by Jan Needle
Inside of her, deep inside, Deborah could feel a change. There was a hardness growing in her brain and soul; there was a cutting edge. Although she longed for sight and touch of William, her love was different: it had teeth and muscle. She no longer believed inevitably that she would see him soon — or ever, necessarily. She no longer felt that it would kill her if she did not, either, although the pain was very raw.
In fact, in some ways, she became determined. To find him would remain her aim, and — she did believe — her destiny. But she was sure of one thing, clear and absolute: she would live.
TEN
“What! Gone! How mean you, gone, sir? How dare you, gone!”
Midshipman Shilling, small and pale, stood in the cabin facing Richard Kaye and trembled in the stark sunlight. At first it had seemed the bellowing would begin on deck, but even Kaye, at last, had read the faces of his company, had seen suppressed excitement in their eyes and snapped a lid on his public rage. He had shouted at Jem Taylor to “set the scum to work,” and hustled Shilling toward the poop-break, flanked by Holt and Bentley. He had slammed the door behind them, then opened it to look onto the deck to check the men were scuttling to rope’s end and cane. They were.
“Well, sir? Have you lost your speech? Well, sir, what mean you, he has gone?”
Will, who had seen too many small boys bullied by men in blue, could not help but admire Shilling’s courage. He was as pale as death, exhausted, and had a definite, ragged cut above one eye, with bruising. But although he trembled, he returned his captain’s gaze unflinching, and until the ranting stopped, seemed unprepared to give an answer.
“Dumb, is it?” shouted Kaye. “Or stupid? Do you not understand the English that I’m giving you? Is it too hard? You say a man has gone, you drop it in as if it’s nothing, and then you won’t — ” He let out a growl, a kind of cry, pure frustration. “Good God, sir, how mean you, Gunning has decamped? What, with all his men, the former crew I bought off him? How many has he left, the bastard! Oh, the London River dog!”
Shilling said quietly: “I did not say decamped, sir, and he took no others of his former crew. He went, sir, to escape them. They chased him off.”
It was well-timed. Slack Dickie goggled at him, uncertain he had heard it right, and Bentley took the opportunity.
“Who chased him off, Rex? What, his own shipmates? Or was it Biter men?”
“The Scots,” said Sam, flatly. “That’s where my wager goes. It was those three homunculi, for a king’s ransom! Did not Taylor seek to aid you? Did you not have a gun?”
The midshipman eyed him coldly. “We have marines on board here, sir. It is not my place to shoot men for a discipline offence. In any way, it was not necessary. I had a good control.”
Captain Kaye began to shout again.
“A good control! A good control, you blasted fool! Then where is my sailing master, my navigating man? If they chased him off, why did you not stop them, Groat? Why did you not shoot them? What mean you, that you had a good control?”
“The Scotchmen are a handful,” muttered Holt, “but Jem and Hugg and Tilley — ”
“It was not the Scotchmen, sir,” said Shilling. “It was not like that at all, I beg your pardon. Gunning had been on the deck, up forward, setting up the martingale, I think, and his former people rushed him. They had been shaping bad all day. They planned to toss him overside, I guess, and they were beating him as well, exceeding badly. The first I knew back aft was shouts and roaring. Lieutenant Savary was down below, I think, but his men were by the mainmast, so I drove them with me to the bow.”
“They had their muskets?” asked Holt. “That would have turned the trick, surely?”
“It was a melee,” Shilling replied. “Fists and elbows everywhere. The soldiers seemed afraid to get too close, in my opinion, and they could have levelled arms in case of orders, but did not. Lieutenant Savary, I have to say it, must have heard the rumpus; unless he’s deaf or drunk.”
There is something unpleasant about this child, thought Bentley. There is intention to him. But Kaye ignored the slight on Savary.
“What happened then?” he said, impatiently. “Come on, sir, spit it out.”
Again the measured pause. Midshipman Rex was not for hurrying.
“I ordered them to cease,” he said. “I ordered the marines to go among them. I climbed into the chains so I could be better seen. I shouted for the boatswain and his mates.”
“And?”
