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Chapter 2~ How it Began
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January 29, 1698
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Somewhere near the coast of Cochin
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Constantine,
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I don’t know if this letter will reach you or not, but I thought I ought to at least try. The last few months have been more difficult than any spent on the Amity. Or any in my life. We’re porting next in Cochin. We’re returning home, love. And I can promise that at home is where I will stay from now on.
You were right. I can’t keep living on ships and sailing around, even if it is to support us. I’d rather die than begin another voyage without you. I’m surrounded by good, honest men. But, every day, I feel more and more like how I used to be—reckless, a pirate. I’m slipping, and only dry land will slow the fall. At least until I can reach you.
You haven’t written like you used to. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t the least bit concerned. How is your health? Are you eating? Are you safe? That’s what keeps me up at night. If I can’t keep you safe, what kind of man am I?
I know you’d tell me not to worry so much. It’s pointless anyway. But, I swear, I will be there before you know it. It’s been a trying year for both of us, I know. There’s nothing I’d want more than to hold you again. Kiss you again. To feel you near me. You, lass, have made me weak. So weak. I hope you’re happy.
Please write. I can’t stand another month with no response. Until then, I’ll be waiting. And you’ll be waiting. As for me, don’t you worry. I’m taking care of myself. I’ve got things to live for now.
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Till then, love,
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Your Cabin Boy
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The tiny flicker of my candle was fading as fast as my ink. I tenderly folded the letter and stowed it inside my coat to send later. The snoring and moans coming from the sleeping men around me acted as some sort of lullaby that made my eyelids droop and my muscles sink. The men hung from worn, pale hammocks like hulking moons in the darkness. And I should’ve joined that starless scene over an hour ago. With a quick blow, the candle’s light retreated, and it was finally pitch black in the cabin. I joined the rest of the sleeping crew and climbed into my own hammock. The rocking of the ship carried me away into a calming meditative state that was the closest I could come to sleep.
I had made the choice so long ago. To save her. To save both of us. I had made the choice. Then, I did the most selfish thing I could’ve done to Constantine Every—I left.
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It was over a year ago when an opportunity came to me. A trip that was scheduled on an East India Company merchant ship became news as they needed crew. And despite Constantine’s wishes, I joined in hopes that I’d make enough money to finally do what I promised myself. To move back to England with Constantine and finish school. It was a secret plan of mine that had delayed our marriage. But a necessary one nonetheless. I couldn’t let us spend the rest of our lives together in a place that was barely our own—in a home without promise or a bright future. This time, it was my job to give us that bright future.
So, I accepted a crew position and began the year-long voyage to Bengal. And while I felt a certain relief being back in the sunlight and the breeze, every minute of every day, I was ashamed. Ashamed that I left her alone with a few measly servants and the promise to write as often as possible. But, it was her drive, her passion, her fire that pushed me to go! To give her—us—the best possible chance.
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We sailed the Quedgah Merchant, a broad merchant ship that demolished all memories of the Amity’s horrendous nature. This was a ship kept in shape by a trained, diligent crew—most of whom I’d known previously. It flew Armenian colors but sheltered quite a diversity of men—from Netherlanders to French, Armenian, and Indian. And they’d all come from so many places. The ship was a constant source of storytelling and entertainment. And the men kept my boredom nonexistent. Even during the stormy nights when the violent motion of the waves rocked the ship, you could always find an Armenian or two singing some low melody in their native tongue. All was peaceful.
