SIXTEEN

As the days went by, Alex and I took to whispering long into the night. I knew that I was keeping Alex from his “sleeps,” but he seemed happy to talk, often starting up a new conversation long after I thought he’d fallen asleep. We talked about his life on the ship and what China was like and my plants at home. And Alex brought back reports on my father, who, Alex said, spent his days writing in his journals or reading, rarely leaving his cabin or the saloon to walk on the deck.

Always we talked while holding hands or leaning against one another as though I were his bolster and he were mine. In the morning, we’d always awaken in a tangle of arms and legs, Kukla having given up and moved onto the floor or under the bunk in the night. My embarrassment waned as the days went on until I couldn’t see what was wrong or shameful about being alone with Alex. His bunk had turned into a world of our own making, one that existed only for us and only at night. I knew that if anyone had any knowledge of what we were doing, that world would shatter, and us along with it.

Every morning, before the sun rose, Alex would steal me back to the ’tween deck, and I would sit wedged between the bolts of cotton and wool, longing for night to fall.

I felt as though I held my breath all day, desperate for the sun to go down so I could return to Alex’s tiny bunk and lie next to him. I didn’t know if it was a fear that caused me to yearn for Alex or because I was lonely, or something more—something I wasn’t sure I could admit to myself.

Perhaps it was because I had so much time on my own that I thought about too many things. My worries about my family were more intense in the ’tween deck. I worried about my family and what Papa would say when he saw me in China. Alex had given me a book to read by the light of a porthole to keep my mind occupied, The Mill on the Floss. I had read it before, but I found the familiar story of Maggie Tulliver comforting.

Sometimes Kukla would come with me, and holding her and stroking her soft fur made my fear abate just a little. Once she left, the dread and uncertainty would return once more.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take another minute, I would hear Alex’s step on the stairs, and his face would appear around the staircase, his smile wide, his hand outstretched, reaching for mine.

As the days wore on, the weather grew hotter and hotter until it was almost unbearable in the ’tween deck. Alex made sure to leave plenty of water for me, and he revisited me during the day to make sure I hadn’t fallen ill.

One of the evenings, I’d had to go to Alex’s quarters on my own, as he’d been assigned the first watch, which was from eight to midnight. I waited until it was fully dark before I went up. I carried a heavy loop of rope over my shoulder in case someone should see me. Alex had told me to look busy and carry something workmanlike, and few would question me.

When I approached the deck, I paused on the steps and looked left and right. I saw no one, so I started making my way. Alex had taught me about the ship. There were fifty men on the Osprey. The officers were Captain Everett; Mr. Ravensdale, the first mate; and Alex, the second mate. Two stewards looked after the officers who lived in the Liverpool House, the cabin in the ship’s stern. Mr. Holst filled two roles as carpenter and boatswain. There was a cook and two sailmakers. The rest were able seamen who worked at the helm and hoisted the sails; ordinary seamen who did all the dogsbody work such as cleaning and maintenance; and the young apprentices training for careers in the Merchant Navy. If I encountered an officer, I’d have to stop to knuckle my forehead in salute. Alex had made me practice this until he was satisfied.

The starboard, or right side of the ship, was cast in shadow, and so I headed that way, with the intention to circle round to the stern, remaining in the dark as I did.

A lantern shone from the heads located behind the figurehead at the bow. The light sat at the feet of someone on the “seat of easement,” which was a kind of crude necessary made from a square box with a hole cut in the top. I knew, from Alex’s comments, that a queue tended to form at the heads, and since it was after supper, many of the line’s attendants would have imbibed several sippers of rum.

When I turned, I saw four men waiting, all dressed in ordinary seamen garb, so I was not required to knuckle my forehead. Two of the men at the back were arguing, so they paid me no heed, but the men in front saw me.

The first man carried a lantern, and he stared at me with a quizzical expression. I tried not to return his gaze. No one had questioned my disguise yet, please God do not let it be now, I thought.

I could feel the man’s eyes boring into my back. I tried to walk tall and with a swagger, but soon I heard a call:

“You there! Oi! Nancy boy! Whatcha doin’ on this ship? You should be back with your mamma knitting stockings. . . .”

I tried not to respond, but unable to help myself I snuck a look over my shoulder. It wasn’t the man in the queue who had spoken. It was the man who had been on the seat of easement. He was staggering up from the heads now, the lantern left behind. He gripped a jug, his trousers sliding down around his knees. I jerked my gaze forward and pretended I hadn’t seen him.

