Zeelandia

8. To Sea Again

Cape Verde Islands – 3rd December 1676

Men were still clambering up through the hatches and rushing toward their stations when I stepped out onto the weather deck. I took up my favourite position, well out of the way against the front of the aftcastle, near where I hang Captain's laundry. As I watched the men, I thought to the date notation on his chart. It is now the third day of December, but days no longer have meaning. Nor does time except when to arise or retire, or to fetch Captain's pannier or to check...

My attention was taken by the rhythmic chant coming from forward, and I moved to see beyond the masts. A dozen or more men, their muscles straining, leant to the spokes of a rimless wheel as they walked it in repetitive circles. I recognised this as the anchor windlass Father had described. Then shouts sounded above the chanting, and the loud rustling aloft took my eyes to the men on the yards as they unlashed the sails. Below, those on deck heaved jeers and sheets.

To sea again.

But more comfortable about it this time, knowing my ruse is working. But, for how long? What if I am caught? I examined the small town rimming the bay. Would he turn back to set me ashore here? Unlikely. Ten days, maybe two weeks before the next land. What would he do with me if I were found out before that?

As I pondered possibilities, a loud bellow from forward interrupted, "Aweigh, Sir."

A response came from aft, then I recognised Master's voice calling for sail adjustments, and it was not long before Zeelandia gained way, resuming her gentle motion and the familiar swish of water as she sliced through the waves. I breathed deeply the warm sea air and released a long sigh.

While men descended from aloft and those on the sheets and jeers melted into their waiting places, I wondered. Why do I work all day long? Scrubbing clean decks, polishing polished furniture and dusting dust-free bulkhead panels and mouldings? The men are on watch for four hours, then off for eight before their next watch. Eight hours on duty each day. And much of that is sitting with others and talking, or laying and sleeping. They are not constantly adjusting the sails.

Why do I work twelve? And with no time to sit and read? Must ask Steward. I remained there until all activity on deck had ceased. Indeed, I must ask him. As I turned to head back to my chores, seven bells pealed. Half an hour until the end of their watch, but time for me to fetch his breakfast.

I walked forward to the hatch and descended to the cookery, and while waiting, I pointed to all the men preparing food, and I asked Mate, "What hours do they work? They are ever here when I am."

"A curious one, you are. I wake them at six bells of the morning, and they finish near eight bells of the second dodge."

I nodded, not comprehending, so I asked, "And what is that in o'clock time?"

He chuckled. "Ye still have yer land legs, Boy. That'll be seven of the morning until near eight of the evening."

Twelve to thirteen hours, like me. Then I thought of the men sitting and lazing. "Have they time for ease through this?"

"Oh, but certainly. They are not slaves, but willing crew. When cleaning is done from breakfast, most of them have time to doze or whatever until they are needed to prepare dinner. And again between then and supper."

As with the men handling the sails, lazing between activities. "Thank you, Mate." I picked up the food and headed up and aft.

Again in the great cabin, I set the pannier in the pantry, and as Steward arranged the ham, cheese, fruit and bread onto a plate, I asked, "After you have breakfasted him, may I speak with you, Steward?"

"You may now. He is not yet down from the quarterdeck."

I nodded, a bit surprised and rather unprepared how to ask. Then with a shrug, I pointed around the great cabin. "The last while, I have been engaged in rather worthless work, cleaning the clean, polishing the polished. Is this necessary?"

"It no longer is, Boy. It had been neglected the last long while, and it needed repeated attention to restore it. Captain had told me to inform you of this today."

I breathed a deep sigh. "And may I sit and read between my maintenance of it?"

"You may, so long as you leave no duty undone." He looked into my eyes while he paused. "Captain told me he is well pleased with your work, and that he has found a fond affection for you. Like for his son."

"But he is unwed, and he told me he has no children."

"He yearns for children, Boy. But more for a fitting woman to bear them."

This sent a warmth through my body. And a trembling I tried to hide. "It would be difficult for him to find one, being for ever at sea."

"Aye, Boy. And that be his dilemma. He loves the life at sea, but he believes women do not belong here in ships."

"Oh! Why do they not belong here?"

"Because..." He paused and stroked his chin. "Because of tradition, I suppose. And superstition among many."

"From where does this come? It sounds more like stupid stitching to me. Cobbling together something from nothing."

Steward chuckled. "You do have a way with words, Boy. I was once told it comes from men escaping their wives. Not wanting them aboard. But, that seems too weak for the strength of the belief. Another notion is from the ship being considered a woman, and with her jealousy, refusing to allow any of her sex aboard."

"That has more merit, but it has a sense of myth to it, similar to Greek lore."

"It may have come from them; they had many strange..." As Captain descended the steps from the quarterdeck, Steward paused and waved me off, saying, "We shall talk later, Boy."