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

Jaimy's mouth is set in a grim line and his eyes are full of cold fury. He reaches out and pulls away a lock of my hair that has gotten stuck in the mess around my eye. His look changes to one of warm concern and then back to anger.

"Lor', Jacky, you sure can scream," says Tink. "They musta heard you all the way to London!"

"You was talkin' out of yer head last night, too," chortles Davy. " No one's gonna fancy me. I'm gonna be ugly and no one's gonna fancy me! " he mimics, mincing about the hammock. "You are such a rum cove, Jacky, for thinkin' such things when yer just about beat t' death! Fancy me? Fancy me? Jacky, no one's gonna fancy us, we're all gonna end up lookin' like Snag!"

"Which is how a salty dog sailor's supposed to look," says Willy with a firm nod.

"And you're halfway there, Jack-o!" crows Tink.

Ah, the sweet comfort of friends.

Liam comes by a little later and tells me that the Doctor has put me on the sick list so I can spend the day in bed. The Doctor gave him a little vial of the juice to make me sleep. I swallow it. It tastes like I remember candy tasting from long ago, before That Dark Day.

"Sleep is the best thing for ye right now, Jacky," says Liam. "Just sleep and you'll get better. Soon you'll be dancin' again." He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks at me in a curious way. "But you've got to be careful, Jacky. There's bad blood brewin' on this ship and you seem to be in the middle of it."

My one working eyelid is drooping and I'm drifting away into crazy strange and lovely dreams. I dream of Cathay Cats and Bombay Rats and I dream of Kangaroos. I dream of Jaimy and I dream of Charlie.

And I dream of mutiny.

Chapter 22

"You can hit me if you want to, Sir," I says to Mr. Jenkins, "but we've got to talk."

The midshipmen's berth is empty except for Jenkins and me, and I know Bliffil's got the watch so he ain't likely to come in. He'll be out parading around in front of the Captain, all dressed up fine and looking handsome, his eyes gleaming with zeal in the performance of his duty. He puts on a good show. I hope the Captain ain't fooled, as I'd hate to see Bliffil advance in the Navy. Captain Bliffil ... Lord, what a thought.

"I ... I ... I think you've been hit enough, Faber," says he. "What do you want to say?"

"You've got to do something about Mr. Bliffil, Sir. You've got—"

"It's not your place to be telling me this," he says, his face reddening. "I'm sorry you were beaten—"

"This ain't about me, Sir. I'm a ship's boy and ship's boys get beaten. I ain't complainin'. It's about you. You're bein' humiliated in front of your men. They like you, Sir, I know they do, but they got no respect for you 'cause of Bliffil's rubbin' your nose in it every day. Like that thing yesterday on the fantail, when he..."

"Stop." He gets redder yet and hangs his head. I hate to be so brutal but I go on.

"The officers notice. They talk amongst themselves about who's gonna make good officers and who ain't. I'm up there on the quarterdeck with them and I hear them. The Captain notices, too. He seems high-and-mighty, but he don't miss much."

"What do you think I should d ... d ... do?" he says miserably.

"You've got to fight him, Sir. Fight him straight out. You can't be any more shamed than you are now. If you don't do somethin,' you'll lose your commission and live in shame for the rest of your life."

I look at him steady. I am being as cruel as I know how. "The Captain's gonna put you off soon, you know that."

"Perhaps that's best. Maybe I'm not cut out for this life," he says. "I could do other things."

"Right," says I. "And you might be right good at other things, but every morning you'll have to look at yourself in the mirror and you'll remember, every day you'll remember, for the rest of your life you'll remember what Bliffil made you eat."

That jerks him up. "What..."

"Your pride, Sir. Your honor. That's what he made you eat. And you'll eat it every day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner from now on if you don't fight him."

I put my hands together like in prayer and put a pleading look on my face. "Please, Sir, go at him just once. I know you've got the stuff, I know you stood up straight beside your gun in the fight even when the gun next to you was blown away, 'cause I saw you. Your men saw you. And you went over in the Boarding Party like everyone else. I saw that. The Captain saw that."

I'm runnin' along full bore now and hardly pause for breath, pressin' the truth of what I'm sayin'. "What nobody but me saw was that Bliffil hid behind the cabin when the fight was goin' on and only come out later all roarin' to finish off the helpless pirate when all was done."

Mr. Jenkins seems surprised by this. "But I thought..."

"You thought he was a bold and fierce fighter? Is that what he told you?" I can imagine Bliffil holding forth in the midshipmen's berth on his glorious taking of the pirate ship, waving his bloody sword about under the other middies' noses.

Mr. Jenkins sits and thinks for a while and I let him. Finally he says, "He scares me. He's so big and his fists look like blocks of stone. He puts that hard look on me and I freeze like a mouse before a snake. There. That's the way of it. I'm sorry."

"But, Sir..."

"No, Faber, that's the way of it. If the Captain hadn't forbidden duelling amongst his officers, I'd have called him out when we went ashore on Palma, and he'd either have killed me or I would have killed him and it would have been done with. I am not afraid to die." He pauses. "Sometimes I want to."

There's something I didn't know, that about the duelling, I mean. I press on. "Sir, there's one thing I think you're mistaken about, if you'll forgive me. You've got the mistaken notion that you've got to win the fight to accomplish anything, and you're wrong. All you have to do is put up a decent fight and you'll see, he won't bother you anymore."

Mr. Jenkins looks doubtful.

"You see, Sir, Bliffil is a bully, and bullies like to hurt people but they don't like bein' hurt themselves. If he hits you five times and you only hit him once, he's still gonna remember that one hit and he'll pick on someone else, 'cause he's got plenty of victims to choose from."

I believe he's starting to see the force of my argument. His head lifts.

"And you got to fight him crude, just as crude and dirty as he fights," I says, seein' hope. "Don't hold back and try to box with him, he'll only laugh at you and pop you one on your nose, which'll start your eyes waterin' and you'll be done. Just go at him, Sir, just go in with your head down and your arms and fists a'flailin'."

I crawl up on the table so I can look direct in Mr. Jenkins's eyes. "I've known many a tough one in my day, and I knows him for a soft one. Just close in, Sir, and punch at whatever ye can punch at, be it face, body, legs, or crotch. Just hurt him, Sir, and he won't be back for more. Hurt him. "

I don't know if my call to arms with Mr. Jenkins will do any good, but at least it's a start. I swear the Brotherhood to secrecy and tell them of my plan, and Tink says, "This gets awfully close to mutiny," and I say, "That's why I swore you to secrecy, you ninny, and it ain't really mutiny, it's more like fomentin' revolution, like." I tell them to be real kind to Mr. Jenkins, buck him up some with nods and winks and poundin' your fist in your palm and grinnin', and talk to the men in his division. Who are they? Smyth, Harley, Gonsalves, and Joad? Right, get them to do the same thing. Let's get our Mr. Jenkins charged up for this. What say? Except for Jaimy, they still look uncertain. Jaimy just looks grim, staring at my battered face.

Then I dredges up somethin' from my broadside readin' days and I sticks me fist up in the air, "Remember, lads, 'Rebellion to Tyrants Is Obedience to God!'"