In The Belly Of The Bloodhound (29 page)

I futilely hold my breath as long as I can as I go down and down. I can see those who have gone before me, their dresses looking like black orchids floating in the dark blueness, their white legs and feet twinkling like the middle parts of the flowers before they wink out of sight, down into the depths, one by one.

I can’t hold my breath any longer and I close my eyes and I open my mouth and my lungs fill and I choke—oh[_ God—_] I choke, and then I start screaming and a part of my dying self wonders how I could be screaming underwater, but still I scream and scream and…

...and I open my eyes again and I find myself not hurtling down to the blackness at the bottom of the sea but instead in the darkness of the belly of the[_ Bloodhound,
] being comforted by Annie and Sylvie and Rebecca, who are holding my screaming, choking, and shaking self and pleading with me to[
wake up, Jacky! Oh, please wake up!_]

The work continues. On this afternoon, after Chorus and burgoo, I gather Clarissa and Dolley to talk about long-range plans. We sit on the Stage, cross-legged, knees touching, in a circle of three.

“We’ve turned east,” I say, “and that means we’re heading over to Africa. From what I can see of the sun, and judging from the heat, I suspect we were well off the coast of Florida when they put the helm over.”

“Which means?” asks Dolley, eyebrows up.

“Which means they intend to stay below the sea-lanes and out of sight as much as possible. It also means that our time is growing shorter.”

Dolley and Clarissa are considering this when Constance Howell walks up next to us and says, “I am planning on forming a prayer group. Do I need[_ your_] permission for that?” she asks, looking down her nose. Of all the girls, she has resisted the three-division, three-officer setup the most.

“That will be all right, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your other duties,” I say. Clarissa and Dolley nod in agreement.

“Good,” replies Constance. “We shall pray for our deliverance,” she says smugly. “And for your salvation,” she adds, looking pointedly at me. “You are all invited to join us.”

Clarissa snorts and waves her off contemptuously, but I don’t let it go. “Pray for deliverance? Don’t you think God would like us to get out of this ourselves? He must get awful annoyed with those prayers coming up at Him all the time.”

“Do not blaspheme, Miss,” says Connie, sternly.

I sigh and think,[_ Did anyone ever have less use for me?_] “I am not being disrespectful, I am just thinking.”

“If we are to be saved, it is God who will deliver us, not you, Miss Faber, and don’t let your pride make you think otherwise.” She’s really getting hot now. Christina King, Catherine Lowell, and Minerva Corbett are lurking in the shadows behind her. That must be the prayer group.

“Well, He might help,” I say, in a musing way. “But then again, He might not. Maybe He is testing[_ you,_] Constance Howell, to see how much you can take and still remain devoted to Him. Think of poor Job, in the Bible—sores all over his body, his crops fail, his wife and sons and daughters die, and still he remains faithful to his God. Hey, Connie, maybe God hasn’t even started on you yet. Maybe He’d like to see how you hold up spiritually when you’re on the auction block? Ever think of that?”

She spins on her heels and goes off in a huff.

“All right. Back to business,” says Dolley.

“Right,” says I. “Anyway, we’ve got to get moving on things.”

“But what else can we do, besides the carving?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking. The lookouts report that this is not a happy ship: There’s the Captain, Mate, and Chubbuck

...they’ve got no use for Sin-Kay, who doesn’t like them any more than they like him. And then there’s the crew…they ain’t exactly a gang of good friends, either—there’s little groups of ‘em who hang together and don’t mix much with the others.”

“So?” asks Clarissa, idly chewing on a fingernail.

“So I say we turn ‘em against each other even more—get ‘em distrustful, nervouslike…make ‘em think they’re on an unlucky ship. There’s nothing more superstitious than a sailor, I can tell you that. Katy tells me some of the crew have been listening to our singing and storytelling at night—we might be able to use that. And if we get ‘em turned against each other, they won’t fight as a group when we make our break. See?”

Both Dolley and Clarissa nod, so I continue. “I’ll work on the crew, first through Mick and Keefe. Then, well, we’ll see what develops. Clarissa, keep needling Sin-Kay, but be careful, you don’t want to push him too far.”

Clarissa grins. “It’ll be an absolute pleasure,” she purrs. “How are your divisions?” I ask. We report on the divisions every day.

