Gesturing toward the bonfire he explained, “They are all like me. Claypool there, he is blind. He is our boatswain. Groot’s a giant. He spends most of his time a running errands for the Captain. Over there is Robert, one of our hands. He’s a natural, to name just a few of us.”
Lauren looked quizzically at him. “What is a natural?”
“He is very slow,” he explained.
“And Henry Bologne?” she asked.
“Oh, he was deformed at birth.”
“But it appears several men have no infirmities,” she said looking around the fluyt and on shore.
“There you’re wrong. We all are outcasts of some kind, every one of us.” He took her hand and led her to the railing. He leaned over, pointing to the hull and said, “Read the name of the vessel. The Captain thought this described us well.”
Firelight flickered on the letters as Lauren read, “The Pride of the King.”
“Yes,” said Isaac in a voice heavy with sarcasm. “We are indeed the pride of King George. Are we not?”
Chapter 27
Shortly after Lauren joined the crew of The Pride of the King they dropped anchor in Albany. Standing on the deck, she stared at the landing longing to run away, run away from this group of misfit sailors and their Captain. She loathed St. Clare and his contemptuous attitude. She detested life on the river where she baked in the sun all-day and shivered at night. In New York City, there had been handsome men, witty conversations and luxurious surroundings, but here on board The Pride of the King, there was only drudgery and loneliness.
She hated the small stuffy bedchamber the ship’s company had erected for her in the hold of the vessel. She hated the fact that she had to lock her room for safety. She missed the spacious house on Duke Street and longed for the company of Heloise and Cornelius. She missed her friends in Kaskaskia, and her mind frequently drifted back to the Academy and Simone. It had been years since she had seen her sister, and she longed for her companionship.
As kind as they were, Lauren wanted no part of this group of sailors. She found herself an outcast among outcasts. Every night she cried herself to sleep, longing for her life of elegance and leisure in the city. In the morning she would awaken to puffy eyes and sore cracked hands from the numerous chores the Captain loaded upon her.
She was furious with her pedestrian image in the glass. Gone were the fancy dresses and her creamy complexion. Now when she looked in the mirror, her skin was burned, and her hair was wind tangled. She ate as much as the crew and gradually she lost her soft curves replacing them with hard muscles toned by heavy labor. Every night she slept a sound, dreamless sleep and even though the dark rings vanished under her eyes, she longed for late night indulgences followed by mornings of indiscriminate leisure.
As much as she longed to run away, Lauren remembered the cruelty of life on the streets of New York. She remembered the nagging hunger and her desperate attempt to survive. She remembered her illness after the baby was born and the decadent girls at Mrs. Vanoss’ house of pleasure. Everything was as clear and as terrifying as if it was yesterday. Therefore when the vessel weighed anchor that spring afternoon in Albany, Lauren was back on board the fluyt. She knew that some day she would escape this life of desperation and toil, but until then she must be patient and wait.
For months, they sailed up and down the Hudson delivering supplies to villages and hamlets along the river from the merchants of Albany. Isaac told Lauren that it was unusual for The Pride of the King to be transporting legal goods, but General McCaffee’s presence in New York City prevented them from sailing out to sea where they could obtain the lucrative contraband from the Spanish or Dutch. The routine was always the same, deliver their cargo by day, then move to a secluded location on the river and spend the night. The next morning they would move to the next village and repeat the process again.
Lauren had seen little of James St. Clare since her arrival several months earlier. Frequently he was on shore conducting business with the patroons of the Hudson. Much to Lauren’s surprise, these landed gentry seemed to respect St. Clare and treat him as an equal. She spied him on several occasions walking side by side with the powerful looking men, and she knew that he went to their sprawling estates at night to dine and discuss business. She scoffed at these pseudo-aristocrats of this valley, dismissing them as country bumpkins. They had to be fools to associate with St. Clare. Couldn’t they see that he was a boorish commoner, nothing more than an ambitious profiteer?
