Nevertheless, I contrived to get back to sleep. I buried my head under the covers to block out the hideous screeching creaks of the boat, and the dulled pounding of boots on the deck overhead.
The water that had been let in by Sparrow sloshed around the cabin, and more was driven in under gaps in the door. The ship lurched and bucked like an unbroken horse, and within a few minutes my blanket, mattress and petticoats were soaked. Ana's sea chest moved about the room like something possessed. I had spent much of my life on boats, and had always managed to avoid any kind of sea sickness. But then I had also managed to avoid such storms as this, and shivering with damp and cold, I felt my stomach, empty since the long ago dinner, convulse.
Instinctively, I leant over the bunk, helplessly retching up burning bile from my empty gut. Again and again I was doubled up with spasms, my body seemed determined to wring me dry and it was nigh on five full minutes before I was allowed to lean back on the pillow, eyes streaming, and catch my breath.
All night the storm raged, and all night I did not sleep, but was plagued by sickness and wretched wakefulness. Every groaning creak of the hull, every snap of wet sails, every wave breaking against us was like thunder in my head – quite apart from the actual thunder above, and the rain – endless pounding rain! A thousand rats scampering across the deck all night would have sounded more pleasant.
I don't know when I finally feel to sleep, but it must have been near dawn. It was a light, fitful sleep, troubled by dark dreams, half-seen and half-understood, but fully terrible.
It was from these dreams I awoke, thrashing and screaming in my damp bedsheets, the wound in my ear throbbing anew. Only to find my Captain standing over me, a bowl of water in one hand, sponge in another. I saw his look of concern, and watched it turn to embarrassment as my eyes focused on him.
"The Quartermaster's at the helm, she asked me to…." He muttered, stepping back as he spoke. He looked ridiculous, the dramatic clothes, hair and hat cramped into our tiny cabin. I pushed back the hair that was stuck to my brow.
"Thank you Captain." I always felt more at my ease when that brash man was unnerved.
"Your dreams." He murmured, staring at my intently, as if struck by a thought. I returned the look blankly. "They're so full of,… of anger."
"How would you know?" I asked, pulling the blanket around me, as if that protected me from his perception.
"You shout." He continued to regard me with that disagreeably searching stare. Another thought struck him, and he knelt by the bunk. "You hate being here." It was a question.
"No." I answered truthfully – Ana was the dearest friend I had ever had, I could not regret meeting her. The captain smiled – gently, not one of his usual dazzling grins, and smoothed down my frizzy black locks. I forgot to flinch.
"Maybe you'll be a pirate yet, young missy."
At that moment, the door to the cabin was slammed open.
"Land ho!..oh!" It was Anamaria. In an instant I saw what she saw – her friend, lying in bed, the Captain kneeling over her, hand about her face. I'm sure Sparrow felt the change in temperature as my face blushed like a beacon, from neck to hairline.
Sparrow jumped up, too quick for me to see if I really did notice his own cheeks redden a little.
"The Island?" He asked gruffly.
"The. Island." Was her brief reply, before turning smartly on her heels and matching out of the room, an exit any snobbish girl of Bridgetown would have been proud of.