Chapter Three: The H.M.S Resolve
Spotting a ship of the Crown was as simple as finding one's nose on one's face. As soon as Roland and I began to wander the docks, looking for a fitting ship, a voice called out to him from a grand and absolutely humongous British warship.
"You there!" it said. "Up the gangplank and onto the deck immediately! Leave behind your friend!" Roland used his long hand as a visor as he stared up at the young man who had hailed him. Turning around, he looked down at me with an uncertain face.
"Go ahead," I answered simply, and he tipped his hat off to me before running up the gangplank to the young officer who had summoned him.
With Roland gone, I used my time to take a closer look at the ship. It seemed in very good shape and fairly young, but it was positively colossal. It's bark was newly painted and varnished and the sails were tied neatly by the hands of disciplined seamen. The immeasurable number of ropes and lines amidst the sails swayed gently in the wind. Just looking at the proud ship gave me the urge to commandeer it, but that would be highly unreasonable and also illegal. I was unable to read its majestic name, so instead, I stopped a sailor passing by and asked him.
"The H.M.S Resolve, laddie," he replied. The man headed directly to an aged, skinny cove who stood by a wooden podium.
"Mister Jenson!" came a shout from the ship. I turned to search for the lad with the big mouth, but there were too many leaning over the edge of the Resolve to distinguish among them. Mister Jenson turned his grey head and squinted up at the boy who had issued the call.
"Yes, sir?" said the man in a hoarse, shaky cry.
"Sign Roland William Turner onto the Resolve," yelled the young man. "And under rank, state that he is an officer, a midshipman!" Mister Jenson nodded and recorded the information in a thick book before finally addressing the needs of the sailor who had also come to him to sign up on that ship.
Wait a minute, I thought. Roland has signed on without me? What madness is this?
Clutching my sea bag all the tighter, I marched up the dock and stopped right before the gangplank, staring at the pathway with squinted and annoyed eyes. Dropping my bag onto the ground, I cupped my hands around my mouth and gave one hell of a shout.
"Excuse me, sir!" I yelled, addressing the young man who had shouted across to Mister Jenson. "May I have a word with Mister Turner!"
It was not the young man who had replied to me. Instead, Roland's silly head appeared and he looked at me, a grin on his face.
"If you are new to the system, come up the gangplank and gather with the bosun! He shall give any young lad out there looking to join the British Navy a good assignment as ship's boy!"
Without wasting another second, I trudged up the wooden board and stepped foot onto the freshly swabbed deck of the H.M.S Resolve.
Now, I thought. Who and what the hell is the bosun?
Surrounded by so many uniformed men, I must have lost track of where Roland was in the midst of it all, although I did not even know if he was on deck at the time when I arrived. My eyes were unaccustomed to what appeared to be a disorganized and rowdy array of moving lads, both young and old, and it was my clueless and childish stature that allowed for the bosun to find me before I found him.
"You!" he shouted roughly, sucking out his phlegm and spitting it out into the bay water. "Boy! Get over here!" He pointed a fat finger at me and I left my place. With my wandering eyes still gazing at the things around me, I headed over to the intimidating man.
His face was clear of any beard, but a most eye-catching scar across his nose and right cheek was the first thing I spotted when I confronted him. His dark eyes narrowed suspiciously on my own and he scrunched up his blunt nose.
"Eh, go sit with other shabby lads," he ordered, spitting again. Without question, I walked away from him, but not without sending him an awkward glance. Sadly, that quick glance made me run into some unfortunate young man.
"Excuse me, sir," I said warily.
"Lads looking to be ship's boys are over there, if you are looking for them," replied the mid I had run into. I looked up. "At the quarterdeck," he added. What the hell is a quarterdeck? I wanted to ask him, but I only saluted inelegantly and followed the path his finger pointed.
"Look what Mista Sumner brought in!" said a lad sitting on the floor and smoking a pipe as I reached the quarterdeck. I raised my eyebrows in bewilderment and stared back at the red-haired boy who could not have been much older than twelve.
"Another landlubber," said another, and it came from the mouth of a boy who looked a little older, but with black hair that was matted to his forehead in definite sweat and grease.
"What's yer name?" asked a third, who happened to be sitting directly behind me. His voice was a little deeper, and when I turned around to face him, I was even more shocked to find who said it. It was Andre! Roland's mate from the Valiant! He had grown a bit, but still seemed too much a child to be taken seriously as a man.
My mouth opened to answer his question, ready to say 'Astrid,' but I remembered that he did not see me as a woman. What the lads saw was a lad like themselves. Quickly, Astrid. Pick a name. Preferably a boy's name.
