healed.
I realized that night I never had no real influence over my master at all, and thereafter resolved to keep my thoughts close in my own clotted head. He was in charge of our everything—and that was just that.
3
A FLIMSY SHIFT ON A BUNKER COT
SUMMER, 1712
N ow toward the end of our second month at sea the food rations grew fitful. The cow stopped making milk so was butchered and eaten, and all of the chickens had since found their way to the pot. The salted pork was blistered with maggots and the biscuits grew lacy where weevils invaded. Bristol and me tried our hands at fishing but neither of us had any luck. So while the prisoners made do with pottage and dried peas, the crew ate the last of the beef and set up nets to catch turtles or dolphins or whales. But at least there was plenty of booze left.
One afternoon we’d a temporary panic when another ship was spotted, but it turned out to be a friendly vessel on route to England so our captains made eager trade. Their boat had recently repelled an attack from pirates off Bermuda and was running short of powder and shot, which we readily swapped for their salt, goat meat, cheese, oranges, rice, and flour. They also gave over five barrels of water in return for some sailcloth and candles. While all the commotion drew attention I slipped beside the women’s hatch and whispered down to Dollie to find out how Maude was doing. Not well. Violet crept over to join our talk and began probing me with strange questions. She breathed, “Where does the captain keep the keys to the shot locker and powder room?”
“I don’t know, Vi. Why?”
“Think, lovie. It’s important,” hissed Dollie.
“What’s going on?”
The women mumbled under my hearing and replied, “There’s things afoot you need know of, Lola.” After a pause Dollie asked, “Can you filch something metal? A spike . . . knife . . . something of the sort?” I answered that I might. “Good. You know that prisoner, name of Charlie?”
“The old salt who killed some tar in a brawl?”
“That’s him.” They motioned for me to slide closer so I lowered my ear to the grid. “He’s been waiting to hear news of pirates abroad because he and his mate reckon that means we’re closing in on land. We’ve been plotting together for weeks and now the time’s at hand—we’re going to take over the ship!” I stifled the gasp pressing my throat. My skin turned cold and bumpy. I mumbled, “But . . . but . . .”
“Hush up!” Dollie commanded. “It’s a full moon two more nights from now. That’s when we’ll make our move, so you’ve to get the spike to Charlie tomorrow. Understand?” I nodded, woodenly.
“And, Lola,” Violet added, “don’t tell the boy.” I bubbled something unintelligible and stumbled away to the stern to calm myself down. Everyone was busy loading the supplies, so I slipped up to sit by the stern lantern and stared out at the trailing foam. What should I do?
Of course I wanted to help my mates down below because I was furious with how the men had maimed Maude and all that—but there was only a frail little girl hiding inside of me. I was terribly terribly frightened. What would they do if they caught me plotting? How would we fare if we failed? And if we managed to take the ship would enough men even know how to sail her? Where would we go where we could hide in safety? Might we be hunted the rest of our days? And what would happen to the crew—I didn’t want Bristol getting hurt. . . .
T he terror ran round the inside of my skull until I thought my eyes would spark. But then a compelling force pulled me on my heels and made me wander the decks in search of something metallic. Of course, being a prison vessel the sailors were well-drilled in keeping things stowed safe against insurrection, but I thought one of the tars might be careless amidst all the hustle and transfer of goods. No such luck. I couldn’t find nothing
I realized that night I never had no real influence over my master at all, and thereafter resolved to keep my thoughts close in my own clotted head. He was in charge of our everything—and that was just that.
3
A FLIMSY SHIFT ON A BUNKER COT
SUMMER, 1712
N ow toward the end of our second month at sea the food rations grew fitful. The cow stopped making milk so was butchered and eaten, and all of the chickens had since found their way to the pot. The salted pork was blistered with maggots and the biscuits grew lacy where weevils invaded. Bristol and me tried our hands at fishing but neither of us had any luck. So while the prisoners made do with pottage and dried peas, the crew ate the last of the beef and set up nets to catch turtles or dolphins or whales. But at least there was plenty of booze left.
One afternoon we’d a temporary panic when another ship was spotted, but it turned out to be a friendly vessel on route to England so our captains made eager trade. Their boat had recently repelled an attack from pirates off Bermuda and was running short of powder and shot, which we readily swapped for their salt, goat meat, cheese, oranges, rice, and flour. They also gave over five barrels of water in return for some sailcloth and candles. While all the commotion drew attention I slipped beside the women’s hatch and whispered down to Dollie to find out how Maude was doing. Not well. Violet crept over to join our talk and began probing me with strange questions. She breathed, “Where does the captain keep the keys to the shot locker and powder room?”
“I don’t know, Vi. Why?”
“Think, lovie. It’s important,” hissed Dollie.
“What’s going on?”
The women mumbled under my hearing and replied, “There’s things afoot you need know of, Lola.” After a pause Dollie asked, “Can you filch something metal? A spike . . . knife . . . something of the sort?” I answered that I might. “Good. You know that prisoner, name of Charlie?”
“The old salt who killed some tar in a brawl?”
“That’s him.” They motioned for me to slide closer so I lowered my ear to the grid. “He’s been waiting to hear news of pirates abroad because he and his mate reckon that means we’re closing in on land. We’ve been plotting together for weeks and now the time’s at hand—we’re going to take over the ship!” I stifled the gasp pressing my throat. My skin turned cold and bumpy. I mumbled, “But . . . but . . .”
“Hush up!” Dollie commanded. “It’s a full moon two more nights from now. That’s when we’ll make our move, so you’ve to get the spike to Charlie tomorrow. Understand?” I nodded, woodenly.
“And, Lola,” Violet added, “don’t tell the boy.” I bubbled something unintelligible and stumbled away to the stern to calm myself down. Everyone was busy loading the supplies, so I slipped up to sit by the stern lantern and stared out at the trailing foam. What should I do?
Of course I wanted to help my mates down below because I was furious with how the men had maimed Maude and all that—but there was only a frail little girl hiding inside of me. I was terribly terribly frightened. What would they do if they caught me plotting? How would we fare if we failed? And if we managed to take the ship would enough men even know how to sail her? Where would we go where we could hide in safety? Might we be hunted the rest of our days? And what would happen to the crew—I didn’t want Bristol getting hurt. . . .
T he terror ran round the inside of my skull until I thought my eyes would spark. But then a compelling force pulled me on my heels and made me wander the decks in search of something metallic. Of course, being a prison vessel the sailors were well-drilled in keeping things stowed safe against insurrection, but I thought one of the tars might be careless amidst all the hustle and transfer of goods. No such luck. I couldn’t find nothing
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