Chapter Six: Friend or Foe?
When the men were called down to eat supper, I did not join them. Plus, I knew Andre would be there and he would never talk to me about anything personal no matter how hard I tried, and therefore I concluded that my efforts to confide in him would be useless. With a moan, I set up my hammock and hopped in, propping my back with my pillow and staring about the empty space, wishing for someone to talk to.
On a sudden impulse to do something, I rolled out of my hammock and crawled over to my sea chest and dug for some of the paper, quill and ink that I had brought along with me. Perhaps I'd keep an account of my adventures on the sea. It would certainly give solid proof of my time on the ocean at least, and it would help me remember the experience better.
Supplies in arms, I scurried over to my hammock and hopped in again, ready to occupy myself for the rest of the night with my attempt at writing.
"Day One," I said, as I wrote the letters on the paper. In truth, it was really Day Two, but I would just add what happened on day one in the day two entry. "Today was…Today was full of rebellion, all, of course, because of me. I must always instigate chaos wherever I go, mustn't I?" My left hand did a poor job of writing the words in a readable manner.
"I wouldn't say that," said a voice that happily welcomed itself into my business. I looked up from my parchment, annoyed by the interruption.
"What would you know about it?" I retorted, not lifting my head and continuing to scribble words. I then realized that I had spoken rudely to an officer, and I dropped my quill and looked up at him.
"I'd know much, on account of the fact that I have a journal myself."
"Why are you here, Mister Bennett? Shouldn't you be with the other middies?" He stood at the opposite end of my hammock, his arm holding onto the metal ring on the ceiling where the hammock lines were tied. He was dressed in the normal midshipman outfit: slightly loose white britches, stockings up the knees, a beige vest over a shirt, and a neckerchief tied around his throat. He was not wearing his dark blue navy coat though. Must have been too hot, which was why my own coat was folded neatly in my sea chest.
"Griffith is dining with the captain tonight, and Roland and Dobbin are supping with the other mids. Thought I'd… apologize for my less than approving behavior earlier today."
After sending him a disbelieving glare, I resumed writing on my paper, not replying to him. Surprisingly though, it was the first time I had heard him call the other midshipmen by their common names instead of the usual Mister in front of their surname. Perhaps he was not so uptight at all.
"How long have you been a middy?" I asked, refraining from looking him in the eye.
"How long? Well, about three years. Been one since I was fourteen." Although I did not watch him, I heard his feet move away from my hammock, only to return with a louder 'thump.' I finally decided to see what he was up to and saw that he had sat himself on a crate beside my hammock, mouth open and ready to talk again.
"That'd make you seventeen then," I said, resting my quill.
"You can count," he said. "Not many ship's boys can. The others can barely count to ten." I smirked and reluctantly chose to give him my undivided attention.
"Well, I was educated as a lad, so I know more than the average ship's boy." The same amused look came onto his face and he scratched his brown hair. It was cut shorter than most lads around, only about two to four inches long and barely covering his ears. Must be the style in Britain.
"If I'm not mistaken, it is recorded in the ship's book that you are an orphan. How was it possible that you received an education? Also, if you do not mind my asking, Mister Sumner said that you were good with a sword. You seem far too well-bred to be an orphan, Jack."
"Well, I ran into a lot of interesting people on my life journey, Bennett," I replied, finding it safe to address him informally. "And those people taught me quite a lot of things."
"If we knew who your parents were, perhaps you would be a midshipman instead of a low ship's boy. I can tell the job is not for you."
"Aye. Second day on board and I am already in bad favor of Mister Victor Griffith." As soon as I said the horrid name, I quickly regretted doing so. "Not that he's bad," I added. "I'm not used to taking orders very well. Something that I was very well warned of by Roland." I scolded at myself. "I mean, Mister Turner."
"You seem to know Roland very well. Are you past shipmates?" he asked, not very eagerly, but he was doing a very good job of concealing any interest he had in my life.
"No," I said simply. "Just met him a few days ago in St. Vincent. We got along very easily. The friendship I have with him is… solid but unstable. We can both combust at certain moments for some reason."
"You mean he's yelled at you before?" questioned Bennett, growing all the more keen. His zeal to poke into my life was beginning to bother me.
