Chapter Five: One Ship's Fool

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat… Something was whistling in my ear. It was loud and angry, but it was deadened through my sleeping ears. I was not awake yet, but close enough to begin hearing things. The voice got louder, screaming even, but still soft enough to be defeated by my poor hearing yet again. I rolled onto my side and felt for my rough pillow. The stiff, reed-like threads brushed against my hand and I quickly dunked my head below it to stifle more of the yells coming in my direction.

Let me sleep, dammit.

My refusal to listen to whoever was yelling at me provoked whoever was calling me to grab my shoulders and shake me forcefully. I tried to jerk myself away, but I kept on bobbing back and forth like a limp doll until at last I opened my eyes, only to have my face smacked into the bristly tarp of my pillow.

"Get up, now, ya useless loafer!" said a rasping voice. I knew exactly who it was, and I was immediately sorry for being so insubordinate.

"Aye, sir!" I said as enthusiastically as I could while sleepiness was slowly freeing me from its gratifying clutch.

"Get up to deck! We're runnin' a drill and ya got to beat to quarters!" Beat to quarters? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Throwing on my coat over my wrinkled pirate wear and grabbing my hat, I ran up the steps from below up to the main deck, but not before sending a quick salute to good old Mister Sumner for waking me. If not, I would have been branded with the name of 'idiot' on the ship, as if I was not already considered one back at Port Royal.

"Beat to quarters," I repeated. Well, quarters are where we reside in on the ship, so why would we beat them?

When I emerged from below, I expected to be blinded in the face with the bright sunshine, but I was met with complete and utter gloominess. The sky was a pale grey, signaling that morning would not be far away, but amidst the austere weather, I still relished the strong, ocean breezes that traveled up my nose and through my lungs, reviving me from a night of sleep.

Conscious enough to begin actually doing something, I ran aimlessly around the main deck, stopping every now and then to examine what the hell the sailors were doing. The drumbeat began to get very faint, and I knew the drill would end soon, and I would have done nothing. Damn, Astrid, I thought. Second day on board and you are still a piece of useless baggage.

My face began to feel hot with embarrassment and I was forcing myself to continue acting like I was doing something, but it only made me feel more of a fool. I was scurrying across the starboard side of the ship when the floor grumbled below me and let out a dissonance of consecutive blasts and booms that left echoes which still thundered themselves to the quietness of the sea.

By the end of the firing, I stood on deck, shocked and numb with the noise and action. Dear Astrid, what have you gotten yourself into? My hands were shaking when I pulled them away from my ringing ears and I looked around in bewilderment, trying to grasp what had happened. Beat to quarters meant to prepare for battle. I could have accepted the title as 'ship idiot' right then and there and would not have objected to such a revolting name.

A bell was rung and the activity on all decks ceased as Captain Carlisle left his place by the wheel, hands behind his back and with a serious face. He walked promptly to the gathering crowd of sailors and officers, which I followed, and was soon surrounded by his crew; the grave look on his face had not lifted yet.

"A job well done, men," he said tonelessly, most likely not meaning it at all. "A bit of improvement is needed, but by what I have seen today, I see that there are two different men on this ship." He paused, staring at some random sailor's expressionless face and then to another's. I happened to weave my way closer to him to get a better look.

"There are those who follow orders and carry them out swiftly and effectively." His glare had shifted to Griffith, who stood grinning at himself. "And then there are those who seem to forget why they are here, those who forget their duty." The next thing I did not foresee, and the captain laid his harsh eyes directly on me and I shuddered internally. I was a horrible seaman already.

When at last his green eyes finally targeted on some other prey, I relaxed again but felt burdened for not doing my duty, and duty was part of the foundation of a crew.

"Back to your stations. Mister Thorne, Mister Johnson, Mister Kempe…"

An assembly of about seven officers left with the captain down below deck, and the rest of us were left to suffer under Griffith's unquenchable thirst for glory and respect.

"You heard what the captain said," barked Griffith. "Back to your posts! Mister Bennett, you are officer of the watch as Third Lieutenant Kempe is with the Captain. You shall be accompanied by Mister Turner and Mister Lester. Gunners below to clean up the batteries. Powder monkeys too, along with ship's boys, Jamison and Greene."

He halted to raise his chin in the air, glowering at each man who dared to look him in the eye.

