The Cabin Boy

Casting Off

Author's note: Hello there! This is one of my many attempts at historical fiction. I've tried to make the details as accurate as possible without over-describing. But if you see any errors in historical detail, tell me, because I absolutely DESPISE historical fiction that's not historically accurate.

Henry was watching from his cabin as the supplies were loaded onto the ship. As he looked out, a young man - likely a boy no older than twelve - scampered up the gangway and onto the deck. Henry scowled, opening the window and sticking his head out.

The boy didn't look much like a crewman. From what little he could see because of the distance and the wide-brimmed hat that hid much of the boy's head, the boy had a pale, pretty face. This was quite unlike the rest of the crew, who were leathery, tanned, and weatherbeaten.

"Oi!" he heard a sailor yell to the boy in a thick accent. Welsh of some variety, Henry supposed.

The boy turned around, his slender arms poised like he was a bird about to fly.

"What d'you think you're doing?" hollered the sailor. His fellow crewmen, all busy loading the ship or working on the rigging, looked up but otherwise made no other move. "Are you a stowaway?"

"I'd be an awful stowaway, wouldn't I,  letting you see me like that?" volleyed back the boy in a high, musical tenor voice. His accent was light and difficult to place, likely that of a native Londoner.

The other sailors laughed at the boy's cleverness but the first did not seem to find it amusing. He made a threatening move towards the youngster but the boy, quick as a bird, darted away and up the mainmast, out of the man's reach.

Henry ground his teeth and hauled himself to his feet. He trekked out of his cabin. As he made his way onto the deck, he could hear the Welsh sailor shouting and swearing and the boy calling back tauntingly.

The moment he made it out onto the deck, he saw the boy hanging off the rigging, laughing. But he stopped when his eyes met Henry's.

Every man on the deck stood at attention the moment they caught sight of Henry. Henry glared at them all.

"Mr. Hawking!" he shouted. The first mate scurried towards him. "What the devil is going on here?"

"I don't know, sir," Hawking replied. He'd taken off his hat and was twisting it nervously in his hand. As he'd been one of Henry's friends for many years, Hawking surely understood that Henry was not pleased with the circumstances.

"You, boy! Come down from there at once!" shouted Henry to the boy.

The boy scampered down the mainmast and stood before Henry. Henry paced towards him. Up close he could see the boy's delicate features: the slim, arched eyebrows, the round blue eyes, the pale, smooth, unblemished skin, and the chestnut-coloured curls that were tied in a braid behind the boy's head.

"What are you doing on my ship?" snarled Henry.

"I heard you were a man short, sir," said the boy, staring up at him. He was very tall for his age.

"A man short, not a boy," said Henry, for he would have no boys on board. He was used to boys about his ship, usually several little urchins scampering around the more dignified midshipmen, but this was not one of the Navy ships he'd commanded before.

There was laughter from the assembled sailors as the boy's face fell with disappointment. Henry regarded them with his sweeping, arch gaze before turning his attention to the boy.

"Sir, I heard you didn't have a cabin boy," said the boy. He looked up at Henry with winsome eyes.

Henry glared down at the boy. "What's your name, boy?" he asked roughly.