In the Belly of the Bloodhound: Being an Account of a Particularly Peculiar Adventure in the Life of Jacky Faber

by L. A. Meyer

"Which means?" asks Dolley, eyebrows up.

  "Which means they intend to stay below the sea-lanes and out of sight as much as possible. It also means that our time is growing shorter."

  Dolley and Clarissa are considering this when Constance Howell walks up next to us and says, "I am planning on forming a prayer group. Do I need your permission for that?" she asks, looking down her nose. Of all the girls, she has resisted the three-division, three-officer setup the most.

  "That will be all right, as long as it doesn't interfere with your other duties," I say. Clarissa and Dolley nod in agreement.

  "Good," replies Constance. "We shall pray for our deliverance," she says smugly. "And for your salvation," she adds, looking pointedly at me. "You are all invited to join us"

  Clarissa snorts and waves her off contemptuously, but I don't let it go. "Pray for deliverance? Don't you think God would like us to get out of this ourselves? He must get awful annoyed with those prayers coming up at Him all the time."

  "Do not blaspheme, Miss," says Connie, sternly.

  I sigh and think, Did anyone ever have less use for me? "I am not being disrespectful, I am just thinking."

  "If we are to be saved, it is God who will deliver us, not you, Miss Faber, and don't let your pride make you think otherwise." She's really getting hot now. Christina King, Catherine Lowell, and Minerva Corbett are lurking in the shadows behind her. That must be the prayer group.

  "Well, He might help," I say, in a musing way. "But then again, He might not. Maybe He is testing you, Constance Howell, to see how much you can take and still remain devoted to Him. Think of poor Job, in the Bible—sores all over his body, his crops fail, his wife and sons and daughters die, and still he remains faithful to his God. Hey, Connie, maybe God hasn't even started on you yet. Maybe He'd like to see how you hold up spiritually when you're on the auction block? Ever think of that?"

  She spins on her heels and goes off in a huff.

  "All right. Back to business," says Dolley.

  "Right," says I. "Anyway, we've got to get moving on things."

  "But what else can we do, besides the carving?"

  "Well, I've been thinking. The lookouts report that this is not a happy ship: There's the Captain, Mate, and Chubbuck ... they've got no use for Sin-Kay, who doesn't like them any more than they like him. And then there's the crew ... they ain't exactly a gang of good friends, either—there's little groups of 'em who hang together and don't mix much with the others."

  "So?" asks Clarissa, idly chewing on a fingernail.

  "So I say we turn 'em against each other even more—get 'em distrustful, nervouslike ... make 'em think they're on an unlucky ship. There's nothing more superstitious than a sailor, I can tell you that. Katy tells me some of the crew have been listening to our singing and storytelling at night—we might be able to use that. And if we get 'em turned against each other, they won't fight as a group when we make our break. See?"

  Both Dolley and Clarissa nod, so I continue. "I'll work on the crew, first through Mick and Keefe. Then, well, we'll see what develops. Clarissa, keep needling Sin-Kay, but be careful, you don't want to push him too far."

  Clarissa grins. "It'll be an absolute pleasure," she purrs.

  "How are your divisions?" I ask. We report on the divisions every day.

  "Mine's all right," answers Dolley. "Wilhelmina had the sniffles, but she's better now. A few of them are down in the dumps, but you know how that goes."

  "Well I know," I say. "I still can't get Elspeth to come back around."

  "Let her die," says Clarissa. "The dirty little snitch"

  "Now, Clarissa," I begin, but I'm interrupted by the sight of Judy Leavitt's head appearing at the edge of the Stage. She wipes sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. It's plain she's been working down below at the Rat Hole.

  "Jacky, come look. We got past that big knot and are into some really soft wood now. A big chunk just came out."

  We leap down into the Pit to go under the Stage to the Hole. Caroline, who has continued to work the edge with the knife, stops when I lay my hand on her shoulder and whisper, "Caroline, get up and let me look."

  I gasp in delight. They have made amazing progress. There's easily enough room now for me to poke my head through. "Beautiful work!" I whisper. As the Hole has gotten bigger, we have made a rule that only whispers can be spoken down at the work site, so that anyone who chances to be outside of that room beyond the Rat Hole doesn't pick up our voices. Everyone knows that if the Hole is discovered, we are lost.

