I feel my face growing hot. “What are you saying, sir?”
“I’m saying that you claim to be a man. Sixteen, is it? You must feast your eyes on a man’s future. Only children spend time crying over lost toys.”
“I have lost more than toys,” I say quietly. “I have lost my future.”
“Your future is yours to take, Jameson, once you recognize what it is. But enough of that for now.” He taps the map. “We are in our enemy’s midst. Given heavy winds, we are two days sail from Tortuga.”
I draw a sharp breath. Tortuga was held by Spain. “We must turn then, sir. Surely it is a death sentence for us to sail into enemy waters.”
“Are you afraid, Jameson?” the Captain asks.
I hesitate. How can I not be afraid? Didn’t the Captain himself warn of the dangers of being caught by the enemy? Yet, I do not want to appear a coward. I remain silent.
He presses for an answer. “Be truthful, lad. Are you afraid?”
“Aye,” I say softly. “I cannot truthfully say else.”
The Captain snatches the map off the wall and quickly rolls it up. “Good!”
“Good?”
“Sailors who know fear fight the hardest. Had you said you were not afraid, I would have thought you a fool—or worse, a liar—and tossed you overboard. There is no shame in feeling fear, Jameson. It is an honest feeling.”
“Will we be fighting soon, then?” I ask. My throat suddenly feels dry, and I swallow hard.
“We will likely not advance many more days without encountering a Spanish ship. Havana and the islands surrounding her are well protected.” He holds up the golden nib so that the light reflects off it. “With a shortage of crew, I have been unable to find a sea-artist for Destiny, and I have neglected my duties to Queen Anne. So, I am turning this kit over to you, Jameson. From here on, you will serve as Destiny’s sea artist.”
“And what shall I draw?” I ask.
“Land,” the Captain says. “We must bring Queen Anne maps of all we survey from here to the Carolinas. From these maps, she will select where she wants to establish a hold. We will sail as close to the shore as possible over the next few days. You are to sit on the deck and sketch what you see. Read the compass and record the markings.”
“And if I see signs that the Spanish are nearby?” I ask.
The Captain laughs. “You will not have to look hard to see that. They will see us before we see them. Do not worry, though. They will let us pass.” He places the lid back on the box. “I’m entrusting you with this, Jameson. Watch over it well.”
My head swirls with questions. I want to ask why we are deliberately sailing into enemy territory. If the Captain knows a Spanish ship lies ahead, why does he not order Destiny turned? And why would King Philip’s sailors not attack Destiny? Frustrated, I sigh. Nothing the Captain has said makes any sense.
I spend the rest of the morning with him as he shows me how to read the compass and how to record what I see. When I make a mistake, he simply shakes his head and tells me to look at the compass again. From time to time he smiles, and I know he is pleased by the way I learn so quickly. Finally, he says, “Go above now and tell Peep that we have spoken and that he will need to assign another to furl the sails; you are to begin your new duties immediately.” He turns away, and I realize I have been dismissed.
Up on deck, I find the first mate and tell him what the Captain said. Peep nods. “You’ll serve as another lookout, boy. Were the ship full crew, we would have lookouts at every point, but we must make do with what we have. Cook is working with Jabbart and Gunther to prepare the weapons and shot. Ferdie is checking the rigging and sails. The rest of the crew will keep their eyes and ears alert as they perform their jobs. We must be ready!”
“Where shall I sit?” I ask.
Peep looks around. “Start at port,” he replies. “When the sun begins to wane, shift to starboard. If you see anything that raises your hair, sound an alarm.”
My stomach rumbles loudly. Solitaire Peep lifts an eyebrow. “You’ve not yet broken your fast?”
I shake my head. “The ash box is cold. I can wait for the noon meal.”
“There will be no noon meal,” Solitaire Peep says. “With the ship moving so quickly, Cook cannot light a fire and risk sending an ember into the sails. Grab a biscuit and a piece of dried meat. Cold meals will have to do for the next day or so.”
As I head below to the galley, the ship’s flag snaps loudly in the wind. I look up, squinting against the sun’s haze. What I see causes me to gasp. Flying high above the ship is not England’s banner, but rather that of Spain.
