Ancell's Final Battle

by Tony Main

  Ancell remained on deck late that night, gazing at the stars he had known from birth twinkling a welcome, the Pole Star leading them home. He imagined Truegard up there somewhere, sailing his celestial ship through the night. He shivered a little in the chill of the air and was reminded that autumn was setting in. Soon the beech trees protecting his home from the icy blasts of winter would shed their leaves and he would be glad to snuggle into the warmth of his nest.

  Restlessly lying awake below, the children had no such thoughts of home, and the closer Misty drew to her berth and everyone else’s home, the more their homelessness weighed on them. They had escaped the tyranny of Laughing Jack, and for all too brief a period had basked in the kindliness of Misty’s crew. For the first time in their lives they had laughed, and full of The Cook’s dinner had crawled into warm bunks. Now the prospect of once more shivering through long winter nights on empty stomachs loomed close, and increasingly they were reminded of the grim reality that faced them when they stepped ashore. At worst, Capt. Albern, believing it to be in their best interest, would hand them over to an orphanage, where they were likely to be separated. If so they would go on the run together, though where to find shelter and how to feed themselves, no one had a single idea.

  ‘If we had a ship of our own we could all grow rich trading precious cargoes,’ mused Truename.

  ‘Nice thought,’ said Ryan. ‘Except we don’t have a ship.’

  They ate less heartily at mealtimes, but they ate, mindful that a good meal would soon be no more than a distant memory, and when the crew talked of the joys of homecoming and the friends and family they would hurry to greet, they said nothing. No one would be waiting at the quayside to welcome their return.

  An uneasy quiet lay about the ship the morning Ancell climbed on deck hoping to catch his first glimpse of the Cornish coast. Misty was creeping blindly through the eerie silence of dense mist. The tops of her masts were lost in the murk and he could barely make out the shrouded forms of the crew stationed about the deck. Droplets of water ran from the yards and dripped from the peak of Capt. Albern’s cap.

  He joined the muffled voices of Chips and Waff. Jobey suddenly struck the ship’s bell, making him jump.

  ‘It’s to warn other ships we’re around. It’s been all hands on deck keeping a lookout while you’ve been snoozing,’ said Chad, emerging out of the gloom.

  Ancell stared about nervously. ‘Are there many?’

  ‘It only takes one, especially if it’s twice our size.’

  ‘When you can’t see it, but you can hear her crew talking you can start to worry,’ said Chips.

  ‘And if you can hear her bow wave and still can’t see her you can worry some more,’ added Waff.

  ‘It’s often foggy around these parts, but it’ll lift in time,’ said Chad reassuringly.

  ‘And maybe not,’ said Chips. ‘Not long ago a ship gilled about here for three days after a successful Atlantic crossing. Her skipper became impatient and took a chance. Straight on the rocks! All hands lost!’

  ‘And that story is true,’ said Waff.

  Throughout the long morning the children huddled together silently, the fog merely adding to the joylessness of their return. The crew might worry about immediate dangers, but their thoughts were of a far more uncertain future.

  Skeet joined them. ‘We’re in luck! The skipper reckons the sun will burn it off in an hour or two,’ he announced cheerfully, and was disappointed the good news was met with little interest.

  ‘And we’ll be home at last!’ he emphasised.

  ‘If you say so,’ said Sassy.

  Capt. Albern was correct. Slowly shafts of lighter grey radiated through the gloom, sometimes blanketed out again yet mysteriously reappearing. The light strengthened and gleamed on the quiet sea. Then wondrously the rolling banks of mist dissolved to reveal the cliffs of Land’s End standing high on the horizon beneath the pale blue of the September afternoon.

  The crew joined the children, everyone pointing out what they could see. Motionless white dots on a hill grew into grazing sheep, and a huddle of roofs became a fishing village where windows and the church weathervane glinted in the sun. Ancell sniffed the sweet smell of grasses and hedgerows, of new mown hay and wood smoke.

  ‘It all looks so peaceful,’ said Sassy wistfully.

  Pickle drew a deep breath. ‘I can smell sausages!’ he announced. ‘Won’t be long before I have a plateful of my own.’

