The Mannequin Makers by Craig Cliff

Author:Craig Cliff
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781571319661
Publisher: Milkweed Editions
Published: 2017-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

A Sailor’s Life

Contrary to the jovial, gibing atmosphere I had experienced among the crew that first morning as they helped to mount Vengeance to the bow, I found myself ignored or worse by my fellow sailors once at sea. I was ‘Slimy’, ‘Polly’ or ‘Porter’s Parrot’ to the men before the mast. When they sidled past me in the narrow passageways I was treated to a sneer or a malicious, unsettling wink. At first this resentment puzzled me, as did so much of shipboard life, but in time I understood. I was untrained in the ways of the sea and yet Porter had enlisted me as an officer, circumventing the usual order of things. Some men had to take on extra duties while I was taught the ropes, none more so than Meiklejohn, the bosun. He never said a word to me or acknowledged my presence, but took great pleasure in shaking off his oilskins beside my bunk whenever he came in from a rainy watch. The other men spoke behind their hands as I entered the galley to receive my portion. My inexperience was no trifling matter for the crew: it could one day put their lives in danger.

During fine weather, I was called at daylight and worked at my trade until the sun set. Every day I was to pay the ship and its boats a full inspection and carry out any necessary repairs. During the first fortnight I relied on Porter to instruct me in what to look for, how the various booms and winches worked and how repairs might be made to ensure a seaworthy, watertight vessel. I was also expected to take frequent readings of the ship’s draught and report to Captain Bock if the results were of concern. Should a leak spring over the stores or the sail room, it was up to me to stop it. When the weather allowed, I spent my free time above decks, fashioning plugs for such eventualities.

As carpenter, I was stationed with the larboard watch but was not expected to handle the light sails or go above the topsail yards unless repairs were needed. When all hands were called, however, I had to pull and haul about the decks with the other sailors and, if necessary, reef and furl aloft. The call to go up into the rigging invariably came in foul weather or when the Agathos was carrying a heavy press of sail. The head for heights my father had instilled in the drydock was found wanting that first time Porter took me up the modest distance to the main top. The added motion of the waves set the mast oscillating like an inverted pendulum. Keeping your balance was difficult enough without having to handle the sheets or carry out repairs.

‘It’s the world that’s moving,’ Porter shouted from his side of the mast, this first time aloft, ‘not the ship.’

‘That’s daft,’ I said, clinging to the shrouds that led further up the mast.

‘It mightn’t be true, but it helps.

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