Quintspinner (7 page)

“What have we here?” the giant bellowed. William stared up at the mountain of flesh approaching him. He had never seen so large a man. With skin the color of darkened wood, and thick greasy strands of hair as black as coal streaming from underneath a red bandana, the First Mate towered over William. The giant’s eyes were small and piggish, with irises so dark that they seemed one with the man’s pupils.
The eyes of a demon!
William stood frozen to the spot in the shadow of the bulk before him, with only his nostrils twitching involuntarily at the foul body odor wafting from the man.

The giant scowled and his thick black eyebrows knitted together above his bridge of his nose. William stared, transfixed. The eyebrow hairs seemed to be moving of their own accord, shifting and undulating with the busyness of the lice which had taken up residence there. In fascinated disgust, William watched as small, wiggling specks fell from the giant’s head and face, their tiny bodies plunging to certain death onto the deck below.

“Answer me ya’ snot-nose or ye’ll feel me lash lickin’ ya’, by God ya’ will!” the giant roared, breaking William out of his trance.

“He’s Mr. Taylor, Sir,” Smith broke in. “He’s new. Brought on just ‘afore we sailed, Sir!”

The ebony eyes swiveled and fixed on Smith. The First Mate’s mouth pulled back in a frightening scowl, showing a few remaining stained and blackened teeth, listing in their sockets, separated by gaps, protruding from reddened, oozing gums. The man’s tongue was swollen and blistered, and each exhalation carried out the fetid smell of rot. “D’yer thinks I’m talkin’ to you? Or is this one here mute? Eh? Is that it? ‘Cause we’ve one gimp aboard already an’ that’ll be more than enough to care fer the shitpots!” He raised the fist clutching the whip’s handle and let the coils slither to the deck. He drew his arm back and glanced at the length of rope as it followed his pull. “I bet my sweet one here could make him talk.” In an instant William clenched his eyes shut and stifled a scream in his throat, as he prepared for the slash of the whip’s knotted ends to slice open his shoulder’s skin.

“Mr. Rogers!” A voice boomed out from the quarter deck. The big man’s arm froze in mid swing. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Sir,” the voice continued, “but I hold it to be more prudent to get some work out of him before you strip the flesh off his bones, don’t you agree, Mr. Rogers?”

William’s eyes snapped open and he scanned the quarter deck for the source of the commanding voice. There, standing tall and imposing, at the railing, was a man, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, legs slightly astride. The blue jacket he wore was fastened up the front; its gold buttons glinted in the sun. His hair was neatly pulled back and hidden under the brim of a tricorn hat, it too, as blue as the man’s eyes.

“Well, Mr. Rogers? What say you, Sir?”

The first mate scowled and his jaws clenched in defiance. “Aye, Cap’n,” he grunted, but his gaze fixed on William like a snake about to strike its prey. “Aye, Sir, she’ll wait a’right,” and he slowly and methodically recoiled the whip, caressing the coils as he gathered them up in his calloused hands.

“Mr. Smith!” the captain continued, “Has your charge signed to wear the King’s coat yet?”

“Not yet, Captain Crowell! We was just on our way, Sir!”

“See that it’s done then. And, Mr. Smith, see that he is put to good use as soon as possible.”

“Yessir!” Smith stood stiffly upright, his long gangly arms held straight at his sides.

“You, Sir,” Captain Crowell nodded at William, “What’s your name?”

“Uh, William Taylor … Sir.” It seemed natural, necessary even, to William, to address this man as ‘Sir’.

“Do not fail me, Mr. Taylor, in any of your endeavors upon my ship, for I would not like to be shown to have been wrong in my immediate judgment of you, and Mr. Rogers to have been right.” And with that, Captain Crowell lifted his head and resumed his watch over his wooden domain from the raised sights of the quarterdeck.

“C’mon!” hissed Smith as he jerked roughly at William’s sleeve. William could hear the anger shaking Smith’s voice. “Do ya’ have a death wish then?” Smith propelled William ahead of him with a hard shove. He herded William through the throngs of sailors, towards the ship’s office and the log book awaiting William’s mark. “There’s no honor dyin’ at the end of a cat-whip, boy! Ya’ want pain? Ya’ want to have yer own blood spillin’ yer life down yer back? Do ya’?” Smith’s eyes narrowed into a hard glare. “Well, save it fer the fightin’ ahead! She’s a small Navy ship, just a ten-gunner, this one, that’s a fact, but Cap’n will not use her size or quickness to outrun troubles. He’s not one to back down from anythin’. Ye’ll see! Ye’ll soon be fightin’ fer King an’ country, boy, ya’ see, an’
that
at least, offers an honorable death!”

Smith’s rant was cut off by a chorus of frightened, angry shouts which shot up through the companionway from the deck deep below them.

“He’s got the
pox
, I tell ya’!” one voice bellowed. A wild-eyed sailor’s face burst through the hatch. “It’s the pox!” he screamed.

All on deck stopped what they were doing and turned towards the commotion. William stared at the man. The whites of the sailor’s eyes shone with intense fear, the same way one of his Da’s cow’s had done when it had been haltered in the slaughterhouse.

