The Great Galloon

by Tom Banks

  ‘Another raid successfully repelled, Captain,’ said Stanley.

  ‘What? Yes, yes, of course,’ said the Captain. ‘But they’re two a penny. You can wish for a better class of raiders, but you won’t get ’em. No – I’m referring to that!’

  Stanley followed his finger, and saw that the sea was behaving strangely. Where the little boats had been rowing across a calm sea, they were now dealing with rolling waves where none should be – the sea was suddenly boiling and heaving like a pot of soup. Stanley watched one boat as it came to a standstill. The water it was sitting in, apparently thousands of feet deep just a moment before, suddenly became as shallow as a duck pond. Stanley realised that the whole seabed must be rising up to meet them – or at least the part of it that he was looking at, an area covering hundreds of feet in every direction.

  As his eyes began to adjust to this change, he saw that it was true. The hull of a vessel, like an upturned bath on a massive scale, broke the water, and scattered many of the tiny boats in all directions. This new submarine ship wasn’t anything like the size of the Galloon, but it was impressively big, in the same way that a whale is big until you compare one to a mountain. It seemed to be made of metal plates, patched and worn but immensely strong. As it surfaced, the Captain wiped his brow with his greasy red neckerchief.

  ‘He’s built it. Ha! Good for you, Zebediah. I knew it could be done,’ he said and thumped the rail with an open hand.

  Before Stanley could wonder what this meant, one of the panels on the new ship was pushed back like a hatchway, and out of it there clambered a man. He stood up uncertainly on the pitching hull, then raised a whistle to his lips. He blew three short blasts, a long note, and then one more short one.

  ‘Means it’s time for Abel to lower the chair,’ said the Captain, and looked along the rail to where a group of crew members was forming itself efficiently into a welcoming party. Stanley recognised Clamdigger and a few others in the party, but he couldn’t see the distinctive slender figure of Able Skyman Abel, the closest thing the Galloon had to an officer.

  It seemed the Captain couldn’t see him either, as he stood up and mumbled, ‘Blast yer eyes, Abel. Where have you got to?’

  ‘He couldn’t have been . . . injured in the raid, sir?’ said Stanley.

  ‘What? Raid? No, no. Not if I’m any judge. He’ll be around somewhere. Doing . . . you know. Duties. He likes duties.’ The Captain scoured the deck with his eyes. It seemed to Stanley that he was willing Abel to appear.

  ‘Clamdigger!’ he called after a moment. ‘You able to lower the chair?’

  ‘Yes, sir. No problem,’ called Clamdigger in reply.

  ‘Then do so. And light along, can you? I’ve got a bride to wed.’

  Saying this, he turned on his heel and walked towards the centre of the deck, just in front of the main mast, where a canopy had been set up, and two leather armchairs for the Captain and his brother to sit in.

  Stanley followed along, unsure of what to do for the best. The Captain gestured to Stanley to sit in the left-hand chair, which gave Stanley another brief thrill. The Captain himself stood, however, and watched as Clamdigger efficiently organised the lowering of the boatswain’s chair: a kind of hammock on a pulley system that was lowered over the side to allow people to enter and leave the Galloon.

  Having seen the contraption go over the side, the Captain turned to sit in his own chair. But before doing so, he narrowed his eyes and squinted at it. Then he reached down, picked up one of the large golden cushions that covered it, and threw it to one side. Then he took a step back and pushed his hat up on his head, with a look of calm concern on his face. Stanley jumped up on his own chair, and peeped over into the other. There he saw that the Captain had uncovered a blue-clad bottom, attached to a thin pair of legs and two shiny black boots. Someone had apparently been hiding under the cushions.

  ‘Abel?’ said the Captain, with the same tone of calm concern as his face was showing. ‘Abel?’ he said again, louder. When this got no response, he took off his hat and used it to bat the bottom, as gently as was possible with such a solid thing. The bottom recoiled, and from behind another cushion appeared a long, pale face, with a white moustache and watery eyes. The face looked terrified at first, but when it saw the Captain it relaxed into a nervous grin.

  ‘Abel,’ said the Captain. ‘You can come out now. The raid, such as it was, is over.’

