by L. A. Meyer
Just then the outer door opens and Rebecca Adams comes tumbling down the stairs to land on her hands and knees at my feet.
"I got all the way to the top of the highest mast before they got me," she exults. "And I was the last one caught! So, there!"
Part III
Chapter 36
It ain't been three days since the breakout, but things are moving right along.
The very night of that riotous day, we were blessed with a spirited gale that set the ship to rocking and the chains to rattling. We worked through the night on the Rat Hole cover, a whole gang of us down there under the Stage, marking off and sawing the boards to fit. As planned, we timed the saw thrusts with the crash of the chains against the sides. Clash/thrust! Pause ... Clash/thrust! and so on through the dark hours. Whilst the work was going on, and it was not my turn at the sawing, I crept over to try the storeroom door. Using my shiv and a thin file, I was able to open it easily. That's enough for now, I thought, as I closed it back up. No sense in rushing things. We must lay some more groundwork in the way of, well ... the highly developed sense of the superstitious in the common sailor.
Being able to figure out the workings of the latch and see the layout of the forepart of the ship from the other side of this door made the indignities suffered on that day well worth it. I get with Dolley and Clarissa and plans are made and we begin to carry them out.
Three boards stacked one on top of the other do the trick for the Rat Hole, with two screws on each board end to hold them in place. A crack in one of the massive knees of the ship is a perfect hiding place for the screwdriver, 'cause we'll need that close at hand when the time comes. The hidey-hole takes more time, since we've got to hide not only my seabag but five longbows and many arrows, as well. We rest much better, though, knowing this has been done.
In the ensuing days, we keep up our strength with a steady supply of freshly roasted millers. Ever since Katy first killed those millers, four more girls—Christina King, Hermione Applegate, Minerva Corbett, and my sturdy Rose Crawford—have shown themselves to be keenly interested in the bows and what they can do, and they are constantly at their new study. We do not lack for freshly killed rats.
I meet once again with Clarissa and Dolley and we talk it over and decide to go directly into the powder magazine from our side rather than through the side of the storeroom, which would have been easier because the wood is thinner there, but there would be more risk of discovery. I have a better, quicker way of getting through than with our old carve-with-my-shiv method, now that we've got access to the tools in the storeroom, but we decide to be cautious and make the covering boards before we make a single cut in that direction.
We set a new watch at the edge of the Balcony to alert us if anybody is coming down, so we will have time to get all boards back up should there be a surprise inspection. The girl on watch sits on the stairs to the Stage, keeping an eye on the gate. Should any of the crew unlock that gate and look to be coming through, that girl will loudly wail "Oh, Lord, save us!" which would alert the others to start milling about and acting like hysterical females, fainting and falling about and throwing themselves in the way of the approaching intruders. We practice this over and over again till we get it right. It is rather fun, and we get into giggling fits over it. We are getting ready. The time is coming soon.
Last night, after the story, which I'm just about done with, we all settled in, had the hymn of the evening, and those who say 'em said prayers.
Now I give Rebecca a nudge with my foot and she sits up and loudly recites, "Oh, Jacky! I'm just so scared!"
"Scared of what, dear?" I ask in return.
"I...I think I saw a ghost last night ... Down in the Pit!"
There is a common gasp from the girls ... and a few deeper ones from outside the flaps.
"Come now, Rebecca. We're all Christian girls here and we do not believe in ghosts."
"I know, I know...," she goes on breathlessly. "But I saw it, I really did. It was a little thing, all thin and dark ... like a skeleton, only black. It was sitting against the side and it had a chain around its neck and it was moaning ... like, Oooooooo...,' and it was rocking back and forth and had its face in its hands and kept going, Ooooooo...'"
"Stop it, Rebecca," orders Clarissa from across the way. "You're just upsettin' everybody. You didn't see nothin' of the kind. Just your silly imagination."
