The Cabin Boy

The Figurehead

Author's note: Just one interesting fact: I've included the temperature later on in both Fahrenheit (because this was the scale commonly used in Great Britain at the time) and Celsius (because this was used scientifically). Also, that way both people who use Fahrenheit to determine temperature and those who use Celsius (like me, because I'm Canadian!) will know how damn cold the Arctic gets....

Henry was standing on the quarterdeck of the Resolution, watching the crew go about their daily tasks. It had been two weeks since they'd left port, and the conditions they were facing were a little colder than Henry had expected.

As they had sailed north, gradually passing through the North Sea, the temperatures had begun to drop. Now, it felt far more like October than May as the wind whistled through the rigging. Most men were now sporting thick jumpers or even coats, and one or two even had donned their fingerless gloves. Henry knew it would not be long until they were all wearing the thick, warm coats he had provided them and the massive, fur mittens they had been required to purchase themselves.

 Also, the days had been getting longer and longer the further north they sailed, the long days and short nights in sharp contrast with the cool temperatures. He'd heard many sailors complaining that summer here was like late fall at home, except that it was daytime all the time.

"It's wreaking havoc with my sleep," grunted one sailor to another.

The other one grunted back in sympathy.

Now, as he heard the sailors grumbling about their chilly fingers and icy feet, he watched the only person who he hadn't heard complain even once - John - climb onto the bowsprit and sit, staring pensively out over the ocean.

Everyone knew John was watching for whales or an iceberg. The first time he'd seen dolphins leaping beside the bow of their ship he'd jumped around in ecstasy for ages, and would have been the laughingstock of the ship had he not been so loved by the men for his resemblance to their own children.

As for his first sighting of an iceberg, he'd stood on the deck watching it until it had vanished into the distance.

"Sir, are there a great many of those in the Arctic?" he'd asked, his eyes wide with wonder.

Henry chuckled. "Yes, there are. And they're so big that you can walk on them. I'm told that there are people in the West would even drive sledges over them."

Henry smiled in spite of himself as he watched the boy stare. John had earned a hero's place among the sailors for his rescue of Caddock - the Welsh sailor - and as a result had very few duties about the ship. Henry, too, found himself loath to give the boy much hard labour, as it was infinitely enjoyable to watch him marvel at his surroundings. The only physically demanding task ever asked of him was to climb aloft to scan the ocean, but he seemed to enjoy this so much that Henry hardly felt it was abusing the boy to ask him to do it.

Instead, other than waiting on Henry and carrying the occasional message between the crew and their captain, John mainly was tutored by Henry in naval matters. Henry had discovered that John was an intelligent, keen, well-read boy a few days into their voyage.

Henry had been sitting in his study one afternoon, reading from a volume of Shakespeare when John had entered with his tea.

"On, on, on, on, on to the breach, to the breach!" he'd crowed suddenly.

Henry had nearly dropped his book in fright as John's entrance had been silent. John, he had come to learn, was extremely light-footed. Unlike the rest of the sailors - even Hawking, for that matter - walked with a heavy tread, whereas John's every step was careful, measured, and quiet.