*Disclaimer* Nothing's mine, except that which my little head thought up.
A/N Thank you all for your kind reviews! Hopefully, I won't disappoint you!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Julie trundled down the darkened streets on the outskirts of Portsmouth, heading toward the docks that were already ringing with men's voices and the calls of sea birds. The smell of the seaside air was growing stronger--a mixture of moss, wet wood, tar, and smoke, the smell of excitement. The scent of freedom. Julie increased her speed, straining toward the source of her liberty.
She felt the old persona slipping over her, like a comfortable set of clothes. Her walk became more flatfooted and heavy, she pulled her shoulders back (though it pained her bound breasts), and she stood as tall as she could. The loose clothes that she wore in several layers hid what few curves she had, and the boots helped her to clunk like a man.
Granted, later on the sun would begin to roast her alive, forcing her to at least remove her beloved oilskin coat and let the hem of her overshirt loose, but for now it was vitally important to make a masculine first impression.
The "Portal" swayed gently in her appointed berth. Sailors dashed to and fro on her decks, readying her to sail. Julie paused for a moment, looking about on the dock for an officer. The deserted wood planks offered no help. Shrugging to herself, she turned and clomped up the gangplank.
Upon closer viewing, the decks were actually rather sparsely manned, and the appearance of more hands was given by the fact that each man was scrambling like a rabid loon to accomplish his work. The only man that didn't seem frantic was a black-coated old sailor that strolled about his tasks as though everything were going exactly according to plan. His oily, curly hair was black to match his coat, and it looked as though he had about a week's worth of beard growth in one spot on his chin. The rest of his face was smooth shaven.
Julie readjusted her pack and tromped over to him.
"Excuse me, sir. I..."
"Eh, wot? Yer name, lad! Give me yer name!" The old man looked up from his compass to glare at him past large, bushy eyebrows. His voice sounded like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. Julie pretended to shrink under his gaze.
"John, sir. John Bloodworth. Captain Turner just hired me."
"Well, now!" The man's gaze softened, and he actually smiled. "Why didnae' you say sech before? Welcome aboard, laddie! I'm Nicholas, the navigator 'round 'ere. Th' boys call me Nero. May as well stowe yer load an' get tae work." Julie stopped herself from turning on her heel and going belowdecks. She was supposed to be a young boy who was learning what he was to do, she reminded herself firmly.
"Stowe my load?" Nero tilted his head back slightly and looked at the sky.
"Down in the hammock room, boy! Move!" She jumped and scrambled toward the nearest hatch with all the grace of a plucked goose.
The sub-decks on the ship were dark, cool, and noisy. She could hear an officer crying "Out or down!" to her left, a sure indication of where the hammock room was. The words "Out or down" referred to an officer's threat to cut down the hammock of the last sailor still asleep. It was either come out of the hammock on your own or be dropped onto the unforgiving boards of the deck below. Most sailors didn't need the experience as motivation to scramble out of their canvas beds.
Julie quickly bundled her few possessions in the crowded bunkhouse and made her way back up top. The sun had inched itself a little ways up the horizon, just enough to spill a golden glow over everything. A rather auspicious way to start her new employment, it seemed.
"Make sail!" A crusty voice bellowed from the poop deck, the highest deck on the ship. Julie looked up toward the voice to see Captain Turner crouched over Nero, who stood at the helm. It was clear who had given the order.
If it were possible, the crew began scrambling even more frantically. Sails were dropped, hatches were loosed for the day, and she could hear the anchor groan as they began to push the enormous turnstile that hoisted it up from the seabed. Some passerby grabbed her and pushed her into the turning wheel. She seemed to take the hint, gripped the spoke, and began to push.
Again, the gravelly voice of Nero was heard, this time in a rich, jaunty melody.
"Jump! Lads, and find your socks, attend your mast and line
Whoa! Hold to what you can, or sure you'll take a dive!"
It was a sea chantey, and Nero was the chanteyman. The song was meant to set a rhythm to their hauling. At every exclamation, they pushed in unison and got the anchor a few more feet off the seabed. Now came the chorus, and every seaman on deck joined in. Julie remained silent, as though trying to learn the words.
"Heave, lads, the sea will find you!
Heave, lads, the sea will find you!
Heave, lads, the sea will find you!
Leavin' from the docks again!"
As Nero continued to make up words, Julie noticed for the first time a man in robes with a cross standing on the poop deck. He was reading from a prayer book and genuflecting, apparently in prayer for the ship's safety. Nero's voice still bellowed lustily.
