Brian Jacques - Flying Dutchman 02, page 13
One evening, Ludon was serving the day’s meal out on the mess deck. He studiously avoided putting out food wherever there was an empty seat. The bosun growled. “Ahoy there, Frenchie, fill those plates for the gun crew!”
Ludon paused. “But they are not here.”
Bad-temperedly, the bosun slammed his knife down on the tabletop. “I said fill those plates! Who are you to say who’ll eat an’ who won’t? Here comes the gun crew now.”
Sitting down to the table, the master gunner held up his hands, all swollen red and scratched. “Lookit that, we’ve had t’boil an’ scrape out every gun barrel aboard, musket an’ cannon. Been hard at it since dawn! See Taffy’s hand there, all bandaged up. He got it jammed in a culverin bore. Wonder he never lost it!”
The bosun inspected the grimy, blood-soaked bandage. “I’d keep a fresh wrappin’ on that hand every day if’n I was you, Taffy. Save it goin’ poison on ye. Ah well, that’ll learn ye. t’keep your gun barrels clean, Gunny.”
With his spoon halfway to his mouth, the grizzled old master gunner exploded with indignation. “My guns have always been clean. I’ve served twenty years as master gunner an’ no cap’n has ever accused me of havin’ a dirty gun aboard!”
Almost apologetically, the bosun replied, “Then why did Redjack punish you an’ your men?”
The one called Taffy gestured with his bandaged hand. ” ‘Cos someone tipped a pail o’ rubbish over the cannon nearest to Teal’s cabin door!”
Cramming the loaded spoon into his mouth, the master gunner chewed furiously with his few remaining teeth, speaking through a full mouth. “Just let me get my hands on the scum who did it!” He spat out a lump of half-chewed meat. “Garrgh! Is this supposed t’be salt pork? Tastes more like a dead horse out of a glue boiler!”
He glared at Ludon. “Have ye got nothin’ better’n this to feed hungry men, eh?”
The French prisoner shrugged. “Cook says ‘tis all he has, but your captain, he dines well enough on fresh fish. He is not short of fancy biscuits or Madeira to go with it.”
Pushing his plate away, the bosun spoke sneeringly. “When was it ever different? The crew gets the slops while the cap’n dines like a lord. Here, Frenchie, take this garbage an’ toss it over the side.”
Pointing a finger in Ludon’s face, the master gunner snarled, “An’ keep it clear o’ my cannon, or else …”
Ludon scraped the leftovers into a pot and stalked out of the mess-deck cabin.
When he had gone, the bosun’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded toward the door, muttering low. “I don’t trust that ‘un. I been noticin’ lately, the Frenchie’s ears wiggle like a little pig whenever we’re talkin’. Take it from me, mates, guard your tongues while he’s about!”
The mate stared oddly at the bosun. “D’ye think that Frenchie’s carryin’ tales back to Redjack?”
Taffy answered for the mate. ” ‘Twouldn’t surprise mehe’s got the looks of a rat. What more could ye expect of a buccaneer deserter who sold out to that Spanish pirate?”
Stabbing his knife into the tabletop, the bosun looked around at all hands. “So, What’re we goin’ to do about it, mates?”
Being a fair-minded fellow, the master gunner replied. “Nothin’ without proof. Ye can’t condemn a man just because of his looks. There’s been many a mistake made like that.”
Joby, the dead carpenter’s mate, picked up the fiddle that had once belonged to his former friend and twiddled a few chords on the instrument. It seemed to break the tense atmosphere.
The old master gunner cracked a gap-toothed grin. “Come on, Joby, sing us a song. I’m fed up o’ sittin’ here lissenin’ to talk of mutiny an’ murder. Cheer us up, mate!”
Joby smiled brightly. “Shall I play ‘The Jolly Cap’n’?” He ducked swiftly as several chunks of ship’s biscuit were hurled at him, then twiddled another chord or two. “I’ve put new words to it, listen.”
Off he went, singing an insulting imitation of the original.
“Ho the wind will never blow, me lads,
So we’ve got to row the boat,
An’ as for Cap’n Teal, the pig,
I’d like to slit his throat.
He wears a fine red jacket
An’ drinks Madeira wine,
Why should we call him captain
When we could call him swine!
