Inception of Piracy Chapter 2

2

What was that sound? Giovanni brought a muddy hand up to his throbbing head. He listened again. There were men shouting, women screaming, the sounds of struggle and it was all getting louder, closer. He slowly raised himself onto one elbow and looked around. Where was he? He tried to remove the cobwebs from his brain. He remembered the sailors, Bayley, that horrible drink. Then......the alley. He was freezing. He looked down, all he had on were his undergarments. He felt the lump on his head. He began to see clearly......

“Look...Down there!” The voice was very close. He looked up the alley to see three men running towards him. They wore the cream colored pants and striped shirts he had seen on Royal Navy sailors and they were all big, muscular, and angry looking. Two of them carried sticks and the third had musket and a thick rope draped around his neck. Giovanni scrambled to get up out of the mud but his bare feet kept slipping and he felt dizzy. A slap and a sharp pain in his shoulder sent him sprawling face down in the muck again. He struggled to rise but a heavy boot on his back pushed him down.

“Not so fast boy. Her Majesty has need of your services,” growled one of the men sarcastically. The others laughed. His head was yanked up by the hair.

“Good thin’ for him, looks like he could use some straigtenin’ out.”

“Bos’un ‘ll take care of that!” More laughter. Giovanni struggled against their grip.

“Now strugglin’ won’ help boy,” threatened one as they pulled him to his feet and pushed him face first against the wall. One of the stones cut his cheek.

“No......I’m not..” Giovanni struggled as he felt ropes being wrapped around his hands and arms. A huge hand grabbed his head and shoved it against the wall. Giovanni saw a bright flash for a moment and felt his knees buckle.

“Now we won’ be ‘avin’ no discussions of the matter.” The ropes got tighter and cut into his bare arms. He groaned in pain. They spun him around.

“Now le’s not be stroppy...sailor,” spit the leader into his face. His breath stank and tobacco spittle ran out one corner of his mouth. Giovanni could feel the warm blood running down his cheek. He just dropped his head, feeling stupid and helpless.

“Tha’s a good boy...le’s go!” The two men with the sticks each grabbed an arm and pulled him along. They turned onto the street and he saw Gertie standing at the doorway of the Blue Pearl. When she recognized him she put her hand to her mouth and then closed her eyes, shaking her head. She said nothing. He was alone, no one was going to help him.

In the intersection with Watling street there was a small group of men like him surrounded by more menacing sailors. Giovanni quickly counted eleven of them.

“Found ‘im sleepin’ in the gutter!” laughed one of his captors.

“That it?” inquired the officer. He looked to be about Giovanni’s age and wore an immaculate maroon coat, spotless white breeches, a large, gold laced hat, and even his boots seemed to repel the filth of the street. His small, close set eyes and hooked nose gave him a predatory look. His strong, deep voice carried the air of authority.

“Near as I can tell....been all over town. Every tavern, shop, flophouse and....gutter.” The last word was accentuated by a yank on Giovanni’s arm.

“Alright, get them in the cutter and take them out to the Vitol.”

“Aye sir.” They pushed him along to join the rest of the group. He shivered in the cold wind sweeping down the street. As he trudged along, he discreetly glanced around at his fellow unfortunates. They were of all ages and, apparently by their dress, economic circumstances. There were several clusters of women and children following the group, crying, pleading for the release of their husbands or fathers. Occasionally when they got too close, the sailors roughly pushed them away. Undeterred, they continued their supplications all the way to the wharf.

Out in the harbor was a frigate of about twenty-six guns. He could see small figures working on deck but his eyes were drawn to the men climbing about in the rigging. He swallowed hard. Although he’d been around ships all his life, going aloft was something he dreaded. A nasty fall in his youth had cured him of his curiosity and desire to follow the sailors up the mast. As the son of the owner, he was shielded from the necessity to do any ‘dirty’ work he didn’t want to so he had confined his seamanship to navigation and the helm.

“Get a move on!” One of the sailors gruffly pushed an older man who stumbled and fell. Some of the sailors laughed. Giovanni shook his head. The English certainly seemed to be a cruel people.

“We sail at three bells! Get them into the boats!” One by one they were roughly herded into two boats and a sailor stationed himself behind each pair of men. They pushed off and when they had rowed about fifty yards from the dock, they began untying the new conscripts.

