Part 2 (1/2)

But there wasn't anything I could do about it, so I told myself to cheer up, at least I was learning how to be a sailor. If I learned right, Captain Ivers was sure to take me on other trips, and one way or another I was bound to get to New York sometime. If he didn't sell me off South, first. Besides, it would be kind of interesting to see the West Indies, anyway. So when we was about finished cleaning up the hold, I told Birdsey, ”Down there the girls won't look at you twice, Birdsey. They're all black down there. There ain't no white people at all.”

”Who told you that?” Birdsey said.

”My daddy. He was down there lots of times. He said it was just like home to him, to see a world full of darkies.”

”Oh, I'll bet you there's some white folks there,” Birdsey said.

”No, there ain't,” I said. ”Down there the white folks is n.i.g.g.e.rs.”

”White folks can't be n.i.g.g.e.rs, you idiot. Even if there ain't no white folks around. It's G.o.d's law.”

I gave him a grin. ”No sir, Birdsey. It's white folks that makes n.i.g.g.e.rs slaves. It stands to reason, if there ain't no white folks, there can't be no slaves.” 'Course I knew that wasn't true. Daddy told me often enough that the slaves in the West Indies were treated awful bad. Some places they hardly lived to get old-just died in the cane fields. But I didn't tell Birdsey none of that.

I still had one big problem, which was to figure out where to hide my daddy's soldiers' notes. That night, when I was on watch on deck, I thought about it. If we'd have been going to New York the way I thought, I might have taken a chance on keeping the notes wrapped up in my spare clothes. But now we was going to be at sea at least three weeks going, and three weeks coming back, and who knows how long to sell the cargo and buy one for the return voyage. I couldn't leave them notes lying around for that long, for sure. It was too risky.

It would be easy enough to hide them amongst the lumber lashed to the deck, but if we got a little bad weather, they was certain to get wet and ruined there. The best place, then, was to tuck them into something in the cargo hold. But what?

When my watch was over I came down into the crew's quarters and ate some biscuit. It was quiet down there. Three of the men was lying on their bunks, snoozing. The rest was above deck standing watch. After I finished up the biscuit, I sat quiet for a while, listening to the sleeping men breathe. When I was pretty sure they was sound asleep, I got up. The wall between the crew's quarters and the storage hold was just rough planks, with a door cut into it. I grabbed the lantern off the table and tiptoed through the door.

It was pitch dark in the hold. I waited by the door, listening to make sure that n.o.body was around. All I could hear was the creaking of the s.h.i.+p and the sound of the oxen chewing and shuffling around. It smelled of dung and hay and tar and salt.w.a.ter.

When I was satisfied that n.o.body was in the hold, I held up the lantern. The flame flickered from the wind slipping in through the hatchway, and the shadows of the oxen and bales of hay rocked up and down the walls. Waving that lantern around scared me a good deal. Somebody might spot it, and besides, there was always the chance of setting something on fire. A fire at sea is about the worst thing that can happen. But I had to chance it; I couldn't find a hiding place for the notes in the dark.

I looked around. Toward the stern, near the captain's quarters, there was some boxes and barrels stacked up along the sides. There was grain in the barrels and homespun wool in the boxes. On top of the stack was a fancy cherrywood chest, with a rope tied around it. There was Irish linen in the chest. Captain Ivers figured to sell the chest along with the linen for a good price. It struck me that the linen chest would make a good hiding place for the notes, because they would take extra care of it, being as valuable as it was. It would be easy to untie the rope, slip the notes down among the linen, and tie the rope up again.

I began to creep across the hold, keeping the lantern low down as I could. I was about halfway there when I heard voices up top of the ladder that led down to Captain Ivers's quarters. Quickly I blew out the lantern and crouched down behind a bale of hay. A light shone on the ladder, and then some legs appeared, and I knew it was the captain, carrying his own lantern. He climbed on down, and then down behind him came Birdsey. They didn't look in my direction; anyway, I was pretty well hid behind the bale of hay. The captain went into his quarters, and Birdsey behind him.

They shut the door, but they didn't shut it real tight. A rim of light surrounded the door. I could hear their voices, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. I waited, and then I heard the word ”Arabus,” and I knew they was talking about me. I figured it was about the soldiers' notes. It worried me, all right. Birdsey was my friend, but it worried me just the same.

