That night we climb into our hammocks. Willy makes contented sounds of single comfort, and Davy and Tink make fart noises and laugh themselves stupid. Jaimy and I, after a few kicks and threats about what goes where, settle down for the night.
I know I'm tempting Fate, but I allows myself a moment of glee, thinking about how my cunning and my trickery and my generally devious nature has got me to this spot.
Grinning in the dark, I thinks, Ain't this just prime?
Chapter 21
Tilly has all us boys on the fantail for the morning class and he's testing one of his new ideas. He's become quite the engineer of late; first the lures and now the kites. This one, his latest, is the biggest one yet and is made of six stout poles, the ends of which meet and are wired together and the other ends splay out and the whole thing is covered with the thinnest canvas we got on board. There's a cross stick to make sure the poles stay spread out and there's a hook to attach the line to.
"It's all about air pressure," he says, flushed and excited. "The same physical effect that lets our ship sail into the wind. I attended a lecture in London, concerning a fellow name of Bernoulli and his work. Damned interesting. You see, it's the rush of wind over the curved surfaces of the sails and the kite, which set up a high pressure on one side and..."
I'm finding all this very interesting, but what puts a little bit of fear in me is that I spy under the kite a little leather harness that seems to be made to hold a small object. A small object like me, perhaps. Tilly has strapped a sack of flour into this harness, and with he and the boys and a few hands holding on to the rope, they let the kite lift off.
It's lucky it's a calm day with hardly a breeze blowing, or kite and all would be torn out of their hands and away, but, as it is, the kite lifts very prettily and hovers high above the waves.
Tilly laughs in triumph and gets a round of cheers from those on deck. As for me, I slip away in case he gets the idea in his head of putting the smallest seaman on board in that harness. Tilly is a dear old fool, but he puts too much faith in science.
I figure I'll make it up to Tilly for skipping out on his show by making myself useful setting up for the midshipmen class, and I break my rule about never going into the midshipmen without Tilly.
As I enter, a boot shoots out and catches me on me rump and knocks me down. I hit the floor and turn over in horror to see Bliffil standin' over me, a cup in his hand and a broad smile on his face. No one else is in the room; they're all out lookin' at the kite flyin', and I knows I made a big mistake comin' in here alone but it's too late.
"Snot the Sideboy, well, well," he says all jovial. "Come in, snot, you're just in time for a little sport."
His next kick catches me in me side and I feels somethin' let go and the breath is knocked out of me and I can't take me breath back I can't I can't and he kicks me again and again and somethin' crumbles in me other side, and I can't breathe God help me I can't breathe.
"Ain't this some sport, runt?"
He hauls back his boot again and he puts it in me belly and I retches and he kicks me in the face and I gets enough breath back to scream and I screams and then he kicks me on me forehead and there's blood flowin' over me eyes and out of me nose and out of me mouth and I screams and screams and—
"Mister Bliffil!" I hears someone shout, far, far off in my misery and pain.
"The boy misspoke me, Sir! He was insolent!" says Bliffil.
"I'm sure the boy has learned whatever lesson you are teaching him," says the Captain, his voice low and even. "And the next time, Mr. Bliffil, you will bring the boy up on charges if he misbehaves and we'll do things in a proper military manner. Is that clear, Mister Bliffil?"
"But, Sir—"
"Is that clear, Mister Bliffil?"
I ain't screamin' now, just gaspin' out rackin' sobs, my face against the deck, awash in blood and tears. Other boots and feet are about me now.
"Yes, Sir."
"Very well. You are excused, Mr. Bliffil. You, there! Clean up this mess!"
I'm picked up by Jaimy and Willy and hauled off down to our kip and they put me on a blanket and I don't know nothin' what's happenin' around me; I just knows the horror and the pain. They must 'ave sent for Liam, 'cause he's there wipin' me face off and sayin', "The filthy bastard!" over and over and feelin' me ribs and lookin' at the cut above me eye and sayin', "Ah no, we'll have t' go t' sick bay to have that stitched, it won't stay together," and he picks me up, and I puts me arm around his neck and me face in his chest and I just keeps on sobbin'.