“Time for your first lesson boys!” bellowed a harsh voice from the sternsheets. “Grab an oar and don’t try anything stupid. Pull when I tell you.” Giovanni rubbed his wrists after the ropes were removed and noticed red welts all the way up his forearms. His head was still throbbing. As he grabbed the oar with both hands, a splash to his left caught his attention. One of the younger men in the other boat had gone over the side in a desperate bid to escape. A woman on the wharf screamed when one of the sailors whacked him on the head with an oar. He went under for a moment and then two of the sailors reached down into the water and pulled him up and into the boat. They dropped his unconscious body in the bottom.

“Damn fool, don’t any of you try that!” threatened the man at the tiller. “Now pull!”

The boat lurched to one side as the uneven strokes of the new rowers bit into the water.

“Damn your eyes....Together! Pull!!” The boat lurched again and two of the sailors hit the men in front of them with knotted ropes.

“Pull!” The boat moved a little more smoothly now. “Pull!” Their weary bodies fell into a rhythm as they began gliding across the harbor. As they neared the ship he could see the topsails being loosed though not a breath of wind stirred the waters of the harbor. The two boats positioned themselves at the bow of the Vitol.

“Line away!” Giovanni looked up to see a heavy line fall across the stern of his boat. The helmsman quickly tied it fast. Above his head on the deck there were more shouts and the anchor rode began to slowly slide up through the hawsepipe.

“Put your backs into it boys! Time and tide wait for no one! Pull!!” Giovanni wearily readjusted his grip on the oar and pulled. The boats moved quickly out in front of the frigate as the anchor cleared the water. The ropes tightened. “Pull!” At first nothing happened. His hands were sore and he could feel blisters developing. Then the frigate began to move. Slowly they steered it so it pointed downriver and then they pulled it with the tide. Occasionally one of the men received a smack with the rope but by this time they were all too weary to protest their treatment. There was just the motion of the oars, the slap of the water, the aching shoulders and hands.

He heard a cheer from the frigate.

“Oars up!” He leaned on his oar and looked up. A slight breeze had filled the topsails and one of the courses was being set. “Your job’s done for now, back to the Vitol.” They rowed slowly to the side of the frigate. One by one they climbed up and spilled onto the deck. Men were running or pulling lines as a rapid set of orders flowed from the quarterdeck.

“This way boys..” They were rudely herded aft. A cadaverous looking old man with poor posture and a fleshy neck that reminded Giovanni of a chicken took a seat behind a coarse wooden table. He opened a large, leather bound book. The reluctant sailors were formed into a line before the table with much pushing, threatening and yelling.

“Name,” the purser asked lazily, looking up at the tall, wiry, middle-aged man with a slight paunch before him. Giovanni remembered him as one of the men whose wife and tow-headed young son had followed him pleading for his release. He was tired but defiant.

“You and Her Majesty’s royal navy can go...”

A nearby sailor rushed up swinging a heavy knotted rope. It caught the man hard in the side of the head, sending him sprawling across the deck.

“We will have no such talk here!” Then he kicked him in the side for good measure. “The next outburst will get you flogged!” Another sailor grabbed the man and roughly stood him up in front of the table. His knees were shaking.

“Name?” asked the man behind the table as if nothing had happened.

“Sam...” he coughed. “Samuel Higgens.” The purser wrote it down as Higgens was pushed aside and the next man moved to the front.

“Name?”

“Peter Graves,” he stated in a squeaky voice. Peter did not look as old as Giovanni, short and thin with blonde, curly hair and just a hint of a beard.

“Next..” yawned the purser. Giovanni was pushed before the table. He just looked down at the purser.

“Name?” he asked, an edge of annoyance in his voice.

“Bartolli, Giovanni Bartolli. But I’m not Eng...” A crack of the rope at the side of his head sent him crashing to the deck.

“No more information is necessary Mr. Bartolli,” stated the purser. “Next..”

He was grabbed and brought to his feet and then pushed after Peter. They were driven forward like animals. Men were still scurrying around them as the ship continued to make it’s way down the river. “Down there!” The burly sailor pointed to the hatch leading below to the fo’c’le. As he followed Peter down the steps the stench of stale vomit, sweat and sewage assaulted him. His head was still splitting from his hangover and a possible concussion and his stomach wasn’t in much better shape. He was herded into the semi-darkness. There were several hammocks strung around and a few chests. The rest of the men were filing in.

“Line up against the bulkhead!” The sailor giving the orders was short enough not to have to bow too much below the deck beams. In his youth he had probably been well built but now his middle had caught up with his broad shoulders. His voice was stern but his pale blue eyes betrayed a boredom with his duty.

Giovanni stooped down and headed to the far end with the others.

