Finding Home

Chapter Eight

At the end of Olivia's next shift, dawn was approaching, and she was ready to grab some grub and relax below. Suddenly, Captain Jones came flying out of his cabin behind Quartermaster Garrett and leapt up the steps to the upper deck. He used a brass, retracting telescope to look at an object far off to the port side of the ship.

One-by-one, each crewmember made his way over to the railing. She stepped over to where Westbrooke and Gibbs stood.

            “Aye, be ready men. It will be an exciting morning,” beamed Westbrooke.

She looked over at Gibbs confused.

            He pointing to the object, “That out there is a ship, and Captain means to capture it. There will be a fight today.”

            Olivia froze. She barely survived her first storm. She was not ready for more excitement just yet. “We just made it through a big storm, couldn't we just get the next ship?” she asked.

            Gibbs smiled at her, “This is what it is like on the high seas, Oliver. If Captain wants it done, we best do it.”

            She was not happy with the whole concept, but she was not about to argue either. Captain Jones came over to the upper railing as Eldridge emerged from below with the other half of the crew. Jennings trailed behind them. Captain Jones looked like a proper nobleman standing with his head held high and his arms folded behind his back.

            “Men,” Captain Jones began. “Today, we fight, but we don't fight for ourselves. We fight for our freedom and the freedom of our loved ones back home. We fight for our right to do whatever we want, whenever we want. For there to no longer be a King from halfway across the sea giving us unjust laws. Are you with me?”

            “Aye, Aye, Captain,” yelled the many voices of the crew gathered around her.

            Captain Jones continued, “All right men, man your positions!”

            The sailors scurried everywhere around the deck, down the hatch, and even up into the top sails. Olivia scared, grabbed Gibbs's arm as he turned to walk away. “Gibbs, what do I do?”

            “It’ll be all right, Oliver,” He looked around for a moment, and then said, “Here, come with me.”

            He moved over to a 12-pound cannon where a tall, lengthy, red-haired man was quietly preparing his cannon for battle.

            “Metz, this is Oliver.”

            “Aye, Oliver. I have been hearing a lot about you. Good to finally meet you,” he said as he stopped to shake her hand.

            “Metz, Oliver will be your powder monkey,” Gibbs uttered.

            “Aye, Gibbs,” agreed Metz as he went back to his cannon.

            “Now, you will be fine here. I will see you later,” said Gibbs as he walked away and went down the hatch to the 18-pound cannons below.

            She turned to Metz. “Umm…Metz what is a powder monkey?”

            Metz smiled and looked at her. “You are. When the cannons get low on gunpowder you run down below to the powder room and get more out of the powder box. Then bring it up to reload.”

            She nodded understandably to him. It seemed like an easy enough job. Metz showed her how to prepare the cannon.

            Then a voice rang out, “DOWN MEN! STAND AT THE READY!”

            All at once, the men crouched down below the railing to wait, and there was nothing but a spine-tingling silence in the air. She looked up towards the men in the topsails; they were hidden well, ready to attack. She peeked over the railing; the other ship was now so close she could see the men on the deck. She heard Captain Jones order Barstow to sail directly downwind of the other ship, causing them to slow down.

            The ship came around to Olivia's side and she could hear the other ship's Captain call out. “What ship are you? Pray tell your business.”

Not a sound came from any of Olivia's shipmates. They were quiet as statues but ready to pounce at any moment.

            The other Captain called out again. “Answer immediately or there will be consequences!”

            At that moment, Captain Jones stood, pulled his saber and yelled, “FIRE!”

            Metz promptly lit the fuse and all 12-pounders on the main deck flashed, sending thundering cannon balls ripping through the other ship. The sound was so loud Olivia's ears began to ring and she threw her hands over them.

A few minutes into the fighting, Metz began screaming for her to get more powder. Completely numb, she stood just as a cannon ball went flying a few inches from her head.

            She flung herself to the deck and decided to crawl to the hatch avoiding any more large flying objects. Once on the middle deck, she located the powder room. Olivia retrieved more powder and headed back up the steps as fast as she could, passing the 18-pounders who were also firing on the other ship. The cannons were so large when they fired they flew back a few inches. They would have gone back even farther if it weren't for the strong rope that attached them to the wall.

Once at the top, she quickly and carefully made her way over to the cannons to deliver the much-needed powder. She eventually became accustomed to the sounds and flashes of light as she went back and forth to retrieve more and more powder.

The other ship, realizing their defeat, tried to run.