"Yes, plenty of times," I replied earnestly.
"In a matter of a few days?" probed Bennett skeptically. Again, I had underestimated his intelligence, and I began to develop the bad feeling that he was subtly interrogating me in a way where I would not know I was being interrogated. Thankfully, I managed to catch the pattern of answer and question.
I turned to him frowning, and he seemed to lower his interest in my answers and even leaned away from me. Yes, Bennett. You should be moving away because Astrid knows very well what you are doing.
"All right, so you don't seem to trust me, do you?" I asked coolly.
"Jack, I was merely asking out of curiosity. I never intended for this conversation to turn into an inquisition," he said, looking directly at me with apparent sincerity in his eyes. At once, I let my guard down and accepted that he was telling the truth.
"Well, it seemed like one," I mumbled, picking up my piece of paper and writing again. I meant to show him that I was not pleased with his company anymore, but he was too persistent.
"I… I thought about what you said earlier today about alliances and rivalry on this ship, and I came to the conclusion that you were indeed correct." The words seemed to come miserably from his mouth, too ashamed to have to agree with the opinion of a mere ship's boy.
"Did you now?" I snickered, smiling at the page I was writing on. "What made you change your mind?"
"You did, actually. I find it very embarrassing that I never noticed such a thing before. You're very observant of human behavior."
"No," I said modestly. "I just happen to come across plenty of proud coves who think they own the world, and well, I'm just not one for that. Then again, I am very much a hypocrite. I dream of captaining my own ship one day, to have all power in my hands, but… that would lead to the aforementioned rivalry and war that would soon erupt due to the abuse of authority."
I glanced at Bennett to see how he had responded, and he sat, staring at me in bewilderment with a slightly open jaw. I laughed and creased my paper before hopping out of my hammock.
"Wouldn't you agree, Bennett?" I said, giving his shoulder a few pats.
"Y-Yes," he stuttered, blinking a bit before looking back at me. "Perhaps I should have the captain consider you a midshipman."
"Your plea would serve ineffective," I replied. "I know nothing about the sea. Just because I don't talk or think like a ship's boy doesn't mean I can be omitted from being one." I stood in front of him, arms crossed over my chest and after a few thoughts to himself, he stood up and I immediately admired him for his height. He was tall, but he wasn't lanky like Roland. I had to force myself to keep from eyeing him up and down.
"I think I'll see how Dobbin and Roland are fairing," he said, running a hand through his hair as he contemplated on the importance of such a decision.
"Good. I think I'll go and find Andre and see what he's up to."
"Have fun then." I extended my arm for a shake of understanding, and after looking at it and then back at me, he firmly grasped it and shook it. I saluted, he nodded and then we went our separate ways.
Andre was put on as one of the ship's boys for the First Night Watch, which gave me the opportunity to have the hammock all to myself for half the night. Very pleased and beaming inside as I settled to sleep, I took off my hat and placed it over my eyes to make it easier to fall asleep.
"A bit early for goin' to sleep, eh, Jack?" said a voice. My pleasant dreams were interrupted and I lifted my hat, glaring at whoever had woken me.
"Never too early," I answered, content with ignoring any more of what he had to say and covered my eyes again.
"Oh, c'mon," he jested, slapping my hat away from my face. With a leap of anger, I sat up and snatched my hat away from him, grumbling some undecipherable curse.
"Whaddya want, sir?" I asked, lying back down and closing my eyes. Out of all times to speak, Dobbin had decided to speak to me right when I was not in the mood to talk. "Come to question me like Mister Bennett?" I teased, knowing that it was safe to make fun of the midshipman.
"The others are busy. So… I thought I'd come talk to you. You seem to be a good enough mate of Roland's. Not some snooty bum like Griffith or Bennett."
"Bennett a friend of Griffith's?" I said, just out of curiosity, for if indeed the gentle-faced Bennett was in agreement with Griffith, then I would not speak with him any further.
"Some might say so. I do. Everywhere that Griffith goes, Bennett follows. I was talkin' to some of the sailors 'round one time, and one o' them said Griffith's father and Bennett's were mates, not to mention they were in the same trade." Dobbin took off his top hat and loosened his collar. The lad must have been getting fed up with the heat.
