Ancell's Final Battle

by Tony Main

  Chad grinned. ‘We can certainly sympathise with them, but you haven’t accounted for the missing boat.’

  ‘They’d probably lowered it to set the carpenter adrift, but none of them had the courage to set foot within hearing distance of his twaddle,’ explained Waff.

  Merrie weighed up the story. ‘But that would leave the carpenter on board,’ he puzzled.

  ‘With no one to talk to, he swam after them, still telling stories,’ replied Waff blithely.

  Sassy winked at Chantal. ‘I suppose they should have cast the carpenter adrift before he drove them mad,’ she said with a giggle.

  ‘Now there’s an idea!’ puffed Waff, his pipe glowing at the prospect.

  Ancell felt a flutter of excitement at the thought of home, but then the image of Laughing Jack wormed into his mind. He shuddered, even though Chad had assured him more than once that the man who would kill them all had probably followed Scarletta down the anaconda’s throat, or even better in the rat’s opinion, been paralysed by a poison dart, eaten by ants while in a coma, and regained consciousness only to stare at his own skeleton. Ancell had smiled, but the fear remained.

  Doc, too, had his worries. Ending the children’s class early one afternoon, he slumped against the galley door.

  ‘Any chance of a good strong coffee?’ he asked.

  The Cook was about to reply that he did not supply an on-demand beverage service, but seeing the owl so downcast merely nodded.

  ‘I just don’t know what to do,’ Doc sighed.

  ‘Unusual for you,’ observed The Cook, filling a mug.

  ‘Ruth and Ryan aren’t settling. They’re older and have spent too many years fending for themselves. I don’t think they even trust us. All they talk of is what they’ll do when Misty docks. I wish Truegard were here to talk to them, just as he did to me my first weeks on board when the rest of you were laughing at me.’

  ‘We still laugh at you.’

  ‘Maybe, but in a tolerant sort of way. It’s become quite comforting.’

  ‘That’s the way on Misty. We accept each other as we are.’

  ‘Ruth and Ryan don’t accept me.’

  ‘They’re new on board. Why not give them a break from your classes and let them learn the story of Misty’s voyage from the crew. When they understand how long and hard we’ve searched for them they’ll feel more a part of the ship.’

  ‘I’ll give it a try,’ said Doc, though wondering what would be said of himself – at best, he thought, a bumbling fool, who given the simple task of guarding their supplies, had let everybody down.

  Ruth and Ryan jumped at the opportunity to skip a day’s lessons to learn more of the crew’s adventures, hoping to hear more of the escape from Australia and the gory details of the shark attack. But the sailors, though recounting their escape from Careless Island and the fury of the storm, had mostly talked about the selfless Truegard and their memories of the gentle red squirrel.

  ‘Learn anything interesting?’ asked Doc nervously, as they joined the class the following day.

  ‘They loved Truegard,’ said Ryan.

  Ruth smiled. ‘Skeet told us he believes he is still on board looking after him.’

  ‘I think we all do,’ said Doc.

  ‘What I don’t understand is why anyone should care about us. We don’t mean anything to anybody,’ said Ryan.

  ‘Love,’ said Truename.

  ‘I’ve never been loved,’ said Ryan bitterly.

  ‘But maybe you were. You just didn’t know it,’ replied Truename.

  ‘It’s a wonderful story,’ murmured Ruth.

  Ryan smiled. ‘And what’s more, we are part of it,’ he said.

  ‘Welcome to Misty’s family,’ said Doc.

  Chapter 13

  ‘It was not your fault! Just forget about it!’ yelled Chad at Doc, thumping the stern rail in frustration.

  ‘I just thought an apology was in order,’ muttered Doc, and retreated to his cabin.

  ‘He’s driving me mad!’ Chad complained to Skeet. ‘Ever since we sailed he’s been apologising for losing our provisions, and it’s getting worse – that’s the second time today. I’ve told him time and again we didn’t lose anything and but for him we’d have lost the lot.’

  Skeet sighed. ‘You’re not the only one. He’s been apologising to every single one of the crew and they’re getting tired of it. Waff says he’s still feverish and thinks the beating he took may have affected him more than he realises. He’s told him to ease off on the classes, but he won’t take any notice.’