"Hi! Here's our Holy Joe, 'es pleadin' for our sin
Hell! With the cusses here, 'ed better pray again!"
"Heave, lads, the sea will find you!
Heave, lads, the sea will find you!
Heave, lads, the sea will find you!
Leavin' from the docks again!"
This time Julie allowed herself to sing with all the other men. The rhythm set was very helpful, and she found herself waiting eagerly for the next verse as Nero kept the beat with a rattan whip.
"Hail! To our Captain Will, an' though our rations sparse
Whoop! If the mast should break, there's one shoved up his arse!"
A roar of laughter went up from the general populous. Even Captain Turner's smile showed teeth as he chuckled, poking Nero in the side. The chorus of "Heave, lads!" was more sparse this time for sheepish giggles. The navigator was apparently deeply involved in his task of steering out of port, because it took him a moment to realize that another verse was needed.
"Huh? Oh! Roit..."
"Fie! On the working day, the sun's up much too long
Hey! For the moonrise beer, an' the man wot wrote this song!"
A quick cheer rose from the sailors. Apparently, "the man wot wrote this song" was rather popular. The last chorus was sung, and the men cheered again as the anchor was rolled into place and secured. Julie put her hands on her hips and nodded firmly, using her shoulder to wipe away a dew of sweat that had sprung up on her forehead. She was sure the dirt on her coat left a dark smear. So much the better.
The more dirt she had smeared about, the more she looked like a sailor--or rather, a man.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Julie wound the stringline of her hammock around the hook and tugged it firmly to secure it. Her first day had passed uneventfully, though she thought maybe she had overdone the bumbling kid routine a little. Then again, parts of it were not an act. This ship was run strangely. The navigator seemed to double for a first mate, there was practically a skeleton crew manning it, and they all seemed to be painfully impatient with new people.
Not that everyone wasn't friendly enough. They had a tendency to become cranky when things got a little frantic, however. It wasn't anything unusual. Julie simply opted out of the evening beer festival being held in the hold and crawled into her hammock for some well-deserved rest. The sea rocked her in its gentle arms, and the drunken laughter from the deck below lulled her to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N And that's it! Another short chapter. *pout* Ah well, they should be getting longer eventually.
A/N Thank you all for your kind reviews! Hopefully, I won't disappoint you!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Julie trundled down the darkened streets on the outskirts of Portsmouth, heading toward the docks that were already ringing with men's voices and the calls of sea birds. The smell of the seaside air was growing stronger--a mixture of moss, wet wood, tar, and smoke, the smell of excitement. The scent of freedom. Julie increased her speed, straining toward the source of her liberty.
She felt the old persona slipping over her, like a comfortable set of clothes. Her walk became more flatfooted and heavy, she pulled her shoulders back (though it pained her bound breasts), and she stood as tall as she could. The loose clothes that she wore in several layers hid what few curves she had, and the boots helped her to clunk like a man.
Granted, later on the sun would begin to roast her alive, forcing her to at least remove her beloved oilskin coat and let the hem of her overshirt loose, but for now it was vitally important to make a masculine first impression.
The "Portal" swayed gently in her appointed berth. Sailors dashed to and fro on her decks, readying her to sail. Julie paused for a moment, looking about on the dock for an officer. The deserted wood planks offered no help. Shrugging to herself, she turned and clomped up the gangplank.
Upon closer viewing, the decks were actually rather sparsely manned, and the appearance of more hands was given by the fact that each man was scrambling like a rabid loon to accomplish his work. The only man that didn't seem frantic was a black-coated old sailor that strolled about his tasks as though everything were going exactly according to plan. His oily, curly hair was black to match his coat, and it looked as though he had about a week's worth of beard growth in one spot on his chin. The rest of his face was smooth shaven.
Julie readjusted her pack and tromped over to him.
"Excuse me, sir. I..."
"Eh, wot? Yer name, lad! Give me yer name!" The old man looked up from his compass to glare at him past large, bushy eyebrows. His voice sounded like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. Julie pretended to shrink under his gaze.
"John, sir. John Bloodworth. Captain Turner just hired me."
"Well, now!" The man's gaze softened, and he actually smiled. "Why didnae' you say sech before? Welcome aboard, laddie! I'm Nicholas, the navigator 'round 'ere. Th' boys call me Nero. May as well stowe yer load an' get tae work." Julie stopped herself from turning on her heel and going belowdecks. She was supposed to be a young boy who was learning what he was to do, she reminded herself firmly.
