Chapter 7. Friends Old and New

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Jim scrapped the spoon across the plate, getting the last pieces of the cooked shark meat. He set the plate down with a long sigh. "Now that was a good meal," he said, looking over the flat metal sheet where the meal had been cooked. The coals glowed a deep orange now, flickering the soft light in the darkness on the deck. Men still worked nearby, cutting the last of the whale's body apart.

"That was good," Artie agreed, patting his stomach. "First time I have felt full in days. Or is it weeks? And my clothes are just hanging on me," he said, pulling at the lose waistband of his pants. "Good thing I had my suspenders on when I was invited to join this trip."

Jim laughed, giving his partner a soft punch in the shoulder, "no more soft living for you. When we get back," he said, "and we will get back, I'm going to keep you in top shape."

"My old shape was just fine, thank you," Artie said, turning annoyed face to his partner. "But I agree we will get back. And I think we have a hidden ace now." He winked at Jim's surprised look, "I didn't tell you yet about my conversation with the Captain and what I found in his quarters. Or I should say whom."

"No, you were too busy eating," Jim said, "but I saw that grin on your face when you came back onto the deck tonight," he paused, thinking, "what does Colonel Richmond say? Your Mona Lisa smile? Usually means you have a secret. I figured you would tell me eventually."

Artie laughed quietly, "Mona Lisa smile? Ya, I haven't heard that one for a while." He ran his hand through is hair, thick with sweat. "He must wonder what the hell happened to us."

"As long as he keeps the train for us and someone is taking care of our horses," Jim growled, "and Sophie and the birds too. How did we end up with so many mouths to feed?" He turned back to his partner, "but, what did you and the Captain chat about and what's our hidden ace?"

Artie took a deep breath and thought back, "we started talking about food and my teaching Charlie how to cook. I asked about supplies and he said we would be stopping soon at islands where he said they get a variety of foods. I mentioned limes and he didn't seem to believe that they were needed but he did say the food will be better soon. I asked about the cannon," he said, snapping his fingers of his right hand, "and he said I could clean them out. Said the crewmen that knew how to use them aren't here now. So I need to look into that. But, then," he said, grinning, pocking a finger into Jim's shoulder, "then he introduced me to his new wife."

Jim waited, knowing he couldn't rush his partner's stories, "and…"

"And its someone we know," Artie said, pausing again.

"Should I guess," Jim said, trying to keep his patience. "We know a lot of people. Maybe you could give me a hint, like her name?"

"Her name would be an insultingly easy hint," Artie said, his eyebrows rising, "let's start with women you know who have red hair?"

"Melinda, in the office?" Jim guessed.

Artie scowled, "ya, its Melinda," he said, sarcastically, "She got kidnapped too from that bar and is being held captive in the Captain's quarters." He rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust.

Jim snorted, "she couldn't be quiet long enough to be kidnapped or held captive anywhere." He thought, "I know a lot of red heads. Give me another clue."

"Ok, she works near the docks in Washington," Artie said, watching his partner's face. "Still no? How about she owns a warehouse?" Jim shook his head tiredly. "Damn, you used to be good at this. Hope you're not losing your intelligence with all this manual labor." Jim's blue eyes glared at him in the darkness, the light flickering in his eyes. "How about she used to hang out with a giant named Tiny?"

Jim's eyes flew open at that clue, "Rose?" He hissed, under his breath, "Rose, from the warehouse? She owned the warehouse after her husband and evil father-in-law were killed? And Tiny?" He sat up, staring straight ahead now, almost talking to himself, "how the hell did Rose end up on this ship? And she is really married this time? She must have met this fellow at the docks or the warehouse."

"She seemed happy and comfortable," Artie said, "and had a good appetite."

"Did she recognize you," Jim asked.

"Yes, she did," Artie said, "she was very surprised. And I mentioned you were here too," Artie added. "She liked the shark and I said you had killed it." He paused, thinking, "I am sure if the Captain was busy on the deck, you or I, or both of us, could get into the Captain's room and take a look around without her sounding an alarm." Jim nodded, silently, lost in thoughts of his own. "I would like a gun, my own would be nice," Artie muttered. "He mentioned wine and brandy being there." He took a deep breath, "well it's good to have a friend on board, even if she hasn't been here long and may not know a lot of details."

"She might know his plans for the future," Jim said, "while the crew knows what has happened in the past. I would like to see some maps and know more about where we are stopping. If these islands are populated and ships visit them, could we stay on the islands and wait for another ship. A military ship would be good…"

"Depending on who's military ship it is," Artie said quietly.

