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

"That's it, then," says Liam Delaney. "We're off to sea."

PART II

While the Winds Do Blow,

And Enemies Abide,

Music and Friends Hath Charms,

To Set Our Sorrows Aside.

Chapter 7

We are all salty sea sailors now, havin' survived our first days at sea, if only just barely.

The first day out was glorious, as we rode the tide out to the mouth of the harbor, our sails goin' up and our banners a'spankin' and people wavin' from the shore and us boys not knowin' what to do yet so we just watches in wonderment and stays out of the way. Some of the hands is way up in the riggin' lettin' out sails and some is on deck haulin' on ropes, and the officers are shoutin' all sorts of strange orders like it's another language altogether. I'm marvelin' about the newness of it all and the smell of the air, which don't smell like sewers or rubbish or horses or anything like the city. Sea monsters or cannibals or pirates may get me in the end, but at least Muck won't, and if I watches meself, maybe I won't get hanged after all. It's all just grand, I thinks.

At least I thinks that till we clears the calm waters of the harbor and hits the open ocean and the ship leans sickeningly on its side and I slips and falls down and the boat stays like that for a while till there's more bawlin' of orders and it lurches over to the other side. I can feel the roll of the waves under the boat and the wonder to me is that this ship can be moved about so easy by the wind and weather when it must weigh a million pounds at least and carries tons of men and food and cannons and cannonballs and powder and such. It's like a city block in London suddenly comes loose from the earth and starts oozin' around. It ain't natural-like, and it makes me all queasy. For the first time in my life I ain't thinkin' about eatin'.

When everything calms down and night falls, I catches the Bo'sun's eye and fearfully asks him where we're supposed to go for the night, and he motions us downstairs to the gun deck where sailors are puttin' up their hammocks, but no hammocks for us, no. We're to sleep in a pile between two of the massive guns, and I hear Jaimy draw in his breath sharply beside me and I knows he don't like it, but it looks like home to me and the other boys. There's even a pile of old blankets and I dives in, grateful to be lyin' down 'cause me stomach feels better that way, and the others join me. Jaimy, too, in spite of the squalid nature of the rest of us, and I manages to wriggle up next to him. I don't know why I wants to, but I do and I gets it done.

So we're lyin' there and we get into talkin' about where we come from, and Davy and Tink and Benjy are just like me from the streets but from the other side of the city and we know a lot of people in common, 'specially Muck, and we all spits when we hears the name of Muck. Willy, the big one who tried to face me down when we first stepped on this ark but who seems all right now that he sees there ain't gonna be no bully runnin' our bunch, is from a farm where he slept in a barn with the animals and had to work terrible hard ever' day. But this year the farmer what kept him give him the boot 'cause his own kids was gettin' big enough to help on the farm, so here he is. He was glad to get off the farm to become a salty sea sailor cause he really didn't like it much, the dirt and the hard labor and all.

"Seafarin' looks to be hard labor, too," says Tink. Tink's a medium-sized lad with dark curly hair and a pleasant look about him. We'll get along.

"I know, I know," says Willy, like he's thought about all this real deep. "When there's a battle or storm or such, ye work like bloomin' 'ell, but when the battle's done and the storm's over, ye set down wi' yer mates to a cup o' tea or grog, if ye're still alive, and if ye ain't, well, at least ye ain't rakin' no manure. It ain't constantlike, y' see. I hates constant work. Work that never gets done."

"Least you got to eat constant," says Davy, and some of us grunt in agreement.

"Wot I likes most is," says Willy, endin' what is prolly the longest speech of his life, "is that the ship ain't got no manure."

We don't ask where Jaimy comes from, 'cause we already knows he's a nob, at least compared to us, and he don't offer nothin' in the way of his past life. It prolly saddens him to think of it. It don't matter none, I thinks, we're all just ship's boys now.

"Shaddap, ye little twits," comes a growl out of one of the hammocks swingin' overhead, "before I comes down and puts the bashin' on yiz." Already sounds of snorin' is issuin' from the men overhead.

So, with the roll of the waves beneath me, I sleeps.

The next day the wind and seas gets even rougher and the boat adds some new moves in its dance through the waves, which are now like mountains, and we goes up and down and now sideways and over and I don't get up for three days, 'cept to crawl to the head to spew up the vile juice in me gut through one of the holes, then I crawls back to the kip and gets sick again but this time I don't make it to the head and I has to clean it up, which makes me sicker yet. I'm makin' me usual deals with God and hopes that Jesus will come take me in His lovin' arms, but once again He don't come and on the next day Jaimy brings me some food and I eats it and keeps it down, and on the next day I am up and I never gets seasick again.

I am ready to do my duty.

Chapter 8

We ain't been out a week and we're all still green and hardly over the seasickness when Sunday rolls around and it's announced that we will have a Captain's Inspection and Church. It is on this fine day that I have me first real scare in the way of the discovery of me female nature. The problem with the head warn't nothin' compared to this.

It seems that every Sunday, if it ain't blowing a gale, the Captain comes round and peers at everything and everybody to make sure all is up to snuff, and then we rigs for Church. The Captain's name is Captain Locke, but we're just supposed to call him Sir if he ever talks directly to us, which ain't likely.

So Sunday mornin' the ship is all in a stew about gettin' ready for the dread Inspection. All the decks are double cleaned and the copper and brass is polished and the men comb their hair and put on their best outfits, which is white trousers and blue tops with a flap on the back and blue caps and a blue neckerchief with a fancy knot on it at the neck. The midshipmen have on their black trousers and black jackets with white shirts and black neckerchiefs, and the officers put on their best uniforms, which are all blue with gold piping and big cockaded hats with more gold on them, too, and everyone looks just fine. 'Cept us ship's boys, of course.

Finally, when everything's done and everyone's standing stiffly at their divisions, the Captain comes around, followed by the First Mate, Lieutenant Haywood, and by the Bo'sun, who don't look happy. Every time the Captain looks at a cannon or a bucket or a seaman and then says something to Mr. Haywood or the Bo'sun, you just know that some poor sailor's gonna pay.

The Captain inspects the division next to us and says something sharp to the midshipman in charge of that division, Mr. Wemple, fourteen years old if he's a day, and Mr. Wemple turns bright red but keeps his head up 'cause hangin' your head ain't allowed in officers, even if they want to do it and I can tell Mr. Wemple really wants to do it and crawl away and hide but instead he says, "Yes, Sir, beggin' your pardon, Sir, I'll see to it right away, Sir."

I dares to steal a look at Captain Locke out of the corner of me eye. He's got the grandest uniform of any of the officers, with a jacket of the deepest blue velvet and shiny gold buttons and gold swabs on his shoulders and pants just the creamiest white with nary a spot on 'em. He's got gray hair under his fine cockaded hat and a long nose and the fiercest eyes under his craggy brows and a mouth that looks like it could snap an unlucky ship's boy in half. I starts quiverin' to be standin' so close to such a man, a man who could have me poor self pitched over the side and suffer nothin' for it.