Chapter Four: Out to Sea
The first thing I did when I got down below again was check to see if Andre's mood had lightened. It hadn't. His behavior was troubling me and I also added on my list of things to do to tell Roland about it, if I could even find him.
Will and Dan were lounging about with the sailors, laughing and joking like little boys. I had no intention of getting to know them, the miniature cads. Will even had the nerve to ask me if I'd take a whiff from his pipe. I declined it as nicely as my mouth would let me and walked off to find Roland.
I entered the batteries, or the where the guns were kept, and found many a man sitting down alongside narrow tables wedged between guns. I passed by each group of men, looking for Roland's face, and at last, I spotted his company of mids and hastened my steps. I saluted at them and I heard Griffith snicker. If only he knew who was right before him, perhaps he'd choke instead of laugh.
"A word with you, Mister Turner," I said. "There's a problem I'd like to address."
Before Roland could even say something, Griffith leaned forward over the table and looked curiously at me. "If there is a problem on board the ship, then I believe you should address it to me, considering that Mister Turner is not even the closest one being promoted to lieutenant," he said, smirking his abhorrent grin.
"Very well then, sir," I said, suppressing a growl . "One of the ship's boys, Andre Newton, seems unwell. He's awfully quiet, sirs. I believe some of you know him, which is why I came to you to question his sudden depression." Griffith leaned back on his bench and his face contracted in disbelief. Sadly, he seemed to be the leader of the middies. Dobbin and Roland exchanged glances and immediately got up. I took it that they did not know Andre was on the ship and were as surprised as I was to find him there.
"Lead us to him, Barlow," said Dobbin. I expected Roland to cock an eyebrow at me for my alias, but he wisely chose not to show any form of friendly gestures that would reveal a past relationship with me.
I turned on my heel and proceeded to lead them to Andre. From behind, I heard Griffith mutter something and he reluctantly followed after us, along with Midshipman Bennett.
"Andre," said Dobbin. "Why di'ntcha tell us that you were on this ship?" Wearily, Andre looked up and scratched his head, his short nose twitching as if he was about to sneeze.
"Di'nt know you was on it, but it's good to see a familiar face," said Andre, his cheerless face finding some merriment. "How'd ya know I was here?"
"That'd be because of me," I added, grinning. "I knew these fellows knew you so I thought it might lighten your gloomy spirit to see them." Andre looked directly at me for the first time, his face a bit confused.
"Why the long face?" asked Roland, taking off his hat and sitting himself on a nearby sea chest. "What happened? I thought you were back in England with Dobbin. And then I find both of you here on the Resolve."
"I got some bad news just a couple days ago. A ship from England came here, which was where I got off. For a few days I stayed in St. Vincent, then I heard the Resolve was comin', so I decided on signing up, considerin' that was all I could really do." He paused and on a separate tangent added. "I'm thirsty. Ya got anythin' to drink?"
"Jack," said Dobbin. "Get 'im a tankard of grog from the galley."
I nodded and went off, though I really wanted to hear Andre's story.
After retrieving a tankard of something called 'grog,' from the cook, who was coincidentally called Mister Cooke, I hurried back to Andre, Roland and Dobbin, just in time to hear a shocking bit of news.
"Tim's dead," said Andre, and the tankard nearly dropped from my hands, but I managed to hand it to him rather shakily.
"What? How?" asked Roland, gaping. Andre took in a breath and then drank down some of the grog. "I know he left Port Royal about three months ago, but… dead?"
"Aye. Survivors from his ship came here not too long ago for repairs. I knew Tim was assigned on that ship, so I asked where he was. A sailor told me he was killed."
I stood awed that Andre could describe his friend's death in such simplicity. Poor little Timmy was dead? The young man I had spoken to so threateningly on the Valiant was now forever gone from the world, and I had never really had the chance to get to know him. My joy of being out to sea was dampened greatly with the news of Tim's death.
"Damn," sighed Dobbin, taking off his hat and throwing it to the ground with a breath of pure anger and regret. "This is why I hate this God damn sea," he murmured irately. "Always takin' lives…" His voice trailed off and he stalked away from us, too overcome with the heartbreaking report that his mate had died.
