Ben shook his head regretfully. “I wish he hadn’t done that. I like the crew of the Marie. They may be pirates, but they aren’t as bad as the crew of the Dutchman. They were wicked.”
Ned licked Ben’s hand. “Well, you’re a lucky lad, and I’m a lucky dog. We’ll just have to put up with it. Get some rest now. Our cap’n said he’d stay out on deck. Go on, mate, sleep. I’ll stay here and keep watch for both of us.”
The boy scratched behind his faithful dog’s ear. “I know you will, Ned. You’re a good, trusty hound.”
Ned winked at Ben. “Don’t go to sleep right away. Keep scratching my ear, just there. Ooh, that feels wonderful!”
Eventually they both fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. Ben dreamt he was drifting amidst golden clouds in a glorious dawn, high over a calm sea blue as a cornflower. Softly, like distant bells across a meadow, the angel’s voice floated into the corridors of his mind.
“Beware the walking dead by night,
banished by our Saviour’s sight,
And when all faces turn away,
Leave the sea upon that day,
But shun the gold, thou honest heart,
Watch not a friend you loved depart!”
The next thing Ben knew was the sound of Ned, growling softly at a knock on the cabin door. Anaconda’s giant frame almost blocked out the pale dawn light as he stooped and entered, bearing a tray. Placing the contents on the bedside table, he indicated two bowls of oatmeal, some fruit, and water for Ben and Ned.
“We sail now. Cap’n say you eat this.” The big man turned and padded silently out.
Ned heard a dull bump against the ship’s side and nodded to Ben. “Sounds like the anchor being hauled.”
Ben began eating hurriedly. “I’ll go and lend the crew a hand to make sail!”
Thuron watched as Ben swung nimbly from the rigging and landed lightly on deck next to his black Labrador. The Frenchman admired the boy’s agility. “A monkey couldn’t have done that better than you, lad. Well now, my lucky messmates, are ye ready to sail for France?”
The boy threw a salute. “Aye aye, sir!”
Ned wuffed and wagged his tail. Captain Thuron smiled happily. He turned and called orders to Pierre, who was at the wheel. “Take her out steady beyond the cliffs, Bosun. Then set your course nor’east through the Caribbean, out ‘twixt Hispaniola and Puerto Rico into the Atlantic deeps!”
Ben felt a thrill of anticipation. Certainly there would be unknown perils out on the wide oceanhardships, too. But this was a voyage to another continent. His sense of adventure was stirred. He felt a kinship with the crewmen of La Petite Marie as they struck up a farewell shanty. Ben felt like a true seafarer, out on his second voyage, halfway across the world. Captain Thuron sang along with the rest as Ben hummed, not knowing the words, and Ned wagged his tail in time with the music.
“Fare thee well, ye fair Susannah,
And to all the friends I know.
Adieu to the shore I might see no more,
I am sailing so far from you.
The seabirds are wheeling and crying,
And we’re bound to cross the great main,
I must follow the sea, so think kindly of me,
Maybe one day I’ll see thee again.”
Percival Mounsey, the cook aboard the Devon Belle, was fastidious in his duty to Cap’n Redjack. The master of an English privateer was always served breakfast first, so the cook had risen at dawn and hauled in a yellow-scaled flatfish from a baited line he had hung off the stern rail on the previous night. Having cooked the fish to perfection on his galley grill, he arranged it fussily on a silver platter with thin slices of lemon, a sprinkle of red pepper and a dash of rock salt. He placed it on a tray, along with half a decanter of Madeira wine and two of the special thin malt biscuits from Redjack’s personal tin. Folding a serviette neatly, he put it in the captain’s pewter goblet. Carrying the tray aloft on the flat of his left palm, the plump little cook set off along the starboard deck for the captain’s cabin. About halfway along the deck, he stopped to admire the sun rising through a pink and pearl misted cloud. Mounsey sighed. He loved the Caribbean and its exotic climate. That was when he saw the ship rounding the tip of the headland beyond the cliffs. The cook dashed for’ard, still balancing the tray. He kicked at the two crewmen who were sleeping away their watch.
“Charlie! Bertie! Look, a ship!”
Captain Redjack Teal was seated at his dining table, clad in a silk dressing gown and a tasselled hat, awaiting his breakfast. However, this morning proved a little different from others. Instead of the cook’s gentle tap to warn him of the meal’s arrival, the cabin door burst open and the cook was pushed to one side as the two watchmen hurtled into the room shouting, “Cap’n! Cap’n, sir!”
Teal sprang up in a fury, his finger pointing at the doorway. “Out! Out of my cabin, confound your eyes, or I’ll have the hides flogged from your oafish backs. Out I say!”
Bertie spoke up hesitantly. “But, but, Cap’n, beggin’ yore”
The captain fixed him with an eye that would have frozen Jamaican rum on a warm day. “Outside … now!” Both crewmen knew better than to argue and stumbled out. Still standing outside balancing his tray, Mounsey gave them a knowing look, then tapped gently on the door, which he had just shut behind them. Teal’s voice called out languidly, “Come.”
The cook glided in smoothly, setting the tray carefully on Teal’s table and rearranging a lemon slice as he spoke. “A very good mornin’ t’ye, sir. H’l wish to report two h’of the crew’s watch, waitin’ outside to see ye, sir.”
The privateer captain poured himself some Madeira, moderating his voice to its usual aristocratic drawl. “Really, two of the watch, y’say. Send the fellows in, please.”
Mounsey called to Charlie and Bertie, both standing outside. “H’enter, an’ close the door be’ind yew!”
Teal glanced over the rim of his goblet at the pair, standing awkwardly in his presence. Before either of them could speak, he held up a hand for silence and began lecturing them. “Never taught to knock politely, were we? Now, repeat after me: Bumpkins should always knock before entering the cabin of a captain and a gentleman of breeding. Repeat!”
Charlie and Bertie stumbled over some of the words, but they managed, after a fashion. Teal wiped his lips by dabbing at them with the serviette.
“Politeness is the first rule to one’s captain. Now, you there.” He picked up his fork and pointed at Charlie. “What exactly was it you wanted to report, eh? Speak up, man.”
“Ship off the starboard bow, Cap’n, passin’ the ‘eadland. Looks like a French buccaneer, sir!”
Teal’s fork dropped, clattering upon his plate. “Demn ye man, why didn’t you say?”
Bertie piped up. “We was goin’ to, sir, but you said”