“I think I’ll see you tomorrow at Captain Tommy’s place,” said Mike as he began his descent of the ladder. “And your friends too.”
“We look forward to that,” said Fee, waving. “Goodbye, Mike.”
They watched as he climbed into his boat, started the outboard engine, and began his journey back across the bay. After a minute or so, he turned and waved to them, and they waved back.
“Did you feel a bit sad just then?” asked Fee as they returned to their work on the deck.
Poppy looked thoughtful. “Yes, I did.” She paused. “But why? Why do you think we both felt sad?”
“Because …” began Fee, and then stopped. “I’m not sure.”
But Poppy had an idea. “I think it’s because we have something he doesn’t,” she said. “And that can make you feel sad. It just does.”
“Even if not everybody can have the same things?” asked Fee.
“Yes,” said Poppy. “I think Mike would love to go to school. I think he’d love to have the chance to study the things we study.”
“Even though we also have to scrub the decks?” asked Fee.
Poppy smiled. “Even though we have to do that.”
Fee sighed. “I suspect he’d be far better at it than we are.”
Poppy agreed. “And catching fish too. He’ll do lots of things rather well, I think.”
“I wish he could join the school,” said Fee. “Don’t you think that would be great?”
“It would be,” said Poppy. “But it’s not going to happen, I’m afraid. Somebody has to pay for us to be on the Tobermory and I don’t think Mike’s family will have the money.”
“I’m sorry about that,” said Fee. “I wish we could help.”
“Yes,” said Poppy. She would have liked to have added something to that, but she could not think what to say. It is one thing to want to help; it is quite another to be able to do so.
Captain Macbeth had a special rowing boat reserved for his personal use. It was a fine boat, its hull painted dark blue with the rest of the woodwork dazzling white. The oars were of polished pine and cut into the water with hardly a splash – at least when used by good rowers. That morning Poppy and Fee were on the starboard oars and Ben and Badger on the port; Thomas Seagrape, wearing his smartest blue-and-white sailor outfit, was at the tiller, steering the boat expertly towards the shore. No captain could wish for a better crew, thought Captain Macbeth as he sat in the bows and watched his students at work.
As they approached the beach, they saw that Mike was already there to greet them. Wading out in his bare feet, he helped to bring the rowing boat up onto the sand where it would be safe from the tide. He had not met any of the boys yet, so he shook hands with each of them. Ben, who always felt that he could judge in a minute or two whether he was going to get on with somebody, was sure that Mike would become a firm friend.
“Captain Tommy told me to bring you straight up to the house,” said Mike. “He’s waiting for you.”
They followed him along a path that led up from the beach towards the side of a hill. On this hillside, dotted around under the trees, were houses with bright red roofs. And the walls, too, were colourful – mostly greens and blues that matched the brilliant sky and sea. After a while the path led on to a narrow tarred road that climbed further up the hill in one direction and down to the harbour in the other.
“Not far now,” said Mike, pointing to a single-storey house with light green walls set back from the road. “That’s Captain Tommy’s place.”
They could tell that it was a sailor’s house.
On the fence beside the gate was a fishing-net hung out across the posts, along with a collection of old fishing floats. Then, on the path that led to the front veranda, was an old wooden rowing boat, upturned so that its hull faced the sky, its name painted in a fancy script: Nancy Blue.
The veranda was partly hidden by a large flowering tree, and once they walked around that they saw Captain Tommy waiting for them. He was sitting on an ancient wickerwork chair, holding a walking stick in one hand and beckoning them enthusiastically with the other.
“Ahoy there, Captain Macbeth!” he called. “Ahoy there, Tobermory crew!”
Captain Macbeth bounded up the steps to greet his old friend. They shook hands firmly before Captain Tommy turned to greet each of the others in turn.
Poppy shook hands first. She was struck by Captain Tommy’s piercing green eyes. She had never seen eyes like that before – other than in a Burmese cat. Fee followed her. She noticed the old naval cap he wore and its intricate gold badge. She imagined how many high seas and storms that cap had seen.