Captain John Wright of the Quedagh Merchant was a white Englishman and a cowardly cod. For the first several months, I learned more than I needed about him. He was a pale, scrawny face among an Indian-Armenian crew who tolerated him at best. He was known throughout the area as the captain without risk. And how he’d gotten that far in his career with that attitude was beyond me. He spent most of his time tucked away in his quarters, putting power into his first mates instead. It was an unspoken rule that Wright would stay in his cabin and let the crew do their job. All of us made certain to learn to protect ourselves, for, if the time came, we’d get no protection from that man. Hell, he probably would’ve drowned each of us individually rather than face deadly confrontation. We managed this way for a year. After porting in Bengal and unloading and reloading cargo, we secured safe passage from the French Crown and began our return trip. And by that point, it was clear where the crew’s loyalties lied. Certainly not with a man who’d rather the delusion of protection. All of us could feel it—the tension. We still had months of travel left, and the waters were turning rougher by the day. We were not ready for what was bound to come.
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“Get up! Wake up, men. You sons-of-bitches, let’s go!” That grotesquely brutish voice from above deck along with a foot stomping marked the beginning of the day. A large hand rocked my hammock forcefully, nearly flinging me out. I finally got to my feet, rubbing my eyes until they finally adjusted to the sunlight filling in the hatch of the cabin. The rest of the crew was beginning the day, either swigging a bottle of brandy or dressing in their cleanest trousers. I dug through my sack of possessions which sagged with handfuls of copper coins. I dug out a little torn patch of Constantine’s summer chemise from when we went bird-watching in the woods. The frilly ends of the cloth tickled my chin as I pressed it to my lips. Stuffing it back into my sack, I began changing into a fresh blouse. A line of men had formed around a half-filled bucket in the center of the cabin. One after another, they dunked their heads in and groped their locks of hair. It was the closest to washing we could get. Eventually, my turn came and I submerged my head in for a bit too long. The men behind me shoved and complained. So, I quickly washed my blond hair and reemerged just in time to be pushed away.
I wasn’t the youngest on the ship. No, the youngest was a short Spanish lad by the name of Reyes Alba Ponçe, the ship’s cabin boy. He must’ve been at least eleven years old, and, as far as I knew, he had no family to speak of except for a distant aunt in Spain. He did his work and kept to himself. Though, it was heartbreaking sometimes to watch him haul around pounds of rope bigger than himself. We all had our jobs. And our burdens. And Reyes knew well enough not to complain.
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I thought a lot about the past during my time on the Quedagh Merchant. It was the closest thing to a ghost ship I’d ever been on—reminisced memories haunted the crew. And we always thought backward, never forwards. And I knew I wouldn’t think much of my time there once I went home. Somehow, every experience I had on that dull voyage was tasteless, devoid of any reality. The colors were all the same—the pale blue of the seashores, the white sand, the molting brown of the ship’s hull. Sometimes, if my mind began to drift, I’d see a flash of pure black, midnight in the middle of the day. I’d look in hopes of seeing something that was worlds away. But, it was only a piece of burnt driftwood, or perhaps a darkened boulder. For an adventurer, I spent far too much time seeking home.
I never before had to consider what it meant to be me. I hadn’t considered myself a selfish man. At least, not before. Yet, suddenly, I’d begun questioning myself. Did the one act of abandonment define me? I did this for her, I kept telling myself, And for us.
But, as each morning rose and fell, I found myself unsure and sick with guilt. I could recall how I felt stepping aboard the ship for the first time. The possibilities were endless and anything—anything—could happen. Anything would happen. I would be forever young. I would not be the wrinkled, tethered jackdaws who judged me so. I would have the adventure, the mystery, and the risk! We would be better than they said. We would make something of the fucking miserable lives we were given. We would be happy.
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Living in India had its perks as well as its depressing setbacks. Everything was wild—the lifestyle, the people, and, especially, the land. Overgrowth dominated most islands. The weather changed rapidly throughout the week, and the storms were strong enough to knock down hundreds of men. But, along with this exotic world came a feeling of loneliness and constant wandering. And I didn’t know how to fill that gap until I could finally get home.
The days pushed on as always without a speck of excitement in this enticing land. Sometimes, the captain would make a short appearance once every few days. He’d emerge from his darkened cabin and expose his sand-white face to the sunlight. But, then he’d hiss under his breath and fold back into himself. This little emergence was just to remind the rest of us that we did indeed have a captain to speak of.
