Cook looked at Jack. "Shall I toss her overboard for you?" he said.
"She's new. I'll get her belowdecks, get her settled in," Jack said.
Abby attempted to follow Jack down the steps into the hold, but began retching. She grabbed her mouth and reversed course and puked on the deck, five feet from Cook's pot.
"Is that your contribution to the pot, miss?" Cook said.
"Oh, you wretched, wretched beasts!" she cried.
Halfway down the steps, Jack sighed. This was why they normally didn't allow women on board ship. He climbed back up the stairs and joined her. "You feel better now?"
"What's going on here?" Abby said. "You can't tell me you live like this!"
"I can and we do."
"But you can't! I mean, you don't actually sleep at the bottom of those steps!"
"Aye, miss, we do. As you will, and gladly, when a big enough storm's afoot."
"What has happened down there to make such a vile odor?"
"Happened?"
"I mean, it's an unnatural smell."
"That's what you said about the soup."
"Nay, I was wrong. Whatever happened belowdecks is far worse than the soup. I'd rather be reamed by Philip Winter's pink pizzle than step foot down there again."
"Truly?"
"I mean, explain it to me, Jack. Surely there's a better solution to be had."
"Well, it's hot and humid, and the ship is old, and made of wood. That smell you're referring to is a mixture."
"A mixture of what?"
"It's no secret to any seafaring man. It's bilge water that's gone bad over the course of time, mixed with the smell of unbathed bodies, rotten fish and meat, and livestock excrement."
"What do you mean, livestock?"
"Well, of course we keep pigs and chickens and goats and other animals alive down there."
"Alive?"
"Sometimes we're at sea for months. You can salt your meat, but it goes rotten after a few weeks, so we keep the livestock to be butchered when needed."
"And you and your men sleep among the pigs, do you?"
"Oh, no miss. They're on the orlop, the lowest level. We sleep just above them. But their waste goes through the boards and down into the bottom to mix with the bilge water, so it don't often smell so sweet. As to the livestock, believe me, after a couple weeks at sea, when the biscuits are hard and full of black-headed weevil maggots, you'll be thankful for fresh meat."
"Where do you keep your water?"
"In them barrels over there."
Abby crossed the deck and lifted one of the lids and smelled.
"Ugh! Rancid! Disgusting!" she said.
"Well, it's fresh now," Jack said. "But it don't take long for it to go stale on you." Growing philosophical, he added, "and that's a taste we never get used to."
"You don't."
"No."
"And why's that?"
"Because it keeps gettin' worse."
Abby shook her head at the magnitude of it. "There's bound to be rats running throughout the bottom deck."
"Aye, miss, and everywhere else as well. And roaches and water snakes and thousand leggers and all sorts of night time crawly things."
"Can't you fumigate the ship?"
"Well, we do."
"You do."
"Yes, miss."
"And how is that accomplished? I'm asking because whatever you're doing, it's not working."
"Well, we pour burning pitch down there from time to time and make them that's being punished mop it around. But that ain't a permanent solution, and the chickens don't like it."
"They don't? How do you know, do you speak chicken?"
"No miss, but their eggs come out black for a long time after. I think they peck at the pitch, but I can't say for sure."
Abby frowned. What's going to happen now?"
"We'll have some dinner and prepare for tomorrow's battle."
"Battle? With The Viceroy? Can't we just leave harbor now and outrun them?"
"A course we could, but where's the fun in that?"
"Fun?"
Chapter 21
Frightened lizards skittered across the deck as Captain Jack pushed open the cabin door and summoned his men to the main deck to review his battle strategy. It was an hour before dawn, and his crewmen, fortified by the rum they'd consumed the previous night, were itching for battle. The blanket of heavy fog that had hung about ten feet above the water most of the night was starting to dissipate, and those who looked directly above the ship were able to see stars littering the blue-black sky.
Captain Jack had his men fill two shore boats with pitch, and lower them into the water on the leeward side of the ship. He summoned his four best swimmers and instructed them to jump in the water and hold on to the sterns, two to a boat. Then he lowered two lit lanterns to the men, and had them carefully place the lanterns in the front and center of each boat.
The men kicked their legs and pushed the boats a hundred yards northeast and southeast of The Fortress. When they'd got into position, they held onto the sterns to wait for The Viceroy. These were brave men, since the waters off St. Alban's were popular breeding grounds for sand sharks. Jack knew The Viceroy would attack at dawn, and almost certainly from the east, for two reasons: first, because that would put a giant ball of sun in the pirate's eyes, and second, they'd be coming fast, with the wind at their backs, presenting a vertical target for Jack's guns, which would make it almost impossible to score a direct hit. The good news was The Viceroy couldn't attack from that attitude. She'd have to turn broadside to point her guns at The Fortress, and therein lay Jack's window of advantage.
Jack walked to the prow to check on Abby. She'd made good on her refusal to step foot below decks, so Jack had gotten some men to overturn a shore boat for her to climb under, which gave her a less offensive shelter to sleep in. He would have loved to couple and cuddle with her in there last night, but doing so would have been a violation of his own rule against sexual relations aboard ship.
"Did you sleep well, miss?"
"No."
"Well, it should have been comfortable, with them sails folded up for you like a feather bed."
"I kept hearing frightening noises all night and feared I'd be bit by something horrid and die."
She started to cry.
"And now there's to be a battle and you're likely to be killed and if me and our baby happen to survive, what would become of us? If your men win the battle, I'll probably be ravished to death. If they lose, I'll likely be hung, or returned to my step-father."
"Aye, even the most comfortable bed means little with thoughts such as these to nag you. But I have a solution for your fears."
"What's that?"
"If I live, none of your worries will happen."
"Then do so!"
Jack gave her hand a squeeze and went below decks to check on the guns. Ship cannons ranged from 500 to over 1,500 pounds, and required between four and eight men to handle them. Jack preferred 800 pound cannons, since they could be managed by four well-trained men. He didn't have enough men to man all his cannons, but he would only be using one side of the ship today, since he was so close to shore.
"One rope should hold them," Jack said.
His cannon crew agreed that the waters were calm enough to use one rope per gun. On stormy seas they used two, though it slowed down the process of pulling the cannons away from the gun ports, reloading them, and pushing them back in place to fire. But two ropes prevented one of the biggest dangers a cannon crew faced in battle: severing the rope that held the cannons in place. When that happened in a pitching sea, an 800 pound cannon rolling around at high speeds could mow down an entire crew.
Jack watched as the sea monkeys did their jobs, sea monkeys being the young boys who were assigned the worst jobs on ship, such as pumping out the bilge with a bellows. On battle days, they'd have to scamper down to the lower decks and retrieve cannon balls, which on Jack's boat were light at eighteen pounds. Of course today they were using chain shot, which consisted of two cannon balls connected by a chain. When fired, these worked like a mace, cutting down masts to render the enemy ship helpless. But two balls and a chain in each cannon more than doubled the crew's workload.