The Angel's Command fd-2 Read online

  Ned passed Ben a thought. "There's old Pierre coming up from amidships. Look at the face on him, you'd think it was

  the Marie that'd had her mast shot off!"

  Pierre's misgivings became clear when he spoke to his captain. "When the galley got hit, most of the supplies went

  with it."

  Thuron's face fell. "Is there anything left?"

  Pierre shrugged. "Half a leakin' cask of water an' one sack of flour, that's all I salvaged."

  Captain Thuron's happy mood evaporated promptly. "We'll last out until we make Hispaniola or Puerto Rico. Take the

  wheel, Pierre. Back on the eastern course. Anaconda, you and I will work out a ration of water and flour for each man

  until we can get more provisions."

  Ned sent a sideways glance and a thought to Ben. "Maybe we're not so lucky for the cap'n. Tighten your belt, mate,

  there's hard days lying ahead of us."

  5

  CAPTAIN REDJACK TEAL WAS not a happy man. He was, in fact, rather unhappy and, as such, made sure the

  entire crew of the Devon Belle shared his feelings wholeheartedly. It was noon of the second day since Teal had lost a

  foremast to his own chain shot. The French buccaneer vessel was now more than a day and a night ahead, off into the

  wide blue Caribbean Sea. The British privateer had continued sailing in pursuit, but like a gull with an injured wing,

  she had soon dropped far behind, sloughing awkwardly along whilst running repairs were carried out on the broken

  mast. After severely chastising all hands as he had vowed he would, Redjack had taken to his cabin. There was not a

  man aboard who had avoided six strokes of a tarred and knotted rope's end, three strokes for losing the quarry and an

  added three for what their captain termed "lack of discipline and a sullen demeanour."

  At a timid tap on the cabin door, Teal glanced up from his noonday goblet of Madeira. He snapped out briskly,

  "Come!"

  The bosun stumped in, wooden splints bound either side of a fractured leg. Tugging his forelock respectfully, he stood

  wincing. Teal pretended to study a chart that was spread across the table. After what he judged a suitable period, the

  captain sat back, studying his bosun disdainfully. "Struth, man, have ye no tongue in your mouth, eh? Don't just stand

  there lookin' sorry for yourself. Speak!"

  The bosun's Adam's apple bobbed nervously. "Beg to report, sir, the jury mast is now rigged an' in place, all shipshape

  an' fit t'go under full sail again, Cap'n."

  Redjack toyed with his goblet, staring at the bosun's injury. " 'Twill be some time before you can go under full sail

  with that leg, eh?"

  The bosun kept his eyes straight ahead and replied, "Aye, sir."

  Teal sighed despairingly. "Lettin' a mast spar fall on y'leg like that. Lackaday dee, you're a foolish fellow. What are

  ye?"

  Still staring ahead, the man was forced to repeat, "A foolish fellow, sir!"

  Rising in a world-weary fashion, Teal refilled his goblet to take out on deck with him. "Stir your stumps, then, let's go

  an' take a look at what sort of a job's been made."

  A shrill blast on the bosun's whistle sent the crew hurrying into four lines on the main deck. Without a second glance,

  Teal swept by and went to inspect the new foremast. It was a section of common ash tree from the ship's lumber

  stores, held by spikes and rope lashings to the original foremast stump, which was about four feet high. The ship's

  carpenter and his mate, who had been applying coats of melted tar to the rope binding, stood respectfully to one side.

  The captain circled the jury-rigged mast twice, peering closely at the work. "Hmm, not half bad, will it hold sail

  without crackin', eh?"

  The carpenter saluted. "Aye, sir, I reckon she'll take a blow!"

  Teal, assuming the new mast was wood that they had picked up along the South American coast, smiled briefly at the

  grizzled workman. "Good man! Though I wager ye'd sooner be usin' stout English timber, a trunk of ash from back

  home, eh?"

  Knowing what to do, the carpenter nodded cheerily. "Aye, sir!" He watched Teal strut off, wondering how a man

  could become ship's captain without being able to identify a plain piece of English ash from the ship's stores, which

  was what he had used.