“Here now! What’s that you’re announcing?” Captain Crowell quickly strode down and over to the man. “Has the surgeon seen him?”

“No, Cap’n, Sir! I just seen him with me own eyes, I did! He’s got the fever, Sir, an’ he’s all broke out in blisters and pus spots! Oh, Lord in Heaven, save our souls!” he continued to wail.

“Mr. Lawrence! You
will
cease and desist that caterwauling at once! Or I will unleash the fury of Mr. Roger’s appetite upon your back, so help me God, I will. Do you hear me, Sir?”

“But it’s
the pox
, Sir! We hafta’ save us all! We have to–”

“Mr. Rogers!” the captain commanded, “Apply Moses’ Law to this man at once. That will give Mr. Lawrence thirty-nine reasons to stop these lunatic ravings. Or at the very least he’ll have something worthy to cry out about. Immediately if you please, Mr. Rogers! Mr. Nawthorne, have the man below in question examined by the Surgeon, and instruct the good doctor to then see me with due haste in my quarters.”

William shrank back as several pairs of arms suddenly reached out and bound Mr. Lawrence’s arms together, then hauled the man over to the foremast where he was quickly strung up with ropes to the rigging, spread out like a crucified figure. The crew gathered around as Mr. Rogers took his place behind the man’s back.

“’Here’s the cat, fresh fer ya’!” the First Mate roared at the man, as he withdrew a shorter whip from a red bag which had been handed to him. This new whip was much shorter than the first, a tangle of ropes only about two feet long, but each strand ended in a hard, tight knot. Crewmen pushed and jostled for position around William until he was squeezed to the back of the throng. He could not see over the heads of the men in front of him but the whistle of the whip and the sharp crack of it as it slashed open fresh skin was outplayed only by the screams of the bound man as the knotted ends of leather tore open flesh. The man’s terror was out of control, William realized, and that was going to make the flogging all the worse. Towering above the others, Mr. Rogers’ face was in plain view. His lips were curled back in an unholy grin, and his eyes gleamed wildly. They were the eyes of a demented soul.

The sailor’s screams grew weaker and faded out altogether by the fifteenth lash.

“Throw the water on him!” Mr. Rogers yelled. The salty sea water burning in his fresh slashes was enough to rouse the unfortunate man and the lashing began again in earnest. The crowd of men counted out each fresh blow in loud unison, for which William was grateful, as it partially obscured the man’s continued shrieks. From the corner of his eye, William caught sight of a portly fellow emerging from the companionway. He turned to watch him scurry away into the captain’s quarters.

Before the flogging finished, the paunchy surgeon and captain appeared back out on the deck. The surgeon waddled over to the edge of the gathered crowd and quickly spoke with two men standing on the outer edge. They in turn, left and followed the surgeon down the hatch, returning a few minutes later with a long lumpy roll carried between them. It was a heavy item, and the men staggered to the edge of the ship with it.

Something rolled in a hammock.
William watched with curiosity. As the sailors attempted to lift the roll up, one end slipped from their grasp and William gasped as an arm weakly pushed up and out from inside the roll. Grabbing the limb, and stuffing it back inside the hammock wrapping, the sailors recovered their grip on it and heaved the package up and over the edge of the ship. It hit the water surface with a soft splash and the men returned to the foremast to watch the final counts of the whip.

William stood still, stunned at what he had just witnessed.
That roll had a man in it. He was still alive! The poxed sailor? The surgeon was a part of it! He’s supposed to help the sick! Is this whole thing the Captain’s order?

Once again William’s heart pounded and his chest tightened in renewed terror of this hostile world. Life at home had been hard and he was no stranger to illness and death, but the casual violence with which all aboard this ship lived and died was overwhelming to him.
I’m living a nightmare and there’s no escape!
He forced himself to breathe deeply.
You’re still alive.

Well then survive if you can, boy-o, survive if you can,
a voice inside his head taunted.

“See here, Tess,” her father beckoned her over to his desk, where he stood hunched over his newest acquisition. It was a strange looking stand about a foot high, with several knobs, and a tube that her father stared down into. A small flat platform was secured several inches below the eye tube.

“Quickly! You’ve not seen anything like this!” he exclaimed.

Tess peered into the eyepiece and gasped. Fat little lines squirmed and undulated, curling and uncurling on the glassy surface.

“What are they?” she asked in wonderment. “What is this?”

“You are looking at the smallest of all animals in there. They’ve taken up residence in the pus from Mrs. Waddington’s leg boil, they have. And this, my dear, is a microscope. It’s a great invention for medicine, brought to England, by its inventor, Dr. Leeuwenhoek, a great man, from the Netherlands.” Her father gently touched the contraption as though stroking a beloved pet.

“There’s a whole world in here,” he said softly, returning his attention to the eyepiece.

“Father, if you’ve no further need for my help presently, I’d like to go with Cassie when she goes for goods this afternoon.”

“Hmmff– what?” Her father’s concentration on the small squiggles within the contraption was absolute. Tess doubted that he had even heard her request, but it was going to be easier to deal with possible punishment, than to gain his permission at this point.