“Taylor was on the main topgallant yard, sir. He was working with a maul and did not hear at first. Then he came down. His mates ran up from otherwhere, but Gunning had been lifted to the side by now; they would have been too late to stop him going in the river. Except I saw the Scotchmen, sir. They were by the capstan. Two of them had picked up handspikes. They were ready.”
“Ready?” said Kaye. “What, so you ordered them? Hah! It was the Scotchmen saved him, was it? Hah!”
There was a momentary silence. Overhead, abruptly, seagulls screamed. The midshipman shook his head.
“Saved, sir?” he said. “Well, I… it was a sort of riot, sir, it was a madhouse.”
Holt said: “How did it… how did you finish it, Rex? Were you still stuck up in the shrouds?”
He had been polite; suggesting Shilling had been in full control. Shilling took umbrage anyway.
“My name is Shilling, sir. I am midshipman. Please do not use me so familiar. Yes, I was on high. I directed Mr Taylor and his men when they appeared. It was a very violent time. It lasted what seemed many minutes. The brothers knocked down about a half a dozen, knocked them down unconscious. Taylor and Hugg and Tilley chased the others off, and I skipped down to stop the Scotchmen killing them. Those handspikes, sir, if they catch you right…”
“Yes, yes,” said Kaye, “and where was Gunning all this while? Not dead, not overboard quite clearly, so where in hell?”
“He was overside, sir. Not overboard exactly, he was not in the water, he was on it. In the ruck he must have slipped away, I did not see the going of him, sure. He ran down and got out on the boom, sir. Those damned soldiers, slack again, they are surely paid and fed to stop such things? He ran along the top and jumped down into a boat and cast her off. When I saw him he was half a cable’s length away, going like a gun.”
“What?” said Kaye. “One man alone? What boat was it; how many oars? He is not a giant, sir!”
Shilling nodded, faintly.
“He hailed a wherry, sir, and transhipped. Around here they know him, most of them. I put a boat out instantly, but too late; they were almost in among the Deptford tiers. And the Scotchmen, sir, were still for killing all the mutineers. I still had pressing work to do.”
Kaye made a noise, half impatience, half disgust. Rex Shilling waited.
“I lost the man, sir,” he said. “For which I crave your pardon. But we fetched the stolen boat back smartly. And we still have all the London River crew, mostly intact.”
“Aye!” said the captain, suddenly hearty. “Aye, you’ve done well for that. Or at least, the Scotchmen have! Aye, it was a stroke of skill indeed to winkle them from Coppiner, the rogue! I will call them aft! They must have extra brandy! And they know Jamaica, also! Maybe we do not need — ” He broke off. He laughed. “Hah, Bentley; Holt! How capital if they could navigate, what? Ha ha, how very capital!”
Their eyes exchanged one thought: their commander, their buffoon. But Shilling was looking anxious.
“Sir,” he said. “Captain Kaye, I must say — ”
“You must say what, Groat? Is there no end to your munificence? What else have you done for me, you hero? How would you like to be lieutenant of marines?”
“Sir,” said Shilling, ignoring this crude jest, “you should not think those brothers are so… sir, they helped me for a… for a reason. I — ”
“Backsliding is it, Groat?” Kaye barked. “Fearing their praise will outshine yours? Look, sir, did they help or did they not? Without them what would h
ave been the upshot of it all? Good God, I hate this in a man! Ingratitude!”
Maybe it was a family trait. Maybe Shilling had seen his relative blow hot and cold like this before. But to Bentley’s eyes he took it very calm indeed. He squared his shoulders and his grey eyes did not falter.
“They border on the insubordinate,” he said. “It took all my… it was a battle, getting them to do my will. I fear sir… I fear there is much violence in their hearts.”
Slack Dickie laughed at him. He raised his large head to the deck-head beams and let go a shout of it.
“Capital!” he said. “From heroes to villains in one prissy mouthful, eh? Next you’ll say they set about you, I suppose? You have a bruise, Groat, a cut and bruise above your eye, all unexplained so far. What — did they attack you? Did the villains set about you? Pshaw! Spit it out, Groat, say what you must say!”
To Will’s eyes, the mark above the eye appeared to stand out starker. Perhaps the young man had paled. His mouth tightened, visibly. A muscle in his cheek began to work.
