Ben watched. Grey and grey, and more grey still. Grey that surged and so was the grey sea. Grey that floated and shifted and was cloud. Grey that raged and buffeted. He hadn’t known that you could see wind too. He could almost hear its words . . .
He forced himself to watch for what was there, not to try to grasp what wasn’t. Grey sea. Grey sea. No white at all. Grey sea . . .
A bell sounded below. He ignored it, gazing at the grey sea, hunting for a glimpse of white.
A voice below. The captain’s, a practised bellow above the wind. ‘Come down now, lad. Climb down.’
Leave the security of his perch, to climb down that vast distance to the deck with numbed fingers and cramped legs? He could not do it.
He had to do it.
He fumbled with the rope, gripping, holding. He no longer thought, but let his body take over to survive. Down and under, and then down again . . .
This was the most dangerous moment of all: level with the gunwales but outside the hull of the ship. Ben could feel his legs shaking. His feet had lost all sensation. His fingers were blue and bleeding from the ice crystals in the ropes. All his strength and determination ebbed . . .
‘Just survive,’ the wind muttered. They were the words Sally’s father had said. All Ben had to do was survive, and he would have a life beyond this pain, beyond the waves and wind. If he survived, he would live in a world of green again. He would return to Badger’s Hill.
Slowly he crabbed sideways along the shrouds, forcing his hands to grasp the ice-daggered, frozen ropes. Even more slowly he transferred one leg and then the other around the shrouds. Now he was outside the edge of the ship’s hull. He glanced down at the white and turquoise of the waves crashing below. A few seconds in that water and he’d be dead. He focused on gripping the rope again, though his body had lost almost all feeling except pain. At last he was on top of the slippery wooden gunwales.
The world swam about him. For a moment he thought he had fallen, that the sea had claimed him at last. Then hands grabbed him. Black hands. He caught a glimpse of Guwara’s face and felt him stagger as he caught Ben before he hit the deck, then supported him. More hands helped him to stand. His legs trembled uncontrollably. His feet and hands shrieked in agony now they were moving again. He tried to walk, staggered, felt arms on either side of him.
‘Good work, boy.’ That was Harry One-Eye, the cook.
Mutters of ‘well done’ came from either side, and hands helped him to the companionway and carried him down.
‘See! I said the boy could do it.’ His father was triumphant, up on the quarterdeck with Captain Danvers, as if there had never been any doubt or risk.
The cabin. Warmth. Ben held his hands above the coke brazier, almost screaming with the pain.
‘Drink this, Sneezer.’ Higgins held out something warm.
Ben tasted the bite of spirits. He drank more deeply and felt the world shudder. For a moment he thought the ship had struck an iceberg, one that he had missed seeing. But it was his own body that lurched. I am drunk, he thought. And my body will go no further.
Hands undressed him. He fell into a deep black hole. And slept.
He woke suddenly, thrown against the wall, then falling back onto the bed. The cabin lurched about him. Iceberg!
The ship righted again. No, a storm. His hands and feet burned. So did the skin on his face. But he was alive.
‘You’re awake then.’
Ben looked up at Higgins’s face. The ship lurched again, sloping up, up, up. Higgins braced himself against the wall as the cabin suddenly crashed down the other way.
‘No sign of more of them icebergs,’ he said. ‘You were a fool, boy. Brave, but a fool. Here.’ He handed Ben a stoppered flask.
Ben took it carefully, his hands hurting even more as he bent his fingers. It was coffee, cold but sweet. He sipped it cautiously so it didn’t spill.
‘Captain’s ordered the fire put out in the galley,’ Higgins said. ‘Too dangerous in a sea like this. But there’s plum puddin’ or cheese.’
Suddenly Ben felt ravenous. ‘Both, please.’
‘Yes, master.’ The tone was sarcastic, but nonetheless Higgins crossed to the chest where the Huntsmores’ personal food supplies were kept. He returned with both pudding and cheese neatly on a plate, marred only by the imprint of his thumbs on them to stop them sliding off.
‘Is all well up top?’ Ben asked.
