Barbados — Wednesday, 16th December 1676

Captain and I embraced the morning while the first yellow glow of sunrise streamed through the stern windows. As we separated, he said, "Your father's rule seems correct, Boy. Not a cloud to be seen, and this bodes well for confirming the latitude as we approach Barbados."

"How much remains to there, Sir?"

"Less than a day. Come, I will show you the plot."

At the high table, he pointed to the long line pencilled on the chart with 15h Dec written in a fine hand below it. "This was our star from last evening, and we were somewhere along this line, but we have continued sailing west from there. I estimate we now have between eighty and one hundred and fifty miles remaining."

I felt very much at ease with him as I examined the series of lines across the chart, nodding. "And the farther we sailed from land, the less accurate our estimate of distance, thus the lengthening line."

"Exactly, Boy." He patted my shoulder. "You will make a fine navigator."

"Thank you, Sir. It warms me to hear you say this."

He smiled down at me, then pointed aft through the windows at the foam-crested waves following us. "If this breeze remains, we might make land before day's end."

"And if we do not?"

"Then we must reduce sail to move only sufficiently to maintain steerage and to not roll into the troughs of the seas as we head into the night. The danger is not at sea; rather, it is with the land."

Wanting to show I was a boy of fourteen, I asked, "Is that where the pirates are?"

"No, Boy. Barbados provides no place for them to hide. The island is small, maybe fifteen by twenty miles, and it has none of the deep coves and narrow embayments of other islands."

"So, why are we going there?"

"To discharge some of our cargo. Crates of copper and tinware and crockery and glassware, and also, nails, bolts, hinges, glazing and other materials for building. The settlements here fast expand as the plantation of sugar spreads."

I nodded. "How long will the discharging take?"

"A day and much of another, but before we continue west, we will take on water, fresh food, casks of rumbullion and–"

"Rumbullion? What is that?"

He twisted his face in a grimace. "A fiery fuddling liquor they make there from boiled sugar cane. But as foul as it is, it has a fine market in Port Royal. We will trade it there for more fresh food and–."

"Is that where the pirates are?"

"Yes, but as a safe refuge now, Boy. But it had been a prime haven for them before we captured the island from Spain about twenty years ago. Those who have remained now attack only foreign shipping. Those who still wish to attack English ships have been driven off to find other places to hide."

"So, where will we capture them?"

"Most have moved to the islands north of Hispaniola and Cuba to prey on shipping through the Windward and the Florid Passages. We will leave it to others to find their new hiding holes and havens."

I was about to speak when the bell pealed, and after the seventh and final had sounded, I pointed forward and said, "Duty calls, Sir. I will fetch our breakfast."

<><><>

Several hours later, when the sun was high overhead, Captain took me to the quarterdeck to explain and demonstrate the use of the Davis quadrant to measure the sun's height above the horizon. He had me try it to prove its simplicity, and after reading the angle I had measured, I shook my head and said, "I have made an error. It shows just above thirty-five degrees."

"No, Boy, not an error. With the Earth's wobble, the sun is now near the southern tropic, about twenty-three and a half degrees south of the Equator. We have tables of its daily declination, and we must subtract this from our reading."

I nodded as I cyphered, then I replied, "We have moved southward. We are now below twelve degrees."

Captain laughed and pointed upward. "No, the sun still ascends in the sky. We will continue reading it while it rises, and when it stops, we call the time noon and ring eight."

I smiled to show him my comprehension.

He smiled back and added, "Your duty now is to read it every few minutes, watching for it to slow to a halt. That should come as the reading approaches thirty-six and a half."

Not long after three bells pealed, a cry came from aloft, "Land ho! Fine the starboard bow, Sir."

A cheer rose from those on deck. Then in the quiet which followed, I now knew not to look, so I continued reading the sun. When finally its rise had stopped, I told Captain, and he called for eight bells. That made me feel so honoured and important. That I could cause time to change. I chuckled to myself. My signal to fetch lunch, but I had done that well over an hour and a half ago.

I pondered the relationship between time and position while I returned the quadrant to its case. Captain was engaged in intercourse with his officers, so not to disturb him, I took the instrument below to the great cabin, and I busied myself with dusting.

Hours later, long after I finished and had sat in the windows to read, Captain descended to use the privy. When he began up the steps again, he said, "Come up top, Boy. Watch how we bring the ship alongside the wharf."

I stood out of the way, where he had told me, and I marvelled at the complex intricacy of sails being changed and then furled. Such a better perspective here than from the barrels at the base of the mast.

Zeelandia glided into the broad bay with only a jib and the mizzen still pulling, and as the longboats were lowered to the water, I was reminded of ships arriving at the wharves in Portsmouth. I sighed and smiled. Already so much more here than there.

I watched the men strain on the longboat sweeps as they pulled us toward the large town, but more, I watched Captain as he gave order upon order with a calm quietness to bring Zeelandia to her mooring lines on the wharf.

A new land. A new love. A new life.

While the activity slowed, seven bells sounded. Time to fetch supper. When I saw Captain unoccupied, I approached and asked. "Sir, shall I fetch supper now?"

He looked at the activity, then nodded. "Yes, my First Officer will do the formalities ashore." Then he pointed to the sun. "We are near two hours late because of the change. I am well hungry."

Half an hour later, as we sat enjoying intercourse after supper, I asked, "Why are women not allowed aboard?"

"Because they..." he paused and stroked his beard. "Because they are not. It is said that evil befalls a ship with women among the crew."

"By whom is it said?"

"By tradition."

"And who established this tradition?"

"Mariners in days gone by." He shrugged. "The Greeks, the Romans, the wise of olden times."

"And in these modern times, does a myth such as this still have merit?"

He looked at me askance. "It is not a myth, Boy. It is similar to not ever changing a ship's name, to not ever commencing a voyage on a Friday, and other rules going back through antiquity."

"And how do you know these things? Have you experienced them?"

"No, they have been told to me as I learnt the lore of the sea."

"Have you tested their veracity?"

He shook his head. "I have not."

I smiled. "Then tell me, Sir. Zeelandia sailed for nine years with a changed name. What evil befell her during that time?"

He pursed his lips in a long pause, then he said, "None." He shook his head. "None. You are a bright boy, Camille."

"Thank you, Sir. And were I a girl, would you love me as much?"

He tilted his head and peered into my eyes. "I would love all my children the same."

"And were I a woman, would you want me as your wife?"

"I would." He paused and nodded. "You have all that I might desire in a woman. The spirit, the adventurous nature, the intelligence, the love, the caring manner. You have all but the parts."

I opened a button and reached into my shirtfront, pulling the binding from my bosom and shaking my shoulders.

His eyes grew round as they followed the swinging bulges beneath my shirt. Then his visage clouded, and it remained severe as he washed his face with his hands.

Silent.

For a long while silent.

I trembled, daring not to speak.

Then in his deep voice, he said, "I am unclean." And pointing, he continued, "To your quarters, Camille. Do not show your face until I bid."

Cloistered in the closet, I wept. Oh, God! What have I done? He seemed so ready to accept that I am not a curse.

While I wept, I heard doors opening and closing and other activity muffled by my own door. I strained to see through the ventilation holes and understand what was happening out there, but nothing strange appeared in their limited scope.

I dried my tears and resolved to remove his curse. While I bundled my few belongings, I wondered. Shakespeare? Should I leave it for him? He was enthralled as I read the plays to him.

I heard the door to his privy open and close, and I dared open my door to peek. Seeing the cabin clear, I hefted my bundle and rushed out onto the main deck and to the gangplank.

"Duty ashore," I managed to say to the barrel-chested man as I pointed.