“Mine’s all right,” answers Dolley. “Wilhelmina had the sniffles, but she’s better now. A few of them are down in the dumps, but you know how that goes.”

“Well I know,” I say. “I still can’t get Elspeth to come back around.”

“Let her die,” says Clarissa. “The dirty little snitch.”

“Now, Clarissa,” I begin, but I’m interrupted by the sight of Judy Leavitt’s head appearing at the edge of the Stage. She wipes sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. It’s plain she’s been working down below at the Rat Hole.

“Jacky, come look. We got past that big knot and are into some really soft wood now. A big chunk just came out.”

We leap down into the Pit to go under the Stage to the Hole. Caroline, who has continued to work the edge with the knife, stops when I lay my hand on her shoulder and whisper, “Caroline, get up and let me look.”

I gasp in delight. They have made amazing progress. There’s easily enough room now for me to poke my head through.[_ “Beautiful work!”_] I whisper. As the Hole has gotten bigger, we have made a rule that only whispers can be spoken down at the work site, so that anyone who chances to be outside of that room beyond the Rat Hole doesn’t pick up our voices. Everyone knows that if the Hole is discovered, we are lost.

I go down on my belly and stick my head through and wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I give it a good five minutes, but all that swims out of the gloom is a faint strip of light at floor level off to the right. My suspicion that it’s the crack under a door is confirmed when the light flutters, as if someone had just walked past.[_ Please don’t come in, not yet!_] But they walk on, and all is well. I let out my breath and slide back out.

“I can’t see anything,” I say to the waiting girls as I get to my feet. “I’ll have to get light. Keep carving in that direction there. At this rate I’ll be able to get all of me through soon.”

Caroline drops down and I look at her for a moment. I’ve noticed that some of these girls are getting right fit, what with the short rations and the dance exercise and all, which is good. When we make the final break, we’ll need all the strength we can muster, because even if everything goes right, it still ain’t gonna be easy.

I go over to the hidey-hole that holds my seabag and I thrust my arm down into the bag and pull out one of my two candles and my flint striker. I usually kept the striker on board the[_ Star_] for lighting my spirit stove, but on the day of the picnic I had brought it with me, thinking we might have a jolly campfire on the island. Well, we didn’t have that, but I am damned glad to have this here with me now.

The girls have been told to keep the chips from the Rat Hole work in a pile off to the side, and from that pile I separate the tiniest shavings and form them into their own little pile. Squeezing the striker, I send a spark down into the tinder. It glows, but then winks out. I try again, and this time the spark stays and smoulders. I blow on it and it flutters into flame and I quickly stick the wick of my candle into it, and when it catches, just as quickly do I snuff out the tinder blaze with my cupped hand. Can’t have anybody smelling smoke—fire on board is the one thing that sailors fear above all other things…’cept maybe ghosts.

Taking the lit candle back to the work site, I again crouch down in front of the Rat Hole, and after a quick check to make sure no one has come into that dark outer room, I stick the candle as far into the Hole as I can. It is a squat candle and I put it down without fear of it tipping. I do have other fears, though.

“I am quite sure that the room next to us is not the powder magazine, but I cannot be sure. If it is, and the candle ignites it, then I hope to see you all in Heaven.” There are some nods, and not a few hands go into the prayer position, as I duck down again and stick my head in the Hole.

It is not the powder magazine. It seems to be the carpenter’s storeroom, and we could not have hoped for a better find. It is full of lumber and spars for repairing the ship, but if nothing befalls this voyage, then the place would be seldom used. I turn my head and see a wall of tools, like saws and augers and such…There’s a hammer, and there’s plenty of nails of all sorts about…Ah,[_ and Katy, there is a pile of brand-new battens, just like you asked for._]

I pull back out, then reach in and retrieve the candle. I blow it out and tell them what I saw. Then I go meet with Clarissa and Dolley, and when I do, we decide to go to round-the-clock work on the Rat Hole. We each present it to our divisions, and the girls, even though they know they will be working by feel in the pitch dark among the rats and their own private fears, agree. I could not be prouder of them. As if on cue, the bells are rung and the flaps come down.

I stay on the Stage as the girls feel their way by me on the way to their kips. Everyone’s getting real good at blind-man’s bluff.