Hurrah hurrah hurrah, me boys,
He feeds us nought but swill,
An’ makes us taste the rope’s end,
That’s why all hands look ill!
His father was a pig, me lads,
An’ his mother was a sow,
They sent him off a sailin’
We’re lumbered with him now …”
Joby’s voice trailed away, and the fiddle gave a discordant screech as the bow trailed over its strings.
Captain Teal stood in the open doorway. His buckled shoes clacked against the deck as he strode up to the table. Teal’s voice shook with barely controlled rage as he faced the unfortunate Joby. “Greatly amusin’, I’m sure. Well, carry on playin’, man!”
Placing the instrument on the table, Joby swallowed hard. ” ‘Twas only by way of a little joke, sir.”
Teal picked up the fiddle, weighing it in one hand. The crewmen watched him in dumb silence as he suddenly flung it at the bulkhead. When it hit the floor, he jumped on it with both feet, stamping and kicking savagely at the dead carpenter’s favourite instrument. It shattered and smashed, chips of wood, pegs and bow strings scattering over the mess-deck floor.
Redjack Teal stood amid the wreckage, his eyes narrowed to mean slits. “A little joke, eh? Demn your insolence, fellow!”
Teal’s accusing gaze fixed both the bosun and the master gunner. Spittle sprayed the air as he yelled at them. “Anythin’ to say about the victuals, eh eh? Meat’s like a dead horse! Crew eatin’ slops! What’s the matter, gentlemen, cat got your tongues? Nothin’ t’say about how I dine like a lord? Speak up, demn your eyes!”
Both the bosun and the gunner held their horrified silence.
Redjack suddenly went calm. He smiled slyly at them. “Next thing ye’ll be talkin’ mutiny behind me back.”
Shaking his head, the master gunner called out hoarsely. “Beg your pardon, Cap’n, but we’ve never said a mutinous word agin ye”
Teal interrupted by drawing his silver-mounted pistol and cocking the hammer. “Have ye not indeed? Well, me brave boys, I’m goin’ t’make sure ye don’t get the chance. Mr. Mate, attend me here!”
The mate sprang upright and saluted. “Aye, sir!”
The captain pointed to Joby, the bosun and the master gunner with his pistol barrel. “Take these men in charge. They are to be put aboard the Devon Belle, one at each masthead. Half ration of ship’s biscuit’n’water for a week. That’ll cure ‘em of any mutinous mutterin’s against me!”
The men picked up the pieces of sailcloth that they used as cloaks in rough weather, but Teal shook his head. “Go as y’are, barefoot, too. Hard lessons must be learned the hard way. Mr. Mate, see them to their posts, if y’please!”
Obediently the mate touched his forelock. “Aye aye, Cap’n.”
“No, wait!” Teal tapped his chin thoughtfully with the pistol sight. “Bring our froggy prisoner here, will ye?”
Two crewmen escorted the puzzled-looking Ludon into the cabin. Redjack smiled benevolently at him. “Ah, there y’are, monsieur. I’ve decided you shall go along an’ spend a week aboard the Devon Belle with these three rascals, on half rations of hardtack biscuit’n’water.”
Ludon took one glance at the grim-faced trio, then fell on his knees, grabbing Teal’s red jacket hem. “But Cap’n, sir, what wrong have I done ye?”
Teal dragged himself free, sending Ludon sprawling with a kick. “Tellin’ tales an’ causin’ disaffection among me crew, sirrah, that’s what you’re guilty of. Take ‘em away!”
The three crewmen were marched out by the mate, followed by two other sailors dragging Ludon, who was sobbing pitifully. “No, no, Cap’n, sir, you cannot do this to me!”
Teal uncocked his pistol, chuckling at his cruel scheme. “Ye mealymouthed toad, I’ll show ye what I can’t an’ can do aboard me own ship!”
Aboard La Petite Marie, Ben was putting the finishing touches to the repairs he had made to the window in the captain’s cabin. Canvas sheet was not as good for letting in light as the original glass windows, but it kept spray and wind out. Using the hilt of a heavy dagger, he knocked the final nail into the pleated canvas edge. Ned entered the cabin and looked around, sending a thought to his friend. “Bit dark in here, isn’t it?”
Ben put aside the dagger. “Aye, but ‘twill do well enough. At least we won’t see the Flying Dutchman through it.”