And on some occasions, we’d have time to roam some of the ports we stopped at, though the time was strictly short. Most of the men would run to the nearest pub and brothel. Sometimes, I’d get a drink myself. But, mostly, I’d just enjoy the presence of the strangers on the streets—people I didn’t know with perhaps interesting lives. They weren’t stuck on a ship for what felt like a lifetime. They had a home and families. Perhaps they were happy too.323Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfz0KiWiOgU
However, today was not one of those days. I watched the young cabin boy Reyes scrub the railings of the deck. The evening was drawing closer in, and I knew we’d nearly be done for the day. But, the lad would always work diligently until the very last minute. I would say he might’ve even enjoyed it—if he ever smiled. He was forced to dress in whatever leftover clothing we had aboard. Large, stained shirts and cut-up navy trousers. He always wore this shabby leather cap over his dark and dirty hair. Of all things, he kept that hat in pristine condition. Wrapped around its base was a long navy cloth that would drape around his sharp shoulder blades. He was a curious child and was probably one of the most interesting things I thought about during the day.
The quartermaster called us to stop our work as the night fell. Everyone began retiring back to their own quarters. But, I stayed behind. A few passing men slapped me across the back and wished me a good night. But, I was watching the last remains of the sunset fall over the horizon. I wasn’t the only one remaining behind, though. Reyes was watching me—I could tell despite his efforts to hide it. I hadn’t ever spoken much with the kid, but I’d seen enough to know he was somewhat intelligent.
When all the crew was below deck, the kid made slow movements toward me. Finally, I peeked over at him. He was half my height with wide, earthy brown eyes and smudges of dirt and oil all over his face and neck. His hair fell over his forehead and nearly covered his eyes. He held out something towards me. A small leather-bound book. I recognized it instantly.
“That’s…my journal,” I said, almost unsure whether to take it or not. 323Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrlm7vSL2ce
He poked it forward, and I did take it.
“I found it,” the boy said in a thick Spanish accent, “The others…They take it to read.” 323Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡy400uajAGJ
I rolled my eyes a bit. I should’ve expected something like this to happen eventually.
“And did you?” I replied. 323Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6JnLg97DjE
Reyes was quiet for a moment, answering my question. I brushed it off and turned back to the horizon. Still, he stayed.
“Who is the ‘her’ you write about?”
“Nobody.”
He didn’t leave. And I didn’t want to deal with making him.
“My fiancée. The ‘her’ is my fiancée.”
“What is fee-un-cée?”
“The girl I’m going to marry.”
“You write much of your fee-un-cée.”
“'Cause I love her.” I should’ve stopped talking. But, something about the boy made the guilt that had been tearing me apart more bearable. I continued, “And…I think about her often.”
Things were quiet for a moment, and I almost thought he’d left.
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I scoffed and leaned on the railing. “You don’t know anythin’ about me, lad.”
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I studied Reyes for a second before tucking the journal inside my coat. I grabbed hold of the boy’s shirt and pulled tight. “If you take my things again, I won’t be so forgivin’. We’re both here for our own reasons. We may both be young, but we aren’t anything alike.” 323Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLUocDczATN
I shoved back the boy and left into the crew’s quarters. And when Reyes finally joined the rest down below, he shut his mouth, climbed into his hammock, and kept to himself like always. But, I couldn’t sleep that night. Not after that. Unexpected things—exciting little things like that—kept my blank mind occupied for days. I counted down the months. Six more left. The time seemed endless, and I’d begun to feel old—even at twenty-two. And doubts overpowered my head every second of every day. For all I knew, someone could’ve discovered Constantine’s identity. Someone else with a feud with the Every’s.
I kept my gaze pinned to the ceiling and thought of the mundane life tomorrow would bring. But, how was I supposed to know just what was over the horizon? No one knew. Not until exactly noon that very next day.
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