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Authors: Cheryl Cooper
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sir.”
“Did he now?”
“On one condition,” Gus added.
“And that condition is … ?”
“He said that if one man falls from the rigging and breaks his neck, Emily’s to be sent packing below deck for all time.”
In her corner, Emily laughed out loud.
9:30 a.m.
(Forenoon Watch, Three Bells)
GUS'S NEXT ERRAND was a visit to the sail room on the orlop deck to see whether Magpie had completed his task. He found the young sail maker sitting cross-legged on the floor amongst his tools and yards of canvas. His tiny room, crammed with rolls of fresh sails, was poorly ventilated and illuminated with only one lantern. It amazed Gus that Magpie could do such wonderful work in such small quarters.
Magpie set aside the sail he was stitching and looked up hopefully. “Have ya come fer the clothes, sir?”
“Captain Moreland said she could go for a walk on the weather decks, but not in Dr. Braden’s nightshirt.”
“I bin waitin’ fer someone to come fetch ’em. I had ’em all done yesterday, sir.” Magpie sprang to his feet and carefully picked up the neatly folded bundle on his stool. “Did the cap’n say I could meet her, sir?”
“I didn’t ask him, but I don’t see why not.”
“Should I wash up first, sir?”
“You’re quite presentable as you are.”
Magpie plucked his flute from the jumble of blankets on his bed and held it up. “Do ya suppose I could play her a tune? She might like knowin’ I ’ave a bit o’ refinement.”
Gus shook his head. “Music is forbidden in Dr. Braden’s hospital. Come along then.”
Tingling with excitement, Magpie followed Gus up two decks, through the animals’ stable, the grog room, the sailors’ galley, and the mess before reaching the hospital ward. As there were still some sections of the Isabelle he had never seen before, his eyes were open to everything around him. When Gus and Magpie entered the hospital, Mr. Harding called out, “Magpie, I hope illness is not forcing you to join us.”
“No, sir. I’m quite well. I do hope yer foot’s feelin’ better.”
Mr. Harding breathed in and exhaled sadly. “As my foot is swimming in the sea, I’m certain it is feeling better than it ever has before, unless, of course, it’s been chewed upon by a hungry shark.”
“Won’t be no shark chewin’ on yer foot,” called out the sailor in the neighbouring hammock, “so long as it spotted Mr. Crump’s tasty leg first.”
Mr. Crump grumbled his displeasure at the lot of them making jokes at the expense of his lost leg, shut his eyes, and pretended to be asleep.
Leander folded up his letter and rose from his desk to greet the little sail maker. “She’s just beyond that curtain, Magpie.”
In the dimness of the hospital, Magpie’s eyes sparkled as he followed Gus.
Emily was sitting up in her cot. The moment she saw Magpie, surprise transformed her features.
“Mornin’, ma’am,” he said, thrusting out his small right hand. “They call me Magpie on account o’ me black hair, and ’cause I talk all the time and get into trouble a lot.”
“What is your real name?” Emily asked, taking his hand in hers. There was a half-moon of grime under each of his fingernails.
“Haven’t a clue, ma’am. I never had no family to give me a proper name. Only name I ever bin called is Magpie.”
“How old are you?”
“When they measure me against Mr. Walby here, they figure I’m about ten.”
“And you’re a sail maker?”
“Aye, ma’am … learned the trade from old Beck Bailey, who was hankerin’ fer a promotion. He wanted to be a bo’s’n, but he don’t read none. The cap’n – not Cap’n Moreland mind – promised him work above deck if he’d teach me the sail makin’. First learned it when I was seven.”
“Seven? That young? And you can make clothes too?”
“Aye, ma’am. I make ’em and I repair ’em. I hope ya like ’em.” He proudly held out his little bundle.
As she accepted them, Emily thought her heart
“Did he now?”
“On one condition,” Gus added.
“And that condition is … ?”
“He said that if one man falls from the rigging and breaks his neck, Emily’s to be sent packing below deck for all time.”
In her corner, Emily laughed out loud.
9:30 a.m.
(Forenoon Watch, Three Bells)
GUS'S NEXT ERRAND was a visit to the sail room on the orlop deck to see whether Magpie had completed his task. He found the young sail maker sitting cross-legged on the floor amongst his tools and yards of canvas. His tiny room, crammed with rolls of fresh sails, was poorly ventilated and illuminated with only one lantern. It amazed Gus that Magpie could do such wonderful work in such small quarters.
Magpie set aside the sail he was stitching and looked up hopefully. “Have ya come fer the clothes, sir?”
“Captain Moreland said she could go for a walk on the weather decks, but not in Dr. Braden’s nightshirt.”
“I bin waitin’ fer someone to come fetch ’em. I had ’em all done yesterday, sir.” Magpie sprang to his feet and carefully picked up the neatly folded bundle on his stool. “Did the cap’n say I could meet her, sir?”
“I didn’t ask him, but I don’t see why not.”
“Should I wash up first, sir?”
“You’re quite presentable as you are.”
Magpie plucked his flute from the jumble of blankets on his bed and held it up. “Do ya suppose I could play her a tune? She might like knowin’ I ’ave a bit o’ refinement.”
Gus shook his head. “Music is forbidden in Dr. Braden’s hospital. Come along then.”
Tingling with excitement, Magpie followed Gus up two decks, through the animals’ stable, the grog room, the sailors’ galley, and the mess before reaching the hospital ward. As there were still some sections of the Isabelle he had never seen before, his eyes were open to everything around him. When Gus and Magpie entered the hospital, Mr. Harding called out, “Magpie, I hope illness is not forcing you to join us.”
“No, sir. I’m quite well. I do hope yer foot’s feelin’ better.”
Mr. Harding breathed in and exhaled sadly. “As my foot is swimming in the sea, I’m certain it is feeling better than it ever has before, unless, of course, it’s been chewed upon by a hungry shark.”
“Won’t be no shark chewin’ on yer foot,” called out the sailor in the neighbouring hammock, “so long as it spotted Mr. Crump’s tasty leg first.”
Mr. Crump grumbled his displeasure at the lot of them making jokes at the expense of his lost leg, shut his eyes, and pretended to be asleep.
Leander folded up his letter and rose from his desk to greet the little sail maker. “She’s just beyond that curtain, Magpie.”
In the dimness of the hospital, Magpie’s eyes sparkled as he followed Gus.
Emily was sitting up in her cot. The moment she saw Magpie, surprise transformed her features.
“Mornin’, ma’am,” he said, thrusting out his small right hand. “They call me Magpie on account o’ me black hair, and ’cause I talk all the time and get into trouble a lot.”
“What is your real name?” Emily asked, taking his hand in hers. There was a half-moon of grime under each of his fingernails.
“Haven’t a clue, ma’am. I never had no family to give me a proper name. Only name I ever bin called is Magpie.”
“How old are you?”
“When they measure me against Mr. Walby here, they figure I’m about ten.”
“And you’re a sail maker?”
“Aye, ma’am … learned the trade from old Beck Bailey, who was hankerin’ fer a promotion. He wanted to be a bo’s’n, but he don’t read none. The cap’n – not Cap’n Moreland mind – promised him work above deck if he’d teach me the sail makin’. First learned it when I was seven.”
“Seven? That young? And you can make clothes too?”
“Aye, ma’am. I make ’em and I repair ’em. I hope ya like ’em.” He proudly held out his little bundle.
As she accepted them, Emily thought her heart
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