"J-Jack," I replied, lowering my voice a little. I was sure it sounded utterly false, but all the boys bought it somehow.
"Gotta last name to that?" said the red-haired boy. "Jack-ass perhaps?" He and dark-haired boy laughed heartily and I wanted to slap their round little faces so badly.
"Shut up, you two," said Andre, running a hand through his dark blond hair. "Mister Sumner's comin'... with more bastards like you." The boys stopped laughing, and remained quiet as the stout, short bosun made his way towards us, accompanied by three more boys.
"All right. I gots me orders from the cap'n," he said. "And I'm t'pick four ship's boys for the journey."
"Ya already got fo' boys, Mista Sumner," said the red-haired cad.
"Ya can't count at all, can ya, Willard?" said Mister Sumner. "Three more lads has come to me. An' outta you seven, I'm a gonna have to choose four. Now get in line, all o' you!" The boys hurried to their feet, and with a slight panic about the air, they formed a line, and I followed their lead, feeling very stupid in their company. I joined the end of the line because none of the boys would make a gap for me to stand in. To my luck, Bosun Sumner peered at me first.
"What's yer name?" he asked, his face very close to mine. I could feel his stinky breath on my nose.
"J-Jack, s-sir," I quavered. Quickly, I sought for a surname to accompany it. Think, Astrid. Come on… "J-Jack… um... B-barlow," I finished, my hands still shaking. The bosun didn't even budge or leave his glare on me.
"How old are ya?" My mind told me to be honest and say, 'Fifteen, sir,' but they would never let a fifteen year old be a damned ship's boy. He'd be too old.
"Th-thirteen, sir." I looked down.
"Thirteen? Ya look barely ten by the face." He paused and I waited for more questions with a weakness in my gut.
"Any skills? Experience?" I stood blank at the question. I did not know any skills that might be helpful and I had no experience whatsoever.
"No, sir..." I said. The other boys snorted with laughter.
"Well, what can ye do? Eh?" asked Sumner, mocking me. "Can ye read, write? God forbid, breathe?"
"I can read and write, sir," I said, hoping to stick up for myself but it came out weak. I cast my stare to the ground, for a few murmurs hovered amongst the boys.
"Read an' write, eh?" echoed Mister Sumner. He turned his face up to the sky. Very gradually, he began to nod. "All right, all right. Welcome aboard the H.M.S Resolve, boy" he said. I looked up, amazed. "Whatcha gawpin' for?" he yelled. "Sign yerself in!"
Gathering my stuff quickly, I followed Bosun Sumner's directions to sign in with the old man at the podium and then find myself a hammock and sea chest. Astrid was gone, at least, for the moment she was. And she was replaced by a most impious lad named Jack.
"Name, please," stated the old man at the table when I returned to him, my sea bag swung over my shoulder.
"Jack Barlow," I replied proudly.
"Ship's boy, I presume?" he asked, not looking up from the logbook as he dipped a quill in ink and scratched my name onto the paper.
"Yes, sir." He looked up from his writing hand and eyed me suspiciously.
With a brief pause, he set down his quill and folded his hands neatly on the table surface before looking at me directly. "Welcome aboard His Majesty's Ship, the Resolve. She is a fourth-rate ship and man-of-war, holding a total of sixty guns and capable of holding a crew of four hundred men. As of now, you are bound to the rules and regulations of His Majesty's Royal Navy, having boarded this ship at your own peril. Shall you violate any of these laws or the Articles of War, you will be tried and convicted or acquitted of any charges by her captain, Captain Richard Carlisle. God save the Ship, God save the Captain, God save the King, and may God save your soul."
I gulped at his rather unwelcoming welcome to me. And while he never lifted his harsh, punishing glare at me, I hurriedly nodded and saluted at him before rushing up the gangplank to what was to be my new home for months.
It was easier to find my way below deck. There was a hatchway near the mainmast that led to the decks below, and after watching a couple of the men go down there, just to make sure it was the right place, I followed soon after, feeling very content with myself. Life below deck, however, was much different from above. For one, it smelled worse, and the ship wasn't even out of port yet. The smell of sweat, dirt, and other things I would not imagine hung thickly in the warm air, and as soon as I went down, I regretted doing so.
I did not happen to be the only inexperienced lad walking about wondering what to do, and a good deal of men were approaching a young man, most likely a midshipman, to ask for assistance. Flowing the way the wind blew, I decided to ask the young gentleman for help as well. When the midshipman had finished speaking with one of the sailors, of whom he handed to a hammock, he noticed me and I realized it was the same young man I had run into on deck.
"Back again, I see," he said.
