There was a brief ironical cheer for the demise of the hated air-pumps and the crew went about their tasks with an excited mutter. The mutinous women dispersed, the new Mrs Ceteshwayoo giving Blue Peter a shrewd glance over her shoulder. After a moment the waist and the foredeck became a scene of activity; pirates pulling on ropes, flemishing cables, tightening braces and catting the bowsed anchors, the rigging full of men wrestling with the heavy canvas sails, their sheets snapping in the wind. The quarterdeck was empty except for the Captain and the master gunner.
“I had not actually given any thought to whether the ladies might come or stay, Peter. Well, not your beloved lady wife, anyway. I did have a vague plan to take the island women back to their island, but I had not decided anything. The landfall at Porte de Recailles was just to pick up post and get some more rum, as the boucan depleted the supplies somewhat. Why did you tell your spitfire of a spouse that you were going to leave her behind, you ass?”
“Because I am an ass, too stupid to be hired as a village idiot,” said Blue Peter. “I had thought she would be pleased by my concern for her safety and comfort. Am I to be the first of your crew that shall be flogged and keel-hauled, Captain?”
“You escape by the skin of your teeth. I had no idea the crew were so eager for the off. Since they are champing at the bit, I shall not disappoint them.”
“The things they have seen – first a ship that ignores the wind and tides, then a ship that floats in the sky and sails amongst the clouds – have whetted their appetites for wonders, especially after a prolonged period when they all suspected that you were as mad as two squirrels in a hat-box, but didn’t care as long as they were paid with shovelfuls of gold coins. Now their confidence in you is unshakable, and they are agog to see what you will do next.”
“Well, then I shall not keep them waiting. Ah, Frank!”
Mr Benjamin came onto the quarterdeck with a crew of his men, all carrying boxes. One box contained a tripod, which was quickly assembled and fixed to the planking with screws. Another long box held an astronomer’s telescope, a fat brass tube with an eyepiece jutting out of its side, which was mounted on the tripod. More boxes produced two smaller tripods and the transit circle and the alidade, which were also assembled and screwed down to the deck-planks.
“My quarterdeck is becoming a little cluttered,” said Captain Greybagges, eyeing the brass instruments, “but there is no helping that. Where is Izzy? Ah, there you are! Please be so good as to remove the cover from the … um ... golden globe up there.”
The First Mate sprang to obey, with an “aye-aye, Cap’n”. The Ark de Triomphe now had the wind at her stern, and was driven sluggishly into the swell by just the windage of the bare masts and by the ‘two on the dial’. The Captain strode impatiently up and down the quarterdeck, avoiding Mr Benjamin and his assistants as they fiddled with the telescope and the other instruments. Israel Feet climbed down from the mast, the rolled canvas cover over his shoulder. The golden globe gleamed on its platform between the masts.
“Well now, me hearty buccaneers!” roared Captain Greybagges, “here be another miracle for you! Bill, engage the bubble!”
Bulbous Bill Bucephalus moved a lever on a panel of the binnacle, and there was a strange ooom-pop! noise. The crew looked about, but there was nothing much to see, except a barely-discernable flickering glow of purple light around the globe. More noticeable was the sudden cessation of all wind over the decks and of all the noise of the sea. Blue Peter, to his surprise, saw a seagull apparently collide with nothing and flap away. The ship seemed to be surrounded by a very faint gauzy curtain, barely perceptible except where it met the sea, where spray was blown against it, glittering.
“Bill, now take us up above the clouds, if you please!”
The Ark de Triomphe rose slowly from the sea, straight upwards. As the ship passed through the clouds the billowing whiteness was held back by an invisible barrier, the ship at the centre of a sphere of clear air in the enveloping luminous white fog. The crew, quiet until then, gave an ‘ooh!’ of appreciation, for it was a strangely pretty sight.
“Har-har!” bellowed Captain Greybagges to the crew, “now we be surrounded by a bubble of protection, d’yuz sees? An invisible bottle, as you might say.”
