Though Fisk and Barlow insisted I move into the captain's quarters, I continued to work watch and
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Chapter 22 Captain in name perhaps, but not in practice. I was too aware of all I had yet to learn for that. Besides, as Zachariah would acknowledge later, the fact that I was the daughter of an officer in the company that owned the Seahawk was no small factor in my formal elevation. It would preserve e the niceties. But, though I was entered into the log as captainI wrote it there myself-it was Zachariah who took true command. I insisted, and no one objected. The crew chose their mates-Fisk and Barlow-and assembled themselves into two watches, and managed well enough. Johnson was more than happy to return to the forecastle. Regarding Captain Jaggery, the log read simply. At the crew's urging I wrote that our noble captain had kept his post at the wheel during the hurricane, only to be swept away in the storm's final hour. Mr. Hollybrass was afforded the same heroic death. I have been skeptical of accounts of deceased heroes ever since. Though Fisk and Barlow insisted I move into the captain's quarters, I continued to work watch and 211 watch as before. In between I wrote furiously in my journal, wishing to set down everything. It was as if only by reliving the events in my own words could I believe what had happened. Within twenty-four hours of Captain Jaggery's death, Morgan threw the line, pulled up a plug of black sand, tasted of it, and announced, "Block Island." We would reach Providence-assuming the wind held-in no more than forty-eight hours. Indeed, twelve hours later, the mainland was sighted, a thin undulating ribbon of green-gray between sea and sky. There was much rejoicing among the crew about this and their grand expectations once they were ashore. As for me, I found myself suddenly plunged into instant, and to me, inexplicable melancholia. "What ails our Captain Doyle?" Zachariah asked, using the term he had taken to teasing me with. He'd discovered me up at the fore-peak, morosely watching the sea and the coast toward which we were drawing ever closer. I shook my head. "It's not many a lass," he reminded me, "who boards a ship as passenger and eases into port as captain. " "Zachariah," I said, "what shall become of me?" "Why, now, I shouldn't worry. You've told me your family is wealthy. A good life awaits you. And Charlotte, you've gained the firm friendship of many a jack here, not to speak of memories the young rarely have. It has been a voyage to remember." "Where is your home?" I asked suddenly. "The east coast of Africa." "Were you ever a slave?" 212 "Not I," he said proudly. "And did you want to become a sailor?" That question he didn't answer right away. But when he did, he spoke in a less jovial tone. "I ran away from home," he said. "Why?" "I was young. The world was big. My home was small. " "Did you ever go back?" He shook his head. "Never longed to?" "Oh yes, often. But I didn't know if I would be welcome. Or what I would find. Do you remember, Charlotte, what I first told you when you came aboard? That you, a girl, and I, an old black man, were unique to the sea?" "Yes, " "The greater fact is," he said, "I am unique everywhere. " "And I?" "Who can say now?" he answered. "I can only tell you this, Charlotte. A sailor chooses the wind that takes the ship from a safe port. Ah, yes, but once you're abroad, as you have seen, winds have a mind of their own. Be careful, Charlotte, careful of the wind you choose." "Zachariah," I asked, "won't anyone-in Providence-ask what happened?" "The thing we'll do," he replied, "is remind the owners that we managed to bring the Seahawk into port with their cargo intact. True, we lost captain and first mate, but they died, don't you see, doing their duty." "Won't Keetch talk?" 213 "Too grateful that we spared his life. Beside, Jaggery had some hold on him. Blackmail. So Keetch is free of that too." "Cranick?" "Never on board. I promise you Charlotte," he concluded, "the owners will be sorrowful for all the loss, but their tears won't be water enough to float a hat. " Almost two months after we left Liverpool, we entered Narraganset Bay and slowly beat our way up to Providence. And on the morning of August 17, 1532, we warped into the India docks. When I realized that we were going to dock I went to my cabin and excitedly dressed myself in the clothes I had kept for the occasion: bonnet over my mangled hair. Full if somewhat ragged skirts. Shoes rather less than intact. Gloves more gray than white. To my surprise I felt so much pinched and confined I found it difficult to breathe. I glanced at my trunk where I had secreted my sailor's garb as a tattered memento. For a moment I considered changing back to that, but