"Trade?" I echoed, scratching my chin and acting as if I was checking for beard. Perhaps watching Roland scratch his chin back at home was a good thing, otherwise, I'd have no idea of what manly habits a lad like Jack Barlow would have.
"Aye. Griffith's and Bennett's fathers are in the slave trade." I choked at the shocking bit of news. I understood Griffith's cruelty better, but gentle, kind Bennett the son of a slaver? "They run the shipment of slaves from Africa to wherever they are needed. Damned horrible journey too, after what I've heard. Slavers are hell on earth, Jack." I quieted at the mentioning of slavers. I had heard that it was an awful, but fairly profitable trade, and Port Royal happened to be a main stop for such ships. I did not know much on the matter, but I was leaning towards opposing it as well. By the way Dobbin described it, it seemed an unredeemable sin.
"That's interesting," was what I managed to say after being shot mute with the alarming news for a few minutes. "Never would have guessed that. So… it seems that this Bennett and Griffith have… a bit of an alliance then, considerin' that their daddies are big, tough ol' slavers, eh?"
"Sure looks like it," replied Dobbin, leaning his back on the side of a wooden beam that supported the ceiling. "That's why we lads are kinda… well… reluctant to include Bennett in any of our chats." He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand and some strands of his blond hair continued to stick onto his skin, despite his attempt to wipe them away.
"I talked to him earlier today after you and Roland went off to see Griffith. He got downright defensive when I talked badly about Griffith, so I don't doubt that the two have some camaraderie." Dobbin laughed lightly and seated himself on the other side of my hammock, near my bare feet.
"What could you have possibly said to Bennett that would make a quiet lad like him shout like mad?" I shrugged and tucked my feet closer to myself and told him the story from earlier that day, including Bennett's recent apology.
"Hmm… apologized?" laughed Dobbin when I had finished. "Ha, the arrogant little cad was moved to apologize to a mere cabin boy. I'm not speakin' badly of you, by the way." I nodded in understanding and he continued smiling at the fact that the so highly spoken of Bennett had to apologize to me.
"You're from England, right?" I asked, after our conversation had dwindled somewhat. Neither of us had the courage to speak badly about Griffith or Bennett again.
"Aye. Mum and Dad and younger brother live in an estate near Swansea in Wales." Estate, eh? Dobbin was from a rich family too, I deemed, though he certainly did not show it.
"Why'd ya join the Navy?" He shrugged, and placed his hat back on his sweat-drenched head.
"I didn't choose to. Me dad's an admiral and thought it'd make me man enough to return home and find me a lass. In about a year, I'll find out, 'cause I'll be goin' home then. I've had me eye on this one lass I met before I left England, but she's prolly married off to some old, wrinkly gent an' forgotten all about me."
I couldn't help but snicker. Dobbin was more than just a fearless and comical fool. He definitely could be classified as an idiotic lover as well, as were we all. "You have a lass, Jack?" he asked. I grinned and closed my eyes as I leaned back.
"Nope!" I beamed.
The drumbeat raced like my heart as I sprang from my hammock, surprisingly in sync with the other sailors leaping from slumber and shabbily pulling their trousers and shirts on. I had an easier time rising, being fully clothed and all, and quickly donned my hat and boots before dashing up the stairs.
"Someone please give me an order, anything, so that I do not look like a lethargic fool again," I said to myself as I tried to find myself an officer who could help me.
"You! Boy!" grouched some man from afar. I spun my head around and saw Mister Sumner pointing his plump, sooty finger at me. "Get yerself down below to the magazine and carry the cartridges up to the gunners!" With a grateful nod, I ran back down below, which was a rather stupid thing to do because I had no sense of direction whatsoever, and what the hell was a magazine?
Knowing that if I ran back up and asked Mister Sumner for directions, he'd probably give me a good whipping for being such a bovine lad, I chose to trust my own unreliable self and ambled below deck, looking for anything that might seem like a magazine. Dammit, Astrid! Why didn't you ask Roland or Dobbin to give you a well-needed tour of the damn ship!
