Quintspinner (24 page)

She leaned in towards Tess and William and lowered her voice in a conspiratorial tone. “Mind, I’ve got a bit of roots an’ such fer the cure, but just enough fer those of us who matter!”

She smiled at William and nodded, “So ya’ go on an’ keep tryin’ to kill them, I say!” Turning to Tess, she added, “I’m thinkin’ I’ll mention it to Dr. Willoughby, that it would be some good fer ya’, if ya’ was to have a wee blade of yer own, for yer personal protection against such horrid, filthy creatures! If the doctor’s in agreement, an’ I don’t see why he would object to such an obvious matter concernin’ yer safety, perhaps Mr. Taylor here could arrange fer a dirk–lady-size ya’ understand, now–an’ would make sure that ya’ knew how to use it without comin’ to any harm of yerself.”

Before Tess could recover from the shock of her grandmother’s statement, the housekeeper examined the gash in her spice box once more.

“Looks like the first part of me letter,” she announced, fingering the edge of the small straight cut. She looked up at William. “Would it be too much to ask, Mr. Taylor, if ya’ could finish this into a proper ‘H’? On account of that’s me letter,” she added with a wise nod of her head. “Or even maybe carve the whole thing fer me? Hanley?”

Tess noted William’s hesitation was misread for an impending rejection, because her grandmother quickly added, “Perhaps I could exchange a service fer ya’? An’ I wouldn’t expect it to be done fer free, ya’ understand?”

William continued to stare mutely at her.

“Perhaps, well … would ya’ be needin’ anythin’ repaired or sewed up, like?” she asked hopefully.

William fingered the bare blade of his knife. A deal had been struck.

Spurred on at the insistence of both captains now aboard the
Mary Jane,
surviving sailors, marines, and passengers alike fell into busy daily routines. Captain Raleigh lorded over those whose duties it was to sail his ship and therefore the men under him kept the vessel’s decks, riggings and sail cloths clean and orderly.

Captain Crowell, with his military background, continued to be in charge of the ship’s defenses. Almost all of the remaining men from the
Argus
now found themselves taking on training in weapons and warfare. The tall blond captain seemed outwardly as unperturbed and in control as ever, but inwardly, he despaired over the loss of the ammunition and guns that his own ship had carried. He himself had checked the stores on board this new ship, the
Mary Jane,
and had been alarmed at the relatively small amounts of gunpowder and cannonballs contained in the merchant ship’s hold. Most of her cargo space was packed with boxes and casks; some were supplies for the ship’s journey, but a large section was destined to be unloaded at Port Royal.

Only he and Captain Raleigh were aware of the contents and value of this cargo. Tea, fine cloth, tools with which to build, and weapons with which to defend oneself were packed within the many crates and barrels. Of much greater value was the stained glass; the dismantled pieces were being carried safely within barrels of molasses. Such beautiful glass pieces were intended to be fashioned into windows to adorn a new church that was to be built and dedicated to the King. As well, several crates contained ornate religious artifacts fashioned from precious metals and decorated with jewels; all had been blessed by the archbishop before their departure from London. Such items, back in England, would have been valuable enough there, but were precious enough to the British subjects already in the West Indies settlements that their arrival was eagerly awaited. Precious enough that the merchant ship had been assigned their naval escort.

And now, the effectiveness of such an escort had been destroyed, their defense lying scattered, encrusting on the ocean floor.

Nevertheless, routine and busyness kept the men occupied and prevented complacency and boredom from setting in among the crew. Captain Crowell was well aware that idleness, if allowed for too long, would result in the availability of both too much grog and pent-up energy among the crew. In the life of a sailor, such a combination was always a sure recipe for brooding and fighting among themselves. Therefore, even those with no previous aptitude for weaponry were assigned to artillery and fighting drills.

John Robert and William attended weapons practice, initially as a fulfillment of their duties upon the ship, and then as a way of showing off their skills to the others, reinforcing the impression that they were not to be challenged in any sort of confrontation. Both of them were given a wide berth by the hands on the
Mary Jane,
interacting with her seamen only when forced to.

William’s keen eyesight would have ensured that he had the makings of an excellent powder marksman, had the marines and newly conscripted sailors-turned-infantrymen been actually allowed to fire powder shots at practice targets aboard. As it was, the scarce ammunition was being hoarded, to be kept for future use, should a real threat require it. The men went through the cleaning of their guns in minute physical detail, while the guns’ loading and firing was done entirely in pantomime.

Target practice with knives was a different matter, however. Knives, as weapons, could be easily retrieved from the targets and reused. William quickly established dominance with both his accuracy and speed.

Because of his brawn, however, John Robert was chosen by the gun captain to be ‘Number Two’, the man in charge of positioning the cannon’s gun barrel. Although all of the large cannons aboard the
Argus
had been lost with her sinking, those fitted upon the decks of the
Mary Jane were
‘four pounders’–heavy enough, with each weighing around eight hundred pounds–and it took several strong men to maneuver each forward into place.

