On A Lee Shore Page 7

Kit rewrapped the books carefully. Hakluyt, Waghenaer, and Bourne were to be expected, but there had been works by Heriot and Wright as well, plus a package of pamphlets that Kit’s fingers had itched to open.

  “Mathematics can do that,” he agreed. “So what should I call this Oxford man?”

  “Sir, if you’re wise,” O’Neill warned. “He has no liking and little patience for your sort.”

  Kit’s lips tightened. “My sort,” he said. “What do you mean by that?”

  O’Neill held up his hands, grinning. “Steady—I meant English. What did you think I meant?”

  “Nothing,” Kit replied, maybe a little too quickly because O’Neill grinned again. “English—half the bloody crew is English. I’ve heard voices of Padstow and Penzance and Bristol.”

  “Different sort of English, isn’t it?” O’Neill pointed out. “Now, if you’re satisfied with your tools, I’m guessing the old man’ll want to see you’re up to the job before he trusts you on your own.”

  “The old man, the captain, the Oxford man.” Kit sighed. “Doesn’t he have a bloody name?”

  “Not that you’ve earned the right to put tongue to,” O’Neill said. “Do your job well and willingly, and if you please him you’ll be told. For the moment—don’t you have some cringles to finish?”

  Back on deck the sail, the palm, and Davy were exactly where he had left them, but Saunders was on an upturned bucket nearby with a book and a bottle.

  “Ah there you are. I was told Wigram was eating you alive with mustard and came to watch him choke.” Saunders waved the book. “Now listen to this and tell me what you think. Is this not the most appalling translation of Homer you ever heard?”

  Davy grinned at Kit as he took up his work again, perfectly happy to listen to the story, bad translation or no. Kit too felt happier as he argued with Saunders.

  “It may not be accurate, but it certainly makes the story romp along,” he said. “Much better than the Ogilby, anyway.”

  “Youth.” Saunders sniffed. “Remind me to make you a draft to balance your humors. Too much excitement is bad for a man.”

  That evening the company assembled for their evening meal—salmagundi, a mixture of meats and spices layered with fresh greens. While they ate, O’Neill and the older black man Kit had noticed earlier set out a small table and a chair. A murmur of interest sounded as the captain appeared with a large wooden box in his hands.

  “New hands,” O’Neill shouted. “Step out now so we can all see you.”

  The captain had spent much of the day at the helm. Kit had been very aware of him, had felt that he was being observed. Now he was sure of it because, as the captain seated himself, he looked straight along the deck to meet Kit’s gaze. No searching, no uncertainty, just a challenging stare.

  “Come on, lad.” MacGregor, the Scots pirate who had found Kit and Sir George on the Hypatia, gave Kit a sharp prod in the back. “I’ll mind your bowl for ye.”

  Davy was already on his feet, waiting for Kit to take the lead. Kit stepped up to his side and nudged him gently. “Brace up,” he said. “Let’s do the Hypatia credit.”

  With that Kit set off for the table and the captain, who was still staring at him. Kit glared back, determined not to be the first to blink, and the captain leaned back in his chair with a laugh.

  “Looks like we’ve got a bullpup this time,” he said. “Come on then and sharp about it.”

  The crew had closed in behind them in a heavy-breathing press that Kit, though used to the confined quarters on a war ship, found most unpleasant.

  “Gentlemen,” the captain said, “and pirates all. We have fresh meat to add to the pot and, as you know, I’ll have everything nice and legal and above board. Forrest and Penrose are your names, are they not?”

  “Aye sir,” Davy said and Kit nodded.

  The captain opened his box, a fine mahogany affair that converted into a writing slope. He took out pen and ink and a large creased piece of poorly tanned parchment.

  “As members of the illustrious crew of the sloop Aphrodite—”

  “Africa Ditty!” Denny protested.

  “Africa,” the captain said grinning. “It is only fair that you are signed up properly so you may take your fair share of the benefits and risks of our brave enterprise. And it is only just and right that you sign to abide by the same rules that govern every man aboard this ship, myself included. So I will read the articles, and once we are in agreement you will append your signatures.”

