The Angel's Command

by Brian Jacques

  They returned to the Marie in the late evening to find a grim-faced Thuron awaiting their arrival. He nodded as he checked the boat’s crew. “Gascon isn’t with you. I suspected as much!”

  Pierre looked bewildered. “I hadn’t noticed he was missing!”

  The captain slung a musket across his shoulder and picked up his cutlass. “Oh, Gascon has jumped ship alright. Ben, you stay here with Ned. Pierre, take four men to row the boat. I’m going to hunt that rascal down!”

  Ben could not understand the captain’s reasoning. “But why not just let him go, sir? He’s not much use.”

  Thuron explained. “If ’twere just that Gascon is a surly and idle man, he could go for all I care. But while you were on the island, I checked my gold and found that someone has helped himself to it. That can only be one man—Gascon! He can’t run far on the Azores. Pierre and I will have him back here, ready to sail at dawn tomorrow.”

  Ned stood with his paws on the rail, watching the departing jolly boat as he imparted a thought. “You see, I told you I didn’t like that Gascon!”

  Ben fondled the dog’s silky ear. “What a good judge of men you are, sir. I’ll wager that when you become captain, you won’t have crew like him aboard your ship.”

  Ned regarded the boy huffily. “Your humour is misplaced, sir!”

  Later they sat together on the afterdeck with the crew. A pale moon was reflected in the calm waters of the lagoon, and not a breeze stirred anywhere. It was warm from the day’s heat.

  A crewman was singing softly.

  “Come, my love, gentle one, hearken to me,

  For I’ll bring you a fortune someday.

  I’m nought but a man who must follow the sea,

  Let me tell you ere I sail away.

  When the wind stirs the rigging,

  And the white sail’s on high,

  My heart is as sad as the long seagull’s cry.

  Wait for me, pray for me, ’til once again,

  I sail back to you o’er the wide ocean’s main.

  And what will I bring for you, ma belle amour?

  A bracelet of jewels so fine,

  Some silk from Cathay, that I know you’ll adore

  And a ring on your finger to shine.

  So be true to your sailor,

  Wipe the tears from your eye,

  For when I return you will nevermore cry.

  With my feet on the land, and my love by my side,

  ’Tis farewell to sailing, I’ll make you my bride.”

  Ben gazed up at the star-strewn skies, passing Ned a thought. “That’s a pretty little melody, eh mate?”

  Ned panted as though he were chuckling. “Aye, but just look at the singer. He’s a whiskery old doormat with an eye patch and only one tooth in his head. I think any poor girl would run a mile at the sight of him returning!”

  The boy threw a playful headlock on his dog. “Shame on you, sir, criticising others, just because you’re a handsome dog!”

  Ned cocked an eye toward Ben. “Cruel but beautiful, that’s me!”

  It was not on the next dawn but three days later that an anxious Ben saw the jolly boat’s return. Gascon’s hands were bound behind him, and the crew had to haul him aboard. Thuron looked tired and worn out. All hands gathered to see what he would do.

  Pierre whispered to Ben. “Slippery as an eel, that Gascon, but we caught him in the end. Cap’n ain’t too pleased at losing three days.”

  Ben experienced a moment of horror as Thuron drew his dagger. He faced the deserter and shouted to the crew.

  “Look!” With a few slashes he sliced through the felon’s pockets and coat lining. Gold coins glinted in the late-afternoon sun as they clinked upon the deck. Taking Gascon by one ear, Thuron shook him roughly. “Couldn’t wait for the share-out, could you, rat? I should have let you run off with the other three at Puerto Rico. At least they never thieved from the captain and shipmates! Take this scum out of my sight. Put him in the anchor-chain locker until I decide what to do with him!”

  As he was dragged off by the bosun and several others, Gascon began shouting. “Throw me in the sea an’ let me swim ashore. I know all about you an’ your lucky friends, Thuron. I ain’t stayin’ aboard this ship. She’s cursed, I tell ye, cursed!”

  Pierre silenced Gascon with a hefty blow to the jaw. He bundled the half-conscious deserter into the chain locker. Barring the door, Pierre growled a warning. “Shut your lyin’ mouth an’ be thankful you’re still alive, thief. Cap’n should’ve run ye through with that dagger!”

  Thuron glanced at the sky, judging the breeze. “We’ll haul anchor an’ sail at tomorrow’s dawn.”