Roland did not portray his certainly bruised emotions as plainly as Dobbin, but his pained and taut face was enough to convince me that he was deeply troubled with the thought. Holding rather nobly to his deteriorating courage and peace of mind, he thanked Andre for informing them of the incident and walked away. It was all too clear why Andre was silent and aloof since he arrived on the ship. I believed a ship would have reminded him all to well the good times he had shared with his good mate, Timothy Monroe: fine lad and dutiful midshipman.
Andre turned back away from us and guzzled down his grog. I though, on the other hand, would not idle about, despite the upsetting bit of news, and my mind had planned on going back to the galley and getting something to eat, but a hand had grabbed my shoulder and patted it rather insensitively.
"I'm surprised you knew that Mister Turner and Mister Lester were mates with Andre," he said. I tensed at Griffith's masked cruelty, but did not jerk his arm off, as I would have normally done. Life on a ship would certainly push my patience to its limit. "How did you know that? For certainly you have never been to Port Royal where Roland lives? There are no Barlows in Port Royal."
"Andre told me, sir," I said, in a very hushed tone so as not to catch Andre's attention and have him prove me wrong before the vile Victor Griffith. "I asked him what was wrong and he said to retrieve Mister Turner and Mister Lester."
"Of course," said Griffith in reply, highly doubting what I said. The boy was too good at noticing lies, for he probably lied more than any other man on earth. "Well, I do feel a bit aggrieved for poor Andre, but that is war. Certain sacrifices must be made in order to tip things in one side's favor." He gave a false sigh of distress and finally took his hand off my shoulder, and on a more dangerous note, he threatened something into my ear. "Do not think I am a simpleton, Jack," he hissed. "I have my allies everywhere. Watch your back." He turned hotly around, calling for Mister Bennett to join him wherever he was going, and it was a good thing he had his back turned, for I sent a very rude gesture to his lying, deceitful back.
When I turned around to go my separate way, I saw Andre staring at me, not surprised, not angry, but amused. "You know them, don't you? All three of them. Turner, Lester, and Griffith, right?"
I paused, thinking over what I should do, but instead, I cast my eyes away from him.
"I don't know what you're talkin' about, lad," I said, trying to laugh as if the question was preposterous, but Andre would not fall for my act.
"Sure I do," he answered. "I never told ya to get Turner and Lester, Jack. You must have known we was mates. How, well, that's what I want to know." Quickly, I decided to answer the question with as good a lie as Astrid would be able to do, and Astrid happened to be a very good liar. Scratching my head, I finally spoke.
"I ran into Turner when I came into St. Vincent," I said, looking at him to prove the authenticity of my confession, though it was entirely false. "When I told him I was lookin' for a place as ship's boy on a vessel of the Crown, he told me he was a middy and could help me. On the way, my mentioning of wanting to be a ship's boy somehow made him talk about his own memories on a ship and he respectfully included you and Mister Lester in the tale." Andre seemed to reluctantly believe the lie and nodded slowly and unsurely. But, he finally grinned at me, although weak, and folded his arms behind his head.
"Sorry I was such a remote cove," he said, looking at the ceiling. "Tim was my best mate, as Dobbin is kinda' Roland's. But… there's always a beginning and end for everythin'." He switched his vision back to me and I smirked sheepishly. I thought he was talking more to himself than me. Bravely, and with squinted eyes, he asked, "Where ya from, Jack?"
"Well," I began, looking at the floor for answers that I would never receive. How wonderful, Astrid. Another big lie you have to make up. But… it will keep you safe, and that's important, right? "Well," I repeated, sitting myself on a crate nearby and biting my bottom lip. "I'm not from England, at least, I wasn't born there, and… well, my life has been pretty rough since me mum died and me dad got lost at sea. Got taken in by a really kind orphanage in a city I don't remember now, which I'll explain later, and when I got too big to stay at the orphan's home, I went out to find meself my own place in the gigantic world…"
That's it, Astrid. Keep talking nonsense and of course, Andre will believe you. I was in disagreement with myself as I spit lie after lie in a story that was already more adventurous than I believed mine would ever be. I was sure Andre would not accept a word I said, but he stood and listened attentively, nodding and even laughing at some parts of my story. Well, if it gets Andre back to his old self, well, maybe the story of Jack Barlow would do him good.
I blessed Andre for being just as gullible as I was and for believing my story as fact. Poor boy. He most likely would have been enraged to find out that a stupid girl had deceived him. With my story done, and Andre off to a better mood, I went back up to the deck and found Roland on the starboard side, standing all prim and handsome like our dear dad.
