by Lisa Martin
“It’s a grand ship,” Cecil said. “When I look at a ship like this, I can’t deny I’d like to see where they go.”
“Don’t think about it,” Anton cautioned. “Come and hear the singing and you’ll never want to leave again.”
Somewhere nearby they heard the snap of a dry twig, or it could have been the crackle of a torch, or the creak of a stacked barrel. Whatever it was, in an instant the brothers vanished, and they didn’t stop running until they reached the town.
CHAPTER 4
Impressment
Why is it, Anton wondered, that when you’ve been to a place you love, and you try to share it with a friend, it’s suddenly a different place?
Anton slipped into the saloon storeroom quickly, scarcely ruffling his smooth gray fur. Cecil got his big head through the opening but then he was stuck. “It’s fine,” he said. “I can hear quite well from here.”
“But you can squeeze in if you try,” Anton urged him. “Just push in one shoulder at a time.”
“Easy for you to say; you’re as slim as an eel.”
“Just try. I’m sure you can squeeze in.”
Cecil pulled his head out, and for a moment, Anton thought he had given up, but then one white paw came through the narrow space, followed by a black shoulder. Then Cecil’s head, pressed tight against the other shoulder, shoved through. “Now you’ve got it,” Anton encouraged him. The back half of Cecil glided in. He sat up, looking dazed.
“I squashed my head,” he said, passing a paw over one ear. “This had better be good.”
The door was pushed to the wall with a barrel holding it in place so there was nothing to hide behind—not that anyone was looking into the storeroom. Two sailors were shouting at each other at one table and a woman was weeping at another while the bartender went up and down, muttering to his patrons as he filled their glasses. The brothers looked in, Anton dismayed and Cecil frankly disdainful. “Wow, I love that tune,” Cecil said.
Anton shot him a pained look. “They haven’t started yet.”
Cecil’s ears rotated front to back and he stretched his neck up, taking a slow breath. “There’s a mouse in here.”
“Ugh,” said Anton.
“It would give us something to do while we wait for the fabulous singing.”
“It would bring the barman on our tails,” Anton replied. “He’s not a kindly one.”
One of the shouting men rose from his table and threw his mug at the other sailor. The mug hit the floor and rolled into the storeroom. Cecil turned toward the loose board.
“That does it for me,” he said. “I’m sleepy. I want to be up and out on the water early. If you want to see what it is they sing about, you should join me.” And with that he nudged the board aside and, after a brief struggle, disappeared into the night.
Anton felt his spirits flag as his brother’s fluffy tail slipped away. He’d pictured Cecil swaying along with the music, admitting that it was better than he’d imagined it would be, but now he was gone. And of course in the next moment the stringed instrument let out a mournful wail and the singer launched into a ballad Anton recognized, as sad as it was sweet. He lay down by the barrel and curled himself into a ball, letting the music comfort him.
When Anton woke, the room was quiet. The whole saloon was dark, the barman was gone, and not a sailor in the place. A thin, milky light streamed in through the opaque glass in the front door. All the chairs were turned upside down on the tables, and there was a strong smell of vinegar in the air. Anton yawned and stretched, feeling foolish. How had he slept through the night without anyone noticing he was there? He crawled out through the opening and stood in the alley. The air was fresh and briny, and the light was so soft it looked as if the shops lining the dirt road had been painted with a pink brush. Anton took a deep breath, thinking again of his brother. Cecil’s parting words came back to him. He was out there on the wharf right now, no doubt, waiting for the fishermen to come clambering up the gangplank, calling him “lucky” and welcoming him aboard. “If you want to see what it is they sing about,” Cecil had said, “you should join me.”
Anton darted through an alley at the end of the lane and came out on the wharf near the harbormaster’s office. Billy was there, purring heavily as he lapped at a bowl of milk his master had left for him. He sat back as Anton approached, running his tongue around his lips, pulling in the last drops. “Good morning,” Anton said.
“You’re up early,” Billy observed.
“I fell asleep in the saloon,” Anton admitted. “I’m on my way home.”
