"I'm thinkin' of poor Benjy rollin' around down in the horrid deeps without his tattoo," says Davy, out of the blue.
"Ah, he ain't down there no more," says Tink. "The crabs and snarly fishes have taken care of that. Nay, he's up in heaven with Jesus and they's prolly busy comparin' their tattoos."
"Jesus ain't got no tattoos," says Davy. "And, besides, Benjy didn't have no tattoos, neither."
"He does now," says Tink, suddenly our spiritual advisor. "One just like ours. Jesus give it to him when he sees us get our own. He don't want Benjy to feel left out, is all, and He's better at it than Roderigo."
"Jesus does tattoos, Reverend Tinker?" asks I.
"Sure, he does, Jack-ass. He just points His finger and there you have it. Jesus could have 'em all over His Own Holy Self if He wants, 'cause He's the King of Heaven and He can do anythin'. Mary Magdalen, even. On His chest."
Deacon Dunne would be pleased to know that at least some parts of his preachin' to us has stuck. Prolly not the ones he intended, though.
"No, Jesus ain't the King of Heaven," counters Davy. "His dad's the King of Heaven and there'd surely be Hell to pay if Jesus come to dinner all covered wi' tattoos. 'Specially with 'I loves you, Mary Magdalen' all over His Sainted Belly."
"I do think His mother might object," says Jaimy, with a straight face.
"Don't ye twits reckon," says Tink, getting testy, "that Jesus could take 'em off as easy as He puts 'em on. 'E puts 'em on when He's havin' a few pints wi' His mates, and He takes 'em off when He sits down to dinner wi' His mum and dad! Don't ye see?"
"Jesus has a few pints wi' His mates?" asks I
"Of course, 'E does," says Tink. "What's the use o' goin' to heaven if you can't 'ave a few pints wi' yer mates? If it were otherwise, nobody'd go."
"I wouldn't go," says Willy. "And speakin' o' pints..."
Our talk of heavenly tattoos comes to an end when a bunch of the Dolphins burst out of the tavern across the street and spy me and say, "Let's have a tune, Jacky!" and I pull my whistle from my vest and I give 'em "The Rakes of Mallow" and then "The Liverpool Hornpipe," and they dance and stomp around in the dusty street and insult each other on their dancin' like Get out of the way and let me show ye how it's done, ye're wallowin around like me mither's old cowl and Old cow is it? Kin yer mither's old cow punch like this? but the fight's soon over as their hearts ain't in it and everyone piles back into the tavern, saying, "A pint for Jacky for givin' us the tunes."
We stand to the bar and pints of ale are drawn and passed around and the ale tastes a lot better than the rum. I take my last shillin' and slap it down on the bar and call for food and we get stews and fishes and oranges and, even though I loves me old-horse-and-biscuit back on the dear old Dolphin, the change is just the thing.
"Another pint wi' ye, Jackeroe!" says Saunders, clappin' me on the back, but I say, "Thank ye kindly, Joe, but seein' as how I can barely get this one down my gullet, I'll say no. Please, Mate, have one on me." My head is reelin' wi' the excitement and the ale and the food and the music and the noise and the exotic smell of this place. It crosses my spinnin' mind that should I be discovered and put off, this would not be a bad place to be dumped, all warm and rich, but no, I can't leave my mates and I can't leave Jaimy and I'd prolly end up like Mrs. Roundtree, bless her, when all was said and done.
It don't matter what I say, another pint of ale is shoved in my fist and I stick my nose in the foam and drink some of it, but I give the rest to Jaimy, and he passes it off to Willy, who seems to be swallowing up everything in sight, a growin' boy is our Willy.
The Dolphins ain't the only ones in this tavern; there's men from the Endeavor and the Surprise, and some merchantmen, too, and the talk is swirlin' about, and some of the talk is that the Dolphin is headin' for the Caribbean to search for more pirates 'cause we're so good at catchin' 'em and makin' squadron commanders rich. Then I hear Bloody Jack said in the talk and I know they mean me and I don't like it. I wish they'd stop with that. My ears burn 'cause I know I'm bein' looked at behind my back.
My good sense, which has been hangin' back all day, tells me it's time for the Brotherhood to get back to the ship before we get knocked on the head for the few pennies we have left or get so drunk we can't get back to the dear Dolphin and are left here and other lads take our places. Other lads like the ones in this tavern who are jealous of our good fortune and ain't shy in showin' it. I see a couple of boys from the Surprise glarin' at Davy and Tink and Jaimy at the bar with all their prize money to spend. I know they're about to make a comment on the boys' cute outfits and the blood will flow.
"Awright, lads," I say. "Drink up. Time to get back before they discover we're gone. Looks like we're gonna have to help poor Willy."
They groan and say no, but Jaimy finishes his and gets up and the others follow. Tink and Davy put a hand under Willy's arms and we head out into the sun. Before I go I slap my last few coins on the bar. "A drink for every mother's son of a ship's boy in the house," I says loud enough for all to hear. "God bless ship's boys!"
We are not followed as we roll back to the ship, singin' and laughin' and exultin' in a great day. We have tasted oranges and ale. We have seen a foreign country. I have found out that I am not dying, not of that, anyway, and it all makes me so happy that I can barely contain the poundin' heart that beats in my chest.
I'm with me mates, and Stewed, Blued, and Tattooed, we sail for the Caribbean Sea.
PART III
As the Scholar Has Said,
"The Knowledge That One Is to Be Hanged in the Morning,
Concentrates the Attention Most Wonderfully."
Chapter 19
We've been in the Caribbean for three months now, and the sea is such a color of blue that I can't believe my eyes are seeing it. It's so clear that when we come around an island in our search for pirates and get in shallower water, the most astonishing rocks and reefs pop out of the depths and look like strange castles, right there up close instead of fifty feet down like they really are. Tilly has rigged up brightly colored lures with feathers and hooks and trailed them on long lines off the fantail. Fishes bite on them and Tilly cranks them in on a reel that he has mounted on a stiff pole that bends with the fishes' desperate struggles, and when the fish get close to the side all brilliant in their colors but all tired out now, men with gaff hooks lean over and hook them in their gills most cruelly and hoist them aboard where they gasp and flop on the deck for a while. Their color slowly dulls as they die. It's a shame, but they are very tasty.
Tilly goes on about this book The Compleat Angler and has us all make small lures and lines, and we catch fish, too. A useful skill, I decide, and resolve to keep my lure and line for future use. Like when I have my own ship and need something to eat and can't afford the Horse.
***
This part of the voyage has proved uneventful, except for some fearsome hurricanes during the hottest months when I thought we were all lost for sure. I could not believe that such mountains of water could be and that we could survive them. We sailed under bare poles with only a scrap of canvas aloft to keep the Dolphins head into the wind, and all of us were up for days without sleep, but the good ship held, and so did we. Now the weather has turned cooler and the storms have stopped and great slick swells are all that move on the water, except for us.