“Can you count the cannons?” Gunther shouts.
The question is a ridiculous one, for most merchants carry a half-dozen or more. Gunther is asking so that I am forced to hang one-handed from the rigging. Muttering beneath my breath, I begin counting. “Eight, perhaps ten!” I yell down. “She dips in the water and I cannot be sure.”
“We must know if she turns,” Solitaire Peep says. “Settle in and keep an eye on her. ’Twill be a long night, for sure.”
Fear of falling into the churning sea overcomes my need for sleep. I wrap my arm through the lines attached to the mast and lean against it as I watch through the eyeglass. I gauge the passage of time by the rising moon. From time to time, passing clouds blot out the moonlight, and I am left in darkness. As the night deepens, the wind grows stronger and skims the water. I use my sleeve to wipe the spray from my face and blow hot air from my mouth to warm my hands. The noise on the ship grows dim until only the whistle of the wind blowing between the sails breaks the silence. I know that below me, others watch and listen, for the Captain would never put the safety of his ship into only my hands, but I feel proud that I am Destiny’s chief lookout on a night when the enemy is near.
With the eyeglass, I find the hull of the Spanish merchant. In the darkness, I cannot see more than shadows, but I wonder if across the way, a sailor stares back, waiting for Destiny to make the first move. Below me, I hear Gunther’s voice, and my mind turns back to the moment earlier when I spotted land and ran to the railing. Though I hate to admit that Gunther is right, I had put the ship at risk. When this night is over, I vow to ask Cook if we can try to net a squid. If we do, I’ll rub its ink from root to end so my hair won’t announce my English blood.
When dawn breaks, the Spanish ship still has not drawn closer. I hear voices below me as the crew wakes. Curiosity draws my eyes downward and I see Gunther yawning and stretching near the cannons. He stumbles to his feet as the Captain comes over to inspect the guns.
“Climb down, lad,” Solitaire Peep calls to me. “You’ve done a good job.”
Peep’s praise and a night spent hanging on the rigging have boosted my confidence. I place the eyeglass securely in my pocket and start down the roping. My legs feel stiff, and I stop for a minute to let the blood flow back into them. Soon, though, I am moving nimbly along as if I have climbed the lines my entire life. I sense those on deck watching me, and I am glad. Perhaps now they will see I am an able sailor.
The wind is strong, and every now and then I have to stop until it dies down enough for me to go on. When I have made it almost to the bottom, I pause and glance down to gauge the distance from the ropes to the deck. Only a few feet remain from where I need to let go. I envision Ratty Tom’s jump, how he had leaned sideways toward the deck as he neared, so that he had a clear landing. I take a deep breath and move my hands to the outside of the ropes so that they don’t get tangled when I make the leap. I feel a slight tugging at the ropes at my waist that causes me to look down. Gunther is staring up at me. Our eyes meet, and I see a smile playing on his mouth. “Watch your step, lad!” he yells up to me. “There’s sharks at port!”
His words startle me, and I jerk back awkwardly. One foot slips from the roping, throwing me off balance. I kick frantically to find something for my foot to grip, but the wind pushes my body outward like a sheet flapping on a line. I feel the safety tether slipping from my waist, but there is nothing I can do to stop it. Below me, I hear Solitaire Peep shouting, and then I hear the Captain shouting too, but their words are lost on the wind. My arms feel as if they are being pulled from the sockets as the weight of my body pulls me downward. I try to tighten my grip but I can’t hold on anymore. I scream as my fingers open and I tumble down into the ocean.
CHAPTER TEN
I hit the water hard, and the sea quickly swallows me. Churning my arms, I right myself and swim toward a bright patch above me. I break through and gulp air, choking on the salty water that fills my throat.
Through blurred eyes, I see Solitaire Peep leaning over the ship’s railing near the bow, waving a flaming torch back and forth over the sea. “Swim to me, boy!” he shouts. I kick hard, heading for the ship.
Gunther’s voice rises above the others. “Poor lad will make a fine meal for our finned friends this day!” As his words register, my eyes dart quickly over the water, but it appears as smooth as poured silver.