The Doctor takes his needle and thread and sews up me eyebrow—more pain but it don't matter, there's only so much pain and Jaimy's there, Oh Jaimy, and he holds me shoulders steady while the Doctor's stitchin', and then the Doctor opens me mouth and feels around in there and says, "Some teeth are loose, but maybe they'll tighten up again if you don't worry them with your tongue. All right, sit him up. There's no use wrapping floating ribs, they'll either set right or they won't."
They sets me upright and the Doctor puts a spoonful of somethin' in me ruined mouth and Liam carries me back and our hammock has been slung and they puts me in it and I feels me nose and lips a'swellin' and me teeth wigglin' round in me jaw and I knows now that I'm goin' t' be all ugly and hateful lookin' when I grows to be a lady and jaimy won't want me—no man will want me—and I falls off a cliff and sleeps.
I sleep clear through till the next morning. I wake up and the lads are there and Jaimy has a cup of warm broth, which is good 'cause I sure ain't goin' to be chomping on any horse for a while. My right eye is swollen shut and my lips are out like a duck. I can't close my jaws. I remember what the Doctor said and try not to run my tongue over my teeth, but it's a powerful temptation. My chest hurts like hell, but when I reach up and feel my nose, it don't hurt, so that's something, anyway. I don't think I'll be able to get the broth down, but by takin' really small sips, I do it. The broth cleans the thick clots of blood out of my mouth.
Jaimy's mouth is set in a grim line and his eyes are full of cold fury. He reaches out and pulls away a lock of my hair that has gotten stuck in the mess around my eye. His look changes to one of warm concern and then back to anger.
"Lor', Jacky, you sure can scream," says Tink. "They musta heard you all the way to London!"
"You was talkin' out of yer head last night, too," chortles Davy. "No one's gonna fancy me. I'm gonna be ugly and no one's gonna fancy me!" he mimics, mincing about the hammock. "You are such a rum cove, Jacky, for thinkin' such things when yer just about beat t' death! Fancy me? Fancy me? Jacky, no one's gonna fancy us, we're all gonna end up lookin' like Snag!"
"Which is how a salty dog sailor's supposed to look," says Willy with a firm nod.
"And you're halfway there, Jack-o!" crows Tink.
Ah, the sweet comfort of friends.
Liam comes by a little later and tells me that the Doctor has put me on the sick list so I can spend the day in bed. The Doctor gave him a little vial of the juice to make me sleep. I swallow it. It tastes like I remember candy tasting from long ago, before That Dark Day.
"Sleep is the best thing for ye right now, Jacky," says Liam. "Just sleep and you'll get better. Soon you'll be dancin' again." He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks at me in a curious way. "But you've got to be careful, Jacky. There's bad blood brewin' on this ship and you seem to be in the middle of it."
My one working eyelid is drooping and I'm drifting away into crazy strange and lovely dreams. I dream of Cathay Cats and Bombay Rats and I dream of Kangaroos. I dream of Jaimy and I dream of Charlie.
And I dream of mutiny.
Chapter 22
"You can hit me if you want to, Sir," I says to Mr. Jenkins, "but we've got to talk."
The midshipmen's berth is empty except for Jenkins and me, and I know Bliffil's got the watch so he ain't likely to come in. He'll be out parading around in front of the Captain, all dressed up fine and looking handsome, his eyes gleaming with zeal in the performance of his dut
y. He puts on a good show. I hope the Captain ain't fooled, as I'd hate to see Bliffil advance in the Navy. Captain Bliffil ... Lord, what a thought.
"I ... I ... I think you've been hit enough, Faber," says he. "What do you want to say?"
"You've got to do something about Mr. Bliffil, Sir. You've got—"
"It's not your place to be telling me this," he says, his face reddening. "I'm sorry you were beaten—"
"This ain't about me, Sir. I'm a ship's boy and ship's boys get beaten. I ain't complainin'. It's about you. You're bein' humiliated in front of your men. They like you, Sir, I know they do, but they got no respect for you 'cause of Bliffil's rubbin' your nose in it every day. Like that thing yesterday on the fantail, when he..."
"Stop." He gets redder yet and hangs his head. I hate to be so brutal but I go on.
"The officers notice. They talk amongst themselves about who's gonna make good officers and who ain't. I'm up there on the quarterdeck with them and I hear them. The Captain notices, too. He seems high-and-mighty, but he don't miss much."