The Ark de Triomphe continued to rise until the enclosing nimbus became tinted a rosy pink, and then the ship broke free from the clouds and lifted above them. The cloud-deck lay beneath the ship, stretching from horizon to horizon, the cloud-tops rolling slowly like strange waves, casting off occasional rags and wisps of vapour to twist and whirl in playful breezes. The sun was now low in a darkening deep-blue sky. Its warm rays infused the clouds below the ship with a fiery glow of orange and red hues, some scraps of cloud still miraculously as white as snow, tumbling in the drifting blue shadows cast by the fluffy towers and mountains of their larger brethren, The crew was utterly silent for over a minute, then broke out into a joyous hubbub of ‘oohs’, ‘aahs’, curses, oaths and shouts.
“Hold her steady here, Bill!” said the Captain. “Let’s enjoy the view for a while, until the sun is set.”
“Oh, my! Oh, my!” whispered Mr Benjamin. “It makes perfect sense, of course. This is what clouds look like from above. Down below the clouds are grey and drizzle rains upon our heads, but up here there are no clouds above, because they are below, so the sun is forever shining. If I had ever asked myself ‘what do clouds look like from above?’ I am sure I would have imagined, conceived, something similar, because it makes perfect sense that they should look like this, but I could not have imagined how lovely they look. Oh, my! Oh, my!”
The crew had clustered at the rails, excitedly talking and pointing at the glory of the sunlit clouds as the dusk deepened and shades of red and purple washed away the yellow and orange.
“Er, Captain,” said Blue Peter, “have you noticed that we have lifted a large piece of the ocean up with us?”
“Of course, Peter!” said Captain Greybagges, joining him at the rail and looking down. “The bubble of protection is perfectly spherical and goes under the ship. The seawater is caught inside it. We truly resemble the ship-in-a-bottle now, except that the sea is real sea, and not plaster of Paris tinted blue with paint. It is not just a fanciful whim, either. The salt water will absorb certain noxious gases, gases which we exhale as we breathe, and so prevent them from accumulating to poisonous levels.”
“I see that you have given this some small thought, Captain!” said Blue Peter. “I am sorry that I ever doubted you.”
“You concealed your doubts very well, Peter, and for that I thank you most heartily, for without your support and apparent belief I would not have been able to get this far in my plans.”
Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges and Blue Peter Ceteshwayoo watched the sun slowly disappear below the horizon, the clouds below losing their purple tints until they were grey, an odd grey that seemed clean and washed, like the grey of an old but well-loved white cotton shirt. The stern-lanterns were lit, casting their yellow light over the quarterdeck where Mr Benjamin and his assistants tinkered with the brass telescope and surveying instruments. There was an eerie, but not unpleasant, silence because of the protective bubble, broken only by the clink of spanners and the squeak of screwdrivers. Bulbous Bill Bucephalus stood by the binnacle, occasionally checking a dial, touching a lever gently, his broad jowly face pensive in the gloom.
Captain Greybagges sent a message to the cook to start serving the crew their supper. He and Blue Peter took a snack of apples, bread, cheese and small beer while leaning against the rail. Mr Benjamin and his men shared in the basket and the jug that Jake Thackeray had brought, but kept working while they ate. The sky darkened as dusk slid into black night.
Mr Benjamin finally pronounced the telescope and instruments to be correctly aligned and ready for use.
“Bill, Frank, take the sightings and adjust the demiheptaxial mechanism to accord with them,” said the Captain. “Do please check each other’s readi
ngs and repeat them three times, for we can afford no errors! They may be difficult to correct once we are … er … under way, so to speak. How long do you believe that will take you?”
“An hour. Maybe a little longer, Captain … Cap’n,” said Mr Benjamin, wiping grease from his hands with a rag.
“Um … one-half of a dog-watch … please do carry on, Frank, Bill,” said Captain Greybagges. He turned and strode to the stern rail of the quarterdeck and looked out at the moonlit cloud-tops. Blue Peter joined him. They stood in silence for a while, watching the clouds billow and roll underneath, an occasional wisp marking the invisible boundary of the ‘bubble’ as it slid around it.
“Your deep-laid plan seem to be coming to fruition, Sylvestre, but I sense that you are apprehensive,” said Blue Peter in a low voice.