"What you did today was not good enough!" he spat. "A lot of work is going to be needed if we will ever be prepared to defeat any of our foes, and the work begins now!" The men scattered like blind mice about the place, trying to fulfill Griffith's orders, although I had a definite feeling it was not in his power to issue so many orders. Then again, I was the greenest of all men on board. I didn't know much.

Again, I was left with nothing to do, and I ambled about futilely, making sure Griffith would not catch me being idle and beat me. Thankfully, he went below deck, calling Will and Dan to help straighten out below. I was left on Watch, and Roland and Dobbin and Andre were there, but they seemed to ignore me.

The trio had climbed up some ratlines to get to the foremast and began chatting up there, happily content that I was still left with no idea of what my exact duty was.

"Friends of yours?" came a voice behind me. I turned around hurriedly only to find Mister Bennett, officer of the watch, looking up at the trio, his eyes narrowed to clear his vision.

"No," I said. "Only one is. The rest are more like… acquaintances, sir."

"How did you think we faired this morning on our first drill?" I looked at him and raised an eyebrow, wondering why he would ever consider my opinion worthy when I knew nothing about the sea.

"I'm not sure," I said honestly. "I didn't do anything 'cause I didn't know what to do. I woke up late."

Bennett smirked and cast his glance away from the foretop that the boys were on and walked towards the stern of the ship, to the quarterdeck. After reaching his designated spot, he leaned on the railing and looked out into the rising sun, which appeared nothing more than a pale yellow circle overwhelmed by the density of the grey clouds. It would not be a nice day.

"The first thing you should never do, Jack, is wake up late. You must rise when the bell is rung or when the drumbeat is played to indicate for us to Beat to Quarters."

His head veered in my direction and I caught it by surprise. I thought he was not talking to me anymore and I was about ready to join Roland at the foretop and ask what the hell was going on. "It's the simplest thing a man can do on board, Jack," he added, quite haughtily if I remembered correctly. It was certain that he found me very ignorant and I sought to escape any further embarrassment by speaking with him.

"I guess I'll remember that then, sir," I replied, giving him the proper salutation before changing direction and stomping over to the foremast.

I was not sure if Bennett was a good young man or if he just had a kind face accompanied by a personality as bad as Griffith's. If that was the case, then I would not believe it. True, he seemed far superior than me or Roland and even Dobbin, but that was more likely because of his age. By his face, height and striking well-built form, I deemed he could not have been more than seventeen.

I considered his small bit of advice helpful and useless at the same time. He warned me of the importance of being punctual, and yet, I always forgot the most important of guidelines. The advice could possibly work for a few days, but after that, it would be forgotten. Still, I took his suggestion at heart but was too humiliated to thank him.

When I was but a few feet from the bottom of the foremast, I stared back at the far end of the boat to see how young Mister Bennett was fairing. He paced slowly across the starboard side, close to the railing, his face turned towards the cobalt blue sea and his brows wrinkled in concentration that I very much lacked. He was a man of obligation and dignity, like Adam, and by looking at him; it made me miss my lovely lieutenant all the more.

Shaking my girlish thoughts away, I approached the ratlines and looked up at the trio, frowning for not being included. I grabbed them and shook them, but my arms did not achieve the effect I wanted. The lines barely even wiggled, for the force I inflicted was far too weak.

That was another thing I had to work on: my strength.

Seeing that my attempt to grab their attention had failed, I began climbing up the rigging, perhaps too quickly for my own sake. I was so determined to at least appear like I knew the ropes, but I lost my footing and would have slipped to a broken leg, if my hands had not grasped the thick rope to steady myself.

A few laughs came, not from sailors on Watch, but from Roland and Dobbin and Andre. Strangely, I did not look at them to save me from my discomfiture. I had turned my head towards where Bennett could have possibly been roaming in and I saw that he was looking up at me, smirking at my less than graceful scaling of the ratlines. Dammit, Astrid. First you wake up late, and now you show your inexperience all the more by climbing the lines with two left feet.

"Ya need help there, Jack?" laughed Roland, comfortably calling me by my assumed name as he descended from the foremast and down the rigging to help me.

"No, no, sir," I lied. I looked down at the deck that seemed so far below me and changed my mind. "Well… perhaps some assistance would be nice." Roland chuckled again and lent me his hand to haul me up to where Dobbin and Andre were positioned.