"What do you think I should d ... d ... do?" he says miserably.
"You've got to fight him, Sir. Fight him straight out. You can't be any more shamed than you are now. If you don't do somethin,' you'll lose your commission and live in shame for the rest of your life."
I look at him steady. I am being as cruel as I know how. "The Captain's gonna put you off soon, you know that."
"Perhaps that's best. Maybe I'm not cut out for this life," he says. "I could do other things."
"Right," says I. "And you might be right good at other things, but every morning you'll have to look at yourself in the mirror and you'll remember, every day you'll remember, for the rest of your life you'll remember what Bliffil made you eat."
That jerks him up. "What..."
"Your pride, Sir. Your honor. That's what he made you eat. And you'll eat it every day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner from now on if you don't fight him."
I put my hands together like in prayer and put a pleading look on my face. "Please, Sir, go at him just once. I know you've got the stuff, I know you stood up straight beside your gun in the fight even when the gun next to you was blown away, 'cause I saw you. Your men saw you. And you went over in the Boarding Party like everyone else. I saw that. The Captain saw that."
I'm runnin' along full bore now and hardly pause for breath, pressin' the truth of what I'm sayin'. "What nobody but me saw was that Bliffil hid behind the cabin when the fight was goin' on and only come out later all roarin' to finish off the helpless pirate when all was done."
Mr. Jenkins seems surprised by this. "But I thought..."
"You thought he was a bold and fierce fighter? Is that what he told you?" I can imagine Bliffil holding forth in the midshipmen's berth on his glorious taking of the pirate ship, waving his bloody sword about under the other middies' noses.
Mr. Jenkins sits and thinks for a while and I let him. Finally he says, "He scares me. He's so big and his fists look like blocks of stone. He puts that hard look on me and I freeze like a mouse before a snake. There. That's the way of it. I'm sorry."
"But, Sir..."
"No, Faber, that's the way of it. If the Captain hadn't forbidden duelling amongst his officers, I'd have called him out when we went ashore on Palma, and he'd either have killed me or I would have killed him and it would have been done with. I am not afraid to die." He pauses. "Sometimes I want to."
There's something I didn't know, that about the duelling, I mean. I press on. "Sir, there's one thing I think you're mistaken about, if you'll forgive me. You've got the mistaken notion that you've got to win the fight to accomplish anything, and you're wrong. All you have to do is put up a decent fight and you'll see, he won't bother you anymore."
Mr. Jenkins looks doubtful.
"You see, Sir, Bliffil is a bully, and bullies like to hurt people but they don't like bein' hurt themselves. If he hits you five times and you only hit him once, he's still gonna remember that one hit and he'll pick on someone else, 'cause he's got plenty of victims to choose from."
I believe he's starting to see the force of my argument. His head lifts.
"And you got to fight him crude, just as crude and dirty as he fights," I says, seein' hope. "Don't hold back and try to box with him, he'll only laugh at you and pop you one on your nose, which'll start your eyes waterin' and you'll be done. Just go at him, Sir, just go in with your head down and your arms and fists a'flailin'."
I crawl up on the table so I can look direct in Mr. Jenkins's eyes. "I've known many a tough one in my day, and I knows him for a soft one. Just close in, Sir, and punch at whatever ye can punch at, be it face, body, legs, or crotch. Just hurt him, Sir, and he won't be back for more. Hurt him."
I don't know if my call to arms with Mr. Jenkins will do any good, but at least it's a start. I swear the Brotherhood to secrecy and tell them of my plan, and Tink says, "This gets awfully close to mutiny," and I say, "That's why I swore you to secrecy, you ninny, and it ain't really mutiny, it's more like fomentin' revolution, like." I tell them to be real kind to Mr. Jenkins, buck him up some with nods and winks and poundin' your fist in your palm and grinnin', and talk to the men in his division. Who are they? Smyth, Harley, Gonsalves, and Joad? Right, get them to do the same thing. Let's get our Mr. Jenkins charged up for this. What say? Except for Jaimy, they still look uncertain. Jaimy just looks grim, staring at my battered face.
Then I dredges up somethin' from my broadside readin' days and I sticks me fist up in the air, "Remember, lads, 'Rebellion to Tyrants Is Obedience to God!'"