“I am not sure that the crew will like what is going to happen next, even though they have become accustomed to seeing wonders. It may be unsettling.”
“They are all brave men, Cap’n … even the women,” said Blue Peter.
“True, but some things are too unsettling even for brave souls to witness without feelings of disquietude. I think that even you, Peter, will be a little daunted, and you are perhaps the bravest of us all. So stiffen up your sinews, summon up the blood, old friend! I need you to look resolute and unafraid at my side, for the crew will first look to me, but then they will look to you.”
“I will do my best, Cap’n. I think that I shall discard this Dutch uniform, since we are unlikely to be hailed by inquisitive naval vessels, floating as we are above the clouds, and I find it easier to be courageous as a declared pirate, rather than as a fraudulent officer of the Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie.” Blue Peter stumbled over the Dutch pronunciation, and laughed.
“Yes, you are right! Disguise no longer has any purpose. Let us be pirates, stout-hearted gentlemen of fortune, unafraid and unashamed!” Captain Sylevestre de Greybagges stood back from the rail, slapped the light-blue sleeve of his VOC uniform with disdain and headed for his cabin, calling for Mumblin’ Jake.
A little later, Captain Greybagges - his head freshly shaved by Mumblin’ Jake, dressed entirely in black from his sea-boots to his tricorne hat, a pistol and a cutlass in his belt and his green beard washed, combed and almost glowing - returned to the quarterdeck. Mr Benjamin and Bulbous Bill had finished their observations, calculations and tinkerings with the demiheptaxial mechanism. Israel Feet confirmed that everything aboard the Ark de Triomphe was shipshape and stowed. The crew were in the waist and on the foredeck, idling and talking. There was an air of expectation as sharp as the electric stillness before a storm. Blue Peter came onto the quarterdeck, resplendent in a yellow satin coat, white trousers tucked into tan Hessian boots with tassels, a silk sash around his waist carrying his short knuckleduster cutlass and Kentucky pistol and his huge hands a-sparkle with multicoloured gemstone rings.
Captain Sylevestre de Greybagges nodded to him, cleared his throat loudly, then spoke.
“Gentlemen o’ fortune! An’ ladies o’ fortune, too, har-har! We shall now be a-casting-off on the greatest pirate raid in all o’ history! When we are done wi’ it, and a-counting our treasure, then bloody Captain Bloody Morgan’s raid on Panama will seem alike to pinchin’ apples offen a costermonger’s cart, it shall! You shall see great wonders, an’ you shall see sights that would turn honest men’s bowels to water! But yuz are pirates, buccaneers an’ freebooters, stalwart an’ brave, an’ I knows that I can lay to that, wi’ a wannion! Keep yer nerves steady, an we shall all become rich as nabobs, that I do swear! Richer that nabobs! Richer even than that ole King Croesus o’ legend!”
Captain Greybagges turned to Bulbous Bill Bucephalous and raised an eyebrow.
“Be you ready, Bill?”
“Aye-aye, Cap’n!”
“Then point her at the stars!”
Bulbous Bill worked the levers on the binnacle. The frigate Ark de Triomphe pitched up slowly until her bowsprit pointed to the sky. Several of the crew staggered involuntarily as the horizon of moonlit clouds rotated, although no force was felt inside the bubble. Mumblin’ Jake fell over, mumbling loud curses, but nobody laughed.
“As you can see, shipmates,” spoke the Captain, “inside this bubble o’ protection we are alike to a separate world, not even under the influence of Doctor Newton’s universal laws o’ gravity. We be safe inside, shipmates. Whatever be on the outside cannot harm us! Mark that well, me hearties!”
Captain Greybagges turned again to Bulbous Bill, who checked the dials on the binnacle and nodded.
“Now, shipmates, we shall be away on our cruise, and we do most truly cast off!”
Captain Greybagges waved his hand to Bulbous Bill, who moved the levers on the binnacle. The pale clouds below began to move away from the frigate Ark de Triomphe.
