A Weather Eye on the Horizon

A Weather Eye on the Horizon (9)

Three days later

Dear little book,

My meals have been brought to me by a surly-looking man. To my horror, the water has been naught but watered-down rum! At first I would not touch it, but eventually I had to, or die of thirst.

I am tired of this cabin, and have decided to get out of it. So today I opened the door and strode out. Immediately I was hit by the most awful smell ever smelt. It was a mixture of stale sweat, unwashed bodies, and heaven knows what else. I almost lost my breakfast, but managed to stumble past the crew’s quarters and onto the deck. It was only mildly better up there, but it was good to have a breath of air.

Almost immediately, I stopped and stared. There was so much going on! Men climbing high ropes on the mast, men at the front end of the ship. I suppose, now that I think about it, there really were not that many men, only a dozen or so.

I stood there on the deck uncertainly a moment, skirt clenched in one hand, the other holding onto my hair, which was blowing wildly in the wind. I was just about to go and find the captain, when the boy swung down from the ropes and things above my head and onto the deck beside me. I noticed he was barefoot. He grinned at me, but I stared at him. “Good to see ye out o’ your cabin,” he said.

I said nothing, just stood there looking at him in what I hope was a frosty manner. He looked at my clothes. “It would be better if ye put on the garbs I gave ye,” he said.

I glared at him. He shrugged. “Your choice, mate,” he said. Then he began to walk away.

I decided I would follow him. After all, he is the only one I know on the ship, except for the captain, and he was not on deck. “Wait!” I said. He turned, grinned. I asked him where we were. He looked at me a moment, his green eyes puzzled. “We’re at sea, mate,” he said.

I explained that I wanted to know how far away from home I was. He hesitated. “I’m not sure if I should tell ye this, mate,” he said. “I don’t know meself. But we’re several days out.”

I was tiring quickly of his rough speech and bothersome familiarity. I suppose that on a ship everyone gets to know each other. I told him that I was going back to my cabin and that I was most certainly not his mate. He looked a little amused, but just shrugged and turned away, sauntering jauntily away, towards the ropes and mast.

I wonder what he is doing on this ship. He looks to be around Luke’s age. And even if Luke can be a great annoyance and can be quite crude, I know that he is not like this. He is educated and will do great things in the world. This boy – David – he seems to be the peasant sort. I will have nothing to do with him.

Next Day

Dear little book,

I do need to find out what date it is. There is, I have found out, a ship’s cat aboard. More than one, I believe. One came in my room yesterday. She leaped onto my miserable excuse for a bed, and lay there. Later, a man with black hair and green eyes came in, looking around at me. He reminded me of someone, but I cannot think of whom. He growled, in a strangely light voice, “I see ye ‘ave met Queen Anne.”

I was puzzled until the man picked up the black and white cat and said, “This be Queen Anne’s Revenge, but we jist call her Queen Anne or Queen.”

I stared at her. I was not quite sure what she meant – whoever heard of someone naming their cat that? But I politely remained silent.

Pirates are the strangest beings I have ever come across.

Two Days Later

Dear little book,

I have been ever so bored these days. David has brought me some beads and string with which, he says, I can do my hair with. I must admit, I have been twisting parts of my hair into small braids and fastening beads in. I suppose I look like a pirate, but I still refuse to put on the boys’ clothes. I believe that would be resigning me to my fate. I firmly believe that John Lorrington will come after me with the Navy. I reckon Luke will be with him also.

I never knew I would miss my brother so.

I asked David how he can stand to drink rum all the time, and he laughed. This time, though, it wasn’t so much a scornful laugh as an actual amused one. I do not know whether I prefer this one or not.

He told me that fresh water is hard to come by at sea, and so they mostly drank rum or port. I was aghast at this, but he told me he has practically been living off rum for the past five years, and is fine to tell the tale.

I shudder at the thought.

Some Days Later – four, I think

Dear little book,

It is harder and harder to keep track of the days. I have been on the deck more. David has shown me around the ship. He tells me it is called the William. It is a brigantine, which is a type of ship pirates like, as I remember John saying. He tells me that the ropes which he climbs are called the rigging and the ratlines. He also told me that the man who steers the ship is called the helmsman. He is at the helm of the ship. I have learned many new words that have staggered me at times. For instance, once the helmsman – a man name Jake Fitz – told me to look to the starboard for an interesting fish. I looked around for a board with a star engraved on it, but turned to see him laughing at me. He explained that starboard is “what you lubbers call right, me beauty” and port is what we call left. Why can’t they simply use normal words? Why do sailors insist on being so different? I have learned many words that I do not wish to know, but do, and many curse words that I should not know, and still do.

I do not understand why David can stand to be on this ship. I asked him about it once, and he frowned. I thought he was not going to answer, but then he told me his story.

He was born in America. He is an American! He is from Carolina. I am not quite sure where that lies. Father would know. David told me that he never knew his mother. His father was a sailor and was often drunk. It sounded like he had a bad early life. He did get education though, and he can read and write. He did not speak much of his childhood, but he told me he ran off to sea at age twelve. That was five years ago. So he’s a year older than Luke; seventeen. At first, David worked on a fisherman’s boat, and then as a cabin boy on a privateer’s ship. He told me it was a bad life on the privateer’s ship.

I was quite shocked by this. I told him that I had heard that privateers were quite respectable and could most certainly be trusted. His face grew rather dark at this, and I thought he might hit me, but he seemed to remember who I was, and stopped. Then he told me, quite bluntly, “I hated it. Every hour of it. They treated me as scum, barely fit to scrape their boots. So when Calico Jack attacked our ship, I went with them. Aye, ‘tis a harsh life now, but ‘tis nothing compared to that life. Nay, mate, ye should be pleased that ye weren’t picked up by a different ship then this.”

He tells me that it helped that he could read and write. But it was still a long time until they trusted him. Now that was almost three years ago. But when I asked him, trying to lighten the mood, whether he was still cabin boy now, his face darkened, and he walked away from me.

I do not understand him. I do not understand any of the pirates.