Our talk of heavenly tattoos comes to an end when a bunch of the Dolphins burst out of the tavern across the street and spy me and say, "Let's have a tune, Jacky!" and I pull my whistle from my vest and I give 'em "The Rakes of Mallow" and then "The Liverpool Hornpipe," and they dance and stomp around in the dusty street and insult each other on their dancin' like Get out of the way and let me show ye how it's done, ye're wallowin around like me mither's old cowl and Old cow is it? Kin yer mither's old cow punch like this? but the fight's soon over as their hearts ain't in it and everyone piles back into the tavern, saying, "A pint for Jacky for givin' us the tunes."
We stand to the bar and pints of ale are drawn and passed around and the ale tastes a lot better than the rum. I take my last shillin' and slap it down on the bar and call for food and we get stews and fishes and oranges and, even though I loves me old-horse-and-biscuit back on the dear old Dolphin, the change is just the thing.
"Another pint wi' ye, Jackeroe!" says Saunders, clappin' me on the back, but I say, "Thank ye kindly, Joe, but seein' as how I can barely get this one down my gullet, I'll say no. Please, Mate, have one on me." My head is reelin' wi' the excitement and the ale and the food and the music and the noise and the exotic smell of this place. It crosses my spinnin' mind that should I be discovered and put off, this would not be a bad place to be dumped, all warm and rich, but no, I can't leave my mates and I can't leave Jaimy and I'd prolly end up like Mrs. Roundtree, bless her, when all was said and done.
It don't matter what I say, another pint of ale is shoved in my fist and I stick my nose in the foam and drink some of it, but I give the rest to Jaimy, and he passes it off to Willy, who seems to be swallowing up everything in sight, a growin' boy is our Willy.
The Dolphins ain't the only ones in this tavern; there's men from the Endeavor and the Surprise, and some merchantmen, too, and the talk is swirlin' about, and some of the talk is that the Dolphin is headin' for the Caribbean to search for more pirates 'cause we're so good at catchin' 'em and makin' squadron commanders rich. Then I hear Bloody Jack said in the talk and I know they mean me and I don't like it. I wish they'd stop with that. My ears burn 'cause I know I'm bein' looked at behind my back.
My good sense, which has been hangin' back all day, tells me it's time for the Brotherhood to get back to the ship before we get knocked on the head for the few pennies we have left or get so drunk we can't get back to the dear Dolphin and are left here and other lads take our places. Other lads like the ones in this tavern who are jealous of our good fortune and ain't shy in showin' it. I see a couple of boys from the Surprise glarin' at Davy and Tink and Jaimy at the bar with all their prize money to spend. I know they're about to make a comment on the boys' cute outfits and the blood will flow.
"Awright, lads," I say. "Drink up. Time to get back before they discover we're gone. Looks like we're gonna have to help poor Willy."
They groan and say no, but Jaimy finishes his and gets up and the others follow. Tink and Davy put a hand under Willy's arms and we head out into the sun. Before I go I slap my last few coins on the bar. "A drink for every mother's son of a ship's boy in the house," I says loud enough for all to hear. "God bless ship's boys!"
We are not followed as we roll back to the ship, singin' and laughin' and exultin' in a great day. We have tasted oranges and ale. We have seen a foreign country. I have found out that I am not dying, not of that, anyway, and it all makes me so happy that I can barely contain the poundin' heart that beats in my chest.
I'm with me mates, and Stewed, Blued, and Tattooed, we sail for the Caribbean Sea.
PART III
As the Scholar Has Said,
"The Knowledge That One Is to Be Hanged in the Morning,
Concentrates the Attention Most Wonderfully."
Chapter 19
We've been in the Caribbean for three months now, and the sea is such a color of blue that I can't believe my eyes are seeing it. It's so clear that when we come around an island in our search for pirates and get in shallower water, the most astonishing rocks and reefs pop out of the depths and look like strange castles, right there up close instead of fifty feet down like they really are. Tilly has rigged up brightly colored lures with feathers and hooks and trailed them on long lines off the fantail. Fishes bite on them and Tilly cranks them in on a reel that he has mounted on a stiff pole that bends with the fishes' desperate struggles, and when the fish get close to the side all brilliant in their colors but all tired out now, men with gaff hooks lean over and hook them in their gills most cruelly and hoist them aboard where they gasp and flop on the deck for a while. Their color slowly dulls as they die. It's a shame, but they are very tasty.
Tilly goes on about this book The Compleat Angler and has us all make small lures and lines, and we catch fish, too. A useful skill, I decide, and resolve to keep my lure and line for future use. Like when I have my own ship and need something to eat and can't afford the Horse.
***
This part of the voyage has proved uneventful, except for some fearsome hurricanes during the hottest months when I thought we were all lost for sure. I could not believe that such mountains of water could be and that we could survive them. We sailed under bare poles with only a scrap of canvas aloft to keep the Dolphins head into the wind, and all of us were up for days without sleep, but the good ship held, and so did we. Now the weather has turned cooler and the storms have stopped and great slick swells are all that move on the water, except for us.
