by Cylin Busby
But when they had appeared before the judge the following morning and the case had been heard, the facts held up in a way that was quite unexpected. Because the captain had been unconscious when he was loaded into the longboat, the judge declared that he was not accountable for his actions. He had not deserted his ship. Nor could the mutiny charge be proven, as no crew member from the Melissa Rae had returned to give evidence. The judge dismissed the charges against the men and ordered that the remaining crew be paid for their work by the Archer Shipping Company.
The article went on to describe in great detail our adventures at sea and aboard the Bristol. In fact, the majority of words were given over to our account of being on the island, and how we survived there.
As Chippy read aloud, I watched the captain from where I sat, curled on Moses’s lap. He was obviously pleased about the outcome, but when Chippy reached the part about the Melissa Rae being lost at sea, I saw a cloudy look pass over the captain’s face. Melissa came to stand beside him and put her hand upon his shoulder, where he reached up to hold it. I realized that even if the law did not find him guilty, he held himself responsible for the lives of his crew, even terrible Archer.
As the men discussed the case, and the outcome, I looked about the room to the other people who were collected there in our honor. Chippy’s wife, I was much surprised to learn, was a dainty lass, fair and fine of face and figure. She was delicate and small where he was large and rough, but their affection for each other was evident. Moses’s lady was actually smaller than the man himself, if that can be believed, not much larger than Melissa. She called to me and, with a bit of roast beef from her plate and a scratch under my chin, won my heart instantly.
As food and drink were passed about, the newspaper article was read aloud again and again. I curled into a spot under the table, my belly now filled to bursting, listening to the words roll over me, of our story and our adventures. Of course, it seemed a great oversight to have not included even one mention of me, the ship’s cat, and my role in all this, but I suppose one cannot expect every good deed to go noticed. Though a small drawing of myself in the newspaper might have been a welcome addition.
As the group talked and celebrated, I did note that Chippy’s hands were busy with something, a bit of brown leather, perhaps something for Melissa, who flitted in and out of the room, an apron tied over her blue dress, waiting on everyone and performing as quite the lady of the house. My lids grew heavy in the warmth of the crowded room, and I drifted into a light nap, imagining us back aboard the Melissa Rae, myself curled under the stove in the galley.
When I woke, the room had somewhat cleared, with only Moses, Chippy, and their wives, along with the captain, still there. I assumed Melissa was tuckered out from the excitement of the day. Lanterns and candles were lit all around. I heard Chippy’s gruff voice call out, “Tibbs! Now, where has that cat got himself?”
I appeared from under the table by his side, and he was startled to see me so fast. “Must think I’ve a bite for him!” Chippy laughed, patting his lap. I knew this meant to jump up, and so I did, purring and receiving a lovely scratch behind the ears. “If ever we are parted from our ship’s cat again, this will bring you home, mate,” Chippy explained. He held up the braided leather band he had been working on, and I noted that now a dangling tag carved of wood hung from it. He secured it round my neck.
“What’s it there?” Mrs. MacNeil asked, looking at the tag.
“ ‘Prop. Captain N. Natick,’ ” Moses read out. “Means he’s the property of Captain Natick—as if any man can own a sea cat.” He put his hand on top of my head and smoothed over my back, all the way to the end of my tail. “I never thought I would see the equal to our Mrs. Tibbs, God rest her, but I was wrong, and I freely say it.” Moses looked a bit choked up, and his wife placed a hand on his arm, perhaps pulling him from his bad memories, reminding him that we were now safe on land. “To her son, Jacob Tibbs. Long may he walk the decks. Hear, hear!” He raised a cup, and our mates also did, cheering for me three times. To hear myself mentioned in the same breath as my mother made me swell with pride. I must admit, the chocolate color of the leather was a fetching complement to my yellow fur, and I did change my opinion of collars on that day.
“He’s well off with that, as we’ll be down to the docks tomorrow, men, Mr. Tibbs along,” Captain Natick said.