"No need to call me sir, at the moment, Jack," said Roland. "You're amongst friends." Friends. Of course. Friends of Astrid, not Jack. Dear Roland, you are forgetting that these young gentlemen do not know my true identity.

"All right, Roland. But may I remind you that I—"

"Aye!" he interrupted, knowing very well what I was about to say and cutting me off before I destroyed my whole career on the ocean. "A proper introduction, aye? How rude of me!" With my face pinched in confusion, he properly introduced me to Dobbin, whom I had already encountered from the previous day.

"Good to see you again, Barlow," said Dobbin, shaking my hand. Before he let go of it though, he put forth a question I was afraid of answering. "Have… Have I met you before? You look oddly familiar." I glanced at Roland and he refused to help me and merely turned his head to the side, whistling. Fine, dear Brother, if you will not tell them, I shall.

"No, sir," I said. "Haven't been to England in forever and I don't recall ever being in Port Royal." Dobbin finally let go of my hand, probably finding it familiar at the touch.

"How do you know Roland then?" he asked, suspecting my lie too well.

"Met him while in St. Vincent, Dob," answered Roland, laughing falsely. "Said he was lookin' for a ship to sign on and I told him I was too and we happened to have a lot in common." There was troubling pause as Dobbin stared curiously at his long time friend.

"Why did you leave Port Royal, Roland?" he asked, finding every loophole in Roland's and mine's lies.

"I… Well… I…"

"There was an attack on Port Royal and the Paramount was injured, therefore he had to relocate onto a different ship, correct, Mister Turner?" I explained, getting him out of his mute ditch. He seemed extremely relieved that I had thought up his answer for him and happily nodded in agreement.

"Why didn't you tell us this?" yelled Dobbin. "My God, you could have been killed jus' like Tim! Is everyone all right? What about your family and your lass, Stephanie? And your sister?" I snickered inside for funny little Astrid stood right in front of him. At least Dobbin was back to chatting endlessly again.

"They're fine, Dobbin," said Roland, clapping his mate's shoulder. "Adam got wounded, and Astrid, well, she has either joined the pirates or run away. She wasn't in the house or town in the morning. As for Stephanie, well, she was under her brother's and father's care and so she was probably kept safe. As for my parents and grandfather, well… they… they're fine as well."

The last few words were hard for him to get out of his mouth, and at the end of it, he sighed and leaned on his back on the mast, plagued with the possible affliction that Mum, Dad, Grandfather and our servants could have gone through while we were trying to escape.

I know, Roland. I miss them too.

"You never said goodbye to them, did you?" said Dobbin, understanding Roland's morose behavior all too well. Roland shook his head feebly, before saying, "No," in just as weak a voice.

"It was too sudden," he confessed. "I wish I could have. I really do."

"You'll be back home in no time, brother," ensured Dobbin, giving Roland a few pats on the back. "I have to wait a couple more years before I can go home."

"You're lucky you have homes," said Andre sullenly. The boys nodded in agreement with each other while I just stood and watched, unable to relate to any of them except for Roland. Perhaps it was because Andre was an orphan that kept him from being promoted to a midshipman, for midshipmen were warrant officers and were encouraged to have pure and noble blood. An orphan was considered a cur, a mix of undesirable blood such as myself.

"Mister Turner, Mister Lester, I am sorry to interrupt, but Mister Griffith has called you to him." We all looked below and found Mister Bennett beckoning for the said officers to descend. Dobbin was the first to utter a complaint as he came down the lines to the main deck.

"That bloody Griffith thinks he's already captain! Callin' us to him as if we was lackeys, when we are, in truth, all of the same rank!" he yelled freely, not afraid if Griffith himself heard it.

"See ya, Jack, Andre," said Roland before tipping his hat off to us and climbing down as well.

"G'day, sirs," I called in return, bidding them farewell. I watched as their heads vanished below to the lower deck.

Andre and I were left standing on the foretop, looking bored and being unable to break the empty talk between us. The conversation would always begin with us having something in common to share with each other, and then it would die down. The lad and I were just not connecting very well and it was because one of us was afraid of becoming more open and perhaps friendlier to each other. I was not sure if it was me, but there was a limited amount of things I could say to a man. If they knew who I was, I would be telling them everything on my mind, but to divulge my womanhood would earn me my death.