“Oi! I’m talkin’ to you, mummy’s boy! I wonder if you feel as soft as you look?”

In a trice he was upon me, and I felt a hand grab at my bottom and pinch hard. And God help me, I did it again. I lashed out.

I turned and swung the heavy rope off my shoulder and into his belly.

Oof! The breath left him with a grunt, and hobbled by his trousers, he fell facedown onto the deck.

I hefted the rope back onto my shoulder as best I could because my hands were shaking, and continued on my way, leaving the men laughing at their friend lying prone on the deck.

I wasn’t sure whom I had struck, or what his position on the ship was, but I hoped he was drunk enough not to remember me.

“WE’LL BE CROSSING THE EQUATOR TOMORROW,” ALEX TOLD ME after we’d been at sea a few weeks. “They will be conducting the initiation ceremony for anyone crossing the line for the first time. So if you hear yelling and running about, don’t fret. We won’t have been boarded by pirates.”

“Will your father be taking part?” I was lying on my side against him, as usual. It was so hot that we had left the blanket off. Kukla had taken to sleeping on the small space of floor, where it was cooler.

“No. I hate it, as does my father. It’s a terrible ritual, but it means a great deal to the men, so my father allows it. He despises it so much that he remains in his cabin and lets Holst arrange it. I feel very sorry for the new sailors. The others have been taunting them since we left London, creating fear in them.”

“Did you have to go through it?”

“I did. I wasn’t harmed because the captain is my father, but one ordinary seaman, whom the others disliked, did not fare so well. They tied him to a rope and threw him overboard, dragging him alongside the ship. He very nearly drowned.”

“I used to think life as a boy was much easier, but now I’m not so sure,” I said.

“We have more freedom than girls, but we can never show we are afraid. Any sign of weakness can ruin a life.”

“Alex?”

“Da?”

I turned to face him. “You are very wise.” Alex’s face was bathed in moonlight spilling in from the little window above the bed. I saw he was smiling. The ship’s bell rang out the hour, and two men out on the deck called to one another.

“I don’t know about that,” he said.

THE FOLLOWING DAY I WAITED IN THE ’TWEEN DECK, AS USUAL. I hadn’t slept much the night before because Alex and I had stayed awake too long whispering in the dark. I was stretched out on a bolt of cotton trying to fall asleep in the heat when the door was flung open.

“In! Get in, you foul griffins!” a burly voice shouted. “Be quick about it!”

Footsteps thundered down the wooden stairs. I sat up, swinging my legs to the floor. I stood up with the intent to hide amongst the bales but it was too late, for coming toward me, blocking my escape, was a line of the young apprentices, shuffling along, stooping so as not to hit their heads on the low ceiling.

The man who had been chasing them wore a mask made of buckram painted green. A wig made of long strips of hessian sat atop his head. Another man, dressed in a similar fashion, appeared behind him and shoved a couple of the boys over bolts of wool, tumbling them onto the tight spaces between them.

“On your knees!” he shouted, his voice muffled by the mask. “And pay homage to Neptune’s constables!” Soon, everyone was kneeling in any bare space they could find. There was a stack of cotton bales just to the side; I made to slide between them, but my movement caught the eye of the first constable. “You!” he shouted. “Avast and on your knees! Curse you for a coward!” He climbed over several bales after me, his mask menacing and terrifying. “King Neptune will hear about this, upon my word.” He reached me, and before I had a chance to kneel he kicked my legs out from under me.

“All right, you slimy pollywogs!” his mate said. “You’ll stay here until King Neptune calls you to the weather deck. Prepare yourselves!”

I looked for a bare space of deck next to another boy. I could make it through this. I could. If these boys could, then I could, too. Whatever they heaped upon me, I would do it. But in truth I was terrified. The stories Alex had told me made my mouth go dry and my heart hammer.

I recognized the boy next to me as the one Holst had threatened when I first set foot on the Osprey. “I’ve forgotten your name,” I whispered.

“Tewkes,” he said. “Robin Tewkes.” His chin trembled, and there was something about him that reminded me of Calla.

“Let’s not show these men how afraid we are. We’ll stick together and help each other out. And when this is over, we’ll be just as good as them, fully initiated. How old are you?”

“Fourteen,” Robin said, his voice sounded surer, with less of a tremble. “I . . . I never saw you on the ship before, but I’ve only just joined.”

