VI. Passing the Pipe
With a new sense of confidence, I challenged Percy to a rematch. We clanked each others swords together, until Percy managed to knock me down, again. I wiped the sweat from my brow, angrily, determined not to give up this time. I got up again and we continued trying to wear the other one out. While clanking swords, in a fast thinking maneuver, I pinned my sword toward his neck.
Cheers of "Well done, Smith," were heard.
"I'll be borrowing this sword," as I wriggled it from his arms, holding up both proudly.
"You cheated, you prat!" He gradually stood up, and spat.
"Of course not! You lost, Percy. Get over yourself." I threw back his sword, and turned to walk away. But Percy had grabbed me by the neck. Not about to let him win over me, I viciously tried forcing him off; but before our fight could go any further, "Raven" and "Hawk" pulled us apart.
"Alright men, that's enough. You had a good, clean fight," Martin told us. Percy walked away after being released from Sicklemore's hold, glaring. I glared right back at him until Martin loosened his grip on me. "Well done, Smith. You've truly surprised me." I took Martin's comment as a compliment, as praise was often rare coming from him—especially in my case.
"Don't you get too cocky," Sicklemore told me. "'Twas but a drill after all—not even a real fight. As you were, men."
I also found my aim was improving. More daringly one day, during another practice session, I decided to aim for a barrel in the distance. As the ale flowed, I briefly shared satisfaction in myself, until I heard a loud exclamation, followed by the Captain, the other officers, and some of the sailors approaching.
"Bloody hell! Who did that?!"
"I did, Sir." I answered before considering if I should have said anything at all.
All was silent before he spoke. "Well, what're you asses millin' 'round for?! Whate'er is wasted will seep through the planks!"
This time, the others laughed with me, rather than at me, as they went. Percy looked back at the barrel, then at me, muttering something under his breath, before having his share.
"Falcon" measured the distance. "How was that possible? No one on board had shot from that distance before."
While I received great remarks from the other sailors and officers (even Sicklemore noted my improvements), the Captain instead was a man of fewer words and appearances. I wanted him to notice and receive his approval; but instead he would say nothing, or merely grunt, and carry on back toward his chamber.
Before passing me, the Quartermaster whispered a few words. "I wouldn't think to much of that, Smith. Newport seems to think very highly of you. He tells me and the other officers himself."
"Then why does it appear he's never impressed?"
"It only appears that way because you think that way. Newport can be a rather obscure man, but only because he doesn't show his intentions, or become impressed very easily."
Shortly after, I noted the First Mate having a brief meeting with the Quartermaster. "I've been made aware you've been giving an able bodied sailor 'private lessons'?"
"Offering suggestions, perhaps. Nothing more, Sir."
"I should hope 'twould not interfere with your duties as Quartermaster, as a mediator capable of decision making without favoritism. Surely you recall how fortunate you are to have such a position and wouldn't wish to discredit the man who granted your recommendation despite other suitable candidates?"
"It most certainly will not, Sir."
"Good. One would hate to give reason to question the judgment of such an esteemed Captain. And I was suspecting that peasant lad was making an impression on yourself; though I expect a gentleman and officer to know better. "
I appreciated Gosnold's mentoring, although he only approached me when necessary. I was aware he had his core group of friends and several acquaintances, and peers. Inasmuch as I wondered why he would mentor me in the first place, he was likely intending to be polite. After all, he was this manner with the other crew, even if the gentlemen normally showed little interests in commoners.
One gloomy day, "Eagle" surprisingly selected me to man the helm and navigate, instead of doing it himself. I quickly discovered navigation would be difficult, as the maps were faded and dull; some terribly worn. I studied the maps a bit more and gradually redrew them. As I concentrated more, I began gradually adding a bit more details, to add a touch of my own to the Likes of Sir Francis Drake's and other drawings.
"Ahem!" The Hawk was looking over my shoulder. I had forgotten my present duty.
"My apologies, Sir. I noticed the scrolls were worn, and only meant to improve them."
"Improve them? What would the late Sir Francis think you defacing his work?"
"What happened here?" The Quartermaster approached.
"The boy has ruined Sir Francis' illustrations." I nearly scoffed at his remark, but instead held my tongue. "See for yourself!" The Second Mate grabbed them from me.
The Quartermaster quietly looked over them. "Indeed, the original works have been compromised. I would never have expected this to happen at all... . Smith, did you copy these yourself?"
"I did sir," I replied sheepishly. I began doubting my judgement, as I found it difficult to gauge his reaction, whether he was disappointed or surprised.
He paused. "Martin, I'd think it best to speak with the other officers and Captain himself regarding this. Smith, you will return to your original station until we contact you shortly, to discuss our decision regarding your actions."
"Yes, Sir." That certainly confirmed it. I was a fool.
Was I a fool? As it turned out, Newport liked my maps better than the others, and they became the standard. Even the other officers had to admit they were more accurate. While Sicklemore decided to copy my maps, Martin asked me to make him other maps. Kendall jokingly remarked he wouldn't have trouble charting the course, anymore. Archer eyed them curiously, as if surprised by my level of talent.
"Smith, are you only sixteen?"
"Would I lie?"
"I would not be capable of this—not even in Geography at Cambridge—quite remarkable, really." This was one of the nicer things Archer ever said, so I took it as an opportunity of him opening up to me. "Bart was right; you are more intelligent than I originally thought."
