‘Well,’ said Grandfather Fulman slowly, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know as how any man can tell, being as how most of the rest of the world lies out that way. But Mr Matthews do reckon as how we’re going south. West and south.’
Broad looked along the length of the black gun-barrel to where the dark man sat slumped on the deck, his chin on his chest. He glanced inquiringly at Fulman, as if to say ‘How would he know?’
The old man cleared his throat.
‘Mr Matthews,’ he began; and stopped.
‘Is a sea captain!’ piped up Peter. ‘He was took off of a homeward-bound ship as he was mate of her, and he was on passage to England to take up as a captain! There!’
Jesse Broad stared at the dark man, who had not moved or sought to stop the boy. Pity stirred in his breast. Small wonder Matthews was so bitter-seeming. Another piece of fine illegality by good Captain Swift. To be impressed as a merchant mate!
‘Only three days off of port he was,’ said Peter. ‘Almost there. And he’s rated—’
‘Hush boy!’ Fulman clapped an old and horned hand on Peter’s knee and pressed. Matthews stirred his great lantern head. He looked full into Jesse’s face.
‘The boy tells part of it, at least,’ he said. ‘And I am rated ordinary, for making too much of the misfortune that...befell me. Let you be warned.’
‘Thank you,’ Broad replied. ‘And where do you think this ship is heading, if I might ask?’
‘You might,’ said Matthews. ‘This ship and all that’s in her is heading west, and south, far south. If I have it right, we are out to double Good Hope or the Horn. My guess is the Horn.’
Broad did not know why, but he felt afraid. It was not merely the distance. The Horn had a cold ring of mystery to its name.
‘Aye, aye,’ said Fulman philosophically. ‘Mr Matthews may be right, but I reckon it’s the West Indies after all. Why, what is there to take us round the Horn? Eh? Nothing as I knows. And the West Indies is always short of men and ships. Mark well what I say.’
Little Peter plumped for a cruise against the Barbary pirates, and the discussion went merrily up and down for a minute or two. In a lull Broad asked: ‘Why the Horn, Mr Matthews?’
Matthews creased his sombre mouth until it could almost have been smiling.
‘We have the gear for it, Mr Broad. We have storm gear in plenty. More trysails than I’ve ever seen. We have more complete suits of winter canvas to bend on than—’
There was a row going on aft, getting louder and nearer.
Men were shouting, somebody was crying like a beast in pain. A howl, then a shout of laughter. Another cry. Broad knew the voice. It was the shepherd lad. He made to rise, but old Fulman motioned him down. His eyes warned him to stay clear. He knew the ship. Broad decided to wait, at least. He strained to see into the gloom.
Thomas Fox had already lost practically all his worldly possessions. He had lost his neckcloth, he had lost most of his money, and he had lost the new coat he had not even paid the King for.
His troubles had started when he had been led, bemused, out of the cabin. The world was a hostile, desperately frightening one. The green fields that he knew so well were now white wooden decks, hard and treacherous under his feet. There was green all round, true. But it was the sea, cold and rolling. The noise in his ears was a low musical humming, and the rattling of a thousand ropes against a hundred spars. Like the land boy he was, not the landman he was oddly rated, he did not know which way to turn. He stood on the open deck, wringing his hands. He lurched as the ship lurched, he stumbled and fell. The boatswain’s mate gave him a cut with his cane – not a hard one truly, more a friendly tap – and told him to find a mess. In seeking one, Thomas made one. He kicked over a bucket and soaked a midshipman’s leather shoe. For this he received a blow in the face that shocked him deeply, coming as it did from a child who could not have been above twelve years old. But he remembered another midshipman, the fairhaired midshipman of yesterday, and turned and ran.
He found a hatchway by accident, too, pitching down it with a scream. His fall was broken by a seaman coming up, who aimed another blow, which missed. He stumbled farther in the strong-smelling darkness, lost and terrified. He brought up in a mess of cut-throats who grabbed at him like greedy vultures. It was there that his coat was stolen.
Running a staggering gauntlet past the breeches of the guns, Thomas felt hands and breaths assail him. He soon realised his pouch was open, and set up a screaming. A fist gripped his windpipe till he gurgled. Cruel fingers explored secret places. Once there was a rattle of money, a glint of silver. As men dived, grunting, he got away. Only to be caught at the next gun along.
Suddenly a hand seized his neck with such purpose that Thomas knew he was to die. He started to pray, while not giving up altogether without a struggle. His legs thrashed like a crazed horse’s, his fists worked like flailing sticks.
The hand had come from in front of him, but it went behind his neck. There was a sudden and enormous pull. He burst from the melee of bodies like a cork from a bottle. His knees sagged, his eyes opened. He almost smiled. Jesse Broad again.
Broad’s new messmates, if they objected to Thomas Fox joining them, did not say so. He asked if the lad might stay, they nodded in silence. He was a sad sight, his clothes torn and open, his face newly bloody. Young Peter produced a piece of wet canvas and wiped away the blood and tears.
‘You’ll learn, young ’un,’ he said tenderly. Fox could not speak. But he did not think he would stay long enough to learn. He did not think he would survive.
Jesse Broad kept his counsel, although he was filled with pain and hatred and rage. He would not stay, he knew.
Cape Horn, the West Indies, the East Indies, the end of the earth, no matter; the Welfare would sail without him. Tonight he would run, let watch him who might.
Six
William Bentley watched the launch as she rounded-to under Welfare’s stern and slipped smartly alongside with a loud flapping of canvas. Before the sails had been handed and the lines made fast a young officer had been piped on board and conducted rapidly into the captain’s cabin. William, despite his dignity as a midshipman, was thrilled to the bottom of his soul. Not a man-jack on board as did not know what this meant. The launch was bringing orders. Welfare would soon be putting to sea.
The launch was apparently bringing other things, as he saw the boatswain gather a party of seamen to rig a tackle from the main yard. He would dearly have liked to have been below with his uncle, hearing the news fresh from the young lieutenant, but if that was not to be he could at least keep himself busy, and the men up to the mark. He walked briskly to the waist, not interfering, but letting his presence be known.
‘Carry on, Mr Allgood,’ he said, as the boatswain acknowledged him.
‘Aye aye sir. You up there!’ he boomed to a man who had almost reached the yardarm. ‘Look alive or I’ll send one of my mates to start you!’
‘What is it to be swayed up, if you please?’ asked William. The boatswain looked down at him from his great height.
‘Vital necessaries for the captain,’ he said. There was a note in his voice that William did not enjoy. Was the brute daring to be sardonic with him?
‘Pray be more precise.’
‘Well, sir, two items to come first. Puncheons of fiery spirits, sir.’ His eyes flicked downwards, then away. ‘Vital for the tending of the sick, sir.’
William bristled. The boatswain was an important and powerful man on board, but he was bordering on the insolent.
‘Mr Allgood,’ said William. The boatswain smiled blandly.
‘You there!’ he spat to a seaman. ‘Catch that whip as it comes down.’