The frigate’s last port of call, St John’s in Newfoundland, had indeed been a cold and miserable place, but they had not tarried there. Two days to replenish water and food, for the Captain to despatch and receive some letters and for a few small repairs to be made, occasioned by the battering of the Atlantic. The widened forward gun-ports which Torvald Coalbiter had suggested had needed to be reinforced, as they now took more of the weight of each wave, and the high seas had shaken the hinge-bolts loose. There had been a great surfeit of fresh fish in St John’s, though, and the crew of the Ark de Triomphe had gorged themselves on fillets of cod fried in batter for breakfast, dinner and tea. Captain Greybagges had allowed four parties of six to go ashore, each accompanied by a bully-boy to ensure discipline. He felt that this would prevent the remainder of the crew from feeling aggrieved at having to stay aboard, and indeed the shore-parties duly reported back that St John’s was a cold dirty slum of a hole of a place which smelled overpoweringly of whale-oil and rotting fish, that the ale was alike to horse-piddle, that the pies were made of whale-meat and that the only entertainment to be found was a toothless old bugger with a guitar who sang songs in French, although Jake Thackeray said that the song about the gorilla was very funny and that he was going to translate it. The crew were not unduly surprised that Jake spoke French, as he was a very good pastry-cook. Captain Greybagges had impressed upon the shore-parties the need for discretion, and had provided each party with a different yarn to spin to the townspeople about the frigate’s destination: they were collecting Mayan princesses from Mexico for the hareem of the Ottoman Sultan in Constantinople; they were on a diplomatic mission for the king of Sweden; they were carrying a letter from the prophet Sabbatti Zevi to the Emperor of Cathay, or perhaps to Prester John; they were going to navigate a nor-westerly passage to the Orient. The Ark de Triomphe had departed St John’s on a morning tide in a fall of swirling snow, leaving a certain bemusement in her wake, and had sailed east out into the Atlantic. She then curved south and west back towards the north Americas, encountering an iceberg along the way, a magnificent blue-green ice-castle which they had fired upon for target-practice with the new rifled muskets, the guns wonderfully accurate even at three hundred paces. They had seen no other ships until they were close to New Amsterdam, and then only mast-tops on the horizon, glimpsed through the haze. The frigate sailed on south-south-west, occasionally heading south-by-west or southwest-by-south to keep a generous margin of sea-room from the coast, to drop anchor in the river by the town of Norfolk, Virginia, on a calm and sunny forenoon.
“It is indeed a fine day, Captain, but why are we here?” said Blue Peter.
“We are here because I must meet with a Dutchman. A Dutchman who possesses something that may be useful to me,” said Captain Greybagges, snapping his telescope shut after surveying the foreshore and the river. “A Dutchman who is not yet here.”
“How long shall us wait upon him then, Cap’n?” said Bill, standing at the rail eating a large wedge of cold sea-pie.
“I would wish that he were here now, but I may allow him one week, and no more.”
“Should we not then bow-and-stern her with the second anchor, Cap’n? In case the wind blows up, or rain swells the river?”
“Um, yes, if we are to be here for a week then I suppose so, but keep the second anchor nipped and close-by, so we don’t lose both of ‘em if she drags, and drop a couple of light kedges, too, to keep her from swinging should the wind veer.”
Captain Greybagges, Blue Peter and Mr Benjamin sat at their ease at the table in the Great Cabin. Through the open stern-windows they could hear the splashing, grunting and cursing of the longboat crew.
“Those little anchors, they are called kedges, then?” said Mr Benjamin, peering out the stern-windows.
“Indeed, yes,” said the Captain, “to distinguish them from their larger cousins. Some call them ‘fisherman’s anchors’, because they are pretty much the same as those of a lugger or a herring-buss.”
“A lugger? Would that be a vessel that lugs things about?” said Mr Benjamin.
“Well, yes and no,” said the Captain, grinning. “A lugger may indeed lug a cargo from hither to yon, but that is not the origin of its name.”