I wove through the moving, random paths of men scurrying around. I noticed that Will and Dan emerged from a spot below with metal cylinders in their arms and they carefully carried them to the gunners. I took note of this and went further below and ran straight into a wet cloth screen. There was a slit in the cloth, and I stuck my hand through it and a ruff hand placed a rather heavy ring into the palm of my hand, and I withdrew the same metal cylinder that Will and Dan were carrying. Having enough sense to know to get the cylinder to the gunners, I swiftly left the magazine and finally fulfilled my duty.
As soon as I emerged, carrying the cylinder full of powder cartridges, Mister Bennett promptly approached me and had to yell his instructions through the blasts escalating from the currently fired guns.
"Get those cartridges quickly to the gunners!" he shouted, pointing to the gunners at the larboard battery.
A bit stricken by his savage voice, I obeyed and clumsily handed the cylinder to the first man I saw. My whole body was shaking so badly from the blasts and the unfamiliarity with the situation that the cartridge nearly slipped from my hands and to the ground as I tried to hand it to one of the gunners.
"For God's sake, don't drop it!" he yelled, his hands firmly grasping the container and shoving me off. Too unaware to have held my ground, I took a few steps back from the push and ran directly into Griffith who was pacing fore and aft around the larboard battery, spitting out orders through the thickening smoke of freshly fired cannons in the morning.
"Move it, you cur!" he screamed, ramming me harder than the other sailor had so that I fell onto the ground. He kicked me aside with his hard boot.
I wrapped my arm around my aching side as I stumbled to my feet. Unfortunately, I had gotten up too slowly and Griffith had run into me again. "God dammit!" he bellowed, forgetting his orders for once and centering all his frustration and hatred towards me. "How many times do I have to tell you to get the hell out of my way!" He seized the sleeve of my shirt and pushed me back with powerful fury, his blue eyes now wildly ablaze with the lust to cause injury.
I collided into a wall and faintly, I began to notice the ceasing fire of the guns, and the air began to clear as the smoke traveled through any open space that led out into fresh air. "You insolent bastard!" he spat, bending down and grabbing me by the collar. My eyes could not bear the evident savagery flickering madly in his own, and I cast my face down.
"I'm sor—" My attempt to apologize was sabotaged when Griffith's iron fist pummeled my jaw and filled my sorry mouth with blood. My head swung back and my mind went blank for a moment, and I was in my half-dazed state for less than a second before Griffith battered my face again.
"Griffith!" came a cry. Against the growing throb of blood beating against my skull, I heard several footsteps hurry forward and the hand grasping my collar was pulled away and I fell back, feeling my head go weak as blood dripped from my surely broken nose. "I think he's learned his lesson. Come on. Captain wants us all on main deck. The drill is over." I heard Griffith's intolerant huff shoot from his nose as he stalked off with one of the other midshipmen: Bennett.
"Let's go, Jack," said a voice. "Captain wants us on deck now. Best not make him angry as well."
"Roland," I murmured, grimacing at the salty, pungent taste of blood in my mouth.
"Don't speak. We'll get you to the doctor as soon as Captain Carlisle has spoken to all of us."
"But—"
"Not another word, brother," he snapped, and silent I became.
A few hands helped me up and I wobbled a bit as I tried to stay on my feet, but I found my ground and followed them with a swollen eyelid up to the main deck.
When we popped up from below, I felt someone grab my wrist and lead me away from Roland and Dobbin.
"You best stay in the back. If Captain sees your bloody face, he'll demand who had done it." It was Bennett, and I immediately pulled my wrist out of his grasp and went another way, not caring if the Captain saw my bloody nose or not. "Jack!" he called, coming after me again. I ignored him.
"Why don't you go back to Mister Griffith, eh, Mister Bennett? After all, I am sure he was much more injured than I was in that small tiff," I scoffed, wiping my face with the back of my hand, only to have it smeared in crimson.
"Look, Griffith has been known to be a bit rough on cabin boys. I stopped him before he could have given you a lot worse, Jack. I believe thanks are in order." I stayed not a moment longer in his company and with a growled curse at him, turned on my heel. And I was pleased to admit that I felt good that I had dismissed Bennett rather harshly. The lad was neither nice nor callous, and it was his unbalance in personality that made me hate him and like him at the same time.
