with flags and buntings and sailors in their best uniforms manning the rails and the tops. We ain't the only King's ship in the harbor, there's the Endeavor and the Surprise and some others I can't make out from here. Merchant ships, too.

The Bo'sun is at the end of the line of us boys, looking over the side for the coming of the Admiral's gig, his pipe in hand. It's a whistle with just one hole in a bulb on the end that he puts his hand over when he blows it to make it warble. He has drilled us over the past week about how we're supposed to stand and what we're supposed to do when he sounds his whistle, and a slow and painful death has been promised us if we mess it up.

The Captain is pacing around, all covered in blue and gold, and he looks us over and seems to approve, but he looks at me the longest. I stare straight ahead as instructed, not meeting his eyes. Please don't say anything about the battle, Sir, I prays. J am not what I seemed to be.

He doesn't. Instead he says to Mr. Haywood, "See that this one grows his pigtail so he'll match the others."

Uh, oh.

"Yes, Sir," says Mr. Haywood.

I've had the feeling of late that Mr. Haywood would have preferred that I had been dropped over the side early on in my enlistment on the Dolphin. He leans down to me and growls, "Make it so, Faber."

"Aye, Sir."

There's a fuss as the Admiral's boat is seen coming. We get ready and hold our breath, and when a footfall is felt on the gangplank, the Bo'sun whips his pipe to his lips and lets go with a blast and we boys whip up our right hands to our foreheads, hands flat with palms out, middle finger just touching our right eyebrows. The Admiral strides by, wearing more gold than I've ever seen and an enormous hat. He is followed by several more officers. When he gets past us, the Bo'sun stops blowing and we bring our hands down to our sides, smartly, thumbs on the side seams of our pants. The Captain takes off his hat and bows low to the Admiral, and the Admiral bows to the Captain, but not nearly so low. The Captain presents his officers to the Admiral and there's more bowing all around and the Admiral is smiling and saying, "Good show," and I shouldn't wonder 'cause I heard he gets a cut out of our prize money, although I don't see why he should.

Finally, all the officers head down to the Captain's quarters to tear into the wine, brandy, and food that's been laid out, and we're put At Ease, which means we can relax as long as we don't move our right foot from its spot on the deck. That way we can be in position to snap back to attention when the officers come back on deck.

"Lor', look at that," says Willy, looking out over the town of Palma. It don't look like any sort of town we've ever seen. The buildings are low and colored pink and white and there's acres of trees. "I bet those are orange trees. Or bananas. I ain't never had neither."

Neither have I, thinks I, and I can't wait to get ashore. But not for oranges. We fidget and wait.

I know the men are anxious as well. They've been in a state of high hilarity the whole time since we set course for this place. They were barely able to contain themselves during the last Church we had, with the Deacon warning about loose women and vile vessels and evil seductresses and such, and working himself up into a fine froth. I don't think it made much of an impression on the men, though, for all that.

The Professor put his two pence in with the words for yesterday being debauchery, dissipation, and wantonness. I've a feeling that me and my sisters do not have a high standing in the worlds of religion and learning.

Finally, the Admiral and his toadies come back, considerably cheered and red-faced from their fine luncheon, salutes and bows all around, and they leave.

We are dismissed.

We ship's boys don't ask permission to go ashore, 'cause we know they'd just say no, so we pile into the first boat going ashore and keep our heads down under the gunwales. Nobody notices us in all the excitement, anyway.

Soon we're rolling up the street, bold as brass, the solid ground strange under our feet, salty sea sailors looking for food and drink and fun ... and a tattooist. We go past several taverns, which are already filling up with sailors tossing their money on the bar and bellowing for ale and food and music and dancing and dollymops to dance with.

Yesterday we boys got in the Purser's line and two shillings, five pence were put in our outstretched hands, against our part of the prize money. Rich beyond our wildest dreams! Someone in the line behind me said, "Bloody Jack should get a double share for savin' the gold," but I didn't like that and I hurried away.

We ask at one of the taverns and are told there's a good tattooist called Roderigo on up the street and to look for the sign with the needle in the hand. I'm not liking this one bit, but I know when I'm trapped and will have to make the best of it.

On the way there we pass a brothel and one of the women leans out the window, showing a large expanse of white powdered chest, and says, "Oh, look at the pretty little sailor boys. They're all dressed alike. Oh, come look, Seraphina!" Another woman appears and coos over us and asks us in. She pouts when we push on. Jaimy's face is brick red.

We spot the tattooist's sign, and then the tattooist. Roderigo is sitting on a stool in front of his shop, wearing no shirt, and pants that only come down to his knees. Every inch of his skin that he could reach with his needle is covered with tattoos. The walls of the tiny shop are decorated with drawings of the tattoos that he does. We shyly sidle up.

Roderigo eyes us hungrily.

"You come to Roderigo for the tattoo, eh? You come to the right place. I am the Master. I am known from Bristol to Borneo, from Canada to Timbuktu. I trust no one with my own skin but me. You should trust no other with your skin, too. Guaranteed, my young friends, no mistakes, no fading, no infection. What will you have from the skill of Roderigo?"

Roderigo has a tattoo of a dreadful snake with dripping fangs coming out of the waistband of his trousers and curling over his hairy belly and Tink is of the opinion that it would be just the thing and I about faint dead away, but it costs too much and we decide we have to have something more nauticallike, anyway. We finally settle on a small anchor with a little rope around it and HMS Dolphin underneath in small letters. This is only two pence, and so within our means.