Chapter 2
Throughout the morning, the day remained hot and cloudless with no reprieve in sight. John hung his arms over the railing and watched as the Bonetta bobbed up and down. Her hull cut through the waves, spraying cold sea spray over his hot, flushed cheeks. Only a few hours ago, he had taken great pleasure in this, but now he barely noticed.
Travelling by sloop had already lost its novelty. John had realized, to his dismay, the reality of a sea voyage was actually quiet boring. The Caribbean ocean was a vast, uninteresting place and there wasn't much to do on a ship this size that couldn't be done in an hour or two. By noon, he had pretty much done everything worth doing, or so he thought. John sighed.
His imagination was his only reliable source of entertainment. In his mind, he was wearing Captain Savage's red coat, black bicorn hat and cutlass, which hung from one hip. He jumped about the bow, yelling orders to his imagined crew, visualizing they were about to be boarded by pirates. He fought his imaginary foe with an extended finger that sometimes served as a sword or a pistol, depending on his fancy.
But, reality was never far from his mind. His stomach rumbled, again, more fierce than the last time. Hunger was not something he had ever been able to ignore for long. Soon he'd have to head below and scrounge something from the cook. John looked to the sky and took note of the sun's position. It was almost directly overhead, which meant, he hoped, the call for lunch would be soon.
John's attention fell on the men behind him. Far from harbor, the crew's activity had settled into a routine. John noticed they paid special attention to the mainsail, adjusting the rigging as the ship's heading and the wind direction changed. All ten gunners and their assistants kept a lookout for pirates, ready to fire their cannons at a moment's notice. And from behind the navigator the captain stood, silently supervising it all.
Out of the many jobs on the Bonetta, John decided being a gunner's mate was probably the most exciting. Watching for pirates was something he felt he could do, too. It seemed easy enough. He wandered over to the closest starboard cannon and stood at attention as the gunner-men were doing.
Each man was armed with two flintlock pistols. The set was held by two straps that crossed over the chest forming the letter x. This allowed the ivory handle to face out, just over the hip. Each stoic gunner-man stood to the left of his cannon with an assistant standing behind him. The cannon's highly polished brass shone like gold in the bright sunshine.
Unable to hold the stoic stance for very long, John became aware of the wind blowing his unruly, auburn hair into his face. All though it wasn't very long, it tickled his temples and made him feel itchy. After a few agonizing moments of standing perfectly still, he broke down and scratched. Then, decided being a gunner's mate was harder than it looked. How do they stay still for so long? John wondered. He leaned over the railing to examine the serious expressions on the men's faces. Not a single one of them paid John any attention as they watched the ocean's waves for danger.
John tried to imagine what a real pirate attack might look like. First, the cannons would be fired as the pirates came into view. Then, in order to board the Bonetta, the pirates would have to overwhelm her men by shooting their flintlocks. Under heavy fire, the gunners and their assistants would be forced to take cover and hide behind the railing, unable to fire their cannons. They would return fire with their pistols.
Then, the pirates would ram the Bonetta and jump on board in the confusion, swarming the deck in great numbers. First, there would be hand to hand combat. Then, there would be knife fights and close quarter shootings with blunderbuss, a short musket with a flared muzzle. It was the kind of weapon, he had heard, pirates favored because it sprayed the intended target with scattered shot at close range. John shivered, realizing it would most likely be a bloody battle.
It could possibly be the most terrifying event of his life. Perhaps we'd be better off not seeing any pirates after all, he reconsidered as he pictured the kind of injuries a blunderbuss would create.
Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang.
John jumped with a start and looked over his shoulder for the origin of the noise, his mind still racing with thoughts of battle. The noise came from a man standing behind the helmsman who was ringing the ship's bell.
The gunner's assistant beside John turned to him and said, "That's the lunch bell. Go get yourself somethin' to eat."
The assistants filed into line at the hatchway and descended the ladder in an orderly fashion. John followed the men and looked for his mother in the common room, but she wasn't there. Assuming his mother was still in the captain's quarters, he lined up with the men and waited his turn.