Captain Jones, himself, jumped onto the stern of the ship and aimed the gun, known as the stern chaser, at the other ship. It only took one shot to rip through their main mast, rendering them helpless.

Barstow steered the ship so close to theirs that the sides were nearly touching. Captain Jones yelled for grappling hooks. They were thrown between the two ships hooking and holding them together.

            She watched as her fellow crewmembers leapt and swung their way over to the other ship, swords, cutlasses, and pistols in hand.

Metz drew his cutlass and began yelling as he leaped from one ship to the other. A British sailor approached Metz and attempted to run him through with his sword. Metz fought back before pushing the sailor overboard. Olivia watched as Metz ran off to fight elsewhere aboard the captured ship.

It was hard for her to see which sailors were which through the smoke rising from the interior of the other ship.

            The men in the topsails were not only firing at the sailors in the other topsails but also at the men below. Occasionally, Olivia would see one of the men, up top, get hit and fall. The whole thing seemed crazy and overwhelming to her.

She lowered herself to the deck between the railing and the cannon, wishing she knew how to fight.

            All at once, a British sailor made his way over to the Providence. He was angry and looking for a fight. He spotted her in the corner and came running at her, cutlass drawn. She squeezed her eyes shut wishing this wasn't the end. A shot rang out, and then a loud thud shook the deck in front of her. She slowly opened her eyes.

            There lay the sailor, dead, bleeding from a bullet wound in his chest, blood staining the wooden deck. Metz jumped from the railing to the deck, pistol in hand.

            “Boy, you need to learn a thing or two about fighting.” He reached down, took the cutlass from the dead sailor and handed it to her. “Rule one: get a weapon.”

            Olivia smiled, relieved to see him. He returned her smile then leapt back over to the other ship, disappearing again.

She stood and looked over the railing at the ocean below. It was a far drop. She glanced across to the other deck.

Gaping holes of splintered wood lay everywhere. Men were sword fighting and pistol-whipping each other. Occasionally, she could hear booms from below deck and see flashes of light from the blasts of the 18 pounders firing into the other ship. Between the blasts, a high-pitched pop from above could be heard, before a sailor would just drop dead on the other deck.

            Olivia didn't know what to do.

She thought about what she had accomplished so far on her journey and the people she had met. It was not going to end today.

A sudden surge of courage ran through her body and before she knew it, she was jumping to the other ship; landing on the railing just shy of falling in. She caught herself and fell to the deck, tripping a British sailor and giving her fellow shipmate the advantage. That mate then shot the British sailor, thanked Olivia, and turned to fight another.

            She turned just as a different British sailor raised his sword towards her. She moved out of the way in the nick of time, but he managed to cut a large gash in her arm.

She tried her best to raise her cutlass and the blades made contact. He turned, and the metal made contact again. She pulled away from him and ran. He was hot on her heels and suddenly, she was cornered. He raised his sword above his head.

Olivia's heart started racing and she thrust her cutlass into his chest. The man fell to the deck. She caught her breath in her throat and swallowed hard. Calming herself, she walked over and, with a shaking hand, pulled the cutlass from his chest.

            She had just killed a man, but before that realization could sink in, Olivia heard, “WE DID IT MEN! THEY STRUCK THEIR COLOURS!”

            Lots of whooping and hollering followed. She turned to see Captain Jones standing on the upper deck with the other ship's Captain, who appeared defeated, holding the captured ship's flag in his hands. A few of the crew gathered the remaining, able-bodied British sailors, along with their Captain, and took them down to the brig for transport.

Some of the crew disposed of bodies by throwing them overboard and cleaned up what they could. The last of the crew milled through their cargo for items they could use. The injured, on both sides were given a bit of whiskey and their wounds were treated.

Luckily, for Olivia, her cut was not that deep and only required some bandages.

Captain Jones decided the other ship was salvageable and ordered Quartermaster Garrett and a group of men to sail it back to the Boston Harbor.

            The next day, Olivia found herself sitting on the deck with Gibbs, Westbrooke, and Billingsley.

            “Well, you survived your first storm and first battle. I guess you are a true sailor now,” laughed Billingsley as he ruffled the cap on her head.

            “Yes, I suppose so, but Billingsley, I was wondering if you could teach me some moves. I want to be able to fight in the next battle. Do my part. What do you say?” asked Olivia.

            Billingsley thought for a moment. “Aye, a few lessons here and there would be good for ya.” He stood, “Let us start now.”

            He removed his sword from his belt and held it out to Olivia. His legs were spread apart, one in front of the other, and his opposite arm was in the air.