‘One man overboard. Boney Figgs. Slinker Harris has a broken leg. Bone’s pokin’ through, so he’ll probably die of it. Apart from that it’s bruises and a bit of frostbite is all so far. You did a good job on the lookout yesterday, Sneezer. We’d have been goners without you seein’ that iceberg, and the crew know it. Good thing too.’
‘Because the ship might have sunk?’
‘That too.’ Higgins looked at Ben thoughtfully. ‘We’re headin’ for fightin’, Sneezer. The crew are in it for the gold. A week ago not one of ’em cared a ha’penny what happened to you. They wouldn’t have put a knife into you, but they wouldn’t have stirred ’emselves to stop one either.’
Ben felt the last mouthful of cheese go hard in his throat. ‘And now they would?’
‘Mebbe. Mebbe not. Do another turn up on the lookout and they’ll think more kindly of you yet.’
It made sense. Ben’s father commanded loyalty because he promised them wealth. The crew had no reason to care what happened to Ben. He didn’t want to go back up to the lookout. He was even more frightened than he had been the first time, especially as the ship surged up and crashed down and rolled with the following wind.
But still he said, ‘I’ll go up on deck and offer to take another turn.’
Higgins shook his head. ‘Not yet, you won’t.’
Anger flared. ‘You can’t give me orders.’
‘I just have. And if you’ve got sense, you’ll follow ’em too. Go up on deck now and they’ll expect you to do another watch today. Chances are it’ll kill you. You ain’t got the experience or strength in a sea like this. The deck is rollin’ and pitchin’ now, but up top the movement’s much wilder. More than yesterday, and that was wild enough. Wait here till it calms and your body’s stopped achin’, then go up. They’ll think you’re still asleep, recoverin’. Or, more likely, won’t think of you at all.’
‘But I need to —’
‘Use the chamberpot,’ said Higgins impatiently, then grinned. ‘I been usin’ it meself while you were sleepin’. Less chance of goin’ overboard throwin’ mess into the sea than tryin’ to sit astern. Give it a few days more afore you goes back on deck. But that was grand work, Sneezer. A fool’s choice, an’ a brave one.’
Higgins reached over and helped himself to a slice of plum pudding. ‘Grand puddin’. Never had me a puddin’ like this in Lunnon Town. Real toff’s food, this is.’
Toff’s food, Ben thought. He had taken his birth as a gentleman for granted. One did one’s duty, as the lower orders did theirs. But yesterday he had done the work of a common sailor, and it was possibly the proudest moment of his life.
CHAPTER 12
Ben felt the change in the ship’s movement a week later. They seemed to be meeting the waves side-on, as if riding in a carriage on a potholed track. His hands had recovered, and his feet too, but he still hadn’t been up on deck.
‘We’re tackin’ north,’ said Higgins, bringing back the chamberpot.
Ben saw that deadly tooth of ice again in his mind. ‘Icebergs?’
‘Nah. If the captain’s right, we’re nearly back where we was when we sailed to New Holland the first time, way down south of the western coast, but headin’ north this time, not east. We’ll be seein’ land soon, Sneezer.’
‘And if he’s wrong?’
‘Then we’re lost,’ said Higgins cheerfully. ‘Ain’t much we can do about it, except enjoy them plum puddins while we can.’
Ben swung his legs off the bed. ‘I’m going up on deck.’
Higgins nodded thoughtfully. ‘Probably
a good time to.’
‘I wasn’t asking your permission,’ said Ben shortly.
He pulled on his oldest, warmest trousers, his jacket and one of his father’s coats, then climbed up the companionway. His legs and arms still felt stiff. One of the crew nodded to him as he passed. It was a small gesture, but the first acknowledgement he’d had from any of them.
The swells ran strong and deep, but they were regular and the ship rode them easily. Ben’s father stood with Captain Danvers on the quarterdeck. Ben hesitated to go up to them. No one, not even the owner’s son, went onto the quarterdeck without permission. But to his relief, Captain Danvers hailed him.
‘Good morning, Master Huntsmore. Come to have a lesson in the use of a sextant?’