  The aroma of the particularly evil tobacco Waff had secreted aboard in South America drifted down the line of sailors. Chad made an exaggerated cough.

  ‘I’m surprised any of us can smell anything living with that pipe,’ he complained, still annoyed that the sailmaker had claimed his wager, which the fog had enabled him to win by a large margin, and which everyone except Waff had argued should have rendered all bets void. However Skeet had ruled in Waff’s favour.

  ‘How about me looking after it for you until we make port?’ offered Chips.

  Waff glared at the carpenter and clenched the pipe between his teeth all the tighter.

  ‘You’d look so much better without it,’ suggested Chantal.

  Waff glanced at her suspiciously, but nonetheless removed it from his mouth.

  ‘You look ten years younger!’ agreed Ruth.

  ‘I bet you don’t dare throw it away,’ challenged Sassy.

  Waff sensed a net was closing about him.

  ‘We’ve yet to pay a tribute to Neptune for a safe voyage. Make him a gift of it,’ urged Pickle.

  ‘What! That stinking pipe! He’ll wreck us!’ protested Jobey.

  ‘It’s the thought that counts,’ said Chad with a smirk.

  ‘Better if you gave him your winnings,’ argued Jobey.

  ‘That would be right and proper,’ said Tam.

  ‘A tribute must be paid,’ said Thom.

  Waff wondered how a pleasant afternoon could go so disastrously wrong. Now his winnings as well as his pipe were at stake.

  ‘Very well!’ he agreed. ‘The pipe goes after dinner tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll be berthed by then!’ retorted Chad.

  ‘After dinner tonight then.’

  ‘Now!’ shouted everyone.

  The ceremony was performed with proper decorum. Chad piped a tune, and Pickle made a speech of thanks to Neptune. There was a tense wait. Then Waff hurled the pipe high. It glowed defiantly before falling with an angry hiss into Misty’s wake. Skeet observed the polecat to be surprisingly at ease.

  ‘You’ve got a spare, haven’t you,’ he accused the sailmaker. Waff winked and disappeared below.

  A southerly breeze set in to see Misty home, but she sailed wearily, and throughout the night managed only a few miles against the ebb of the English Channel. However the following morning the flood tide picked her up and the coast slipped by more quickly. At noon, Skeet hoisted a long line of flags to Misty’s topgallant yard, and Capt. Albern dipped her ensign three times.

  ‘What’s that for?’ asked Truename.

  Skeet pointed ashore. ‘You see that field sloping down to the water’s edge with an orchard and the whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof? The skipper’s house – he’s letting Mrs Albern know we’re back. She often keeps a lookout.’

  Truename looked longingly. ‘What a lovely place to come home to,’ he murmured.

  ‘So Chad says. He stayed there briefly on one of the many occasions his landlady threw him out. However, I gather he quickly persuaded Miss Strait to take him back when he discovered Mrs Albern was a pillar of the community and soon had him involved in all her good works about the village.’

  ‘If I wasn’t on a ship that’s where I’d like to live,’ said Truename with a sigh.

  Chapter 22

  Misty turned from the sea into the long reach of the harbour and the haven of her berth. Capt. A
lbern took the helm, Chad prepared the mooring lines and the crew manned the yards, alert for Skeet to bellow the captain’s orders. Ancell watched a tug draw alongside and heard the sea otter dismiss the need for a tow. Skeet grinned, delighted that his skipper was not above showing off a little by berthing Misty under sail.

  The cannons guarding the harbour entrance suddenly fired a thunderous salvo and the tug blew its whistle. Ancell spun round to see dockside cranes dipping in respect and cheering crowds waving flags thronging the quayside. He waved back a little uncertainly, wondering how the news of their triumphant return had spread so fast. Capt. Albern read his thoughts and shook with laughter.

  ‘It’s not for us,’ he called. ‘Look astern! She’s just completed her maiden voyage.’

  Ancell turned to see a magnificent one hundred-gun ship, proudly towed by two self-important tugs, slipping quietly through the water, three decks of her cannons gleaming in the sunshine. Her crew, haughtily lining the deck high above Misty, stared down on the little ship, slowed by green weed streaming from her hull, rust streaked and barnacle encrusted, battered and patched, her ragged ensign still flying proudly. The children waved, but received no friendly greeting in return.