Rebecca starts crying, and I can feel her shoulders shaking. "Noooooo," she wails. "I'm sure I saw it. It was all black and scary, but it had like a red glow all around it, that's how I could see it in the dark! And there was a smell ... a smell like Hell is supposed to smell! Like sulfur ... like brimstone!"
"Now, Rebecca," I say, as if trying to placate the poor girl.
"No, I saw it. And I just know it's the poor lost soul of one of those poor slaves who died on the way over in this awful Hold! This awful, awful Hold!"
I put my lips down next to her ear and whisper, "All right, Rebecca, you little hambone, that's enough. Don't overdo it."
But she has one more thing to say. "And ... and as I watched it, it got up and walked right through the side of the ship! I know it's trying to find its way back to its home, and it can't, oh God, it can't! It's just so sad!"
There are some cries and whimpers from the other girls, just as we had all planned.
Now, let's see how that sets with the crew.
Chapter 37
It's a very subdued Mick and Keefe who come for the tubs the next morning. I'm sure the ghost story has gone through the ship like grain through a goose, and I'm equally sure they've been jumping at the sight of their own shadows, 'cause I know sailors, and right now this ain't a happy bunch of swabs, that's for sure.
"What's the matter, Mick? You ain't your usual jolly self today," I say as the clean water tub hits the deck. I give 'em their bit, thinking that we'd better leave soon, as I ain't got all that much left to show. Clarissa lolls about the Stage in plain view as before and it doesn't escape the crew's notice. We're probably the only bit of joy in their lives right now, I figures.
Mick doesn't say anything to that. Keefe just grunts.
"Cheer up, lads, the voyage will be over in a couple of weeks and you'll be either rich ... or dead," chirps I, bouncing on my toes and grinning up at him.
"You stop wi' that, you," growls Mick, and the hooks are jerked up and out and the hatch slammed shut.
Well ... that was a bit of all right, I'm thinking with some satisfaction. We had set up Rebecca's ghost story last night for a couple of reasons: One, to further put the crew on edge, and two, to cover for me when I go out into the ship in my burglar rig. I have to go out to do some things, and if I am spotted, I want them to think that I'm the Black Ghost. At least that's what I'm hoping, because I've got to go out there tonight.
But that's for later. For now, it's down to the work site.
Measuring the distance from the Rat Hole to the starboard side of the storeroom, we figure out that the back bulkhead of the powder room is centered about eight feet to the right of the Rat Hole. What we are confronted with there is plainly strong, thick slabs of wood set up between massive cross-braces, and it is there that we decide to go through.
After we make the covering boards to cover our mischief, I trace out a two-foot square on the planks with some carpenter's chalk I had found in the storeroom. Then we take a brace-and-auger with about a half-inch bit and drill a hole in the upper left corner. The good thing about the drill is that it doesn't make noise like a saw does. Leaning on the back of the brace and turning the auger, I feel it break through at about two and one-half inches. Pretty thick, I think, but we do have time on our side. When I pull the bit back out to start the hole in the opposite corner, I notice that there isn't just sawdust in its grooves—no, there is a blackish powder as well. I quick put my tongue on it, and sure enough, that old familiar smell and taste of sulfur and saltpeter—gunpowder! We are into a bag!
"No more candles when we're wo
rking around here or we'll all be playing on our harps up in Heaven," I say to the work party on duty. "No, we'll have to do this job in the daytime, but it should be quick—we'll drill a hole in each corner, then halfway between each and then halfway between each of those and so on till we've got a bunch of holes with only little bits of wood connecting them, then we'll run my shiv down and across and that square of wood'll pop out nice as you please. We'll keep the same work rotation as before, but you must switch the brace back and forth a lot—it's easy to get a blister doing this and we don't want that. All right? Let's go!"
While they're drilling, I meet with Clarissa and Dolley and tell them, "I figure we'll be into the powder magazine in a day or two, so I've got to get some things done tonight."
"What is it you have to do out there?" asks Dolley.
