Some of the strangest tales of the sea come out of some of the most unlikely places. This is the story of how my best friend and shipmate, Jack Kelly, pulled off some pretty brave, daring, and yes, stupid stunts to save us all from a watery grave in Davy Jones' Locker.
But really, the story begins before that, on the day we left home. I'd been raised in a nice, sedate family. I had never known hunger or want, not really, and I always had a safe home to come back to after school, with a family I loved and a warm bed. Running away was my one act of rebellion.
Jack never had it so easy. His mother's dead, and his father's in jail, although he doesn't like to admit it. I overheard one of the other boys talking about it, once. Jack is my opposite. He's a little rough around the edges, but pretty carefree. He likes to dance and he's very smooth with the ladies. Jack's not a virgin. I've never had a girlfriend. But still, Jack brings out the best in me, and he's the one who helped me run away.
I left late at night, in the spring, with a bag of clothes and a few of my possessions and a note, which I slipped under the door after I eased it closed. Mama was so happy when I finally oiled the creaky hinges yesterday. If only she'd known.
Jack and I met in front of the Lodging House where he lives. Most of the newsies were still up to say goodbye. Mush, Skittery and a few others walked down to the docks with us, and were still standing there as we sailed off into the sunset early that morning.
Everything was just as I had pictured. Blue water, rippling with waves, stretched out forever beyond our bow. New York City, with its smog and crowds, was fading behind us and we had a terrific view of the sunrise over the water. Later, I would be glad that I stopped at the rail for several minutes to enjoy the sight. Later, I would almost wish I had stayed home.
The first thing we did was follow one of the crew belowdecks to take a look at our sleeping quarters. I, being naïve as I was back then, expected bunks. A little roughness, perhaps, but just the right amount for an adventure with my best friend. Boy, was I surprised.
"These here are your'n," the sailor growled, tossing us each a hammock. "String 'em up."
I stood, nonplussed, holding the hammock. Finally Jack poked me.
"You heard him, Dave," he whispered, biting back a snicker. "String it up!" I did, slowly, and with much apprehension.
We then followed the man to the galley, the kitchen, where we seemed to be just in time for lunch. Each sailor was served a hearty portion of what looked to be horsemeat and pig slop. We were allowed some ration of grog each day, which many of the sailors drank then and there. I poked at my food, forcing it down after a fashion, but Jack had eaten his faster than I could have said "Jack Robinson," had I thought of it. He tipped back his grog, and sighed, satisfied.
"Best idea we ever had, eh Dave?" he asked, clapping me on the back. I nodded weakly.
"I mean, think about it," Jack continued. "What was there for us in that city? Nothin. Crowds, dirt, and a penny a pape. This is really the life. Better than Santa Fe! And the food, well, it ain't Tibby's but it's sure better than Kloppman's."
How would you know? I wanted to ask, but I held my tongue. Actually, he had a point. This could very well be our Great Adventure. But all I said was, "What would you know about Kloppman's cooking? You always ate at my house so you could try and lay my sister." Jack laughed so hard I thought he was going to wet himself, and eventually I started to laugh too. The sailors looked at us and shook our heads, but it didn't bother me. This was going to be good, after all. I just knew it.
I wasn't laughing later, though. After lunch, we were put to scrubbing the deck, out in the hot sun. Jack and I both shed our shirts as soon as we could. He was muscular and tan, and looked just fine. I was scrawny and pale, and soon had a wicked sunburn down my back. It was about that time that we hit a rough patch in the weather. As the boat pitched, so did my stomach.
"Dave?" Jack asked, looking at me as he wiped sweat from his face. "You're green. You gonna-" But he never finished his sentence. I jumped up and ran to the rail before losing my lunch over the side.
When I finished being sick, I leaned against the rail, holding my pounding head. I was thirsty- and my stomach hurt- and my legs were cramped-
And then everything went sort of fuzzy around the edges, and a second later the cloud closed in and I fainted.
I woke up to someone pouring water over my head. Jack was slapping my cheeks lightly.
"Dave?" he was saying. He sounded concerned. I opened my eyes a little and moaned. I could hear someone else walking over. It turned out to be two someones, the captain and one of the sailors.
"What's this?" the captain asked, turning to the sailor beside him. The latter was a young man, strong looking with serious blue eyes and longish, dirty-blond hair that badly needed a wash.
"New sailor, sir," the younger man replied. "Probably had too much sun."
Suddenly, Jack snapped his fingers. "Blade!" he exclaimed. "How's it rollin?"
"Excuse me?" the captain asked, and Blade shook his head imperceptibly. Jack quieted down at once. "Stevenson, what does he mean by calling you 'Blade'?"
"It was my nickname," Stevenson explained. "I used to be a newsboy, and…"
"Say no more," the captain commanded. "I too, sold papes, many years ago. My old selling partner, Atlas Pulitzer, his name was really…er… Joe, is running that paper now, I believe. What borough, boy?"
"I was the Manhattan leader, sir," Jack replied, saluting. "Dave here was one of my newsies."
The captain who, though strict, was a good man at heart and liked boys, smiled. "I too was the Manhattan leader, boy. And you say that Stevenson was, as well?"
"Yes sir," Jack replied, his respect for the man increasing every moment.
The captain looked around to make sure that none of his crew was watching, then, in one swift motion, spat in his hand and held it out to Jack. Jack also spat and they shook hands.
"One newsie to another," the captain smiled. "Now," he continued, once again businesslike, "Stevenson, take this boy below. Put him in his hammock and keep an eye on him."
"Yessir."
Stevenson picked me up and carried me below. He lay me in my bunk, took my shirt off and took it abovedecks to dip it in the sea before putting it on over my burned body. He made sure that I drank plenty of water, and when I awoke the next morning I was surprised to find that I felt a lot better. And gradually, over the next few weeks, I got used to ship life. The food no longer bothered me so much, although I could never actually look at what I was eating. I even got a tan, and often remarked that Sarah would have been surprised. She had loved teasing me about my pale skin.
Jack, of course, was in his element. He had always been a street rat, so the things that I considered hardships never bothered him. Some of my 'hardships' he even considered lucky! Like the food, for instance. He was used to food that insulted my privileged taste buds, and was even happier now, because there was sometimes even enough food to keep him full and content. Despite what I had said about his always eating at my house, I knew that for a long time he had eaten the kind of food that made my mother cringe.
We learned to love that ship, Jack and I. We often ended up being paired on watch, at night, and did our chores together. We were inseparable. Ah yes, that was the life.
A/N: I've always wanted to write a 'sea story' and my inspiration finally came in the form of the newsies. This is part one of a two-parter, and I hope you've enjoyed it so far. I'll try to post the other pretty soon, although if you follow my other serial, "Hard Lessons" (which needs a new title, except I can't come up with one) you know that I seem to update monthly. Hopefully, I can improve on that pitiful average and you'll get the rest of this story pretty soon. Enjoy, and please review.
PS- kudos to anyone who understood the joke about Pulitzer's Newsie name! For those who didn't get it, in Greek (or was it Roman?) mythology, Atlas was the giant who held up the world. Get it?