quickly reminded myself that it mustfrom then on-remain a memento. As the ropes secured us, I looked upon the dock and-with a beating heart-saw my family among the waiting throng. There were my father and mother, brother and sister, all searching up for me. They were as I remembered them, prim, overdressed despite the dreadful summer heat. My mother was in a full skirt the color of dark green with a maroon shawl about her shoulders and a bonnet covering most of her severely parted hair. My father, the very image of a man of property, was frock-coated, vested, top-hatted, his muttonchops a 214 gray bristle. My brother and sister were but little miniatures of them. Truly, I was glad to see them. And yet, I found that I struggled to hold back tears. Farewells to the crew were all too brief, carefully restrained. The real good-byes had been spoken the night before. Tears from Barlow, a gruff hug from Fisk, kisses to my cheeks from Ewing-"You're my mermaid now, lass," he whispered-an offer (with a sly grin) of a splicing knife from Grimes-refused-a round of rum toasted by Foley, topped out with three "Huzzahs!" from all. Then came the final midnight watch with Zachariah-during which time he held my hand and I, unable to speak, struggled to keep my tumbling emotions within. Now I marched down the gangway into the careful embrace of both my parents. Even my brother, Albert, and sister, Evelina, offered little more than sighlike kisses that barely breathed upon my face. We settled into the family carriage. "Why is Charlotte's dress so tattered?" Evelina asked. "It was a difficult voyage, dearest," my mother answered for me. "And her gloves are so dirty," Albert chimed in. "Albert!" Papa reproved him. But then, after we'd gone on apace in silence, my mother said, "Charlotte, your face is so very brown." "The sun was hot, Mama." "I would have thought you'd stay in your cabin," she chided, "reading edifying tracts." Only the clip-clop of the horses could be heard. I looked past the brim of my bonnet. I found my father's eyes 215 hard upon me as if plumbing secrets. I cast down my eyes. "A difficult voyage, my dear?" he asked at last. "You were dismasted. " "There was a terrible storm, Papa," I said, appealing to him with my eyes. "Even Fisk . . . the sailors called it one of the worst they'd ever experienced. We lost the captain. And the first mate." "God in his mercy . . . " I heard Mama whisper. "Well, yes, I'm sure," my father offered. "But one must be careful about the words we choose, Charlotte. It's well-known that sailors have an unhealthy tendency toward exaggeration. I look forward to reading a more sober account in your journal. You did keep it as you were bidden, did you not?" "Yes, Papa." My heart sank. I had completely forgotten he would want to see what I'd written. "I'm greatly desirous of reading it." He wagged a finger at me playfully. "But mind, I shall be on the lookout for spelling mistakes!" Then, thank heavens, Albert and Evelina insisted upon telling me about our fine house on Benevolent Street. It was bigger than I remembered. Great columns graced the doorway. Huge draped windows-like owl eyes-faced the street. Its full two stories put me in mind of an English fortress. Then we were safely inside, standing in the large foyer before the grand stairway. It seemed immense to me. And dark. Cut off-after so many daysfrom sun and air. With my father looking on, Mama gently removed my bonnet. When she saw my mangled hair, she gasped. 216 "Charlotte," she whispered. "What happened?" "Lice," I heard myself saying. One of the few explanations I'd rehearsed. She gasped again and before I could restrain her, took up my hands in pity. "Poor girl," she whispered. "Such awfulness." Even as she stood there, holding my hands, a strange look passed across her face. Slowly she turned my hands over, gazed at the palms, then touched them with her fingertips. "And your hands?" she asked in horror. "They are so . . . hard. " "I . . . I had to do my own washing, Mama." "Dear Charlotte, I am so frightfully sorry." "Mother," Papa suddenly said, "perhaps we should move on to our breakfast together." He offered me his am. I took it gratefully. We walked into the dining room. The table was laid with white cloth, fine china-plate and silver. Breaking from father I started to sit, "Let your mother sit first, my dear," I heard him murmur. As we began to eat, my father said, "Am I to understand, Charlotte, as the shipping agent informed me, that those other families, the ones who had promised to be with you during the voyage, never fulfilled their pledge." "No, Papa," I answered. "They never came to the ship." "How dreadfully lonely for you," my mother said, shaking her head sadly. "Two months with no one to talk to!" Evelina exclaimed. "Of course I talked, silly." 