At first Joyce and his men had been prepared to argue. They wanted freedom, and no damned jumped-up substitutes for Swift and his toadies. The situation had been tense, his followers armed and numerous. How the bulk of the people would align themselves was a very open question.
As so often had happened to Broad since he had come on board of her, the Welfare and the weather solved the immediate question by making everything save violent action impossible. The wind had been veering westerly for some time, and with full darkness came a local squall. It was short-lived but fierce, and Welfare lost some gear. Those of the crew who were capable went aloft or worked on deck, and somehow it gave a purpose to many of the men. Those who were not drunkards and wasters by nature sobered up and worked like demons, while those who were, disappeared below and drank themselves into oblivion. Next morning the pattern continued as the squall damage was made good. The weather had improved rapidly overnight, with a return to warmth and sunshine. All sail was made, and by mid-morning they were thundering along at their best speed. And even those with the worst headaches could share the feeling of elation that lay light upon the ship.
Towards the end of the morning, Matthews had mustered all hands aft. Already several of them were worse for drink, and there was much banter about it being just like the old days, and when was the cat to be produced? The big question, thought Broad, was who would wield it now? He had an uncomfortable feeling that there would be no shortage of volunteers, if the matter were put to the test.
Matthews had a manner completely unlike that of Swift, save for this: he spoke quietly, but with great and penetrating authority.
Many men were surprised, not excluding Jesse Broad. He realised for the first time a little of the frustration that must have burned behind the sombre, taciturn exterior of this merchant officer, so cruelly – and illegally – torn from his lawful occasions. Soon the jeering and catcalling had died down. They listened intently as he painted a fair but sobering picture of the situation they were in, and weighed up the chances of their survival or success.
He started with the likely fate of the two boats. Given that they had survived the squall last night – and they may well not even have experienced it – he put their chances high. That, he said, was good; for there had been bloodshed and savagery enough, and even if they did make Cape Town, it would not mean disaster for the mutineers. He had been making calculations, working with the charts. With reasonable luck they would get clear away, whatever happened.
There was a stir of excitement. They clove to the words like drowning men to straws. Matthews had them in his palm.
‘Because of the bumbling of the Admiralty, or because of the weather we met, because of that interminable lollop around the doldrums, because of all this put together maybe, we were approaching the Horn late,’ he continued. ‘Why we were to double him, God only knows – I doubt we ever shall. But make no mistake, we were heading for the Horn, and late. The season will be so well on when we reach him, that the job of doubling will be a labour of Hercules. A damned hard job. The westerlies will have set in with a vengeance, and they will be blowing like the hounds of hell. It will be gale after gale, gale after gale, with a hurricane in between each, for a breather! And it will be so cold the rum will freeze. Do you follow?’
They were bemused. First he says they were to get clear away, now this. Joyce began to shout something, but he was hushed. Matthews was going on.
‘What I mean to tell you is this: this late in the season, the Horn is a terror. He is a vile, living, hateful thing. But we can double him. And when we have…and when we have, my boys…then what? For three months, maybe four, we are safe. No one, not any man in his proper mind, would try to follow us. For the demon winds we shall meet, the cold, hard, ferocious westerlies, are as little breezes to the ones that come in later months. Once we’re round, we’re safe!’
Jesse Broad remembered the cheering well. As well as he remembered what Matthews had told him later.
Unless the better weather they had picked up blew well for them, they would be hard put to reach the Horn in time themselves. And mad as any man would be to try to follow them in later weeks, if Swift made it to Cape Town and the British Navy had a presence there, they would be followed. All the same, the fact he had told the people remained still true; if they doubled the Cape soon, they would be in a great position to get clean away.
And then? With their clear start and round the Cape?
Matthews had let the question hang in the air.
‘Then we have a choice,’ he told the waiting men. ‘Or rather, many choices. Some are merely good. Some are almost wonderful. And some are too magnificent for words!’
First of all, they would sail northwards into warmer waters. On their way, he pointed out, they would find many places. There was Fernandez, where Robinson Crusoe had lived and waxed fat, as in the old book, or where Anson, indeed, had laid up and recovered his strength before he took the Spanish treasure ships. They would have time to stop there, even if it was perhaps not far enough up-coast for total safety: they would see. Or farther north there were the fabled lands where Dons grew fat on wine and oranges; or even better, in the end maybe, would be to seek the islands, a million there were said to be, flowing with gold, and milk, and honey. And women.
It was a heady speech, and mention of the islands clinched it. The million islands, yes, the islands and the friendly, dusky maidens. In the warm sun and steady wind, Broad could see the sailors gently dreaming. He tried to clear his mind of the other things: the cannibals Anson had spoke about, the diseases and the reefs, the violent tropical storms and tempests. Matthews was not fooled by his own flights of fancy, Broad could see. The lantern-jaw was tense, the eyes watchful.
‘Well, men,’ he said. ‘Are you with us? Will you follow me and Jesse out of hell to paradise?’
There was a tumult of cheering. Henry Joyce and some of his men tried to shout against it, but were simply drowned. Broad watched them with foreboding.
When it had died away, Matthews went on. His propositions were sombre, his voice ringing. They responded eagerly, again and again. First, he said, the Horn; agreed? Yes, yes; they all agreed. It will be hard, like hell, the westerlies. All right, all right, we will meet them, we will beat them! We will need discipline, tough discipline, Navy discipline. Yes yes, it is true; if you say so. I will be captain and Jesse Broad lieutenant; we are the men to lead. Aye, aye! Ye are the men! True watches kept and normal liquor? Food rations as before? Agreed, agreed! Just lead us, Mr Matthews!
‘And then, my brave boys.’ (Ah God, thought Jesse, shades of Daniel Swift!) ‘And then it’s freedom! The islands, the women, the liquor! And then the rampaging can start!’
The men were beside themselves with excitement.
When it had died down a little, Joyce had his say. But he was not sober, and his ideas of total freedom were repugnant. The men realised the danger they were in. A full-sized ship, with a depleted crew. They would have to work, to work like hell, and their lives were all at stake. Matthews cleverly brought it to a vote, a show of hands. And when Joyce was defeated he asked for another vote, to see if the liquor store key should he returned. The huge, pig-eyed man was voted down again, and looked at first as if he might fight to keep it. But in the end he did not. He brought it out from deep inside his pocket, and flung it on the deck. Matthews, with no loss of dignity, stooped and picked it up. Then, when Broad thought he had surely tried too much at once, he asked for yet another show of hands, on the question of weapons. Again a great majority. All muskets, cutlasses, and hand-arms were collected from seamen and marines, and locked away right aft, in a store within pistol-shot of the cabin. Joyce’s party gave in quietly, which Broad thought ominous. It could only mean that they had others, already hidden.