“I’ve seen you before,” I said. “I’m steward to the second mate, Alex Balashov.”

“Oh!” his eyes were wide when I mentioned Alex’s name. “That’s why I haven’t seen you. He’s a good man, is Mr. Balashov. He helped me out a time or two.” I recognized hero worship in Robin’s voice. “You’re that lucky to work with him. I’m having to be under Mr. Holst.” He hunched his shoulders as if recalling the sting of Holst’s whip.

One of the boys shushed us, and we fell silent. None of us dared move from our knees, not even to lean back on our heels. We all remained, still as statues on their plinths, waiting and waiting. The anticipation of the thing was quite agonizing, and I knew this to be part of the torment, part of the way to break the spirits of the boys in the initiation. I could understand how the constables were so cruel. It was their turn now to mete out the punishment, and this was their time to get revenge for their own mistreatment when they were the initiated. I would have to go along with it and hope that I could melt away in the crowd after and hide myself in Alex’s quarters.

After an hour or so, the door creaked open, letting in a blast of fresh ocean air, and the two original constables thundered down the steps. They bade us to come forward, one by one, and tightened a cloth around our eyes. When we were thus blinded, unseen hands pulled us up the stairs. We waited in pairs, our hands resting on the boy’s shoulder in front. There was a shout, and we set off, shuffling forward in a long crocodile. Robin walked behind me, gripping my shoulder so hard I could feel his nails biting into my skin.

The first test came with no warning. Freezing cold water bucketed over us again and again, accompanied by jeers and howls of the men, as we were marched round the ship. Even though the day was hot, the blast of cold water against my heated skin was astonishing, and I wanted to buckle under every torrent. I never knew where or when the next deluge would come, but each time I had a chance to draw in a breath, another bucketful of water would come hurtling out of nowhere. Soon, my hair was running wet and my clothes clung to me. Seawater dripped down my face, and I couldn’t help but run my tongue over my lips, absorbing the briny taste of salt into my mouth. My mouth puckered, and I spat to rid myself of the taste.

Blessedly, we were stopped, and men yanked our blindfolds off. A creature dressed in a robe and wearing a blue buckram mask sat on a chair. He held a trident in his hand, and this, I would find out later, he used to choose each victim. Several sailors stood on the sides of the ship, watching the festivities, hooting and calling out. I looked around for Alex, but he was not there. None of the officers were.

One of the constables dragged four of us forward, one by one—Robin and me, plus another young man and an older sailor. “Neptune wishes you to race.” He pointed at the mast where ropes formed a cat’s cradle that hung a hundred feet or more from the topmast to the deck. “Climb! First one to reach the masthead and ring the bell will win Neptune’s favor; the rest of you will win his wrath!”

I eyed the rope contraption and felt my limbs go weak. I was not terrified of heights, and indeed as a child I was fond of climbing trees and settling into the forks of branches to read. But trees did not pitch back and forth as a rule, and I had never climbed a tree as high as that mast. I had no idea how to attempt it until I made out some smaller vertical ropes crisscrossing the larger ropes, which I assumed were meant as footholds.

When the constable shouted, we all ran forward and began to climb. I reached up high to grasp each line, my damp booted feet struggling for purchase.

The ropes twisted underneath us as we climbed, swinging us from side to side and making it even more difficult to ascend. My fingers trembled with each new step, and although I didn’t look down, I could sense how far off the deck we were, and I couldn’t help but picture myself falling and the horrible thud I would make as I struck the deck. Would I die instantly or would I linger in a horrible death until I finally succumbed to my injuries?

I hung there for a moment, terrified, unable to go forward or back, the ropes biting into my hands. The others had gone ahead and had made it to the masthead and were working their way back down. For a moment, for one single moment, I thought about giving up, telling the men who I was, and calling for my father. But I had come so far; I couldn’t give up now. I was sure there were other terrified people that had made it up the rigging and back. If they could do it, so could I.

Newly emboldened, I reached for the next line and resumed climbing, every fiber in my body humming with terror, but I forced myself to climb on. My long limbs held me in good stead, and I was able to reach higher and make my way quickly.

Finally, finally, the masthead was in sight, and I reached out to touch it, the wooden planks smooth under my fingers. I grasped the string on the bell’s clapper and swung it to and fro.