“No, sir, I am their officer. To attack me would be mutiny, and mutiny means death. I must say, sir, your inference — ”
“To hell with inference,” said Kaye. “To hell with you and mutiny, Mr Shilling Groat. Mutiny means death, does it, and dead men haul no halyards, as the Navy proverb says. So to hell with talk of violence, ditto. Those Scotch brothers saved the day by your account, and they are just the men for me. If I were you, I’d thank my lucky stars that they were on my side.” He stopped, and gazed at Shilling, levelly. “Ah, Shilling, Shilling, you have a lot to learn. Now get out of here, and leave me with my officers. The Scotchmen I will talk to later. You may go. No! Stop! I have a better plan! Black Bob! Where are you, bastard boy?”
Will Bentley and Sam Holt were astonished, but Rex Shilling turned as white as bone. He caught his breath as the small black boy appeared from behind a painted screen; he was appalled. Bad enough to be dressed down so savagely, but when a little savage hidden boy was listening… Bob, who had clearly heard it all, compounded it by smiling at the midshipman, in shy sympathy.
“Bob,” snapped Kaye. “Go find the boatswain for me, or a mate. I want the Scotchmen here immediate. The three of them. Lamont.”
“Lamont?” repeated Bob. His velvet eyes were wide but puzzled. Midshipman Shilling’s eyes, on him, burned with hatred.
“Lamont!” said Kaye. “The Scotchmen, three beanpoles with the scraggy whiskers! Oh, to hell! Find Mr Taylor. Find the boatswain. Look him out and tell him. The Scotchmen. Go. The Scotchmen called Lamont.”
Black Bob nodded, and muttered “Taylor, bosun” once or twice. As he moved toward the door Kaye waved the midshipman to leave as well, and Bob pulled it open to hand him through. Shilling glared at him and hustled past, as if to touch him would mean contamination. Bob’s face, turned back, was stricken. Then they were gone.
There was silence in the cabin for a moment, with Slack Dickie regarding them as if distracted. Then his face cleared. He was smiling.
“That bloody Groat’s a bloody prig,” he said, “but there’s spirit in him, I must say. If we’d left it up to Savary, we’d have lost the crew I do believe. He’s just a pretty face, that pretty boy; he needs a roaring out. Now men, what do you here? Have you no tasks to — ah, I remember.”
The smile became a beam. It was as if he had a bomb to lob. He did.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “I had a letter from their lordships. I did not tell you earlier in case you were distracted by’t. Tomorrow, ante meridiem, you are required at the Offices. And after that, to celebrate, I give you liberty to go to Surrey to make farewells; I know you have a mind for it. Day following, unless the sky falls down, we’re setting sail. One captain, post, two lieutenants, accredited, official. D’you remember Captain Oxforde? He heads up the testing board. Lord Wodderley, I understand, has taken an interest also. Well, what say? You’ve twenty hours, less, to learn again your tables and your stars! You will not shame me, will you? I confide you will be excellent, indeed.”
Will’s face was blank, but Holt’s was humorous. Then Will remembered Deb, and his heart jumped. First the examination, then to Sir A’s. Good God alive, just what to make of it?
Kaye was nodding vigorously.
“Aye, aye, well might you look concerned, boys. I hope you’ve done the work; I gave you time enough, for sure. In anyway, it is a load of flannel, is it not? Christ, when I faced the board my heart was so high in my mouth I could scarce articulate, and every other question left my mind a blank. I passed with colours flying, as they say. We all know more than we give credit for, leastwise to ourselves, that must be it. Take heart!”
We know more important people, that is more like, thought Sam. But he could not be bitter, could he, for through Swift, and Kaye, and Wodderley, he guessed he knew some, too, in terms of names and interest. He wondered though, uncomfortably, how the ship would get halfway round the world. How she would even reach the Downs without a pilot.
“Tomorrow, sir?” he heard Will say. “Is this not jest, sir, is this for serious? But I… but we…”
“But nothing, Bentley. But remember this: if you make a muff of it, you’ll have to face your Uncle Daniel, will you not? He has confidence, and so do I. You have tonight to finish off your preps. I will give neither of you any other duties. I would even let you take the night ashore, except I know you’d fuck your strength away at Dr Marigold’s. With Annette’s legs locked around his waist, there is no certitude that Holt would even turn up at the Offices! So — what say you both? Am I wrong to place my trust in you? Just tell me I am right!”