  It was warm that night, and Ben and Ned settled down to sleep on the open deck. The black Labrador gave thoughtful voice to his opinion. “Pierre was right, the cap’n should’ve slain that villain!”

  Ben replied, “That sounds a bit ruthless, mate.”

  Ned closed his eyes, adding a final comment. “I’ve got a bad feeling about Gascon. I think there’s going to be big trouble for us while he’s aboard this ship.”

  14

  CAPTAIN REDJACK TEAL HAD NOT put in at the Azores. Sailing under fair weather and favourable winds, he set a course straight for the Bay of Biscay and the coast of France. Unknowingly, the Royal Champion, with the Devon Belle still in tow, had passed up the chance of catching La Petite Marie unawares, lying as she was in a single-exit lagoon with her captain absent ashore. As usual, Teal was seated in his cabin being attended upon hand and foot. He had just finished a breakfast of fresh fish, biscuits and Madeira. A crewman was busily polishing his captain’s buckled shoes, whilst another brushed vigorously at the red hunting jacket, which Teal had donned. Redjack had just placed his white-stockinged feet into the shoes when a knock sounded. He primped at the crisp white stock overlying his shirt. “Come!”

  The mate entered and saluted respectfully. “Come to report a man missin’, Cap’n, the French prisoner.”

  Teal held his arms wide as a crewman belted the Spanish sword and scabbard about his waist. “Really? I’m surprised he lasted this long, eh!”

  The mate looked at him questioningly. “Sir?”

  Looking away from the cheval glass, the privateer captain shook his head pityingly. “Oh, use your head, sirrah! A demned froggy informer, alone on a ship with three English lads he’d been tellin’ tales about. I’d have wagered a side of gammon to a pig’s snout that he’d have had a fatal mishap long since, eh! How do I look?”

  The mate tried to sound enthusiastic at Teal’s attire. “Ye cut a good dash, sir, all shipshape an’ Bristol fashion!”

  Teal sniffed. “Confound Bristol, London’s the place t’be seen. Faith! Are ye goin’ to leave your captain standin’ here all day, or will ye attend the door an’ let me out on me own deck? Move y’self, man!”

  Once on deck, Teal swept the starboard horizon with his telescope. Highly satisfied with what he saw, the privateer smiled brightly at his steersman. “Hah, just as I thought, Cape Ortegal on the Spanish coast. Admirable navigation, even though I do say it meself! Keep her out from the coast ’twixt Gijón an’ Santander. We’ll skirt the Gulf o’ Gascony, then up to the Arcachon Basin, eh! Mr. Mate, ye can fetch those three ruffians here from the Devon Belle. Have ’em report t’me.”

  There was a definite spring to Teal’s step as he strode the deck. He felt pleased with himself.

  The three miscreants—the bosun, Joby and the master gunner—had murdered Ludon some time during the previous night. They had climbed down from their masthead perches and cornered the informer. It was all done swiftly, a quick rap over the head with a belaying pin, and the unconscious Ludon was hurled overboard with a necklace of holystones to hasten him underwater. Now they stood ashen-faced and resigned in front of their captain, who, they were certain, would inflict extreme punishments on them.

  Redjack circled the trio, looking them up and down. Much to their amazement, he winked at them and laughed. “Frenchie went missi
n’ durin’ the night when ’twas nice an’ dark, eh? Strange fellow . . . Did any of ye see him takin’ his midnight dip?”

  The bosun acted as spokesman for his mates. “No, sir, we was too busy keepin’ life’n’limb together atop the masts, sir. None of us seen nothin’, Cap’n.”

  Teal nodded approvingly. “Well said, true blue an’ never betray one’s shipmates, eh? That’s the British way, m’lads! Methinks ye’ve had enough of mastheads an’ half rations. A happy ship’s what’s needed, so I’m returnin’ ye to duties aboard the Royal Champion. Be good men, behave yourselves, an’ serve king an’ captain loyally. Well, what have ye got to say for yourselves, eh?”

  The trio could scarce believe Teal’s change of heart. They tugged furiously at their forelocks, chanting, “Aye aye, Cap’n! Thankee, sir!”

  But Teal had strode off toward his cabin.

  Joby stood openmouthed—he had fully expected to be hanged for murder. “Well blow me down, Cap’n’s changed tack for the better!”