“Satisfy my curiosity, Captain, I beg you! I find myself a-thirst for nautical lore these days! Being aboard this grand frigate has enthused my spirits for things maritime, and whetted my desire to be a sailor, or to at least pass for one when quaffing ale in a dockside tavern. What is a lugger, and why is it so-named?”
“That is a question, indeed it is, Frank. A question that requires a full and detailed answer. You mention the quaffing of ale in dockside taverns, too, so let us combine these two activities, and grow our beards a little! I shall need to disguise mine first, of course, so as not to cause tredidation in the local inhabitants … Jake! Jake, you lazy swab! Bring the boot-polish!”
The clapboard tavern could not be considered to be on a dockside, but rather faced a beach of stones and river-mud, with boats in various stages of decrepitude hauled up onto it, and fishing-nets hung on poles for repair. The tavern’s name was Wahunsunacock’s Mantle. The inn-sign represented the famous mantle with a wooden board in the shape of a deerskin cloak, the figures of a man and two deer painted upon it, the white paint applied it in a pattern of dots to mimic the tiny shells with which the actual cloak had been embroidered. It was warm in the front parlour of the tavern, with a fire of logs in a brick hearth, and there was a pleasant aroma of baking bread and roasting coffee-beans.
Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges had visited the harbour-master, finding him in the day-cabin of the harbour pratique-boat drinking tea and eating a meat-pie for his lunch. The harbour-master was a beefy ginger-haired man with sharp grey eyes and a bluff honest countenance, but he was not immune to the power of a clinking handful of Spanish reales d’or and the Captain was able to conclude his business with him amiably and expeditiously: The Dutchman whom the Captain sought was not there, but he had left word for the Captain that he would return in ten days hence. The Captain would be kept informed of any undue interest in the Ark de Triomphe or its doings. There were no privateers or naval vessels currently in the vicinity, and would the Captain join him in a glass of rum? The Captain would, and a cigar, too, as he had not before smoked one from Virginia. He parted with the harbour-master on excellent terms and joined the others in the tavern, where his conversation with Frank Benjamin had continued almost as though without interruption.
“… so you see, Frank, every lugger has a lug-sail, but not every boat with a lug-sail is a lugger, if you follow me.” Captain Greybagges sipped his hot rum-and-water.
“There are so many variations upon the theme of a large tub with a sail affixed to it,” said Mr Benjamin. “ I now see the wit of that ship-in-a-bottle. The one whose precise classification confused you all so. Perhaps each ship in unique unto itself.”
“Arrrgh!,” spake Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges, “it be incontravertibibble that ay craft o’ ay sea-goin’ nature do have a soul! Begging the pardon of any preachy lubbers who may object themselves upon grounds ‘o blasphemy, it must be clear to any right-thinkin’ buccaneer that a ship o’ the seas has an immortal soul! Much like a man - an’ damn yer eyes iffen it ain’t the truth! – a ship has a soul!” Captain Greybagges leaned forward, shut one eye conspiratorily and lowered his voice. “…. although I must confess that my opinion about riverboats remains uncertain!”
There was a moment of pause, then a rumble of appreciative laughter.
“Arrgh! Curse all bumboats an’ damn wherries too! Wi’ a wannion!” squeaked Bill, the tone of his voice sent even higher by hot rum-grog.
“There is substance to my joshing,” said the Captain in a less-piratical voice, “for there are indeed many variations upon a wooden tub with a mast, so many that they resemble the varieties of animals. Is a zebra a horse? Or do its stripes make it necessarily a relative of the tiger? Its preferences - to run in herds, to e
at grass, to kick its enemies with its hind legs – must lead one to believe that it is a horse and not a tiger, and so it must have a pneuma or spirit, some kind of a soul which predisposes it to a horse-like behaviour, and not to a solitary life of carnivorous predation. Is each sailing vessel equipped thus? Do some ships huddle together in fleets because they are predisposed to do so by their nature, like horses? Do other ships plough a more solitary wake, maybe even a more savage one, because their souls ache to prowl the seas in lonely freedom, as does the tiger in his jungle?”
The Captain would have spoken more, but he was interrupted by a polite “ahem!” from a man sitting in an armchair by the fire.
