Bloody Jack: Being an Account of the Curious Adventures of Mary 'Jacky' Faber, Ship's Boy

I'm keepin' close to the river on me way to the sea, as I won't get lost that way and I'm used to the river 'cause of our old kip bein' so close to it and all, and it gives me some comfort somehow.

I'm workin' me way down a street on the outskirts of the city, tryin' to escape notice and to look like a simple lad out runnin' an errand for his mum and up to no mischief, Officer, honest I ain't, when a man in front of a tavern calls out to me, 'Here, boy, hold me horse,' and passes the reins of the beast to me. Me and the horse stands there for a couple of hours, each of us real suspicious of the other, whilst the cove inside eats and drinks his fill, and when he comes out aburpin' and pattin' his gut I puts on a look like I've been real sharp in the performance of me duties and he gives me a penny.

When he gets on the horse and leaves, I heads into the same tavern and for me penny I gets a bowl of stew and a bit of bread, which is something wonderful. I licks the bowl clean, tucks the bread in me vest for later, wipes me mouth on me sleeve, and heads out.

It's easier bein' a boy, I reflects.

It's easier bein' a boy, 'cause nobody bothers with you. Like, I couldn't have gone into that tavern yesterday as a girl 'cause they would have shouted, 'Get out of here, you filthy girl,' while they didn't say anything when I went in as a filthy boy. My filthy penny was as good as anyone else's.

It's easier bein' a boy, 'cause no one remarks upon me bein' alone. Lots of boys are alone but girls never are. The girls gets scooped up into beggin' and stealin' gangs, or workhouses, or worse. True, on my journey south I was eyed by some gentlemen of the street who thought as they would look better in me vest than me, but a flash of me shiv put some caution in 'em and that was that.

It's easier bein' a boy, 'cause when someone needs somethin' done like holdin' a horse, they'll always pick a boy 'cause they think the dumbest boy will be better at it than the brightest girl, which is stupid, but there you are.

It's easier bein' a boy, 'cause I don't have to look out for no one but me. I'm feelin' a great sense of freedom, like a weight's been lifted from me shoulders, as I'm dartin' me way down to the docks. I'm feelin' a little ashamed for feelin' so light, too, what with Charlie dead and me leavin' the others and all, but that's the way it is.

I slips between two loose boards into a stable that's all closed up for the night, and I burrows in the warm and sweet smellin' hay.

I decide my name will be Jack.

Chapter 6

There's a great bustle and fuss down at the set of piers that I chances on where the Thames starts to really widen out and look like open sea, and me mouth is hangin' open and me eyes are wide with the spectacle of it all. Ships like these never got up the river as far as our kip, only dirty old barges and scows. These ships are huge and beautiful and there's hundreds of 'em and their poles what stick up are impossible high and there's a right forest of 'em. It's a blue and glorious summer's day and there's flags snappin' in the breeze and men in grand uniforms struttin' about and sailors with great long pigtails coilin' rope and runnin' up the poles and doin' other sailor things.

There's men on the dock shoutin' and cursin' and groanin' under the loads they're carryin' on one of the ships, and I works me way over in that direction to see what I can get up to. I ain't et since that stew awhile ago and me belly is in its usual spot, plastered up flat against me backbone, and while that ain't an out-of-the-ordinary thing for me, I wouldn't mind seein' me condition bettered. Body and soul will be kickin' up and thinkin' of partin' soon if I don't get somethin' down me neck fast.

I see that the ship is called the Dolphin, from the name carved on its fat end. The name has a couple of fishes carved to either side of it, and both the fishes and the name are painted a shiny gold. The pointy end of the ship has a carvin' of a lady who's mostly comin' out of her dress, which is also painted with a lot of gold and some red. And a lot of skin color.

Towards the middle of the boat there's a board laid across to the dock where the workers are carrying the stuff onto the ship and there's a gang of street boys on the dock hangin' about.

'Hey, Mate, wot's the word?' says I, lowerin' my voice all hearty and boylike to one of the boys, and he tells me the ship is takin' on six ship's boys for the comin' voyage and they're leavin' today and what would they want with a scrubby runt like me?

I contains meself and don't tell him to sod off but instead worms me way to the front of the mob. I spies a likely piling next to the water. Hookin' me toes in the ropes what are tied round it, I climbs to the top, nimblelike, and sits down to better catch the proceedin's but not before I have to put me toe in the eye of someone who tries to climb up after me. 'Find yer own perch, Mate,' I says. Serves him right, too, 'cause it's the boy what called me a runt and he should watch his mouth.

I looks over to the ship and sees an officer dressed in a fine blue uniform, all decked out with gold and ribbons and sword and buckles. He's standin' all straight and grim next to a portly gent who's dressed in a black suit of clothes and who don't look military at all 'cause he ain't wearin' a fancy hat like the other bloke, and he's got these little round glasses set on his nose. And there's a little cove in a dusty suit sittin' at a table set up there and every time one of the beasts of burden goes by with his load, this bloke writes somethin' down in his pile of paper. Fillin' out the group is this fearsome lookin' sailor what's got a piece of heavy knotted rope in his hand and a mean and nasty look in his eye. He's got muscles like a horse and looks to have a brain to match.

I thinks to meself about the thought of goin' to sea: I sure as hell ain't got no prospects here, and it's just as dead you get from starvation, muggin', or bein' stepped on by a horse, as you get from drownin', which is, of course, the seagoin' option. And I hears that they'd feed us, even. I'll believe that when I sees it. True, I'd have a bit of trouble passin' as a boy, but I ain't had no trouble so far and I been at it for a week or so. And if they finds me out, I'm sure they'd just put me off somewhere and where they'd put me off might be a finer place than this. Maybe a place with oranges. I ain't never had an orange. I catches a whiff of somethin' they might be cookin' downstairs on the boat and that settles it. Trial by belly, case closed. I'll give it a try.

'Awright,' calls out the evil one with the knotted rope to the mob of us, 'what kin any of yiz do?'

Do? I wonders. What do we do? We all look around at each other. What does he think, we're all bloody runaway apprentices with trades? Missin' sons of royal houses? What we do is scavenge, beg, and steal—ain't it plain?

Some of the brighter ones furrow their brows and look deep into their heads to see if they had any hidden virtues that might please His Majesty's Royal Navy, and most come up empty, but not all.

'Sir, I can splice a line!' shouts a thin-faced boy, and he's motioned aboard.

The crowd then announces that they all can splice a line, by God, but now it don't wash. The mob murders the lucky line-splicer with their eyes as he makes his way up the gangplank, and then another boy calls out, 'I'm strong fer me size, Sir, take me!' Another tops him with, 'I'm strong as two of him!' Still another says that he don't eat much, and finally all the others chime in with their qualities and the place is a bedlam of shoutin'.

Shoutin' which comes to a quick end when the cove with the rope waves it at 'em and shouts with a voice to wake the dead, 'Pipe down, ye whoreson guttersnipes, or I'll come over there and show ye what me nobby's for!'

The mob pipes down.

I gets me resolve together and me feet under me and I stands up on the top of the piling and puts me fists on me hips to show I know no fear.

'Sir!' I yells with all me might. 'I can read!'

Well, that puts a right stopper in the boys' gobs. 'What the hell's the good of that?' they mutters, and, 'Bleedin' little schoolboy he is. Bloody cheek, it is.'

But the officer on the ship looks over at the well-rounded cove and cocks a bored eyebrow. 'What say, Mr. Tilden?'

Mr. Tilden, who looks like he'd rather be doin' a plate of sausages than doin' this, looks at me and says, 'Is that so, boy? Then what's the name of this ship?'