"Mister Turner," I said, creeping up behind him and snatching his silly top hat. He whirred about and narrowly missed regaining his hat from my clutch.
"Jack," he said, remembering to keep a civilized state and refraining from erupting at me in the company of the other men. "What brings you by?"
"Just thought I'd ask you a couple questions, sir," I replied, taking off my worn tricorn and replacing it with Roland's stiff black cylinder hat.
"Ask away then. Might as well pass the time with your ceaseless babble." You are most kind, sir, I thought sarcastically.
"Who are those men?" I asked, my eyes catching the rather bright red uniforms of a group of men, young and old, gathering along the waist.
"The Marines," said Roland dully. "They are more of the battlefront type of men. Not necessarily sailors. They know some nautical knowledge, but their skills reside mostly in sharpshooting." I nodded, not quite understanding him but doing it out of routine. I watched the Marines with narrowed eyes and found that many of them were quite young, not to mention good-looking, but I abandoned my girlish thoughts for a moment.
"Why aren't you down below like Dobbin?" I questioned, returning back to matters about the sea and order around a vessel of the King.
"I'm on watch, Jack. The Forenoon watch. As time progresses though, the Idlers and Larboard will be on watch while Starboard is doing drills. At least, that is typically what happens. On a day such as this where we have quite a few newcomers, well, things will be a little more at ease."
"What's a watch? What are you watching for?"
"Enemy sightings, other ships, weather. There are many things we must keep an eye on. The ship is constantly monitored. Never are all three watches down. You Idlers though, get the most sleep."
"What do you mean by Idler?" I asked stupidly, my head too dense to absorb any maritime information very easily.
"You are mostly idle. Same goes for those on the ship with other low professions, like the cook and other ship's boys. Not much work can be given to you because you don't know enough."
"Thank you for telling us we are but a waste of labor."
"I didn't mean it like that," he grumbled, agitated with me. "You love the sea so much and yet hear I am trying to explain it to you and you can't get one thing into your head."
"Will you help me then?" I turned to him, my gaze now serious and Roland gave a slight and uncertain tilt of his head.
"I'll see what I can do. You are very difficult to teach though."
"Why?"
"Because you ask too many questions."
It was early evening when a bell was rung from the galley calling all sailors, not officers, down to the galley to eat supper. I followed Andre down there and we were both given a heaping pile of some thick, steaming brown stew that looked to be made of taters, carrots, and some unknown meat. Andre did not look questioningly at the meal and eagerly stuffed it down.
Taking a very sly sniff of the stuff so as not too appear too green, I found that it smelled good enough and took a spoonful to my mouth. It tasted horribly salty and I was not sure if it was spicy or just very hot in temperature. Nonetheless, it did not taste as good as it smelled, and I had the nerve to ask Andre what the mystery meat was.
"Don't know," he answered, not looking up from his square, wooden dish. "Maybe beef, maybe pork, most likely horse," he added, and I put a hand to my stomach to keep what I had just eaten down there.
"Horse?" I echoed.
"Aye," he replied, as if the words were common to him. "And this is actually a good meal," he said. "By the time we've been out to sea for more than four weeks, well, we'll be eatin' a dinner of hardtack and grog." He licked his stew covered lips and began to get up. "Speakin' of hardtack, I think I'll get me a couple." I was already very lost by the time he left to get his said 'hardtack.' What the hell is hardtack? And Roland failed to inform me that I'd have to eat HORSE.
"Excuse me," said a voice. I turned my head to the side and out of the corner of my eye saw Midshipman Bennett leaning down beside me. "Captain Carlisle requires you to serve me when I dine with him tonight."What? I raised my eyebrows, only more confused over the simple matter of meals. Bennett must have noticed, for his blue eyes looked away from mine as he tried to explain things further to me. "Each night, a midshipman is selected to dine with the captain, just so that all officers are represented at the table. I was chosen tonight and I need you to serve me, which means you'll basically stand behind my chair silent and still unless I have a specific order for you to get something for me." My wrinkled eyebrows straightened as I began to piece his explanation slowly in my head.