Slowly, I worked my way back down the lines to the deck. I wanted to kneel down and kiss the wooden boards, I was so happy to make it down safely. But a part of me wanted to climb the rigging again, wanted to see how fast I could make it up and back. I was grinning, and I turned around, expecting to be congratulated, but instead I was seized and thrust back into the group with the other boys—the older man had won. The race went on, and those who had not won joined those waiting to receive Neptune’s wrath. Those who had won Neptune’s favor sat in a knot against the mast, no longer victims, but now jeering spectators.

One of the constables walked the line of remaining boys, glaring at us in turn. “Now! Who needs a good shave, eh?” he called out, shoving his face close to each of us. Some of the boys stared down at the deck, but I refused to cower and I kept my expression blank, my eyes straight ahead. The constable grabbed the boy in front of me and dragged him to a long wooden board leaning on one end against a large wooden tub of water. One constable helped strap him to the board with long leather thongs, and then another stepped up, taking up a bucket and a brush and began to paint his face with some sort of black paint. He followed this treatment by scraping down the boy’s face with a piece of rusty barrel stave. The boy cried out as the sailors ruthlessly applied his tool, and then, with no warning, he stepped back, and two constables shoved the board backward, dunking the boy under the water, and leaving him there for what I thought to be a good long while.

The men seemed to know how long to hold him under without killing him, because when I thought the boy must surely be dead, the constables pushed down on the bottom of the board and brought him up, gasping and coughing, his face still painted black. They released him and dragged him to one side and dropped him, where he collapsed on his hands and knees.

“Who is next?” the constable shouted. He looked at Neptune, who pointed his trident at his next victim, who was given the same treatment. Several boys went through until Neptune’s trident pointed at me.

The constable made to grab me, but I shrugged him off and walked to the board before he could take hold of me. Fear filled me anew, and it was far worse than what I felt climbing the rigging. I was terrified, so terrified that my legs shook and my arms felt weak. I was most afraid of the water. I had no idea how to swim or how to hold my breath underwater. Indeed I had a terror of water closing over my head, of it going up my nose. Weak-kneed little child, I chided myself. Pull yourself together! The torment appeared to last only for five minutes, and I could endure anything for five minutes.

From what I could tell watching the first victims, all I had to do was to take a gulp of air before the board slid back and hold it for as long as I could. Most of all I couldn’t panic.

The men grasped my arms and strapped me onto the board. The ocean breeze flitted cool and sweet against my face, so hot and flushed from the climb up the rigging, but that sensation lasted only a moment.

The constable leaned over me and slopped the paintbrush over my face with little heed to where its contents landed. I recognized the smell as pine tar, an unbelievably sticky stuff nearly impossible to remove. I squeezed my eyes shut and closed my mouth tightly, not wanting to repeat the folly of the seawater.

Another constable approached, and without hesitation, he gripped my chin and began to scrape my face with the barrel stave. “Ha!” he said. “This one has yet to shave at all. Maybe the tar will bring in his whiskers.”

“Or mayhap stop them from coming in altogether!” someone shouted from the onlookers.

The board tilted back and the sky rose above me, azure blue with puffy white clouds. The beauty of the sky above clashed with the ugly torment on the ship below. I took a few deep breaths to ready my lungs for the water.

“Wait!” Neptune called out. “Let me have a look at this pollywog!”

The board paused in its descent, and Neptune’s masked face floated into my view. Those eyes that met mine were piercing blue.

There was no mistaking them. The man who regarded me from behind Neptune’s disguise was Egon Holst, the Scandinavian carpenter, who had accosted me the day I came aboard the Osprey.

I waited for the expression in his eyes to change from icy indifference to confusion and then to recognition—to hear him exclaim that he knew who I was. But his eyes didn’t change; he said nothing. He merely laughed and then shouted: “Dunk him!”

I forgot to inhale. I forgot to hold my breath.

The board dropped back, and water rushed around me, filling my nose and my mouth. The water burbled in my ears, muffling the men’s laughter and casting it in an eerie, devilish sound. Very quickly, I became desperate for air. My face burned with the pain of the water, my lungs fought with the need to breathe. Panic like I have never felt before ran through my body like a lightning bolt. There was no fighting, there was no praying; there was only pure fear. I could only thrash my head from side to side, desperate for the agony to end.

If I died, it would be an accident, and no one would be to blame.

I grew tired, so tired that I stopped my thrashing. Black spots appeared in my eyes and spread and spread until they had blotted out everything.

It was over for me.