Ben wasn’t sure if the offer was a joke or not. ‘I’d like to be the lookout up on top again, sir.’
‘No need,’ said Danvers. He smiled. ‘Save your eyes for the scenery. We should approach the coast by afternoon.’
‘But I would like to, sir.’
‘Bored below? That’s my lad,’ said Mr Huntsmore.
Captain Danvers regarded Ben, his expression hard to read. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘Be ready for the change of watch at the next bell. You know what to look for up there?’
‘Anything except sea and sky, sir?’
‘Not quite. This route has been well-mapped, but not quite well enough. Look for white water where there should be none — there may be a reef. Keep an eye on the horizon, and if it shrinks, yell a warning and get down from there fast. There are rogue waves in these waters that can splinter a ship in seconds if you don’t meet them right. Call out whales too — a surfacing whale can capsize a ship. And dolphins — the men like to bet on them. Land too, of course, though I doubt we’ll be within sight of it during your watch. Oh, and other ships.’
‘Dutch ones, sir?’ Would the battle happen so soon?
‘In this latitude any ships we see are more likely to be American sealers or Englishmen.’ The bell that told all the time of the ship sounded below. ‘Up you go, lad.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Fear prickled, almost terror, but excitement too. Ben felt his father watching him thoughtfully as he walked over to the ropes.
To his surprise, Ben enjoyed being a lookout the second time, once he’d made the still-terrifying journey up the shrouds and tied himself onto the top platform securely.
There was no true privacy on a ship, nor silence. Not that it was silent up there either, but the wind blew away all but the loudest sounds. He would never make a sailor, never make another voyage once he returned to England, but for the first time he understood why men like Guwara chose to go to sea. For the feeling of being one with the waves and sky; the adventure of waiting for the line on the horizon that might resolve to be cloud or land.
The wind increased, lashing and buffeting. Ben was used to it now, even when spray was thrown up so high that it splattered ice drops against his face and coated his hair with froth. This was as close as a man could come to flying. It was exhilarating, almost as if he were an eagle riding the sky.
When he climbed back down, he was smiling still, despite the pain in his feet and hands.
They saw the coast of west New Holland just as the dusk drew purple curtains across the sky: a darker line that could have been cloud or waves if it had not been exactly where the captain’s sextant said it should be.
The crew reefed the sails, keeping just enough up to hold the ship steady overnight so they could navigate any reefs or islands in daylight.
Ben woke with the dawn, pulled on his trousers and scrambled up the companionway, his feet as bare as any sailor’s. There was the western coast, flatter-looking than the east and on their starboard now, but too far off to make out details.
‘Come on up, lad,’ called Captain Danvers from the quarterdeck.
To Ben’s surprise, Guwara stood next to the captain.
‘No storms ahead then? No wind changes?’ Danvers was asking him.
Guwara shook his head. ‘Not sure, boss — birds strange here. Don’t think so, boss.’ He gave Ben a half-grin.
‘Off you go then, Billy-Boy. Food time, eh? You go get food. He’s not as useful here as he is on the east coast,’ Captain Danvers added to Ben as Guwara ran back towards the companionway. ‘But he’s been right so far about the winds.’
‘Where do we head to now, sir?’
The captain looked surprised. ‘Your father hasn’t told you? We’ll anchor behind Shark Island, just off the Swarte Swaene-Revier. That’s the Black Swan River. A Dutchman found it more than a hundred years past, and a Frenchman mapped it a few years ago. I haven’t seen his map, but I met a man who’s copied it. There’s fresh water on the island and game. The island curves, making a harbour of sorts.’ He shrugged. ‘Sailing up the river would be better, but there’s a sandbar across its mouth.’
‘So we hide behind Shark Island till a Dutch ship comes by, then we chase them?’
Captain Danvers shook his head. ‘They’ll be bigger than us, and most likely faster.’
‘So how do we catch them, sir?’
‘We lure them in towards us. They’ll be thinking the Golden Girl has been abandoned, the crew dead of fever or thirst maybe.’
As we nearly were, thought Ben, thinking of how the ship had been almost helpless when so many crew had died of fever on the voyage out.