Ned remembered what he had come for. “Oh, I think the cap’n wants to see you, Ben. He’s up in the bows.”
As they made their way along the deck, Ben looked back over his shoulder. He passed a mental message to Ned. “See that fellow Gascon? He crossed himself and spat over the side after we’d passed. I wonder what’s wrong with him?”
The black Labrador waved his tail airily. “Oh, him, he’s my least favourite man aboard this ship. He glares at me a lot, I don’t know why. I’ve never done him any harm.”
Thuron was shouting from his position in the bows. “Ben, come here, there’s something I want you to see!” The boy mounted the bowsprit and locked his legs around it.
The Frenchman gave him the telescope, pointing. “Dead ahead, you can just make it outland, lad. That’s the islands of the Azores. Now point your glass downward and take a look into the ocean. What d’you see, Ben?”
Scanning the surface on either side of the bow wave, Ben tried his best to see something distinctive. “Nothing really, sir, just a sort of white blotch now and then, but it’s pretty far below us. Is that what you mean?”
Ned was frantically passing messages to Ben. “White blot, what kind of white blot, tell me?”
Thuron provided the answer. “Remember, I told you there was a whole world beneath the ocean. What you see are the tips of mountains, huge tall peaks. We’re sailing over the great ridge, a sunken range of mountains that runs from Greenland almost to the earth’s southern tip. Wait until you see the AzoresI think they’re part of those mountains. Just higher peaks than the rest, sticking up out of the seas to form islands.”
Ben lifted the telescope until he sighted on the rocky peaks of the Azores in the distance. “This world is a marvellous thing, Cap’n. It’s so vast!”
La Petite Marie dropped anchor that afternoon in a deep lagoon of the main island. Ben and Ned marvelled at the lush tropical greenery that clung to the mountainous rocks around them.
Pierre lowered the jolly boat and invited them aboard with the party that was going ashore. “Come on, you two, we’ll get some fruit and fresh water.”
Ben and Ned sat either side of Pierre in the stern. The boy noticed Gascon crouching in the bows and flashed a quick thought to his dog. “I wonder what he’s up to? He’s looking pretty furtive.”
Ned wrinkled his forehead. “Huh, hope he falls overboard and drowns!”
Ben frowned at the black Labrador. “Ned! That’s not a very charitable thought.”
Ned sniffed. “I don’t care, I don’t like that fellow and he doesn’t like me, or you. I can sense it.”
Pierre was unaware of the conversation and chatted away happily. “Lots of good fruit and vegetables growin’ on these islands, Ben. They’re long-dead volcanoes, and the soil is rich.”
They spent the remainder of the afternoon foraging on the slopes, gathering quantities of the island’s produce, some familiar, some new to them, but all wonderful. Some of the crewmen found a little waterfall that cascaded down into a pond on the mossy ledges. Ben and Ned joined them in the crystal-clear water, bathing and splashing each other, laughing like a band of children. For the boy and his dog it was a golden day to remember, far from the rigours of seafaring and the fear of the Flying Dutchman haunting their dreams.
They returned to the Marie in the late evening to find a grim-faced Thuron awaiting their arrival. He nodded as he checked the boat’s crew. “Gascon isn’t with you. I suspected as much!”
Pierre looked bewildered. “I hadn’t noticed he was missing!”
The captain slung a musket across his shoulder and picked up his cutlass. “Oh, Gascon has jumped ship alright. Ben, you stay here with Ned. Pierre, take four men to row the boat. I’m going to hunt that rascal down!”
Ben could not understand the captain’s reasoning. “But why not just let him go, sir? He’s not much use.”
Thuron explained. “If ‘twere just that Gascon is a surly and idle man, he could go for all I care. But while you were on the island, I checked my gold and found that someone has helped himself to it. That can only be one manGascon! He can’t run far on the Azores. Pierre and I will have him back here, ready to sail at dawn tomorrow.”
Ned stood with his paws on the rail, watching the departing jolly boat as he imparted a thought. “You see, I told you I didn’t like that Gascon!”
Ben fondled the dog’s silky ear. “What a good judge of men you are, sir. I’ll wager that when you become captain, you won’t have crew like him aboard your ship.”