"You want me to stand behind your chair, still and silent, for the whole time you dine with the captain? What am I supposed to do if you have no orders for me?" Bennett laughed and looked away from me again, perhaps too embarrassed to be talking with an idiot like me.
"You don't do anything. You stand and wait until the meal is done. Then afterwards, you can do whatever you want until lights are out."
"That is absolutely ridiculous, sir," I chuckled, shaking my head at the ludicrousness of such a duty.
"It's really only for show," said Mister Bennett. "I'm going to need you to be at the captain's quarters in precisely an hour. Until then, enjoy your own meal." He tipped his hat off to me and I manually saluted, although my mind was elsewhere.
Strangely, I found myself feeling happy at the request. It was indeed true that Mister Bennett had been the kindest stranger to me on the ship, and perhaps standing behind his chair and watching him and the other officers laugh, eat and drink would not be so bad.
I halted my happy thoughts for a moment when a troubling thought entered my mind. What if he is an ally of Griffith's? Perhaps that is why he is being so kind. Immediately, my peace and harmony were disturbed and I looked in growing disgust at Mister Bennett's distant figure as he spoke with another sailor.
"Damn, cad," I mumbled. "If you are truly Griffith's ally, then I will have to sink your bodily ship along with Griffith's arrogant one." Aggravated with the possible dilemma, I did not notice that Andre had returned, with two brown and crusted circles of what I assumed to be hardtack. He began to slam it on the table we sat at until bits and pieces of it began to scatter everywhere.
"Why are you doing that?" I asked, getting sick of the constant, tap, tap, tap of his rock-hard biscuit.
"Weevils," he said, and as soon as he said that, a small, worm-like thing landed on the table and began to inch blindly around. "There's one right there," he said, pointing to the skinny, white squirming thing. I gulped and courageously flicked the weevil away with my finger and finally excused myself from Andre's company. Griffith, horse, grog and weevils. Oh the glorious life on the sea.
Leaving Andre to happily chew on his indigestible sea biscuit, I calmly approached Mister Cooke for a mug of this 'grog.' He wiped his greasy brow with his hairy elbow before giving me a mug and pointing to a barrel standing not too far from me. "Tha's where iz always gonna be, boy," said Mister Cooke. "Now stop buggin' me for drinks when you can get 'em yerself." Highly tolerable of his clearly spoken displeasure of me, I gratefully took the mug from his hand and walked over to the barrel to fill it to the brim. The stew's saltiness made my mouth dry as a desert, and I eagerly chugged down the grog I emptied from the barrel, some of it trickling down my chin.
"Don't get too happy," said a gruff voice behind me. "We're limited to only two drinks of grog a day. The rest of the while, it's ale or the closest thing to water." I turned my head around, startled and slightly discouraged from drinking down my grog as hungrily as I wanted to.
"Why?" I asked, wiping my face with my sleeve and facing the sailor who had spoken.
"Captain's orders. Grog is rationed so we all don't get bloody drunk." He snickered and took a sip from his own tankard and I felt awkward at the mentioning of alcohol. Dammit, I just chugged the lot of this down and then the man finally tells me there's alcohol in it.
"Shouldn't be then," I said, acting as if the potency of alcohol did not affect me, though it most certainly did. I hoped I would stay sober long enough to endure my service as Midshipman Bennett's server at the captain's supper. Wisely, I traveled away from the sailor who had spoken to me and sat myself across from Andre again, resting my elbows on the table and resting my jaw in the palm of my hand.
"Ya finished already?" asked Andre, just finishing his last piece of hardtack. "If I ate as much as you did, well, I'd be a twig." I had the urge to mumble, "All men are carnivorous dogs," but Andre would have taken that as an insult, which would not work because I was also a man in their eyes and was expected to eat like one. Sadly, I believed my stomach would not be up to the challenge.
"Aye. Feelin' more tired than hungry actually. But, I gotta stay awake. Gonna be servin' prim Mister Bennett while he eats."
"Mister Bennett is dining with the captain?" said Andre, slightly surprised. "I always thought Griffith would be first to eat with the cap'n, considerin' he's… well… Griffith. But, eh, Griffith don't deserve that rank anyway." He stood abruptly from his bench and nodded farewell to me, saying he was going to go find Roland or Dobbin and talk with them. I sighed at his leave. I was alone again and surrounded by the less than splendid company of old, anonymous sailors.
