Mean Sun Read Online Free

of the young men who had been pressed with me, William Beal, collecting his hammock. He was the one among us who had not been suffered a drubbing, but now appeared as fatigued as myself. Leaning close he inquired:
    “Where do you sleep the first night?”
    “In a bloody coil of ropes,” I answered. “Have you eaten yet, William?”
    “Aye,” he whispered. “Our mess is served on the sixth watch. Listen for it.”
    “I am most grateful to you,” I replied. “What of the others?”
    “I see little of them,” he said. “Desmond and Flowers are on cannons fourteen and twenty. Jacob Flowers has been beaten by one of the warrant officers.”
    “For what offense?”
    “Talking while at his post.” Beal lowered his voice to barely an urgent whisper. “They say there are rumors we will engage.”
    “I’ve never seen fighting, have you?”
    William Beal shook his head.
    “How do ye fare, Daniel?” he asked, keeping a sharp eye out for officers.
    “I believe I would rather die than suffer this cruelty any longer,” I responded with bitter misery. “I will escape the moment I can.”
    “What do you make of Mr. Brooks there?” he asked nodding discreetly at that gentleman.
    “I despise the man,” I said.
    At this, William wordlessly handed me one of the hammocks. On those first days William Beal was my only sympathetic ear, particularly on the subject of Mr. Brooks.
    I found a place in the coolness of the lower deck to hang my hammock. This, however, was where the stenches of the ship’s deposits were stored. They drifted through the darkness like the oily skein of a dead pond; the mawkish grey-green of the ship’s bilge, the fetid blues of mold and rot, the acrid yellow of vermin, and, of course, the damp purple of decades of human cargo.
    With not a small amount of dexterity I pulled myself into my hammock, which was coarse and musty. Once in, the sides enveloped me, so that my liberty of movement was restricted. My right ankle was exposed below my pant leg and this caused me considerable discomfort, as my naked anklebone chaffed against the canvas until it became bloody raw and burned like a hot coal had touched it. All about me I was visited by the cranky sounds of ship. Beams cracked and groaned, unnamed pings, snaps and thuds resounded everywhere. The busy feet of sailors drumming down the steps lasted throughout the watch.
    Still, on that second night were the first moments I had to consider my plight. Time and all the swirling crosscurrents of my life had come to rest in this gloomy chamber. I welcomed the comforting glow of the single candle near Mr. Riley’s store. A vision of my uncle’s and aunt’s faces rose before me. I saw them wandering the docks searching for me, along with my sister, my dear sister. What agony must poison their expectations of ever finding me? I held up the measure of my affection to them to the daily torment they would endure. Death would be a better repose than this canvas sack. Tears streamed down my cheeks. To drain away those melancholy images, each night for weeks I thought of Joseph Brooks and savored my hatred of him. It became so that the hard labor of my days was light duty against the toiling strain of my reflections.
    Two days hence, I thought my connection to Grimmel had all but dissolved. He had approached me one time and tested myability to read and write by dictating paragraphs from a book while I wrote them down. He read at first at a temperate pace, but then faster and faster as I struggled to keep up with him. He gave me no indication how I fared, but simply closed the book, took up the writing implements and disappeared.
    That night, I felt a hand gently shaking me awake. The visage of Grimmel, lantern in hand, hovered above me like a ghastly bloom.
    “Wake, Wren,” said he. “We have business to attend.”
    Up the gangway I went close on Grimmel’s heels. Grimmel took great, leaping strides, which caused the light from the lantern to dance crazily