And that in itself, mused Bentley, is a crying shame, to have killed the captain of marines. For he sensed at last that Craig had been with the angels. Perhaps had had that vital imagination that his uncle lacked.
By the time he was fit to go on deck, William Bentley knew he would see things through different eyes. His gratitude to Jesse Broad was boundless, and he tentatively hoped that the relationship they had built up might somehow, one day, be truly that of friends. He called the man by his first name – with permission – and had asked him to return the compliment. Broad had merely smiled; and called him nothing. But that, hoped Bentley, perhaps was shyness. The seaman had some regard for him, obviously. Because he watched for him – and exhorted him more time than once to take good care around the deck, to nothing take for granted.
The deck was beautiful in Bentley’s hungry eyes, and so was the Welfare. The grey-white straining canvas, the bounding, rolling sea, the bracing wind. He filled his lungs and spread his arms in joy. It was wonderful to be about again. Nothing seemed changed, although the decks had taken on a darker hue, lost the gleaming whiteness induced by hours daily with sandstone and water. They were not dirty though. The ship was clean, and well-rigged, with all plain sail set and drawing.
Men lounged around in comfort, taking the sun, and even this no longer struck him as odd. He returned their stares with what he thought of as a cautious smile, and one or two responded. His heart began to sing for what a teacher Broad had proved. The men were different. They had different faces, different attitudes. They were not sullen apes:, they were not hate-filled animals. They were men, human men, and he thought he understood them.
Even the filthy task that had been assigned to him was accepted with something not too far from pleasure. He knew it would be hard, but he was not afraid of hard work. He knew it would lay him open to jeers and abuse from the sailors, but that no longer worried him. His attitude was different; they could not shame him now. He deserved abuse, he would expect no mercy. But he would show them, however long it took, that he was worthy of regard. He had been harsh with many of them in the past, part of a system of repression that he was still sorting out, but recognised as having mighty faults. Now, shown the way by his mentor, he would in turn show these sailors that he could play the man, that he was not just a mindless, petty tyrant.
William collected his equipment – mop, pail and safety rope – from the stores, and went smartly forward. Along the length of the deck he received the same stares, returned the same cautious smile. Sometimes he got a stab of loneliness at the bitterness reflected in men’s eyes. At others he was warmed by a look of friendliness. Of course they do not know how to react, he reasoned. The first time on deck of the infamous boy, who had last been seen, conscious, with a pair of pistols in his hands threatening to blast their mutiny to blazes! What did he expect? But at least there were no cat-calls, at least nobody spat. He was confident, truly confident. He understood them.
It was a false dawn. Standing in the beakhead, his shoulder resting against the trembling bulk of the bowsprit, wielding the heavy mop with his weakened arms and fighting nausea at the reek of excrement and urine, he was arrested by a hoarse cry. The bulkhead door was open, and two or three men were blocking it. He looked up, uncertainly, fear flooding his stomach. Inevitably, one was Henry Joyce, but he stood in the background. The two men who came forward were only vaguely familiar, just two of the mass of seamen the Welfare had once had as crew. He could not remember ever having dealt with them, or having had them punished, or anything. Just two of the mass. But there was murder in their eyes.
They came forward quickly. William let out a scream and flung the bucket. It emptied over the first man, checking him in his tracks. William screamed louder, letting his terror rip out of him like a stuck pig. The man came on again, and he held a belaying pin in his fist. William saw the second seaman reach for the safety line with his knife. A third scream ripped the air, bubbling with fear. His eyes closed, and all the images of blood, the nightmare memories of the reign of terror, rushed in upon him. Then there was a vicious jerk on the lifeline round his waist, and an exploding crash on the side of his head.
It was a false dawn in other ways too. That afternoon the glass began to fall. It fell like a stone, plummeted until Matthews could hardly trust his eyes. He called Broad and Allgood to look at it, and to have a conference.
‘By tonight we will be fighting,’ he said. ‘I had hoped for good weather for a fair bit longer. Once this starts, however, the chances of it stopping are remote. We are closing the Cape. If this is a westerly gale it will be the first of many.’
Allgood grunted.
‘She will be ready, sir, never fear. Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise. The scum are getting restive, they need some good hard work. Some discipline.’
He turned to Broad.
‘Beg pardon, sir. With respect to your sentiments, I crave permission to use the lash. If it comes on foul, I will need to make up a rope’s end, sir. Me and my mates.’
Broad and Matthews exchanged glances.
‘We are undermanned, sir,’ said Allgood. ‘The good hands are spoiled by the bad. We must have rope’s ends at least, my mates and me. It is imperative.’
‘Mr Allgood,’ said Broad, almost helplessly. ‘We are not in the Navy now. It is not our way, it is impossible.’
The great bulk gave its queer, characteristic shrug.
Allgood stared through him.
‘Beg pardon, sir, but we are in the Navy. Once in the Navy, always in the Navy. Is permission refused, sir?’
‘Just get her ready to face a storm, Mister,’ said Matthews. ‘We’ll think of other problems later. Get port-lids down and proofed, hatches battened, storm gear bent, everything.’
‘Aye aye sir.’
‘For God’s sake, man!’ said Broad. ‘For God’s sake stop calling us sir!’
‘Aye aye sir,’ said Allgood, and turned away. He did not appear to realise he had said it.
Broad set about securing everything in the cabin, thinking about Allgood. The man was cracked, for definite. No, no he was not. Broad was pretty sure he knew what was going on in his mind. Allgood had decided that nothing had happened. He had sunk his shame in a return to the old routine:. He was boatswain of the Welfare, sailing round the Horn. With lousy weather ahead, and a crew of idle scum.
He would pull her through if it were humanly possible. He would serve his officers to the best of his ability. He would show the men no mercy except when they deserved it, give them no praise they had not earned. Well, thought Jesse, it could not save him from the gallows if they were ever caught, but it might, just possibly, stop that ever happening.
The storm was a solid Cape Horn westerly. It blew for hour after hour with a ferocity that a near-water man like Broad could scarcely believe possible, and the temperature started a slow dive that went on over the next few days. The Welfare fought and fought, her crew becoming gradually exhausted as they worked four hours on, four hours off, with not-infrequent calls for all hands. When the gale blew itself out, a new greyness had stamped itself on all their features, but they had hardly time to dry themselves and to eat a proper meal before the next westerly began to blow.
They were truly in the latitudes of the Horn.
Broad thought that he had seen the worst, but Matthews had no such illusions. As they approached the Cape the weather deteriorated and deteriorated and deteriorated. The galley fire went out and could not be relighted, the living accommodation became thick with mildew that later turned to slimy ice, the men in the sick-bay began to take turns for the worse. In the middle of the fourth successive storm Mr Marner, the drunken old schoolmaster, died on a mouthful of brandy, to be joined over the next seven days by six other men. They left their comrades, wounded on the day of the uprising, praying that they would follow them soon, and God was in the mood, apparently, to answer their prayers.