Then it was the turn of the boys. They admired everything about Captain Tommy – the voice that sounded as deep as the sea itself; the wrinkled skin that looked as if it was made out of waterproof tarpaulin; and of course the proud, erect bearing that came from years of commanding sailors at sea. This was a man, they thought, who knew everything there was to know about the sea.
The two captains wanted some time alone to talk about old times, so Mike, at Captain Tommy’s suggestion, took everybody else off to the kitchen at the back of the house for a glass of lemonade.
“Captain Tommy makes this himself from the lemons that grow in his garden,” he said. “It’s said to be the best lemonade in the entire Caribbean.”
When they tasted it, everyone had to agree. Then Mike gave them each one of Captain Tommy’s famous ship’s biscuits. He explained these were made with coconut from the Captain’s own trees. “They’ve won prizes up in Jamaica and down in Grenada,” Mike said. “There are lots of people who would love to get their hands on the recipe.”
They went outside to sit on the back veranda. There they talked for almost half an hour before Mike suggested they go back to see the two captains.
Captain Tommy and Captain Macbeth had finished talking about the old days and were pleased to see the crew.
“There’s something I want to tell you people,” said Captain Tommy. “I’ve already told young Wood here.” He nodded towards Mike. “He knows the story – but I’d like you to know too.”
“We’d love to hear it,” said Poppy, speaking for all of them.
Captain Tommy nodded in her direction. “Well said, young lady. There are people who don’t want to hear stories, but you’ll never make true sailors out of them. Real sailors are always interested in a good story, as long as the sea comes into it somewhere. And it does in this one – in fact the sea is right at the heart of it.
“This all took place some time ago,” he continued. “Your captain here, Captain Macbeth, was a very young man then – he was in command of his first ship, the Puffin. It was not a very big ship, but you never forget your first command, no matter how small she is.
“I was the captain of a steamer that sailed all the way down the Eastern Caribbean, stopping at a lot of the smaller islands. We delivered just about everything back then – trucks, spare parts, food, picks and shovels – you name it, we carried it.
“Now, there was a right nasty piece of work hanging about in these waters – a man by the name of Thorn. Robert Algernon Thorn, to give him his full name, but he was generally known as Bert Thorn, or simply Thorn. Thorn was a crook. He used to have a racket in out-of-date pies in Jamaica, but they chased him out of Kingston after the pies made everyone ill, and he took to being a pirate.
“People think that pirates don’t exist any longer. They think of Captain Morgan and the likes, and all that swashbuckling stuff from hundreds of years ago. But they forget that there are plenty of modern-day pirates who have all the latest equipment and chase after innocent boats to rob them of anything they can lay their hands on. Oh yes, there are still pirates all right, and Thorn was one of the worst.
“I had been lucky – I had never run into him, until one day I was about to put into harbour at a place called Pigeon Island. I suppose I wasn’t paying enough attention, and I didn’t spot Thorn’s boat lurking by the headland. Well
, he nipped out and before I knew where I was he had come alongside me and his men had boarded. They were armed to the teeth with guns and knives. And so I had no choice but to start handing over anything of value to the grinning Mr Thorn. ‘Nice to meet you, Captain Tommy,’ he sneered. ‘And nicer still to relieve you of some of your bits and pieces.’
“There was nothing I could do, and I was resigned to my fate when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a boat sailing full tilt towards us. I wondered whether it was one of Thorn’s band, but then I saw somebody I recognised at the helm. It was your own captain, my friends – your own Captain Macbeth.
“And you know what he did? He rammed Thorn’s boat midships. There was an awful bump and sound of breaking timbers. Thorn jumped up like a scalded cat and ran to the side to see what was happening. Well, what we saw was his ship listing to port and beginning to sink. He let out a tremendous wail – I can still hear it if I close my eyes – and jumped back onto his stricken ship. I think he wanted to sail it to land, but he didn’t get that far. From where I stood on deck I could see him getting lower and lower in the water and then, a good three hundred yards off the beach, his ship sank altogether. Thorn and his bunch of thugs had to swim through the breakers to reach the shore. They made a most bedraggled spectacle.”
