by Peter Greene
“This will not stand!” Walker boomed. “Schoolyard tussles aboard His Majesty’s ship? I will know all that goes on aboard my ship, as I know all the men and their temperaments! It is my world here, gentlemen, and I use the word ‘gentlemen’ lightly! Lieutenant Blake?” boomed Walker.
“Yes, sir!” Blake said, snapping to attention, afraid the wrath of Captain Walker would now be aimed at him.
“Midshipmen Moore and Spears must learn to work together,” bellowed the Captain, thinking for a moment or two. “Have them get pitch and brushes and check the delve on both sides of the ship, on the double!”
“Yes, sir!” called Blake, and he immediately ran out of the room, both to carry out the captain’s order and to escape any collateral fire that the dragon was expending.
“Midshipmen, dismissed!” Walker stated forcefully, and all three turned and ran out of the cabin as fast as they could.
“If I may, Captain?” said Koonts.
Much calmer, now that the requisite blasts had been loosed, Walker turned to Koonts, his anger completely subsided.
“I would think we should ask Sean Flagon for his side of the story, yes?”
“To what purpose, Mr. Koonts?” asked the Captain. “He would agree with Jonathan, of course.”
“Yes, sir,” said Koonts.
“I certainly know what is going on here,” the Captain said.
5
Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
After a full day at sea, the men were back in their habit, cleaning decks with holystones and water, polishing everything metal, painting everything wooden, and tightening every rope and sail to give the Danielle more speed. She was moving at a smart eight knots, headed due west en route to the Caribbean Sea and the Bahamas.
The food, made now by Claise, was certainly better fare than Steward had prepared nightly for the crew during the last mission. All consumed it gratefully.
“I found some special spices in an old shop near my sister’s house in the east end,” Claise said to Garvey as he scooped a bowlful of sweet curried beef and potato for the youngster, “and I spent all my pay on them. They should serve us well.”
Garvey thanked him, walked carefully to an unusually silent table on deck, and sat with a group of unusually silent men who were intently concentrating on the tastes within their bowls. They were all coming to the conclusion that Claise was a master, and a master on a large scale. All his meals were wonderful.
“Quite the change from Steward’s slop,” said Smith, gulping down a spoonful.
“Better than my mum’s, I tell ya,” added Jones.
Other men could smell wafting aroma as they worked in the sails and rigging, awaiting their turn at the table. Even Steward had to agree, as he peeked into the pot.
“Ah, Claise,” Steward said as he sniffed the simmering stew, “It do smell like fare from one o’ those finer shops in London. Ya will have ta give me the recipe so I can duplicate it myself!”
Just then, Mr. Harrison happened by and said, “You might also want to give him your head and hands, Claise. Steward needs more than a recipe to make a good meal!”
The crew within earshot erupted in hearty laughter.
Jonathan heard the laughter, but had no idea as to what humor had caused it. He could see nothing of the happenings on the deck, as he was suspended over the side, on a plank held by a rope harness. By his side, he had a bucket of black, tar-like pitch, thick and hot. It, too, was secured with rope to the plank he sat upon. He also had a length of wood, like a broom handle, with a thick gathering of stiff animal hair tied to the end. He dipped this brush into the pail of pitch for the hundredth time and splattered it on the side of the Danielle, spreading it between two adjoining side planks. After he finished all he could reach from his sitting position, Jonathan would call upwards to one of the deckhands, who would adjust the harness holding the plank. At times this would move him a few more feet towards the stern or upwards, and at other times, to his dismay, he would be moved closer to the swirling water below. Jonathan would then start applying pitch to the next section of the ship.
On the face of this, it would seem that the job of applying pitch to the delve was not altogether too harsh a punishment. However, the Danielle was at top speed and the constant spray of ice-cold water dousing Jonathan’s legs was slowly numbing them. There was also the sticky pitch that seemed to get everywhere: in hair, on face, and all over clothing.
