A Cat's Tale
by Matt Sorensen
The voyage of the Mayflower
as told by the ship's cat.
Smashwords edition
Copyright 2010 Matt Sorensen
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“My name is Tabatha but the sailors just call me ‘Tab‘. I was born at sea and have never seen a single day ashore. You see, I’m a ship’s cat. I come from a long line of ship’s cats and I’m proud of my heritage. A distant relative of mine sailed with Drake when he met the Spanish Armada. Those were exciting times, when a cat could dine on exotic mice in distant lands. Times are hard now and we cats have to make our living aboard poorly maintained cargo vessels where rats are plentiful but not very tasty.
Since I was a kitten, I worked my passage aboard a 60 ton merchantman named Speedwell.” Her skipper, Captain Reynolds, was a kindly but cautious man who preferred to keep close to home. We’d take bolts of English cloth to France and trade for casks of French brandy and Burgundy wine. Sometimes we’d venture North to Denmark for a cargo of cheese or South to the Mediterranean for oranges and figs. Once, we carried passengers. Let me tell you about it.
We were lying at anchor in the Dutch harbor of Delfthaven, waiting for Speedwell’s owners to find a cargo. I was napping on a coil of rope--the sailors prefer to call it line--when a bump against the hull awakened me. A small boat pulled alongside and two curiously dressed men were hoisted aboard in the Bosun‘s chair. They wore black hose and pointed black shoes tied with wide black bows. They wore black pantaloons fastened just above the knees and black coats with large white collars and white lace cuffs. They were topped off by broad-brimmed black hats. One of the men carried a black leather case. Their hands were smooth and their fingernails clean. They looked as if they’d never done a day’s hard work.
These men in black were certainly out of place among the roughly dressed and ill-mannered sailors. They interested me so I followed as the mate led them to the Captain’s cabin. I was about to go inside when the mate pushed me aside with his foot and shut the door. “Sorry Tab,” he said. “no one but swells allowed inside the Capn’s digs. They’re not for the likes of you and me.“ So I waited outside and listened.
“Good day, Captain Reynolds," I heard one of the men say, "My name is Robert Cushman and this is elder William Brewster. We represent a group of religious dissenters who wish passage to the New World.”
“And how does that concern me?” said Captain Reynolds. "Speedwell is a cargo vessel. She's not outfitted to carry passengers."
There was a pause and I could hear a rustle of papers. “We have chartered Speedwell and another ship to take the Pilgrims to the Virginia Colony. Here is the charter signed by Speedwell’s owners. I trust you will find everything in order, Captain.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. We were going to have an adventure!
Captain Reynolds was not pleased. “Come, I will show you,” he said in a rather gruff voice. The door to the cabin burst open and Captain Reynolds, carrying a lantern, led the men to the hold. I knew the way so I ran ahead and was waiting at the bottom of the ladder when they arrived. “Well gentlemen, as you can see,“ said the Captain.
The hold was dark and smelled of damp and rot. The lantern revealed a space about 20 feet wide and 60 feet long with a low ceiling of rough wood and cross beams. Masts, like trees, rose out of the deck and passed through the overhead, sealed against leakage by a gasket of oiled canvas. There were no portholes to let in fresh air or to offer a view of the world outside. “Do you think your Pilgrims will find themselves at ease here, gentlemen?“
The men in black had removed their hats and were stooped in a most uncomfortable position. “No sir, but it is too late to make other arrangements. Many of our families have already sold their property and are committed to go.“
“Very well,” said the captain, “but after a few days at sea, I think many of them will wish they had remained ashore.”
The men left and I stayed behind to explore. The hold was my favorite place aboard ship. I’d spent many happy hours there chasing mice among the bales and barrels of cargo.
The next few days were bursting with activity as the crew readied Speedwell for sea. After having my tail stepped on, I decided to keep out from underfoot. I climbed to the crow’s nest where I had a grand view of everything below. Provisions were stowed and Pilgrim families began to come aboard and make themselves as comfortable as they could in the space allotted to them. They were dressed as strangely as the men who had chartered the ship. They used words like the ones I’d heard Captain Reynolds read from a book once, when a crewman died and had to be buried at sea. “Begging thy pardon,” said one, “canst thou direct my good wife and children to their apartments whilst I look to the lading and disposition of our belongings?” I won’t repeat the sailor’s answer.