  I go down on my belly and stick my head through and wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I give it a good five minutes, but all that swims out of the gloom is a faint strip of light at floor level off to the right. My suspicion that it's the crack under a door is confirmed when the light flutters, as if someone had just walked past. Please don't come in, not yet! But they walk on, and all is well. I let out my breath and slide back out.

  "I can't see anything," I say to the waiting girls as I get to my feet. "I'll have to get light. Keep carving in that direction there. At this rate I'll be able to get all of me through soon."

  Caroline drops down and I look at her for a moment. I've noticed that some of these girls are getting right fit, what with the short rations and the dance exercise and all, which is good. When we make the final break, we'll need all the strength we can muster, because even if everything goes right, it still ain't gonna be easy.

  I go over to the hidey-hole that holds my seabag and I thrust my arm down into the bag and pull out one of my two candles and my flint striker. I usually kept the striker on board the Star for lighting my spirit stove, but on the day of the picnic I had brought it with me, thinking we might have a jolly campfire on the island. Well, we didn't have that, but I am damned glad to have this here with me now.

  The girls have been told to keep the chips from the Rat Hole work in a pile off to the side, and from that pile I separate the tiniest shavings and form them into their own little pile. Squeezing the striker, I send a spark down into the tinder. It glows, but then winks out. I try again, and this time the spark stays and smoulders. I blow on it and it flutters into flame and I quickly stick the wick of my candle into it, and when it catches, just as quickly do I snuff out the tinder blaze with my cupped hand. Can't have anybody smelling smoke—fire on board is the one thing that sailors fear above all other things...'cept maybe ghosts.

  Taking the lit candle back to the work site, I again crouch down in front of the Rat Hole, and after a quick check to make sure no one has come into that dark outer room, I stick the candle as far into the Hole as I can. It is a squat candle and I put it down without fear of it tipping. I do have other fears, though.

  "I am quite sure that the room next to us is not the powder magazine, but I cannot be sure. If it is, and the candle ignites it, then I hope to see you all in Heaven." There are some nods, and not a few hands go into the prayer position, as I duck down again and stick my head in the Hole.

  It is not the powder magazine. It seems to be the carpenter's storeroom, and we could not have hoped for a better find. It is full of lumber and spars for repairing the ship, but if nothing befalls this voyage, then the place would be seldom used. I turn my head and see a wall of tools, like saws and augers and such ... There's a hammer, and there's plenty of nails of all sorts about ... Ah, and Katy, there is a pile of brand-new battens, just like you asked for.

  I pull back out, then reach in and retrieve the candle. I blow it out and tell them what I saw. Then I go meet with Clarissa and Dolley, and when I do, we decide to go to round-the-clock work on the Rat Hole. We each present it to our divisions, and the girls, even though they know they will be working by feel in the pitch dark among the rats and their own private fears, agree. I could not be prouder of them. As if on cue, the bells are rung and the flaps come down.

  I stay on the Stage as the girls feel their way by me on the way to their kips. Everyone's getting real good at blind-man's bluff.

/>   I glance up in the direction of the starboard-side flaps, and even though I can't see them up there listening, I know they are there. And have I got a dandy for them tonight. When all are settled, I clear my throat and begin...

  "'Be gentle with me, Robin. Treat me like a lady,' said I, as I reached for him. He ripped off his jacket and was fumbling with the laces on his shirt when there came a furious pounding on the door.

  "'Lieutenant Faber! The Captain wants you in his cabin right now!' I recognized the voice as ... yes, well, I recognized the voice as belonging to Private Rodgers, one of the ship's two Marines.

  "I rose from the bed and put my hands on Robin's sagging shoulders. 'I'm sorry, Robin, I really am,' I whispered, so the Marine outside couldn't hear. 'Kiss me one more time and then I must dress and go...'"

  "Now, that is the last straw!" shouts Constance Howell, from somewhere on the starboard Balcony. "This is completely obscene! You were ... were unclothed in front of that boy and yet you would stand and kiss him?"

  "Do you want me to tell what happened, or shall I lie, Connie?" I ask quietly. "If everybody wants me to stop, I will." I wait for a reply and hear none. "Fine, I'll stop," I say, heading back to my kip. "I don't need this."

  Now there are murmurs of "No ... no..."

  Then, out of the dark comes Clarissa's slow drawl, "Whyn't you jus' hush up, Sister Constance, and let her tell her lies? They are mildly entertainin', you'll have to agree, even though I don't believe even half of 'em. I mean, what boy in his right mind would want to kiss her, even if she was butt naked?" She waits a beat before continuing, "Especially if she was butt naked."