"Why did you decide to join the Navy?" I asked him, waiting for his reaction. He didn't answer and turned his head, becoming a bit of a cynic at the question. Fine, petty Andre. Continue being silent. Jack will never tell you anything anyway.

Slightly exasperated, I left Andre where he stood and made my way down to the deck again in hopes of finding better company with Bennett. I found the young officer standing on the larboard bow of the ship, eyes still in their same focused state as he observed the tame sea. Making sure I was not too demonstrative of my desire to start a conversation, I nonchalantly approached him and leaned out over the edge, humming my favorite pirate song.

"Did you find your discussion with the fellow midshipmen enjoyable?" he asked, not appearing forward either. I wondered if he craved banter as much as I did when I was alone, or did he take pleasure in his solitude?

"I would not say enjoyable, sir," I replied, keeping my eyes on the gently moving water. "I'd say it was more peaceful than exciting. It gave me the chance to feel… accepted for a few moments." My eagerness to see his reaction forced me to look at him while patiently awaiting his answer, and he probably caught my interested stare on the side of his head and looked at me with a slightly amused expression, his limpid blue eyes soft and placid.

"Are you a friend of Mister Turner?" he said at last, slowly withdrawing from his infallible posture and leaning on the rail as well, shoulders hunched a bit as he brought his hands together.

"I guess I could consider myself a friend to him," I returned. "He's a good lad. A good ally on this ship." Bennett sent his stare once again in my direction, but he seemed too serious and concerned for my own good.

"What causes you to think that allies will be essential on this journey?" he asked, almost as an order. "No man on this ship deserves any more protection than what another is given." I hastily re-worded my statement. I was looking at myself as if I was still a woman in need of protection, but clearly I was not to be treated as one any more.

"I didn't mean it like that, sir," I said, almost apologetically. "It's just, I see the evident schemes surfacing about this ship. All of you seem to follow Mister Griffith's lead, and well, he's just a midshipman like you. I can see that ranks are evenly distributed, but not power." I must have ignited a fuse of anger and bitterness in Bennett, for he parried my observation with more than just mere enthusiasm.

"Mister Griffith has been a midshipman for many a year, Jack. He's earned his respect and power. It was not given to him as a benediction! He's done a tremendous amount of deeds to achieve his esteem, work that you are unacquainted with." I looked away, grinning at his automatic defense for Griffith. I understood that the two had some sort of bond, either as mates or associates, and it made me want to laugh out loud how he had unconsciously proven his own self incorrect.

"Mister Bennett," I began, turning to him with a very complacent smile on my face. "You said that no man on this ship deserves any more protection than what another man is given, correct?" He peered suspiciously at me, his once bright blue eyes appearing to turn dark.

"Yes," he hesitantly answered, unwilling to hear me continue with my discovery.

"Well, you just espoused the position of Mister Griffith with much dedication, while opposing me fully. Now… wait… that does not agree with what you said earlier, Mister Bennett. You just protected Mister Griffith and condemned me. So you see, there are alliances amongst these men that you are unaware of."

"These men need leadership and Mister Griffith does well in doing so, especially as only a midshipman," replied Bennett.

"No, Mister Bennett. You are mistaken if life on a ship is fair and power is not at all abused." In all too expressive distaste and rejection of my thesis, Bennett turned hotly away from me, directing his eyes back onto the consoling sea instead of at my honest face. Perhaps I had just ruined all possibility of further conversation with him.

"Mister Bennett—"

"Your orders are to take Newton and yourself and exchange places with the other ship's boys, Will Jamison and Daniel Greene. You are to stay below deck assisting any men in need of your services until the bell is rung for the end of this watch. Am I understood?" I bit my lip, forcing myself not to yell at his back, and reluctantly, I obliged to his orders.

"Aye, sir," I mumbled through grinding teeth. I gave him a weak salute before heading towards the foremast to retrieve Andre and tell him of our new orders.

I grumbled inwardly at the cleverness of men. By sending me below, Bennett had put me under the command of the awful Midshipman Griffith, who immediately sent me to help Mister Cooke, cook. At that moment, I was peeling my umpteenth potato and my hands were pruned, sore, and covered with minor cuts from the small knife I was given to peel the damn vegetables. Andre was not fairing much better and was currently covering his hands in blood by helping chop up meat. As for Mister Cooke, he was lazily wandering about amongst the other sailors having a drink of grog.

