There was silence on deck. Everyone knew it was an impossible order for a boy who could not stand. Was he hoping I’d fall from the rigging so he could claim it was God’s punishment on a sinner? But I couldn’t go back to my prison. I just couldn’t.
Gritting my teeth, I looked about me for the mainmast. If I could just reach the shrouds, perhaps I could haul myself up somehow. Deciding I’d have to crawl, I slowly made my way through the forest of legs and collapsed again at the bottom of the rope ladder.
I opened my eyes briefly and saw Harkness holding Frank back.
‘Don’t get between the captain and a crewman,’ Harkness muttered. ‘It’s more than your life’s worth to cross him.’
Pedro was staring at me as if he could help me climb by willpower alone. But I couldn’t move. I closed my eyes again. It was still a nightmare: I’d wake up in the morning room at Boxton and it would all have been a bad dream.
Then I felt a pair of strong hands lift me from the deck.
‘Come on, Cat, I’ll give you a ride.’
It was Syd. A murmur ran through the crew at his audacity.
‘That’s right: put your arms around my neck. Remember how I used to give you a pickaback ’ome when you were tired? Well, just cling on like that.’
I felt Syd heave himself off the deck and begin to climb the shrouds. Two bosun’s mates stepped forward to stop him.
‘Leave him!’ barked the captain. ‘Let’s see if he can get up there without dropping the boy. Goliath coming to David’s aid – most amusing.’
‘You’d better hold on tight,’ Syd whispered.
I leant my face against his neck. I could feel the fresh scars from his flogging through the coarse material: I must be adding to his agony with my weight on his back.
‘Syd, don’t – you’ll get in more trouble,’ I begged.
‘’Alf way,’ declared Syd, taking a breather at the lower yardarm. ‘Don’t worry about me: just you cling on like a monkey.’ I began to cry on his shoulder, hot tears running down his back. ‘That’s what you were like when you were a little’un,’ Syd continued, ‘a ginger monkey – always in trouble, into everythink you shouldn’t, tryin’ to be one of the boys.’ We set off again, the deck swaying dizzily below as the mast swung to and fro on the swell. ‘You never complained when you grazed a knee. Never cried when we teased you. Askin’ to be let into the gang and me tellin’ you “no”, but you would keep on tryin’.’ A sail flapped noisily as the wind buffeted us. ‘You didn’t realize but you always were one of the Butcher’s Boys. There you were, askin’ to join the gang, when all along you were the ’eart and soul of it.’
We had reached the cross-trees. Syd gently lowered me so I could slide off his back to sit with my arms and legs embracing the mast.
‘Can you ’old on now yourself?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘Just four hours, Cat, that’s all you’ve got to do, then I’ll be back to ’elp you down at the end of the watch.’
My grip felt so weak; I slumped sideways, feeling detached from my disobedient body. Seeing I was barely conscious, Syd stripped off his shirt and lashed me to the mast.
‘There, you can’t fall now, Kitten,’ he said tenderly, stroking my hair.
With that, he descended rapidly to the deck. I listened fearfully for angry voices, the sound of Syd being punished, but instead I heard laughter.
‘So, Goliath, decided to befriend David, have you?’ asked the captain.
‘Aye, sir,’ answered Syd. ‘I think my blow to the ’ead sent ’im silly. You saw ’im: ’e couldn’t walk straight.’
‘Hmm, how very sporting of you. Back to work everyone – at the double.’
Relieved, I lay my head against the mast. I doubted that anyone else would’ve got away with doing what Syd had done for me. Fortunately, he’d amused the captain and avoided a second flogging. But I’d never forget what he’d risked. The Butcher’s boys had chosen well when they made him their captain.
It took me over a week to recover from my incarceration. Indeed, it seemed to have knocked the stuffing out of all of us and for a while there was no more talk of escape. Frank blamed himself for sending the letter. I tried to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that the only one to blame for what had happened was Maclean, but he was having none of it.
‘I won’t stand for this, Cat. I can’t bear to allow that man to use you as his whipping boy to keep me in check!’ Frank told me as we sheltered from the squall in a quiet corner of the upper gun deck.
