Noting Peter’s lack of amusement, Benjamin continued, “We are to remove all the pitch marks until the planks are spotlessly pure and white.”
Peter grasped the stone and began to scrub. The smell of vinegar in the cleaning solution was not unpleasant, especially compared with the stench of some of the unwashed sailors.
“Hist! Aren’t you the one they kidnapped recently?” his new tutor asked. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Peter Sidney, from Penshurst. I thought the press gangs only took seamen; I know nothing about sailing. They must have made a mistake.”
Scouring more slowly now, Benjamin replied, “No mistake, Peter. King George III is desperate. In the war against America, the Royal Navy doesn’t have enough enlisted men. And many of those who do volunteer desert whenever possible. The pay is late, the food is terrible, the discipline onboard is brutal, and the combats are bloodbaths.”
“Well, then, why did you join?”
Benjamin gave him a glum look. “I was pressed, too. From an American ship! We’re what they call the King’s bargains; they don’t have to lay out much money for us. Do you have any other questions?”
“Just one: tell me what I need to know to survive.”
Tarot: THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE
Revelation: Good fortune; victory;
a surprising turn of luck.
Edward Coles knocked rapidly and then entered the President’s office without waiting for permission. Although he was out of breath, he had a huge smile on his face.
“Do come in, Edward!” said President Madison, raising his eyebrows. Noting Edward’s eagerness, he added, “I suspect this is important?”
“Sorry, sir; yes, sir. It’s very good news indeed, Mr. President!”
Madison nodded wearily and put down his papers. “I would love to hear some good news, Edward. Do sit down.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Edward. Unlike the President, though, the secretary did not relax; he sat on the edge of his seat.
The President took a sip of his tea and leaned back in his chair. Nodding to his secretary, he said, “This war, it’s aged me. And after last week’s difficulties—the East Coast merchants blaming me for the depression, plus the frontier West losing their forts—yes, by all means, what do you have to report?”
“It happened just off the coast of Nova Scotia, Mr. President! The HMS Guerriere was attacking the USS Constitution!”
“The Guerriere! It is one of the most galling of the British ships for stopping and searching our vessels! And . . . ?”
“And our men gave them quite the battle, sir! We won! It was all over in just thirty minutes!”
“Excellent! Who’s the captain of the Constitution, Edward?”
“It’s Isaac Hull, William Hull’s nephew.”
“Is that right? Glad to see that he’s not as spineless as his uncle, the general who surrendered all of his troops at Fort Detroit!”
“Yes, sir. Isaac Hull and his crew rescued ten impressed Americans; plus, we now have over two hundred British prisoners. And the Guerriere has been demolished, sir!”
“And the frigate Constitution: What kind of shape is she in?”
“Only modest damage, sir. Evidently, the British cannonballs actually bounced off her oak hull. Some have been calling her Old Ironsides because she withstood the attack so well.”
“Finally, a victory! That is excellent news, Edward! I’d say the Royal Navy is not so invincible after all!”
The President thought a minute and then leaned forward in his chair. “When the Constitution returns to port in Boston, she and her sailors should be honored with a parade. It will be good for morale.”
“It’s already being planned, sir.”
“Good. Hmm. And will you tell Mrs. Madison to be sure our dinner tonight is extra special? We’re hosting a couple of the congressmen and their wives. We can make it a small celebration. I hope this news will inspire more confidence and enthusiasm in Washington as well.”
“I’m certain that Dolley will be happy to make your dinner into more of a festive occasion, sir,” said Edward, with a twinkle in his eye.
The President laughed. “You know your cousin well, Edward!”
After the secretary left his office, Mr. Madison placed his hands behind his head and leaned back again in his chair. “Finally, a victory!” he repeated, smiling.
Finally.
Tarot: THE FIVE OF WANDS
Revelation: A time of struggle; the battle of life.
Peter quickly memorized Benjamin’s advice; he did not want to test the reasoning.