  That gets a real laugh, and then there are cries of "Hear, hear!" and "Press on, Jacky!" and I swear I hear a guttural male voice from outside the flaps say, "Aye, let 'er tell it. It's just gettin' good."

  "And you don't have to listen, Connie dear," Clarissa continues. "You can go far enough forward so you won't hear her scandalous little ol' story. Try sayin' the Lord's Prayer over and over again. That should do it. But jus' you say it to yourself, if you please."

  There is heard a disgusted oh! from Connie's direction and the sound of someone turning over and probably clapping of hands over her ears.

  "Go on, Jacky," I hear Dolley say, and I go back out to my spot and lift my voice again.

  "I dressed myself and went out, and the Marines collected me and took me to the Captain's cabin.

  "Captain Scroggs was seated at his table, with a bottle and two glasses in front of him. It was plain he had already been into the spirits, as his face was even more puffed and florid than it was before. Sit down, girl, and have a drink,' he said, shoving the glass in front of me.

  "From outside I could hear a deep humming ... Hmmmm'...coming from the throats of the men in the rigging ... my friends, who were giving the Captain a warning, a warning that mutiny was imminent if he didn't change his ways. Thanks, lads, I thought, but too late for me...

  "'Hmmmmmm...'"

  Chapter 32

  "You will be cheered to know, ladies," says Sin-Kay with some satisfaction, "that we have completed a good third of our journey. Soon you will be secure in your new homes, with your new masters, your new life. Adams!"

  "Here."

  "Alden!"

  "Here."

  And so on down the line, past me, to...

  "Goodwin!"

  No answer. Dolley and Martha have her propped up between them.

  "She's here," says Martha for her.

  Sin-Kay looks at the listless Elspeth. He puts his pencil under her chin and lifts her face. "You'd better get this one back on the line soon, or it's the fleshpots for her. Or over the side, one or the other."

  "We'll take care of her," says I. "She'll get better."

  He slides his eyes over to me. "Ah. Smart-mouth. Well, I expect to see some improvement soon, or else. Hawthorne!"

  "Here," says Martha.

  "Howe!"

  "Here Ah is, Massa Sinkey."

  He brings his gaze to rest on Clarissa. Using little strips of petticoat cloth, she had tied up her hair in little pigtails sprouting all over her head. She also wears an idiot's silly grin.

  "What is this, then?" he asks, not amused.

  "Why, Massa Sinkey, Ah thought you'd like me this way, gettin' ready to be a nice little ol' pickaninny fo' some big bad sultan!"

  There are side-glances and snickers from the girls in the line. And I think I hear a laugh from out on the deck.

  "Have your fun then, Blondie," says Sin-Kay, "but the end will be the same. Howell!"

  He goes on down the list. When he is done, he snaps the notebook shut and leaves. "No ration for Blondie today," he says to Nettles before the cage door locks behind him.

  "Don't want yo' slops, no how, Massa Stinkey," says Clarissa, sticking out her tongue. "You knows where you can shove 'em? Someplace where the sun don't shine, dat's where."

  Later, I get with Clarissa and tell her she did good in needling Sin-Kay that way, but cautioned her not to go too far, recalling the Cat. She nods, but I don't know if she took what I said to heart, because she is such a proud thing.

  After breakfast, we're back down on the job. Teams of girls had worked through the night, each pair knowing the ones to be awakened next, timed by the bells of the watch. They had to feel their way through the pitch dark, but they did it. We have gained much on the Rat Hole, and I get down now to try to wiggle through. The candle and tinder are close at hand, ready to light.

  "If I wiggle my toes, grab my ankles and pull me back fast," I whisper to those gathered about me. Then I kneel down and stick my hands in first, arms straight out before me. Then I drop to my belly and put my head through. It goes in easily enough and I pull with my hands and just manage to get my shoulders, then chest, through. Up on my elbows, I strain to pull my bottom after me, but I know it ain't gonna serve. No sense in getting stuck this early in the game. I wiggle my toes and feel hands on my legs, then I am pulled back out. And none too gently, either—my undershirt pulls up as I am dragged and raked across the raw, splintery wood of the Hole.