When Lauren was near the Captain, he ignored her. He was too busy barking orders at the crew or pouring over maps with Isaac, but one morning as she scrubbed the deck with her holystone, he approached her to say that she now was in charge of the galley. He informed her that she was to shop for food at market each day and prepare an evening meal each night for the men.
After he left, Lauren rested back on her ankles considering the idea. She had always loathed the bland boiled cooking of the English and if this vocation meant reprieve from menial labor then she was in favor of it.
Every morning after that she would sling a basket over her arm and go to the local village to purchase ingredients for a sumptuous meal. She would walk up and down rows of brightly colored produce, inspecting fruits and vegetables plucked fresh from the vine. She would purchase smooth, creamy butter and loaves of rye bread, juicy red meats and fresh catch from the river, then build a fire on the shore and cook the crew a hearty supper fit for nobility. She remembered the succulent recipes the Ursulines had taught her and introduced the men to delectable sauces and seasoned meats, mouth-watering tarts and savory stews. Night after night, they gobbled down her exceptional fare then applauded her abilities. Each morning they would speculate about her supper menu and nag her relentlessly for samples throughout the day. The meals opened dialogue between Lauren and the men, and she found her loneliness subsiding.
Many days Isaac Burroughs would keep Lauren company as she peeled and chopped, kneaded and baked. He would tell her stories about life at sea and on the river. Robert, the simple-minded lad would run errands for her when she needed help, and Henry Bologne would make her laugh with his gift of humor. Mathias, the runaway slave, always had a kind nod for her and the giant, Ben Groot continued to amaze her with his grand manners and boundless intellect.
The only one Lauren did not like was George Blasco, the ship’s carpenter. He was short and stocky with curly black hair covering his head and entire body. It pushed out of the neck of his shirt and ran up and down his bulky arms. He had a pug nose and always smelled of stale spirits. What Lauren hated the most about him though was that he wore two faces, one for the Captain and one for the crew. He ingratiated himself to St. Clare in his presence, but the minute the Captain went ashore he cursed him and assassinated his character to the others.
Lauren knew that Blasco was wanted for murder, and she never doubted for a moment that he was capable of it. She knew that he was a skilled artisan, but still it surprised her that the Captain was gullible enough to give this reprobate shelter. Nevertheless as long as Blasco did not bother her, it was none of her affair.
The weather had grown sultry by late June and the days had grown long. One afternoon, Isaac lounged under a maple tree chewing on a blade of grass while Lauren bent over a fire stirring bouillabaisse. The crew had just finished unloading barrels of molasses and Isaac was taking a break during the heat of the day. Isaac spent every free moment he had with Lauren. Most of the women he had known recoiled from his disfigured face, but Lauren was different. She was not afraid of him. She did not belittle or reject him because of his appearance; in fact, she seemed to invite his companionship.
Lauren enjoyed their time together as well. She loved Isaac’s gentle voice and sensitive manner. Unlike the other crew members, he was not afraid to comment on the beauty of things or speak of his true feelings. “Isaac, I have been wanting to ask you something for a long time,” Lauren said straightening up from the bouillabaisse, “What do you know about the
Captain? Who is he? Where did he come from?”
Isaac looked over at the vessel cautiously then back at Lauren. “He is a very private man,” he said rubbing his chin. “It took me several years before I came to know him and even still he is a mystery to me. You see, the Captain has never known his parents.”
“What of it?” Lauren replied. “Neither have I.”
“No, I mean he doesn’t know anything about his family or himself. He was abandoned at such a young age he doesn’t even remember his own name.”
Lauren blinked in disbelief. “He doesn’t even remember his name?” She reflected a moment then asked, “How can children that young survive all alone?”
Once again, Isaac looked over at the vessel to see if the Captain was around. “I suspect one would become like an animal. Don’t you agree?”
