Sailor Ocean
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It’s not a nice feeling. When the wind drops, and we can hear them coming, and we know they’ll see us if they look hard enough, it’s not a nice feeling. We’re all looking up at the sails of the ships that sail above us; I know they’re watching me from their windows, but I won’t look down to check. Not yet, until it becomes absolutely necessary.
The wind has blown out now, and the sails hang limp and useless, like the wings of some enormous insect. It’s as if they’re waiting for an order—to drop anchor in shallow waters.
A ship comes into view over the horizon to our starboard quarter. The sky behind her is blue-white and dotted with clouds like puffs of smoke. A cloud of white descends from above her maintopmast headland, like a flock of seagulls following an ice cream van.
I can only see her bow, though. As she turns to face us and I can make out more of her profile, something catches my eye; there’s a line of white paint across the stern, just under the masthead. I remember seeing it before, but not exactly where. It looks familiar…
“What do you think?” says the captain. He’s staring at the sails. They’ve been furled now so the canvas doesn’t flap in the breeze, and he has no real way of knowing that the other ship is coming to meet us. “Do you think those ships have seen us yet? Or are they still far away?”
I glance at him. His eyes are bright blue and his dark beard is full of little silver fish hooks; one must be catching on a bit because it keeps falling off and landing in his soup bowl. “We could go back to the island,” I say. “It will be easy enough once we get close.”
He shakes his head. “No. We cannot afford to waste the wind now; it might never come again.”
“But what about these ships? What would happen if they catch up with us here?”
He sighs. “I am afraid that I do not know myself. If we try to hide or flee from them in the open water, there is little hope of escaping them. I fear that even the most skilled seamen among their crews may find us too quickly, and by the time we have reached the beach they will already have seized control of our ship. No, we must keep sailing towards them.”
There is nothing for me to suggest. There is nothing that any sailor knows, that the other ship does not. I feel a shiver run through me as I stare at the sails. This is no good situation at all! We should turn back immediately, and head for our island home until this whole thing blows over!
Then again, I’m sure the captain was thinking the same thing as I am right now: why didn’t anyone tell me this was going to happen? Why did they not warn us about these two huge ships that are sailing straight at us? How am I supposed to deal with it? What are they even doing here anyway?
The captain turns to face me. He takes a long swig of his soup. “They will be upon us soon enough, so let us prepare ourselves.”
I swallow hard and stand upright on my stool. “Yes, sir!”
“Good.”
“Sir, we are being pursued—”
I start to speak, then stop myself; the captain is already walking away and I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts for very long. I need to focus on the problem in front of me; I must not allow myself to become distracted, or else everything will unravel before my eyes.
For a moment I wonder if the other ship is going to fire on us, then I force myself to forget about it—the captains of both ships would never do such a thing, after all. Besides, they’re still miles and miles away. We’ve got plenty of time to reach land and hide there until they give up and turn back.
That’s the way things should be, I think as I return to the deck. The sun sets in the west; its light shines on the sea, making it sparkle and shimmer as if it were made of glass. A few minutes later, the first rays of the sun are visible above the horizon and begin to illuminate the surface of the ocean.
“We have been followed,” says the captain. “Two large ships, heading straight for us. Do you think they will fire on us?”
“I doubt it,” I say. “They’re too far away.”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t try to escape?” asks the first mate. “I thought that was the purpose of having cannons on your ship?”
“We have cannon,” replies the captain. “But there is little use in firing them when the distance between us and them is so great. They would not be able to hit our vessel with their weapons.”
“Then perhaps we should try to hide?” suggests the second mate. “Perhaps the ships have seen us and will turn around, once they realize that they cannot catch us easily.”
The captain shakes his head. “Hide where? We are sailing straight into an empty ocean.”
I look towards the horizon. Sure enough, there’s nothing but the waves rolling across the water in a smooth white line that stretches as far as I can see. I can just make out the two ships in the distance now, but their hulls are hidden from view behind a wall of clouds, which means that they cannot see us either. That gives us some time before they reach us.
“I don’t understand,” says the captain, clearly puzzled. “How did they manage to track us down? I don’t recall seeing anything on our course that would make us stand out. Did you see something unusual?”
I shake my head. “Nothing, sir. We were sailing along quite smoothly when suddenly we were spotted. But I don’t know how it could have happened. Unless…” My voice trails off. I am unable to finish my sentence. What am I talking about?
“Unless what?” the captain demands impatiently.
I look towards him, then quickly lower my gaze. “Nothing,” I say quietly.
He frowns and looks around as if he’s searching for someone or something. “Where is Mr. Maturin?”
“In his cabin, sir,” replies the first mate. “He has had a terrible night.”
The captain walks over to Mr. Maturin’s door and knocks on it with the knuckle of his sword hand. There is no response. He opens the door slowly and looks inside. His face becomes serious. “What is happening in there?”
“I believe he is asleep, sir,” responds the first mate.
The captain stares at his subordinate for a moment before turning to me. “Take Mr. Maturin below deck; I want him brought up here when he wakes. Is that understood?”
“Aye aye, sir.” I start for the stairs leading down into the hold; as I do, the captain draws his sword and follows me closely. He stands beside me, his eyes scanning the deck for an enemy attack. I take a deep breath, then go slowly down the stairs, feeling as though the entire deck is shaking beneath my feet.
I stop at the bottom of the ladder and look around, hoping that Mr. Maturin is asleep in one of the cabins. When I see him lying motionless on a cot, I sigh with relief.
I walk over to the side of the cot and kneel next to him. I touch his forehead, and feel the feverish warmth radiating through my fingers; I pull back his eyelids, but there is no reaction. Then I gently shake his shoulder. “Mr. Maturin! Wake up!”