“Even your brother’s not out yet, and he’s the earliest cat on the docks.”
The office door opened and the harbormaster stepped out in conversation with a ship’s officer. Anton and Billy were silent as the two men walked past, heading toward the great barque, the Mary Anne, which now rested low at anchor, its gangplank nearly flush with the dock.
“That’s the captain of the new ship,” Billy informed Anton. “She sails this morning. Let’s walk down and watch her cast off.”
Anton agreed, though he found Billy’s insistence on calling ships “she” a bit ridiculous, coming from a cat. A light rain began to fall as they followed the men to the ship, where the sailors shimmied up and down, tightening lines and checking the rigging on sails, busy as bees in a swarm around the queen. The captain was greeted by two officers standing at the top of the gangplank. As they spoke the men and the two cats all observed a disturbing sight. A large brown rat scurried out from under the dock, leaped onto a line, and rushed up and out of sight through a porthole.
“Curse the creature,” the captain said. “My beautiful, clean new ship doesn’t need a cargo of those devils.”
“You’ll need a feline,” the harbormaster observed. “They leave a boat in droves if they know there’s a cat on board.”
“True enough,” said the captain. “Where will I find myself such a creature?”
Anton and Billy stood looking on, absorbed in their own observations. “They’ve got a rat on already,” Billy said. “And probably not the first or the last.”
Anton shuddered. “I can’t bear rats,” he said.
“I ate one once,” Billy said. “Before I found the harbormaster. Not a tasty meal, but it was better than starving.”
“I think I’d rather starve,” said Anton.
Turning around, the captain spied the two cats. “I’ll be jiggered. There’s a pair of them right here.”
“You don’t want old Fletcher,” the harbormaster said. “He’s too lazy and he lives on cream.”
“What are they up to?” Billy said, voicing a suspicion Anton apprehended a moment too late. Suddenly the harbormaster reached down, grabbed Anton by the scruff of his neck, and whipped him high into the air.
“Here he is, I’ve got one for you,” said the harbormaster.
Anton popped out all his claws and battled the air with his legs, but he couldn’t reach anything, hanging as he was like a kitten in his mother’s jaws. What was going on? Cats didn’t get impressed in the light of day. It was a dark-night business, shameful and cruel. The sailor came up and Anton tried to sink a claw into him, but the sailor grasped Anton’s paws from behind and held them together while gripping his neck flesh tightly as the harbormaster handed him over.
“Look,” said the sailor. “He’s a fierce fellow.” Then he was off, up the gangplank, holding the flailing Anton out before him like a squirming fish. On the deck the sailors laughed at his struggles and one said, “It was like that for me, brother. I didn’t want to go to sea.” At last Anton understood his efforts were to no avail; the grip on his neck only tightened as he fought. He let himself hang loosely and raised his eyes, looking out across the deck where the ships were lined up, the wharf busy now with sailors moving to and fro. Down past the fishing schooners Anton saw a sight that made him cry aloud. Cecil was striding purposefully around the bend from the lighthouse path.
“Cecil!” Anton called. �
��Cecil, they’re taking me away!”
“Put him in the hold until we’re off,” said the captain. A sailor stepped forward and yanked up a plank door, beneath which loomed a ladder and a black hole. Anton wriggled and strained to see down the dock. He glimpsed Cecil bounding past Billy and breaking into a gallop toward the Mary Anne.
“In you go,” the man clutching Anton said. “You’re a sailor now.” He took a step down into the hold, dangled Anton out as far from the ladder as he could, and dropped him all at once into the darkness below.
After his adventures with Anton at the saloon the night before, it was well past dawn when Cecil trotted down the path from the lighthouse. The sharp smell of approaching rain hung in the air. “Out too late, slept in too long,” he muttered, hoping he hadn’t already missed his fishing schooner. Anton had been unenthusiastic about the big ship last night, almost dismissive. Miffed, Cecil resolved not to bother trying to convert Anton any further. Nope, not a drop of sailor blood in that cat, that’s for sure, he thought.