  Captain Redjack Teal went to stand on the afterdeck to give a speech to his crew waiting at rigid attention below on

  the main deck. Now he was a stern father, berating his wayward children. "As captain of this, His Majesty's ship, and

  as the bearer of the king's own letter of marque, I am bound by me duty t'keep the high seas free of pirates an' their ilk.

  But my crew are failin' me! An' a demned sloppy lot ye are! Lettin' a confounded Frenchy get away like that, eh? Call

  y'self gunners? I had him broadside on, an' all ye could do was wreck his worthless galley! Call y'selves marksmen?

  There wasn't a single musket shot from us, no enterprisin' fellow tried to take out their steersman or captain! Then, if

  y'please, we had a fool at the wheel who couldn't take us out o' the way of a single chain shot! He crippled us!"

  All hands stared at the deck, as if the answer lay there. Teal continued working himself up into a fine old temper. "Call

  y'selves English privateers, hah! Plowfield donkeys an' cabbage-furrow bumpkins, that's what y'are! But things are

  goin' to change, I'm goin' t'make marines of ye, fightin' sailors that'd make the wives of England proud! No more rope's

  end, 'tis the cat-o'-nine-tails for any man who doesn't jump to it. We're goin' to capture the Frenchman, or we're goin'

  to send him'n his whole demned froggy crew to perdition an' a watery grave! Do ye hear me?"

  All hands shouted as one man, "Aye, sir!"

  He turned to the mate who was holding the Madeira goblet in waiting. Teal took several sips and mopped lightly at his

  cheek with a kerchief. Berating a crew was tiring work. He was about to leave the deck when the mate reminded him.

  "Permission to carry out burial at sea, Cap'n?"

  The captain tried to look as if he had not forgotten. "Oh yes, quite. Chappie the mast fell on, wasn't it? Well, fetch him

  out an' let's get on with it."

  The corpse was borne to the amidships rail, wrapped tightly in sail canvas, weighted at the feet with holystones—

  chunks of sandstone used for scouring the decks. The canvas was rough-stitched up the centre with twine, the last

  stitch being put through the dead man's nose: a traditional seafaring way of making sure the man was really dead. Six

  crewmen held the bundle, balanced on a greased plank, over the rail. Teal took the Bible and skimmed swiftly through

  the regulation prayer for the dead, ending with a swift amen, which was echoed by the crew.

  Then the six bearers began tipping the board up, reciting as they did:

  "Let's hope Father Neptune

  Has saved him a fine fortune,

  An' all the pretty mermaids

  Will sing a sweet 'n' slow tune.

  For here goes some mother's son,

  Now all the prayers are said,

  With holystones round both heels,

  Tip him overboard, mates, he's dead!"

  There was a dull splash as the canvas parcel hit the waves and vanished down into the sea.

  Captain Redjack straightened his cravat. "Put on all sail, Mr. Mate. Take her due east in pursuit. Let me know when

  the Frenchman's sighted. Er, by the way, what was that fellow we just put down, eh?"

  "That was Percival, Cap'n," the mate replied.

  Teal looked faintly mystified. "Percival who?"

  "Mounsey, your cook, sir."

  The capta
in shook his head sadly. "Cook, y'say! Hmm, rather inconvenient. See if y'can find a good man to replace

  him."

  Three days had passed aboard La Petite Marie. The weather had stayed fair and the winds steady. Ben stood in line,

  carrying two bamboo drinking cups. Beneath the makeshift canvas galley awning, Ludon and a crewman named Grest

  were serving the water ration out to all hands. Ben held out the first cup, and Grest filled the ladle two thirds and

  tipped it into the tow-headed boy's cup. Then Ben held out the second cup.

  Grest eyed it, glaring at Ben. "One man, one measure, that's all anybody gets!"

  Ludon whispered something to Grest, who wordlessly dipped the ladle and gave Ben a second measure.

  Captain Thuron strode up. "Are you having any trouble, lad?"

  Ben shook his head. "No trouble, Cap'n, just getting the water for me and Ned." The boy walked off, followed by his

  dog.

  The captain poked a thick finger in Grest's shoulder, making the man flinch. "That dog gets water, the same as any

  man aboard. Make sure you serve him the proper measure, d'you hear?"

