The Outrageous Fortune of Abel Morgan

by Cynthia Jefferies

  By the time he had once more passed the King, his wife’s pains had come upon her and the audience, seeing her distress, fell silent. She writhed and howled in her agony but none of her shrieks were heard by her husband. In happy ignorance, he made his way towards her, pausing often to admire his purchases, in spite of the audience’s exhortations to him to make haste. By the time he arrived, black crows made of paper had been perched about her bed and the sprawled corpse of the actor lay still, partially covered by a sheet coloured with splashes of blood-red dye. The black ‘O’ of Christopher’s horrified mouth stretched upon his chalked face made the audience shiver. Hat, shoes, ribbons, remaining coins – all tumbled to the stage as he fell in anguish from his horse. He howled his theatrical misery, writhing in a pathetic aping of his poor wife’s final moments.

  He had never remembered a dream so clearly. As he lay in that unaccustomed bed with the early light beckoning him to rise he wondered how instead of his usual grief and guilt at remembering that part of his life he felt neither. It was all so far away in his past it might as well be a play. His wife was long dead and her pains long over. To his surprise, he knew as certainly as he knew anything that his were too. He had put his wife to rest, he had returned the child to his homeland and he had survived Daniel Johnson. As for his son, his sadness was mingled with hope. Life had taken its toll, but Christopher was not an old man. Plenty of life was there in front of him to live.

  Once at sea, the wind turned against them and the voyage back to Chineborough was arduous, but with every mile gained Christopher felt his spirits lifting even higher. He was free! Free of guilt over his dead wife and free of the child he had never wished to be burdened with. As for Abel, he would keep in touch with Ethan, in case he ever had any news.

  With Ethan in his mind Christopher recalled the offer made in Constantinople, for them to try a trading relationship together. Why should he not try it? He would never make his fortune at the inn and this would be an opportunity to improve his financial situation with little risk to himself. He had liked Ethan. It would be the action of a friend to help him with his court connection. It might be tenuous, but he did know the King and was welcome at court. It would be a while before the bulbs flowered, but what if Ethan could discover other plants to send? The King might be interested in unusual items for his privy garden. It would cost little enough to return to London and try his luck. It was a good plan and he would set it in motion as soon as he reached home. It would be a fine thing to practise diligence in a new trade.

  ABEL MORGAN

  24

  I studied my dead master Ptolemy’s books diligently and learnt much from them. I so wished for a mate to help me, but, apart from Will Mather, who was almost deaf and so most helpful when a man had to be held still for treatment in spite of his screams, there was no one on board with the inclination or ability to become a surgeon’s mate. As the months became years I doubted I would ever find a mate such as I had been to Ptolemy Moore. Then fate sent me help from a most unexpected quarter.

  We were in need of supplies and had taken a small merchant vessel without mishap. The captain looked a brutal man, a corpulent fellow with a big belly that spoke of idleness and greed. I’d warrant he took his ease while his five crew slaved for him. Our boarding party had herded the captain and his crew together, and from where I stood I could see them well, for their vessel was tight alongside ours. The captain had his meaty hand on the fragile neck of his small cabin boy, a delicate-featured child with coffee-coloured skin. The very sight of his hand on that boy repulsed me.

  As I gazed upon them, the child looked up at me. The next instant, he had broken away from his master, had clambered over the side and was on our deck at my feet, clinging most piteously to my legs. He was lucky no one had shot him, as usually happened when a crew member tried to escape.

  ‘Save me, sir!’ he begged in good English while his master roared in impotent anger. ‘Take me with you. I’ll die if you don’t.’

  I looked down at his ragged figure to remonstrate with him.

  ‘I cannot do that,’ I said. He only clung the harder, looking up into my face, his eyes seeking mine. I felt my heart turn over. He was so young and so very frightened. And he was undoubtedly a slave, obliged to suffer his master’s every debauched whim. It struck me that I could rescue him if I wished. We were kings here and he was as much a prize as the rest of the cargo. I did not want him, but he might be useful on board and I could ensure he was not brutalised while with us. I supposed we could free him at some landfall if he proved a nuisance.

  ‘Very well,’ I said and was rewarded by a tremulous smile and glistening eyes as the boy struggled not to cry. ‘I will look after you.’

  Will Mather tossed a sack onto our deck and a few peas leaked from it. He grinned at me. ‘Yonder captain wants his toy back,’ he said, ‘but I see it has taken a fancy to you.’

  I found myself blushing. ‘I know it,’ I said. ‘But I could not leave the child with that brute. Perhaps I can find him a better master in Port Royal.’

  Will gave me a quizzical look before shaking his head. ‘Too pretty for a good master,’ he said.

  I looked up to see Rowan with his weapon pointing directly at the child.

  ‘Don’t shoot,’ I said quietly. ‘The child means us no mischief.’

  ‘Do you mean to turn slaver?’ Rowan enquired with a slight smile. ‘Or whoremaster?’

  I felt myself blush again. I knew I did not want a boy in that way.

  ‘At any rate, you have made an enemy of yonder captain,’ added Rowan.

