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Authors: Jennifer L. Holm
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snorted.
“And,” Samuel said ominously, “the rats got to the breadstuffs.”
“We are going to starve to death,” Mary said in a firm voice.
“You say the first mate is ill?” I asked, curious.
Samuel nodded. “Jehu’s puking up on deck right now. He looked green as an onion.” The boy was quite fond of Jehu Scudder, the first mate, and followed him around like a puppy.
A wave smacked against the
Lady Luck
, and all at once the smell of the salted beef rose to my nose and the cabin seemed to close in on me. I swallowed hard.
“Ya look a bit green yourself, Jane my girl,” Mary observed.
“Samuel,” I said in an unsteady voice, “would you kindly escort me up on deck?”
“You ain’t supposed to be up on deck, Miss Jane. Captain’s orders,” he said with a troubled look.
Captain Johnson had ordered Mary and me to remain below in the stuffy cabin but I often went above decks when I thought he would not be about. Captain Johnson was a furious Scot, always raging on about something. He hadn’t permitted us to leave the ship when we put in at Valparaiso for fresh water or inSan Francisco for that matter. “If you leave this ship, you’re not coming back on,” he had informed us in his usual charming way.
To be plain, he hadn’t even wanted to take us in the first place. “I don’t abide women passengers. Women are nothing but bad luck,” he’d said, spitting a huge wad of tobacco at my feet, a filthy habit if ever there was one. I didn’t feel too bad as he’d told Father Joseph that priests were bad luck, too. It seemed to me that the only lucky creatures on the
Lady Luck
were the rats.
The ship rocked and I clutched my stomach.
I stood up shakily. “Take me on deck for some air or I shall be sick where I stand.”
“All right, Miss Jane,” Samuel said hastily. “You still don’t got your sea legs? I never seen no one who ever took so long to get their legs,” he said, shaking his head in amazement as he led me up on deck.
I clung to the rails, inhaling great big gulps of salty air, my stomach making an uneasy flip with each slap of a wave. It was mid-April. In Philadelphia the first colorful buds would be pushing up their heads, but here at sea, gray, gloomy skies marked the horizon. I pulled my cape tightly against the icy wind, remembering Miss Hepplewhite’s Helpful Hints on Travel.
“Remember, Jane, a good traveler need only know three things. One, always keep your composure. Two, dress plainly and pack lightly. Three, do not let little irritations sway your cheery nature,” Miss Hepplewhite had said, patting my shoulder.
She had been rather remiss in not mentioning any hints on killing fleas, avoiding rats, bathing with seawater, or being seasick.
“Obeying the captain again, I see,” a voice said.
It was Jehu Scudder.
“Did you have the salted beef, too?” he asked ruefully.
I shook my head.
He nodded, rubbing self-consciously at the angry scar that slashed across his nose and right cheek. No doubt he had received it in a bar brawl like every other vulgar, ill-mannered sailor Papa had ever treated. Whoever had sewn it up had done a poor job. The scar was ragged, with raw-looking pink edges that stood out brightly on his tanned face. Papa would say that the fishmonger could have done better.
The ship rolled hard, and my stomach grumbled in a most disturbing way. I breathed deeply, willing it to calm.
“Still haven’t got the legs?” Jehu observed.
I shook my head violently and leaned over the ship to be sick, but then the feeling passed. Getting one’s sea legs apparently meant adjusting to the rocking of the ship. I rather doubted I would ever, as these men said, get my legs. All I seemed to get was seasick.
“It’s better if you puke on the leeward side of the ship,” Jehu said, pointing. “Then it won’t blow back in your face.”
“Oh blast you, Mr. Scudder,” I said, clutching my heaving belly, cursing myself for cursing. Miss Hepplewhite
“And,” Samuel said ominously, “the rats got to the breadstuffs.”
“We are going to starve to death,” Mary said in a firm voice.
“You say the first mate is ill?” I asked, curious.
Samuel nodded. “Jehu’s puking up on deck right now. He looked green as an onion.” The boy was quite fond of Jehu Scudder, the first mate, and followed him around like a puppy.
A wave smacked against the
Lady Luck
, and all at once the smell of the salted beef rose to my nose and the cabin seemed to close in on me. I swallowed hard.
“Ya look a bit green yourself, Jane my girl,” Mary observed.
“Samuel,” I said in an unsteady voice, “would you kindly escort me up on deck?”
“You ain’t supposed to be up on deck, Miss Jane. Captain’s orders,” he said with a troubled look.
Captain Johnson had ordered Mary and me to remain below in the stuffy cabin but I often went above decks when I thought he would not be about. Captain Johnson was a furious Scot, always raging on about something. He hadn’t permitted us to leave the ship when we put in at Valparaiso for fresh water or inSan Francisco for that matter. “If you leave this ship, you’re not coming back on,” he had informed us in his usual charming way.
To be plain, he hadn’t even wanted to take us in the first place. “I don’t abide women passengers. Women are nothing but bad luck,” he’d said, spitting a huge wad of tobacco at my feet, a filthy habit if ever there was one. I didn’t feel too bad as he’d told Father Joseph that priests were bad luck, too. It seemed to me that the only lucky creatures on the
Lady Luck
were the rats.
The ship rocked and I clutched my stomach.
I stood up shakily. “Take me on deck for some air or I shall be sick where I stand.”
“All right, Miss Jane,” Samuel said hastily. “You still don’t got your sea legs? I never seen no one who ever took so long to get their legs,” he said, shaking his head in amazement as he led me up on deck.
I clung to the rails, inhaling great big gulps of salty air, my stomach making an uneasy flip with each slap of a wave. It was mid-April. In Philadelphia the first colorful buds would be pushing up their heads, but here at sea, gray, gloomy skies marked the horizon. I pulled my cape tightly against the icy wind, remembering Miss Hepplewhite’s Helpful Hints on Travel.
“Remember, Jane, a good traveler need only know three things. One, always keep your composure. Two, dress plainly and pack lightly. Three, do not let little irritations sway your cheery nature,” Miss Hepplewhite had said, patting my shoulder.
She had been rather remiss in not mentioning any hints on killing fleas, avoiding rats, bathing with seawater, or being seasick.
“Obeying the captain again, I see,” a voice said.
It was Jehu Scudder.
“Did you have the salted beef, too?” he asked ruefully.
I shook my head.
He nodded, rubbing self-consciously at the angry scar that slashed across his nose and right cheek. No doubt he had received it in a bar brawl like every other vulgar, ill-mannered sailor Papa had ever treated. Whoever had sewn it up had done a poor job. The scar was ragged, with raw-looking pink edges that stood out brightly on his tanned face. Papa would say that the fishmonger could have done better.
The ship rolled hard, and my stomach grumbled in a most disturbing way. I breathed deeply, willing it to calm.
“Still haven’t got the legs?” Jehu observed.
I shook my head violently and leaned over the ship to be sick, but then the feeling passed. Getting one’s sea legs apparently meant adjusting to the rocking of the ship. I rather doubted I would ever, as these men said, get my legs. All I seemed to get was seasick.
“It’s better if you puke on the leeward side of the ship,” Jehu said, pointing. “Then it won’t blow back in your face.”
“Oh blast you, Mr. Scudder,” I said, clutching my heaving belly, cursing myself for cursing. Miss Hepplewhite
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