"Oh, even a British military ship would get us back to American eventually," Jim said, "though I don't want to be part of the crew." He looked over at his partner, "do you have any money on you?"

Artie turned a surprised look to Jim, "in my jacket, where ever that is, hidden inside the liner," he said, "why? Going shopping?"

"We might be able to buy tickets home," Jim said, still thinking, "and I bet your jacket is in the Captain's quarters. Along with our other articles of clothing and firearms." He stood, wiping his mouth on the back of his now tattered white shirt tails. "Well I am going to help the guys. We will think about Rose tomorrow and searching her husband's quarters." He paused, watching his partner stand on the ever tilting deck. "You know what this means?" Artie shook his head. "This means that this is the second time I have been kidnapped by one of her husbands."

Artie stood too, though more slowly, chucking, "I guess it does, at that. It's a habit we need to stop." He squeezed a hand on Jim's shoulder, "I'm going to check on Charlie. I sent him below to cut some meat into long strips. We are going to dry some so it stores longer."

They moved apart, disappearing into the darkness in opposite directions.

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The sunlight threw a pink hue on the white sails as the cloth was dropped down the masts and wrapped in long ropes. Men scurried around, busily putting tools into the long boats. Others carried empty crates forward with the hopes that they will soon be filled with food for their journey at sea.

"Jim," Artie whispered, as he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his partner, "if you find a good hiding spot or see an opportunity…"

"We already talked about this," Jim growled, not looking back at his friend, "I'm not leaving you. We stick together. Besides, there might actually be head hunters on the island. You wouldn't want me to end up as someone's main course, would you?"

"There isn't enough meat on you to be a main course," Artie chuckled, "soup, maybe." They paused as the first mate bellowed down from an upper deck at the sailors. "Besides, the Captain was just saying that to keep the men from running away. He would send more men armed with weapons if it was that dangerous. He needs food supplies."

"If we carried the collection of antique sharp sticks with us," Jim sneered, "then we couldn't carry back crates of food." He started to step away but Artie grabbed his elbow and slide something into his hand. Jim looked down at his palm to see a short butter knife sharpened on one end to a long, wicked looking point. "And I thought you spent all the time in the galley planning our meals." He tucked the blade into his waistband of his pants, in a small secretive pocket. He smacked Artie in the shoulder as he moved away again, "Now stop worrying and I'll be back with the rest of them." He moved forward toward his longboat as his crewmates gathered.

"Why don't you let ole Jim here carry that thunderstick," On man yelled out at Stone. "Your man Wolvertin is so sun blind he couldn't spot the bloody island. Do you think he can shoot a wild pig?" The others yelled and whistled, not all in good humor, as Stone shook his great fist at them.

"Jim saw the island first," another man yelled out, "he sees everything a week or two before we do. Eyes like a jungle cat, he has!" The men punched Jim in the shoulders and jostled him as they crowded the deck. Men at the railing began lowering the boats down.

Stone glared at them, "you all don't get guns. You might hurt yourselves and that would make the Captain sad." He snarled, "so just do what you're told and carry your crates like a bunch of old women!"

The longboats dropped into the water and the men scrambled down the ropes on the ship's flanks, quickly gaining seats and grabbing up the oars. The boat Jim was in was piled high with wooden crates, a few of which had to be moved so the oars could be used. "So what's on this island to eat?" Jim twisted his head around to see where they were going. Waves crashed on a long, white beach with dense green underbrush beyond. Farther back were thickets of palms and palmettos. "I hope there are some trails cut, that looks like thick woods."

"Thick with spiders and snakes too," a man nearby yelled out, "not to mention head hunters!"

"There ain't no such thing," another voice yelled out. "Besides I don't see any heads in this boat pretty enough to hunt for except maybe Jim's head with all that hair of his! I used to have hair," the man said, slapping a hand on his bare scalp. "But all the pretty girls pulled it out!"

The men roared with laughter as they dug the oars deeper into the water. The longboats were quickly at the crest of the waves. "Up," the yell came from Rowdy in the front of the boat and the oars tipped up. The long boats slide over the waves and shot up the beach. "Out", then men all jumped over the sides, some barely getting their feet wet as they moved up the sand.

Jim stood, squinting into the sunlight as his eyes searched the foliage. "You have been here before?" He asked, looking at Rowdy and the older men, "are we trying to go anywhere in particular?" The other longboat slid onto the beach nearby and the men scrambled out. "Do we split up or go together?"

"We only have the one gun now," Rowdy said quietly, nodding toward Wolvertin, the man holding the rifle. "It was a lot easier to hunt when we all carried a gun," he sighed. He shook his head and lead his group to join the other men. He nodded toward the long rifle, "have you shot that before, Wolvertin?"