The cook stood in the kitchen doorway ladling potato soup into waiting bowls. Some of the men had two bowls, perhaps to feed the gunner-men left waiting on deck.
John wondered where the men had gotten theirs, but couldn't see where to find one so he stayed in line, not wanting to lose his spot. When he reached the cook with empty hands, his cheeks flamed, but he stood his ground. The cook smiled, which ordinarily would've put John as ease, but the expression caused his scar to wrinkle, transforming his smile into something hideous. John tried not to stare. The cook reached behind the kitchen wall and produced a battered-up, tin bowl.
"We each take care of our own eating utensils," the cook explained. "It's yer responsibility to keep 'em clean," he continued as he handed John the item.
John took the bowl and held it with both hands, so the cook could fill it with the steaming soup. When he was done, he handed John a brass knife and spoon.
"Yer mother hasn't come out of the captain's quarters. Perhaps ye'd like to check on her," the cook mumbled.
John peered into the cabin. He found Alice sleeping on the bottom hammock with her copy of Bonifacius: Essays to Do Good lying open over her chest, her blue dress spilling over onto the floor. The hammock swung slightly with the to-and-fro motion of the ship, dragging the hem though the dust.
She must be exhausted, John thought, she hasn't even taken her boots off. He stood and watched her sleep for a moment. The fine winkles in her skin enhanced by her scrunched expression. John wondered how she managed to look worried even in her sleep. He placed the food and utensils on the floor and gently shook her shoulder.
"Lunch is being served," John said.
Her hazel eyes snapped open and showed surprise, as if she had not planned to drift off. She sat up as John handed her the bowl of soup.
"They don't have proper tea," John apologized.
"Hmmm. What do they have?" She rubbed her forehead and placed a shaky hand over her stomach.
"Grog and sun brewed tea with lemon."
"I'll have the tea with lemon," she said.
John left the captain's quarters and came back with his own bowl of soup, extra utensils, and a cup of tepid, lemon tea. He handed his mother the drink and watched as she took an experimental sip. She smiled.
"It's not bad actually," she said, "an acquired taste, but palatable. One must make sacrifices when travelling," she added in a stiff tone.
John sat down on the floor and ate his potato soup. It had chunks of smoked pork and was quiet good once his taste buds became accustomed to the high amount of salt. Mother and son ate quietly, their brass spoons gently clinking and scraping against their tin bowls. When they were finished, Alice handed her son her half-eaten bowl of soup and her utensils.
"We have to wash our own," he said, pushing the bowl back toward her.
"Well then, you best get to it," she replied with a cold look that meant he better listen.
John stifled an exasperated sigh. The cook had given him a spoon, a cup, and a knife for future use. Along with his mother's bowl, cup, and eating utensils he had quite a handful. He wondered what he was supposed to do with all of it and briefly imagined himself standing at the railing throwing it all overboard.
He gathered it all up and marched as fast as he could to the kitchen doorway, try
ing very hard not to drop anything. When he saw the cook, he stopped.
"What am I supposed to do now?" he whined.
The cook looked up from rummaging through a woven basket, fixed a displeased eye on John, then replied, "Go up on deck and wash-up with the rest of 'em."
"Oh," John mumbled. He looked up at the ladder, then back down at the dishes he was holding with both hands, and wondered how he was supposed to manage. He took a step towards the ladder figuring that he'd think of something when he got there.
"Wait, I have something for ye." The cook continued searching through the woven basket until he found what he was looking for.
"Here take this too," the cook said as he pulled a fine-mesh, net bag out of the basket and threw it at John. The bag landed at John's feet.
"Put yer stuff in that," the cook said. "An' take care of it all. Ye won't be given more," he growled.
"Thanks!" John said as he stuffed the dishes into the bag.
He climbed the ladder and joined the men who were washing their dishes in buckets filled with soapy sea water. The men were quiet and serious about their task, eager to get on with the rest of their duties. John patiently waited his turn. Then he quickly washed the bowls and spoons with his fingers, since there seemed to be nothing else available.
"Yer mother and I have been talking," the captain's voice said from behind him. "And we 'ave decided ye need a job while ye're aboard."
