Page 16 of Miss Whittier Makes a List
“You seem to have a shortmemory, Miss Whittier,”he began.
“And you are abominably rude,”she replied. She leaned forward and set the cup down on the quarterdeck, then turned around and plopped herself onto the second step, coming no closer. With what she hoped was elaborate unconcern, she watchedthe seamen holystoning the deck,and waited.
After a long moment, he crossed to the gangway and picked up the cup. She heard him return to the weather side of the ship. He was silent. She couldn’t tell if he was sipping the coffee,or if he had dumped it overboard. The minutes passed. She got up to go below again.
“Miss Whittier!”came the command from thequarterdeck. The mainsail boomed then, and the helmsman, who had obviously been watching his captain, grabbed for the wheel again as Captain Spark flung a curse and an order at him. The ship heeled quickly as the canvas flared and then filled again.
Goosebumps charged up and down her spine, and she stood still, her heart pounding so loud she looked down to see if she could watch it jump about in her chest. The captain’s steps werefirmon the deck above, coming closer. She shivered.
“Miss Whittier, have the goodness to look at me when I make such a racket,”he said then, his voice mild and almost in normal speaking range.
She turned about in surprise. He squatted on his haunches until they were eye level, and held out the empty cup.“It may be that you have just justified the reason for your existence aboard this vessel,”he said.“I’ll have another, lively now.”
She took the cup and hurried below, not daring to look at him again. She threw herself into the galley, startling Cookie into dropping the pot of porridge. He leaped back, surprisingly agile for a one-legged man, and swore as she poured another cup and darted out of the galley again.
The captain was waiting by the gangway. Without a word, she handed him the mug and sat on the ladder again. He drank the coffee slowly, his eyes on the sails, the expression on his face almost reverent. Finally he sighed and handed back the mug.
“I disremember when I have had a cup of coffee that excellent.”he said.“If you will do that every morning, I expect that you and I will rub along quite well for the duration of this voyage.”
“Aye, sir,”she whispered.
He smiled then, and squatted by her again, his face close to hers, his blue eyes lively.“I think you are a scamp and a nuisance, MissWhittier, but, by God,you can make coffee.”
She thought he would rise then, but he remained where he was, balanced gracefully on his quarterdeck.“Now, if you can find Trist, my worthless orderly, tell him I am headed below for my basin of porridge. Join meMissWhittier?”
She shook her head, suddenly shy, and quite caught up by his blue eyes.“No—no,sir, I think not,”she stammered.“I think I should make amends with Cookie.”She slipped down the gangway until she was standing on the main deck again.“Do you suppose if I peel a lot of potatoes, he will overlook the fact that I startled him into spilling your porridge all over the deck?”
“By God, MissWhittier, you are a trial,”hemurmured.“I wonder if your parents will want you back, given the choice. Tell Trist to poach me some eggs instead.”
She hurried back to the galley, her heart pounding, where Cookie ignored her elaborately. On her tremulous request,Trist, with much wringing of hands and little moans, coaxed two eggs into a reluctant poach and charred the toast. Making herself as small as possible, she sat on the deck by a mound of potatoes and began topeel. Trist finally hurried forward with the captain’s late breakfast, a large mug of coffee featured prominently. Cookie sat down and mopped his face. With a shaking hand, he pointed to the pile.
“Keep peeling!”
Hannah was still peeling potatoes an hour later when thebosun’s whistles twittered and the gun deck filled with seamen. Cookie, his rheumy eyes eager now, put down his knife and motioned her to the doorway.“There you are, missy,”he gestured, his voice expansive.“Our reason for being.”
As she watched, interested, the confusion of sailors resolved into separate crews standing beside each gun. The gunports were opened, and Mr. Lansing stood in the center of the deck, his watch in his hand. She looked up through the cut-out deck to see Captain Spark on thequarterdeckwith Mr. Futtrell, his second officer.
“Mr. Lansing,”he roared in that penetratingvoice.“A complete exercise, right down to the sand. And if you’re fast enough, by God, we’ll blow up a few kegs.”
The crews cheered and were silenced quickly by a sharp word from Mr. Lansing. While one crew member spread sand on the deck, another ran to fill a tub with water. A third stuck long wicks of slow-burning matches in the tub, while another readied the swab.
Hannah turned inquiring eyes on the cook, who stood beside her.“Sand?”she asked.
“For the blood on the deck,”he replied, and laughed with some relish when she shuddered.“You’d be amazed how slippery it can get.”
Small boys dartedamong the crews. She looked at the cook again.
“Powder monkeys, miss,”he explained.“They get the powder forward from the magazine and hurry it back to the crews.”
“They’re so young!”she exclaimed in dismay.
The cook only shrugged.“Better than sweeping chimneys in Lunnon, I always say.”
“I suppose,”she whispered, her eyes on the crews. She saw Adam Winslow by one of the portguns. He looked at her and grinned.“I hope thee does notenjoy murder and death too much,Adam Winslow,”shemurmuredunder her breath.
The exercise began with a sharp command from the captain.“Broadsides first, Mr. Lansing, then let them practice aiming and shooting as the guns bear.”
In a fever of motion, the crews went through the exercises in silence, which ended with the gun elevated, the lanyard pulled and someone screaming,“Boom!”She knew it was only a drill, but as she watched from the companionway, Hannah felt a ripple of fear down her back, and recalled Mr. Lansing’s quiet words of last night. It was only a matter of time before the guns spoke in earnest.
