The bodies are laid on boards, which have one end on the ship's rail and the other end held up by the man's friends. The Captain and his officers and all the men not on watch or in sick bay are standing by with their hats in their hands. As the Deacon says the words over each man in turn, the board is lifted and the body slides off the board and into the water.
Benjy is the last. The Deacon lifts his hand in benediction.
"Benjamin Hanks, we commit your body to the sea and your soul to God. Amen."
We lift our end of the board, and all that's left of our mate Benjy slips off into the sea.
It's a cowed and quieted group of ship's boys that meets in the foretop in the coming days, as the Brotherhood mourns the loss of one of its own. There are no more boyish slashings of swords, no more grand boasts, no more dreams of glory. No jokes and japes out of Davy. Tink and Willy, too, just sit about and mope. Jaimy is all gloom as well, and I'm thinking it ain't all about Benjy—he's thinking about the fight, too, and he ain't happy with how he did in it. As for me, I'm the most quiet and mopey of all, not only 'cause I can't get Benjy out of my mind, but also 'cause I'm the only one of us who's actually killed someone, and that weighs heavy on me, too. That, and my bleeding has started again. Perhaps soon I'll be down with Benjy as payment for my deeds.
I get next to Liam a lot in the days after Benjy's death. I say to myself that it's to practice my seamanship and my whistle, but it's really just to be with him as his very presence gives me much comfort. Liam lets me carry on in my sad state all weepy and glum for some days, but then he starts to give me little nudges in the ribs and flicking up my nose with his finger and saying, "Stiff upper lip, Jack," and I push his hand away and glare all stormy at him. He shakes his head.
"Jacky. You've got to let them go after a while, you know. You grieve for your mates what have passed on for a decent time and then you have to let them be."
"I know," I whimpers, "but..."
"But, nothing. You've got to think of the fine times you had with your mate, not the moment of his perishin'. Every tear you shed now only wets his windin' sheet and disturbs his rest."
I poke my head into Liam's shoulder and then let it rest there for a bit, looking out across the rolling sea and the puffy white clouds scudding along the horizon. Then I head off for the foretop. He's right. I'll let Benjy go. I'll let them all go.
The Brotherhood gathers in a circle and offers up a prayer for Benjy every day for a week after his death, then once every Sunday. It's the best we can do. It's the way of the man-of-war's man, as Liam says, and it has to be that way.
On my pennywhistle I make up a slow, mournful tune, and I call it "The Ship's Boy's Lament." Liam allows that it is very good and that I should teach it to other players as I travel the world, and because of that Benjy will always be remembered, sort of. We are on our way into legend and song.
The repairs on the pirate ship are done, and the Dolphin is patched up as best as the ship's carpenter can manage. The former pirate is manned with a small crew, Mr. Lawrence commanding. I know it is a feather in his cap, and I wish him the joy of it as he seems a decent sort, for an officer. The word is that in recounting the action on the deck of the pirate to the Captain, he gave me credit for capturing the no money box when he could have taken that honor for himself. Not that I wanted credit for any of that. Money was the last thing on my mind at the time. At least Bliffil didn't capture any glory with his sham of bravery.
Midshipman Bliffil is part of the prize crew and I am glad to have him off the ship, if only for a short time. The mood in the midshipmen's berth lightens considerably, and we boys venture in there for the first time. We tell them how sorry we are about Mr. Leigh, and we hang about and look at their stuff. The middies ain't really so bad—the younger ones are just boys like us. Mr. Jenkins's got a real flute, the kind you play from the side. He shows me how to blow across the hole to make the sound, but I ain't very good at it.
The morale of the ship is high, for we are officially heading into port to sell the prize, make repairs, and take on water. And have our first liberty call, with money in our pockets. We are going to a place called Palma, which sounds wondrously exotic.
So, in spite of ourselves, our boyish high spirits steadily return.
We feel guilty about it, but there you are.
Chapter 18
We're all in a line at the head of the ladder leading down the side of the ship, all the boys decked out in their spanking new uniforms, and I can't stand it, I'm just about to bust with pride seeing how splendid they look. The Captain and the officers are there beside us, too, waiting for the Admiral to come aboard for a meeting with the Captain, and the noble Dolphin is all bedecked with flags and buntings and sailors in their best uniforms manning the rails and the tops. We ain't the only King's ship in the harbor, there's the Endeavor and the Surprise and some others I can't make out from here. Merchant ships, too.
The Bo'sun is at the end of the line of us boys, looking over the side for the coming of the Admiral's gig, his pipe in hand. It's a whistle with just one hole in a bulb on the end that he puts his hand over when he blows it to make it warble. He has drilled us over the past week about how we're supposed to stand and what we're supposed to do when he sounds his whistle, and a slow and painful death has been promised us if we mess it up.
The Captain is pacing around, all covered in blue and gold, and he looks us over and seems to approve, but he looks at me the longest. I stare straight ahead as instructed, not meeting his eyes. Please don't say anything about the battle, Sir, I prays. J am not what I seemed to be.
He doesn't. Instead he says to Mr. Haywood, "See that this one grows his pigtail so he'll match the others."
Uh, oh.
"Yes, Sir," says Mr. Haywood.
I've had the feeling of late that Mr. Haywood would have preferred that I had been dropped over the side early on in my enlistment on the Dolphin. He leans down to me and growls, "Make it so, Faber."
"Aye, Sir."
There's a fuss as the Admiral's boat is seen coming. We get ready and hold our breath, and when a footfall is felt on the gangplank, the Bo'sun whips his pipe to his lips and lets go with a blast and we boys whip up our right hands to our foreheads, hands flat with palms out, middle finger just touching our right eyebrows. The Admiral strides by, wearing more gold than I've ever seen and an enormous hat. He is followed by several more officers. When he gets past us, the Bo'sun stops blowing and we bring our hands down to our sides, smartly, thumbs on the side seams of our pants. The Captain takes off his hat and bows low to the Admiral, and the Admiral bows to the Captain, but not nearly so low. The Captain presents his officers to the Admiral and there's more bowing all around and the Admiral is smiling and saying, "Good show," and I shouldn't wonder 'cause I heard he gets a cut out of our prize money, although I don't see why he should.
Finally, all the officers head down to the Captain's quarters to tear into the wine, brandy, and food that's been laid out, and we're put At Ease, which means we can relax as long as we don't move our right foot from its spot on the deck. That way we can be in position to snap back to attention when the officers come back on deck.
"Lor', look at that," says Willy, looking out over the town of Palma. It don't look like any sort of town we've ever seen. The buildings are low and colored pink and white and there's acres of trees. "I bet those are orange trees. Or bananas. I ain't never had neither."