217 "But to whom?" Albert asked in puzzlement. "The men. The sailors." "The men, Charlotte?" my mother said with a frown. "Well, you see . . ." "You mean the captain, do you not Charlotte?" my father suggested. "Oh., no, not just him, Papa. You see, a ship is so small . . . " Suddenly my father interjected, "We seem to be lacking butter." "I'll get it!" I said, pushing back my chair. "Charlotte, sit!" my father barked. He turned to the maid who was waiting nearby. "Mary, butter." The maid curtsied and went out. When I turned back around I found my sister staring at me. "What is it?" I asked. "I just thought of what you look like!" Evelina said. "What?" She wrinkled her nose. "An Indian!" Albert laughed. "Children!" my father cried. With much effort Albert and Evelina sat still. "Charlotte," I heard my mother ask, "how did you pass your time?" "Mama, you have no idea how much work there is on..." My father abruptly took out his watch. "It's much later than I thought," he said. "Evelina and Albert have their lesson in the nursery. Miss Van Rogoff, their tutor, will be waiting. Children." 218 Now struggling to suppress their giggles, Albert and Evelina rose from their seats. "You may go now," my father said to them. Once they had gone, the room became very quiet. My mother was looking at me as if I were a stranger. My father's gaze was his most severe. "The sailors were very kind to me," I offered. "I could hardly be expected . , . " "You must be fatigued," he cut in, "I think some rest would do you some good." "I'm very awake Papa. I mean, I've grown used to very little sleep, and . . ." "Charlotte," he insisted, "you are tired and wish to go to your room." "But-" "Charlotte, you mustn't contradict your father," my mother whispered. I rose from my seat. "I don't know where my room is," I said. "Mary," my father called. "Ask Bridget to come in. " Mary appeared in a moment with another maid, a girl not very much older than I. "Bridget," my father said, "take Miss Charlotte to her roam. Help her with her bathing and change of clothes." "Yes, sir." Bridget led the way. My room was on the right side of the house on the second floor. Its windows faced the rear garden where a trellis of roses were in radiant bloom. I stood at the windows, gazing down on the earth and flowers and told myself again and again, "This is home. This is home." I heard a sound behind me. A man-yet another 219 servant, I assumed-brought in my trunk and opened it. Then he left. I went back to staring out the window. "If you please, miss," I heard Bridget say, "your father said I was to bathe and dress you." "Bridget, my name is not miss. It's Charlotte." "I'll not be wanting to take the liberty, miss." I turned to face her. "Even if I want you to?" "I don't think the master would approve, miss." "But if I asked you..." "Not wishing to be impertinent, miss," Bridget said in a barely audible voice, "but it's master who pays my wages." I looked into her eyes. Bridget looked down. I felt a pain gather about my heart. There was a soft knock on the door. "Shall I answer it, miss?" Bridget whispered. "Yes, please," I said with great weariness. Bridget opened the door to the other maid, Mary. Mary entered and curtsied. "Miss," she said to me, "master asks that Bridget take and destroy all your old clothing, miss. He also requests that I bring your journal down to him, miss." I looked at the two of them, the timidity of their postures, the unwillingness to engage me with their eyes. "Mary," I said. "That is your name, isn't it?" "Yes, miss." "Would you call me Charlotte if I asked you to? Be my friend'?" Mary stole a nervous glance at Bridget. "Would you?" "I shouldn't think so, miss." "But . . . why?" I pleaded. 220 "Master wouldn't have it, miss. I should be dismissed. " I could not reply. Then, after a moment Mary said, "I'll be happy to take the journal down now, miss." "Shall I fetch it, miss?" Bridget asked me. I went to the trunk, found the book, and gave it to Mary. She curtsied and without another wordand still avoiding my look-stepped soundlessly from the room, shutting the door behind her. I went back to the window. "Shall I assume that all the clothes in the trunk, miss, are old?" Bridget asked finally. "What will happen to them?" "Give them to the poor, I should think, miss. Mistress is very kind that way." "There is one thing I must preserve," I had the wits to tell her. Hurriedly I removed my sailor's clothing. "Are those to be kept, miss?" Bridget asked in puzzlement. "I wish to show them to my parents," I lied. "Very good, miss." My trunk was unpacked. I bathed. How strange that was! The filth fairly floated off. I dressed, helped-or rather interfered with despite my protestations-by Bridget. But instead of going