Ancell's Final Battle

by Tony Main

  ‘Well spoken,’ said Tam and Thom, and every one of the crew agreed.

  The last of the meal passed quietly. Nobody complained when Waff lit his reserve pipe, which at least burned with less ferocity, while they reminisced about the voyage. They fell silent when Capt. Albern rose to his feet.

  ‘Chips has something to show us,’ he said.

  Chips opened a canvas bag and lifted a beautiful carving of Misty under full sail surmounted by a simple cross, and inscribed,

  “In memory of Truegard.

  Never will there be a finer First Mate”.

  Everyone stood.

  ‘To Truegard,’ said Capt. Albern, holding his glass firmly, but there was a catch in his voice.

  ‘To Truegard,’ said everyone, and nobody sat until the captain had resumed his seat.

  ‘I wonder where he’d like his memorial to be?’ said Skeet.

  Tam pointed through the window. ‘Up there, high on the hills.’

  ‘Facing the sea,’ said Thom. And so it was decided.

  They wandered back to Misty in twos and threes, and Chad bought Chips a new bowler – the carpenter insisting one several sizes too small suited him best. Ancell followed last, a little disappointed he had not received a toast, especially as Doc had – for somehow managing not to fall overboard. But limping along behind he felt above all an overwhelming thankfulness that the children were safe at last. His quest was over. He wondered about the following day when they would climb into the hills to set Truegard’s memorial in place. He hoped they would find somewhere Truegard would like, a place that lifted the heart, as the red squirrel had so often lifted his. He stepped on board, and was sitting in his cabin rubbing his aching leg, when Sassy poked her head round the door. Chantal, Max, Ruth and Ryan trooped in, followed by Truename. Thrust to the front, Truename held out a parcel tied with a ribbon.

  ‘It’s to thank you for coming to find us,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not much, but we wanted to give you something,’ said Ryan.

  ‘We chose the best,’ said Ruth and Sassy.

  ‘And we hope you enjoy them,’ said Max.

  Ancell fumbled with the wrapping paper. Inside was an assortment of nuts and dried fruits.

  ‘For you to nibble on your way home,’ said Chantal.

  Ancell embraced them all, his heart too full to speak. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

  Chapter 23

  They rose early. Cloud hung low above the Sunday morning quiet of the town as they filed through the empty streets, led by Chips carrying Truegard’s memorial. Leaving the last of the houses behind, they climbed a narrow lane, where birds-foot-clover lined the verge and the intense blue of chalk milkwort crowded the hedgerows. Climbing a style, they crossed a field of stubble still smelling of the harvest, and stepped onto the springy turf of the open hillside. Climbing higher, they paused to look down on the port, and beyond, the misty sea merging into the grey of the sky. Above them a beech wood marked the top of the hill, and at their feet Ancell noticed clumps of cowslips. Their blooms were over, but in the spring, they would again adorn the hillside with their delicate yellow flowers.

  Capt. Albern stood for a while, and satisfied, nodded to Chips. The crew set the memorial firmly in the ground, taking care it faced the sea, and built a cairn of chalk stone at its foot. Heads bowed, they stood in a circle. Capt. Albern removed his cap and the children stood silently while captain and crew remembered the first mate they had loved so well. Weak rays of sunshine reflecting on the white of the cairn grew stronger and Ancell looked up to see the clouds part, and warmed by the sun, a lark rising high, singing its song of praise. They watched it climb, shielding their eyes against the strengthening light that turned the sea a sparkling blue.

  ‘It’s a good place, Skipper,’ said Skeet.

  Capt. Albern looked to horizons far beyond the sea.

  ‘A good place, Mr Skeet,’ he agreed.

  Church bells pealed as they wound down the hill. Ancell looked back. He, too, thought it was a good place.

  Misty’s deck was soon cluttered with the sailors’ sea bags as her crew and the children bid each other farewell. Capt. Albern searched for a piece of music to hum on the stagecoach, and Truename, clasping his nameplate, gave Ancell a long hug.

  Tam and Thom were the first to leave, accompanied by Merrie, who had at first been unsure whether to join the two sailors he so admired or to enjoy lounging about Misty, well fed by The Cook. He quickly made up his mind when The Cook informed him that keeping watch on Misty included a solid day’s chores, including rubbing down rust. Ancell watched the two field mice stroll along the quay, sea bags slung over their shoulders, the harvest mouse between them, aping the easy rolling gait of his heroes with an exaggerated swagger.

  Chips and Waff followed, the carpenter chattering while the sailmaker puffed little clouds of smoke in time to his step. As always, the polecat’s family would greet them excitedly and Waff’s children would listen wide-eyed while Chips related their adventures. Doc lugged his baggage ashore, announcing he was to write an account of Misty’s voyage and they would all be recorded in the annals of seafaring, before tripping over a mooring line. Pickle and Jobey picked him up and agreed to carry his trunk on the promise of a drink – but not before walking backwards down the gangplank making sweeping bows in the direction of The Cook.