Ned regarded the boy huffily. “Your humour is misplaced, sir!”
Later they sat together on the afterdeck with the crew. A pale moon was reflected in the calm waters of the lagoon, and not a breeze stirred anywhere. It was warm from the day’s heat.
A crewman was singing softly.
“Come, my love, gentle one, hearken to me,
For I’ll bring you a fortune someday.
I’m nought but a man who must follow the sea,
Let me tell you ere I sail away.
When the wind stirs the rigging,
And the white sail’s on high,
My heart is as sad as the long seagull’s cry.
Wait for me, pray for me, ‘til once again,
I sail back to you o’er the wide ocean’s main.
And what will I bring for you, ma belle amour?
A bracelet of jewels so fine,
Some silk from Cathay, that I know you’ll adore
And a ring on your finger to shine.
So be true to your sailor,
Wipe the tears from your eye,
For when I return you will nevermore cry.
With my feet on the land, and my love by my side,
‘Tis farewell to sailing, I’ll make you my bride.”
Ben gazed up at the star-strewn skies, passing Ned a thought. “That’s a pretty little melody, eh mate?”
Ned panted as though he were chuckling. “Aye, but just look at the singer. He’s a whiskery old doormat with an eye patch and only one tooth in his head. I think any poor girl would run a mile at the sight of him returning!”
The boy threw a playful headlock on his dog. “Shame on you, sir, criticising others, just because you’re a handsome dog!”
Ned cocked an eye toward Ben. “Cruel but beautiful, that’s me!”
It was not on the next dawn but three days later that an anxious Ben saw the jolly boat’s return. Gascon’s hands were bound behind him, and the crew had to haul him aboard. Thuron looked tired and worn out. All hands gathered to see what he would do. Pierre whispered to Ben. “Slippery as an eel, that Gascon, but we caught him in the end. Cap’n ain’t too pleased at losing three days.”
Ben experienced a moment of horror as Thuron drew his dagger. He faced the deserter and shouted to the crew.
“Look!” With a few slashes he sliced through the felon’s pockets and coat lining. Gold coins glinted in the late-afternoon sun as they clinked upon the deck. Taking Gascon by one ear, Thuron shook him roughly. “Couldn’t wait for the share-out, could you, rat? I should have let you run off with the other three at Puerto Rico. At least they never thieved from the captain and shipmates! Take this scum out of my sight. Put him in the anchor-chain locker until I decide what to do with him!”
As he was dragged off by the bosun and several others, Gascon began shouting. “Throw me in the sea an’ let me swim ashore. I know all about you an’ your lucky friends, Thuron. I ain’t stayin’ aboard this ship. She’s cursed, I tell ye, cursed!”
Pierre silenced Gascon with a hefty blow to the jaw. He bundled the half-conscious deserter into the chain locker. Barring the door, Pierre growled a warning. “Shut your lyin’ mouth an’ be thankful you’re still alive, thief. Cap’n should’ve run ye through with that dagger!”
Thuron glanced at the sky, judging the breeze. “We’ll haul anchor an’ sail at tomorrow’s dawn.”
It was warm that night, and Ben and Ned settled down to sleep on the open deck. The black Labrador gave thoughtful voice to his opinion. “Pierre was right, the cap’n should’ve slain that villain!”
Ben replied, “That sounds a bit ruthless, mate.”
Ned closed his eyes, adding a final comment. “I’ve got a bad feeling about Gascon. I think there’s going to be big trouble for us while he’s aboard this ship.”
* * *
14
CAPTAIN REDJACK TEAL HAD NOT PUT IN AT the Azores. Sailing under fair weather and favourable winds, he set a course straight for the Bay of Biscay and the coast of France. Unknowingly, the Royal Champion, with the Devon Belle still in tow, had passed up the chance of catching La Petite Marie unawares, lying as she was in a single-exit lagoon with her captain absent ashore. As usual, Teal was seated in his cabin being attended upon hand and foot. He had just finished a breakfast of fresh fish, biscuits and Madeira. A crewman was busily polishing his captain’s buckled shoes, whilst another brushed vigorously at the red hunting jacket, which Teal had donned. Redjack had just placed his white-stockinged feet into the shoes when a knock sounded. He primped at the crisp white stock overlying his shirt. “Come!”