  Misty had long picked up the trade winds, heeling one night to roll the children to the side of their bunks. In the morning they had stepped onto a sloping deck to gaze at the rhythm of her swaying masts straining under full sail as she creamed through white crested seas. Rainbows of spray rose from her bow, and astern she left a long tumbling wake. Sailing a steady course in such perfect conditions was all the crew could have wished for, yet a growing sense of unease about the change in Doc hung over the ship.

  The children, too, were becoming increasingly worried. Week after week Doc’s lessons had become more and more confused. When narrating Captain Cook’s great voyages of discovery, he had attributed the charting of New Zealand to Columbus, and when Sassy corrected him, had flushed angrily and snapped that if he had said Columbus he was obviously referring to Captain Cook. Nor could they read his comments on their essays. The bold round writing had deteriorated to a minute scrawl, which made little sense even if they could decipher it, and test papers often repeated a question or included a totally unrelated subject.

  ‘Well done,’ he told Ryan one sunny morning, handing him Ruth’s essay as he passed round the previous evening’s homework. Nobody got their own efforts. Silently they exchanged papers.

  ‘Today we’ll investigate the causes of the French Revolution,’ he announced.

  ‘We did that yesterday,’ said Max.

  Doc blinked, and looking a little lost shuffled through a sheaf of jumbled notes.

  ‘Of course we did! I don’t seem to have what I want here. Must be in my cabin,’ he mumbled, and levering himself to his feet wandered towards the bow.

  ‘Where are you going? Your cabin’s the other way,’ called Ryan.

  Doc stared at him vacantly, then muttering that he was stretching his legs, retraced his steps and disappeared down the companionway.

  ‘That’s it!’ announced Sassy firmly. ‘I’ve said for ages that he’s not well. Whether anyone agrees or not, I’m telling the skipper.’

  ‘Maybe he’s tired and needs a break,’ suggested Max.

  ‘We could read up more ourselves, so he’d have fewer lessons to prepare,’ proposed Ryan.

  ‘He spends so long working in his cabin,’ agreed Chantal, ‘and he’s always late for dinner.’

  ‘If we kid him it’s the end of term we can have a holiday,’ said Merrie, and then sat shame faced when everyone stared at him with contempt.

  ‘Only joking,’ he muttered.

  ‘Bad joke,’ Ryan told him.

  ‘I agree with Sassy,’ said Truename. ‘Sometimes he stops talking mid-sentence and just looks puzzled.’

  ‘He’s been gone ages. I’m going to see if he’s all right,’ announced Ruth.

  She knocked at the owl’s cabin and receiving no reply, pushed open the door to see Doc sitting forlornly on his bunk staring into space. He seemed to have shrunk, and suddenly looked very frail. Torn scraps of notes scattered the floor.

  ‘Is it dinner time already?’ he asked.

  Ruth’s heart sank. ‘We’ve just had breakfast, Doc. Are you feeling all right?’

  ‘Perhaps I missed it,’ said Doc. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I just came to see how you are. Stay here, I’ll be back in a moment,’ said Ruth, and ran to Capt. Albern on the
quarterdeck.

  ‘Doc’s not well! He’s not thinking straight!’ she blurted.

  The sea otter frowned and followed her to the owl’s cabin. Doc perceptibly brightened as he entered. ‘Captain Albern! Pleased to see you sir!’ he said, then suddenly looked fearful. ‘Are you cross with me for losing the provisions?’ he whimpered.

  Capt. Albern looked startled but quickly composed himself. ‘But you didn’t. We’re all very proud of you,’ he replied gently.

  ‘That’s nice! Now if you will excuse me I’ve a lot of work to do,’ said Doc, and began scrabbling about on the floor picking up pieces of paper at random.

  ‘I think you’ve done enough work for today. It’s time you got some rest,’ suggested the captain, leading the owl back to his bunk. ‘By the way,’ he added, ‘do you remember the name of our ship?’

  Doc eyed him craftily. ‘You say first,’ he said, ‘and I’ll tell you if you’re right.’