"Ya," the tall man said lazily, squinting into the bright sunlight. "I know how ta use it." He shook a leather satchel that was slung over his chest and shoulder. "I got plenty of shot and powder in here. We can get us a mess of pigs."

Jim peered at the long gun, noting the flint in the lock. He sighed, thinking of his accurate rifle and how fast the repeating lever action could shoot. "This is a flint lock? I haven't shot one of those since I was a kid. I never thought I would be hunting with it."

"Well you ain't," Wolvertin snarled, backing up a step. "I is. Stone gave this here rifle to me." The men crowded around, making a circle. "I've shot it and I can hit a pig on a dead run with it."

"Fine, glad to hear it," Jim said, nodding to the man, "let's go find some then." He turned to Rowdy, "you leading?" Rowdy nodded and turned to the thick underbrush. The other boatload of men separated from them, carrying empty crates, and moved into the thick jungle in the other direction.

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Artie stood, peering over the railing until the group of men in the far distance moved into the thick jungle of vegetation on the island. Shaking his head, he moved down the decks. Only a few men were left on board now, mostly the old and invalid sailors that relaxed around the nets. Stone had gone toward the Captain's cabin, leaving a relieved quiet over the ship.

"Guess we miss the excitement of the chase," Tully cackled, smiling up at Artemus with his toothless grin. "They will have a heck of a time tracking in that thick woods. And the snakes," he said, nudging his friends, "eh, ever seen a sidewinder? Once I saw…"

"Ya, ya," another old man snapped as he peered at a frayed knot, "you've seen just about everything. See if you can fix that." He shoved part of the net closer to Tully.

Artie kneeled down next to them, clearing his throat, "I was hoping you all could let me in on a secret." He paused, waiting for the old eyes to turn to him. "I was told by the Captain," he continued, his voice a whisper, "that some of you knew about the cannons on board. How they worked and where the powder and shot are." His dark eyes watched the two old men, waiting.

"Why do you want to know about those old things," Tully said, looking back at the tough fibers. "Nothing but trouble, those things are. Better off without them ole cannons and guns…"

"Now Tully," Artie said, clicking his tongue, "what if the pirates came right now. Most of the men are all on the island. It would be hard for us to do any hand to hand fighting, wouldn't it?" The old men wouldn't meet his eyes. "I just want to clean the cannon and test fire them. Where are the powder and shot?"

Tully squinted up at Artie, "you know how to run them iron dragons? Hate to lose a good cook just as my dinner is getting better." He cackled in a dry laugh as Artie nodded.

"Where 'ave you shot cannon before," the other man said, his eyes sharper than Tully's. "You in the war, when the north invaded America?" Artie nodded. "You're a northerner too, I can tell by the way ya talk." He spit on the deck and shook his head. "Might's well show him, Tully," he growled, "them Northerners just never give up once they made up their minds to do a thing."

"All right, I will show you." He dropped the netting and reached out for help, letting Artie pull him to his feet. He swayed and tottered with the rolling ship, making it to an open doorway leading to the ladders. Artie followed the older man as they climbed down the decks to the lower levels of the ship.

"Shoot it!" Jim yelled again as the black beast darted between the men. "When it goes through a clearing, you have to get a shot off. You can't wait for it to be running around our ankles!" He stood, fists on hips, glaring at the man holding the gun. The hot sun filtered down through the wide, green leaves over their heads as they stood in the jungle. Sweat smeared his face, as it did all the men, as they crushed forward in a tight group.

"Give Jim the damned gun, Wolvertin," Rowdy said, "We won't tell Stone if you don't." Wolvertin stepped back, holding the gun tight to his chest. "We've had three boar run past and you haven't even gotten a shot off yet, much less hit one."

"I ain't wasting the shot," the man snarled back, "we aint' got all that much and I don't want to miss. We need to find one standing still." He tapped an open palm on the leather satchel slung low across his chest.

"Oh, right," Jim snapped, "because that's what wild pigs do when a gang of men is tramping through the underbrush. Stand around and wait for someone to shoot them. We'll be going back with all the shot and powder at this rate, since you won't shoot the damned gun."

"I'll shoot," Wolvertin said, glaring at everyone in turn. "I'll get plenty of pigs. We just need to sneak up on them. You all make too much noise. You don't know how to hunt!"

Jim took a deep breath and took a few steps back, as Rowdy stepped between them to speak softy, "Look, we don't have all day. It'll be dark soon and I …"

Rowdy was interrupted with another crashing sound, which all day had heralded the approach of a wild pig. The men turned and separated, moving away from Wolvertin to give him room to shoot. The pig, a large male with long tusks, burst from the thickets close by, behind some men. The animal seemed to run toward the group instead of away, as the smaller ones had previously. The tusks cut into a man's leg as the animal raced past. The man screamed in pain as blood burst out, spraying the vegetation.

