Tiria glanced sideways at her hulking oarmate. He looked embarrassed by his own words. She gave him a friendly smile. “Really, I wonder what made him say that?”
O’Cragg shrugged. “ ’Cos h’I asked ’im. The colonel taught me this ’ere poem h’about stars. Would ye like to ’ear it, miss?”
Tiria replied readily. “I’d love to, if you can still remember it.”
The colour sergeant winked at her. “ ’Course h’I can, just lissen t’this.”
Proudly, he recited the poem taught to him by his old mentor.
“There are many places a spirit may rest
when life’s long march has ended.
Every creature returns to its home,
exactly as nature intended.
The cowards and traitors, the liars and cheats,
each in their turn is awarded,
someplace that they deserved to go,
as their actions in life accorded.
Those who proved untrue to their friends
lie thick in the dust of the earth,
trodden on forever by all
to show what treachery’s worth.
In the mud of swamps, in rotting weeds,
they lie imprisoned by evil misdeeds.
But the warriors true, the brave of heart,
who valiantly upheld the right,
they are raised on high, to the velvet sky,
bringing light to the darkness of night.
They’ll stand there as long as the sky will,
their honour in brightness will glow,
a lesson to see, for eternity,
of where the real warriors go!
So ere my eyelids close in sleep,
these are the words I will say,
may I have the courage and faithfulness,
that my spirit should join them one day.”
The ship sped on through the night as they rowed in silence. Tiria was lost for words. Who would have thought that the big colour sergeant, hard as granite and tough as oakwood, had a heart so innocent and simple? In the midst of these thoughts, she was startled by the arrival of their relief, Quartle and Portan.
“I say, shove over, you chaps. The blinkin’ buffs have arrived, wot!”
“Rather, we’ll be rowing the jolly old tub until dawn!”
Tiria and the sergeant rose from the bench as the two subalterns scrambled into their places at the sweeps.
Quartle twiddled his ears in a jocular manner. “Expect your old royal royalness is about ready for some flippin’ shuteye, eh, miz?”
Portan winked impudently at the sergeant. “Nighty night, Sarge, off y’go, wot! I’ll bet you dream about bullyin’ greennosed recruits round the old barrack square. Leff right, leff right, pick those paws up, laddy buck!”
Colour Sergeant O’Cragg riveted them to their seats with his famous parade-ground glare. “One more word out of ye, an’ h’I’ll pick yore paws h’up an’ sling ye h’into the sea, you’orrible liddle beasties!”
Tiria was still chuckling as she wrapped herself in an old cloak and lay down behind the small galley. Slumber was not long in claiming her after half a night of rowing. Cuthbert never slept; when on board, he was constantly on duty. The odd hare sat at the tiller in a sort of half-doze, steering his vessel by instinct. Apart from the gentle lap of waves, it was quiet. The Purloined Petunia ploughed smoothly over the deeps, on into the starstrewn night. Thirty-one hares, a fish hawk and one ottermaid westward bound.
In the grey half-light preceding dawn, Tiria was awakened by the high piercing call of the osprey. She looked up to the masthead to find that Pandion had gone. Making her way astern, the ottermaid found Cuthbert still seated at the tiller with one eye open. She questioned him briefly.
“It’s not light yet. Where’s Pandion gone?”
Cuthbert scratched his ear lazily. “That ole rascal comes an’ goes as he pleases, Tillie me gel. May’aps he’s spotted land, I don’t know.”
Racing forward, Tiria scrambled out onto the bowsprit and scanned the sea around her. The waters were smooth, with hardly a wave of any size, blanketed by a mist that had taken on a soft golden haze as the sun began to rise. Visibility was virtually nonexistent, but from somewhere far off she could distinguish the muted cry of gulls. Hanging on to the bowline, Tiria leaned out, peering keenly into the waking day. Behind her the sail flapped idly and began to fill. The same breeze which was stirring it began to shift the mist rapidly.
Tiria stood stock-still, her eyes following the receding mists. Suddenly her fur rose from rudder to eartip as she picked out the dark blotch on the western horizon. There it was! Raising a paw to her mouth, Tiria bellowed, “Land dead ahead! Land hoooooooooo!”
The ship came alive to her cries. A babble of excited chatter broke out.
“I say, you chaps, did somebeast say land a bally head?”
“Eulalia! There ’tis, jolly old land, we made it, wot!”
“Get some blinkin’ breakfast served, I ain’t goin’ ashore on an empty tum. I get vexatious without vittles, y’know!”
“Oh, my giddy aunt, just look, terra flippin’ firma. I can’t wait t’get me confounded paws on it!”
Cuthbert’s shouts rang out above the clamour. “Getcher idle bottoms back on those oar benches, ye shower o’ bobbin’ beetles! Who gave the order for ye to stand round chattin’ an’ gawpin’ like a gang of ole mousewives on a trip round the bay? Shape up, an’ let’s see a few rosy blisters on those lily white paws from rowin’ ! Heave an’ row an’ row an’ pull an’ push an’ pull! Row! Row!”
Passing over the tiller to Rafe Granden, Cuthbert wasted no time in retrieving his barrelhead drum. Soon it was booming as he battered away with his two ladles, still harassing the crew to action.
“Row, ye bilge-bottomed blaggards! Brekkist! Wot swab mentioned brekkist, eh? Ye don’t get a single sniff o’ the cook’s apron until the keel hits the shallows! Row! Let’s hear those backbones a-creakin’, git those sweeps movin’, ye misbegotten maggots, ye far-flung flotsam, ye jumped-up jetsam!”
Quartle sniggered to Portan as they pulled furiously, “Ole Blood’n’guts says the nicest things, don’t he? I always wanted to be a jumped-up jetsam!”
He missed the stroke and tumbled backward. “Whoops, sorry, must’ve caught a crab!”
Portan whispered as he pulled his comrade upright, “Well, don’t tell anybeast, old lad. They’ll all want some!”
The wind stiffened, sending the vessel riding full tilt and landward. Once again, Cuthbert started berating his hapless crew. “Lay to wid those oars! D’ye want to run us onto a reef? There’s rocks ahead! Ship yore sweeps, finish with those oars afore ye wreck me valuable vessel, ye cloth-eared clods! I told ye to row, not t’go bloomin’ mad!”
Quite a bit of muffled laughter broke out among the oarcrew, but they gratefully shipped oars whilst Cuthbert, aided by the fat Corporal Drubblewick, frantically shortened the mainsail to decrease the vessel’s speed. With Tiria at the bowsprit calling directions and Cuthbert manning the tiller skillfully, they charted a course between rocks and reefs. The Purloined Petunia made a stately landfall, her keel crunching into the pebbled shallows.
Even before they had dropped anchor, the main body of the crew made an eager stampede for the side, everybeast wanting to be first ashore. Cuthbert suddenly cast off his maritime coat and reverted to his role of Major Blanedale Frunk. However, it was only with the timely assistance of Captain Rafe Granden and Colour Sergeant O’Cragg that the Long Patrol were stopped from disembarking and wading ashore. The roars of the three officers froze the crew in their tracks.