Lauren remembered the day she ripped food from the jaws of a dog and nodded slowly. She knew firsthand the misery and desperation of starvation.
“How long was he without a home?”
“Most of his childhood, eventually he was snatched off the street and indentured to a gunsmith in Albany, but they must have been cruel to him because at the age of fifteen he ran back to the streets and was picked up by a press gang.”
“What’s that?”
“A press gang is a group of thugs hired by King George to press young men into the Royal Navy. Usually it is against their will. It was at that time he chose the name James St. Clare.”
“Why that name?” Lauren asked.
Isaac chuckled. “Well, he told me that James was the first name he saw when he opened the Bible and St. Clare was the name stamped on a barrel of brandy at the Albany landing.
Lauren smiled. She pondered it a moment then asked, “If he was so destitute, how did he obtain The Pride of the King?”
“Well, she was a broken down old wreck when he found her--sort of an outcast like the rest of us--and with the knowledge he gained at sea, he resurrected the old gal.”
Suddenly Isaac spotted the Captain and scrambled to his feet. Tipping his hat he said, “Good day to you, Ma‘am,” and left.
Lauren stirred her stew, and then turned her attention to St. Clare moving about the vessel. She watched him inspect every detail of the craft. She saw him run his hands over the polished brass fittings and touch the sails with reverence. His concern for the vessel was tantamount, and she believed that he viewed her as an old friend. She observed that he was dressed in evening attire. He had on a dark coat and breeches, burgundy waistcoat and highly polished boots. Lauren liked the fact that, even though he was dressed formally, he did not powder his long, smoky blond hair. She guessed he was dining with one of the local patroons that night.
Suddenly, he began to cough and grabbed the mast for support. Lauren heard him many nights coughing and pacing in his cabin above hers, and many mornings he would emerge looking drawn and tired. She wondered what disease plagued him and how he had contracted it.
She noticed George Blasco leaning against a tree watching her. “He was in prison,” he announced in a voice thick with accent. He threw the bit of grass away that he had been chewing and came near her.
Lauren ignored him and went back to her bouillabaisse.
“I know what you was wondering. You was wondering what gave him that cough. It was prison. He was in prison, thirty feet underground in a cavern never seeing the light of day for months. Sumptin’ like that puts the rot in a man.”
Lauren could hide her interest no longer. “In prison? What for?”
“He got caught running goods. We had to do it by ourselves while he was in prison, and we did a damn sight better job than him too.”
Lauren knew Blasco wanted her to question him further about St. Clare, but she refused. She knew it would only encourage the man, and his presence made her uncomfortable. She turned back to look for the Captain, but he was gone.
That evening something unusual happened. For the first time ever, old Mathias played a merry tune on his fiddle. The crew was on shore playing cards when they heard the light-hearted strains, and they began to cheer.
“By Jove! What’s gotten into the old man!” cried Henry Bologne.
Isaac bounded up from the hold and bellowed, “Why it sounds like a celebration, Mathias! What’s the occasion?”
Mathias nodded at the setting sun then played on. Isaac dashed to the railing and shouted to the men. “What day is it?”
When no one answered, he declared, “Wait! It’s Midsummer, the longest day of the year!”
With little urging from Isaac the crew hustled on board clearing an area for dancing, and Mr. Groot disappeared to ask the Captain if the crew could have a celebration. The giant emerged from the hold with a smile on his face and a barrel of rum on his shoulder. He announced, “Compliments of the Captain!”
Everyone contributed something to the party. Robert and George put up torches, Isaac and Ben Groot arranged the deck, and Henry Bologne pulled out his tin whistle along with Samuel and his drum. Lauren made rum syllabub and brought sausage and cheese to the festivity. Even Mother Nature blessed them with a clear moonlit night.