I was feeling wretched. Worn out with extra duties, I kept going with rations smuggled to me by my friends. I chewed now on a spare bit of biscuit, wincing as my sore gums twinged.
‘You can’t help it, Frank.’
‘I know, I know. But how can I prove who I am?’ His eyes glittered in the gloom. ‘I feel so powerless! But if they believed me, this would all be over.’
I leaned back and closed my eyes. It was an intriguing problem: how to prove you are who you say you are when you are believed to be dead? Six weeks into the voyage and a couple of hundred miles from the West Indies and Frank no longer resembled the soft-handed lord who had visited the docks at Bristol: his fists were as rough as a labourer’s and his clothes ragged and dirty. His curly hair was matted and his skin tanned a golden brown. He now had the air of a desperado or bandit from one of Mrs Radcliffe’s tales. If Frank stood up on deck and claimed to be a highwayman, I’d believe him; but the Earl of Arden, a lad scarcely out school? You had to be joking. The navy had proved to be a most unorthodox finishing school for the young noble, but there was no denying he’d changed over the last few weeks, almost beyond recognition.
‘You need to prove it, Frank, and for that you need time without worrying about me. You have to tell Belsize enough about your life, the people you know, your education, to prove it’s more than a wild claim.’
Frank smiled grimly. ‘You mean parse a few Latin verbs and quote Aristotle?’
‘If you like.’
He put his arm around my shoulders so I could rest against him. ‘That was always more your sort of thing than mine, Cat. But, if our lives depend on it, I dare say I could dredge up a few phrases.’
I yawned, struggling to keep my exhaustion at bay. ‘Well, there must be something a lord knows that the common schoolboy doesn’t.’
‘Like what?’
He had a point. When you came to think of it, there was nothing special about rank, no magic powers attached to blue blood. In the stories I’ve read, the lord-in-hiding is always revealed by some indisputable sign: a strawberry birthmark or evidence of his innate refinement. Once this is revealed, there is no more dispute: estates fall into his lap like ripe plums, the princess marries him with no more to do. Unfortunately, though Frank has many virtues, he has learnt to blend in well with the common herd. I admit that’s my fault. He has learnt more vocabulary from me than his Latin master – and I don’t mean of the classical variety.
‘I don’t suppose you have a ducal mole or a strawberry birthmark?’ I asked hopefully.
Frank chuckled. ‘Saying “if found, please return to Boxton”?’
‘It was just an idea.’
‘Sorry, no. You’re the one branded with your name, remember?’
I groaned. ‘Did you have to remind me?’
‘You mustn’t worry about it. Father has a tattoo on his ankle too, you know.’
‘Your father!’ I could hardly credit it: the serious, sombre Duke of Avon concealing a risqué secret!
‘Yes, he was quite the rake in his younger days before he met Mama. Had one done when Captain Cook first came back from the South Pacific. It was all the rage apparently.’
‘And what is it?’
Frank was laughing now. ‘A devil – symbol of a club he belonged to at the time, before he became respectable. He keeps it hidden – a trifle embarrassing, you must admit.’
I sat forward with a jolt. ‘That’s it!’
‘What?’
‘It’s not your mark you need, it’s his! Who else but a close member of his family would know such stuff about an eminently respectable peer of the realm? It’ll give Belsize and Barton pause for thought if nothing else. They’ll at least have to check your story; think of the consequences if they failed to take this simple step and their mistake was later discovered!’
Frank looked doubtful. ‘You think Barmy Barton will listen?’
‘It may take some time. You should go through the first lieutenant: Lely seems a reasonable man and we still don’t know if we can trust Belsize. It would be even better if you raise the matter near a friendly port; it’ll give Maclean less time to move against you.’
‘But not against you. Maclean will murder you if he finds out what I’m doing. Just as he said he would.’
‘Not if I’m no longer here.’