During the drills, each six man gun crew competed against the others, moving as quickly as possible, rolling the huge iron cannons forward into their dockings and securing the wheeled trucks with breeching. These were massive ropes which were looped around the cascabels at the back end of the guns and in turn, were attached to the ship’s sides, in an effort to limit the cannons’ recoil when the great guns were fired.

John Robert’s scarred face, slurred attempts at speech, and lurching gait provided ample fodder to feed the cruelty of such men–men who had been raised to survive in a world that had no mercy for any perceived weaknesses. He responded to their jeers and taunts with roars and frequent slams of his powerful fists against the sides of their heads, his frustration boiling over into physical actions. Nevertheless, reluctant admiration for John Robert grew among the gunners, as he quickly became adept at heaving the cannons into position.

No one on board could match his brute strength. The uncoordinated movements still plaguing him as a result of his head injury vanished with the intense efforts required to position the monstrously heavy guns. His reputation as a fierce and disfigured warrior spread among his shipmates, although none had actually seen him in any kind of real confrontation since the skirmish between him and Cook had occurred.

That event already felt like years ago to William.

He rarely thought of his mother and sister anymore, nor of the grisly find of his brother’s body stiffened upon the ground. Sometimes memories of them threatened to invade his thoughts, but the pain that the recollection of them brought was still too acute for William to deal with. He wondered how his father dealt with such thoughts. Wondered if his father even had such thoughts.

His Da’s lack of speech was nearly as frustrating for William as it was for his father. Many times when William ached to hear his Da’s opinion about something, the big man’s features would tighten and his brows would knit together in a fierce scowl, as he clearly understood the questions but could emit no intelligible answers. He often ground his teeth together in exasperation but most times spat out no more than a defeated grunt.

William stared into his father’s face. The thickened ridges of scar tissue from the burns twisted in angry tangles across his cheeks, mouth, and forehead, leaving only those familiar blue eyes untouched. They stared back at William, full of unsaid emotions and thoughts. William’s throat tightened as he read the unspoken plea in his father’s eyes. How he yearned to have a conversation with his father again! If only there was a way to replace his Da’s injured tissues ….

It was possible to substitute a man’s missing limb with a wooden peg to walk on–Mr. Lancaster was learning to do just that with one that William had fashioned for him out of a scavenged piece of wood from the
Mary Jane’s
carpentry supplies–or an iron hook to replace a man’s grasp when fingers or hands were missing, but there was no substitute part, William noted forlornly, for a man’s missing speech. Not even with hours of practice in vocalizing simple words with his Da’ had they made any real progress.

More than anything, William wanted to ease his father’s mounting inner anger and frustrated sadness. Wanted to pierce his lonely and silent world and forge a bridge back for him. But how to do that?

The answer came serendipitously one day, in the form of one small goat.

“Do ya’ ever watch that damned goat?”

William stood quietly behind two sailors and overheard them in conversation. “The way she watches the big goon, I mean?”

“Yeah,” his fellow ship mate shook his head. “Never seen nothin’ like it. Ya’d think she thought he’d birthed her himself!” and the two of them doubled over with coarse laughter.

For as large and fierce as John Robert seemed, his ongoing attachment to the doeling
was
entirely out of place. The burly man appeared larger than ever in comparison to the elfin kid who frolicked and trotted at his heels, behaving in much the same fashion as William had seen dogs do with their masters back in his village.

The way Lucas used to with–Stop it!
he scolded himself.
Focus on what’s here and now. You can’t change what’s happened.

William could see that the tiny goat obviously appreciated his Da’s reciprocal attention.
And why not?
Everything pleasurable in her life came from the man–food, water, clean stall, and grooming. In fact, since her rescue from the
Angus
fire, Gerta had imprinted on John Robert, as nearly as a goat could do. His Da’s few distorted syllables were entirely acceptable to the little animal, and she responded to his grunts and snorts as easily as a young child would have obeyed a parent.

Gerta was sprightly, William had to admit, in spite of her progressively reduced amounts of feed. Provisions, this far into the journey, were becoming sparse for all aboard the ship, livestock included. William had come to realize that goats were the preferred animals to take along on such a journey as they consumed far less forage than cows and horses, and perhaps more importantly, especially to the one in charge of the livery shit pot, they produced significantly less volumes of liquid and solid waste than the larger animals did. Livestock waste management was always a concern on a ship.

Besides being more compact, goats usually provided a good source of milk for the crew on ocean voyages. Had she survived the fire, Gerta’s nanny would have fulfilled that role, but Gerta herself, having never had offspring of her own, produced no milk. She had become useful in another way, however, perhaps in an even more important capacity.

Gerta predicted oncoming storms.

Sensitive to barometer changes or perhaps blessed with a keen sense of smell for rain, Gerta’s behavior was as predictable as any of the familiar signs of oncoming inclement weather.