  As Thuron strode off, Grest muttered. "Water for a dog? There's hardly enough to go round for ourselves!"

  Thuron turned, having heard the remark. He smiled at Grest. "Hand me that ladle, friend."

  Grest did as he was ordered. Thuron bent the metal ladle handle easily in his powerful hands. Still smiling, he placed

  the bent ladle round Grest's neck and twisted both ends together. It was like an iron collar round the man's neck.

  Thuron allowed the smile to slip from his face.

  "The day you want to be captain, just let me know!"

  Ned licked his bamboo cup dry. "Funny how you take a simple thing like a drink of water for granted, until there's not

  much to be had."

  Ben smiled into his dog's dark eyes, returning the message. "No sign of rain either, or we could've collected some by

  spreading a sail and catching it. I wonder how far off Hispaniola and Puerto Rico are."

  The black Labrador picked up the cup in his jaws. "I don't know. Let's go and ask the cap'n."

  Thuron was standing in the bow with the glass to his eye. Ben and Ned went around by the starboard side, avoiding

  those still in line for their water. Ned stopped at the back of the canvas-sheet galley, alerting Ben with a swift thought.

  "Don't make any noise, mate. Come and listen to this."

  Ludon and Grest were whispering to a man named Ricaud as they served him water. "When we were moored at Santa

  Marta, Thuron kicked me, just because I tried to stop that cur from barking!" Ben overheard Ludon complaining. He

  also heard Ned's indignant mental reply.

  "Cur? Huh! Listen to that scurvy mongrel!"

  Grest was in agreement with Ludon. "Aye, if that lad an' his dog are so lucky, then why are we runnin' from a

  privateer, with hardly a bite to eat nor a drop to drink? Call that lucky?"

  Ricaud was a whiner, Ben could tell by his voice. "A drop is right. How can a man survive on only this lousy dribble

  of water? How much is left in that barrel, Grest?"

  They heard Grest swish the water as he tipped the barrel. "Not enough to get us through tomorrow. We might be

  sightin' land about then. I'll tell ye one thing, though, Thuron's out to cause trouble for me. I'm not staying aboard this

  ship. Once I'm ashore I'll be off. There's plenty more vessels lookin' for crew round those two islands."

  Ludon's voice answered him. "Let me know when ye jump ship. I'm not stayin' aboard to be kicked around. How about

  you, Ricaud?"

  There was a chuckle from Ricaud. "The great Cap'n Thuron wouldn't be so high'n'mighty without a crew. I'm with ye,

  an' I'll put the word round. I wager there's more'n a few among us who'd be wanted by the authorities back in France."

  Ludon sounded cautious. "You're right, mate, but don't let Pierre or the Anaconda know, they're loyal to Thuron. Just

  ask around, easy-like, but make sure you talk to the right men."

  Ned stared at Ben, transmitting his thoughts. "You go and see the cap'n. I'll keep my ears and eyes open around here.

  Tell him what you've heard, Ben."

  Thuron was scanning the horizon through his telescope and had his back to Ben. On hearing the boy's footsteps behind

  him, the Frenchman turned. Ben felt embarrassed at having to tell his friend what he had heard. "Cap'n ... I... er ..."

  The buccaneer stared into his companion's mysterious blue eyes: he saw ageless honesty mingled with storm-clouded

  distant seas. He smiled to ease the boy's discomfort. "Speak up, lad. What's troubling you?"

  Ben tried again. "It's the crew. They're ..."

  The Frenchman nodded knowingly. "Planning to desert the Marie when we make landfall. Don't look so surprised, Ben

  —it doesn't pay for a captain to be ignorant of his crew's feelings. No doubt you've heard the muttering and spotted the

  hard glances. I've watched them, too, for a while. Ah, they aren't bad men, really, but they get like that from time to

  time. Well, look at it their way. We've run from Rocco Madrid, been attacked by the privateers and now we're about to

  run out of rations. What right-thinking seaman wouldn't want to leave such a vessel? The Caribbean isles' are friendly

  and sunny, and there's other ships in their harbours for a man to make his berth in. Besides, some of this crew are

  wanted men in France, most in the pirating trade are." He laughed. "I probably am myself, but I'm rich and willing to

  take my chance."