After analyzing my situation of sheer boredom, I left the galley and sought relaxation near where my hammock was stored. Seeing that some men were stringing them up for the night, I set mine up, hopped in and swung about, soothed by the slow, steady sway.
"Boo!" came a bark, and a few hands pushed below my hammock and out I popped from it, dazed and spooked by the dirty trick. From the shelter of the space below my hammock, Will and Dan emerged, laughing hysterically.
"Very funny, ye no good arseholes," I growled back, clenching my fists to give the boys a hell of a beating.
"Tsk, tsk," said Will. "Swearin' in fron' o' us chil'ren." He waved a disapproving finger at me, much like how Maggie had done when I was a girl.
"Aye, children. Not boys, not men, but children. Vile, ignorant and pain-in-the-arse, no good children," I shot back, my mouth theoretically foaming from rage. "When both of you's die, they'll prolly have you two share a death sack 'cause o' yer puny sizes." That happened to make Will and Dan finally shut up and they glared weakly at me, shifting their stares from the floor then back to my burning face and then back to the floor. "Now that I finally managed to shut yer big mouths shut, I want ya to get and leave me the hell alone." Muttering and swearing at me in quiet voices, they trudged off, too smacked in the face with defeat to fight back. Pleased and smiling, I went back to my hammock and resumed my state of half-closed eyes and a mind in the clouds.
Astrid, oh, why didn't you ask to go to the privy first before you decided to stand behind Mister Bennett's chair? I found it difficult to stand still for I really had to go pay a visit to the privy. The grog I drank ravenously had now made it through my system and was desperately seeking a way to be released, but I couldn't go. The captain, his three lieutenants, the sailing master, Mister Bennett and a bunch of other noble men I did not know were laughing and happily eating their fine meal of baked fish and steaming smooth mashed taters and boiled vegetables. And if the delectable food was not killing me, the urge to find the privy and let it all out was making me squirm inside.
"Captain Carlisle!" said a lieutenant, the one with the powdered white wig. Raising his wine glass while clearing his throat he said, "To a safe and most victorious voyage!" The men followed his lead and raised their glasses up as well, and after a few clinks and huzzahs they went off to drink the mellow ruby red wine.
I was about ready to scream and run off like a blind bat to find a privy, but for propriety's sake, I stayed still, hoping my rather stiff and distant appearance would not catch the attention of any of the officers. Luckily, they were too busy talking about possible encounters with one of Bonaparte's ships. I could have cared less about this Napoleon Bonaparte at the moment. My mind was focused on going to a privy, and fast.
My foot began to tap frantically on the ground as the desire to reach a privy was growing tremendously with each excruciating second. Oh, just shut up and leave, all of you, so I can go and relieve myself! The men continued to chatter and laugh heartily, my discomfort safely still unnoticed to them. The young sailor who stood beside me sent me a confused look, wondering why I was trying so desperately to appear as if I was not jittery, when in reality I was. I was so tempted to explode that I did not mind the sailor's unwanted glance, and I merely continued to remain in a poised, but collapsing state of decorum.
At last, the captain bade the officers good night, and everyone was finally dismissed, including me. Thank God! Before I could burst through the doors of the captain's quarters, Midshipman Bennett addressed me as I hurried away from him. "A job well done, Barlow," he said, giving my shoulder a few pats.
"Yes. Not fully used to it yet, but, it was an honor to serve you, Mister Bennett," I said hurriedly, practically speaking gibberish to his ears. He must have perceived my clear discomfort and looked at me with more serious and inquisitive squinting eyes.
"Are you well?" he asked quietly, understanding not to make a large scene of me.
"To be honest," I said, shifting my legs nervously with the ache to finally find a damn privy. "I'm not. I've been wantin' to go to the privy for ages, sir. There, I said it." I avoided his stare and switched my sight to the floor, grimacing at my jumpy feet.
"Oh," said Mister Bennett, clearly sorry that he had asked. "To relieve yourself, run down the deck. You should be at the bow and you should see a door. Enter it and you'll be in a room with curved walls and a long bench. That's the head."
"Head? Oh, wait, privy, you mean? All right. All right." I sped off to find the door he had spoken of, but I remembered what a large favor he had done for me and yelled, "Thank you!" on my way to my well-needed destination.