  ‘Aha! Captain, how lucky it is that you found me here . . .’ said Abel, now rolling clumsily off the chair, and straightening his stick-like limbs until he stood before them.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said the Captain, still seeming more concerned than annoyed. ‘You weren’t injured, I hope, in the raid?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Abel, looking sheepish (which is easy when your face is obscured by a woolly white moustache). ‘Just, protecting the, er, the money, that one inevitably finds behind chair cushions . . .’

  He rambled into silence as the Captain’s face grew sterner.

  ‘I don’t like to think you weren’t playing your part, Abel,’ said the Captain, thoughtfully. ‘Everyone can help at times like these, and that doesn’t just mean fighting.’

  ‘Ah, but sir, I thought it was important to . . .’ Abel began, but even Stanley could see he had nowhere to go. The Captain cut him off, not unkindly, with a short bark, and Stanley was surprised to see a tear in Abel’s eye. There was an embarrassed moment, which was broken by Clamdigger’s voice cutting in.

  ‘Captain Anstruther! Erm, the other Captain Anstruther is nearly aboard,’ he yelled.

  ‘Great Columns of Fire!’ said the Captain. ‘That’s the quickest work with a boatswain’s chair I’ve ever known,’ and he marched off to see. As he followed, Stanley caught Abel’s eye, which was no longer moist. In fact, Abel was glaring at him, and Stanley was surprised to see him put a finger to his lips, as if to say ‘shhh’. Stanley was wondering what this might mean, when Able Skyman Abel snapped to attention, and Stanley heard a hearty voice from just below deck level.

  ‘Bend, my young sapling, and lend a hand to a better man! I’ve not climbed four hundred feet up one of your cheap little ropes to be left dangling at the scuppers like a gaffed catfish! And now heave! By my grandma’s beard, there’s more muscle on you than it seems. Now, where’s my big brother on his day of days?’

  With this torrent of good-natured banter, Zebediah Anstruther climbed, indeed almost leapt, aboard the Great Galloon. Stanley, now only a few feet away at the Captain’s side, gawped at the new arrival. He was clearly a few years younger than the Captain, with fewer laughter lines, and perhaps a slightly slimmer tum, but there the differences stopped. From ponytail to boots, this man was dressed and styled the same as the Captain.

  ‘Plum puddings!’ gasped the Captain. ‘This is embarrassing. My first meeting with my brother in who knows how long, and we’ve got the same clobber on.’

  The small group around them laughed as the Captain took Zebediah in a hug. As they stepped apart, Stanley saw Zebediah set his face in a smile.

  ‘All I need is a hat like an undertaker’s chamberpot, and the look will be complete,’ he said, and with that he reached out, grabbed the Captain’s prized hat, and had it clamped on his own head before anyone could stop him. This caused a collective pause, before the Captain clapped his hands together and smiled.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Zeb. You’ve brought the rings, I’m sure?’ he said.

  ‘All the way from the Old Market in Suuk,’ said Zebediah. ‘And the speech is writ, I’m afraid, Meredith. But where’s this bride of yours?’

  Before the Captain could answer, Abel’s voice interrupted them, calling up from the main ladder.

  ‘Captains, Lady Isabella Croucher is making her way on deck!’

  ‘Ah!’ said the Captain. ‘She’s come to say hello to you, Zeb, I expect.’

  But Zebediah’s face dropped as he looked at the Captain, then towards the hatchway that the announcement had come from.

&n
bsp; ‘Surely you’re not going to let her see you?’ he hissed.

  ‘Why ever not?’ said the Captain. ‘She’s seen me before.’

  ‘But not on your wedding day, Meredith,’ cried Zebediah, increasingly agitated. ‘’Tis extreme bad luck. You’ll curse your marriage before it starts.’

  The Captain tutted and looked around, but there was now no one about to help him. Just he, Zeb and Stanley now stood on deck – everyone else had seemingly gone below to prepare for the ceremony.

  ‘What say you, Stanley?’ said the Captain, and Stanley was once again astonished to be included in the great man’s conversation.

  ‘Ermm, I have heard it’s not the done thing, Captain,’ he said. ‘But what can we do?’

  ‘Hide, you fools! Hide!’ snapped Zebediah.

  He said it with such conviction that Stanley and the Captain both spun round, looking for somewhere to hide. Right behind the chairs was a large trunk, which was usually used for storing the boatswain’s chair apparatus. Stanley lifted the lid, and saw it was big enough for both of them to squeeze into.