  ‘Dreaming again!’ chided Chad, joining Ancell at the rail.

  Ancell shrugged. ‘Just watching.’

  ‘Well, you watch yourself! Mind you go straight home, and try not to get lost. And if you dream up any more missions just make sure you avoid jungles and snakes.’

  Skeet sprang between them, in a hurry to secure a room at Miss Strait’s, after which he and Chad were going out on the town.

  ‘Come with us. Miss Strait will have a room for you,’ Chad invited Ancell.

  Ancell hesitated, but shook his head. He was reluctant to say goodbye to the rat, but he knew town life was not for him.

  ‘You could stay with me awhile,’ he offered.

  ‘What!’ retorted Chad. ‘In some dank hedgerow? Anyway, fine company you’d make sleeping all winter. The prospect of Miss Strait’s cooking attracts rather more than living with a snoring bunch of prickles.’

  Ancell smiled. ‘Well, you look after yourself,’ he said.

  ‘You too,’ said Chad, and they embraced warmly.

  ‘There’s one thing you could usefully do,’ called the rat as he and the stoat stepped ashore.

  ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘How many spines have you got?’

  ‘About six thousand – why?’

  ‘Instead of snoozing all winter you should pull some of them out and weave yourself a tail. It would improve your appearance no end and might stop you falling over,’ giggled Chad.

  ‘You just beware of anacondas. I’m told they’ll swim a long way for a mouthful sized rodent!’ shouted Ancell.

  Chad laughed. ‘And you beware of badgers dressed up as anteaters!’

  Ancell watched the rat, who had twice risked his life for him and would do so again without a moment’s thought, walk away, doing his best to keep up with the bounding Skeet.

  ‘Remember to do what Miss Strait tells you!’ he yelled, but the bosun was already out of earshot.

  Capt. Albern appeared on deck, and Ancell falteringly said good-bye. There was so much he wished to say, but the words would not come.

  ‘Thank you,’ he blurted. ‘I only wish Truegard…’

  Capt. Albern took him by the shoulders. The grip was as resolute as ever.

  ‘I’m glad you followed your dream,’ said the sea otter.

  ‘Please hurry up, Skipper! We’ll miss the coach,’ begged Sassy from the quayside where the children were waiting impatiently. The captain squared his shoulders and taking a long look round his
beloved ship, stepped ashore. Ancell did not take his eyes from the hump-backed otter, harried along by the children, until they turned a corner and were gone.

  The fast ebbing tide settled Misty on the mud. Her deck, bereft of the children’s laughter and the shouts of the sailors, lay at an uncomfortable angle, empty and abandoned, her proud ensign no longer fluttering at her stern. Ancell realised he was the last to leave, but there was no hurry, no voices called him now. He supposed he should start for what had once been his home – his nest would need re-building and winter was not far distant. Not noticing The Cook climbing from the companionway, he gave the smooth varnished spokes of Misty’s wheel a pat of farewell.

  ‘She steers better when she’s not aground – for some anyway!’ said The Cook with a grin.

  Ancell smiled as they both recalled the moment they had first met.

  ‘Bacon sandwich before you go?’ offered The Cook.

  Ancell hesitated, but shook his head, and they embraced.

  ‘You look after that leg of yours,’ said The Cook.

  Ancell stepped ashore and turned to wave, but The Cook had already disappeared below.

  He headed north, climbing the road they had taken that morning. Making for the hilltop, he climbed to Truegard’s memorial and stood for a while, taking in the view. Not a leaf or blade of grass stirred in the stillness of the day. Below him, the sea rested in the afternoon sun, and above, the beech wood stood silent in the quiet air. With a skip of joy his heart told him this was where he would make his home, a new home high on the hill beneath the trees, and close by Truegard where the yellow cowslips grew.

  *

  The first of the autumn gales came early that year. Through the night the wind shivers Misty’s rigging and slaps wavelets against her hull, lulling The Cook to sleep. It sighs through the trees at the top of the hill and scatters leaves about Ancell’s nest. He slumbers, but he hears the wind and curls a little tighter. The gale moans down the chimney of Capt. Albern’s cottage and startles the glowing embers of the fire into flame. The sea otter puts aside the score of a symphony and listens. Gusts shake the curtains of the children’s bedrooms, but full of supper they sleep soundly. In the topmost room, where Truename has nailed his nameplate to the door, the wind rattles the window-panes, and the boy who had once curled in terror, stirs and stretches, a smile playing on his lips as he dreams of sailing a ship of his own across the wide rolling seas.