As Roland had promised, I was brought down to see the ship's doctor after the captain had dismissed us. I was led down to a small room, the surgeon's cockpit and was told to sit on a chair in the corner while pinning my dripping nose with my forefinger and thumb. Roland and Dobbin had accompanied me and stood beside me with brotherly friendship.
"Jack… Barlow," said a man, reading from the ship's log book and then looking at me. On the bridge of his sharp nose lay a pair of small spectacles, and behind them lay two brown eyes deeply set within his face.
He appeared to be not more than thirty years old, with a fairly lean build and relaxed aura about him. His brown hair was tied back behind his head, and calmly, he approached me, taking off his spectacles in the process. "Thirteen, correct?" he asked. I nodded.
"How did you come about that bloody nose and black eye of yours, Jack?" he asked, shifting his attention to a small cabinet on the wall and upon looking at it, picked out a small bottle closed with a wooden stopper.
"I disobeyed my commanding officer," I said wearily.
"I see. And your punishment was an immediate beating?" He left the cabinet and walked back to me, bending down a bit so that we were at eye level with each other. "Let me take a look at that nose of yours." I un-pinched my nose and more blood streamed out, spilling onto my hands and lap. "Mister Turner, take a few pieces of cloth from that jar on my desk, if you please," said the doctor as he placed a finger on my nose and firmly pressed down.
"Ow!"
"It's not broken," said the doctor, standing upright again. Roland returned with the pieces of cloth. "It is just a bit bruised. One more hit and you probably would have a broken nose." I squirmed with guilt at the statement. If Bennett had not stopped Griffith, I would have had a broken nose instead of a bruised and bleeding one. "Here, just fill these into your nostrils until the bleeding stops and the swelling has subsided. When it has, come back and I'll re-examine your condition." I nodded and did as I was told.
"Thank you Doctor…"
"Doctor Cavanaugh," he finished, offering me his hand to shake. I took it and left him with a thankful squeeze of the hand, and gave one last grateful smile before exiting his office with Roland and Dobbin. It was only the third day on the ship and I was already the proud owner of a bloody nose and black eye.
The lads led me to the midshipmen's berth where they took their own respites and cursed Bennett's fickle actions. As much as I would have liked to join in, I didn't say anything on account of two things. Bennett had indeed tried to help me, although I refused his help, but he also covered up for Griffith, which was not at all very young Mister Bennett enjoyed deceiving people with his split personality, then Jack Barlow would defeat his lies one day and reveal in him the truth apart from the very convincing lies.
By mid-morning, my nose had finally stopped leaking, and instead of being runny with my own blood, it was now caked with it on the inside. My eye still suffered injury and was bloated and growing black around the edges. Griffith had beaten me good.
"When can I see Doctor Cavanaugh again?" I asked, my fingers poking my puffed-up eyelid in vague curiosity. "I think my eyebrow is torn." I knew that by the end of the voyage, I would be hideously scarred at the rate things were going. When next Adam would see me, he'd see not a face, but a mask of scars made by the bloody Griffith.
"No, it's not," denied Roland.
"Yes, it is, ye mome. Now, get me back to Doctor Cavanaugh."
"Why? Can't ye go yerself? Or do ye always need an escort?" He laughed at that, and I became all too aware of my womanly whining. Although Roland's way of addressing the problem to me was rather mocking, I got the point and left him to find Doctor Cavanaugh.
With fingers still keenly examining the gash on my right eyebrow, I proceeded to return to the surgeon's cockpit. The only problem was that my vision was unfortunately limited because of my black eye, and recollecting the exact image of the doctor's office and its location was a frustrating task to complete.
But suddenly, a strange shiver ran up my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck shot straight up in portrayal of a warning. Without even knowing it, my body had tensed and my hands were locked into balled fists, ready to strike, but clinging every so daintily to self-control.
"Just a cut," said a hideous voice. "If I wasn't moved to give the lad a beating, my fist would be clear of any open wound. Damn." Furtively, I inched backwards to listen to Griffith's conversation with some other lad more clearly.
"A few stitches you'll probably get. No more," replied a familiar voice. I gritted my teeth all the more. The lad accompanying the brute, Griffith, was none other than Bennett himself. I felt something wet ooze down the right side of my face, and I reached up to touch my stinging slash across my eyebrow. I huffed in rising disappointment at the blood that stained my pale fingertips. Hours after the bout, and Griffith's blows were still affecting me.