Captain Tommy paused in his story. “So it was your captain who saved me, my friends. I probably even owe my life to him.”
Captain Macbeth looked embarrassed. “Oh, I don’t know, Tommy. Anybody would have done what I did …”
“And he’s modest as well as brave,” said Captain Tommy.
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” protested Captain Macbeth.
Captain Tommy now rose to his feet – rather hesitantly and with the aid of his walking stick. “Well, whatever you say, Macbeth, I owe you a lot, and that’s why I’m going to give you my sea-chest. It’s not much, but it’s full of all sorts of things that I’ll never have the energy to sort out. Perhaps you can get these fine young people here to help you. There might be stuff that some maritime museum some-where would be interested in.”
He indicated to Thomas, Ben and Mike that they should follow him, and then he went inside. A few minutes later the boys emerged behind him, carrying a large and clearly rather heavy wooden chest.
“I want you to take this and do what you think is the right thing with it,” said Captain Tommy to Captain Macbeth. “Mike will help your crew to carry it down to your boat.”
Captain Macbeth tried to persuade his friend to hold on to his treasures, but to no avail. “My sea-chest is of no interest to me now,” said Captain Tommy. “You take it and see what you can do with it.”
Captain Macbeth thanked him. He knew there are times when you have to accept a present gracefully, and this was one of them.
In the boat on the way back to the Tobermory, nobody could take their eyes off the old sea-chest. What did it contain? Treasure of some sort – it was heavy enough for that – or just the old bits and pieces from a long seafaring life?
“Can we open the chest when we get back to the boat?” asked Poppy.
Captain Macbeth thought for a while. “You’re all going to be busy with your activities. Perhaps in a day or two.” Then he added, “Who’s going kitesurfing today?”
Badger said that he had put his name down for Miss Worsfold’s next kitesurfing class.
“It’s very windy,” said the Captain, looking up at the wispy white clouds scudding across the sky. “So be extra careful.”
“I will,” said Badger. He thought for a moment, and then asked the question he had wanted to ask Captain Tommy, but had not. “What happened to Bert Thorn?”
“After he swam ashore?”
“Yes. Was he arrested?”
Captain Macbeth shook his head. “He and his crew scarpered,” he said. “That was all a long time ago. Nobody’s ever seen or heard from him since, as far as I know.” He looked thoughtful. “He wouldn’t have been much good as a pirate once he’d lost his ship. So he’s probably up to some other form of mischief now – who knows?”
A dangerous moment
Lightning never strikes in the same place twice – or so the old saying goes. But sometimes these old sayings are just not true. So it was that Badger, who had already had a close escape from drowning when the ship sailed off without him and his fellow swimmers, should have been a bit more careful when kitesurfing that afternoon.
This is what happened. It was during Miss Worsfold’s second kitesurfing class, when there were ten people all being instructed in the tricky art of standing up on a surfboard and being pulled along by a powerful and often unruly kite. It looks so easy when you see an expert doing it, but just try it for yourself. That is when you find out just how hard it is to stay upright on water.
Badger, though, as he had already demonstrated, was naturally good at it. Perhaps it was his sense of balance; perhaps it was because he had strong leg muscles; perhaps it was because some people are quick learners when it comes to new sports. Whatever the reason, Badger could kitesurf like a champion.
Miss Worsfold was most impressed. “I obviously have nothing to teach you, Badger,” she said. “You can just go ahead and do it by yourself while I show the others. “But don’t go too far out,” she warned. “Remember the sea can get rough out there and can make it hard to turn round.”