"Stowe my load?" Nero tilted his head back slightly and looked at the sky.
"Down in the hammock room, boy! Move!" She jumped and scrambled toward the nearest hatch with all the grace of a plucked goose.
The sub-decks on the ship were dark, cool, and noisy. She could hear an officer crying "Out or down!" to her left, a sure indication of where the hammock room was. The words "Out or down" referred to an officer's threat to cut down the hammock of the last sailor still asleep. It was either come out of the hammock on your own or be dropped onto the unforgiving boards of the deck below. Most sailors didn't need the experience as motivation to scramble out of their canvas beds.
Julie quickly bundled her few possessions in the crowded bunkhouse and made her way back up top. The sun had inched itself a little ways up the horizon, just enough to spill a golden glow over everything. A rather auspicious way to start her new employment, it seemed.
"Make sail!" A crusty voice bellowed from the poop deck, the highest deck on the ship. Julie looked up toward the voice to see Captain Turner crouched over Nero, who stood at the helm. It was clear who had given the order.
If it were possible, the crew began scrambling even more frantically. Sails were dropped, hatches were loosed for the day, and she could hear the anchor groan as they began to push the enormous turnstile that hoisted it up from the seabed. Some passerby grabbed her and pushed her into the turning wheel. She seemed to take the hint, gripped the spoke, and began to push.
Again, the gravelly voice of Nero was heard, this time in a rich, jaunty melody.
"Jump! Lads, and find your socks, attend your mast and line
Whoa! Hold to what you can, or sure you'll take a dive!"
It was a sea chantey, and Nero was the chanteyman. The song was meant to set a rhythm to their hauling. At every exclamation, they pushed in unison and got the anchor a few more feet off the seabed. Now came the chorus, and every seaman on deck joined in. Julie remained silent, as though trying to learn the words.
"Heave, lads, the sea will find you!
Heave, lads, the sea will find you!
Heave, lads, the sea will find you!
Leavin' from the docks again!"
As Nero continued to make up words, Julie noticed for the first time a man in robes with a cross standing on the poop deck. He was reading from a prayer book and genuflecting, apparently in prayer for the ship's safety. Nero's voice still bellowed lustily.
"Hi! Here's our Holy Joe, 'es pleadin' for our sin
Hell! With the cusses here, 'ed better pray again!"
"Heave, lads, the sea will find you!
Heave, lads, the sea will find you!
Heave, lads, the sea will find you!
Leavin' from the docks again!"
This time Julie allowed herself to sing with all the other men. The rhythm set was very helpful, and she found herself waiting eagerly for the next verse as Nero kept the beat with a rattan whip.
"Hail! To our Captain Will, an' though our rations sparse
Whoop! If the mast should break, there's one shoved up his arse!"
A roar of laughter went up from the general populous. Even Captain Turner's smile showed teeth as he chuckled, poking Nero in the side. The chorus of "Heave, lads!" was more sparse this time for sheepish giggles. The navigator was apparently deeply involved in his task of steering out of port, because it took him a moment to realize that another verse was needed.
"Huh? Oh! Roit..."
"Fie! On the working day, the sun's up much too long
Hey! For the moonrise beer, an' the man wot wrote this song!"
A quick cheer rose from the sailors. Apparently, "the man wot wrote this song" was rather popular. The last chorus was sung, and the men cheered again as the anchor was rolled into place and secured. Julie put her hands on her hips and nodded firmly, using her shoulder to wipe away a dew of sweat that had sprung up on her forehead. She was sure the dirt on her coat left a dark smear. So much the better.
The more dirt she had smeared about, the more she looked like a sailor--or rather, a man.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Julie wound the stringline of her hammock around the hook and tugged it firmly to secure it. Her first day had passed uneventfully, though she thought maybe she had overdone the bumbling kid routine a little. Then again, parts of it were not an act. This ship was run strangely. The navigator seemed to double for a first mate, there was practically a skeleton crew manning it, and they all seemed to be painfully impatient with new people.
Not that everyone wasn't friendly enough. They had a tendency to become cranky when things got a little frantic, however. It wasn't anything unusual. Julie simply opted out of the evening beer festival being held in the hold and crawled into her hammock for some well-deserved rest. The sea rocked her in its gentle arms, and the drunken laughter from the deck below lulled her to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N And that's it! Another short chapter. *pout* Ah well, they should be getting longer eventually.
