Quintspinner - A Pirate's Quest

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

The chowder, thin and oily, had an overpowering smell of fish to it. William hoped the smell of rotting fish that he had encountered earlier had not come from the cook’s galley. Still, he had not eaten since the previous evening and the broth was warm. As he swallowed down the lumpy chowder, he studied the one called Samuel Smith, sitting across from him. Silky brown eyes stared calmly back at him.

Thin as he was, what flesh Smith did have, was well defined muscle; his hands seemed extraordinarily large, attached to the ends of such lanky forearms. William noticed that Smith’s knuckles were swollen and covered in scars and scabs. He’s been in some scraps, alright. In fact, the more William stared, the more he noticed that Smith seemed to be covered with scars everywhere. His upper arms were laced with a cobweb of silver strips that disappeared under the body of his shirt, and a long thin one on Smith’s cheek seemed to pull up on the corner of his mouth, leaving him with a permanent half grin.

“How’d you get those scars?” William nodded towards Smith’s arms. Smith glanced down at his own shoulders and shrugged.

“Kissed the gunner’s daughter a time or two.”

The gunner’s daughter? A female? On a ship?

 William himself had kissed only one girl. Maggie. They had been behind the slaughter shed the first time, and it had been at Maggie’s instigation. He had sensed rather than felt someone behind him and when he had whirled around he had nearly knocked her over, she had been standing so close to him. He had reached out to steady her grabbing her by her upper arms. She’d fallen in towards his chest, and not by mistake he came to realize, as she’d quickly risen up on her toes, and turning her face up towards his, had pressed her moist lips to his.

He remembered his surprise and feeling a rush of pleasure as their tongues had met, and he’d returned the kiss fiercely, holding her tightly to him, his hands traveling up and down her body in new exploration. The warmth of her young breasts, the tautness of her nipples as they hardened in response to his palms cupping her breasts had made him aware of the hardening in his own crotch. He was breathless and he had pulled away to catch a snatch of air, before kissing her again.

A hunger for more–much more–of that pleasure was stronger than the guilt or the fear of getting caught, and he and Maggie had met on several occasions after that to enjoy their new intimacy. There had been many nights that William had listened to the grunts and gasps coming from his parents’ bed, and his fantasies of his secret meetings with Maggie had brought him his own solitary pleasure, his low moans going unnoticed amid the sounds of his parents’ coupling.

Maybe she had been worth it, this gunner’s daughter.  He could not imagine however, being scratched so deeply so as to be scarred like Smith.

William’s puzzled look seemed to amuse Smith. “You’ll have yer own set ‘afore long I ‘spect,” he said, rising from the table, “near everyone does, sooner or later. Come on. You’re a midshipman, but you’ll also be helping Cook. Them barrels is the food stores fer this particular sailing an’Cook’ll have ya’ fetchin’ from them, I’ve no doubt. I just hope that yer skills is considerable less than his,” he cocked an eyebrow up and continued, “as it wouldn’t do to have the men gettin’ fat on flavor, or eatin’ fer any other reason other than to stay alive.” In spite of his fear of his strange surroundings, William smiled at Smith’s description, and felt some of his tension drain away.

“You’ll start at mid evenin’ shift, so’s the breakfast is ready by dawn.” Smith pointed ahead of them deeper into the gloom. “Down there’s the slings.”

The ‘slings’ proved to be narrow strips of stained canvas strung in the fashion of hammocks that were hooked from the rafters of the deck flooring above their heads. Row after row of the grimy sheets swung from the ropes, in rhythm with the ship’s sway. Most rows had two layers of the makeshift beds strung one above the other. A few were occupied, the sailors’ arms and legs hanging over the edges, with the width of a sling being roughly only the space between a man’s shoulder blades. Thinner sailors obviously slept more securely and comfortably in these contraptions.

“When you’re off shift, grab an empty one,” Smith instructed. “Best to choose one what’s highest up, but give her a shake just the same.”

“A shake?”

“Fer dumpin’ cooties and such off ‘afore lyin’ yer own noggin down amongst them.” Smith saw William’s face cloud in confusion. “It’s to rid yer sling of the little buggers and chiggers what’s fallen off from the lad who slept there ‘afore ya;–do ya’ not know even a single thing?” Smith asked exasperatedly.

“I’ve never sailed,” William replied. “Never been on a stinkin’ boat of any kind. I’m not a sailor. I’m–”

“You’ll learn, and for yer sake, you’d best be a quick study. You’re a lander fer now, but you’ll be a sailor too. And probably will be for the rest of yer life.” With an upward shrug of his eyebrows Smith added, “However short that may be.”