  I looked over at the drifting merchantman. We had just cast her off and her captain appeared to be shaking his fist in our direction. Rowan levelled his pistol and took a shot. It was too far to do damage, but the captain ducked, and we laughed.

  ‘Maybe the child can make himself useful,’ I suggested.

  ‘If not, we can sell him at Port Royal.’

  The child clutched my legs even harder. ‘He won’t eat much,’ I said. I looked down at him again and saw that his eyes were magnified with unshed tears. ‘We won’t sell you if you are useful.’

  I turned to Rowan. ‘May I have him as my share of the booty?’

  He regarded me seriously. ‘No man owns another on this ship, but I have no objection to him joining the crew so long as he can pull his shrimp-like weight. Take my advice, however, and don’t let him have a knife until you are sure you can trust him. I would not want to find my surgeon murdered in his bunk.’ He gave the child a hard look. ‘Nor any of my men. If you cause trouble we will toss you overboard.’

  My new charge was a very attractive child with his smooth, unblemished skin and his tousled black curly hair. He told me his name was Jack and said he thought he was ten years old. His story was a sad one, but not uncommon, I think.

  ‘I was born in the Americas,’ he said once he was calmer, realising he truly had escaped from his master. ‘I am the child of a maid and her master. My mother was unable to spend much time with me when I was a baby because she was required to work, but now and then the master took it into his head to dote on me. My mother said like a pet …’

  He paused, and I could see he was remembering.

  ‘I thought he behaved as a father would, having no other child. When I was older he liked to speak to me. He said he would teach me my letters and sometimes allowed me to run beside him when he rode around his estate.’ Jack’s eyes filled. ‘On two occasions he lifted me up onto his horse. He could see I was tired and let me ride behind him.’

  ‘Indeed, that does sound a little like the behaviour of a true father,’ I said, remembering my own lamented parent.

  Jack shook his head. ‘But it was not! Two years ago, he married and his wife made plain that she didn’t want me near him. I was instantly removed from the house servants’ shack and sent to live with the rest of the slaves, away from my mother and all I knew. He would not allow me to be taken into the fields or to be beaten. I was grateful
for that, but such treatment didn’t endear me to the field slaves. They had seen me ride pillion behind the master. Once I was brought down, I found I had no friends, nor the love of my father or any more the life I had been accustomed to in the house where I had sometimes eaten off china and even drunk a little wine.’

  ‘I am sorry for it.’

  Jack looked earnestly at me. ‘Last year my father died after a fall from his horse. He had made no provision for me and, as a result, his widow made swift arrangements to sell me. I was sold to a … a … fearful house.’

  I waited until he was able to go on.

  ‘I ran away, sir,’ he said in his high, sweet voice. ‘I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t stay.’ He rubbed at his eyes fiercely. ‘For a while I lived a roaming life. I got far away from the town in which I had been dwelling and came eventually to the coast. I was in constant fear of discovery as a runaway, but one day it was so long since I had eaten that I went to an inn, offering to do the meanest job for a crust. It was there the captain saw me and took me with him. I thought it would be better than starving, but … there is nowhere to run on a ship.’

  Jack bent his head and buried his face in his hands. His narrow shoulders shook as the tears fell.

  I was moved more than I can say. That this blameless person should be treated so ill pained me deeply. I put my hand on his shoulder to comfort him, but he flinched so I hastened to remove it. What horrors he had been subjected to since he had been sold I hated to imagine. I decided then that I would not let him leave my side until I had found him a position that I could be certain would give him safety and dignity as well as honest toil.

  We had hammocks to spare, but he insisted on sleeping just outside my door, so I found some sailcloth and other fabric, and he made himself a nest there. It would hardly do if we came into rough weather, but while the sea was calm it did him well enough.

  I admit I was flattered by his attachment to me. He followed me like a puppy and did my bidding with a readiness that was most pleasing. After a few days I wondered if I might teach him something of my calling. He was too young and not strong enough for many of the duties of a surgeon’s mate, but there were things he could do if he were only clever enough.

  ‘Come on deck, Jack. And bring this box with you.’

  We settled ourselves and I took the box from him. ‘Here are some of my instruments. See how they are oiled and free of rust?’

  He nodded. I took a small roll of cloth and undid it. Within were the few pieces Ptolemy had originally given me for my own. ‘These have not been looked at for a while, but should my others become damaged I might have need of them. Do you think you could clean and oil them, so they are as fair as the others?’

  I gave him the materials and he set to with a will.

  ‘What is this for?’ he asked, holding up a probe after cleaning it.

  ‘It is sometimes necessary to look into a wound and this instrument helps me to do that.’

  He looked at me with awe. ‘Are you a barber, sir?’

  I shook my head sternly. ‘I can indeed shave a man and pull teeth, but I was trained by a great physician and surgeon and am myself the surgeon for both our ships.’ Jack was silent a moment and then he held up the bullet remover.

  ‘Can you tell me what this is for?’

  I felt a jolt of pleasure. He was young, but he was deft of hand and was showing interest. Maybe he could be my apprentice, as I had been Ptolemy’s. I explained, showing him how to turn the screw to make the remover the right size to grasp a bullet within a man’s flesh. When I handed it back to him his face was a study in concentration as he worked it.