  Slowly turning into the wind and just creeping forward over the last of the flood tide, Misty edged gently to her berth. The yards were braced, and the sails furled with precision. No one fumbled or made a mistake. Dockside workers hurried to catch the mooring lines and at last she rested secure, her long journey at an end.

  ‘Ahoy there!’ called a cheerful voice as a plump sea otter, weighed down by two large baskets, bustled along the quay. Chad rushed to her aid.

  ‘On your best behaviour Chad? Now that’s a surprise!’ said Mrs Albern.

  Chad looked hurt. ‘Ma’am, I’m always on my best behaviour.’

  Mrs Albern snorted. ‘A likely story!’ she said.

  She pointed to the baskets. ‘All picked this morning,’ she called to the crew. ‘I thought you could do with some fresh fruit after such a long time at sea.’

  The crew gathered round, respectfully murmuring their thanks.

  ‘And who might you be?’ Mrs Albern questioned the children, who were hovering a little apart, unsure if they were included.

  ‘We had been kidnapped by pirates, and Capt. Albern and his crew rescued us,’ explained Sassy.

  Mrs Albern immediately picked up the baskets from under the noses of the crew and invited them to choose the best. ‘You poor dears!’ she said. ‘You must be pleased to be home again.’

  ‘May I take an apple and a pear?’ asked Ryan.

  ‘Of course!’ replied Mrs Albern. ‘Take all you wish. Children first, I say.’

  Ryan selected two of the largest and stuffed them in his pocket. ‘If you don’t mind I’d like to keep them for later,’ he said.

  Mrs Albern frowned. ‘But surely your mother will welcome you home with a celebratory meal? If you were my child I’d be preparing a banquet.’

  Sassy took a chance. ‘We don’t have any parents and we don’t have a home.’

  Mrs Albern bristled. ‘Nowhere to go? Disgraceful! Are you going to beg in the streets and make a nuisance of yourselves?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ said Max quickly. ‘We’ve plans.’

  ‘Plans for getting up to no good, no doubt. I’ll soon see about that!’ retorted Mrs Albern. ‘Where’s the captain?’ she demanded, and without waiting for a reply, marched below.

  ‘That didn’t go down too well,’ whispered Ruth.

  ‘Maybe we should just go now,’ said Max.

  ‘But I haven’t said goodbye to Ancell,’ said Truename.

  ‘I think we should risk waiting,’ said Sassy.

  ‘But if there’s any mention of orphanages or workhouses, we run,’ said Chantal.

  Capt. Albern appeared at the top of the companionway, looking a little bemused, as if he had been picked up by a whirlwind, tossed around for some minutes and set back on earth still wondering quite what had hit him. He approached the children warily and cleared his throat.

  ‘Mrs Albern has informed me you will all be living with us,’ he said. ‘That is if you would like to of course,’ he added.

  Mrs Albern pushed in front of him. ‘I won’t hear of anything else. We’ve lots of room now my little ones have moved on, and every house needs children. The more the merrier, I say. Is that not so Roscoe?’

  Capt. Albern smiled. ‘If you say so my dear,’ he replied.

  The children stared in amazement. ‘Do you really mean it?’ asked Sassy, unable to believe their good fortune.

  ‘Of course! Nothing would please the captain and me more,’ replied Mrs Albern.

  Tears streamed down Chantal’s cheeks. ‘Thank you! Thank you!’ she sobbed.

  Mrs Albern embraced her tightly. ‘No more tears for you,’ she murmured, and gave them all a firm hug in turn, at the same time informing them they were to come the very next day. There was much to be done and no time to lose. For a start, they all needed a good bath, she would have plenty of hot water ready. They would attend the village school. The headmistress was a good friend and an excellent teacher. The orchard fruits were waiting to be picked. Logs needed to be cut, and chestnuts gathered for roasting by winter fires. They must tell her their favourite dishes. She would show them the best places in the cove to fish. There was nothing like a fresh fish supper.