"Ha, look, Gareth," sneered Griffith from behind. I could even feel his taunting finger pointing at my back. "Looks like Jackaroe's been eavesdropping on our talk." That was enough, and I spun promptly on my heel to face the two middies.
At the sight of my enraged countenance, Griffith straightened his back in all too common superiority and grinned at me, his eyes eagerly shining with the same wickedness he showed me at Port Royal. "Were you, Jack?" he asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.
"It would be difficult not to," I hissed through my clenched teeth. "…Sir," I added, remembering my manners, though I found it odd that I even bothered to include a proper address to him.
Bennett stood behind Griffith, his eyes staring back at me in faint worry and uncertainty over the situation. He should have been worried. Griffith and I were about to engage in another war if things got out of hand.
"You gave my hand quite a cut," said Griffith, checking his injured limb in slight distaste.
"And you gave my face quite a black eye, bloody nose, and broken eyebrow, Mister Griffith," I replied contemptuously.
"You best see Doctor Cavanaugh then," he laughed, casually walking up to me with Bennett trailing not too far behind. "You look terrible."
He walked past me, bumping me on the shoulder in the process. Reluctantly, Bennett followed after him, narrowly missing hitting my shoulder as well. "But…" said Griffith suddenly, turning his head around and looking back at me. "Not now. I have to see Doctor Cavanaugh myself." My face was fixed rigidly into a scowl and my blood was pumping rapidly with the urge to rip him to shreds.
Pleased with my appalled reaction, he turned around, calling for Gareth Bennett to follow him. As Griffith strolled away, humming to himself, Bennett took a double look back at me, unsure who he should side with. "Grif-Griffith," he said, still looking at me with the same expressionless face.
"What?" he snapped, turning his head around in disgust.
"I'll see you after your visit with Doctor Cavanaugh. I have forgotten something I must do." Griffith snickered at him, laughing at his excuse.
"What do you possibly have to do at this hour, Bennett? Write a letter to your mum?" I expected Bennett to shy away and succumb to Griffith's all too powerful demands, but he stood his ground, returning a glare to his supposed ally.
"Exactly," responded Bennett before deserting Griffith in all his might and power. Griffith seemed absolutely insulted at Bennett's leave, and I had to smile at his evidently revolted face.
"Go on, then," barked Griffith, stomping away as well. The thud of his boots echoed in unaccustomed solitude and slowly vanished as Bennett and I stood, watching his once upright body slouch in defeat, and, shockingly, defeat obtained from his own friend.
"You are an idiot to do that," I said, as soon as Griffith was out of sight. "You are undeniably a fool if you think that doing that has made things any better, for it is obvious you have only made things worse." Bennett would waste no time accepting my say and merely cast it off, rebuking me in a manner I could not conquer.
"If you believe I abandoned Griffith for you, then you are clearly mistaken. I do indeed have an important matter to attend to, and so, if you can excuse me, I must leave your argument for another day." I could not rest content with his decision.
"No! You come back right now!" I ordered, pointing a finger at him. He turned around, baffled that I, a lower-than-dirt ship's boy, would even dare to order him about. But for some reason, he gave me his attention with a look questioning why. "I'm here to straighten a few things out, Bennett," I said, not looking him in the eye. "I know a lie when I hear one, for I've lied more than you probably will in your lifetime. You forsook Griffith because of me. You chose my side, and I want to know why."
"Do you always need an explanation of things, Jack?" he returned curtly. "Or are you so desperate for answers that you demand before thinking anything through?" He gave an exacerbated sigh and cast his glance elsewhere, his brown eyebrows furrowed in either concentration or annoyance and his sleek nose tense with irritation.
"I asked you first, Bennett. I need an answer from you."
"I have none to give."
"Then why are you here? You thought you'd befriend a mere, weak little ship's boy, eh?" I questioned. "To try to support him while condemning him at the same time; be friend and foe concurrently. Well, I'll tell you this now, Bennett. Jack Barlow ain't looking for an enemy and brother at the same time. He's looking for a friend and only a friend. What you'll be, I have no idea. But you can rest easily tonight to know that I will surely find out."