Page 23 of Miss Whittier Makes a List
He clapped the hat on his head and picked up the telescope, which he hooked onto his belt. He grasped thebookin one hand andnodded to Hannah.“After you, Lady A.”
She climbed the rigging, mindful that the captain was right behind and probably observing her at uncomfortably close quarters. The thought made her blush. She paused where the yardarm crossed the mast, feeling the old, sick fear of yesterday returning.
“Up you get, and lively now,”came that brisk voice at her bare heels.“Please don’t look down.”
Without a word, she climbed higher until she was perched in the lookout on the topgallant. She took a deep breath and dangled her bare feet overthe edge of the little platform,resting herarms on the modest railing. The mast swayed in the wind, and she gulped again.
“If you feel like heaving up an ocean, do it now, and not when I am on my way down,”the captain admonished, his voice amused, as he held on to the rigging below her, a picture of grace. He edged higher until he knelt on the narrow platformwith her, then took the straw hat from his head and put it on hers.“That should cut some of the sun,”he commented and grinned at her.“I like it, Lady A. Makes you look even a more roguish scamp than usual.”
She made a face at him and then clutched his leg when the mast swayed. Rather than utter some barbed remark, he laid his hand on her shoulder and kept it there until she loosened her grip, but did not release him.
“There now. It’s something you can get used to,”he said mildly. He unhooked his telescope and set it beside her in a small bucket intended for that purpose that was attached to the mast. He opened thebookto a well-worn page and directed her attention to it.
“This is what you are looking for,”he said, pointing out the pages of French men-of-war, all bristling with guns and painted black, with occasion gilt ornamentation.“The ensign is like this, and it may fly a pennant like this. Look for the tricolor.”
She followed his finger, studying the pages. He smiled and leaned closer for a moment as the mast swayed.“I believe I do like the extract of almond the best.”
She ignored his comment as his cheek just brushed hers. She knew she should scold him, but there was something so comforting in having him close by as she fought down her nausea and tried to make sense of the pictures that floated before her.
“Just take a good sweep of the entire horizon every so often, my dear, and that should suffice,”he concluded, closing the book.“You’ll probably wonder if you are really seeing things, after a while. And if you are not sureif it is a French ship, call down tothe deck anyway.”
“And if it is?”she asked, finally releasing her grip on hisleg.
“Whthen, we fight,”he said, almost surprised at her question.
“You’ll let me come down from the mast first, won’t you?”she asked, her eyes anxious.
He laughed out loud.“No, you silly chit! I’ll keep you here and make you direct the laying of the guns! Of course you’ll come down, and lively, too.”
He starteddown the rigging and stopped when he was eye level with the platform.“Do you think you can occupy your time? It gets tedious.”
She did not want him to go and leave her there, swaying in the wind.“What did you do to pass the time here when you were a midshipman?”she asked to detain his departure.
“I? It’s been so long,”he murmured, resting his hand on the platform.“I seem to recall singing ribald songs that I will never teach you, and memorizing the theorems of Pythagoras for navigational purposes.”He startedto pat her leg, then withdrew his hand.“Perhaps thee can use this time to recall improving scriptures,”heteased.“Good day,Lady Amber. Remember, if you see a French ship, it’s tally-ho.”
She watched him descend,the wind tossing about his curly hair. Thee needs a haircut in the worst way, she thought, then pulled out the telescope and opened it. She discovered that by resting her elbows on the platformrailing,she could hold the glass steady enough to scan the horizon. She looked all around, careful to balance herself, and then collapsed the telescope and used her eyes only. There was no other ship on the ocean. She sighed, feeling an emotion close to reverence. They were sailing quite alone on a wide sea, pushedever closerto >Europeby winds than had blown in that direction since the Lord Almighty had decreed it in Genesis.“‘The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth his handiwork,’” she murmured,and scanned the horizon again.
By the time the watch ended, Hannah was ready to come down. The sun had probably imprinted the black-and-white checks into the tanned skin of her sorely tried back,and she was thirsty. She resolved never to look in a mirror again,convinced that she would see that her freckles had multiplied like a many-headed Hydra. She had unbuttoned hershirtas far as she dared and rolled her trouser legs above her knees,but she felt like a duck basting under Mama’s direction at First Day dinner.
“Miss Whittier!”It was Mr. Futtrell, calling to her with the speaking trumpet.“You may stand down now.”
“Aye,”she called down. She buttoned hershirtand knotted it securely before dropping the captain’s glass down the front. I must procure a belt from somewhere, she thought as she carefully edged off the platform, onto the rigging, and then down to the main deck.
Captain Spark was waiting for her with his watch open.“Next time, come down faster,”he ordered.“Your life may depend on it.”
“Aye, sir,”she said and reached into her shirt for the telescope, which she laid in his hand.
He took it with a smile.“It’s been many places, Miss Whittier, but never there. I think Trist can locate you a belt,”he said, then turned on his heel to return to the quarterdeck.“Thank you, ma’am. May I send you up again at four bells?”he asked over his shoulder.
“Of course.”Stiff with sitting so long, she hurried to the scuttlebutt for a drink, wishing that she dared take more than one dipperful, but mindful of the Friday floggings. I am so thirsty, she thought as she went below to flop on her hammock.
Her tiny cabin was stifling with heat and thick with the polluted atmosphere that filled the lower decks, but she looked at the hammock gratefully. She glanced at the little sea chest, and smiled. There was the battered silver carafe and elegant stemmedWaterfordcrystal goblet from last night’s dinner.
“Thank thee, Captain Spark,”she said as she picked up the carafe and drank directly from it. In another moment she was asleep in the swaying hammock.
Hannah’s lateafternoonwatch was relieved by one false alarm. She shouted,“Sail-ho!”to the main deck and Mr. Futtrell came charging up the rigging. He stood beside her on the tiny platform, and grabbed the glass. For a long moment he surveyed the place where she pointed, then lowered the glass with a grin.
“Well? Well?”she asked anxiously.
