Joseph wiped the sweat from his brow and stared into the water below. The ship had been in dire need of repair after the last battle. The men had a row on the birth deck and ending up springing a leak-he had spent half the day repairing it. On top of everything, he felt sick.
"What are you doing up here?" one the lieutenants shouted, startling him.
"Getting a bit of fresh air, sir," Joseph said quickly. "I'm off duty sir. No harm in that, is there?"
"You're acting as head carpenter?" Joseph nodded. "The Captain wasn't pleased about some of your crew's behavior."
"What happened?" he questioned, standing up.
The young lieutenant shook his head. "There was a brawl, apparently. Those responsible are in the brig." He took off his hat and sighed, "The Captain runs a disciplined ship. God save those who stand in his way." He looked at Joseph. "You'd better get below deck. Captain Evans would be displeased with your actions."
Joseph made his obedience and climbed down to the birth deck. Burton, one of the other carpenters, was mending a shirt. "Me last good one," he said when Joseph sat down next to him.
"Did you lot have a fight?" Joseph asked. "Two of you landed in the brig?"
Burton shrugged. "Somethin' along those lines may 'ave 'appened, yeah." He snapped the thread with his teeth. "Burns and Oakly, it were. They were arguin' about grog rations, I think. Each claimed the other was stealin' his grog, y'see."
"Stupid, really, because Richards was doing it all along," another piped up.
"He almost got caught, too," Burton explained. "Captain was furious."
"You could almost see the horns coming out of his head!" another laughed. "One o' the Devil's servants, I'll bet."
"Watch out for his hooves, boys!" The entire room full of men was laughing now.
Joseph held back, remembering the promise he had made the day before to visit the doctor. He slipped out of the room, fixing his appearance to look acceptable for Doctor Marshe. When he reached the infirmary, he found the doctor sitting at his desk, poring over a large book. "Doctor?"
Marshe jumped, surprised, and quickly closed the book. "Yes, Mr. Nagel?"
"You wanted to see me again," Joseph said, stepping inside.
"Of course, I always love to see you," Marshe replied, smiling.
Joseph decided the doctor had misunderstood. "I mean, you asked me to come so you could 'ave a look at my bruising." He started to remove his shirt time.
"Oh, my--yes, the bruising! Of course!" Marshe stepped around him to shut the door. "Forgive me, Joseph, I completely forgot."
"No 'arm, sir." He pulled his shirt over his head. "Same as yesterday, Doctor."
"To the untrained eye, yes." Marshe peered at the bruises through his spectacles. "Does it hurt?"
Joseph nodded. "Not near as much as the cuts on me back, though." He thought a moment while the man poked and prodded at his stomach. "Will they go away?"
Marshe nodded. "In time. You will have some scars, though." He sighed. "If you need anything--anything at all--feel free to call upon me." He opened the door and Joseph walked out.
He tipped it over the side," Richards said solemnly the next day.
"All of it?" Burton asked worriedly.
Richards nodded and Joseph said disbelievingly, "No more grog…that mad old codger."
"Burns and Oakly were drunk when they started fighting," Burton said. "It drove the Captain off the deep end…if you don't mind me sayin' so."
"You should've seen the fire in his eyes, Joe," Richards said in awed tones. "Too bad you were fixing that leak."
"Too bad?" Joseph repeated. Then again, more loudly, "Too bad? I would've done something!"
"Done what?" Richards challenged.
"Stopped it--I dunno," Joseph replied desperately. "But I wouldn't have sat on my arse like some bloody coward!"
"Language, Joe," Burton warned him. "The Captain won't like it."
"Damn him and all his rules!" Joseph nearly shouted. "We can't let him do this to us!"
"Well 'e 'as," Burton said firmly. "And there ain't nothin' you or anyone else can do about it."
Burton was right; Joseph had no choice but to admit that. They had no control--no power over anything bad that was happening. They were stuck there with no grog and a captain that would kill a man as soon as look at him. Burns and Oakly were flogged the very next morning, not to mention keelhauled and then flogged again. They were both vomiting up blood and seawater by the end of the day. It made Joseph nearly sick to watch, but he had to. The crew was required to witness all punishments, large or small.
Joseph's blood was boiling as he recounted the day's events to his crewmates for the third time that night. "Let it be a lesson, he says. I'd like to see him keelhauled."
"Drawn and quartered, more like," Richards snarled, sitting down. "Poor Burns is still with the doctor. He keeps vomiting…Marshe doesn't know what to do. He gave him something to calm is stomach-like, but that came right up as well." He shook his head. "All that sea water's gone to his head--can't remember, can't even think straight."
"How's Oakly doing?" Burton questioned, spooning some brown lumps into his mouth. The food was never very desirable, but was especially disgusting aboard this ship. "Is he out of the infirmary?"
Richards nodded. "He said he wanted to get a good night's sleep."
"If anyone needs it, it's him," Joseph said through a mouthful of food. He reached for his cup, then, realizing it wasn't filled with grog, he let his fist slam down. "Bloody hell--what are we doing anyway?"
Burton looked taken aback. "Eh?"
Joseph shook his head, exasperated and rather flustered, and stood up. "I've had enough of this--I'm going to see Oakly." He left the table and stomped out of the mess hall toward the hammocks. It was dark; a few lanterns were lit, but they didn't create enough light to see much of anything. "Oaks," he said. "Oakly, you awake?" He found his hammock and shook him. "Oakly, what's the matter?" The man did not stir and Joseph grabbed a lantern. He shined it on the prostrate sailor and nearly fell. "Oaks…" Oakly was cold as stone and very pale. His clothes were stained red and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He was dead.