‘But won’t they get suspicious when they see the English flag, sir?’
‘That’s why we’ll be flying the flag of Holland. It’s a dangerous coast and many a ship’s been wrecked here. Every ship knows to look out for fellow countrymen who might be stranded.’
‘But . . . but isn’t flying another country’s flag against the law?’
‘Yes,’ said Captain Danvers briefly.
‘But . . .’ Ben stopped at the look on the captain’s face.
‘I can’t say I like it,’ said Danvers harshly. ‘But those are your father’s orders. And we’re doing the Prince of Wales’s bidding, and these ships are those of our enemy. And,’ he added grimly, ‘there’ll be none left to tell the tale when we’re done. Go below, Master Huntsmore, and have your breakfast. We need more experienced sailors than you up on the top today.’
Ben’s father sat in the single chair in their cabin while Higgins set the table with a linen cloth, silver cutlery and the china plates that were packed away with the cloth after each meal. Then came the food from the chest — oatmeal biscuits baked in Sydney Town to eat with their cheese and ham today, raisins, dried apples, sugarplums, and claret too.
Mr Huntsmore nodded to the convict. ‘You may go.’
‘Yes, sir. If that will be all, sir.’ Higgins backed from the room, bowing.
‘Where have you been?’ Mr Huntsmore asked Ben.
‘I was talking to Captain Danvers, sir.’
‘I don’t want you consorting with the crew.’
‘But he is the captain —’
‘Don’t you “but” me, young man. Once you let underlings become too familiar, you lose authority. We are on a ship of thieves. Even Danvers wouldn’t be on the Golden Girl if he could get a better berth. I expect my son to act like a gentleman.’
‘But you sent me up to watch, sir!’
‘That was necessary. Idle chatter isn’t. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Ben. What else could he say? But his thoughts were his own.
CHAPTER 13
The Golden Girl hummed. There was no change in routine Ben could point to exactly, just the heightened sense that all aboard were waiting to get closer to this western land, waiting for battle, for gold . . . or for death.
Ben had never seen a battle, but almost every ancient Greek or Latin textbook the rector back home had made him study had been about long-ago wars. Ben had no reason to think battle would be any less bloody now. The Golden Girl might be able to cripple a Dutch ship with her cannons, but there would still be hand-to-hand combat to gain its treasu
re.
He waited till evening to speak to his father, spending his time studying the map Mr Appleby had given him. The Black Swan River was marked on it, as well as many small islands, including the curved one that must be Shark Island. He’d wondered if he should risk his father’s anger by showing the map to Captain Danvers, in case it had islands or reefs the captain didn’t know of. But this western coast had been well-mapped by many hands and had been an established trade route long before the English came to New Holland. He doubted there was anything new along this part of the coast that Captain Danvers needed to know.
At last Higgins brought their dinner: boiled potatoes with salt butter, ham, biscuits and plum pudding.
Ben cleared his throat nervously. ‘Father?’
His father looked up from the account book he was scribbling in. His annoyance seemed to have subsided. ‘Yes, son?’
He hardly ever calls me by name, Ben realised. It’s as if I exist only in relation to him, as his son.
‘When we meet the Dutch ship, how . . . how should I fight?’ he asked. ‘I am a fair shot, but I have never studied sword play.’
‘Sword play?’ His father looked amused. He put down his pen, wiped its nib, then corked the ink bottle. ‘You and I won’t board the ship ourselves. That’s the crew’s job.’
‘They . . . they will die for us?’
Mr Huntsmore looked impatient. ‘Men do die. Ships’ crews and men in battle. Generals stay behind the line to direct the battle, and that is what you and I will do. We will be in this cabin with the door well-bolted until the fighting is over. You still have the pistol?’ he asked sharply.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Keep it hidden. You know how to reload it?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Young Lon’s father, the gamekeeper, had shown him that, as well as how to hunt with a musket. Badger’s Hill seemed very far away now.
‘This cabin is reinforced,’ Mr Huntsmore went on. ‘It won’t withstand cannon shot, of course, but I’ve ordered Captain Danvers to keep this part of the ship on the far side of the attack.’
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