“When it’s your turn to sleep, swing your hammock from the ringbolts between your assigned rails. And make sure you’re in the right location. Also, don’t ever take someone else’s belongings, or some dark night you could get tossed over the rail.
“And take off those shoes, or you’ll slide off the deck on your own. If Captain’s in a hurry, he won’t stop to rescue an ordinary seaman or even a dozen of us.”
Peter quickly removed his shoes.
“See? It’s easier to grip the deck with bare feet. And when we’re in a battle, sand is spread on the deck to keep you from skidding in the blood.”
“How considerate,” said Peter. He looked around at the weather-stained seamen. “Why would these men sign up for such a hazardous life?”
“They’re not all volunteers. Quite a few of them have been impressed,” said Benjamin. “Others, I’ve heard from the sea gossips, have been sent from the British jails. Not sure which ones, though.”
They all looked gruff and grizzled, and Peter wondered which were which. And those who had been imprisoned—what were their crimes? And he was going to be in battle with them?
Benjamin interrupted his musings. “Here—I have an extra bandanna for you to use.” He handed Peter a large, colorfully patterned neckerchief. “The cloth protects your jacket from the grease and tar in your hair.”
Seeing Peter’s quizzical expression, Benjamin added, “You can put tar in your hair to keep the lice under control.”
Peter nodded; he was already having a problem with the varmints.
“And in battle,” Benjamin continued, “you wrap the bandanna around your head to cushion your eardrums against the pounding of the guns. Greenhorns like you who don’t cover their ears when the cannons fire get bleeding ears and go deaf.”
Then Benjamin smiled. “Ah! There’s the bell for our dinner. We get three squares a day, on that wooden plate you got. Watch out for weevils, though—they’re often in the hard biscuits. The good news is that the meat hasn’t gotten rancid; we haven’t been out to sea long enough for that to occur.”
“Aren’t there animals onboard?” Peter asked. “I’m sure I heard sheep bleating, and I think those are chickens squawking right now.”
“Oh, we ordinary seamen don’t get to eat any of the pigs, poultry, or goats in the manger; they’re only for the officers. On the other hand, they do attract rats.”
“And that’s a positive because . . . ?”
“If you’re able to catch one, they’re pretty good roasted. There’s your fresh meat! Otherwise, we have to wait until we’re in port.”
Benjamin laughed at Peter’s expression. Then he sniffed the air and groaned. “We’re having cabbage tonight, probably with salt beef. They call it sauerkraut because it’s thoroughly soaked in brine. But at least we’ll have the rum to wash it down. By the way, don’t pretend to be sick; your rum rations will be stopped.”
Peter’s look was again doleful.
“Don’t worry,” said Benjamin. “You’ll make sense of it. Just be sure to learn the knots I showed you and which one a job demands—there’s the bowline, sailor’s knot, and clove hitch.”
Peter’s look was now doubtful.
“You’ll be working the lines and trimming the sails in no time.”
“Right,” said Peter, yet not with conviction.
“Of paramount importance, Peter, is to learn to read the sk
ies, the weather, the winds, and, most crucial, the mood of the commander! Understand?”
“Aye, aye.”
Two sailors walked by, bearing a long, lumpy sack. “Uh-oh,” said Benjamin. “There goes Charlie. I heard he wasn’t going to make it; I guess gangrene got him after all.”
Peter looked up from scrubbing the deck in time to see the sailors hoist the bundle over the side of the ship, swing it back and forth several times, and release it into the ocean. Peter raised his eyebrows at Benjamin.
“When you die onboard, the sailmaker sews you up into your hammock for burial at sea. We call it the canvas coffin. There’s a cannonball included to make sure you go directly down into the deep. Your garments, of course, are added to the slops chest.”
Peter shuddered.
Knowing what he was thinking, Benjamin continued, “Your garb belonged to a Frenchman.”
“What did he die from?”
“Being hanged. He was a prisoner of war.” Then Benjamin gave Peter a lopsided grin. “The clothes look much better on you, though!”