  "Damn," I whisper, sitting up and pulling down the chemise. "I wanted to get to those battens today. Well, keep at it and—"

  "Let me try, Jacky," comes a whisper from Rebecca, who has knelt next to me.

  I look over at her ... Hmmm ... She is the only one smaller than me.

  "All right," I say, "but you've got to be very quiet and careful."

  She nods, all big-eyed in the gloom.

  "It will be very dark in there, but we'll light the candle if you get through and I'll reach in with it and you'll be able to see. But if you hear anyone coming down the passageway, you've got to get back quick. Got it?"

  "Got it."

  "Now, when you get through there, you will see off to the right a stack of battens—thin whippy pieces of wood. Take ... how many, Katy?"

  "Three, for now, and check for cord," whispers Katy Deere.

  "Right. Here we go." I strike the flint and light the tinder and then the candle. Rebecca goes to the Rat Hole.

  She has no trouble at all getting her small self through. Note to self: Stop eating that layer of grease on top of the burgoo. As I see the soles of her feet disappear, I get down and put arm, candle, and head through.

  I see that she is standing already by the battens. She stoops down, picks up three, and slides them over next to me.

  "See any cord? Any twine?"

  "No. Not yet..."

  "Don't worry about it ... wait." I feel a tapping on my rump and I pull back out, leaving the candle in place. "What?"

  "Here. Let me look," says Katy, then her head and one arm go through the hole.

  In a moment I hear some muffled whispering. Then an eternity of worry goes by, and finally, Katy slides back out and in her hand is a chisel. She puts it to the side and reaches back in and this time pulls out a mallet. Then the three battens are taken through—one long, two short. Then the snuffed candle, then Rebecca's face, the
n the rest of her. She sits up cross-legged, quivering with excitement.

  "You done good, girl," says Katy. "Good as any Injun."

  Rebecca beams under the praise. She knows that words are rare from Katy Deere and that Katy means what she says when she does speak.

  It seems that Katy looked at the tools arrayed on the wall and directed the girl to the things she would need, then Rebecca went over and got them and passed them down.

  "No string, though," says Rebecca, sorrowfully.

  "Don't worry, dear," says I. "I have string."

  "Good," says Katy Deere, and she reaches back into the Rat Hole and comes back with four of the nails I had discovered before, lying scattered on the floor of the beautiful, and most bountiful, storeroom. "These'll do for starters. I'll need the knife sometimes, so I'll work on these battens right here next to the big job."

  I go back to get my seabag and stick my arm in and rummage around deep in the bottom, for I know that what I am looking for has been there a long time. Ha! Got it.

  It is a packet of oiled paper that holds the fish lures that Professor Tilden, back on the Dolphin, had taught us to make and urged us to keep. Thanks, Tilly, for all you done.

  There are three lures, each of them brightly painted wood with a strong hook, and each of them attached to about twenty-five feet of strong, waxed cord. I choose one, untie the lure, and hand the cord to Katy.

  She takes it and chuckles. "What else you got in that thing, Jacky? Two, three hardware stores?"

  It is the first bit of humor I have ever heard from her. First time I've heard anything like a laugh, too.

  "Just the essentials, Katy, that's all I ever carry."

  Katy had set up her project well to the side of the business at the Rat Hole, so that the sounds of her work would not be heard by any of our captors on the other side. Fascinated, I sit down to watch her.

  First, she chooses one of the short battens, the one with the straightest grain—one whose lines went right up parallel, from top to bottom—and lays it flat on the deck. Then she draws a line about half an inch away from the long edge of the batten, using the pencil I had given Priscilla to draw up the duty roster. Taking up the chisel, she commences to place the business edge on that line and give its butt a bit of a hit with the mallet. The sound is not loud, but still she times the hit to occur when the chains clash against the side with the ship's rhythmic roll. I'll have to remember that little trick, I say to myself. She taps carefully along the whole length of the pencilled line till, finally, a nice long, straight strip pops off. Borrowing the knife for a moment, she splits one end and notches the other. While she has the knife, she takes up the long batten and puts a notch on each end and carves down the sides at the ends, making a graceful curve of the whole thing. Handing the knife back to the Rat Hole workers, she sets aside the long batten and turns again to the strip. She takes up one of the nails and puts it in the split end. These nails are about three inches long and are flat, since they are pounded out by a blacksmith and then cut to size. Katy takes a small length of the cord and separates the three strands, then takes one and wraps it around the wood that holds the nail and ties it down tight.