  ‘I hope you’ve been feeding them properly,’ she told The Cook as she clambered ashore. ‘And I hope you haven’t been teaching them bad habits,’ she called to Chad, and hurried along the quay before either of them could reply. She turned, a little out of breath, and waved. ‘Tomorrow, as soon as you can,’ she called to the children. ‘And tell that husband of mine not to waste time fiddling about with that old boat of his.’

  ‘She’s lovely!’ said Chantal.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind? Taking us all in just like that?’ Ruth asked Capt. Albern.

  ‘You’ve done so much for us already we’d quite understand if you had second thoughts,’ added Ryan.

  Capt. Albern smiled. ‘You will all be very welcome. Mrs A will be in her element. She loves a full house. Just remember she’s the captain ashore.’

  At the end of a voyage, Capt. Albern traditionally treated The Cook to a meal ashore to thank him for all the meals he had prepared at sea. Traditionally, too, the crew invited themselves along.

  It was gala day in town and brightly coloured stalls lined the narrow streets crisscrossed with fluttering bunting. Flower decked carts paraded to the applause of crowds of revellers, and a man on stilts threw sweets to scrambling children. Swept along by the good-natured throng, Misty’s crew followed the town band, which was playing a stirring march, and Ancell found himself falling into step with the beat of the drum.

  Chad commandeered the back room of an inviting looking tavern, where they pushed tables together and ordered the very best ale and food the landlord could provide. The children ate hungrily, suddenly regaining their appetites. Capt. Albern watched with a mixture of pleasure and alarm.

  ‘They’ll eat you out of house and home,’ Skeet observed cheerfully.

  The sea otter smiled. ‘Mrs A loves cooking. And she’s as good a cook as Miss Strait,’ he informed Chad. ‘I hope you remember her house rules – dirty clothes to be put in the linen basket was one I recall.’

  That started it.

  ‘Would you believe it!’ guffawed Doc. ‘A domesticated rat!’

  ‘Do you have to be in by nine in the evening?’ jeered Pickle.

  ‘Does she take you shopping?’ asked Skeet.

  ‘I bet she’s got a leash with your name on it,’ sniggered Jobey.

  Chad sat unperturbed. ‘And a breakfast of bacon and egg and fresh coffee every morning,’ he answered.

  Skeet commenced the toasts with one to the skipper
and led a rousing three cheers. Capt. Albern congratulated everyone on a successful voyage, and invited them all to raise their glasses to The Cook.

  ‘We can’t just say, “The Cook”. It doesn’t sound right. Tell us your proper name,’ demanded Sassy.

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if you got mixed up at birth and got called Penelope,’ chortled Chad.

  The Cook glared round the table. Capt. Albern sensed danger, but too late shot him a warning glance.

  ‘If you must know, I have three names, which is more than any of you!’ stated The Cook with an air of superiority.

  ‘We won’t laugh if you tell us what they are,’ promised Chad.

  ‘Perhaps another time,’ interrupted Capt. Albern urgently, but The Cook was defiant.

  ‘Lancelot Hackney Marsh,’ he announced.

  There was a brief silence before the giggles started. Capt. Albern winced as they spread until the whole table was convulsed with laughter.

  ‘Hackney Marsh aren’t names! It’s a place!’ spluttered Chad.

  ‘I was found on Hackney Marsh, so they’re perfectly logical names,’ retorted The Cook.

  ‘What about Lancelot?’

  ‘I chose that.’

  ‘But Lancelot was a handsome knight!’ sniggered Chips.

  ‘Sir Lancelot!’ corrected Waff.

  ‘If we’d have known, we’d have bowed before meals,’ Pickle mocked.

  ‘I think Lancelot is a lovely name,’ said Ruth.

  ‘You’ll always be our knight in shining armour,’ added Chantal, rising to her feet and giving him a kiss. The Cook played with his tankard and turned very pink.

  Jobey stood up, suddenly serious, and raised his glass.

  ‘To Sir Lancelot!’ he said. ‘I have just enjoyed a very fine meal, but I assure you nothing will ever go down as well as that mug of tea you managed to brew during the storm.’