I am between the devil and the deep blue sea, as my father has said, Jonathan mused. The only happiness I have is found in the knowledge that Midshipman Spears is suffering the same discomfort as I. A petty thought, yes, but still comforting.
Eventually, Jonathan finished for the day—though it would take at least two more days to complete the entire port side—and he retired to his bunk. Lane was there. He nodded coldly, then got up to leave. It was now getting dark and Spears would return soon. It gave Jonathan only a few moments to change from his wet, tar-stained seaman’s garb and put on his uniform. First, however, he opened his locker and took out his belongings.
Inside there was a supply of wool socks, nightshirts, an extra pair of shoes, and a warm woolen hat much like the one Steward had tossed overboard so many months ago.
“New life!” Steward had said then. And at that time, it seemed exciting and wonderful. Now, his life was tainted by his troubles.
His mood changed for the better as he found a small paper-wrapped box within his locker, with an elegantly written note attached. It read: To assist you in finding your way home to us, and was signed by Miss Barbara Thompson. Inside was a small compass made of the finest metals and seemingly coated, in part, with gold. It was an amazing treasure and Jonathan gazed in wonder at its beauty. He then placed it in the pocket of his uniform coat that was hanging on a peg by his bunk.
Another wrapped package was quite a bit larger, at least two feet in length, and this had a heavier script on its note that read: This was my own piece. It took me around the world and back again, through adversity and hell itself. Please employ it along with all your wit and industry to come back to your small family. We will miss you. Godspeed, my son. This note was signed by his father.
Jonathan removed the plain brown wrapping paper to discover a wooden box with a simple silver latch in the center. He opened the box and gazed upon a wonderfully crafted telescope, the wood stained in dark cherry, with rings of gold around the eyepiece and the lens. He expanded the instrument to its full length. The movement was smooth and yet tight and heavy. It was obviously well made and would be a prized possession.
I must protect this from wandering hands, Jonathan thought.
He smiled broadly at the gifts, but what delighted him even more was the fact that both notes, one from his father and one from Miss Thompson, used the words “us” and “we” instead of “me” and “I.” Jonathan thought that his father and Miss Thompson might possibly fancy each other.
The journey from London to the Bahama Islands was routine, and as much as could be expected was expected and dealt with. Leaks were plugged, as Jonathan and Spears had completed their punishment and caulked all the delve almost completely. Anything metal was polished daily, everything wooden was painted, and life aboard the Danielle was actually calm, yet busy. Meals came and went, watches were completed, and marines drilled and practiced shooting and swordplay. Luckily for Jonathan, he was able to eat meals with Sean and avoid Spears and Lane at all times except two. One was while sleeping, and it was known by all of Jonathan’s close friends that he literally slept with one eye open. The other time he could not avoid Spears was during his lessons with either Koonts, Harrison, or on the rare occasion, Mr. Watt. In these sessions, Spears was well behaved and showed no aggression towards Jonathan at all.
Before his going to bed, Jonathan made a habit of collecting Steward, and together they would visit Sean in the orlop. They would appear and greet all, most of the crew still saluting Jonathan out of respect. They would then settle in
as Sean attempted to read from King Arthur. Jonathan would hold pages while he lay next to Sean, so that he could also follow along. It was slow going at first, as the legend was no nursery rhyme.
“It befell in the days of . . . Uther the Dragon . . . ”
“Uther Pendragon,” corrected Steward, calmly and caringly, as he picked fleas off Stewie and untangled mats of fur.
“Uther Pendragon,” Sean continued, “when he was king of all England, and so . . . re-gend-ed?” asked Sean.
“Reigned,” said Steward. “It means to rule, like a King is supposed to do, yes?”
“It is spelled strangely,” said Sean.
“I told you it was chaos,” added Jonathan.
“Keep reading, young Flagon,” said Steward, a little more forcibly than before.
“When he was King of all England, and so reigned, that there was a mighty duke in . . . Cornwall—Hey, I have been to Cornwall! Remember that little boy we met on the streets that had the lute with no strings, Jonathan?”