  The master gunner nodded his grizzled head. “Aye, an’ so would I if’n I was sailin’ in these waters. Spain an’ France ain’t friendly to English vessels, especially privateers. Old Redjack’s goin’ to need every man jack of us in case of attack, that’s what I say!”

  The bosun agreed wholeheartedly. “Redjack wouldn’t look too happy with a Spanish or French man-o’-war comin’ at him. Not with a bosun an’ a master gunner out o’ commission. What say you, Joby?”

  The former carpenter’s mate grinned. “Let’s go an’ see what Cookie’s got in the pot. My stomach’s stickin’ to me spine with ’unger!”

  The bosun threw an arm around Joby’s shoulder. “Good idea. There should be plenty o’ vittles in the galley. There’s one mouth less to feed—the Frenchie’s!”

  They hurried off to the galley, laughing like children.

  By nightfall the Royal Champion had passed Gijón and was halfway to Santander, running at full sail, with the Devon Belle tagging behind like a puppy dog.

  Redjack pored over the charts in his cabin, humming the melody of “The Jolly Captain.” He felt that now, more than at any other time in his life, luck and good fortune were at last smiling down on him. What a tale would be told around the taverns and fashionable coffeehouses of London! Redjack Teal arriving home with a fine Spanish galleon and two others in tow, carrying with him a fortune in gold coin, the weight of a man!

  He would become a legend in his own lifetime.

  Morning sunlight glittered over the ocean as La Petite Marie weighed anchor and sailed. Raphael Thuron stood at the wheel, grinning at the antics of Ben, who, with his dog’s assistance, was taking a turn at steering the vessel.

  The Frenchman encouraged his lucky friends. “Hold her steady, that’s the way! Now take her a point east. Not too far, Ben! Watch Ned, he’s got the hang of it!”

  The black Labrador stood on his hind legs, both forepaws resting on the wheel, chiding Ben. “You heard the cap’n—hold her steady, mate, like I’m doing. If I weren’t going t’be a cap’n one day, I think I’d make a first-class steersdog!”

  Ben tried to keep from laughing as he steadied the wheel. “Sorry, Ned, I can’t help it if I’m only a clumsy human!”

  Mallon and another buccaneer named Corday were hauling up pails of seawater and swilling the midships decks. Hearing Thuron’s laughter, they turned to watch the boy and his dog at the wheel. Mallon shook his head. “Just look at that, mate. It ain’t right. I never heard of a lad an’ a hound at the wheel of a ship, have you?”

  Corday lowered his voice. “I’m beginnin’ to think there’s some truth in what Gascon’s been saying.”

  Mallon eyed his shipmate. “Tell me.”

  Corday emptied his pail, watching the water run off through the scuppers. “Gascon says those two are Jonahs, an’ bad luck to all hands aboard. He says that—”

  Pierre’s hand descended hard on Corday’s shoulder. “Who says what? Come on, man, spit it out!”

  Both Mallon and Corday went silent. Pierre folded his brawny arms, staring sternly at them. “Only fools listen to the scuttlebutt of a thief an’ a deserter. Better not let the cap’n hear you say a word agin Ben an’ his dog. Now get on with your work an’ stop tittle-tattlin’. If ye’ve got anythin’ bad to say about anybody, then say it about me. But say it to my face!”

  The loyal Pierre strode off, leaving the subdued pair to continue their chore in silence.

  Ben and Ned were still having fun at the wheel when Pierre called the captain to one side and whispered in his ear, “I think ’twould be a good idea if you or I steered the Marie, Cap’n. Either that or let the crew take their turn at the helm.”

  Thuron raised his eyebrows quizzically. “What? Don’t ye like my lucky friends guiding our vessel? Look at them, Pierre, those two will be as good as Anaconda was someday. What’s the matter with ye, man?”

  The bosun of the Marie averted his eyes. “There’s a bit o’ talk goin’ around, Cap’n. Some of the crew don’t like it.”

  Any good humour the Frenchman felt suddenly evaporated. “They don’t like it, eh? Then they’ll just have to endure it. I’m master aboard the Marie, and ’tis I who gives the orders! But what don’t they like, Pierre? What’s all the talk about?”

  Pierre shifted his feet awkwardly. “I know it sounds foolish, Cap’n, but the rumour is that Ben and Ned are a pair of Jonahs—bad luck to all hands.”