“Excuse my horning-in, sir!” he said, arising from the depths of the winged armchair which had concealed him, “but I guess and calculate that riverboats are surely possessed of souls! Souls that love to wander! Mischievious and sprightly souls! Powerful souls full of great determination! I have voyaged through these lands on rivers wide and narrow, in boats great and little, and I speak from experience. Excuse me again! I am remiss! I am Richard Bonhomme, trader, horse-coper, arkwright and voyageur! ”
The small portly man puffed out his chest like a bantam-cock, swept off his battered hat and bowed, tottering slightly.
“Why, no slight taken!” said the Captain. “It be a free discussion. Be pleased to join us and sit at our table.” He called for more drinks.
“… the birch-bark canoe is decried by mariners, but it is a … a paragon of the nautical virtues!” Richard Bonhomme took a gulp of grog. “The cunning Wampanoag or Pequot indian can make a small one in a matter of days, but it will carry him for a thousand leagues or more. All he needs is birch-bark, split-pine laths, vines for stitching and pine-sap for caulking, all of which can be gotten in the forest. You may think such a craft simple to make, but I would wager that your ship’s carpenter could not make one in less than a month, and it would not then stay afloat for one single day. It is an art. Canoes can be made over ten paces long, too, to carry three tons of cargo and ten men! The big canoes take longer to make, and need careful handling, but no other boat will take the trappers deep into the interior where the beavers, martens and lynxes roam, for often the canoe must be carried over les portages, and a wooden boat would be too heavy. I have built many such canoes, and made many such journeys. Each canoe is different, too, so they must have souls, it stands to reason!”
The Captain, Blue Peter and Mr Benjamin listened carefully, but Israel Feet and Bulbous Bill were playing cards in a tipsy fashion, only lending half an ear.
“Mr Bonhomme,” said Mr Benjamin slowly, “I am Frank Benjamin, and I believe that you are my cousin!”
Mr Bonhomme stared at him, round-eyed with surprise, then nodded slowly.
“Frank Benjamin! Of course I have heard tell of you! The famed mechanician and printer of books and pamphlets! How pleased I am to meet you at last, cousin!”
“And I you, Mr Bonhomme. Please do call me Frank! I heard through the gossipings of my family’s womenfolk that you are become prosperous through horse-trading, which says much for your wit and cunning!”
“It is true, Frank,” Mr Bonhomme simpered, “I have been blessed with some good fortune, but I must be modest and say that I was lucky to be amongst the first of the voyageurs, and so able to make a goodly profit before the whole business of trapping fur was stolen away, stolen away by powerful companies, companies with deep pockets for the bribing of government clerks, curse them all! I was lucky, too, to be among that company of freedom-loving men and women, whose home was the woods, and whose eyes were always upon the unreachable horizon! Alas! Those that remain are now no more than mere employees, slaves to the whims of stock-holders in London and Paris. I, too, would have stayed a voyageur, for I love the woods and the rivers, but my back and legs were getting no younger, and carrying a pack over the muddy trail of a portage was no longer such an easy stroll. Still, I was blessed there, too, for I put my money into horse-trading just as the demand for horses and mules grew great here in Virginny, and then into breeding-studs, stables and livery, too, so I have not done so badly. I still dream of the woods, though, and the rough companionship I knew there. I even miss my indian friends, for they are savages, it is true, but they have a wild nobility that we civilised peoples have not had since the times of the warriors of the ancient legends. Some of them do, anyway! You are of my family, cousin Frank, so please call me Richard. You fellows, too, as we meet so congenially, and talk of the souls of boats like philosophers. I salute you all!”
Mr Bonhomme raised his glass of grog and emptied, the buccaneers followed suit and banged their glasses down on the table.
“Captain Greybagges ….” said Mr Benjamin, in a tentative voice.
“Sylvestre, if you please, in these cordial circumstances,” said the Captain, refilling his glass from the jug.
“Sylvestre, meeting my cousin Richard for the first time is a pleasant surprise, yet it reminds me that I have a mother, six brothers, ten sisters, a wife, a son and a daughter, none of whom have I seen for over a year. This Dutchman of yours will not arrive for a week, so might I have a leave of absence, a furlough, for three days, to visit them? You know that I will return and not ‘jump ship’, as you matelots say.”