  Ben could not help but admire his friend's wisdom and easygoing outlook. Even so, he felt bound to ask the question,

  "What do you plan on doing about it, sir?"

  Thuron faced the sea and put the glass back to his eye. "Oh, I've made my plans, lad. The first is to sight land and get

  all hands ashore in a place where I can keep my eye on them. Not some waterfront town full of taverns, but a nice

  quiet cove with running water and a native village close by where we can trade for most of what we need. Trouble is

  that I haven't spotted land yet. I know we've run a bit off course in the last day or two, but the islands can't be too far

  off. Here, you take a peek. You're my lucky boy—mayhap you'll spy something."

  Ben took the telescope, focussed it and searched the horizon bit by bit.

  Thuron chuckled. "That's the way, use those lucky blue eyes of yours. I'll go and find Ned. Hope he hasn't signed up

  with the deserters."

  Ben kept his eye to the glass. "Shame on you for thinking such a thing, Cap'n. There's none more faithful than my

  Ned!"

  A distant speck on the horizon caught Ben's attention. He felt as though ice water were trickling down his back. Some

  sixth sense told him that it was the Flying Dutchman. Swiftly he angled the lens away southward. A dark-purplish

  smudge on the far skyline dispelled his fears. The boy's spirits soared. "Cap'n, I can see land! There, over to the

  southeast!"

  Thuron took the telescope and clapped it to his eye. "Where, Ben, where? I can't see a thing."

  He returned the instrument to the boy, who immediately found the far-off smudge. "Crouch down, Cap'n, I'll keep the

  glass steady. See it way over there?"

  The Frenchman screwed his eye hard to the brass aperture. "Your eyes must be a lot better than mine, Ben, I don't see

  a thing. No, wait . . . Aha, there 'tis! Tell Anaconda to alter our course two points south, then dead ahead. Ben, Ben,

  my lucky shipmate, you've done it again. Land ho!"

  The black Labrador sat stoically, listening to most of the crew grumbling and disputing over the stern rail. Suddenly

  they heard th
e captain's joyful shout, and it worked like a charm. Everything became hustle and bustle as the crew

  broke off to attend to their duties. Anaconda began singing in a deep, melodious voice.

  "Haul away for the islands, mates,

  That's the place to be.

  Way haul away!

  There's fish swim in the bay, me boys,

  An' fruit on every tree.

  Way haul away!

  The livin's good, an' easy there,

  So sunny an' so free.

  A shady place to rest your head,

  We'll anchor in the lee.

  To me way, haul away!

  Oh haul away, do,

  All hands turn out an' hear me shout...

  Away boat's crew!"

  Ned, standing alongside the giant steersman, threw back his head and bayed. Ben laughed as he exchanged a thought

  with the Labrador. "You'll have to learn the words, Ned!"

  The dog sniffed and gave him a dignified glance. "Does a fiddler, a drummer or a guitar player have to know the

  words? Ignorant boy, can't you see I'm providing a wonderful accompaniment to our friend here!"

  With the westering sun crimsoning her sails from astern, La Petite Marie nosed into Guayama, a cove on the

  southeastern coast of Puerto Rico. They dropped anchor outside the shallows, where she would not be left high and dry

  on sandbanks by an ebbing tide. Captain Thuron ordered Pierre to lower the ship's jolly boat. It was a small craft and

  would have to make the journey to shore four times.

  Knowing that the bosun was loyal to him, the captain chose him to make the first trip. "Pierre, you and Anaconda will

  take the first lot. Ben, you and Ned, go second; Ludon, you're third. I'll make the last trip ashore. Anaconda, stay

  aboard the jolly boat and make the return journey each time. Leave your muskets aboard, everybody, cutlasses too.

  Take only your knives. We don't want to show weapons—folk on the island might take it as an unfriendly gesture.

  Give the order, Anaconda!"

  Any protests about leaving guns and swords aboard were forgotten. The men felt their spirits rise as the giant black

  steersman roared through cupped hands, "Away boat's crew!"

  When Ben's turn came to go ashore, he seated himself in the prow of the little boat and sent a plea to Ned, who was