Damn all men to the hot place!

The edge of my knife slipped over the wet side of the potato I was peeling and made another slit in my poor thumb. "Dammit!" I yelled, slamming both vegetable and blade into the bucket of potatoes I worked over. "I've had enough of this nonsense!" I growled and stupidly abandoned my duties to find water to wash my bleeding finger.

"You there! Ship's boy!" came a yell. "Get back to your post right this instant!" I halted and stiffened with the desire to be uncooperative with pugnacious Griffith. I didn't care if he beat me for being insubordinate, but I could not tolerate the monotonous tasks of a ship's boy any longer.

Abruptly, I whirled around and glared at Griffith's unappeased visage, not a word of agreement coming from my mouth. His face inflamed at my rebuff. "Now!" he shouted, pointing a taut finger at a spot in front of him. Licking my lips at the possible thrill of an exhilarating fight, I stared back at him, casting the fear he tried to instill upon me with a toss of my head.

"Aye, sir," I said, lifting my foot and trudging up to him with clumsy steps. The men began to snicker and I was too pleased with myself to give up the act.

As soon as I was standing right in front of him, he stepped to the side and pushed me forward. "Do you enjoy making sport of your commanding officer now, Jack?" he taunted as I stumbled to my feet. "Next time you even think of defying me, you shall find yourself in conflict with more than just my fist."

He snuck up behind me and shoved me towards the potatoes I was peeling with such force that I fell again, finding it difficult to restrain myself from chucking my peeling knife at his pretty face. He stalked off, proud that he had succeeded in taming me, but I couldn't have been more provoked.

I was back to peeling potatoes, damn slippery potatoes. The cuts on my hand were introduced to more of their cousins, but I had already done too much rebuttal for that day. First with Bennett and then with Griffith. I was almost done with the sack I had to peel when a firm hand seized my arm and hauled me away from my spot and away from my duty. Who else could it have been but Roland?

"What the hell did you do?" he snarled, dragging me over to the midshipmen's berth, which happened to be where Dobbin and Bennett were as well, lounging amongst their own hammocks.

"What?" I asked. Roland smacked my head for my impudence and continued to scold me.

"What the hell did you think you were doing, challenging Griffith?" he yelled, ready to slap my head again. He almost did, but I caught his arm.

"All I did was get up to fetch some water for my hands, Roland," I said, defending my already condemned self. "I was going to go back and finish my duty but damn Griffith thought I was being rebellious!"

"Which you ended up being anyway!" yelled Roland in return, freeing his arm easily from my weak grasp and whacking me on the head again. "Dammit, Jack, ya always gotta be so bloody, so bloody-!" He cut off with a growl.

"Well, peeling potatoes for hours on end was not what I expected as a godforsaken ship's boy!"

"Then you'd better get accustomed to it because as a ship's boy, you aren't required to be brave or skilled. You're supposed to be obedient and helpful!" He took off his hat and threw it on the floor in anger and fell back onto a chair, too angry to speak with me any further.

"How the hell am I ever supposed to be that when I'm just as brave as any of you cads on this ship?" Roland laughed mockingly and sat up in the chair, looking at me in bitter disbelief.

"You, brave?" he scorned. "Tell me, Jack, have you ever watched your own friends die before your eyes because of some blasted enemy? Have you seen arms and legs and heads cut off and heard the screams of men undergoing operation? Have you killed so many men that the blood on your wounds and on your own clothes is covered not in your blood but in your enemy's? Tell me, Jack!"

He grabbed me and shook me, waiting for me to say no, and the word was on the tip of my tongue trying to escape in shameful admission.

"Have you ever honestly killed a man with no regret or remorse and only deep hatred to fuel your murderous actions? Hmm? Do tell, for I am sure we would all love to hear your fantastic stories, you witty little raconteur."

"No," I mumbled, jerking myself away from him and trying to walk away to find peace elsewhere.

"Would you care to repeat that, brother, for all ears to hear?"

"No!" I shouted, ready to punch his face in for disparaging me further. "I bloody haven't, all right? Are you finished revealing me for the fool I am?"

Not lifting his disappointed glare at me, he simply replied, "yes," and at his honest confession, I stormed away from him and his damn midshipmen allies, stomping on his stupid top hat in the process.