  ‘Were you able to learn your letters, Jack, after your father died?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Would you like to learn?’

  He looked up with such a smile on his face I had to return it. ‘Oh yes, sir!’

  ‘Then I shall teach you. And if you are willing I will teach you a little of my skills too.’

  ‘Yes, please, sir!’

  I was the happiest I had been for a long time. I wished I had an English version of my old picture book, which had been in Dutch and Latin. It would have been very useful, but Jack was a quick learner and very keen, even without a book of words and pictures to help him. He practised his letters at every opportunity, writing mostly with charcoal begged from the cook and using the deck as his paper. As one of his duties on board was to swab the deck he was constantly erasing his own work, which meant he had a never-ending surface. I wondered if Rowan might object to the school I had set up, but he was amused and happy I was teaching the boy.

  ‘Teach him to shave a man,’ he advised one afternoon. ‘For once we have another prize we will head for Port Royal and many of the men will want smooth faces then.’ He winked. I knew what he meant. There were plenty of women there of all types who would not object to a dalliance with a pirate, especially if he had plenty of gold to spend.

  ‘And for goodness’ sake,’ Rowan added before moving on, ‘find the poor child some means of keeping his work. He looks so regretful every time he must wash his carefully made letters away.’

  Rowan had noticed what I had not. I hadn’t realised my pupil cared that he had nothing permanent to show for all his efforts and I was sorry. I did not think he was a fair enough hand to warrant having paper from one of my precious journals, but I rummaged through my chest and found the scorched chart Rowan had given me from the vessel that had exploded.

  The chart was of the entrance to the Mediterranean and so of no use to Rowan, but the reverse would give Jack space to practise writing on a finer medium than the deck. His young face lit up as if a lantern shone from within when I gave it to him.

  ‘This is very different from writing with charcoal,’ I said as I trimmed a nib for him. ‘It will take practice to master a nib, so don’t get disheartened.’

  ‘I won’t.’ He looked up at me with serious eyes and then he couldn’t help breaking into a wide smile. ‘I am in heaven!’

  I doubted that but said nothing to spoil his pleasure.

  A pirate ship is not often a heavenly place to be and it wasn’t long before Jack had his first taste of bloodletting. He acquitted himself well, not shrinking like a girl from the gore, but nimbly handing me instruments and mopping blood when required. He was so keen to learn that his few early mistakes were easily corrected. After a few months, the way he anticipated which probe, knife or clamp I would need made it hard for me to imagine how I had ever managed without him. His ready smile soon won over the men and his deftness made them seek him out to pull splinters rather than me.

  ‘The child has a gentle touch,’ said Will when I came upon them one afternoon on deck. Jack had just drawn a large splinter from Will’s palm.

  I looked at the hand carefully. ‘Such wounds can fester,’ I told my protégé. ‘Be sure to pour some oil and honey into it.’

  The child nodded obediently, but I had already noticed the unguents ready at his side. I wondered if I might feel some jealousy at the child’s popularity, but I did not. In truth, he had brought a welcome cheer to all our lives. He had become something of a mascot for the men and at the same time his loyalty to me was unquestioned.

  I began to give some serious thought to his future. Although we had embraced the pirating life, it had not exactly been a free choice for me or my protégé. We risked hanging if we were caught and the thought of that end for Jack disturbed me greatly.

  I remembered that Ptolemy had told me of a lawyer in Port Royal who was to be trusted. Perhaps the next time we were in port I could take Jack to see him. Would it be too much to hope that he might find the child some worthy and safe occupation? I had money aplenty now. I had learnt not to drink and whore it all away and kept a reasonable amount in Ptolemy’s chest. I could settle that on the boy for his lodging and apprenticeship if one could be found for him. I would sorely miss my little surgeon’s mate, but it would be years before he would be strong enough for much
of the work and, if I were to hold his best interests at heart, I could see no other way.

  I decided to tell no one of my plans, not even the boy himself. I did not want to be dissuaded from doing my best for him. I rummaged in the chest and found the note in Ptolemy’s hand of the lawyer’s name and lodging. It was melancholy to see it. I remembered so well him writing it down and telling me to be sure to search out this lawyer should anything happen to him. I had not needed this Mr Chepstow, but now I was grateful for the information. It was hard to know who to trust in Port Royal, but I felt sure I could trust a man of Ptolemy’s choosing.

  I had done as my old master had with me and not allowed Jack ashore in Jamaica. This time it would be different. I would take him: not to the inns and whorehouses as Rowan had done with me, but to the lawyer to settle his future. So, I watched our approach to the island with mixed feelings. I wanted to do right by the boy, but I would sorely miss him. It would have to be done before I was quite unable to let him go.

  25

  The lawyer was a well-made, handsomely dressed gentleman. His study was filled with papers, books and many interesting curios. He remembered Ptolemy well and was effusive in his condolences when he heard of the surgeon’s demise.

  ‘He was a man of good family,’ said Mr Chepstow. ‘Set adrift after the war in England. I did my best to convince him to return to his homeland, but he had too many sad memories of that place and enemies, too, I fear.’