“You are fortunate that that you ask me this now, while I am in drink and thus full of good cheer,” said the Captain. “You are vital to our company in this enterprise, yet I am inclined to allow you this, provided you will return. How far is your family home? How debatable are the roads you must travel? The malice of an indian brave or the greed of a footpad might delay you, or worse, and then our success will be put in doubt, despite the good work that you have done in schooling your assistants.”
“Upon horseback it is but half a day, …” said Mr Benjamin.
“And I shall provide the horse!” cried Mr Bonhomme. “And I shall accompany my cousin Frank, with two of my men, stout fellows and not shy! We shall bring Frank back to you even if we have to carry him on a shutter, if he shall be the worse for drink, ho-ho!”
“Why, then it is difficult for me to refuse, Frank,” said the Captain slowly, not looking entirely content.
“Upon my honour, Captain!” said Mr Bonhomme, placing his hand on his chest, “I shall ensure my cousin’s timely return! We could start now, and so be back the sooner! We will arrive in Boston after dark, ‘tis true, but the last four leagues are on a straight path through open pasture, and there is the twilight until the moon rises. Come cousin! On with your hat! Let us away!”
Captain Greybagges put on a stern expression, then nodded.
“I mislike enterprises conceived in grog,” he said, “but if your two stout fellows are sober and your horses obedient, Richard, then maybe you will arrive approximately in one piece. Go now, Frank, before I change my mind.”
Mr Benjamin struggled to his feet, trying to put on his hat and finish his grog at the same time.
“Thank you, Captain! … Sylvestre!” he gasped, putting his glass on the table.
“Do you have enough money in your purse? Are you sure? Then get on your way as quick as you can, lest nightfall catch you on the road. Do please pass my kindest regards to your mother and family.” The Captain waved them away, with a brief smile.
The two hurried from the inn. The First Mate and the sailing master appeared not to have noticed, intent upon their cards. Bulbous Bill discarded a two of diamonds, took the top card from the deck, examined it, smiled, his fat jowls dimpling, and laid his hand down on the table-top.
“Har-har! A forced quinola an’ so the espagnolette! Your goose be cooked, Izzy! Har-har!”
“Bloody Rovescinio! I curses the cursed game! I do swear that you be making up the rules as we plays, Bill! ‘Pon my oath I does! Where is Frank and the little fat cully?”
Captain Greybagges sighed and shook his head sadly. Blue Peter stood up.
“Captain, I will follow after Frank and his cousin,” he said. “If Mr Bonhomme’s horse
s are overly boisterous, or if his stout fellows are as inebriated as he is himself, I shall persuade them to wait upon the morning. Otherwise I shall make sure that they are expeditiously away on their travels.”
He put on his hat and strode from the inn. Captain Greybagges sighed again, gestured to the innkeeper for another jug of grog, and turned back to the table.
“Rovescinio you say? By my bones! That be a game fit only for Venetian zoccoli, prancing nincompoops and French dressmakers! Deal me in, Bill, and I shall skin you both.”
They played several hands, Bulbous Bill winning all of them. Loomin’ Len came and asked if the crew could go ashore, as their tasks were done.
“Of course!” said the Captain. “This is a fair haven for we jolly pirates. There is but little chance of any surprises, so long as we pays our way, respects the local customs and the indians don’t go on the war-path, har-har! Look-outs to be posted and watches to be kept, mind! You know the drill with the crew. Parties of six only, bully-boys to stay sober, no trollops on board. Sails need be mended and trunnions be slushed on the morning, remember, so no man to get himself paralytical, and no fighting.”
Loomin’ Len made to leave.
“Oh, and see if ’n you can’t find Peter. It ain’t like him to go wanderin’ off, specially when we shall be havin’ ourselves some afternoon tea. And cakes, too, if I am not mistaken.” The Captain sniffed the aroma of baking from the inn’s kitchen, sipped his grog, now cold, and picked up his cards. After some deliberation he discarded two and took two from the pack. The game continued.
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