For the first time in months Lauren could discard her dirty pinner and change into something soft and feminine. She had obtained fabric from Kingston several weeks earlier to make some everyday gowns, and even though none of the dresses were grand, the indigo muslin with the green stomacher seemed festive. She pinned up her auburn tresses and grabbed her skirts dashing up the companionway two steps at a time. She was not about to miss a single dance. When she reached the top step the men stared at her dumbfounded. Even Mathias stopped playing.
Seeing Lauren blush, Isaac roared, “What’s wrong with you fools! Ain’t you never seen a lady before?
They laughed, and Mr. Claypool started the slip jig, “Kid on the Mountain” on his drum. Mathias followed putting the fiddle to his chin. Finding the right moment, Henry Bologne took up his tin whistle and joined in as well.
Isaac took Lauren by the waist and swung her out onto the makeshift dance floor. Tonight Lauren had no cares. Tonight she would dance and flirt with every man on board The Pride of the King and feel pretty once more.
The rum was flowing and after several drinks Isaac jumped on top of a barrel to show the crew his fancy dancing. He struck his boots on the barrel in time with the music and kicked his legs high into the air. He did a handstand on the barrel then jumped down onto the deck with a flourish.
Lauren laughed and clapped her hands with delight. She danced with every one of the crew and flirted outrageously with them all. She could not remember having more fun. She danced with Robert who stepped on her feet, with the graceful giant Ben Groot and with Isaac Burroughs three times. She even danced with George Blasco.
At last she turned to the ship’s purser saying, “Come along, Mr. Bologne. It’s your turn,” and held out her hands.
Being without legs, Henry Bologne did not think he could dance, and he refused Lauren, but she would not allow him to sit out. She took his large hands and whirled him around and around in circles on his platform. She darted under his arms and out again skipping around him like a gypsy around the fire.
“This is my first dance, my girl!” Henry shouted with glee as she tripped about him. His eyes twinkled merrily as he watched her dart around him like a bird.
The torches burned low as the merriment and music continued into the night. When the men were not dancing with Lauren, they were drinking rum, playing cards or singing their favorite chantey. No one noticed St. Clare come on deck and lean against the rail in the shadows. None of them noticed his dark eyes following Lauren as she danced around and around.
Chapter 28
Without realizing it, Lauren began to change. The fresh air of the Hudson Valley filled her lungs and reddened her blood, returning the lusty color to her cheeks. The dark circles under her eyes disappeared and her posture became erect and strong. Her pirate smile returned, and she brandished it eagerly along with a laugh c
ontagious to the entire crew. She brought energy and life to everyone on board The Pride of the King, and they grew to love her.
There was a spiritual transformation in Lauren as well. The wilderness nourished her and gave her strength like nothing before. It calmed her uncertainties and soothed her senses. She would stand on the deck of The Pride of the King and let the winds cleanse her and the scents of the pine trees purify her. The boundless interior seduced her and beckoned to her to explore its mysteries.
At sunrise one morning late in the summer the Captain announced they were sailing into the upper Hudson River country, north of Albany. Until now Lauren had ridden the vessel from village to village, oblivious to its course, but today she noticed the stretch of the river on which they sailed was more remote, and she noticed the vessel hugged the shore as if in search of something.
Suddenly, St. Clare began barking orders, and the crew sprang into action. The fluyt came about hard, and in the blink of an eye entered a creek which a moment earlier had been invisible. Instantly the green darkness enveloped the fluyt. The tangled limbs of elms, oaks and maples rose up on either side of the vessel, and Lauren could hear the beating of wings as waterfowl sprang from the water, startled at the swift appearance of the fluyt. Without the benefit of wind or momentum, The Pride of the King slowed to a standstill and the crew dropped anchor.
“You there!” shouted the Captain.
Lauren glanced up, and then went back to coiling rope.
“You there!” he barked again, standing by the rail. “Are you daft? I am talking to you, girl.”
He signaled to her impatiently, and Lauren moved to the railing.
“Where are we going?” she asked, looking at the dense underbrush.
The Pride of the King Page 17