Bennett's instructions led me directly to the small door he had mentioned, and I knocked a few times and found no answer and so happily grabbed the door handle and yanked it open, locking myself in the darkness of its rather, reeking cavity. I immediately pinched my nose, for the smell was absolutely insufferable. "Good God," I coughed. I found the small hole that was the privy, and gagging and covering my mouth with my hand, I reluctantly did my business.
My line of patience was being thinned out at an alarming rate and it would soon break at any moment. Currently, I lied opposite Andre in our hammock, in the dark. All men not on watch were asleep, and Andre's unreasonably blaring snores were keeping me from retiring to the necessity of slumber. I fidgeted uncomfortably in the hammock, casually sending a small kick to Andre's thick and long legs that practically took up half of my whole half of the hammock. With a growl, I turned on my side, resting my cheek on the back of my hand and stared out into the darkness. I will demand that you, Mister Bennett, give me my own hammock as soon as morning arrives, dammit.
Andre shifted in his sleep and unknowingly caught my legs in his. I shoved them off with an aggravated huff and mumbled a curse. He merely rested his head on a coarse puffy sack that was his pillow and continued to dream… and not to mention drool the night away. "Easy for you to do so," I murmured, plopping my head on my own small and itchy pillow to look up at the bristled wood that floated above me.
Abruptly, I heard a small snort come from the hammock next to mine, and found red-haired Willard move in his hammock, raising an arm into the air, only to have it relax and fall limply at the side of his hammock. It surprised me how sleep came so easily to these boys. Then again, they knew the life a lot better than I did, and therefore were comfortable enough to drift off into pleasant dreams as soon as the lanterns were blown out.
Trying my best to disregard the strange sleeping behavior of men, I closed my eyes, seeking for solitude and peace in my weak and naïve mind. Gradually, my thoughts about the sea and the very eventful first day on the H.M.S Resolve soothed me, and Andre's unbearable snores began to muffle in my ears as I finally found sleep and rest in another dream with the intriguing Captain Jack Sparrow.
This time, I found him on a small, isolated island looking for something. He'd pause every now and then and wrinkle his sunburned brow, scratching his head. He'd then leave the place he was searching to relocate to another piece of ground and knelt in the sand, using his hands to dig out the thing he was looking for.
"What are you doing?" I asked, approaching him more confidently now that I knew he was my true father. I knelt down beside him, helping him scoop away handfuls of sand.
"Me treasure, love," he answered, his voice slightly in distress. "I knew exactly where I buried it and now I can't bloody find it!" His fingers dug deeper into the sand with a stronger commitment than before and still refrained from looking at me.
"Didn't you make a map telling you where it is?" I asked, stopping my hands and deciding just to stare at him until he stared back. He resumed digging.
"Of course I did, but I lost it, love."
"How long ago did you bury it?"
"Long, long time, Astrid," he muttered, probably getting fed up with my questions, but I pressed his patience further.
"If you loved your treasure so much, then why did you forget where you put it? It's obvious you didn't care about it as much as you claim to." His hands stopped and he clenched fistfuls of sand before finally whirling his head towards me, his dreadlocks almost whacking me in the face. "People forget things, all right, love?" he said.
"Even things they love?" I parried. "I'd never do that."
"Ye just did. I'm not the only one who's forgotten the things they loved." He looked me in the eye with grave seriousness and I hushed at his omnipotent stare. Behind his drunken face and clueless eyes, the man had a deep understanding of the world and a human's emotions.
I knew what he was talking about. He meant me forgetting him, my father.
"I'm sorry," I said, finding a twig in the sand and stabbing it in another place. "Back then, I thought I'd remember you forever, but it seemed as though it was better for me to forget for a while. Can you forgive me?" He didn't answer and got up, wiping his sandy hands on his legs and stomping off to find another location to dig in.
"Dammit, I still can't find me bloody treasure!" he grumbled, kicking the sand. I watched his diminishing figure with a diminishing hope. It made me wonder if Jack would even remember that he had a daughter, and more importantly, if he could even remember any bit of me in his pirate head.
"Bye, Daddy," I whispered before the blurring horizon swallowed Jack whole. As he left, I remembered a question that had become dormant in my head for a while, but awakened. "Who stole your ship?" I got no answer, for Jack had faded below the horizon, and I was left to kneel in the sand, watching him leave with a heartsickness that only he could conquer.