I couldn’t say a loveless marriage to a simpleminded man, so I said, “A future I don’t want, sir.”
As I set the barrel down again, I stood before him and waited.
“I could use a cabin boy. It’ll give you time to put some meat on your bones and learn the ropes. In a year or two, if you work hard, you could be a rigger or an able-bodied seaman.”
I swallowed the excitement and nodded quickly.
“What’s your name?”
I opened my mouth to say Caroline, but that wouldn’t do. Grandfather had often told me that he needed a male to inherit his life’s work and that he wished I had been born a Carl instead of a Caroline, so that was the name I would use.
“Carl Baldwin,” I told him, taking my last name from 1927.
The captain nodded. “Help load the rest of the cargo onto the launch, Carl Baldwin. We’ll pull anchor soon.”
“Thank you, sir.” I nodded quickly and then turned to help with the cargo. The sooner we left the harbor, the sooner I could breathe easily that Grandfather wouldn’t find me.
I was on my way to Nassau—almost.
The sun was high as the ship left the harbor. I stood on the main deck, watching Charleston slip away as the crew set sail.
I had never been on a ship in this life and was surprised at how tight it was packed with cargo, livestock, and crewmen. Ducks, geese, and chickens squawked from their coops at the front of the ship, while piglets wandered the main deck uncaged. They squealed as the ship started to heave in the water and make its way out to sea. Cattle lowed in the ship’s hold, and goats were tied up on the main deck, bleating their anger at leaving shore. I’d already seen two cats parading about the ship, one orange and the other black, and had been told they were there to catch the rats that inhabited the hold.
How long would it take for this vessel to smell like a barn? I had only been on the ship for a few hours, and I was already tired of the smell of pine tar, wet wood, tobacco smoke, and unwashed bodies. But I wouldn’t complain, not even to myself. I was free of Grandfather’s plans and on my way to find my mother. I could put up with unwelcome smells for a few weeks.
“Baldwin!” the quartermaster called to me from the quarterdeck where he was standing with the captain. “You’re needed in the galley.”
I shaded my eyes as I looked up at him and nodded.
My gaze roamed the ship for the galley as I tried not to appear inept or nervous. I had warned the captain that I was new to sailing—but I didn’t want the rest of the crew to know the truth.
“It’s in the bow,” a sailor said as he stood beside me, pulling ropes hand over fist.
I turned to him, trying to remember I was supposed to be a boy and not a young woman. “Where?”
“There.” He nodded his head toward the front of the ship. As he spoke, I noticed several of his teeth were missing. His skin was tanned dark from the sun and had a leather quality about it that spoke of the sea. “Through that hatch and down the ladder, ye’ll find the cook in the galley.” He chuckled. “I started out as a cabin boy meself. Ye’ll find yer way, soon enough.”
“Thank you.” I nodded my appreciation and then made my way across the main deck, avoiding a collision with a piglet, and tried to stay out of the way as the crew raised the sails. It felt like I was listening to a foreign language as the crew yelled words I’d never heard before.Bowsprit,forecastle,mizzenmast,capstan, andratlines.
The hatch was open, so I stepped onto the ladder, thankful again for my breeches.
More smells assailed me as I entered the galley. Woodsmoke, grease, and sweat among them. It was hot, and the ceiling was low. Barrels, cotton bags, and wooden boxes filled the room from floor to ceiling, so there was little space to move around. A large cookstove and a worktable were the central pieces of the room as utensils, pots, pans, and more swung from the rafters.
“So, they’ve found me some help, have they?” a man asked as he snarled at my arrival. He was a short fellow with a white apron covering his dirty clothes. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his face was greasy. “Are you any good, is what I want to know. Do ye have experience in a kitchen?”
“Aye, sir,” I told him. I learned to cook and clean at a young age at the plantation. I could butcher chickens, pigs, and cows. I had planted and oversaw the vegetable gardens and knew how toharvest and preserve food, make cheese and butter, and cook or bake. In my 1927 life, I was taught many of the same basic skills, though we lived in Minneapolis and bought most of our meat at the butcher, the produce from the grocer, and the bread from the baker. Our milk was delivered once a week, and we had a hired girl who lived on the third floor and helped with the cooking and cleaning.
“We’ll see if yer experience is good enough. I’m Harry,” he said. “And ye’ll be working for me when ye’re not running for the captain or the quartermaster, ye understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have ye been told where ye’ll sleep?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t been told anything.”
“Ye’ll sleep with the crew in the forecastle.”
I opened my mouth to inquire about the location of the forecastle, but he wasn’t finished.