CHAPTER NINE
I recoil at the sight of the rearing crowned lions on the enemy’s flag. Surely the sun has caused my eyes to play tricks on me. But it is no illusion. The image is real.
I can think of no reason for the symbol of the Spanish throne to fly above Queen Anne’s ship. Leaning against the railing, I stare hard at the banner, my mind clouded with confusion. Only minutes ago, I heard the Captain proclaim loyalty to Queen Anne, yet he now allows the Spanish flag to fly above her ship. It makes no sense; even worse, it is dangerous. “It is treason,” I whisper, shaking my head. I turn on my heels and cross the deck. Solitaire Peep will have the answers I seek.
He looks up from the tiller as I approach. “Why haven’t you started your sketching, boy?” he asks. “You’re wasting time!”
“I must first ask you something.”
“I have no time for learning you today, lad,” Solitaire Peep says. “Me eye must be on the waters and the sky. Take your questions elsewhere.”
“I bring them to you because you know all that happens on this ship and all that the Captain does.” I feel fear rise in me. I had thought my situation could not grow much worse, but surely taking part in a treasonous act is more dangerous than anything I could have imagined.
“’Tis true,” Solitaire Peep says. He seems pleased by my flattery. “Ask your questions, then.”
“Our Captain professes loyalty to England and our Queen. He commands that I sketch what I see, so Queen Anne can claim what is rightfully hers. I must know why it appears as if he has betrayed her.”
“You waste my time spewing nonsense, lad,” Solitaire Peep says. His voice is low and sharp. “Our Captain’s loyalty runs to the bone and cannot be questioned. Wag your tongue loosely and mayhap you’ll find yourself without it.”
I persist. “King Philip’s flag has been raised and Queen Anne’s lowered. The Captain has declared Destiny under Spanish rule, and I must know why.”
Solitaire Peep sighs heavily. “Your stupidness grows tiresome, boy. You must learn to use your head as a sailor would. We are in Spanish waters. ‘Twould be a cry for death to sail through flying the Cross.”
My eyes widen as Solitaire Peep’s words sink in. A ruse to fool the enemy; I had never considered such a thing. “We pose as Spaniards, then,” I say, a smile tugging at my mouth. “A brilliant idea!”
“Aye,” Solitaire Peep agrees. “In the Captain’s cabin is a chest with flags from every nation. In spring when we sail toward New France, we will hoist King Louis’s colors. Does that quell your wondering?”
I nod, embarrassed I hadn’t figured it out on my own. Solitaire Peep is right. From here on, I must try to think as a sailor would.
Satisfied with the answers I have been given, I grab some biscuits from the galley and hurry back on deck. I position myself near the bow and place the compass beside me. When the needle grows still, I begin to sketch a series of lines, first up and down, then across, trying to record the ship’s position in the way that the Captain taught me.
I look out over the water, unsure of what to draw next. Nothing lies before me except a bright blue sea. Surely the Captain meant for me to draw more than water.
The hours drag. As the sun grows stronger, I struggle to keep my eyes open. It feels if someone has placed a weight around my neck, and I let my head rest against the railing. I’m not sure how l
ong I’ve slept when I’m awakened by a sound—the cawing of a bird—that causes me to jerk my head upright.
I scan the sky but see nothing. Could I have dreamed the bird’s cry? I wait, but the sound doesn’t come again. Slowly, though, signs that we are nearing land begin to appear. Leaves and bits of broken limbs and bark float past. I call to Solitaire Peep to point out what I see. “Keep looking, boy,” he says. “You will soon see more than that.”
Then, just as the sun is starting to sink in the sky, a shoreline appears on the horizon. Destiny turns and gains speed, and I realize Solitaire Peep is going to run the ship along the shore. The urge to glimpse land overwhelms me, and I stand for a better look. My hair, bleached white from the sun, blows back from my face and sprays of salt water sting my eyes, but I don’t care. For the first time in weeks, land is in sight. Nothing else matters.