  ‘Captain,’ he said anxiously, and clambered into it, as he heard Zebediah hurrying the Captain along.

  ‘Get in, brother, before she’s alongside!’

  And soon the Captain and Stanley were both inside the musty trunk, hunkered down but not too squashed, as the trunk was a roomy one. The Captain was breathing carefully, and there was just enough light for Stanley to see a gleam in his eye.

  ‘Here’s fun, eh, boy?’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ whispered Stanley. ‘Why am I hiding?’ and together they stifled a chuckle.

  Outside, Stanley could hear Zebediah’s muffled voice greeting the Lady Isabella. They must have missed her by moments.

  Later on, the Captain would ask Stanley exactly what he had heard as they hid in the trunk together, and Stanley would go over it and over it in his head. Although it was indistinct at the time, it was a conversation that would change the lives of everybody onboard the Great Galloon, and not for the better. This is what he heard:

  Isabella: Ah! A fine hat for a fine day, my Captain.

  Zebediah: Why, thank you, madam. And may I say, that is a fine dress for a fine woman.

  Isabella: Thank you, thank you, my dear. No need to kneel, I assure you. Now, where’s that brother of yours?

  Zebediah: Not here, thank goodness.

  Isabella: Oh? Is something the matter?

  Zebediah: I fear so. My brother seems to be planning something. We must act quickly.

  Isabella: But, Captain, whatever can you mean?

  Zebediah: I’ll speak plainly. He means to dupe you, and marry you himself. He has arrived here today looking so similar to me that only someone who truly loves me could tell us apart.

  Inside the trunk, Stanley saw the Captain’s shocked expression. Was this some wedding-day jape? Had they misheard? Before Stanley could react, he heard steps approaching, and Able Skyman Abel’s higher voice cut across Zebediah’s.

  Abel: (Entering stage left) Captain, I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but the ceremony awaits down below. We must hurry. Where is Captain Anstruther?

  Zebediah: I am Captain Anstruther, curse you!

  Abel: Of course, I mean our Captain, your brother.

  Zebediah: See, Isabella, his cohorts begin the deception already. We have no time. We must find a way, any way, to get away from here.

  Isabella: Leave the Galloon? But . . .

  Zebediah: We shall return, and reclaim it – but no one here can be trusted. Even Abel here is playing his part. It is you and me against the world, my darling!

  Abel: Sir, what is this? Lady Isabella – you do know that this is Captain . . .

  Zebediah: Of course she knows me, you two-faced lubber! We are to be married today, and nothing you can say will deter us, if we must run to the ends of the earth to do it.

  At this, inside the trunk, the Captain seemed to be jolted into action. With eyes burning, he leapt up from his hiding place, sending the lid crashing back. Stanley jumped up beside him, but wasn’t quite tall enough to see out. As he scrambled over the edge of the trunk, he heard the Captain beside him roaring.

  ‘Zebediah! If you think my wife-to-be will believe your lies, you have another . . .’

  But before this sentence was complete, Stanley heard Isabella’s voice again, and looking up from where he had flopped onto the deck, he was astonished to see her jump into the arms of Zebediah, who was still wearing the Captain’s hat.

  ‘He’s here, Meredith!’ she said, apparently to Zebediah. ‘I’m with you, my love, to the ends of the earth! Where can we go? Where will we be safe?’

  While the Captain stood agog, fists clenched, Zebediah lifted Isabella from the deck, and cast about him like a hunted animal. Beside him, Abel drew his rusty sword.

  ‘Unhand the lady, you scoundrel!’ he said, and Stanley was surprised to see rage in his eyes. But Zebediah merely turned and ran towards the taffrail, where he had leapt aboard just a few minutes earlier.

  ‘The boatswain’s chair!’ he cried, and he deftly flung Isabella into the little canvas seat. He turned, just as the Captain seemed finally to understand what was happening.

  ‘Well, brother,’ said Zebediah. ‘It seems you have turned my crew against me, and you have charge of my beloved Galloon. But I have my bride, and my integrity. Two things you can never take from me!’

  At the commotion, a few people were coming up from below – Stanley saw Mr and Mrs Wouldbegood, and Cook in his best whites, amongst a few others. They looked confusedly from one Captain to the other. Abel made a move towards Zebediah, who quickly flipped Isabella, in the boatswain’s chair, over the side of the Galloon. There was a gasp from the people, and the Captain clenched his fists.