“As you now see, shipmates, the clouds seem to move away from us, but actually we is a-moving away from them! We do not feel the movement because we are safe inside the bubble o’ protection! Remember that; we be safe within the bubble o’ protection!”
Captain Greybagges nudged Blue Peter, whose mouth was open. Blue Peter closed his mouth and tried to look serious, as though he had expected such a thing to happen. In truth, I should have expected it, he thought, for it should have been apparent to me that the Captain is heading for the planet Mars, but even though he has confided much to me, and I have already seen great wonders, yet it did not seem reasonable to expect any such thing.
“Increase the X-FORCE smoothly to ten, Bill,” said Captain Greybagges quietly.
The pale clouds fell away from the stern of the Ark de Triomphe faster and faster.
“Har-har, shipmates! Now yuz all can see that the world is truly a globe! A globe, alike to the one in me own cabin below!”
A murmur, almost of anguish, came from the crew.
“Be yuz all of strong heart, shipmates! Remember we be within the bubble o’ protection, so nothing may cause us harm!”
Captain Greybagges stood and watched the disc of the Earth slowly diminish behind the frigate. The crew were completely silent and awe-struck.
“Now we shall go even more swiftly, shipmates! We need not tarry in such a well-found ship as this!” roared the Captain to the crew, then in a lower voice, “Bill take the X-FORCE gently to the maximum! Frank, do you now go and check the connecting bars! See that they are not becoming too hot, if you please!”
Mr Benjamin tore his wide eyes from the sight of planet Earth dwindling behind them and went down the companion-steps, swaying slightly as if drunk.
“Har-har, me hearties! We have now passed the point o’ greatest peril ... for we have not crashed ourselves into the poor old Moon! Har-har-har! Pardon me little jest!”
The Captain’s words seemed to break a spell for the crew, for they broke into loud talk, with many a profane exclamation and heartfelt curse.
“Be ye not a-feared, shipmates!” roared the Captain over the hubbub. “We be safe within the bubble o’ protection! Yuz have seen the highest seas, blue waters that could daunt any stout heart! Yuz have fought in many a battle where a cannon-ball could have sent yuz to hell in a moment! Yuz have sailed the oceans of the world! None o’ that cast you down, so why be a-feared when you are safe as mother’s milk, when no wave or storm do threaten yuz? Especially when we sails to find wealth beyond measure an’ fame beyond the poor imaginings of landlubbers. Yuz be sailors of the starry voids now, pirates of the skies, and yuz will have tales to tell! Be cheery! You there, Jake Thackeray! Strike up a song now! A song to stiffen the brave hearts of stout buccaneers!”
Jake Thackeray was pushed forward and encouraged to stand upon a barrel. He looked lost for a moment then smiled and launched himself into song, a song that the crew knew well, and roared out in harmony:“What’s that stuff with the awful smell?
That sticks when it’s flung?
What’s brown and rings like a bell?
DUNG! DUNG! DUNG! DUNG! DUNG!
When you tread in it you can tell!
For to your feet it’s clung!
What’s brown and rings like a bell?
DUNG! DUNG! DUNG! DUNG! DUNG!
We’re neck-deep in it, you knew it well,
long before this song was sung!
What’s brown and rings like a bell?
DUNG! DUNG! DUNG! DUNG! DUNG!
What’s that stuff with the awful smell?
That sticks when it’s flung?
What’s brown and rings like a bell?
DUNG! DUNG! DUNG! DUNG! DUNG!”
“Jake Thackeray, I shall personally bury you in dung iffen you cannot think of a more encouraging song!” shouted Captain Greybagges over the laughter of the crew, but he was grinning. The song, and the moment of humorous relief, seemed to have taken away the crews’ apprehensions.
Jake Thackeray thought for a moment, then struck a pose, and sang again:“There was a jolly old sailorman upon the Rotterdam docks!
Where the merchants do their business to the chimin’ of the clocks!
For I tell ’ee that no sailor be a-sleepin’ when opportunity knocks!
He was a-flogging parrots and apes on Rotterdam docks!
To bewigg-ed burghers and bishops in their frocks!
Because a sailor ain’t a-sleepin’ when opportunity knocks!
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