  “Aye, all fair and legal,” MacGregor shouted.

  Kit stared at the paper as the captain unfolded it and smoothed it out on the tabletop. Kit was looking at it upside down, but even the right way up he doubted that he would have been able to read it. Several hands had contributed to the overall effect, which was densely written and decorative. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to draw scenes of naval battles down one margin, and there was a mermaid with enormous titties to the top right. At the foot of the paper was a smudged mess comprised of poorly written signatures and the marks of the illiterate, some of which had been scored or blotted out.

  “Seen enough?” the captain asked, and Kit straightened up again as the man commenced to read.

  “Item: That no man should endanger his compadres by taking a watch while in a state of drunkenness. Penalty for such a crime, one lash for every member of the company.

  “Item: That no member of the company should lay hands on an unwilling woman. Penalty for such a crime, to be flogged according to Moses Law.

  “Item: If two or more members of the company shall engage in fighting, said fight to be broken up by the officers, and the combatants to be taken to such a place on dry land where they may continue the fight according to the rules of the code duello, a copy of which may be obtained from the captain. If they do not wish to duel, they must accept such punishment as the captain deems fit.

  “Item: If one member of the company steals from any other, he shall be marooned.

  “Item: If any member of the company smokes a pipe or carries a lantern unhandily below decks, he shall be flogged, according to Moses Law, for a first offence and hanged for a second.

  “Item: Proceeds of our trade to be divided fairly and equally in the sight of all, then allocated by lot. Each member of the company to receive one share; artists, one share and a quarter; officers of the ship and surgeon, one share and a half; and the captain, two shares. Any man injured in the carrying out of his duties to be awarded recompense taken from the common fund commensurate with his injuries.

  “Item: All musicians to play on the demand of any of the company, but that they have the Sabbath Day to rest, except in the case of battle.

  “Item: All officers to be selected, firstly by aptitude and secondly by a majority vote. Any officer deemed unfit by reason of sickness, injury, or the presence of one more skilled, will stand down in good grace until such time as fit again, when he can put his name forward for selection.

  “Item: all foodstuffs, water, and spirituous liquors to be available to all the company until supplies run low, at which time rations will be allocated. Any man found stealing another’s share will be flogged, according to Moses Law, for a first offence and hanged for a second.”

  “Moses Law?” Kit’s interruption was met by an indrawn breath from the audience and a stare from the captain. “I beg your pardon, but what is Moses Law?”

  “Gentlemen,” the captain said. “We have a pagan in our midst—which explains a lot about His Britannic Majesty’s Navy. Moses Law in general, Lieutenant Penrose, is a set of rules for a civilized man to live by, but in this specific case refers to a punishment, forty lashes, minus one, upon the bare back. I pray you never give me cause to inflict it. Now,” he turned the parchment to face them and offered the pen. “You will sign.”

  Davy reached for the pen, but Kit grabbed his wrist. “And what if we don’t?” he asked. “This could be a death warrant for every man aboard. Why should we sign it?”

  �
�So that we all know what we should and should not do.” O’Neill grinned at the captain. “And so there’s no arguing about it.”

  “And if the ship is taken,” Wigram said, “we have an accord to send her to the bottom rather than be taken back to hang. The articles are for the eyes of the company alone.”

  “Also because it’s a damned long swim back to England, Lieutenant Penrose.” The sharpness of the captain’s voice indicated that his patience was at an end.

  Davy jerked his arm free and made a careful cross then passed the pen to Kit.

  “Sign it,” the captain snarled. Kit stooped, dipped the pen, and wrote “Lieutenant Christopher Penrose, RN, under protest.”

  “Ah, there’s a fine long name,” MacGregor said with an approving nod. “A man who can write that much all in one go will surely see us safe across the ocean.”

  “Of course he will,” the captain inspected Kit’s signature with a curl of the lip. “Because I will be watching him like a hawk. Now, all of you, about your business, sleep well, and if you have a God, pray to him because tomorrow Mr. Penrose will be taking the larboard watch.”