Badger promised her that he would be careful. Then, under the admiring eyes of the rest of the class, who had still to learn how to stand up on the board without falling into the water, he set off. There were several shouts and whistles as the wind caught the kite and drew it out above him. Like a bird soaring in a current of air, the kite billowed and pulled, tugging Badger on his board. Through the waves he cut, leaping and dipping on the green sea like a dancer.
“Look at that!” marvelled Miss Worsfold. “That boy is competition standard already.”
She tore herself away from the inspiring sight of Badger on his board to continue her lesson. So she did not see – nor did anybody else – Badger shooting across the water at considerable speed, heading for the mouth of the bay where a line of breakers marked the position of the reef. Here the open sea met the line of coral and became a tumbling chaos of waves and foam. There was a break, though, in the reef – a channel through which boats could pass without risk of being dashed on the rocks – and it was towards this gap that the wind was pulling Badger.
An observer on the shore might have been worried that Badger would misjudge his position and be dragged onto the reef, but Badger had no such fear. He felt in complete control of the kite above him and he knew he could, by small movements of his wrists, by the slightest tugs and twists, send the straining kite off in the direction of his choosing. So now he lined himself up with the channel through the reef; he would pass through that, he thought, and then make a wide turn in the open sea beyond. Afterwards he would come back through the channel and surf right up to the beach where Miss Worsfold was teaching the group. It would be a triumphant return.
But sometimes things do not go quite as planned. Although Badger made it safely through the gap in the reef, once he was out in the open sea he found himself in conditions that were altogether much rougher. Now, with much larger waves to contend with, all his effort was focused on staying on the board. He knew that one miscalculation, one momentary loss of concentration, would see him tumble headlong into the water. And he was not at all sure that he would be able to get back on the board in those conditions – in fact, he was sure he would not. That would leave him floundering in the large waves and carried back towards the reef and its razor-sharp rocks. Not even the strongest, most experienced swimmer would be able to avoid being cut to ribbons if that happened.
No, he thought, he would have to concentrate on getting as far away from the reef as possible. That meant staying on his current course, further out into the open sea. At least when he was out there if he should come off the board he would not be in such immediate danger, unless, of course … no
, he could not bear to think about sharks right now. Sharks tend not to come inside a reef, so you are usually safe if you stay there. But the open sea is a different matter.
Badger might have been all right had the wind not suddenly increased. But as it rose, he found himself going faster and faster. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the land receding behind him. The beach was now not much more than a thin line of yellow, with Miss Worsfold and her class a few indistinct dots. He was now surrounded by larger waves, rolling in off the Atlantic, some of them beginning to curl and break at the top. Riding these waves was a stomach-churning experience and controlling the kite above his head was beginning to take its toll on his shoulders and arms. He wanted, more than anything to let go of the trapeze – to let the kite fly away – and to sink into the water. But if he did that he would be unable to swim against the current, invisible to anybody on land. It suddenly dawned on Badger that he might die. This is happening to me, he thought. This is not something I’m watching in a movie; this is real.
And then he saw it. Not far away, coming straight towards him, was a small, brightly painted boat, propelled through the waves by an outboard motor. And at the tiller was somebody who, even from this distance, he recognised. Mike!
In no time at all Mike was just behind him, following his course but leaving just enough room between them so that they would not collide.
“Let go!” shouted Mike over the whistling of the wind. “Let go of the kite and I’ll pick you up.”
For a moment Badger was confused. If he let go, the kite would simply fly away and he would have to explain to Miss Worsfold that he had lost an expensive piece of equipment. On the other hand, what counted for more – his life or the kite? The answer to that was obvious.
The moment he let go of the trapeze, the kite shot up in the air and then made a slow pirouette as it fell into the waves. Immediately Badger felt himself slow down and sink slowly into the water, his surfboard popping up beside him like a piece of flotsam. Then Mike was beside him, his boat engine idling. Badger felt the other boy’s hands reach under his arms and, with surprising strength, haul him up into the boat.
The Sands of Shark Island Page 9