John jumped up and faced the captain. "Job?"
"Aye! Somethin' to keep ye busy during the voyage."
"I've been watching for pirates. Can that be my job?"
"I was thinkin' of something more substantial like peeling potatoes or carrying gunpowder."
"Gunpowder! What for?" John asked, suddenly interested.
"You could be a Powder Monkey. That's how I got my start in his majesty's royal navy. I was about yer age then. How old are ye? Nine or ten maybe?"
John liked the sound of Powder Monkey. "Almost ten," he said quickly. "What do I have to do?"
Captain Savage handed John a black leather pouch the size of his fist, it had a metal spout attached to the end of it for measuring out proper portions of gunpowder. "Tie this to yer belt. If we're attacked make sure the men never run out of powder."
"That's it?" John asked.
"When yer pouch runs low ye have to go below and grab more. It's an important job, as any. Come, I'll show ye where we keep it."
John followed the captain below deck to where barrels, chests, and casks were lashed down by nets and ropes. John inhaled deeply, analyzing the air of the hold. The musky scent of dried tobacco dominated the space.
"What's in all these barrels?" John asked, even though he was sure he already knew.
"Tobacco and sugar mostly, the Bonetta is a trading vessel," Captain Savage explained. He pointed to a smaller barrel near the head of the ship, then continued. "That's the gunpowder barrel. To open it, jus' pry off the lid an' use the spoon inside to fill yer pouch. Simple as that."
"Okay," John agreed. It did sound simple. But he imagined himself running to the barrel during the heat of an attack, fumbling to lift off the lid, his fingers suddenly becoming useless.
"But what if I can't open it?" he asked.
"Just use yer knife. Ye have one don't ye?" Captain Savage asked.
"I have the brass knife the cook gave me," John said, remembering he had left his things in the bag up on deck beside the buckets.
"Hmmm … that won't do. Here, ye can have mine," the captain handed John a pocket knife with an ivory handle and silver inlay.
"Thanks!" John exclaimed, breathless with excitement. He examined the knife. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever held. A design of a ship sailing a stormy sea was carved into the ivory, and silver inlay bound the ivory to the knife blade at the hilt.
"Now get up there and keep a lookout. Climb the mainmast up to the crow's nest, if ye want," Captain Savage suggested.
John's eyes grew wide with excitement. He ran ahead of the captain and flew up the ladder, not knowing where he was headed. When he reached the deck he yelled, "Wait! Where's the crow's nest?"
The captain laughed from below, then answered, "Look up!"
John turned his eyes skyward, searching for something that looked like a nest. His eyes found a rope ladder and followed it up the mainmast to the bottom of a large circular basket-like structure near the top.
John hesitated at the bottom of the ladder as he looked up again. From the deck, the top of the mast looked awfully far away.
"What are ye waiting for lad?" the captain boomed.
The commanding tone of the captain's voice made John jump on the ladder and climb. Before he knew it, he was halfway up. He stopped and looked down. After noticing how small the men looked, he began to lose his nerve.
"Keep going. Don't lose your momentum," Captain Savage urged.
John looked up. He could see through the bottom of the crow's nest to the blue sky above.
"That's it. Keep yer eye on the prize," the captain yelled.
John took in a deep breath of the salty air and continued his ascent. When he reached the hole at the bottom of the crow's nest, he kept climbing until all he had to do was step off the ladder onto the floor of the basket. As he did, he could hear the men below, roaring with laughter and wondered what was so funny.
"Just holler if ye see anything of note," the captain yelled before he descended back down the hatchway.
John looked out over the ocean waves, scanning in all directions. The waves were empty, but that didn't dampen his spirits. A tingle of fear zipped through his toes as he looked down at the men below. Now they really look tiny, he thought in awe. He had never been so high up before.
But it was the pitching and yawing of the nest that really grabbed John's attention. In the crow's nest, the rolling motion of the vessel was far more pronounced than it had been on deck. John felt as if he could be thrown from the safety of the basket at any moment, if he didn't hang on. John tightened his grip, feeling truly alive for the first time in his life.
Again, he found himself wishing his voyage to Jamaica would never end.