I glance up in the direction of the starboard-side flaps, and even though I can’t see them up there listening, I know they are there. And have I got a dandy for them tonight. When all are settled, I clear my throat and begin…

“‘Be gentle with me, Robin. Treat me like a lady,’ said I, as I reached for him. He ripped off his jacket and was fumbling with the laces on his shirt when there came a furious pounding on the door.
p.
“‘Lieutenant Faber! The Captain wants you in his cabin right now!’ I recognized the voice as…yes, well, I recognized the voice as belonging to Private Rodgers, one of the ship’s two Marines.

“I rose from the bed and put my hands on Robin’s sagging

shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, Robin, I really am,’ I whispered, so the Marine outside couldn’t hear ‘Kiss me one more time and then I must dress and go…”

“Now, that is the last straw!” shouts Constance Howell, from somewhere on the starboard Balcony. “This is completely obscene! You were…were[_ unclothed_] in front of that boy and yet you would stand and[_ kiss_] him?”

“Do you want me to tell what happened, or shall I lie, Connie?” I ask quietly. “If everybody wants me to stop, I will.” I wait for a reply and hear none. “Fine, I’ll stop,” I say, heading back to my kip. “I don’t need this.”

Now there are murmurs of “No…no…”

Then, out of the dark comes Clarissa’s slow drawl, “Whyn’t you jus’ hush up, Sister Constance, and let her tell her lies? They are mildly entertainin, you’ll have to agree, even though I don’t believe even half of ‘em. I mean, what boy in his right mind would want to kiss[_ her,
] even if she[
was_] butt naked?” She waits a beat before continuing,[_ “Especially_] if she was butt naked.”

That gets a real laugh, and then there are cries of “Hear, hear!” and “Press on, Jacky!” and I swear I hear a guttural male voice from outside the flaps say, “Aye, let ‘er tell it. It’s just gettin’ good.”

“And you don’t have to listen, Connie dear,” Clarissa continues. “You can go far enough forward so you won’t hear her scandalous little ol’ story. Try sayin’ the Lord’s Prayer over and over again. That should do it. But jus’ you say it to yourself, if you please.”

There is heard a disgusted[_ oh!_] from Connie’s direction and the sound of someone turning over and probably clapping of hands over her ears.

“Go on, Jacky,” I hear Dolley say, and I go back out to my spot and lift my voice again.

“I[_ dressed myself and went out, and the Marines collected me and took me to the Captain’s cabin._]

“Captain Scroggs was seated at his table, with a bottle and two glasses in front of him. It was plain he had already been into the spirits, as his face was even more puffed and florid than it was before. ‘Sit down, girl, and have a drink,’ he said, shoving the glass in front of me.

“From outside
I[_ could hear a deep humming…’Hmmmm’...coming from the throats of the men in the rigging…my friends, who were giving the Captain a warning,
] a[
warning that mutiny was imminent if he didn’t change his ways.
] Thanks, lads, I[
thought,_] but too late for me…

“Hmmmmmm…”

“You will be cheered to know, ladies,” says Sin-Kay with some satisfaction, “that we have completed a good third of our journey. Soon you will be secure in your new homes, with your new masters, your new life. Adams!”

“Here.”

“Alden!”

“Here.”

And so on down the line, past me, to…

“Goodwin!”

No answer. Dolley and Martha have her propped up between them.

“She’s here,” says Martha for her.

Sin-Kay looks at the listless Elspeth. He puts his pencil under her chin and lifts her face. “You’d better get this one back on the line soon, or it’s the fleshpots for her. Or over the side, one or the other.”

“We’ll take care of her,” says I. “She’ll get better.”

He slides his eyes over to me. “Ah. Smart-mouth. Well, I expect to see some improvement soon, or else. Hawthorne!”

“Here,” says Martha.

“Howe!”

“Here Ah is, Massa Sinkey.”

He brings his gaze to rest on Clarissa. Using little strips of petticoat cloth, she had tied up her hair in little pigtails sprouting all over her head. She also wears an idiot’s silly grin.

“What is this, then?” he asks, not amused.

“Why, Massa Sinkey, Ah thought you’d like me this way, gettin’ ready to be a nice little ol’ pickaninny fo’ some big bad sultan!”

There are side-glances and snickers from the girls in the line. And I think I hear a laugh from out on the deck.