Rounding the corner of the harbormaster’s house, Cecil squinted down the long row of ship bows tied to the piers along the dock. His heart sank. The schooner had gone out, and to make matters even less pleasant, a misting rain began. The big barque was still in, however, with a great deal of activity around her, sailors swinging across the masts unfurling the sails, and more crew crisscrossing the decks with crates and boxes. Cecil sat under the eaves of the house and watched, envious and morose. Where was she bound, and what would she do there? He could just make out the figurehead of the two young girls, a little silly for such a majestic ship, in his opinion. Better would be a wild animal like those their mother had told stories of, or even a cat, a really dignified cat.
Suddenly a real cat flashed into view, hustling down the dock toward him. It was Billy, his stubby legs propelling his sloshing girth as fast as they could manage. “Cecil!” he huffed, gasping to catch his breath. “Anton!” he panted.
“I have no idea where Anton is. He didn’t come home . . .” began Cecil.
“The Mary Anne!” Billy struggled with the words.
“Quite a ship, yes . . .”
“They took Anton!” Billy finally expelled with effort.
“Took him? Oh, no,” Cecil moaned as he hurtled past Billy and down the wharf.
“Casting off!” Cecil heard Billy yell behind him and his heart jumped higher in his chest. The dock boards were slippery in the fine rain, and Cecil dodged legs, bales, and netting as he plunged toward the barque. The ship was set sideways against the pier, with the gangplank stretched across nearer the aft end. He could see the men’s hands grasping the edge of the plank, lifting it off the ship’s rail.
Anton, where are you? Where did they put you? Cecil thought desperately. Careening down the pier he prepared to dash across the plank but the men had pulled it swiftly onto the ship’s deck, and Cecil saw with horror at the last moment that the jump was too wide. Jamming to a halt at the edge of the pier with an angry yowl, he looked around wildly for another way on.
Men on the piers were pulling the thick, heavy ropes up over the wide posts and tossing them up to the deck. One rope had been cast away, and the ship drifted closer to the pier where the remaining rope held. Cecil streaked to the end of the pier to reach the ship’s fore. The new timbers creaked and rattled; the barque seemed almost eager to be unbound from land. The dockhands struggled with the last loops of rope and heaved them up to the deck, where they uncoiled and hung halfway down the side, and the great ship slowly began to draw away. Cecil gathered all his strength and sprang from the dock out over the water, catching the end of one hanging rope in his claws, whumping cruelly into the broad side of the boat but still hanging on. The dockhands hooted in amazement watching the frantic cat. I made it! Cecil thought for a brief moment, but the rope was slick with rain and his claws shredded the fraying threads. Splunk. He dropped like a rock into the cold water below.
Spluttering and gasping for breath, legs thrashing to stay afloat, Cecil peered up at the towering side of the barque sliding steadily away from him. The girls in the blue dresses surged ahead, their angelic faces turned toward the harbor and the waiting ocean. The water churned and swirled around him in the ship’s wake. Cecil weakened and his body went slack, the reality like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t saved Anton, not even close! Now he found himself sinking, choking on the water filling his nose and eyes. He felt as if a heavy net had closed over him and was dragging him down; he could not move his limbs. Was this what drowning felt like?
Then abruptly he was lifted into the air, flying swiftly over the water and landing in a sodden heap on the dock. He coughed out seawater and opened his eyes to see Ben holding a long wooden pole attached to the small basket of netting in which Cecil was now slumped. Ben dropped the pole and rushed over.
“Blackie my lad! Are ya all right there? What’s got into ya, jumpin’ in the harbor like that?” He knelt down and smoothed Cecil’s fur with his rough hands, looking at him anxiously.
Cecil found his breath at last and stood up shakily. The dockhands watched with amusement, not sure what to make of his strange antics. Cecil gazed at Ben with what he hoped was a look of gratitude, though his head was full of numb fear, then slunk quietly away from the staring sailors. As he stumbled up the wharf in the steady rain, shivering with cold and despair, he could see the tops of the Mary Anne’s masts in the distance, already sailing through the mouth of the harbor and out to sea, headed for parts unknown. His brother was aboard, and Cecil was left behind, wet and miserable on the dock.