They pulled their shoulders back, they put on keenest faces, they chorused, “Aye aye, sir.” When Bob’s face peeped around the door, back from his errand, they made their bows and left with resolution. Outside the cabin, they met the Lamont brothers. The three Scotsmen glanced sideways, sardonically, and touched their curly forelocks polite enough. But there was something odd about their faces, something smirking, and as they passed, Will heard a squeak from the little African, a squeak of pain or terror. He spun upon his heel, but saw nothing but the brothers’ backs, lean and wiry, as they forged into the cabin.
*
Later that evening, as they watched the quiet northern shore of Kent in lovely starlight, Sam and Bentley became aware of the boatswain, in the shadows watching them. Will raised a hand and beckoned, and Jem Taylor padded barefoot across the deck to join them. Like Shilling he had a mark upon his face, but worse. A livid bruise, a jagged cut with blackened blood attached. Sam pointed at it.
“Go on,” he said. “Explain.”
“Those Scotchmen are the devil,” Taylor said. “I can speak frankly, Mr Holt? They will put us all in danger, sir. And tonight they boast they’ve taken brandy with the owner.”
The word introduced a tiny thrill in Bentley, but not a pleasant one. The owner was what men had called his Uncle Daniel, on the Welfare. Swift’s command had had a grip of steel.
“Do you doubt it, Jem?” asked Samuel. “Or is the question why?”
A small noise from the boatswain.
“I do not doubt it, no. That they have power over poltroons is — ” He broke off suddenly. He coughed to hide embarrassment. “Not that I suggest, sirs — not that I do impugn… Ah Christ, sirs.”
“We’ve heard naught wrong, Jem,” Will told him, gruffly. “Better to be frank, please, downright blunt. It is not as if we have not… oh speak, man. Tell us your fears.”
“They did take drink with him,” put in Holt. He glanced about the empty deck to make sure no one overheard them. “Midshipman Shilling told a story how the brothers saved Jack Gunning from his former people, who would have slaughtered him. They saved the man and saved the day. Mr Kaye, I have to tell you, has the highest hopes of them. Of Shilling too, I guess, although he don’t find that so pleasing as a prospect.”
“The midshipman did try to warn him, though, in some way,” said Will. “He blew hot and
cold about them. First praise, then talk of violence in their hearts.”
Taylor gave a quiet laugh.
“Violence in their hearts, was it?” he said. “Poor boy was lucky that he got away alive. I thought one moment we would have to rescue him, me and my mates. In all that bloody mayhem.”
“What?” said Sam. “They hit him, did they? He has a bruise, but said… go on, finish it.”
“I think the face-hit was an accident,” the boatswain said. “But they… well, he tried to order them, to give commands. They insulted him most horribly. They laughed and mocked him. They held him for a toy.”
“Humiliation,” Will said softly. There was pity in his voice. He recalled Rex Shilling’s pale and tortured face. “But these are common sailors; they are pressed. Where was this, Jem? Did many of the company observe it?”
“No, sir, I think not. It was in the ’tween-decks. The Scots had beaten the rioters down there to shackle them, subdue them. There was still hot work on deck, but I had followed down to give the boy… the midshipman… a hand. I heard them rag him, call him seven kinds of… I heard the insults, sir. The threats.”
There was something hidden in the words. Something Will was unsure of, but Sam grasped or guessed.
“Are they buggermen?” he said. “Come, Jem, tell true. Were the threats to make a toy of him? That sort of toy?”
“Aye, sir. Among other things. Not the sort of things that he could tell, poor boy. They set out, sirs, to bring his spirit down, to make him know that they were in command. It was an act of brutes, in sorts. Of brutish men who… who seemed to have command.” He stopped, embarrassed. “I cannot say it right, that’s the rub. It sounds stupid, mad. They are like… officers in some wise, sirs, like men of… certain skill. If they get to that midshipman on his own, sirs, far out at sea… unless he tells, sirs — how can he survive?”