"Yes, sir," I returned, fumbling with my words under his eyes. "I-I need a hammock and a sea-chest... whatever that is, and I was hoping-"
"Position on the ship?" he interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at me. I could feel his stare on my slightly bent head, but I did not look him directly in the eye. After my confrontation with the bosun, I found that a very difficult thing to do.
"Ship's boy, sir," I said.
"Ah, another novice. A hammock you said you needed?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard what I told him earlier.
"Aye, sir." He paused and sucked in a breath before speaking again.
"I ask that you do not take this personally, but we usually have ship's boys share a hammock. Two to one. It is not that we are trying to deprive you of what every man should receive under supervision of the British Navy. Our supplies are scarce and we must make the best of them. You will have to wait until all ship's boys are accounted for before I surrender a hammock into your possession."
I had lost my interest in his rather long explanation about hammocks some while ago and I was waiting patiently for him to finally conclude.
"Currently, not all seamen have been congregated and I ask that you wait." To shorten his prolonged discussion, I took it simply that I could not get a hammock at the moment, which very well could have been what he said. The young man had to explain everything to me as if I was a child. If only I could have told him explaining things to me would be like teaching a rock how to speak.
"All right, sir," I said happily. "But where am I supposed to put me luggage?"
"Oh, yes. Your sea chest. I must have forgotten." Much too obviously, good sir. "Mister Lester!" he called. "Show this young man to his sea chest please!" Lester. Why did it sound familiar?
"Aye, Mister Bennett," was the yell returned, and coming up from behind me, a young lad with white blonde hair and dark eyes came forward. Then I remembered where I had seen him before. It was good old Dobbin!
"Show him where to get his trunk," said midshipman. Dobbin bobbed his head and gave a salute before leading me away from Midshipman Bennett and to what appeared to be the cargo area of the ship. There, a man with a hammer in his hands was nailing some sort of box together. After driving one more iron nail into the side of the box, he picked it up and tossed it over to a larger pile of identical trunks.
"Mister Ashman," said Dobbin, "a sea chest for this young man here."
"Aye, sir," said Mister Ashman. It was vividly clear that Mister Ashman was the carpenter of the ship. His thick arms were covered in wiry black hairs and his round face was covered in bushy black curls that were crusted with some unknown grunge. His steps were slow, as if he were too tired to lift his feet and therefore dragged them. He waddled over to his pile of wooden chests, picked one up as if he were picking up a feather and handed it to Midshipman Robert Lester.
"Thank you, Mister Ashman," said Dobbin, nodding and taking the chest in his arms. I managed a salute to Mister Ashman, and then took my exit with Roland's past ship mate.
When we returned to Midshipman Bennett, he informed me that there was still no sure account of the men yet and therefore could not give me a hammock. Thankfully, he said it in much less words than before.
"Thank you Mister Lester, and thank you Mister Bennett for assisting me," I said, as confidently as my tongue would let me. I honored them each with a clumsy salute and then went off to wander about the ship. Perhaps I'd get acquainted with the captain and lieutenants, if I could find them.
"You there!" I moaned inside at the call. How many times had I heard that already in one day?
"I think he's talkin' to you," whispered a sailor.
To my surprise, it was Roland who had called me, and I was glad to see that he had not forgotten that I existed. "Yes, sir?" I said, bringing my left hand to my brow to pay respect.
"It's good to see that you're holding your own without my help, but…" His voice was hushed in seriousness and his hazel eyes looked grey again. "There's someone on this ship whom I fear will remember you, despite your disguise."
"Who, sir?" I asked, finding it a strange occurrence. Who on earth could be on this ship that would remember me in a shameful point of view? Suddenly, it hit me like a stone to my head. "Do not tell me Griffith is a middy on this ship," I growled softly.
"Unfortunately, he is." My heart sank in my chest like a cannonball would in water, and blood was drained from my face. The words were such a flight of bad luck that I thought I even heard Griffith's sinister laughter echoing distantly, steadily increasing in volume.
"Try to keep him away from me, please," I said, making sure to keep my voice low. "How many midshipmen are on the ship anyway?"
"There are a few other middies, but they are older, though with not more experience. They won't be much of a problem, I don't think."
"What if Griffith reveals—" Roland cut me off with a sudden and false cough. I wondered why, but then he tilted his side ever so slightly to the left. I shifted my glance in the direction and caught a horrific glimpse of Victor Griffith parading down the floors as if he were king himself. "He'll see me, and he'll see you and then we are done for."
"I've already spoken with him, sadly, and he was most surprised to find me here, as I was with him. I then learned that his engagement with Alexandra was broken and that his father wanted him sent back to England. Apparently, Griffith thought otherwise and traveled to St. Vincent not too long ago."
"Damn," I muttered. "Maybe signing up here was not a very thoughtful decision."