CHAPTER 5
On the Mary Anne
Down, down into the vast dark hold of the ship Anton fell. He braced his legs for landing, but when it came, his hind paws missed the edge of a barrel and he hung by his claws, seeking purchase on the rough staves of the side. In a moment he’d pulled himself up and sat atop the barrel, cautiously wrapping his tail around his legs. His ears rotated, taking in a hubbub of sounds. His eyes, gradually adjusting to the dark, made out shapes and calculated distances. He looked up at the thin, bright lines of light framing the door of the hold high over his head. The ladder was nearly vertical, the rungs far apart. It wouldn’t be easy to climb. Noises came from the deck, men shouting and stamping their many boots, dragging gear and reeling in ropes, hauling up the gangplank, scrambling up the masts. From below there was another sound, soft and insistent, the throb of water rubbing lazily against the wood of the hull, feeling it over for cracks, for a way in.
Anton’s brain worked over his predicament. The hold was crammed with barrels, but along one wall wooden crates were stacked, some so high they nearly touched the ceiling. He could still hear the shouting, though the voices seemed farther away now. The churning of the water rushing back from the moving prow grew louder until it drowned out all other sound. Anton’s heart thumped with terror; they had cast off—the ship was setting out to sea.
Abruptly the hold shifted. The crates rattled against the wall and the barrels banged together, throwing Anton off balance. He had seen Cecil coming up the dock, and he knew Billy would have told him what had happened. He also knew that with all the noise of sea and men, no one would hear a cat calling out in the darkness at the bottom of the hold, but he couldn’t help himself. He dug all his claws into the wooden lid of the barrel, lifted his head, and howled, “Cecil, Cecil! Where are you?”
But the only reply came from the water slapping against the hull as the great ship pulled away from the wharf and the sailors unfurled the sails with joyful shouts. How fine, Anton thought, to watch a ship sail away from the wharf and how different to be trapped inside it. He closed his eyes and swallowed; his mouth was dry and his stomach felt queasy. Soon, he persuaded himself, they would open the hold and somehow he’d get up that ladder and into the light. He peered up the wall of crates again and a new thought occurred to him. Carefully he began to climb, jumping lightly from one offset edge to the next, testing his weight
on each level. Close to the top he could go no farther, but now he was only a couple of yards from the door.
His jaws stretched wide in a yawn. The great defense for all cats in times of stress is sleep, and so sleep crept up on Anton and seized him as he tried to think of what to do next. He slipped into a dream of home. He was a kitten, lounging on the blanket with Cecil and Sonya in the old lighthouse, savoring the smell of salt and herrings, beneath glittering stars.
A crack like a thunderbolt shattered this blissful dream, and Anton opened his eyes to a widening swath of golden light glaring from above. Before the sailors had the door wide enough to look inside, he was up the ladder and out between their legs, bolting across the deck in search of a hiding place. He spotted a coil of rope and dived into the center of it. Then he crouched down, listening for sounds of pursuit, but only the wind passed over his head as the sun warmed the hemp near his face. He sniffed the air, laden with unfamiliar scents. Where there were men, there was food, he thought, and sooner or later the men would go to bed.
Anton looked up at the great sails, a dozen or more of them bloated by the wind, attended by sailors who balanced on spars and hung from ropes, dwarfed by the size and power of the enormous canvases they somehow contrived to control. Anton stuck his head out, looking across the deck at a group of sailors gathered beneath the main mast, and another two standing in the open door of the cabin. They looked cheerful; they laughed and jostled each other and pointed at the ocean. I’m at sea, Anton thought. This is where Cecil wants to be. The ship forged through the waves, pitching from side to side. A wave splashed over the rail and soaked him from head to tail. Anton wiped his face with his paw, tasting the salty water as he licked his pad to smooth his whiskers. And I just want to be home, he thought.