Tarot: THE FIVE OF CUPS
Revelation: Sadness; regret over loss.
Marguerite was having her breakfast in bed, when she heard a knock.
“Come in, Mother!” she called out, as her maid started to open the door.
“Hello, Marguerite.”
It was Jacques.
Marguerite almost dropped her cup of cocoa. It had been three weeks since the funeral.
Her husband held a bouquet of flowers and gave her a small, almost shy smile. “I hope you are getting better,” he said.
“Jacques! Oh, Jacques!” she cried, holding out her arms. “My darling. I have missed you terribly!”
“I’m sorry, Marguerite.” He remained standing by her bed, still holding the flowers.
Marguerite dropped her arms. Her outstretched fingers curled into her palms, forming fists, and her face screwed up as she glared at the man motionless before her. Anger surged through her. “Why weren’t you here with me? I needed you! You have no idea how much I have suffered!”
Jacques looked sheepishly down at the floor. “Yes, well . . . it was difficult for me, too, Marguerite. And I thought it best not to make you even more miserable. I needed to respond to the death in my own way.” He looked at her again. “I’m truly sorry.”
Marguerite’s face muscles slackened, and she sagged into the sheets. “Oh, Jacques, please forgive me for my outburst. I wasn’t thinking of your anguish. That was selfish of me. Mother told me you were inconsolable.”
“Yes, of course; we’ve all had a difficult time. But it’s behind us now.”
Marguerite quickly sat up straighter and put on a perky smile. She began speaking very quickly. “But we can try again, my darling. We must try again. Soon! I have regained much of my strength. Every day I can stomach a little more food, and I take a small stroll in the garden with Mother. She assures me that I am getting better all the time. Look,” she said, pinching her face, “I have color in my cheeks! We’ll have another baby, Jacques—a strong baby, a son. I just know it. . . .”
Marguerite realized she was babbling. Jacques just stood there, his green eyes watching her. He seemed to be in a daze.
“Jacques? Are you all right?”
“Hmm?” He nodded his head. “Oh, yes, I’m fine, Marguerite.” He placed the flowers on her bed. “I am happy to know that you are getting well. I must get back to work now.”
He blew her a kiss and left.
Tarot: THE MOON
Revelation: A time of confusion, oscillation,
and uncertainty.
Peter had learned quickly from Benjamin’s tutoring these past three weeks. He became accustomed to the ship’s creaking, groaning, and occasional churning through the ocean. A couple of times, on days when the sky was blue and the wind brisk, the sails seeming to suck in their cheeks, he felt the synergy of the ship’s strength and the seamen’s competence. That was when he almost experienced contentment.
Almost.
But there had been other days when dark squalls stormed across the decks and the horizon pitched. The taut sails, the rigid ropes, and the tense sailors integrated as one force while the ship plunged through the swirling sea. During those times, Peter consciously blocked out his panic, but the terror could not be forgotten.
And, as Benjamin had said, conditions were horrible. Peter got only four hours of sleep before his next watch. He hadn’t bathed yet and slept in his clothes, and because the head could not be used in bad weather, he had to join his mates in relieving himself in the buckets lined up in the bilge: the dark, damp, fetid lower deck. Benjamin had joked that they would have better conditions in jail.
The entire crew had daily gunnery drills, as well as sailing the ship. Peter learned to set the rigging and the sails, and if he was not doing carpentry work, he was expected to continue the duties of cleaning, painting, and polishing.
There was also leisure time. Benjamin had introduced him to the art of scrimshaw. He himself was carving a ship on a whale’s tooth, but ivory was hard to come by, so Peter was learning on a small chunk of wood. He was scratching his version of a gull on it.
Evidently, it was not a very good rendition. “Is that a cross you’re making?” Benjamin had asked recently.
“A cross?”
“It looks like a cross with eyes, but I didn’t know you were religious!”
“I’m not. And it’s a flying seagull. See? Here’s the beak, and these are the wings. . . .”