I lit the lantern again. They wouldn't be able to see it, and anyway, I figured that if they came out and saw me, I'd say I heard a noise and had come in to see if one of the oxen had fallen down. I slipped forward as quick as I dared, through the oxen and hay bales, afraid I'd miss something. In a minute I was crouched outside the door, next to the stack of boxes.

”You understand, Birdsey,” the captain said in a m.u.f.fled voice.

”Yes, Uncle.”

”On board s.h.i.+p I'm not Uncle, I'm Captain.”

”Yes, sir,” Birdsey said.

”You understand, then. You're to stay away from Arabus.”

”We've been friends since we was little, sir,” Birdsey said.

”You're a man now. It was all right to play with the n.i.g.g.e.rs when you were a boy, but not anymore.” Then there was a sc.r.a.pe and a thump, like he was moving his chair around, and I missed the rest of what he said.

”Yes, sir,” Birdsey said. I could hear him better than the captain. I figured he was standing right by the door, and the captain was sitting in the chair across the room.

”Arabus is a slave. You're the master.”

”He might not always be a slave, sir.”

”What do you mean by that?” the captain asked.

I held my breath to hear if Birdsey would mention the notes. ”I mean, he might buy his freedom or something sometime.”

I breathed out. He'd covered up pretty well. ”It isn't very likely,” the captain said. ”He doesn't have any way to raise the money.”

I held my breath again. ”Lots of n.i.g.g.e.rs buy themselves free, sir,” Birdsey said.

”Not so many as you'd think. I wouldn't get my hopes up about Arabus.”

They stopped talking for a moment, and there was only the sounds of the s.h.i.+p creaking and the water rus.h.i.+ng up the hull. Finally Birdsey said, ”There's always a chance.”

”No,” Captain Ivers said. ”There isn't any chance.” He'd raised his voice a good bit, and I knew he was losing his temper from Birdsey arguing with him. ”No chance whatever. We're not going to discuss this anymore. You're to stay away from Arabus.” There came a thump, like he was slamming his hand down on something.

”Sir-”

”Birdsey,” the captain shouted. ”I have my reasons.”

”Sir-”

”Birdsey.” Suddenly the captain's voice dropped low, so low that I could only make it out; but I made it out enough. ”Birdsey, I'm going to sell Arabus.”

”Sell him?” Birdsey sounded pretty shocked.

”When we get to St. Eustacia, I'm going to sell him.”

”But why, sir?”

”He's uppity. His father was uppity. It's in the blood.”

”Sir, he ain't done nothing wrong that I could see.”

”Done nothing wrong? Do you suppose those soldiers' notes flew away on their own? You can't keep a n.i.g.g.e.r who steals. Arabus is a thief. I can't have him around.”

Right then I wished I'd never told Birdsey about those notes. But he didn't tell; he didn't answer anything at all. ”Now, Birdsey,” the captain said, ”you're not to mention any of this to Arabus. If he finds out that he's to be sold, he'll try to escape, and if he does I'll know it was you who warned him. You have to understand whose side you're on. It was all right playing with Arabus as a boy. But now you're one of us.”

I'd heard all I wanted to hear. I crept back down the hold, feeling my way in the dark. I felt cold and sick and wrung out. Being sold off to the West Indies would be terrible. I knew, because my daddy told me. I'd spend the rest of my life bent over and sweating under the sun in the cane fields twelve hours a day, and never see my Mum again, nor be home where I was raised, but live in a strange land with strangers. And as much as I'd miss Mum, she needed me. What would she do? It made me feel so sunk and low to think about it, I wanted to just sit right down there in the hold and give up on everything. What was the point of anything if that was the way I was going to end up? And the question that came into my mind was, would Birdsey tell me about it? Of course I already knew, but would he be a friend and warn me?

4.

I slipped back through the door into the crew's quarters. The big black sailor, Tom, was sitting at the table, eating biscuit. He gave me a heavy look, ”Where you been?” He sat there staring at me and chewing his biscuit, that red scar sort of flaming at me.

”Nowheres,” I said. ”I heard a noise and I thought maybe one of the oxen fell.”

He took another bite of biscuit, but he didn't leave off staring. ”You ain't been messing with the cargo?”