We prowl on.
We have not caught any major prizes yet. Once again the pirates prove quite wily, slipping in and out of tiny bays and behind little cays and islands. We have seen some burned villages, and the Captain has sent boats full of armed men in to investigate and they came back with stories of the pirate LeFievre and how he ravaged the town and stole everything worth taking, and not just gold and silver. He also takes women and children, for ransom if white, for selling as slaves if black. The rest of the townspeople flee into the hills, and LeFievre burns the town. He has many ships now, and reports from survivors are that he is growing in his pride and struts about in fine silks and talks of setting up his own kingdom on one of the islands. But he could not grow so foolish as to take on a Kings ship, could he?
We have chased down some suspicious boats but have turned up nothing. Once we chased a ship and were running her down when the pirate crew began tossing their captives overboard. We put the boats in the water when the first people were thrown over and kept up the pursuit, but the pirates kept throwing more captives over, one at a time so they got strung out in a line that was too much for the boats, and so we had to stop, so ending the chase, and then the pirates stopped pitching captives. The Captain was fuming, and I know he's trying to think of a way around this caper for the next time it happens. We took the lucky hostages—the ones that didn't drown or weren't still on the pirate ship—back to their town and at least gained the good will of the people. Can't spend that, though.
Whenever a boat is sent out on errands away from the ship, several of us ship's boys are always included in the boat's crew so we can learn to sail and handle small boats. We learn about booms and mainsheets and downhauls and the parts of the sail and how to hold the tiller and tuck the sail in just so, which I think is just fine till one day Tink and I are out in a boat with about ten seamen, which is going into a small deserted cay to look for fresh water. Tink is trimming the sail and I'm on the tiller, keeping the course true for the little dot of an island bobbing up ahead, when I says to the coxswain how grand it is that he's teaching us all this useful knowledge, but he shakes his head and says all ruefully, "Ah, Jacky, I'm afraid that's not what you're here for."
I find this a good deal strange and ask, "What are we here for, then?"
The coxswain, who's in charge of all the small boats on the ship and whose name is Hardy, looks away all shy. "It's a delicate thing, boy," he says, "and not spoke of much." There are grunts of agreement from some of the men. Some of them shake their heads and look off, somber.
"All right," says I, not to be put off, "let's have it. Just why are we here, then, if not to be taught our seamanship?"
After some silence, Hardy sees that I'm startin' to get really steamed at all this, and he says, "Well, Jack, it's this way, and it's nothin' personal, but when a boat goes off out of sight of the mother ship it always carries a couple of boys 'cause..." He hesitates.
"Oh, for Chris'sakes," booms out a seaman named Javerts, "I'll tell the boy. It's 'cause the ship's boys is the first ones eaten if the boat gets lost and can't find its way back."
I look for signs that they're jokin' with Tink and me, but their faces don't betray it.
"You've got to see the wisdom of it, lads," says Hardy. "We wouldn't want to be eatin' a sailor what could pull a decent oar, now, would we?"
Javerts, who's a really disagreeable-lookin' cove with a red gash of a scar that goes clear across one cheek, over his grisly lump of a nose, and onto the other cheek, reaches over and grabs me leg and squeezes it, as if checkin' it for tenderness. His fingers go completely around my thigh. "I wants little Jacky in any boat I'm ever sent out in, for sure. I'll take one of the hams."
I jerk my leg away. "You sods are just havin' us on," I say, but still their faces stay stony and grim. "Ain't you?"
Snag is in the boat and he chimes in with, "It ain't just for our own nourishment and enjoyment, oh no," he says. "Say some nasty sharks happen to circle around the boat, lookin' to make trouble for poor honest seamen, well, we just toss em a spare ship's boy and behold—them sharks turns just as nice as any gentlemen and they tips their fins to ye as they leave."
This cuts it, and roars of laughter at my red and gullible face go out across the water.
The sods.
It is good that the weather has turned cooler. I would be stifling otherwise because now I have to wear Charlie's old vest on the inside, under my white shirt, to squash down my chest, which is suddenly and traitorously growing and threatening to give me away. It works, but I fear that soon I won't be able to breathe. Maybe I won't grow very big.
Yesterday, Tilly's words were billowing, burgeoning, and blossoming. I could have swatted him.
"All I really want is a small ship," says I, "that could carry a respectable cargo and be able to be handled with just a few—"
"We know what you want, Jacky," says Davy. "Just put a sock in it."
"Piss off, Davy," snarls I, steamed up at being interrupted. "Someday, you vile little scab, someday when the wars are all over and you're stranded on shore, you'll come to the fine offices of Faber Shipping Company Worldwide and say, 'Will ye be givin' me a post now, Jacky?' and I will not."
Davy laughs. "You'll have to, Jack, because of the Oath of the Brotherhood."
"Well then, Davy, I'll give you a post as ship's boy and I'll keep you as ship's boy till you go all bald and stooped in the back, and won't you scrub the head till it shines, by God!"
They all roll around and hoot and snort at the very idea of Faber Shipping. I'll show you, you sods. Just you wait.