“All right,” Olivia stood and pulled her cutlass from her belt. He showed her different blocking techniques – how to leg sweep then flip back to her feet if she ended up on the ground as well as how to disarm an enemy.

The shift bell rang.

            “That is good, Oliver. If there is time after our next shift, I will teach you more,” he said as he squeezed her shoulder. Olivia smiled at him, thankful for his time.

            The following day, she awoke early to find the sun still up. She walked up to the main deck and found Gibbs standing with another sailor she had not met before. The sailor was shooting at little blocks of wood that were carefully placed along the edge of the railing overlooking the sea.

            Gibbs saw her. “Aye, Oliver! Come join us,” he waved her over. “This is Edwards. He is the best shot on this ship and is the fastest at moving around up top too.”

She shook his hand as he eyed her up and down.

            “You shoot?” asked Edwards. She shook her head 'no'. “Here, try,” he said as he handed her his rifle.

            She hesitated then reached for the rifle aiming it at a block of wood about three feet way. She could fight with a sword; it wouldn't hurt to learn how to handle a gun as well.

            “Now, Oliver, set your sights on the block of wood, take a breath, and pull the trigger,” instructed Gibbs.

            She closed one eye and squared the block in her sights. Olivia took a deep breath, exhaled, then fired; the shot reverberated through her arm. The wood block splintered and flew in the air landing in the water below.

            “Did you see that? The boy hit the block straight on!” exclaimed Edwards, shocked.

            Gibbs patted her on the back, “I knew you could do it.”

            They reloaded the rifle and moved six feet back. Olivia hit the block dead on. Another reload and move to ten feet. Again, she hit the block.

By this time, a small group of men had gathered.

            “What do you say we take this topside?” excitedly asked Edwards.

            “Sure,” Olivia said just as thrilled.

            Gibbs placed four more blocks on the railing as Edwards took her to the top of the lowest sail.

            He demonstrated the best way to hold on with his legs so his arms were free to hold the rifle. “Don't forget to squeeze tight with your legs or the recoil from firing the rifle will toss you off the sail.”

            She shifted her hips and pressed her legs as hard as she could around the gaff poll that held the sail to the mast. She aimed the rifle and, again, shot the block of wood with no trouble. Olivia couldn't believe her luck.

            “Aye, let us try something different,” remarked Edwards. He yelled down to a sailor standing below them, “You there, slide that crate across deck when I tell you.”

“Aye,” came the voice from below.

            She could see in the light of the setting sun that it was Metz. He picked up a small crate and waited for Edwards's signal.

            “Oliver, aim towards the deck, where you think the crate might slide,” he said to her. She thought for a moment, considered the movement of the ship and aimed.

            Edwards looked over at Metz, “NOW!”

            He shoved the crate as hard as he could, and it slid right into her view. She took a deep breath and fired. The bullet hit the crate, splitting a panel on one side and sent it reeling into a thick pile of rope.

            Amazed that she actually made the shot, Olivia looked over at Edwards. His mouth was wide open, staring at the crate.

            He slowly turned his attention to her. “You said you never touched a rifle before? That is incredible! We must go higher.”

            With that, he stood and grabbed a rope that was hanging nearby. He climbed up it and then swung around, landing on the pole above Olivia.

He looked back at her. “Are you coming?”

            She crept over to the main mast to follow him up. Edwards walked around the topsails as if he were walking on the deck with no drop below. He then swung up to the yard pole at the very top of the main sail.

Olivia finally made it up to him. He had her aim for the second block on the railing. She again fired with no trouble. She reloaded the rifle and shot the third and fourth blocks.

Edwards called down to Metz. He moved into position to slide the crate again. Once ready, Edwards gave the signal and Olivia aimed, shooting the crate again.

            “You are a natural! How about you join me in the topsails when we fight from now on?” Edwards said grinning ear to ear.

“All right, Edwards, I will join you, on one condition. You teach me how to move like you do when you are up here.”

Edwards nodded in approval and they shook hands.

            Once back on the main deck, Edwards told everyone what a crack shot she was and how she was joining him in the topsails.

            Metz looked over at Olivia. “Well, you will be missed. Guess I need to find myself a new powder monkey.”

            Olivia smiled back at him. “Don't worry. You will find someone quick. Anyone will do better than I did.”

            The gathered men laughed. The shift bell rang, and they all headed down for some skilly – meat boiled and mixed with oatmeal. Afterwards, Olivia and Gibbs bid them farewell and headed back up to the main deck for the start of their own shift.