‘I thought we’d been through this already –’
‘That was before he shut me in the hold. I’m no safer on board than on the run. Next time he’ll probably succeed in killing me. He’ll tell Barton I’ve been stealing again and my heels will be swinging in the wind. Then he’ll do away with you and Pedro to stop you blabbing. No, we all end up dead if I remain here much longer. I’m the biggest threat to Maclean, which means I’m the biggest threat to your safety too.’
SCENE 2 – STORM
Thoughts of leaving the ship had to be abandoned for the moment as our luck with the weather changed as we approached the Bahamas. The squall developed into a storm. The winds were so strong we had no choice but to run before them, heading north, far off course towards Florida. I fretted with every day that passed pushing us further from a friendly port. Life on board took a turn for the worse. We lost a man during the first night watch, blown from the yardarm like washing off a line. I feared for Syd, climbing up there with the topmen as the ship leaned before the wind like a drunkard staggering home from a Drury Lane gin palace. The deck was now a slope. Ropes were stretched from stem to stern to give us something to grab as we battled against the blasts of surf breaking across the planks. Dry clothes became a distant memory.
Most of the crew were depressed by the weather, exhausted and battered as the days passed. There were two notable exceptions: the captain appeared positively to relish the battle with the elements. He could often be seen striding the quarterdeck, water streaming from his cloak, yelling defiance at the skies.
‘Come and get me then!’ he crowed, shaking his fist at the lightning. ‘If you want to punish me, God, then strike me down!’
The lieutenants pretended not to notice their captain’s behaviour but the God-fearing among the crew muttered mutinously that he was calling our deaths down upon us with his antics.
The other person who seemed to welcome the storm was Maclean. In our hours together, he spent much of the time resting in his hammock with a satisfied smile on his face. I would have sworn that he’d been waiting for the bad weather. It did not take a genius to work out that he had a plan up his sleeve.
The crisis came the third night into the storm. Barton had recklessly piled on too much sail and, under the pressure of the gale, the foremast snapped like a twig. All hands were summoned on deck to clear the debris. In the hurly-burly below, Maclean moved among the crew with a purpose that had nothing to do with the task. Suspicious that something was amiss, I followed as the men turned out of their bunks and struggled up the ladder, my eye on Maclean who waited at its foot. There was no call for him to go on deck – as purser he was spared such duties – but he was clearly planning something. Frank staggered by, still dazed with his snatched sleep. Maclean moved in behind him, tailing him up the rungs. Quick as an eel, I squirmed in line in front of Nightingale.
‘Oy, Jimmy lad, this is no place for you,’ bellowed the bosun’s mate, grabbing my shirt.
I ignored him and emerged on to the deck in time to be deluged by an incoming wave. I clung on to the rope, searching frantically for Frank. When I spotted him, he was halfway across the sloping deck, Maclean just behind him, like two climbers roped together on a mountainside. The purser turned to look out to sea: a huge roller was coming in broadside. As it struck, Maclean kicked Frank’s feet from under him. From that moment, things began to happen in slow time. Frank crashed to the deck, lost his grip on the rope and began to slide in the wave towards the port rail, nothing but a piece of wood between him and the hungry ocean. Not even thinking of the consequences, I launched myself across the deck in pursuit, half sliding, half running, catching up with him as he collided with the side. He toppled backwards, about to go head over heels overboard. I grabbed his ankle in two hands and wedged myself against the side, holding on for dear life. His wet skin slid in my palms – his weight was too much for me to bear – I was being pulled over with him.
Suddenly, a large shape appeared at my shoulder, grabbed Frank’s belt and hauled him back.
‘You two, get below!’ the man bellowed.
It was too late for that: a second wave crashed upon us. Crouching over Frank, I clung on to a belaying pin, letting the force of the water push me against the side. It was like falling under the hoofs of a stampede of horses. When the deluge passed, I looked around me with stinging eyes. The man had gone.
‘Man overboard!’ I screamed, my voice pitifully thin against the wind. ‘Man overboard!’
Two sailors heard my cry. They threw Frank and me a rope and hauled us back up the slope. We fell against the hatch.
‘He’s gone!’ I choked as Harkness pushed me down the ladder.
‘Who’s gone?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know – a big man – the one who saved us,’ I gasped.
