To Slight the Jacket Blue. Bronwyn Sciance
if you don't believe me."
"I never said I didn't believe you." Ned punched his friend in the shoulder. "I just said it was odd. Come on, let's go help out with lunch."
With as much work as she put in, Sam often wondered how his mother could look the way she did. Hannah Jamerson was round and rosy, with a perpetually cheerful smile on her face. At seeing her son come in with his friend, she promptly called her daughter Rebecca over and put the boys to work. Sam, swaddled in an oversized apron, poured and served the drinks, while Ned cleaned tables and cleared away plates as people finished and left. Once the rush was over, Hannah gave the boys their meal.
As they sat at the bar counter enjoying their stew, the door banged open and Will came in. "Hello, Mistress Jameson, any food for a starving lad?"
Hannah placed a bowl in front of the lad in question, who ate hungrily. Sam leaned over and asked eagerly, "Did you get the cargo unloaded, Will?"
"Hmm? Oh, aye, it's done," Will said absently. "They've all been taken to auction."
"They?" Ned said sharply, but Sam spoke over top of him.
"Can we help you unload the next ship in, Will?"
Will hesitated. "Well, that will be up to the boys working then, Sam."
"But won't you be there?"
Will exchanged a look with Hannah, then turned to Sam. "No. No, I won't be there anymore–at least, not for a while."
"Where are you going?" Ned asked.
Will sighed and set down his spoon. "When the Victoria sails on the next tide, I will be going with her," he said flatly. "My father got me a berth. I'm to be a sailor, same as he is."
Sam jumped up eagerly, almost upsetting the tall stool. "Where do you sign on?"
"Now, hold on, Sam," Will began.
Sam wasn't listening. He turned to Ned, who was still seated. "Come on, I bet we can get berths if we hurry."
"Certainly not!" Hannah's voice was sharp and firm.
"She's right, Sam," Will said gently. "You're not ready for the sailing life. Besides, I think she's all full for this voyage."
Sam was momentarily disappointed, then perked up. "Then we'll get on another ship."
"You'll do no such thing," Hannah snapped. "You're too young. I forbid it, and Ned, I'm sure your mother will say the same. Absolutely not."
"Can we go when Will comes back?" Sam pressed, but he climbed back onto his stool.
Will hesitated. "That will be two years, but..." He turned to Hannah. "How old are they?"
"Eight," Hannah answered.
"I'll be nine at Christmas-tide," Same protested quickly.
Ned laughed. "Sam, it's only April."
"You can go to sea when you're Will's age," Hannah told Sam.
"But that's four whole years!" Sam whined. He turned to Ned. "You won't go without me, will you?"
"Not for all the world," Ned promised. "Anyway, you're older than I am."
"Now that that's settled..." Will stood. "I must go. Thank you for the stew, Mistress Jameson. I shall see all three of you in two years' time." With that, Will swept out of the tavern.
This time it was Ned who jumped up. "Come on, Sam, if we hurry we can see him off. It's only right."
Sam took Ned's hand, and together the two ran for the docks. Will was just vanishing up the gangplank. They stood on the pylon where they had watched the ship come in and waved furiously as orders were shouted. The lines were cast off, and the Victoria was away. The two watched until she was a mere speck on the horizon.
"I wonder where she's going?" Ned mused as he jumped off the pylon.
A passing dockworker overheard them. "I heard tell as they're bound for Aferky."
"Afer...Africa?" Ned cried.
"What cargo comes from there?" Sam asked. "I've never even heard of it."
Ned looked at his friend. "People," he said grimly. "My mother told me. They take boys like us away from their families and keep them in the cargo hold, and then when they bring them to England they sell them to work without getting paid for the rest of their lives."
Sam vaguely recalled something he had once heard his mother and Ned's discussing. "You mean slaves? She's a slaver? But I thought Will promised..."
"His father got him the berth, remember? It wasn't his choice." Ned stared out to sea, as though willing his friend to come back.
Sam put a hand on Ned's shoulder. "Stroke of luck for us, right?" he said, hoping to shake his friend from his mood. "We can pick our own berths. We haven't any fathers to do it for us."
Ned smiled. "You're right. Come on, I'll race you to the warehouse."
Chapter Two
"Come on, Ned, aren't you packed yet?"
"Almost," Ned called out the window. He turned back to his simple wooden trunk and added the small, tarnished band of gold his mother had given him that morning–the ring that had once been his father's wedding band, and which his mother hoped would bring him luck. She often said that the day he hadn't worn it was the day he had been killed, struck by a laden cart whose horses had broken their traces. Sighing softly, he closed the trunk and headed down the stairs with it.
Ned's mother wasn't there–she had to work, especially after her husband's death, and the seamstress had needed her that morning–but Ned's brother and sister were waiting for him. Richard, a gentle lad of nine, was standing as straight as he could for having to lean on his crutch. Elizabeth, five, was crying into her apron–she would make no pretense at bravery, not today.
Ned ruffled his brother's hair. "You will take care of Mother for me, right, Dick?"
"Oh, I will, Ned. You can count on me." Dick's eyes shone with the pride he felt that his big brother trusted him to be the man of the house.
Elsie clung to Ned's arm, looking up at him pleadingly, her eyes still wet. "Oh, Ned, can't we come to the docks to see you off? Please? It'll be the last time we get to see you for ever so long."
Ned hesitated. "All right, but you have to promise to be careful."
"We will!" both said in unison. Ned hoisted his trunk and headed out the door.
Sam was waiting impatiently, tapping his foot. "There you are!" he sighed. "Hurry up, the tide will be turning soon."
Both boys–twelve had seemed almost grown when Will had first sailed, but they still felt themselves children in many ways–wore the simple linen shirts and trousers of common sailors, but Ned's outfit was plain while Sam's was dark. Though they had searched hard, no ship was hiring two cabin boys, and in the end they had signed to different ships. At Sam's suggestion, they had each taken a different route.
"Which ship are you on, Ned?" Dick asked as they arrived at the dock. Five ships stood waiting–four merchantmen and one warship. The press gangs had been out the night before; the boys had stayed inside and watched from the upper windows of the tavern as hapless men were swept up.
"I'll be on the Maryanne," Ned answered, pointing the ship out to his brother and sister. "Sam sets sail on the Josephine."
"And that one's Navy," Sam added, pointing to the warship, "and that one–the Rose of Sharon–she was already full before we went looking for a berth."
"What about that one? What's it called?" Elsie asked, pointing to the fifth ship.
"She," Dick said importantly. "All ships are she." He paused. "Why is that, Ned?"
Ned and Sam exchanged glances. Deciding to go for the safer question, Ned answered, "I don't know, Dick. I suppose it's because