downstairs I dismissed her, then sat on my' Deb, marveling at its softness. In truth, I was trying to compose myself. I was afraid to go downstairs. A call, I knew, would come soon enough. But, as I sat there a memory came of my first moments upon the ,Seahawk. How alone I felt then. How alone I was now! "Oh, Zachariah," 221 I whispered to myself. "Where are you? Why don't you come for me!" It was my father's call that came-but not before two hours had passed. Mary returned with a request that I go directly to the parlor. With a madly beating heart I started down the broad, carpeted stairs, my hand caressing the highly polished balustrade. Before the massive doors to the room I paused and drew breath. Then I knocked. "Come in," I heard my father say. I entered. My mother was seated in a chair; my father was by her side, standing with his legs slightly apart, as if bracing himself. A hand gripped one of his jacket lapels. The other hand rested protectively on Mama's shoulder. She stared down at the carpet. "Charlotte," my father said, "please shut the door behind you." I did so. "Now come stand before us." "Yes, Papa." I advanced to the place indicated by my father's pointed finger. Only then did I notice that the room--even for an August midday-was uncommonly warm. I glanced toward the fireplace and was startled to see a blaze there. It took me another moment to realize that my journal was being consumed by flames. I made a move toward it. "Stop!" my father cried. "Let it burn." "But . . ." "To ash!" I turned to them in disbelief. "Charlotte," my father began, "I have read your journal carefully. I have read some of it-not all to your mother. I could say any number of things, 222 but in fact will say only a few. When I have done we shall not speak of any of this again. Is that understood?" "But . . ." "Is it understood, Charlotte!" "Yes, Papa." "When I sent you to the Barrington School for Better Girls, I had been, I believed, reliably informed that it would provide you with an education consis.tent with your station in life, to say nothing of your expectations and ours for you. I was deceived. Somehow your teachers there filled your mind with the unfortunate capacity to invent the most outlandish, not to say unnatural tales." "Papa!" I tried to cut in. "Silence!" he roared. I closed my mouth. "What you have written is rubbish of the worst taste. Stuff for penny dreadfuls! Beneath contempt. Justice, Charlotte, is poorly served when you speak ill of your betters such as poor Captain Jaggery. More to the point, Charlotte, your spelling is an absolute disgrace. Never have I seen such abominations. And the grammar . . . It is beyond belief! "An American tutor, miss, shall instill a little order in your mind. But the spelling, Charlotte, the spelling . . . . ." "Papa. . ." "That is all we have to say on the subject, Charlotte. All we shall ever say! You may return to your room and you will wait there until you are summoned again." I turned to go. "Charlotte!" 223 I stopped but did not turn. "You are forbidden-forbidden-to talk about your voyage to your brother and sister." My wait to be called was a long one. The simple truth is I was not allowed to leave my room. All meals were brought by Mary on a tray. I was permitted no callers, not even Albert or Evelina. "She's seriously ill," people were told. And no matter how much I tried, Bridget, the one person I saw with any regularity, would not yield to my efforts of friendship. From my mother I received little comfort but many tears. From my father, a vast quantity of books that he deemed suitable for my reclamation. Not a word, not a question, to console me. But I did not read. Instead I used the books, the blank pages, the margins, even the mostly empty title pages, to set down secretly what had happened dur ing the voyage,. It was my way of fixing a11 the details in my mind forever. One week had passed in this fashion when 1 thought to ask Bridget for a newspaper. "I'll have to request it of master," she replied. "Bridget," I told her, "for every day you bring a newspaper without informing my father I shall give you a gift." Bridget gazed at me. After a momentary search of my vanity table I selected a pearl-headed hairpin and held it up. "Like this," I said. She complied with my request. Within a week I found what I was searching for under the listing of "Departures for Europe." 