I felt sick with terror. It had to be Syd, didn’t it? Who else but Syd would’ve risked his life like that?
Harkness pushed his way through the men who’d gathered around us and disappeared back on deck. The interval of his absence seemed to stretch for eternity. Frank was white with shock, having just stared into the jaws of death. He didn’t seem to have realized what had happened. Harkness returned with Lieutenant Lely.
‘What happened, boy?’ barked the officer.
‘We’ve lost a man over the side, sir,’ I said, my voice raw with horror. ‘He helped me pull Frank back on board and then got washed away.’
To my surprise, Lely cuffed me round the ear, his face livid. ‘What were you doing on deck in the first place, boy, putting your shipmates’ lives at risk?’
I didn’t care that he was angry with me. I only cared that my oldest friend was probably dead. I began to sob helplessly.
‘Stop that snivelling,’ Lely ordered. ‘You’re in the king’s navy, not the nursery. Go to your hammock and stay there. The deck’s no place for a boy in a storm. Harkness, find out who we’ve lost and report to me.’
I hid in my bunk, shivering with misery. The moment of the accident flashed through my mind, again and again. I couldn’t believe it: I’d saved one friend at the expense of another. It was too much to bear; the whole thing was too much.
‘Are you all right, Kitten?’
Someone stroked my shoulder. I was dreaming now, or maybe Syd had come back to haunt me? I sat up so abruptly I fell out of my hammock on top of a very wet but warm body.
‘Syd! You’re alive!’
‘Of course I am, you daft Kitten.’
I hugged him so tight, I didn’t care who saw us. Then a terrible thought struck me. Someone had gone over – if not Syd, then . . .?
‘Who was it?’ I asked.
Syd shook his head sadly. ‘Nightingale.’
‘Oh no. It’s all my fault!’ I clung on to Syd, finding comfort in his strength. I wished I could just close my eyes and let him sort everything out for me.
‘No, it’s not.’ Syd shook me by the shoulders. ‘Listen, you’re a ’ero, Cat: you saved Frank. Nightingale was a fine man; ’e did what any self-respectin’ sailor would do: ’e went to the aid of ’is shipmates. ’E took the gamble and lost it; that isn’t your fault. C
urse the weather, curse fate, but don’t blame yourself.’
‘Blame Maclean,’ I muttered, pulling myself together. I quickly told him what I’d seen. ‘Syd, you’ve got to protect Frank. After this failed attempt, Maclean’ll be desperate to finish him off.’
‘I will, will I?’
I spun round with a sick feeling that had nothing to do with the pitch and roll of the ship. Maclean was standing in the entry to the cabin, and I was in Syd’s arms. It was too late for pretence.
‘I see you know my cabin boy’s little secret,’ Maclean said to Syd, taking a step into the canvas-sided room.
My friend flushed with anger and his grip on me tightened.
‘If so,’ Maclean continued, ‘you’ll know that I hold her life in my hands; one wrong word from you and I’ll give her up to the captain’s justice.’ He spoke confidently but his eyes were shifty, watching Syd’s every move warily. He was clearly less than pleased that I had so formidable a protector.
‘Justice?’ growled Syd. ‘If there was any justice on this ship, you’d be in irons.’
‘That’s mutinous talk, man.’
‘No, it’s the truth, but it ain’t no surprise that you don’t recognize it,’ Syd spat contemptuously.
Wow, Syd, I thought, impressed by my friend’s comeback.
‘Understand this, Maclean, if you lay another finger on Cat, or Frank for that matter, then you’ll ’ave me to answer to. You won’t ’ave a chance to run to the captain, so you can stop bleatin’ about that.’
‘Threaten all you like, but you know there’s nothing you can do to stop me.’ Maclean seized my arm and yanked me away from Syd. ‘What are you going to do now, eh? Thump me? If you do, you’ll be locked up and well out of the way for many days for hitting a superior. Just think what I can do in that time. You certainly won’t see your sweetheart again.’
Syd was quivering with rage, his fists balled. Maclean grinned and put his arm none too gently around my neck.
Cat-O'nine Tails Page 11