  From the moment Kit appeared on deck with a back staff in his hands and the helmsman adjusted their course in response to his orders, the crew treated him with more respect. Navigation was a science understood by very few of the men. Kit considered that they might be shocked to know how much guesswork was involved. Obviously it was some kind of magic to plot a position in the midst of the ocean, and no navigator, if he was wise, would admit that, “We are here—somewhere along this line of latitude. Further than that we have to calculate by the number of days of sailing, the current, the wind and how much we have left in stores.”

  All these pieces of information were needed to complete the picture, so Kit used his new authority to poke around. With one exception—he did not attempt to enter the cabin marked out as the captain’s.

  It took two days for the Garnet to respond to their pennant, and the captain grew increasingly bad tempered.

  “It’s as well we haven’t seen a prize.” Kit overheard him growling to O’Neill. “I’ll wager every man jack of them is dead drunk. It’s amazing she hasn’t foundered.”

  “She’s foul anyway,” O’Neill replied. “We could sell what’s left of the gin and take her into Carriacou to careen.”

  “We could,” the captain agreed. “But I still need to know what the bloody English are sending out to St. Kitts. We’re not going to find that out scraping barnacles off the Garnet’s arse.”

  Kit held his peace and watched the Garnet approach, sailing in a seamanlike way even if her crew were the worse for wear.

  The ships reefed sails a couple of cables apart, and Kit expected the captain of the Africa to go across to the larger vessel, but it was the Garnet that lowered a boat.

  “Oh dear God,” Davy joined him at the railing to watch. “How many are they packing in there? They’ll capsize sure enough.”

  “I think they know what they’re doing,” Kit said. “I wonder if there’s any way we can overhear what’s said.”

  “Easy,” Davy said with a grin. “This is a pirate ship not the flag ship of the fleet. They’ll talk on deck where everyone can hear. That’s how they do it here.”

  “How can a captain rule a ship if every man of the crew knows as much as he knows and is privy to the workings of state?” Kit asked. “There needs to be a proper order.”

  “Don’t see why,” Davy said. “We’re all men. You, me, O’Neill, even though he’s Irish, Valliere, even though he’s black, Lewis and Protheroe, even though they are mollies. We all deserve our say.”

  “Indeed.” Saunders pushed between them to lean on the railing. “Young Davy has grasped the great Athenian principles of democracy, which is a fine and wonderful thing on paper but falls down sadly when applied to flawed and sinful men. Take Denny for instance.” They looked across to where Denny was clinging to the rigging, waving to the Garnet’s long boat. “Denny is a man, therefore he is entitled to his say. But would either of you agree to put Denny in charge of any great enterprise? Could he captain a ship? Would you expect him to inspire men to exert themselves under terrible and dangerous circumstances? No, of course you wouldn’t. He can just about be trusted to run an errand as long as it’s not a complicated one. So, although all hands are able to hear what is said and speak their piece, we rely on our betters—for they are our betters—to decide what is best for the greatest number and to see us safely to port.”

  “An’ if they don’t, we get to vote them out,” Davy muttered, and Saunders nodded again.

  “True—they remain in charge just as long as the hoi polloi are kept satisfied. As long as panem et circenses are forthcoming our captain will remain the cockalorum. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a crisis to attend to.” He hefted an empty bottle and went on his way.

  Davy turned to Kit and made a face. “What was all that about?” he asked.

  Kit discarded the idea of trying to explain hoi polloi to Davy—he felt sure he’d be offended. “I’m not sure,” he said. “What did you mean about voting the captain out?”

  “Oh, that.” Davy turned to watch the long boat again. “They only stay captain as long as everyone agrees they do. But our captain’s a good’un so they’re keeping him for the moment.”

  Food for thought. Kit found a vantage point close to the helmsman where he would be able to see but would be out of the way.

  La Griffe had arrived with a good number of his men, and Saunders’s explanation made it clear why. They would be able to vouch for the fairness of any decisions made when they returned to their ship. Most of the crew of the Africa crowded round as well. Chairs were brought out, and the captains of the Africa and Garnet greeted each other affectionately before seating themselves.