  ‘You know me, don’t you?’ begged Ruth.

  ‘Of course I do! You told me it was time for dinner,’ Doc replied.

  Together, Ruth and the captain tucked the owl into his bunk. Doc did not complain. ‘Good night to you,’ he said, as they closed the door.

  ‘What’s wrong with him? He’ll be all right, won’t he?’ pleaded Ruth.

  ‘How long has he been like this?’ asked the sea otter. ‘I should have noticed.’

  ‘Sassy says he’s not been his old self since we left South America, and the last few weeks he’s got worse. He keeps losing his train of thought, and it’s horrible when he can’t remember a word he wants – he looks so frightened. What can we do?’

  ‘I’d like you children to watch over him day and night. Talk to him and keep him interested in everything going on about him.’

  ‘He will get better won’t he?’

  Capt. Albern faced the girl. ‘We must pray and believe he will,’ he answered. But Ruth glimpsed a hint of fear in his eyes.

  Willing Doc to recover sapped the crew’s energy, and every simple task became an effort. They picked at their food and slept restlessly. Pickle no longer strummed his guitar, but wrote a poem extolling the patient’s scholarship, which he and Jobey read in turn, hoping the owl would revert to his old self and loftily declare every word to be true. But Doc merely listened politely, as if they were speaking of some stranger. Skeet stated that a stoat’s night vision was as good as any owl’s, determined to provoke him into an argument he would have once so enjoyed, but the sharp rebuttal he sought never came. Doc merely asked if it was time for dinner. Chips told him stories, which Waff corrected at regular intervals, and Tam and Thom took him for walks round the deck.

  ‘We’re making good progress. Won’t be long before we’re home,’ said Pickle at the helm.

  ‘Good luck to you sir,’ replied Doc, as if Misty’s course was of no interest to him.

  By night, the children kept vigil while the owl slept, soothing him when he started awake to tell them class was dismissed. By day he seemed most at ease when they made him comfortable at the foot of the foremast and to please him wrote essays on subjects they had selected from his library. Sassy read what she had learned about Queen Boudicca’s revolt against the invading Romans.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked, hoping to rouse the teacher in him to correct any errors.

  Doc stared at her in bewilderment. ‘Have I missed dinner?’ he asked.

  The Cook shuffled up with a mug of tea. ‘Dinner this evening,’ he said. ‘Here’s something to keep you going.’

  ‘Thank you, but I want to go home now,’ the owl told him.

  ‘We’ll soon be there. It’s nice having your pupils read to you isn’t it?’

  ‘Very nice,’ agreed Doc, careful not to offend anyone. ‘But I’d like to go home.’

  ‘Tell me about your home, Doc.’

  The owl beckoned The Cook closer. ‘I’ve a roost up there,’ he whispered, pointing up the mast.

  ‘I think you have a lovely roost in a beautiful oak wood.’

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘And we’re going to take you there.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Doc.

  Ancell seethed with rage at the mindless wanderings of his shipmate who had once been so certain of himself. Tears pricking his eyes, he again introduced himself.

  ‘It’s me, Ancell. You know me, don’t you?’ he pleaded.

  Doc stared at him, desperately wanting to please, but turned his head away to pick irritably at the blanket the children had wrapped around him.

  At midday, the crew gathered at the galley, though little was eaten, and little said. It was Merrie who forced them to face the owl’s rapidly failing health, when he suggested that Doc’s brain was so overburdened by knowing so much about everything it had given up. He had not meant the remark unkindly and had fled when Chad raged at him that no one, least of all a stupid harvest mouse who did not pay attention in class, was to mock the owl’s love of learning. Taking refuge in the galley, he complained to The Cook of the many occasions he had heard Chad scorn Doc’s knowledge.

  ‘But Chad wasn’t worried about him then,’ explained The Cook.

  Clouds gathered throughout the afternoon, thunder rumbled in the distance and the normally reliable trade winds faltered. Misty barely held her course, as if losing the will to strive for home, and Doc weakened. As the light faded he insisted on remaining on deck, although Capt. Albern tried to persuade him his bunk would be more comfortable. The sea otter searched deep in the owl’s eyes and glanced aloft. The skies had cleared.