“For the love of the saints,” Steward said angrily, “read the blessed book and concentrate!”
“That there was a mighty duke in Cornwall,” Sean continued, “that held war against him long time.”
Each night another few pages fell, and it was not long before Sean was reading well enough for others to listen. At times, he had a crowd of ten or more enjoying his reading of the tale.
On about the eleventh day at sea, Mr. Harrison appeared on deck and found Jonathan at his post, on the bow, looking straight ahead as the Danielle sailed westward with the wind and sun at her back.
“Good morning, Jonathan!” Harrison said with a smile. “Have you seen anything of interest?”
“Not at all, Mr. Harrison,” Jonathan replied, “Just sea, sky, and an occasional cloud. There is a darkening ahead, a possible storm, I would guess. I have sent word to Mr. Watt, at the wheel.”
“Spa-len-did! Spa-len-did!” said Harrison in his best imitation of the King. “We do have something special planned for today: gun practice! Are you game, Jonathan?”
Jonathan smiled and took in a deep breath. The guns were loud and dangerous, but they certainly broke the monotony of tasks and duties. One could only take so much polishing and sanding.
“I will look forward to it with great anticipation, Mr. Harrison!” answered Jonathan happily. “When are we to begin?”
“Near sundown, I hear,” Harrison said. “And I am here to tell you that you have been assigned the management of the upper deck and Spears the lower deck.”
“Oh,” said Jonathan, visibly concerned at the news that Spears would be anywhere near him.
“Jonathan,” said Harrison, “I am not your older brother, yet I do believe you and I are close friends. Is this true?”
“Of course,” Jonathan answered. “We have been through a lifetime together it, seems, and I am ever so grateful for all you have done for me.”
“Then let me do you another good turn, if I can. Tell me about Spears. What really happened in the cockpit?”
Jonathan thought for a minute about that day and the fight with Spears. He had discussed the events with Sean, but neither could decide how to correct the Captain’s perception. It was most unpleasant, and the idea that Captain Walker was angry with Jonathan was eating at him constantly.
“It is exactly as I stated to the Captain, Harrison. Spears started pushing Sean, then me, and one thing led to another—but Spears was doing all the leading, until the end. You know me well and you know that I would never start a fight at all, much less start one over something silly.”
“This is true, Jonathan,” said Mr. Harrison, smiling a bit, “and that is what is most perplexing. I can’t say I know exactly what the Captain feels, but he also knows you and he knows that Spears comes from a somewhat shady background.”
“The plot thickens, Thomas,” said Jonathan. “My father mentioned that he was attacked at the dock, the night we returned to London from Skull Eye Island. He believed his attacker resembled an old adversary, a Captain Derrick Spears.”
“Well,” Harrison said, looking about to make sure he was not overheard. “Midshipman Spears is indeed the son of Captain Derrick Spears, now in the Admiralty at the assignment desk. Previously, he commanded a sixth-rate, a brigantine, the twenty-four gun Simplex. The thing is, Jonathan, a captain of his age should have had a much, well, larger ship before taking an office job. I am sure he blames your father for his lack of promotion.”
“But why? My father mentioned that they were not friends, but . . . ”
“I am not sure I should tell you this. However, Captain Spears has told some, and I have heard it myself, that his misfortune is the result of your father getting all the plum assignments and maneuvering his way to put Spears down.”
“I can’t believe my father would do such a thing,” said Jonathan.
“And don’t believe it!” said Harrison quickly. “Your father has earned every bit of his success, and someday he will tell you all of it. I have seen your father in action, Jonathan, and he is a spirited and cunning leader and an excellent fighter. However, many men are jealous and can’t stand on their own feet without putting others down. Take Captain Walker, for instance. He was in competition for assignments against your father, but both of them celebrate each other’s success. They are proud of their relationship and cheer each other on. But there are some people who are so weak in character that, well, if another accomplishes something, they feel that glory and honor is taken from them. Derrick Spears is one of those types.”