I felt my blood run cold at the thought of returning to the docks. After all that had happened, why would the captain want to go there?
“With this along, you shan’t have trouble finding a vessel, I think, Captain,” Moses said, lifting the paper and pointing to the pencil drawing of the man himself.
“Aye, but I’ll only sign on to a ship that will take my full crew—first mate Charles MacNeil”—the captain paused and raised his glass—“cook Mr. Moses”—he raised his glass again before going on—“and the finest ship’s cat in Liverpool, perhaps the entire Atlantic: Mr. Jacob Tibbs.”
I sat up at the sound of my name then, feeling the weight of my new collar around my neck. So the captain meant to go to sea again! I studied his face as he talked and celebrated. He was a true man of the waves, and I trusted him to crew up a ship with sailors who knew their way. He would never allow a tragedy like that we had seen on the Melissa Rae. Never again. He would sail, as he should, on a new ship, and he meant to take us with him.
Though the memories of the Melissa Rae and all that befell us that trip out remained fresh in my mind, I could hardly wait to have my paws back on deck, breathing in the sea air and standing at my captain’s side. Working a new ship, patrolling the hold, napping in the galley, checking the weather at the bow each morning. She would be a fine ship, perhaps more so even than the Melissa Rae, perhaps as big as the Bristol. Who knew what great adventures awaited a crew such as ours?
I moved from Chippy’s lap up onto the wooden table, where I sat, quite proudly and sphinxlike, directly in the middle, to the laughter of my mates. But no one asked me off, so there I stayed, among them, while they admired, to a one, my new collar, reading it aloud as the celebration wore into the night.
Prop. Captain N. Natick. Never was I so proud in my life.
In the mid-1800s, when packet ships were used to move goods across the Atlantic, most vessels had a cat on board. A working animal, the cat was meant to keep the vermin population under control and was not considered a pet. But sailors, being a superstitious lot, began to think that some cats were more than just mousers. The sailors believed that certain cat breeds were “lucky,” that their presence promised a safe journey, or their markings could foretell what kind of mousers they would become. Some sailors even believed that cats could predict the weather and send secret messages to the sailors to warn them of rough seas—like when a ship’s cat paced the boards instead of climbing the ratlines, they were sure to have high winds. The best captain’s cats were bred for their skill and purchased by other vessels.
While Jacob Tibbs is a fictional ship’s cat, there are many real cats who served on ships and gained widespread fame for their bravery and seafaring exploits. Blackie, a British cat aboard HMS Prince of Wales, was photographed being petted by Prime Minister Winston Churchill in 1941. Convoy, who traveled on HMS Hermione, was thought to be such a superior captain’s cat, he was given his own sailor’s kit—complete with a tiny hammock in the sailors’ quarters! Jenny, a brave ship’s cat aboard the Titanic, gave birth to a litter of kittens just before that vessel met an iceberg on a cold, dark night in 1912. But perhaps most famous is Mrs. Chippy, who, in 1914, sailed aboard Shackleton’s Endurance to the Antarctic until the ship became icebound. Blackie, Convoy, Jenny, Mrs. Chippy, and countless other real-hero cats-o’-sea served as the inspiration for Mr. Jacob Tibbs and his adventure with his fellow sailors.
A deep bow of gratitude to my early readers:
Holly Black
Pamela Bunn
Cecil Castellucci
Nanci Katz Ellis
Barry Goldblatt
Jo Knowles
Melanie Cecka Nolan
Ginee Seo
Joan Slattery
Tim Smith
Erin Zimring
Thank you to my family—Damon, August, Polly, Betty, and Jean—for reading many versions of this novel over the past fifteen years. To Mrs. Perez and her class, thank you for the lovely drawings of Jacob & Co.
And many thanks to my agent, Brenda Bowen, who may not be the biggest fan of cats but proved to be a very big supporter of Jacob Tibbs.
In loving memory of Arthur Bear, Wrassman, Pyewackett, and Jake Ross, for whom Jacob is named.