"Well, I have to see just how things lie. First, I'd like a look at the stars, to see how far south we are. It's clear out, so I should be able to get a good notion of that from the height of the North Star above the horizon. Then I need to pace off the entire escape route. And I'll want a look into the lifeboat we'll be taking—the one on the starboard side—to see what it's got in the way of food and water. I suspect none, but we've got to know. Also I've got to check out its rigging to see how it will be lowered. Hughie is simple so he's got to be told very plain how to do it when it comes to that. Lastly, we're going to have to disable the other lifeboat, so they won't be able to chase us down in that. I won't disable it now, though, 'cause it might be discovered. It'll be one of the last things we do."
Dolley nods, as does Clarissa. I look over at Clarissa and study her face. She has been quiet in the inspection line lately, as we have encouraged her to be. Sin-Kay has run his inspections very quickly, very sullenly, clearly smarting over the treatment he got on the day of the riot. It is now very clear that he, too, wants this voyage to be over. Clarissa doesn't talk much about that day, that day when she, too, felt the bite of the lash. She did not complain, she did not cry that day or night, but I noticed that the next day she cut a three-foot length of the bow cord and tied it loosely around her waist, so that it would always be at her hand.
We break up the meeting and I stand in the Pit and look about me. The drilling proceeds at the work site. A troupe of girls dances on the Stage, both for exercise and to cover any noise we might make below. Katy and the four girls she has chosen as fellow ratters sit below the Stage and work on their equipment before they head back out on the hunt. Dorothea has taken to calling them the Dianas, and soon everybody is. All the watches are at their stations—at the hatchway, on the Stage, and four on the Balcony. All is as it should be, all is in train.
That night, I end my story.
"...and the last I've seen of Jaimy was him standing at the rail of that ship, looking out at me as I steered the lifeboat and myself away from the scene of battle and my recent captivity. A burning hulk of a ship comes between us and I saw Jaimy no more.
"You all know the rest—how I came back to Boston and to the school. And here I am, as we all are."
I bow in the darkness and am gratified to hear the applause as well as more than a few stifled sobs.
When it dies down, I hear Hughie say behind me, "That was a good story, Mary. Now can you tell me one about how we used to be back with Charlie and the gang?"
Hmmm... I think on this. Storytime has been good for the morale of the girls, and what else can fill the time till we go? The girls all sense that it will be soon and they're getting jumpy. Can't have that.
"All right, Hughie," I say. "We'll do that tomorrow night. For now, let's everyone get some sleep."
Sleep for them, but not for me. Not much, anyway. When I'm awakened by the watch, at two in the morning, I disengage myself from Rebecca and Annie, stand, stretch, and head down to the Rat Hole. I'm already dressed in my burglar gear and have my shiv tucked in my belt. Sally Anderson and Beatrice Cooper were awakened a half hour earlier. They light the candle and open the Rat Hole for me.
"Oh, Jacky, do be careful," whispers Bea, placing her hand on my arm.
"I will be. You just be careful with that candle. Snuff it out as soon as I go through. Leave the screwdriver right next to the bulkhead, so when I get back I can put the boards up by feel. Then go to bed. I'll be all right."
I go through the Rat Hole and the light is snuffed out behind me. I feel my way through the darkness, to the door. There is no crack of light beneath it now, but that is good. I stand and put my shiv through the doorjamb and feel for the lever. When I've got it, I slide the thin file in above it and lift. Then I lift my shiv and the door swings open. I pull my watch cap down over my face.
I put both knife and file back in my waistband and step out into the passageway, turn right, and pace four steps to the ladder, my hands out in front of me. I touch the ladder and go up the eight steps. I stop and listen. So far no light, no sounds. When I reach the next level, I can see a faint glowing from above. That would be moonlight filtering in through the top hatch, it being left open on this calm night for what little air it can bring down to this stifling deck. I start the twelve steps along to the ladder leading out and go by the crew's quarters and hear them in there snoring in the hot, fetid dark. Worse than the Hold, I'm thinking, and that place is tough to beat when it comes to stink. I pass the galley on my left and climb the ladder to the blessed outside.