  Thuron immediately relieved his two friends at the helm, taking the wheel himself. “That’s enough for one day, mates. Go to the cabin and tidy my charts away, will ye? We need to look shipshape for our homecoming to France.”

  Ben saluted smartly. “Aye aye, Cap’n. When we’ve cleaned the cabin up, I’ll get you something to eat from the galley.”

  A frown creased Thuron’s brow. “No, don’t do that, lad. Stay in the cabin with Ned. Stay away from the crew for a bit. Don’t ask questions, Ben, just do as I say.”

  A bewildered glance passed between the boy and his dog, but Ben obeyed without comment. The Frenchman watched the pair wander off to his cabin. An uneasy feeling crept over him. Had someone found out about Ben and Ned? It was a worrying problem to contemplate. Most seamen were not very well educated, but practically all of them were superstitious, particularly buccaneers. If a crew began believing rumours about having a Jonah aboard, there would be no question of reasoning with them. No matter how well a captain treated his men, there would be no stopping them once their superstitions took hold. Both he and his two lucky friends would be in grave danger.

  The black Labrador peered through the partially open cabin door as he communicated with Ben. “Here comes the cap’n. I wonder what’s wrong. He looks worried.”

  The Frenchman entered and sat down on the bed, then beckoned to them both. “Close that door. I must speak to you.”

  Ned pushed the door shut with his forepaws. Ben stared anxiously at the captain. “What’s the matter, sir?”

  Thuron spoke earnestly. “What you told me, Ben, about your past life. Have you repeated anything to the crew?”

  Ben shook his head vigorously. “No sir, not even to Pierre. I wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone, except you!”

  The captain sighed heavily. “I believe you, lad. But the men are talking among themselves. They say that you and Ned are two Jonahs, bad luck for the Marie and all aboard her.”

  Ned connected a thought to Ben. “I knew it! Didn’t I tell you that Gascon would cause trouble for us?”

  Ben turned to Thuron. “Ned thinks that it’s Gascon who’s been putting the word about.”

  The Frenchman patted the black Labrador’s back. “Aye, and I think he’s right. Do ye remember Gascon shouting out when Pierre was locking him up? He said this ship was cursed.”

  Ben agreed. “Yes, but he couldn’t possibly know about me and Ned. What are we going to do about it, sir?”

  Thuron thought a moment before he answered. “There’s not a great deal we can do. Ben, I want yo
u and Ned to keep yourselves away from all hands—stay in this cabin. With a bit of luck things may just die down naturally. We’re not too far from France now. Perhaps they’ll forget all this silly talk. With the prospect of seeing home again, and with having some gold in their pockets, all hands may forget about cursed ships and Jonahs. Will you do that for me, lad?”

  Ben grasped his friend’s big strong hand. “Of course I will, and so will Ned. We won’t let you down, Cap’n!”

  Thuron stood up and made for the door. “Well said, Ben. I knew I could trust you. I’ll have Pierre bring your food from the galley. Remember now, with the exception of Pierre and me, you must talk to nobody.”

  Lying with his chin on the floor, Ned watched the door close. “Just when I was learning to be a steersdog!”

  Ben scratched behind the dog’s ear soothingly. “Cheer up, mate, we’ll be in the Bay of Biscay by this time tomorrow, and in a day or two more we’ll be on dry land.”

  Over the next few days, the boy and his dog remained confined within the captain’s cabin. It was not a pleasant time for either one. Ben had a strong feeling of impending doom, reinforced by constant nightmares of Captain Vanderdecken and his accursed ship, the Flying Dutchman. Both Ben and Ned became afraid to sleep—every time they dropped into a slumber, the visions came pouring in. Nightmares of being back aboard that hellish craft, of the icy, mountainous seas off Cape Horn battering and pounding away at the ship. Ice-crusted ropes keening an eerie dirge as hurricane-force winds ripped and tattered sails into shreds. Faces, leering, scarred, cruel and merciless, of dead men walking the decks like zombies. An angry sky, with black and purple storm-bruised clouds boiling out of it. And Vanderdecken! His tortured mind giving voice to the curses and oaths he was bellowing aloud at the heavens.

  “Ben! Ben, lad! Are ye alright? What ails ye?”

  The boy opened his eyes to see the homely face of Pierre hovering above him as he received Ned’s thought. “Thank goodness for Pierre. I was so trapped by that awful dream, I couldn’t move a muscle to wake you!”