"Nonsense. He is too proud to reveal your secret to the captain. It'll make him feel special that he knows something nobody else does, but that is, of course, if he discovers… well, you know." I bobbed my head in weak, but honest agreement and turned around to get back to my sea chest, only to be halted by the one person I never wanted to see again.
"You there!" Dammit, enough with the God damn 'You there's'! "What's your name?"
"Jack Barlow, sir," I said in a deep voice, but not too deep to be taken as a fraud. "Ship's boy."
"I see," he said, more to himself than to me. His hand began to rub his chin as he inspected me with his ever-watchful blue eyes. "You look strangely familiar, Jack," he laughed, but stated it only as a joke to my own relief. "But, I have never met a Barlow before. I hope you will uphold your duty as a ship's boy and follow your orders swiftly and obediently. Good day."
He walked past me and I let out a breath of hot air.
After what seemed about a half hour, Midshipman Bennett finally gave me a hammock, only to tell me I'd have to share with one of the ship's boys. I groaned inside but realized that having a hammock to sleep in was better than having nothing at all.
What made my day even better was that the other three ship's boys were the rude and annoying red-haired Willard, and his dark-haired friend, Daniel, who were respectfully addressed as only Will and Dan. And the last ship's boy was Andre. Something that worked even better, if one looked at it through my eyes of sarcasm, was that Will and Dan immediately shared their hammock, which meant I'd be left to share with Andre. Damn.It was not that I disliked Andre. He seemed a nice enough lad, but I feared he'd discover I was a woman if we shared a hammock. Of course, we'd be on opposite ends of it, but still, I was still shamefully awkward of sleeping with a man.
"If the hammock breaks because we are too big to share one, well, I guess we'll just have to tell Mister Bennett about that, aye?" I said, hoping to lighten the air up, but Andre seemed strangely depressed. I took it that he was not in a sociable mood and left him where he stood.
I climbed up the ladder to the main deck, and with all sailors accounted for, the sails and lines were being pulled, tied and positioned into place for departure. Standing at the helm was a man and two lieutenants, if I was not mistaken, and the man, dressed finely in a bicorn hat and a pressed naval suit, could not have been anyone but the captain. From where I stood, I could not make much of his face, but I bravely walked forward to be closer to the helm.
Walking under the mainmast, I tilted my head as far back as I could and gazed up the wooden spike with sails. Men balanced themselves on the lines with ease. Their hands worked steadily to free the sails, and soon, white squares and triangles were unleashed from wooden beams and tied into place. Strangely, I found myself smiling, and with my hand as a visor over my brow, I continued to watch the men work.
"You there!" came a call. I jerked inwardly at the order. How many bloody times was that going to be said? I turned my head away from the sky and locked my eyes on the helm where the captain was looking at me.
"Aye, sir?" I replied, leaving my spot and running to the wheel where the man stood. Upon meeting me, he and his men had their hands folded neatly behind their straight backs and faced me, looking at me straight in the eye.
"Name?" he inquired.
"Jack Barlow, sir," I quavered. The man was indeed quite intimidating.
"Your position on this ship, Barlow?" asked the captain.
"Ship's boy, sir," I replied.
The captain was a man of middle age. His skin was not exactly wrinkled, but it was not entirely smooth either. When in thought, his forehead furrowed, and fine lines were etched about his long nose, but as soon as he released the frown of thought, he looked fairly decent. His face was very lightly tanned, and I assumed that he had only been out to sea for a few months. He was cleanly shaven and had brown hair neatly tied back underneath his hat. I was glad to see that he did not wear a powdered wig as one of his lieutenants did. With a nod and a smile, he looked at me with eyes as green as the sea and I smiled in return.
"Carry on then," he said, his face expressionless. I supposed that my smile was a stupid thing to do, and I saluted hurriedly before tromping off.
I stayed on deck until the call was issued that the ship was ready to sail. The captain gave orders to his lieutenants who shouted out the majority of the directions, and men hustled about madly to get things done and ready. Stuck in the middle of it all, I was merely considered a lifeless thing in one's path and would constantly be shoved aside or pushed when I stood in a sailor's way. They did it not out of nastiness, I hoped, but more out of the fact that I was ignorant to the whole situation and needed a signal to get myself down below. The problem was, however, that I didn't want to go down below and miss seeing this ship off. I found freedom from the sailors' shouts of, 'Move!' and 'Get the bloody hell outta my way!' at the bow of the ship. I leaned over the railing and took in big gulps of the wet, salty sea air. Contentment finally seized me whole and I smiled, trying very hard not to laugh behind my curling lips.
At last, at last. The sea was now my domain.