"Shoot!" Jim yelled, pulling Artie's homemade knife from his hidden pocket. He gripped it in his right hand, hoping the pig would run close enough for him to stab it with the small blade, desperate for a kill. The boar was a black streak running around the men.

"Wait," Wolvertin yelled out, the rifle held at his hip as he tried to aim the barrel at the crazed animal. "It's moving too fast! I'll get it when its running away!"

The pig had other plans. Almost sensing the most serious danger was the armed sailor, the pig turned and charged Wolvertin. The man snapped the long rifle up to his shoulder but he was much too slow. The pig was already too close, running underneath the long barrel, straight into the tall man's legs. The pig knocked him down and began head butting the man, the tusks cutting into his legs and arms. Wolvertin twisted on the ground crying out in pain and fear, trying to push the animal away or kick it.

Jim darted forward and grabbed up the rifle from the ground where it was dropped. He pulled the flint back and put the barrel almost onto the animal's side. With a pull of the trigger, the musket's double bang exploded and the heavy, lead ball pushed into the animal. The pig squealed and rolled onto its side and lay still. Jim stepped back and instantly began blowing down the rifle's smoking barrel to clear it of burnt debris.

Rowdy ran forward to help Wolvertin sit up. Other men pulled the dead pig back, out of the way. They pulled spare bits of cloth from pockets and began ripping long strips for bandages. Wolvertin gasped in pain and pushed them away, fighting them. "Stop, man, you're bleeding," Rowdy whispered, his stomach lurching at the site of all the blood. "We need to get you back to the ship," Rowdy said, trying to hold the man still. "Stop complaining when people are trying to help you."

"Quit your damned bellyaching," Jim snapped, "You should have shot quicker if you didn't want to get torn up. When you need to shoot, you shoot, not talk." He handed the homemade knife to another man, "gut that pig out. The meat will spoil fast in this heat." He leaned over and pulled the leather, possible bag off the wounded man. "You won't need that now. We can split up. Some can carry him back to the beach with the pig. I'll take another guy with me and keep hunting." He nodded to the man who was quickly and efficiently cutting up the pig. "You look like you can handle a knife."

"Butcher," the man said quietly, "in my past life." The guts spilled out onto the ground and he wiped the inside of the animal with a handful of leaves. "That should do it until it can get cleaned by the cook." He looked up at Jim, "that feller going to be able to cook a wild boar?"

Jim nodded, "he can cook anything." He opened the bag and pulled out the powder horn. Tipping it into the barrel, he added powder. Then he dug in the bag for the solid mini ball. As if he performed the mundane task of reloading a black powder rifle every day, Jim was soon ramming the ball down the barrel. He tipped the rifle upright and added more powder to the pan. He snapped the pan shut and put everything back into the bag. "Let's go shoot him another pig to cook. I don't like sharing meat."

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Artie leaned over the old cannon, digging into the fuse hole slowly with a sharp stone. Dried pieces of black powder residue fell away as he cleaned. The slanted rays of the late afternoon sun shone onto the metal giving the dirt a pink glow. He paused to rub at the raised lettering, squinting again in an attempt to read the old script. "Carron Company…" Artie squinted, leaning closer, his body moving easy now with the roll of the ship, "Falkirk, Scotland." He stood up and leaned back, looking more closely at the short, squat cannon. "So, this is a carronade? Larger than I imagined. Good for a closer fight, I suppose," he muttered to himself. His eyes looked at the smooth wooden runners the heavy cannon sat on and then to the ropes that secured the back. "I bet you've knocked a few sailors on their ass," he chuckled, leaning back over the touch hole again. He blew down into the hole, wondering if he had it clear yet. "This would be easier with a long wire or needle," he muttered to himself, picking again at the burnt debris, "but a spark, my dear Artemus, would be messy."

He stood up as footsteps approached to see Tully carrying a small cloth bag. "We still got a dozen or more of these," the old man wheezed. "Have to store them below to keep the water off them and in case of a fire," he chuckled, "hate to blow the ship to Kingdom come."

"At least a dozen, you say?" Artie nodded, looking across the deck to the opposite side. Another matching cannon stood, ready to load, on its carriage, barrel at the gun port. "All that powder and we have shot," he added, looking at the piles of solid cannon balls. "Eight pounder?" Tully nodded. "Well that would get the attention of any pirate ship that got close enough to board. Why weren't these kept in use?"