224 Brig Seahawk, to sail on September the ninth, by the morning's tide. Captain Roderick Fisk, master. For the next few days I made such a show of concentrating hard on my books that I was finally permitted to have my evening meals with the family downstairs. On September the eighth-surely one of the longest days I can remember-I informed everyone at the table that I wished to be excused to continue the reading that was so occupying me. "What are you studying, my dear?" my mother asked nervously. "Dr. Dillard's essay on patience, Mama." "How very gratifying," she said. Later that evening I was informed that my father wished me to come to his study. I went down and knocked on his door. "Enter!" he called. He was sitting in his reading chair, an open book before him. He looked up, closed his book, and drew me forward with a gentle gesture of his hand. "You are making progress, Charlotte," he said. "I wish to commend you. I do." "Thank you, Papa." "You are young, Charlotte," he told me. "The young are capable of absorbing many shocks and still maintaining an . . . " He searched for the proper words. "An orderly life?" I offered. He smiled the first smile I had seen in a long while. "Yes, exactly, Charlotte. Orderly. You give 225 me much hope. You and I now understand each other perfectly. Good night, my dear girl. Good night. " He took up his book again. "Good night, Papa." I bathed. I let Bridget supervise my going to bed. By two o'clock in the morning all was perfectly still. I slipped out of bed and from the bottom drawer of my bureau took from beneath my paper-layered frocks the sailor's clothes that Zachariah had made me. I changed into them. I opened the window to my room. It was child's play for me to climb down the trellis. I almost laughed! Within half an hour I was on the India docks, standing before the Seahawk, dark except for a lantern fore and aft. A new mainmast had been stepped. As I watched from the shadow of some bales of goods, I saw someone on watch, pacing the quarterdeck. At one point he proceeded to the bell and rang out the time, four bells. Each clang sent shivers up and down my spine. Boldly now, I walked up the gangplank. "Who is that?" came a challenge. I said nothing. "Who is that?" came the demand again. Now I was certain of the voice. "Zachariah?" I called, my voice choked. "Charlotte!" "I've decided to come home." By morning's tide-and a southwest wind-the Seahawk sailed away. As it did I was clinging to the topgallant spar below a billowing royal yard. Something 226 Zachariah told me filled my mind and excited my heart: "A sailor," he said, "chooses the wind that takes the ship from safe port . . . but winds have a mind of their own." 230 Ship's Time O n sailing ships crews were divided into teams so as to share all work. These teams were called watches. On the Seahawk, Mr. Hollybrass had the command of one watch, Mr. Keetch-then Mr. Johnson, as second mate-took charge of the second. The day was broken up into time periods also called watches-as follows: Midwatch ran from midnight to 4:00 AM; morning watch ran from 4:00 AM to 8:00 AM; forenoon watch ran from 8:00 AM to 12:00 noon; afternoon watch ran from 12:00 noon to 4:00 PM; first dog watch ran from 4:00 PM to b:00 PM; second dog watch ran from 6:00 PM to 8:00 PM; night watch ran from 8:00 PM to midnight. A typical day would have a sailor working alternate watches, a system called "watch and watch," in this fashion: Off during midwatch: midnight to 4:00 AM; work morning watch: 4:00 AM to 8:00 AM; 231 off forenoon watch 8:00 AM to 12:00 noon; work afternoon watch: 12:00 noon to 4:00 PM; off first dog watch: 4:00 PM to 6:00 PM; work second dog watch: 6:00 PM to 8:00 PM; off night watch: from 8:00 PM to midnight. This meant that on the following day the sailor's schedule would be: Work during midwatch: midnight to 4:00 AM; off morning watch: 4:00 AM to 8:00 AM; work forenoon watch: 8:00 AM to 12:00 noon; off afternoon watch: 12:00 noon to 4:00 PM; work first dog watch: 4:00 PM to 6:00 PM; off second dog watch: 6:00 PM to 8:00 PM; work night watch: 8:00 PM to midnight. And so on. . . This pattern of watch and watch meant that no sailor ever had more than four hours sleep at a time. Of course if there was need, such as a general resetting or overhaul of the sails--or a storm-all hands could be called, and they would report even if it was not their watch. To keep track of time, the mates rang the ship's bell every half hour. They did it this way: 1 bell meant the first half hour after the watch began; 2 bells meant the second half hour; 3 bells meant the third half hour; 4 bells meant the fourth half hour; 5 bells meant the fifth half hour; 6 bells meant the sixth half hour; 7 bells meant the seventh half hour; 8 bells meant the eighth half hour and the end of the watch. For example, if two bells rang out during the first dog watch, it would be, by land reckoning, 5:00 PM. Directory: books -> 0-00-BRITE 0-00-BRITE -> Section 3 Expressing and Influencing 438 Listening to an Opinion 0-00-BRITE -> Unit 3 Ancient Greece and Rome Chapter 6 The Rise of Ancient Greece (1750 B. C. 431 B. C.) 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