“They be at port!” Solitaire Peep shouts, sweeping the torch toward the side of the ship. I turn my head; in the fiery orange light of the torch, I see four fins lined up like a row of black sails.
Gasping, I try to swim faster, but the current pushes me away from the ship. My right leg feels odd, as if someone has weighted it with a stone; I cannot will it to move with the rest of my body.
“Swim faster!” Peep screams, waving the burning piece of wood as if a demon possesses him.
“The current!” I gasp, trying to keep my head up. “It’s pushing me back.” Salt water seeps between my clenched teeth, and I tilt my head higher.
“They’re scenting him!” Gunther yells, his voice filled with excitement.
I watch all on the ship’s deck turn toward the sharks. Horrified, I see that two have broken away from the others and are gliding toward me.
“Help me!” I scream, pulling hard toward the ship, my injured leg dragging uselessly through the water. I choke as water fills my mouth and nose. My flailing slows as I feel darkness slipping in; a sudden warmth floods through me and brings with it the memory of another day. I see my father standing before the type board in the back of the shop, picking letters from the lower row. I am standing beside him, listening as he teaches me about the importance of keeping the type properly organized. The memory feels wonderful, and I stop struggling in the water, eager for more memories to come.
I slip beneath the surface just as the sea explodes. Geysers of water shoot into the air. Shaken from my dream, I push myself toward the surface. A second firepot explodes beside me, spraying nails and bits of glass. Pain knifes through my shoulder and leg. I feel a fierce tugging on my shirt. I am certain a shark has me. With all the strength I have left, I lash out. My fist connects with flesh.
“Don’t fight me, Jameson,” the Captain commands in a voice that is low and calm. “We’ll both drown if you do.” With one arm looped around my chest, he swims with me toward Destiny. Exhausted and unable to use my arm or leg, I allow myself to be pulled along. When we reach the ship, Solitaire Peep tosses a grappling hook into the water. The Captain grabs the hook and pulls us toward the ship.
On deck, I kneel, retching up the water I swallowed.
“Aye, spit it out, boy,” Solitaire Peep says, pounding me on the back. “You’ve gulped down half the sea.”
Gunther bends low. “We should’ve left you there,” he hisses. “The Captain risked his life and we ours. We wasted precious firepots trying to save your worthless hide.”
“Leave him and watch his body be torn to pieces?” The Captain unbuttons his dripping shirt. “I would have done the same for any of my men.”
“He brings nothing to this ship but trouble,” Gunther says angrily. “Can’t even climb down the ratlines properly.”
“He wouldn’t have fallen had you tied a proper knot.” The Captain’s voice is hard and accusing. “I could lay this at your feet.”
Gunther draws back quickly. His eyes narrow into thin slits. “Surely you don’t blame me for the brat’s bumbling. I tied a proper knot; could be the boy fiddled with it during the night and loosened it up.”
“Perhaps,” the Captain says. “That is a question I’ll ask Jameson later. Now go summon Cook and tell him to bring needle and thread before I put you in irons for your loose tongue.”
“Aye, tell him he’ll need a yard of thread this time,” Solitaire Peep says, yanking his dagger from its sheath. With a quick flip of his wrist, he slices open my sleeve. “The lad’s arm looks like a pincushion and the kicking part of his leg is bent bad.”
When Cook sees the blood running down my arm, he clucks his tongue and gets to work quickly. He has brought a bottle of rum up from storage, and he yanks the plug with his teeth and splashes the golden liquid over my shoulder. I gasp as he spreads the skin of my arm apart and places small metal tongs around the head of the nail from the firepot. I feel cold metal against my skin and then fire as he yanks upward, pulling the nail from my wound.
“Give it here,” Solitaire Peep says, putting out his hand. “The boy’s English blood will mix with the enemy’s next time these are used.”
The sun is fully risen by the time Cook removes the last nail. I moan as he lifts my arm close to his face and examines it in the sunlight. His hands are slick with blood.
“Are you done?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “The nails are gone, but I’ve got to unbury the glass and clay and then stitch you up.” He pulls from his pocket the thin-bladed knife he used to pluck the hens. Tiny white feathers and bits of greasy skin cling to the blade. He wipes it quickly across his breeches. “Best I heat the tip to help sear the wound,” he says.