“You..and you..” The sailor began pairing them up. He ended up with a short, pudgy, older man named Edward Fowler. By the looks of his pale, fleshy cheeks, soft hands and expensive dress, Giovanni guessed he hadn’t seen physical labor in a long time.

“You will share a hammock. One of you will be on watch at all times, the other will have the bunk. If the call is for ‘all hands’ everyone will get on deck immediately!” The last was said in a rather threatening tone. “You!” he pointed at Giovanni. “The slop chest has some spare togs, find something.” Giovanni looked at him quizzically. “Clothes boy!” Giovanni nodded. “You will all stay here out of the way until you’re called,” he ordered as he climbed up the ladder to the deck. Giovanni headed over and opened the trunk. It was musty and the clothes were spotted with mold. He pulled out a green shirt and some pants that were entirely to big. He began digging a little more.

“Get outta the way boy!” He was shoved to the side by a tall, overweight man twice his age. He had a scraggly beard and a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. His eyes were blue and hard. He began rummaging through the chest.

“Leave the boy John,” said another man as he grabbed John by the collar and yanked him back. “He needs them more than you!” John scrambled to his feet and in the cramped space of the fo’c’sle stared down his antagonist.

“Willie, if you wasn’t my brother in law...” Looking at them, Giovanni would have put his money on Willie. He was slightly shorter but well built and he looked fast and nimble.

“You’d what, get beat again?” Willie laughed. John stomped off into a corner to brood.

“Sorry about ‘im boy. Little upset. Must be somethin’ in here for ya.” He put his hand on Giovanni’s shoulder and steered him back to the chest.

“Thank..you..” he stuttered.

“Not from around here, eh boy?”

“No, from Genoa..”

“Genoa! You’re a long way from ‘ome! Well, you’re stuck wit’ us fer a while. Better make the best of it.” He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Will, Will Dillon.”

“Giovanni...Bartolli.” He grasped Will’s hand and looked into his kind, green eyes. His face was round, seemingly out of place with his lean, muscular frame. He had an ugly scar above his left eye and a small ragged one on his prominent chin. His easy smile revealed a mouthful of crooked, teeth. His hands were hard and calloused.

“Pleasure to meet you. That bloke over there,” he said pointing in John’s direction, “is John Boyle. Like I said, ‘e don't mean no ‘arm, jus’ angry cause he didn’t think they’d get ‘im.” John just grunted. “Now jus’ find something and get dressed. I ‘ave a feeling our day’s not over yet.”

Giovanni nodded and began looking through the chest again. He found a white shirt more his size that wasn’t too moldy but all of the pants were too big.

“Here, use this, it’ll ‘ave to do for now.” Will handed him a piece of rope and he put it around his waist to hold up the over-sized pants. They were made of wool and very itchy. “Very nice,” joked Will. A couple of the others snickered as well. He smiled weakly.

“Dillon! Will Dillon!”

Will turned and squinted in the darkness as a man pushed his way toward them in the dim light.

“Sam, is that you?” He reached out his hand and smiled broadly as Sam took it. Samuel smiled back. “How’d they get you?”

“Ah, me an’ Eli left the shop later than usual...damn it! What the hell is going to become of my business? I was jus’ starting to really get things going.”

“I know, I know...” Will turned to Giovanni. “Bartolli, this is Sam Higgens, best carpenter along the Medway and beyond!”

Giovanni shook his hand, it was strong and callused.

“Don’t go saying nothin’ about carpentry, last thing I want the navy to know is that I know somethin’...you remember that Bartolli, don’t let ‘im think you know something or it’ll be twice the duty!”

“Si, thank you, I’ll remember that.”

“Ah, not from our pleasant isle, eh boy?”

“Bartolli’s from Genoa,” added Will.

“Long way from home eh? Well, we’re all in the same boat,” he chuckled. Giovanni just smiled weakly. “Jus’ hope the officers know their duty and ain’t none to hard..”

“Now you got to take your own advice Sam, do your duty and don’t cause no trouble.”

“Who, me?” shrugged Sam with a wink.

“All hands on deck!” came the command from above.

“Time to go..” winked Will as he headed for the ladder.

Giovanni climbed into the cold misty morning. The river had opened up and they were moving more rapidly in the strengthening breeze. Most of the sailors had assembled in the waist of the ship. Several men stood on the quarterdeck, one of whom was a short, fat man in a blue coat with gold trim. His droopy upper eyelids, fleshy cheeks and weak chin gave his face a dull look.