Standing on my toes, I lean far over the ship’s side, holding tightly to the railing to steady myself. I can see stumps of felled trees and dried seaweed strewn about the beach. The muddy scent of wet earth fills my nostrils, and I breathe in hard and close my eyes. They are still shut when Gunther leaves the cannons and charges across the deck. He grabs me by the shoulder and slings me away from the railing. “Get down, you fool!”
The edge of the rigging platform cuts into my back as I fall against it.
“Have you lost your mind, brat?” Gunther asks, looming over me. “Your flaxen locks will give us away!” Gunther’s hair has come loose from the tails he usually wears, and it blows wildly about his face like swarms of skinny black snakes.
I scramble to my feet, fists raised. “Keep your hands off me!”
Gunther leans in close. “I should kill you now,” he taunts. “You’ll lead us to death for sure.”
“If you kill me, you will hang,” I say, not bothering to lower my voice. “On land or ship, murder is a hanging crime.”
“’Tis,” Gunther says. “But I’ll not swing over the likes of you. A ship is a dangerous place.” He nods toward the tiller. “Old One-Eye’s proof of that.”
“The Captain has ordered that I serve as the ship’s sea artist,” I say. My chest heaves, but my voice sounds strong, and I am glad for that. “What accident will I have? Might I pierce a finger with my quill and bleed to death? Or do you hope the parchment will suddenly rise up like a serpent and strike my nose?” I force a laugh. “Take your threats elsewhere. You cannot harm me.”
Gunther grabs my wrist and wrenches it until the quill clatters onto the deck. “Do not mock me, brat,” he whispers. “I will pick my teeth with your lanky bones before this voyage is out.”
“You have no teeth to pick,” I say, lifting my head defiantly.
Gunther’s eyes open wide at the insult, and he twists my arm until I gasp in pain. No doubt he would have snapped it in half if Ratty Tom had not cried out suddenly.
“Ship ahead! Ship full ahead!”
The ship turns sharply in the water as the front rowers drop their oars and grab for the muskets and pistols beside their benches. Gunther knocks me aside and runs to the cannons. Someone clangs the ship’s bell five times to signal the approach of another ship. The last bell still echoes when the Captain charges onto the deck. He shouts skyward. “Can you call the flag?”
Ratty Tom raises his eyeglass. “Aye,” he says, “she sails for Philip.”
“Head for shore, Captain?” Gunther asks.
The Captain shakes his head. “We’ll hold steady. When they see we fly their king’s colors they will not pursue.”
I bend to pick up the quill, my stomach churning. Did the Spanish ship’s lookout see me hanging over the sides of the ship? Have I betrayed Destiny’s cover? The confidence I had felt earlier disappears Will my head float on the water come next dawn? My eyes strain to see across the water, but I can see nothing. The enemy vessel is still too far away to know if the Captain’s ruse has worked.
For the remainder of the evening, the Captain stays on deck, never moving far from Solitaire Peep’s side. Few words pass between them and those that do are for their ears only.
When the first stars appear, Cook brings the goat up on deck. She bleats for attention. “Can you milk her, lad?” Cook asks. “Supper’s late and the men will start bellowing if their bellies ain’t full.”
I take the bailing pail from the hook. The goat stands still while I milk, her trust in me sealed by the pieces of rotting vegetables I slip her each morning.
To ease the crew’s nerves, the Captain orders a cask of small ale be brought up from the storage room. Cups are passed around, along with cold slabs of biscuit. I pour the goat’s milk into an earthen jug, take my portion of food and ale, and go back to my station.
Soon, the Spanish vessel’s shadow falls upon the water beneath the full moon. I can’t be certain without an eyeglass, but it looks to be a four-masted merchant. Such ships carry large crews and can hold many prisoners. Destiny cannot fight off such a ship.
Gunther has not come near me since the cry rang out. He is too busy preparing the weapons. He has gathered a collection of muskets and flintlocks, pikes, daggers, and small bags of grapeshot for the cannons, as well as the firepots Solitaire Peep made. Occasionally, he glances my way, but with the Captain on deck, he keeps silent. When our eyes meet, I see hatred.
At midnight, Jabbart clangs the bell twice to summon a change of watchmen. Solitaire Peep jerks his thumb at me. “Get some sleep, boy,” he says. “You’ll need it come morning.”