Benjamin nodded, then added cheerily, “Aha! I see it. A flying seagull. Good job!”
Now, in the carpenter’s shop (where he was less likely to be disturbed), with his needle, Peter was trying to improve his detailing of the gull. As he added scores to the bird’s wings, he heard the master-at-arms yell out, “All hands, witness punishment!”
Peter had been told about these happenings, but this was the first captain’s mast that he would observe. He quickly put the wooden piece in his pants pocket and hastened to join Benjamin and the rest of his shipmates at the gangway.
He was too late to hear the charges, but he did recognize the terror-stricken man brought up for discipline. It was Harry, a young sailor, who had been impressed from a merchant ship. He was blubbering, “I’m innocent! I didn’t do anything! It’s all a mistake!”
Two men stripped Harry’s shirt off and lashed him by his wrists to an upright ship’s grating. The boatswain’s mate swaggered forward with a coarse red woolen bag. He removed a cat-o’-nine-tails from the bag and examined each of the waxed, braided cords.
“The cat’s out of the bag now!” Benjamin whispered to Peter. The mate looked up and scowled as he scanned the crew.
Harry was still mewling. “It’s not me. I didn’t do it. Please!”
With a smirk, the boatswain’s mate shook his head and took aim, ready to strike. He violently whipped the knotted ropes in an intense blow to Harry’s pale, bare back. The small knots tore the skin.
Peter gasped when he saw the hideous red welts left by the first strike, and then winced with each of the following eleven brutal slashes that bit into the flesh.
Harry’s back was raw meat. He was no longer able to stand on his own; he was hanging by his wrists. But the brutality was over. He was cut down from the grating and taken below to the sick berth. The surgeon was waiting to rub salt into the wounds to prevent infection. Meanwhile, the boatswain’s mate, still with a smug smile on his face, unhurriedly removed the congealed flesh and blood from his whip.
Eight bells rang. It was noon—time for dinner. As the crew went mutely to their mess tables, Peter stayed close to Benjamin and sat next to him.
“Why?” he asked quietly.
“Harry was lucky,” Benjamin replied, in a hurried whisper that grew husky. “He was accused of going to another man’s hammock. He could have been hanged. But he got off easy; they just charged him with indecent behavior.”
Benjamin noticed that Peter was
n’t eating. “Hallo, what’s the matter? You’re not hungry? It’s salt pork and pease porridge today, and the cheese isn’t rancid yet.”
“My insides feel like they’re spinning around. You can have my portion,” mumbled Peter. “But I’ll be drinking my full ration of rum grog.”
“Be careful, my friend,” warned Benjamin, smacking his lips after swallowing some gulps from his mug. “On an empty stomach, you could become ‘groggy,’ and then you could have a meeting with the cat yourself!”
Peter looked back at Benjamin and shook his head. Reluctantly, he broke a biscuit and, using a piece to scoop up a lump of the porridge, shoved it into his mouth and began chewing.
Tarot: THE TEN OF SWORDS
Revelation: Sudden misfortune;
difficulties to absorb.
June 1813
The USS Chesapeake left Boston Harbor early in the afternoon of June 1. She sailed out to meet the HMS Shannon, which had been blockading the port for the past fifty-six days.
The frigates were a close match in size and force; however, the British vessel was low on provisions, and the Americans had a larger crew. Just before four bells of the fifth watch, as the two vessels drew closer, the Americans let out a confident cheer.
It was a bit too premature, though, as within the first five minutes of engagement they each suffered serious damage from the other’s cannon fire. The Chesapeake was also losing its leadership. Three officers died at the helm.
The British frigate Shannon was now within boarding distance and threw grappling hooks onto the Chesapeake. The dismayed American crew quickly rallied and counterattacked.
“Don’t give up the ship!” yelled Captain John Lawrence, himself mortally wounded.
Fifteen minutes of horrific hand-to-hand fighting followed, resulting in the Chesapeake’s loss of 150 dead and wounded.
The Cards Don't Lie Page 4