That nails it.
Chapter 23
The boys are talking about the Nature of Things Between Men and Women again. It seems it's all they ever talk about anymore, and what's really maddening is they've got it all wrong. I want to lay it all out for them like Mrs. Roundtree did for me but that would be stupid. Plus I paid a shilling for that knowledge and if they think I'm givin' it out for free, they're wrong.
I guess I snort too loud after a particularly choice piece of falsehood concerning The Parts of the Female and Tink rounds on me like he was reading my mind.
"Awright, Jacky," he says, pointing his finger at me, "you was the one what was in the 'orehouse in Palma. You be the one wi' ex-per-i-ence, you little pervert, and so you be the one to set us straight. Let's 'ave it. Straight now."
They're all looking at me, expecting the true and straight skinny. Even you, Jaimy, you fool.
"I told you I was only asking directions," says I.
"Yeah, right, and me mother's the Queen o' Sheba. C'mon Jacky, you black sinner, you've been there and done it and you've prolly got the pox now, so tell us about it afore you swells up and dies."
I get to my feet and face them. I put my right hand on my hip and my left hand in the air and says, "I, Jack Faber, swear on my tattoo and on my honor as a member of the dread Brotherhood of Ship's Boys of HMS Dolphin that I did nothing at that house except ask for directions." I looks them each in the eye.
Directions in how to be a girl, I finishes to myself.
That satisfies them 'cause they know I wouldn't lie under that oath, which they allows was a right fine oath and ought to be the form for giving oaths from now on. So adopted, say you one, say you all, done.
They fall back into their talk and I reach up and touch my eyebrow. It's just about healed and the stitches are out, leaving a little white scar. The hair of my eyebrow is coming in white around the cut. Jaimy says it gives me a rakish look, like I'm a gay and raffish rogue, but I don't know. I do know my teeth have tightened up and my ribs don't hurt no more and all the swelling went away. All in all, I ain't no uglier than I was before, for which I am thankful.
One thing that worries me, though, is that Jaimy's been acting kind of odd. Sometimes he's real warm and friendly to me and sometimes he ain't. Like, sometimes we lie in our hammock at night and talk real low before going to sleep, him about how much he'd like to help his family, and me
about carrying tea from China in my little ship, and him laughing and calling me Captain Jack, Fearless Jack, Merchantman of the Orient Trade and me saying that it could happen, don't laugh. But, like, sometimes he don't talk at all. Maybe he's just moody, off and on, like me. That's got to be it.
***
Now that I'm better, I keep on Mr. Jenkins, pushing and prodding. He still looks doubtful and confused, so one day I look around all furtive and say, "This is going to send my Immortal Soul straight to Hell for the breakin' of me oath, Sir, but I'm goin' to break the Code of the Secret Society of Street Urchins and show you the Secret Choke Hold, known as The Jaws o' Death throughout urchindom. Now, Sir, you just close the door and I'll show you, but you must swear never to tell anyone or the Society'll hunt me down and kill me in a most horrible way, and they're all around, Sir, don't think they're not. Awright, I put my left arm across your throat and my left hand..."
'Course, it's just a regular old choke hold, but he don't know that, never having had to fight physical before. These young gents, if you need a sword or a bullet put in someone, they're just the ticket, but if you're down to the rough and tumble, you're better off with your common man.
I tighten my arms a bit and he lets out a little choke. "Now, Sir, you do it on me. That's it, not too tight now, you don't want to break me neck. Now, to break the hold..."
I got all this stuff from Charlie, who had to scrap all his life, what there was of it.
I bring my mind back to the foretop, and now Davy is talking about how since we got tattoos and oaths and such, the next thing is a gold ring in our ears. What happens is some bloke pokes a hole in your earlobe and runs a gold hoop through it and then welds it shut so it can't come out. They all allow that that would indeed be a fine thing but why?
"It's tradition, y'see," says Davy. "When you stands your Last Watch and dies or gets killed and yer body washes up on some beach somewheres and some farmer or fisherman walks by, why, he'll say, 'Ah, poor Jack the Sailor, done at last,' and take yer poor bones and give 'em a fine burial and take the gold earring for his just payment. It's tradition, like."