Solitaire Peep shakes his head. “We cain’t chance a spark will blow into the sails in this wind.”
Nodding, Cook splashes more rum on my arm. I yelp as the fire spreads to my shoulder.
“You wouldn’t be wailing if we had a cow’s tongue to lay across your wounds to lap the pain,” Cook says. “At slaughtering time, me mum always saved the cow’s tongue for just that reason.” He pauses and mops at the trickles of blood that are dripping onto the deck. “Course, if you ain’t got a cow’s tongue, a wild boar’s tongue works second best.”
He works slowly, probing with the tip of his knife around each bit of glass or clay until it is loosened and his fingers can grasp it. Every so often, he stops to wipe his fingers on my shirt and then he begins again. From time to time, the pain causes everything to go black, and I let the darkness take me.
When Cook has removed all the glass and clay he can find, he reaches for the threaded needle.
“Clench your teeth, boy,” Peep says as he pinches the wound together for Cook to sew. I keep my eyes closed while he stitches me up, moaning softly when the needle jabs through the skin.
When he finishes stitching, Cook turns his attention to my leg. He removes the eyeglass still in my pocket and hands it up to Solitaire Peep. With the tip of his knife, he slices the leg of my breeches up the middle and then rips apart the fabric so that my leg is exposed. He feels along the calf for breaks until he is satisfied there are none. Then he presses in hard with his thumb, stopping just below my knee. “The bone’s wiggled out of its holder,” he announces. Placing one hand upon my knee and the other hand on the calf, Cook gives a quick twist of his hands, as if he is wringing out a wet rag, and the bone settles into the joint with a loud pop. I feel a sharp pain, and then surprisingly nothing more than a dull ache.
He hobbles to his feet. “The sun will dry out the wounds. Best he stays up on deck for the next few days.”
“Take him below,” Solitaire Peep says.
“The sun will pull the poison from the wounds faster,” Cook argues.
“Maybe, but the Spanish ship hovers like a hawk above a nest. If she attacks, the boy will be in the way.” He beckons to Jabbart. “Help Cook take him below. He’s no use to us today.”
“He’s no use to us any day,” Gunther mutters as Jabbart and Cook carry me past him to the hatch.
Left alone in storage, I drop into a deep sleep. When I awake, I am unsure of how much time has passed. Night has fallen and has brought with it a full moon that casts deep shadows into the storage room. Rising up from my pallet, I slump against the wall and run my hand lightly over my leg, wincing when I feel around my knee. My arm hangs free from my shirtsleeve, and in the dusky light I see blood oozing from my wounds. I count six stitches and wonder that it’s not more. My arm burns as if someone has poured hot pitch over it, and I cannot lift it above my chest.
I think back to the moment I fell into the water, and my face grows warm with shame. Can I do nothing right? Had the Captain not jumped in to save me, I would have drowned or been torn to pieces by the sharks. The Captain risked his life to save me. I close my eyes and am still thinking about that when I lie back on my pallet and drift off to sleep.
The clanging of the ship’s bell and the sound of steps thudding overhead startle me awake. I lie still for a moment, disoriented in the darkness. Again the bell rings, the noise muted by the ship’s thick-planked floors. On the fourth clang, I bolt upright and hold my breath. Three clangs of the bell calls a storm and four warns of a fire or the taking on of water. Five bells signal the approach of an enemy ship.
As the fifth bell sounds, footsteps thud above on deck. My heart begins to pound. “It is only the Spanish ship turning in the water,” I murmur. “Nothing to fret about.” But an eerie silence has invaded the ship, and I know the crew has taken to their posts. Solitaire Peep has led us in enemy-sighting drills from time to time, and the routine was always the same. It is easy to imagine the scene above my head. The rowers still hold their oars, but their flintlocks and daggers are within reach. The lookouts have abandoned their positions on the ratlines so that they are not the first target for the enemy’s pistol. Now they crouch behind barrels, their eyeglasses scanning the moonlit water. Either the Captain or Solitaire Peep is at the tiller, while the other paces the deck giving commands.