The sailors did not like these strangers who kept getting in their way. Several times, the mate ordered them to go below decks. They complained to the Captain about the language he used. I can’t imagine why. All the sailors I know talk like that.
The day finally came to set sail and Captain Reynolds made an inspection of the ship. He whispered something to the mate and went to his cabin. The mate told the crew to stand down. “We’ll not sail today,” he said. “Cap’n wants a word with the passengers.”
The mate went below and came back with elder Brewster. This was most unusual. The wind and tide were favorable. We should have weighed anchor and unfurled the sails. Instead, we remained in harbor while the sailors stood about, grumbling to one another. I followed the mate and elder Brewster to the Captain‘s cabin and sat outside, listening t their conversation.
“I will not sail with an overloaded vessel!“ the Captain shouted. “Trim your number by half or Speedwell remains in Holland!” They argued for a long time and finally the mate and elder Brewster came out of the cabin. The mate winked at me as they passed. Elder Brewster mumbled something about bad faith and broken contracts.
The sailors spent the rest of the day unloading some of the cargo that had been brought aboard the week before. When we weighed anchor the next morning, nearly half the Pilgrims were standing on the dock, their belongings piled about them. Mostly women and children they were, faces sad and tear-streaked as we sailed away and left them behind.
Two days later, we entered the port of Southampton, England, and anchored near a ship called Mayflower, that had brought more Pilgrims from London. Soon after we anchored, elder Brewster and two men got into a small boat and rowed over to the Mayflower. I wanted to get a better look at her so I stowed away and went aboard with them. That’s when I met Cap’n Pete.
Cap’n Pete was ships cat aboard the Mayflower. He was a fat tom of uncertain ancestry. A goodly part of his left ear and half his tail were missing. His white fur coat was spotted with patches of black, one of which surrounded his right eye and made him look like a proper pirate. He should have carried a parrot on his shoulder but if he ever had, I expect he ate it long ago. Pete walked with a bold swagger and said his ancestors had roamed the seas aboard pirate ships. I think he just made it up to impress visiting felines.
“I’d be right proud to show you about Mayflower,“ he said.
“I’d like that very much” I said, “so long as it doesn’t take too long. I’m expected back aboard Speedwell before dark.”
Pete looked at Speedwell and he looked at me. “You want to go back to that? ” he hissed.
“Careful,” I said. “or you’ll be wearing a real patch over your eye.” After that, he was a perfect gentlemen. He took me to the sail locker and the bilge and showed me where to lie in wait for the choicest mice. He caught one and we shared a sumptuous meal.
“We just returned from a cruise to the Mediterranean,” he said. “Notice the delicate flavor of olives and sun-ripened tomatoes? Stay with me and I’ll teach you to appreciate Italian food.”
About that time, the men from Speedwell got back in their boat and started to push off. I looked back as I jumped to the boat from Mayflower’s rail. “Got to go now. Thanks for the meal.”
As the men rowed back to Speedwell, they talked. “The investors have withheld payment,” said one. “What are we to do? The port authorities won’t give us leave to sail until the duties have been paid in full.”
“There is no way but to sell some of our provisions,” said Brewster. “We must make a list of goods aboard the two ships and decide what we can do without, and we must re-apportion the passengers. Mayflower is better able to accommodate families. The single men can manage aboard Speedwell.”
It took a week for the Pilgrims to settle their affairs. They sold most of their reserve food supplies to pay the port fees. I was beginning to wonder if the rat population aboard speedwell would be enough to feed me for the entire voyage.
We finally got underway on the morning of August 5th, 1620. The adventure had begun! I climbed the rigging and looked over to Mayflower. Cap‘n Pete was standing, proudly, on the wheelhouse, his tail in the air as if he were master of the ship.
We were still in the English Channel when the mate reported that Speedwell was taking on water. I went below to see for myself. Water was seeping from between the planks and sailors were working the bilge pumps.