  Kit was amused by the ceremony of it all and not particularly bothered by not being able hear every word. The way the men sat, their faces and the faces of the two crews would tell him more than the carefully weighed words they uttered.

  “So where to next?” La Griffe accepted a glass of brandy and lay back in his chair. “There have been precious few prizes since that snow with the gin. Do you think they are sailing further south to try and avoid us?”

  “No, we’re too far north,” the captain said. He too seemed relaxed, but the muscle of the thigh that Kit could see tensed every so often as though he was preventing himself from tapping his foot.

  La Griffe laughed and shrugged, but Kit noted that he didn’t meet the captain’s eyes. So, not equals then, even though they were pretending to be. If anything La Griffe looked uneasy, like a junior officer standing on the other side of an admiral’s table waiting to make apologies and amends.

  During the discussion that followed, it was decided that the two ships should take a more southerly route to see if they could pick up more prizes and that they should make more effort to keep in touch.

  “We’ll be there when you need us,” La Griffe gestured with his glass. “All you need to do is find the prizes. We’re not sailing for our health, you know.”

  “What you need to do is keep a good watch.” The captain scowled at him. “If we spy one of those rich Bristol traders we’re not going to wait two days until your men are sober enough to lay a gun. We’ll go after her ourselves.”

  “We had an accord to take our prizes together,” La Griffe growled.

  “Aye, and for that we need to sail in company and take equal risks for equal benefits.” There was a murmur of agreement from both crews, and La Griffe shrugged and nodded.

  “And you will have a hard time of it keeping up while Garnet’s bottom is foul.” The captain held out his glass for Denny to top it up. “We must find a place to careen her where the lads won’t get eaten by cannibals.”

  “Tortuga…” La Griffe began.

  “No, there they will be eaten by whores!” The captain waited for the roar of approval to die down before adding, “But we do need to find a
place to resupply. There’s no point taking prizes if we starve before we find a trader to take them off our hands. We have enough water—barely. What about Garnet? Did you supply her as I asked?”

  “Of course I did. I wouldn’t let my boys starve.” La Griffe held out the glass for a refill. “But you’re right. We need to resupply. The rum is getting short.”

  That got another roar of approval. After some discussion the captain agreed. “Landfall, resupply, and then south. Assuming we don’t run foul of any patrols.”

  “The Garnet and the Africa are more than a match for any sloop of war,” La Griffe swore. “We’d send ’em to the bottom, ay, and any man who sails on her. And who’s to say the word we had was right?”

  “My word,” the captain said and raised his cup. “And you know what that’s worth. For now though, let’s have some music, where’s that new fiddler?”

  With a new cask of gin broached, and with Davy fiddling away in the company of a piper and a man who banged a drum to keep time, the meeting broke up and a party of sorts started.

  Some of the hands drank and danced, others just drank. The captain and his guest talked together then rose and made for the stairs down to the cabin where, Kit assumed, the real business could begin.

  So much for democracy, Kit mused as he watched the two men link arms and stroll aft, picking their way between the revelers.

  As they reached the stairs La Griffe must have felt Kit’s regard because he looked up, saw him, and let out a laugh. The captain looked too, his head tilted the better to hear La Griffe’s murmur.

  There was a moment when, to Kit’s imagination, everything stilled. The captain’s eyes sharpened and he looked directly into Kit’s face with something that looked a little like sympathy. Then they were gone, and Kit heard the captain laugh as he accompanied La Griffe down the stairs.

  Chapter Six

  Kit was left wondering what La Griffe had said. Had he reminded the captain that Kit wasn’t to be trusted, or implied that he was steeped in unnatural vice?

  He suspected the former. Davy had mentioned Lewis and Protheroe, confirming something that Kit hadn’t looked at too closely. There were other men on the Africa who seemed more affectionate than the norm—it wasn’t wise to look too closely if two or more were “talking” in a corner. Nobody seemed to object to their friendships. But they were wholeheartedly part of the crew. Kit was still the enemy, a representative of a hostile power. No wonder they all kept him at arm’s length.