There is no reaction. I try again, this time more forcefully. Still nothing. I am afraid to wake him any further, for fear that he might be injured. I stand up and walk to the nearest sailor standing nearby, holding my breath as I speak. “Tell me, what happens when the fever gets worse?”
His eyes widen in surprise. “You mean you’ve never had such symptoms?”
I nod. “No, sir. I haven’t.”
He smiles. “Well, that’s good news. You’ll probably get better in a few days. I have to warn you—if you ever get sick like that again, come to me immediately, and I’ll prescribe a treatment for you.”
“Thank you, sir,” I reply. Then I add quietly: “I hope I won’t need to ask that much of you.”
The man smiles again, his expression changing almost imperceptibly as he looks over my shoulder at the captain standing close by.
After I have finished examining Mr. Maturin I walk over to the captain. “Sir, we must get rid of our cargo,” I tell him quietly. “As soon as possible.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “I’m going to send a boat over there with a note explaining that we are trying to hide, and if they see us coming towards them, they should turn away. They will most likely think that we are fleeing because of our ship being attacked.”
“Then what will happen?”
“They won’t approach us until after dark.” The captain looks around for another crewman, then addresses him. “I want you and your mates to take down everything not tied down, and store it in the hold. As far as we are concerned, there is no cargo.”
“Aye aye, sir,” answers the crew member.
“Good luck to us all, then,” I say quietly.
We spend the rest of the day moving our small stores to the hold and then returning to the main deck. It is late afternoon by the time we reach the beach, and a light drizzle begins to fall.
As soon as we set foot on the sand, men from both ships run forward, taking down the mast of the Mary Rose and tying it together with ropes. Then the whole group moves away from the shore and heads north towards the hills; in a short while, they disappear completely among the trees.
Captain Aubrey is standing with his back to me, staring out to sea. I move closer so that I can speak quietly in his ear. “What will happen now?” I ask.
He turns and looks at me. “It’s hard to say,” he says softly. “We shall find out soon enough.” He puts his arm around my waist and kisses me gently, his eyes looking into mine. “Come on,” he whispers. “Let’s go home.” We start walking back towards the beach, leaving the other crew members to their work.
Back at the house, the family is assembled in the kitchen. Mrs. Culpepper has just brought me a mug of hot tea, and we sit silently in front of the fire while the rain continues to pour outside. My mother sits in her rocking chair, knitting; my father reads the morning paper by the window; and Jack stands near the stove, talking to our youngest sister, who is still a toddler.
She is sitting on the floor, playing with several dolls arranged neatly on a wooden tray that she keeps spinning between her hands. Jack walks over and picks up one of the dolls, which squeaks indignantly when he does so. “Oh, don’t make a fuss, child,” he scolds. “It’s only for a few minutes.”
My younger brother John comes running into the room. “Look what I found!” he shouts happily, bringing me an object wrapped in oilcloth, about the size and shape of a tennis ball. It takes me a moment to realize that it is actually a small cannonball.
“Where did you get that, John?” I ask, picking it up carefully. It has been rolled in wet sand and is now dry and warm to the touch.
“In the garden!” he replies, laughing. “And I picked some more too!”
“Did you bring me something else?” I ask him. He nods and hurries off to his mother, who is watching her two children by the fire with a happy smile on her face.
Mrs. Culpepper looks up as John returns carrying another bundle. “John! What have you brought for me?” she asks, smiling.
“I found it in the garden, ma’am,” he tells her.
“I see!” She pulls the cloth away from the object, revealing a tiny cannonball about half as long as my little finger. “How interesting! Where did you get this one?”
“I think it’s a musket ball, ma’am!” John says eagerly. “I found it in the field behind Mr. Farquar’s cottage.”
Mrs. Culpepper puts down her knitting and looks at me. “You have been in the garden today, haven’t you? Did you find any of these in the flowerbeds or under the rose bushes?”
“No,” I reply. “Why do you ask?”
She sighs. “Mr. Farquar told me that his son was killed yesterday by a cannonball that fell from above during the battle. There are many more lying around here, but you would never know it unless someone told you.”
“Who did you meet?” I ask John curiously.
“The man in charge of the French soldiers’ prisoners.”
“A prisoner?” I am astonished.
“Yes! A man called Jacques Lartigue,” he says. “He’s an officer; I think he might be the one who killed Captain Aubrey. The captain told me not to talk to him. But I had to tell Ma about Lartigue. She wanted to know where he was staying.”
“That is a very serious matter,” says my mother, rising from her chair. “Do you remember what Captain Aubrey said to you?”
John shakes his head. “Not exactly, ma’am.”
My father rises too, putting down his newspaper. “What did your mother say to you, John?”
“She made me promise not to talk to any of them without permission so that we could be safe from harm.”
Jack comes in from the porch where he has been talking to some of the other men from the Mary Rose. They have been busy preparing to move their guns, but now they are all standing around us, listening attentively.
“I think it would be best if we moved this gun, then,” says Jack quietly. “I’m afraid that our presence here has been known to those below decks, and the longer we stay, the more likely it is that some of our enemies will discover where we are hiding.”
“Can they come up here, sir?” asks Mr. Farquar, glancing nervously at the sky. “There seems no cause for concern, but . . .”
“They can indeed, John,” says Mrs. Culpepper firmly. “We must get out of here.”
John nods. “Yes, ma’am! We should go to Aunt Rachel’s cottage on the riverbank.”
Jack looks at me thoughtfully. “If they know we’re here, we’ll have to leave this place soon anyway.” He glances at the others. “I think it’s time to start moving our weapons back to the Mary Rose.”
The End