“Then his son, Wayne, has probably been poisoned by his father against me!” said Jonathan.
“I do believe that is what is going on,” said Harrison. “And there is more. It was widely known that Derrick Spears, a widower, also claimed that a certain Miss Barbara Thompson was of interest to him, and, well, I do believe Miss Thompson and your father are . . .” Harrison paused, not knowing how to continue with this sensitive bit of news.
“Courting?” suggested Jonathan.
“Yes,” said Harrison, relived that Jonathan chose the word. “And that has added fuel to the fire. Be careful, Jonathan. And don’t play all your cards at once. Keep Spears guessing.”
“I will,” said Jonathan, and he stood for a moment, thinking of just how he could keep Spears at arm’s length and still gain an advantage. Spears was a bully, and bullies were usually hard to handle.
Just then, the ship’s bell signaled two hours before noon. As if on cue, Sean appeared on deck, with Stewie in tow. Both paused, looked at the sun, then simultaneously stretched and yawned in a grand manner.
“Hello, Jonny Boy! G’day Mr. Harrison!”
“A tough morning of duty, Flagon?” asked Harrison jokingly.
“I am on night watch and believed a little sleeping in was in order,” said Sean, stretching a bit more, trying to get all the sleep out. “Besides, Stewie was not quite ready to rise and shine. I thought it would be considered rude to wake him.”
“You would sleep in even on the day of your own funeral, Sean Flagon,” Harrison said with a laugh.
“‘tis true, I would!” laughed Sean.
At that moment, Lieutenant Blake appeared and addressed the boys.
“Mr. Harrison, Mr. Moore, good day. Flagon, a good day to you as well.”
“Yes, sir,” Sean said.
“It seems that Captain Walker is in need of entertainment and has suggested a fencing exhibition on the poop deck. We will draw straws and the two shortest will have a go. Are you in?”
“Aye, I am in, Mr. Blake!” said Sean, suddenly awake and energetic. “Let me get my belt and—”
“Excuse me, Flagon,” said Blake, somewhat irritated, “This invitation is not for common seamen. Officers only.”
Sean was visibly deflated and started to sulking, heading for a ladder to go belowdecks.
“Sean!” Jonathan called. “I will exercise with you when I am done. Would that be agreeable?”
&nbs
p; Sean stopped, turned, and smiled.
“Of course, Jonny. Now go give ‘em what for!”
The officers made their way aft, back to the poop deck, and took their places in line. There was Lieutenant Holtz, with a strange look on his face, taking a straw from Captain Walker. Blake drew second, Harrison third. What was disturbing was the appearance of Spears and Lane, both getting in line right behind Jonathan.
“It seems that I have a long straw!” stated Harrison.
“And a nose to match,” said Steward as he prattled by, wheezing at his own joke. Harrison only smiled.
“Steward,” Harrison said, “Your humor is truly juvenile.”
“Thank you,” Steward said as he went down the short ladder to the main deck to watch the fencing with the other men.
“I, too, have a long straw,” claimed Lieutenant Holtz as he chose one from the Captain.
“As do I!” said Blake.
“Moore, you’re next! Choose carefully!” said Captain Walker, and he extended his hand to Jonathan, showing three straws left. As Jonathan reached for the far-right straw, the Captain cleared his throat and slightly moved his hand to position the center choice for Jonathan.
Jonathan chose the straw in the middle. It was short.
“You are one of the first then, Jonathan!” said Harrison. The crew clapped happily. Many had seen Jonathan in action while he trained with Mr. Harrison for what seemed like every minute of every day for months on end during the last mission.
“He’s quite an accomplished and entertainin’ swordsman!” said Garvey to some of the new crew members. “Just watch and ya will see!”
“I can almost beat him,” added Sean, “and I think I am actually quite fine. So the sure bet is on Mr. Moore!”
The others who knew about Jonathan agreed.
“Step up now, Midshipman Spears, and try your luck!” said Captain Walker as he held out his hand with the two remaining straws.