"And what do you mean by that?"
"I hadn't expected this much from someone lacking formal education—pardon me for saying that. With that being said, I must give credit where it is due." I could accept that as an honest, somewhat polite, answer from him.
As I was watching the sun set on the deck, Newport approached me, while Sicklemore was on evening duty. He invited me up to the crow's nest, asking me what I saw.
"Looks like a storm's about to arrive... ."
"You'd be right. Which direction?" That I couldn't answer. He licked his finger, and pointed it upward toward the sky. "We're 'eaded southeast now. The winds blowin' east. 'Twould be 'eadin our way soon." He told me were headed toward Madeira, an island off the coast of Africa. It would likely take a couple days for the storm to subside. "'Tis a marvelous sight, is it not?"
"Indeed. I've never been this far from home before."
"There's sev'ral worlds beyond that sea, waitin' to be explor'd. Yer in for quite the 'venture."
Newport invited me into the Captain's Quarters for a drink, which surprised me. Archer had told me no one besides the Captain and officers went in there. "So Smith, or should I say 'Sea Eyes?'" He poured me some ale and handed me his tankard. "I've met quite a few 'Smiths' o'er the years. 'Tis much easier for me to give you a nickname. I see you still 'ave me old weapons I gave you some time ago upon me visit to Lynn. What brought you 'ere?"
"There's no place else to go to, really. My parents are both deceased. My siblings live with their stepfather...I'm on my own now."
"Yer awfully young to be in such a position...much like myself—not 'avin' much of a 'ome life, longin' for 'venture and settin' out as soon as I could...that same determination I see in you. I expect more of you b'cause I know what yer capable of...and yer bound to accomplish more than I, once you reach me own age."
I was speechless, having no idea we were both so relatable.
"When I was yer age, I began sailin' the seas with the likes of William Parker, Sir Walter Raleigh, Thomas Cavendish, the late Francis Drake, Richard Hawkins and his late father John Hawkins. Richard and I 'ave been plunderin' the cari'bea'n for years now."
Mentioning such names piqued my interest, as I have heard of such men before, and also admired them greatly. I handed him back his tankard after I finished drinking it. He was smoking from a pipe. "You don't drink much, eh Sea Eyes?"
"Honestly, apart from the last time I spent with my father, I hadn't tried again until I became a mercenary for the French...but I never took to their wine."
"I'd normally tolerate a glass o' two with me wife at home. 'This all I can e'er 'ave with me girls 'round. But there's nothin' like a good, strong ale, out at sea. I s'pose you don't smoke either?"
"No, Sir."
He took a few more puffs before offering me his pipe. "Breathe long an' slow." I took his advice, and ended up coughing a few times before he took it back, chuckling. "It takes some gettin' accoustom'd to."
In that moment, I had begun to have a connection or understanding with Newport, that I never had with my own father, or any other man I knew. I began to confide in him, and in time, he treated me first as a son, and more as an equal as time went on.
Over the next few days, we eventually made our way southwest, past Madeira, towards the Cape Verde Islands. Before long, we had spotted a Spanish ship. We anticipated the gold and riches it must have carried.
"Alright, sea dogs," Newport addressed the crew. "Here's the moment we've been waitin' for. Let's remember our Queen Elizabeth."
"God save the Queen; Long to reign over us!" We all shouted in her honor.
"Ready men?" Newport shouted. Once the Spanish ship noticed our approach, they began firing. It was time to fire back. "Aim, fire!" We neared the vessel until we were close enough to jump aboard. Newport called out to the captain. "Alright you jackal— surrend'r now, or prepare to fight back!"
"¡Nunca!¡Muévete su barco, hijos de putas!—Never! Move your ship, sons of b—es!" The captain shouted to Newport.
"We're not movin' our ship any'ere! Men—attack!"
Gosnold led a crew of men aboard, and we began sword fighting. Finally, the action I had been seeking. Before I knew it, I was battling with a Spaniard, until I managed to knock him down. I noticed Percy was getting attacked by another man. He had knocked him to the ground. But before the man could strike, I knocked the man out of the way and began fighting him myself. I motioned for Percy to move, and he took a large chest nearby back to our ship. After I forcefully stabbed him, I watched him fall to the ground, shocked that I had actually killed him. However, at this moment, I had little time for remorse.
"Watch out Smith!" Lon warned, who was fighting off another man. I turned around to find the man I knocked down previously was coming back to fight me again. I had ducked before he could possibly chop my head off. When I had turned around again, Ben had begun fighting him.
While I saw many of the men heading back towards the Neptune, I figured there would be more valuables in the ships' hold, and snuck down there. I grabbed a trove of jewels and proceeded to climb up the ladder, until a man met me on my way up.
"¿Qué te piensas hacer, malparido?—What do you think you're doing, bastard?"
Before I could react or even answer, the man grabbed the chest and pushed me back down. I tried grabbing a rail, but I fell backwards, landing on the floor. The man came down the ladder after me, proceeding to fist fight with me. I noticed my sword had landed not far off, and attempted to roll toward it. But the Spaniard kept knocking me over, grabbing it for himself. At this point, the edge of my sword was inches from my neck, before he was ready to push it through... .