I cannot fathom sleeping while an enemy ship lies so near. “I shall stay on deck for a while,” I say.
“There is no need for you up here. Get below!” Peep commands.
Gunther has left the cannons to refill his cup with ale. He grins lopsidedly and points up to the man on the riggings. “Let the brat relieve Ratty Tom,” he says. “If he ain’t tired, let him work.”
Solitaire Peep raises an eyebrow. “Methinks not. He can barely climb a ladder without pitching forward.”
Gunther slurps loudly from his cup. “Worthless as driftwood,” he says.
I lift my chin at Peep’s reminder of my first day aboard ship when I fell on the stairs. “My head is healed,” I say. “I can climb as good as any man.”
“Mayhap some other day when the enemy isn’t near,” Solitaire Peep says, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “We have no time to fish you out of the water this night.”
“If the lad hangs on like I tell him, he won’t fall,” Gunther says. “What use is a sailor who cain’t climb the ratlines? Every man works onboard Destiny. Ain’t that right, Captain?” Gunther’s voice holds a challenge that is evident to all. Several of the crew stop what they are doing and listen.
The Captain doesn’t answer right away. He turns from the railing and gestures to Solitaire Peep. “Let Jameson try the lines,” he says. “It is time he learned. He can see as well as any if the ship turns toward us.”
Solitaire Peep quickly waves Ratty Tom down. I watch intently as he swings off from the ship’s tallest yard and scrambles down the lines, one hand over the other, his feet hooking the rigging. It doesn’t look too hard, I say to myself, as the man drops with a loud thud onto the deck.
“Think you can do it, lad?” Solitaire Peep asks, handing me the eyeglass.
I nod. I have no choice now.
“Loop a rope around his waist,” the Captain says to Gunther. “Keep a tight hold on the end should the lad stumble.”
Gunther snorts loudly. “The other mates go it alone.”
“I need no rope,” I say quickly.
“Do not question me,” the Captain says, his voice as cold as the night’s wind. “Loop the rope as I say.”
“Tie it around him!” Solitaire Peep picks up a rope from the ship’s deck and tosses it to Gunther. “You put us at risk with your whining.”
I hold my breath and look over Gunther’s shoulder as he wraps the thick roping around my waist.
“Keep your eyes skyward,” Solitaire Peep says.
The eyeglass in my pocket bumps against my leg as I start up the ropes.
One hand above the other, then the feet, then the hands, I think as I carefully work my way up the rigging. Halfway up, my foot slips and I kick frantically, trying to latch onto the ropes. Forgetting Solitaire Peep’s warning, I look down into the rolling black sea. The biscuit I ate earlier surges into my throat. I cling to the lines, unable to go any farther.
“Keep going!” Solitaire Peep yells. “Get on the lines before the other ship is upon us!”
I am frozen, unable to think. Flushes of heat flood my body. My hands grow moist and slide on the rope. I tighten my grip. Swallowing hard, I look up and am dismayed to see that I have made it only halfway up to the yard. I try again to move up, but my hands refuse to let go of the rope.
“The lad’s scared,” Gunther says, laughing. “Might be he needs me to come up and carry him down like a babe in arms.” He shouts to me. “Want me to fetch you down, laddie?”
“Shall I send him up, Jameson?” the Captain yells. “Do you need to be carried down?”
Breathing hard, I shout back, “I have a cramp in my side, that is all!”
Tears sting my eyes. I want to believe they are from the wind. I blink fast and swallow the bile that has filled my mouth. Slowly, I lift my foot from the rope and place it on the one above it. Without thinking of what I am doing, or what lies beneath me, I continue upward. Finally, I reach the top. The yard swings before me, and I grab it and wrap my arms around it. My breath comes in small gasps.
“Can you see the other ship?” the Captain calls.
Holding on tightly with one hand, I carefully pull the eyeglass from my pocket and raise it to my eye. The moon’s glow lights the water. My heart beats faster as the Spanish ship looms into view.
“Aye!” I yell. Ashamed at the quake in my voice, I clear my throat and add, “She’s a Spanish merchant to be sure. King Philip’s flag waves strong.”
Privateer's Apprentice Page 7