I rest my head against the crate. Perhaps the bell had clanged five times in error. Maybe the ringer had lost count. I want to believe that, but in the deepest part of my mind, I know there has been no mistake. The Spanish captain has seen through Destiny’s ruse and has turned his ship toward us.
With my good arm, I grab hold of a thick rope of onions that dangles from the beam and pull myself up. My clothes are in tatters. My shirtsleeve hangs open off my shoulder and my trousers leg is slit to the ankle. The blood on my clothes has dried dark and crusty, but I give the stains no mind as my hands fumble with a button near the collar. My injured leg feels stiff and sore as I move toward the door, but it holds me up.
Solitaire Peep and the Captain both turn as the hatch squeaks open. Seeing me, the Captain frowns. “You have no place up here.”
“I heard the bell clang five times,” I say, looking out over the water. My breath catches; the Spanish ship’s silhouette looms in the near distance. “Will they attack?”
Solitaire Peep shrugs. “If they are well armed with shot and flint, perhaps. If they are heading to Havana for supplies and their need is great, mayhap they will pass us by.”
“When will we know?”
Ferdie, who stands nearby, scoffs at my question. “You’ll know when the guns explode. Or do you think they will tie a note to a gull’s leg and send it over to us?”
Ignoring him, I ask, “Are we to wait until they fire at us? Surely it would be better to fire first.”
The Captain shakes his head. “Haste costs lives. We will bide our time.”
With both vessels wary of drawing closer, it is past dawn before the Spanish ship finally moves within clear view of the Destiny. Ratty Tom whispers, “There’s movement on deck.” He raises his eyeglass again, squinting against the sun. “Aye, they’re pulling cannons to the edge of the railing.”
“A bluff, perhaps,” Solitaire Peep says softly. “To let us know they are ready to fight.”
“Do they appear ready to strike the flint?” the Captain asks.
“Too many crowd the cannons,” Ratty Tom says. “I cannot see clearly.”
Gunther snorts. “’Twill be too late when we know for sure.”
Ratty Tom looks again. “I count six cannons in front and six more in the back.”
Twelve cannons—four more than Destiny carries.
Solitaire Peep snatches the eyeglass from Ratty Tom and places it against his good eye. “Aye, she hugs the water close,” he murmurs.
I move beside him. “I don’t understand.”
; Peep passes me the eyeglass. “The ship sits low in the water. No doubt she is heavily armed because she bears treasures for King Philip.” He smiles slightly. “Her spoils slow her down. ’Tis unlikely she could give chase and win.”
Gunther scowls. “So we are to run instead of fight?”
The Captain hands the tiller off to Ferdie. “We will see her intent before we make our move. If Destiny can get through to Hispaniola without a fight, Queen Anne is better served.”
I raise the eyeglass again and position it on the Spanish ship. I see dozens of men scurrying about on the deck. I move the glass to port and see a flurry of movement. Several of the enemy crew have turned to stare at Destiny.
“Call what you see, Jameson,” the Captain says.
“They watch us,” I whisper. My breath catches as the Spanish captain comes into view. He wears a full uniform sewn in the yellow and garnet colors of the House of Bourbon. Sunlight glints off the silver sword hanging at his side.
“They watch to see if we are loyal to King Philip as our flag declares,” Solitaire Peep explains. “When they see our crew wears Queen Anne’s colors, they will have their answer.”
“Why did we not change?” I ask, thinking of the many crates of clothes below deck, enough to disguise the entire crew.
“The Captain had given the command to do so when you fell,” Ferdie says. “’Twas likely witnessed by all. Any fool with an eyeglass would have seen you and the Captain in the water.”
“Aye, brat,” Gunther says. “You’ve spoiled it for us.”
My face burns. I wait for Peep and the Captain to challenge Gunther’s words, but they remain quiet. I open my mouth to defend myself and then close it. There is nothing I can say. Gunther’s prediction has come true. I have brought the devil’s luck upon them.
I watch in silence as the Spanish captain comes to stand at the railing. Through the eyeglass, I can see his lips moving as he speaks to his crew. Whatever he says causes his men to step away from the cannons, except for the master gunners who maintain their positions. With his eyes fixed upon the Destiny, the Spanish captain raises his arm high above his head.
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