“All hands aft!” yelled a tall, well proportioned man to the captain’s right. He wore a light blue coat, white breeches and stockings and brilliantly shiny black shoes with gold buckles. His resonant voice emanated from a wide mouth. His piercing eyes were a brilliant green. The men on the deck shuffled closer. It was quiet save for the water gurgling along the side and the creaking of the rigging. The helmsman adjusted the wheel slightly.

“Gentleman,” began the captain. His voice was high and caustic. “I have our orders.” He adjusted his hands behind his back and rocked slightly. “But first let me introduce myself to our new crew members...” a snicker went through the crowd of sailors as some looked in the direction of Giovanni and his unfortunate compatriots. “...I am Captain William Francis Littlewort. Welcome to Her Majesty’s ship Vitol.” A cheer went up from about two thirds of the crew. Giovanni guessed that the rest of the men had been pressed as he was. “This is a fighting ship and there will be prize money if we handle ourselves well. Discipline will be strictly adhered to and every man will be expected to pull his weight.” Giovanni watched the color rise in the captain’s pale, fleshy cheeks as he spoke and his voice became even more shrill. “Those who don’t will become well acquainted with Mr. Quinn and his cat.” He gestured to a middle aged man to his left, of average height. He had a powerful chest and arms, was heavily tattooed with a pockmarked face and steely blue gray eyes. He held a rope, split at the ends into several smaller ropes with knots on the end. That was his ‘cat’ or ‘cat-’o-nine-tails’. “Orders will be obeyed immediately and without question! Now, our orders..” He brought a paper out from a pocket inside his coat and squinted at it. “ ‘The Vitol is to proceed to the mouth of the channel and join the Antelope and Reserve on patrol for privateers’ ”. A smile came over the captains face. “You know what that means boys!”

“Prize money!” they shouted nearly in unison. A cheer went up among them.

“Aye!” He replied, raising a fat fist up in the air. “Mr. Rooke, if you please.” He nodded to the tall man on his right, the one with the immaculate clothing.

“Aye, sir,” he replied, nodding slightly. Even from the waist of the ship Giovanni could detect his aristocratic arrogance. He no doubt came from a higher station than the captain and to Giovanni, his contempt was obvious. The captain either didn’t care or was too dull-witted to take note. Giovanni guessed it was the latter.

Rooke then turned to the crew. “Alright men, take the reef out of the courses and man the braces. Haul the foretops'l sheets, she flapping like a whore’s dress in Plymouth! This is one of Her Majesty’s ships, not a damn merchantman!” His voice was loud and booming, commanding authority. Men ran to grab lines, others scrambled up the ratlin’s to set more sail. Giovanni and the men with him were unsure of what to do as the cacophony of orders continued their staccato flow from the quarterdeck.

“Stand to boys!” Giovanni spun around to see the bos’un and his cat. He was accompanied by a slightly larger sailor. The first thing he noticed about him was how hairy he was, deep red hair all over his body. He was built much like the bos’un and had a deep scar running from his left eye to his jaw. His bulging eyes gave him a slightly comical appearance muted by the thick piece of rope with a knot in it’s end he was twisting in his huge hands. Giovanni knew what that was for by now.

“This is Mr. Clay,” stated the bos’un, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his thin lips. “He’s going to be in charge of you for the next few weeks. He is going to give you orders and you will follow them, quickly and without question. You will learn every inch of this ship from the bilge to the mast head. You will learn to scrub this ship from the bilge to the mast top. You will pull lines until your hands bleed, you will pump until your arms are ready to fall off. Welcome aboard boys!” He stated sarcastically. “All yours Mr. Clay.” He then spun on his heel and left.

Mr. Clay smiled, revealing a toothless grin. “You four..” He pointed to Giovanni, Will and two other men standing at the end of the formation. The lack of teeth made his speech slurred. “To da pumps!” Giovanni and the other three began walking in the direction Clay had pointed. He quickly swung his rope, hitting the man next to Giovanni. “Run!” he yelled. They hurried to the pump. Four men were already on the handles and they stopped as Giovanni’s group approached. They were all breathing heavily from the exertion.

“Two on each side, up and down,” one of them offered, “tha’s it.” They hurried away to other tasks. Giovanni took a place opposite Will. He pulled down tentatively on the bar. It barely moved. Pain shot through his palms where the blisters from rowing were still open and oozing. One of the other two grabbed the bar next to him. He was shorter but heavier than Giovanni. He gave a heave and the bar slowly came down. Giovanni tried to push with him. Will and the other man then pushed their side down, bringing his up.