I pause there to take several deep breaths of the pure, clean air, and to look up at the starlit sky, something I have not seen for a long, long time. It is so quiet that I can hear my heart pounding in my chest at the sight of it all. The moon is rising clear and bright in the east. How I did miss seeing the majesty of the heavens wheeling about me in the night ... Well, enough of that. On to business.
I creep out of the hatchway and onto the deck and slink over to the cover of the anchor capstan—the huge, horizontal winch that, with the aid of eight big men on the capstan bars, pulls up the anchor when need be. By craning my neck, I can see most of the deck from here.
There's no one up forward, which is surprising to me—on a Royal Navy ship there was always a bow lookout, no matter what the conditions. The fact that I am alone up here gives me courage to pad across the deck and to peer around the hatch that houses us girls in the Hold, and to look back at the quarterdeck. I see three men there, the first being the helmsman, intent on steering his course by the compass and not looking at much else, and two others, sitting on the edge of the quarterdeck. As I am watching, one of the men gets up, stretches, and then heads for the bow, as if to make an inspection. Hmmmm...
I hunker down, out of sight, and watch his progress. He goes up to the foot of the bowsprit and sits himself down with a grunt.
I crouch low in the rigging and make myself observe intently for a full half hour to make sure no others are about. The man on the bow sits quiet for a bit and then I see his head slump forward on his chest and deep snores are heard. He's fast asleep, the lazy sod. Some lookout, the Royal Navy part of me sneers.
While I sit here, I look up at Polaris and see that it is about thirty degrees off the horizon, like one-third of the way from straight out level to straight above. A look down at the water with its islands of floating seaweed slipping by confirms my suspicions—we are in the Sargasso Sea, that region of the Atlantic above the trade winds and below the prevailing westerlies, that strange sea that is feared above all others by superstitious sailors, and there is no other kind of sailor. Stories of ghost ships, and of ghastly apparitions, and of other weird, unexplainable things fill their tales of this place, tales they tell one another in their dark holds at night to feed one another's darkest fears. I suspect the Captain decided to come this way because most ships avoided the Sargasso like the plague, but he would risk it to escape detection. But the sailors don't like it, I know they don't. And that could be good. Very good.
I head for the starboard lifeboat.
I first check out the davits—those hooked-over crane things from which the boat is hangi
ng. A hook goes to the bow and another to the stern, and lines run from those hooks up through the davits, to two small winches—the winches that Hughie will have to release to lower the boat. It will take some strength and I will have to drill him on it, over and over.
Now for the boat itself. Staying close to it, I feel around for how the canvas cover is attached. There is a single line, about a half-inch thick, that runs through grommets on the canvas and then around small cleats on the rail of the boat. Grommet, then cleat, grommet, then cleat, and so on along the whole length. It is not lashed all that taut, probably 'cause they want the canvas loose enough to catch as much water as it can when it rains. Good. That means the first girl to the boat—and right now I'm thinking it'll be Dolley—will be able to get the cover off easily, so's the girls can tumble right in.
I pull the line off the cleats to loosen up the canvas enough so's I can throw a leg up and over and climb in the boat. I lie there quiet for a while and then get up on my elbow and look about. Enough moonlight is coming in so I can see that there's three sets of oars. The mast juts up through the canvas cover and the sail boom is attached to it. I can see that it's a simple sloop rig, with a main and a jib. I'd have preferred a gaff or cat rig, but we'll get along with this. From asking around, I've learned that two of the girls, Hyacinth and Cathy, have some sailing experience, them being taught pleasure-sailing by their dads and brothers, so they will be the second and third in the boat so as to get the sail up and the boat ready to steer away. There's the main halyard right there ... and the downhaul ... and the mainsheet neatly coiled. Somebody on this godforsaken bark knows his job.
I crawl forward. There's a small cuddy up at the bow—more like a cowling, really, since it ain't got a hatch, but it should still prove useful. I feel around some more. Nothing. No tins of biscuits, no skins of water. Well, we'll see what we can do in that regard before we go.