Tully put the cloth bag carefully onto the deck. "We had crews trained but either the men left the crew," he winked, "for various reasons, or the equipment broke. Both cannonades were fitted with lanyards for firing but both broke. So we just used the old slow match but the holes were always plugged," he shrugged, "Cannons take a lot of work to keep clean, especially when not used much, and the hot salty air." He paused, rubbing his jaw, "And now this Stone, he don't like us near anything that we can kill him with. Knives, guns, cannon," he spit on the deck in disgust. "This was a good ship before the Captain brought him and his kind on board. But it's an old ship and we do business the old way. Young people don't want to work nowadays so good crewmen are hard to come by, especially for this kind of back-breaking work. The Captain either hires bad men or," he grinned, nodding to Artie, "acquires better men."

Artie laughed, shaking his head. "So what happens to the bad crewmembers"

Tully sat on the deck, his old knees snapping as they bent. "Bad men become good men or they are transferred to other ships. Everyone needs additional crew and not everyone is as choosey as our Captain how they act or how they are treated. Our Captain doesn't like to flog or injure anyone so he needs men who will work from their own free will and sense of accomplishment. Anyone who is in need of a good flogging or hanging even, is just traded for supplies somewhere else. Sometimes we even leave them to work on plantations on islands where they grow the cane for sugar." He grinned up at Artie, "ever seen a cane plantation? Interesting work. I done it," he said, his old eyes lost in memory, "course by now, I done most everything." He nodded, absently now, almost to himself, "yes, seen all, done all. You will too after a few years on this ship."

Artie looked away, back to the cannon, muttering, "not me. Got to be some way off…" he noticed movement on the beach and leaned out the port, squinting into the setting sun. He quickly counted heads in the far distance as the men were gathering near the long boats. "One missing," he muttered, trying to look at all the men as they moved around on the sand. He finally decided one was Jim, just making out a white shirt and dark pants, standing with the usual hands on hips. The long gun was slung over his shoulder. "Well, are you done, James, my boy?" He watched as objects were loaded onto the two long boats, unable to see from this distance what they were. His heart skipped a beat as he watched two men being helped into a boat. "Damn," he breathed, shaking his head. Then the two long boats were pushed into the water by men but, instead of jumping into the boats, the men walked back to the shore. And Jim was still standing back, separated by a few yards, still with the rifle.

"God dammit," Artie snapped, stepping away from the hull and turning to Tully, "The longboats are coming back but some of the men are staying on the beach. And I'm sure there is one man missing!"

Tully stood slowly, pulling himself to his feet with the aid of the cannon's carriage. "We'll go meet the boats and ask the men what is happening."

"It must be a man lost," Artie said, stepping forward quickly to help the old man. "If a man was dead, they would all come back."

Tully squinted up at Artie, "and your friend must be staying back to search," he nodded, "why you are worried? He's a good man, that Jim, a good man." He turned to the stairs, "but the men will tell us."

Artie let out a long sigh and walked slowly behind the old man. "Dammit, Jim, can't you just once not be the hero?"

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Jim stood on the beach with his back to the jungle and watched Rowdy and the other man push the longboats into the foaming surf. The oars flashed in the setting sun as the men began to row toward the ship. The narrow wooden boats cut through the waves and quickly moved out into deeper water. The two men moved to join him.

"They'll bring a boat back with lanterns," Rowdy said, "so we can find our way back to the beach once it gets dark."

"They'll be no use searching after dark," Jim sighed, "we will only have a few minutes to find him, especially in the thicker areas. And the sun is almost down already." He turned to look back at the trees. "Where did they come out of? And they didn't even see when he disappeared?"

"Holliday is a sneaky bastard," Rowdy said, spitting on the sand. "He's been so silent lately that I barely pay attention to him. He complained a lot when he first was on the ship but now does enough work to keep out of any real trouble; just stays to himself. But he must have been planning this all along."

"That's why the Captain warned about head hunters?" Jim turned to look back at Rowdy. "Are there actually such a thing? Here?"

The younger man took a deep breath and let it out slowly, finally shrugging, "I don't know. Ole Tully talks about it but he talks about a lot of shit; I don't believe half of what he says."

"But if even half of it is true," Jim grinned, "well, we will try. If we can't find him tonight, we can come back tomorrow in the daylight. I don't want to spend the night on this island and miss the pig roast." He turned and plunged down a path, not really knowing where to go. "And if Holliday is hiding from us, we won't find him anyway in this thick shit."

Rowdy followed behind with the man who had cut up the pigs. "I hope he finds the head hunters. They would probably keep the bastard as their new leader." The third man followed silently, watching for the missing man as they moved.

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