“Come on boy, push!” growled the man next to him. Giovanni tightened his grip, trying to ignore the pain in his hands and arms and pushed the bar down. It went faster this time. Brown water came out the side and ran across the deck into the scuppers. It stank horribly. The bar was quickly up again and he pushed. They soon fell into a rhythm just as they had while rowing. Pain shot through hands with every stroke and his shoulders and arms were burning after ten minutes. Across the pump, Will’s face was red with exertion, sweat ran into his eyes and down his cheeks. The bilge water continued to come. Up and down. Up and down. This must be what hell is like. He had never seen sailors on his father’s ships treated this way. Certainly a life at sea was no picnic and discipline was important but the bos’uns in Genoa didn’t carry their cats or knotted ropes around with them.

“Quit slacking boy!” Giovanni felt the heavy knot fall on his back, knocking the wind out of him. He fell to his knees, his chin hitting the bar. “Don’t stop ‘till it’s empty! Get up!” Giovanni weakly got to his feet, anger infusing him with new energy. He stared at the deck and pumped. “You, that’s not how it’s done!” bellowed Clay, leaving the pumpers to go torment someone else. He soon heard a thump and a cry followed by more yelling. Giovanni just kept pumping. Twenty minutes later the pump made a gurgling sound and the flow diminished and then stopped. Hesitantly, the men stopped pumping.

“‘Bout time boys,” Clay called from across the deck. “Over here!” Giovanni shuffled over, rubbing his raw hands. Clay was standing amid a large pile of old, frayed line. “Sit down and start picking this rope apart, little pieces like this,” he stated, holding up a small piece of flax. “Put it in this bag. Do this until I find something else for you. An’ try not to make a donkey’s breakfast of it,” he threw over his shoulder as he wandered off. Giovanni plopped down on a pile of rope, still rubbing his hands. Will groaned as he sat down next to him.

“Tough day so far..” he sighed. Giovanni just hung his head.

“Heard we’re pulling out of the war since old king Joe died,” said one of the other men. He was thin and perhaps five years older than Giovanni. His face was gaunt and his long, thin nose with a large bump was his most prominent feature. Fleshy lips revealed a ready smile and his sky blue eyes danced with mirth even in their exhausted state. His blonde hair was cut very close.

“Matthews ‘ere is an eternal optimist,” Will stated, elbowing Giovanni gently.

“Go crazy if not...second kid’s due in a month, I don’t want to miss much. Maybe we’ll get lucky and take a prize. Money sure would ‘elp.”

“Boy, you are crazy,” piped up the other man, the oldest of the group. His head only had a smattering of gray hair left, his full, weather-beaten face seemed to have a permanent scowl. “I heard ‘ol Littlewort hasn’t ever taken a ship. Only 'as a command ‘cause his father in law’s in the admiralty,” he hissed.

“Crew seems more optimistic that that,” retorted Matthews.

“Cotgrave here is just the opposite, can’t you tell?” Will added.

“If we keep this tub afloat and ‘ol ‘Wort don’t do nothin’ stupid, at least it ain’t a death sentence.” Giovanni figured that was the most positive thing Cotgrave could come up with. “‘Course my business ‘ll be gone by the time I get back. Bet that bum Eyton ‘ll take it all,” he grunted.

“Cotgrave is a blacksmith, has a nice house overlooking the harbor...”

“Had, bet the landlord throws out the wife and kids and takes it for himself!”

“Ah, your brother ‘ll take care of ‘em,” added Matthews. Cotgrave just grunted and shook his head.

“What about you Bartolli?” Asked Will.

He looked up from his lap where a small pile of rope strands had accumulated.

“My family’s in Genoa. I came here for my father’s business. I arrived yesterday, was robbed last night and I am here today.” His voice was barely above a whisper but the venom in his words was apparent to all. Will shook his head.

“Tough break,” stated Matthews compassionately.

“Yeah, it’s tough for all of us,” grunted Cotgrave unsympathetically.

They just sat there quietly, picking oakum for a while.

“That’s enough boys,” stated Clay walking over. “Put it in those bags and head below. You’re all on first watch, get some rest. You’ll get your hash just before your watch.” He walked away. They all loaded up their oakum and headed to the hatch, everyone too tired to say anything more. They went down into fo’c’sle, stepping carefully. In the open mouth of the river the ship was pitching much more than before. Several men were already in their hammocks, swinging gently with the ship. Some of them were groaning in misery. He was too tired to care. He’d been at sea too many times to be sick. He collapsed into a lower hammock and stared at the swaying lump above him. The man was breathing heavily and groaning occasionally. Giovanni closed his eyes, his weary body falling asleep almost instantly.