Lost At Sea

Chapter 5, In Which I Grow Comfortable on Board a Pirate Ship

Frenchy never returned, and I can only wonder what he was doing. After several rounds of grog, we realized Frenchy wasn't coming back. Nobody cared enough to get up and find Frenchy or Fledge though, and we sat around the table and Fawks told us stories of sea monsters.

A crew member I hadn't met before stomped into the kitchen, grumbling "where de grub slinger?"

Slinger yawned and stretched lazily. he glanced out the small round window that was near his seat. "Calm your bushel bubby* lad. Don't tell me how to do my job."

            *bushel bubby: a full chested woman

"Yerr job's ta make food, aint it? do your blasted job, and I wouldn't have ter come down here and tell you what's fer."

Fawkes swore and glared at the newcomer. "Demandin' cur."

The stranger snapped his head around and took a step towards Fawks. "Who're you callin' cur ya mongrel pratt?"

Fawks snapped up from his seat with fists raised. The tension between the two pirates was palpable.

"Take it outside boys, take it outside." Slinger shooed. "No fighting in my kitchen."

The stranger reluctantly left the room, still glaring at Fawks.

We all sat there awkwardly as Slinger bumbled around in the kitchen. I contemplated giving him a hand, but I lacked any desire to get up.

After a couple minutes, Chris walked in. He dragged a barrel over to the table where I sat with the others. He hadn't even gotten a chance to sit down though, before Slinger called "Cabin boy, get your lazy butt over here and give me a hand."

He groaned, but obeyed.

Fawks and Frenchy left, leaving me sitting at the table alone with Littlefoot.

"Whats the deal with Fawks and that guy who just came in here?"

Littlefoot shrugged. "Dunno. Dey beat each other up all da time. Bad blood wit' those two."

I nodded even if it didn't make much sense to me. Even in the army, such open hostility was prohibited, and punishable. I was used to polite butt kissers and dirty politicians.

<#<#<#<#

The next few days swam by in a daze. I spent my days watching the open sea and teaching Chris to fight. He was an avid pupil, and a quick learner. I also learned a bit about how to tie up the rigging and take care of the sails from Littlefoot or Frenchy. I played Piloche with dozens of the crew members, and managed to win a hundred and fifty seven gentres for my efforts. I also lost two hundred gentre, but I don't like to talk about that part.

One evening, I was tying off some of the ropes like Frenchy had showed me, when I heard a scuffle from the poop deck. I could tell someone was definatly in a fight, and curiously moved to check it out. I found that it was Fawkes and the stranger from the kitchen. Both were rolling around on the floor grappling and bleeding. Fawkes was on top, and from my point of view it looked like the stranger was losing terribly. I could see the bystanders passing around money, betting on the outcome.

I wasn't sure what to do. It didn't seem right to let them fight, but in this crowd it could be dangerous to break it up. I glanced around, searching for a friendly face to ask advise from, but before I could find one, a gunshot burst out.

I jumped and moved towards the brawl. Confused, I noticed neither of them was holding a gun. The stranger was holding a knife in his fist, and it was dripping blood. Fawkes was holding his stomach and his hands were coated in blood.

As I tried to figure out where the shot had come from, Fledge came into my view holding a pistol. The two brawlers scrambled up and the stranger dropped his knife.

"I don't care at'tall if'n ye fight. Ye can beat each otha' up ta yer heart's content, but there will be no knife fights 'tween sailors. Ye know dis. Da both of ya, go ta da brig 'till Cap'n has decided what ta do wit' ye." Fledge shoved the two men apart, and the crowd watching dissipated. "Fawkes, get ta Slinger first. He'll get ya right patched up."

One of the cabin boys, named Will, gave Fawks a scrap of cloth to hold against his wound. He followed Fawkes down the stairs, and I was grateful that someone was keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn't get hurt.

I returned to what I was doing, and I could feel Fledge's gaze follow me. I feigned disintrest as I debated whether I should speak to him. I wanted to say something, but didn't know what to talk about. I felt like I'd been pestering him all the time about information on the ship.

As I opened my mouth to speak, I heard a voice call "Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy!"

Then, everything descended into chaos.

A/N

Not edited. Don't judge. At this point I'm taking advantage of a brief moment of inspiration for this story, and I can go back and fine tune it later when I have writers block again. Sorry it's so late!

Tidbit: Most pirate ships in the mid 17th and 18th century had approximately 70-200 men on board at a time. They usually had many more people on board than was actually required to work the ship, so they could take over other ships while at sea. In this particular work, I am imagining approximately 35 or 40 crew members, and 7 or 8 cabin boys on board. It makes it much more manageable for me to imagine how life on board might be when I don't have a hundred random characters floating around inside my mind.