  ‘You’ll be able to see the stars,’ he said gently.

  ‘See the stars,’ whispered Doc.

  One by one, the children collected a blanket from their bunks to sit close by their teacher. Head bowed, Capt. Albern paced the quarterdeck, then beckoned Chips. Chad watched the two talking quietly and gritted his teeth when Chips stumbled to the rail to stare into the darkening sea. The skipper was preparing for the worst. It would be the carpenter’s task to make Doc’s coffin.

  Chapter 14

  Misty drifted through the night, adding to the air of helplessness on deck. Capt. Albern took the helm, nursing her through the dark.

  ‘We’ll pick up a breeze at dawn, but we’ll get no wind tonight,’ he told Skeet.

  Too tense to sleep, the crew padded restlessly about the deck, sometimes emerging out of the shadows to reveal their drawn faces in the yellow light of the galley. Waff bent over the owl, feeling his fevered brow. Skeet impatiently dragged him aside.

  ‘The skipper says we’ll get a wind in the morning. That’ll raise Doc’s spirits. He loves to feel the wind on his face.’

  Waff shook his head. ‘Too late – he hasn’t the strength to hold on that long. He’s slipping away. Only a miracle will save him now.’

  In the early hours the fever reached its height and Doc began to ramble.

  ‘Where are the stars?’ he kept repeating, struggling to stand, only to stare about wildly and slump to the deck.

  Chantal pillowed his head in her lap.

  ‘Where are the stars?’ whispered Doc, and closed his eyes.

  Chantal began to sing, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her lullaby broke with weeping, and the only sound was the small voice of Merrie. Stung by Chad’s criticism, and determined to show Doc he was doing his best, he sat in the light of the galley haltingly reading a book the owl had long pressed him to finish.

  Doc blinked. ‘Is that Merrie?’ he whispered.

  ‘He’s reading to you,’ sobbed Chantal. ‘Do you remember you were always telling him to read. He’s been practicing and wants you to hear.’

  Doc opened his eyes. Chad leaped to Merrie’s side.

  ‘Keep going! Keep reading!’ he urged.

  Merrie concentrated as never before and read on.

  ‘L
ouder!’ Chad demanded, and Merrie redoubled his stumbling efforts.

  Doc raised his head and frowned. ‘Punctuation Merrie! Read that passage again,’ he whispered.

  ‘Do it!’ commanded Chad.

  Merrie read with all his might.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Doc, and sat up.

  ‘Tell me he’s pulling through – he’s got to be!’ whispered Chad, grabbing hold of Skeet.

  Skeet knelt by the owl. ‘How are you feeling, Doc?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘A bit tired,’ said Doc. ‘It’s a lovely starry sky, but why are we all on deck in the middle of the night, and why do I feel so weak?’

  ‘You’ve been ill, and we’ve been keeping you company. Can you walk?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Doc, making an effort to stand. ‘You should be in bed!’ he told the children as Tam and Thom helped him to his cabin.

  Chad embraced Merrie, holding him high as he did a jig about the deck.

  ‘He’s on the mend! You’re a genius!’ he told the harvest mouse as the crew slapped each other on the back and congratulated each other on Doc’s recovery.

  Skeet galloped aft. ‘He’s getting better! He’s going to be all right!’ he shouted to Capt. Albern.

  ‘Praise be!’ murmured the sea otter, and leaving the wheel to the stoat, stood quietly at the stern rail. He breathed a prayer of thanks as the new day dawned – then thumped the rail imperiously.

  ‘There’s a lesson for us all, Mr Skeet!’ he announced. ‘He never gave up! Bless him! He never gave up!’

  Doc slept for much of the next forty-eight hours, watched over by the children and frequently visited by the crew. On the third day he pronounced himself fit to go on deck and was privileged to sit in Capt. Albern’s deck chair, where he sipped a regular supply of mugs of tea and enjoyed the attention of everyone. The Cook even informed him that should he feel even the slightest pang of hunger, a delicacy would be prepared without delay, to which Doc replied a snack immediately would be appreciated.