Zealand

17. A New Home

While Captain was to market in Deptford, I continued priming, loading and firing, the mud in the creekbed showing well where my shots went. This helped me better my aim, and before long, I had caused a head-sized hole across the creek with fewer and fewer shots falling outside it. And all this while, as Captain had told me, I kept a close watch up and down the creek and along the top of the embankment – the dike, he had called it.

When he returned, he praised me for my good shooting, then he showed me how to clean the barrel and the flash pan, and he bade me do it with the other pistol. With that done, he showed me how to adjust the flint and test it, and again, I did it with the one I had.[1]

After I had finished, I held it out to him, and he raised his hand. "Nay, lad. You keep it for now. Until I can buy you a pair, consider that one yours."

"Oh!" I looked at it then at him, a warmth spreading through me, and I questioned, "You trust me with it, sir?"

"Aye, so long as you abide by all I have told you. Remember, it is neither a toy nor an entertainment; rather, it is a serious tool that can kill or cause grievous injury. But heed this well, lad; that is not our intended use."

I nodded. "But to use as a show of strength, like you said. As a way to stop gressors and have them –"

Captain chuckled. "The word is aggressors, lad. Those who attempt to offer us harm. But, yes, these pistols are fine persuaders, and if we play our game well, we will seldom if ever need to fire."

"Just them knowing that we can."

"Aye, as you saw with the pilferers. Not seeing your pistols, only believing you had them."

He hefted his market basket from Bessy's stern deck and pointed forward. "But now to eat, lad."

At the table, he pulled a bundle from the basket, and as he unwrapped it, he said, "To celebrate, a game pie for us each."

Celebrate? He has lost his London houses. But I couldn't say that. He seems happy, and reminding him would only spoil it. "What's game pie, sir?"

"These two are filled with venison, pheasant and quail. But others might be baked with pigeon, lark, rabbit or other wild fowl or beasts."

"Oh! Is this how all rich people eat?"

"If they so choose." He chuckled. "The King seems to choose rather too often, and we pay for his excesses with our taxes. But joking aside, most do it as an occasional treat – usually to celebrate, like now."

Celebrate? Again, he says it. I looked at him askance, then shook my head, not understanding.

"What is it, lad? You appear troubled."

"What's to celebrate, sir? Your houses are –" I lifted a hand to cover my mouth, sorry that I had opened it.

"But we are safe." He waved a hand past all the stuff aboard Bessy. "As are my furnishings, fittings, mementoes and whatnots. And were it not for you, I would have lost part of this. But it is beyond that, lad. You have shown dedication, courage and cunning. Few men would dare what you did."

"But it was the only way to stop them."

"Indeed, and that you took action is the point. And more so, that it was fully successful." He nodded toward a firkin. Draw us some ale, lad."

After we had eaten, we spread the tarpawlings across the lines again and secured the edges, creating a home, and like Captain said, hiding the contents from passing eyes. Then we spent the afternoon sitting in the sun on Bessy's stern deck with Captain teaching me how to read.

In the evening, at his bidding, Mister Harcourt had the workers build a ring of bricks atop the dike and bring a pile of wood for our fire. This eased my pother about Captain being at the burnt house cooking, leaving me sitting alone aboard Bessy as it grew dark.

I took two buckets to the spring to fill with water for washing and for tae, and I couldn't help but see the conflagration. It had continued to grow, and beyond the bridge, Baynard's Castle[2] was now in flames. And it had spread across the wall and now moved toward Westminster.

When I saw Captain's house on the wharf afire, I realised why he didn't want to come see. He knows there's nothing to be gained by it but grief.

Notes:
[1] The firing system at that time was called a flintlock. Sparks from the flint ignited the priming powder in the pan, and this flash went down a small hole into the barrel and ignited the firing powder.

[2] Baynard's Castle was the western counterpoint to the Tower, and these two fortresses anchored the riverside corners of the ancient Roman wall around the city.