  ‘Zebediah,’ called the Captain. ‘Please! We can talk!’

  ‘Hah!’ came the reply. ‘Still you persist! Back, all of you! This mutiny will not go unpunished! I will return!’

  ‘But, Captain!’ called Cook, and Stanley was surprised to see he was talking to Zebediah. ‘We are with you!’

  ‘Too little too late, Chef,’ said Zebediah, as he wrapped the rope of the boatswain’s chair around his forearm. ‘But know this – any of you who resist this man until my return will be rewarded. And Zebediah – two can play at the hijacking game. Your Grand Sumbaroon will serve until I can raise the force to retake my Galloon. Treat her well, you fiend!’

  And with this dramatic call, and a flamboyant gesture of defiance, Zebediah leapt overboard, sending himself and Isabella flying towards the sea. In the boatswain’s chair, Isabella let out a scream. All the people on the deck, a sizeable crowd now, rushed to the rails to look. Stanley saw the chair plummeting, with Zebediah hanging from the rope, and Isabella’s hair streaming in the wind.

  Directly below, the Sumbaroon was floating like an alligator, with a hatch open, waiting for them. Behind him, Abel and the Captain were trying to halt their descent by stopping the pulley from spinning, but it was too late. Stanley watched Zebediah’s distant figure land on the hull of his Sumbaroon, and take Isabella in his arms again. They swept together into the hatchway, and Stanley thought he just saw Zebediah give a tiny mocking salute skywards, before the hatch was slammed shut. The water began to churn again as the Sumbaroon began to dive. Stanley, still stunned, turned to see what was happening on deck.

  Skyman Abel was standing by the pulley, with the rope in his hands, looking utterly shocked. The Captain, beside him, began to shout, ‘Weigh anchors! Man the mizzen’bloons! Haul up! We must give chase!’

  The small crowd around them shuffled awkwardly, most of its members looking at their shoes.

  ‘Come on,’ said Stanley. ‘You heard him!’

  ‘Shush, boy!’ said a gruff man in the crowd. ‘This is not your Captain.’

  ‘He’s Zebediah,’ cried a woman, from the growing hubbub. ‘And I for one shall take no orders from him!’

  ‘Aye!’ said an
other voice. ‘We wait here, as long as it takes for the Captain to return and reclaim his Galloon!’

  Stanley could not believe what he was hearing – surely people could recognise their own Captain? But then, he had been with the Captain all along. Perhaps the likeness between the brothers was even better than he thought.

  He was about to pipe up again, when Skyman Abel’s voice rang out. ‘This is your Captain, you fools! Someone steals his hat and you instantly forget him? I say, what kind of a crew are you?’

  ‘Well . . .’ said the man who had spoken first. ‘The other man looked like the Captain to me.’

  ‘Of course he did,’ said Skyman Abel, incredulous. ‘They’re brothers. They were wearing the same clothes. But can you not see our Captain’s noble bearing? The dignity in those shoulders? We must make chase: Lady Isabella is not safe!’

  ‘We should wait here, I reckon,’ said the woman. ‘Put this here Zebediah in chains, and wait for the Captain to come back. All in favour?’

  Before anyone could say anything else, Captain Anstruther took two mighty strides, and leapt on top of the trunk in which he had been hiding with Stanley. His eyes were pink and tears ran down his cheeks, but Stanley shivered at the fierce look on his face. The growing crowd fell silent. The Captain spoke, quietly it seemed, but his voice carried effortlessly over the whistle of wind in the rigging.

  ‘People of the Great Galloon. I am Captain Meredith Anstruther. I built this vessel with my own two hands. I know each of you by name, and would trust each of you with my life. I ask no one to come with me, but by the lights of the night sky I shall follow this thieving brother of mine across water, earth and fire. I shall take back my beloved, whom he has deceived, and I shall marry her here on my home, the Great Galloon. This I shall do with no rest or play until it is accomplished. Stand with me forever or leave at the next port. But do not get in my way.’

  The crowd shifted again. They seemed convinced now, but no one wanted to pipe up first. Then Stanley saw young Clamdigger at the back. He took off his blue bandana, and waved it in the air.