The Queen's Captain

by Margaret Hope

  Docilely Beth went to work as the boatswain commanded, longing with all her heart to reach Will and explain the situation to him. His shock and surprise at seeing her so unexpectedly had destroyed the mutual joy she had expected. Joy and concern for her predicament. Now she groaned when she considered Will's natural reaction. His proper upbringing by Mistress Robb, the housekeeper at Craighall, would have kept him rigidly respectable, and he would have been well versed to regard as wanton any girl who deviated from the code of manners and obedience expected from those of gentle birth. She shuddered at his condemnation of a girl who donned boy's clothes and ran away to sea.

  If only the Captain had not arrived at the crucial moment in her explanation! A few moments more with Will was all she had needed. Once more she felt a tide of anger rising against the Captain, despite the fact that she had been grudgingly beginning to like him a little, especially since he had kept a straight face before Sir Francis Drake, and had not denounced her as an incompetent fool. Yes, he had been strangely loyal to his cabin boy and had not taken the opportunity to upbraid or belittle, or sneer at Master Perkins to Sir Francis. For that, and for the fresh bread which he had shared with her last night when she was so hungry, she who had known few kindnesses owed him a reluctant gratitude—until he had completely ruined her meeting with Will by his mistimed entrance.

  She sat back upon her heels, thinking that had James Danyell been a man of the calibre of Drake, then she would have rushed to him, taken off her cap and sobbed out the whole story of her misfortunes. Now there was a man, she thought proudly, whose lack of stature was amply compensated by the greatness of his heart. The stories of that magic mirror he possessed were nonsense. The answer was simple. A man of such charm and compassion as Sir Francis Drake needed no other magic to make men—or women—do his bidding.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Looking towards the vast Armada whose presence threatened the handful of English ships, Beth felt suddenly confident. If anyone could beat the Spaniards then it was El Draque, the man they feared more than the Devil himself. She smiled. After one meeting, she would have willingly put her life into the hands of such a man. Yet it was obvious that he thought highly of Captain James Danyell, since he was placing not only the lives of many men, but also perhaps the future of the English nation into his hands by making him responsible for the preparation of the fireships.

  Perhaps there was more to Captain James Danyell after all than his rough and ready manner suggested—

  "What? Dreaming again, are you?" shouted the boatswain.

  At that moment the sea was rent by an explosion close at hand, and Beth raced to the rail to see a small Spanish pinnace scuttling away. It had ventured out of the Armada's close-knit orbit and had come under the fire of their ship.

  "What do you think you are at, Master Perkins?" roared the boatswain. "An afternoon at the Globe Theatre? Do you set yourself to defy me?" And he struck her hard across the face.

  Before she had time to recover her breath, a voice said: "Let me keep an eye upon him, Master Bo'sun." The man who spoke so softly was a giant, whose great muscles and broken nose indicated that one of his interests, at least, lay with wrestling. "I will keep him in check. I like to see Cap'n's orders obeyed." He grinned. "Spoils a promising lad like this one to be confined to the Cap'n's cabin. That will never make a man of him. But leave him to Luke." He thumped his enormous chest. "Luke will put the finishing touches to his education."

  The boatswain grinned. "He is yours to take care of. I have other more pressing matters."

  The seaman Luke was not a cruel man but one whose humour was brutal, Beth soon discovered. When she had finished scrubbing the obstinate stains on the deck, she sat back, easing aching arms and back, she stretched cramped legs, regarding the result of her labours with some satisfaction, delighted that the tedious back-breaking task was over at last.

  "What have we here? Taking a well-earned rest, lad?"

  Beth, seeing Luke strolling by, thought he meant the remark kindly and said: "Ay, I have finished at last."

  "Finished—is that it? Nay, lad, I think you are mistaken. You must have been day-dreaming again, for look—" And so saying, he poured the contents of a slop-pail he carried, and a nauseous evil-smelling waste oozed over the still wet, freshly-scrubbed boards. "See, lad, you have not yet begun your task. It seems you made a mistake."

  Beth heard the sniggers of the crew who had gathered round to enjoy their comrade's crude joke. The boatswain came by and was invited to share their amusement. He smiled, then said sternly:

  "Enough, Luke. We have serious matters on hand. Cap'n will sin us all alive if he comes back and sees his decks fouled when we are preparing for battle."

  "All the more reason for the lad here to work extra hard to get them clean afore Cap'n returns. You would not wish to earn Cap'n's displeasure for all of us, would you now, Master Perkins," Luke wheedled. "Because—because if he does not break your neck—then I will."

  Beth had no weapon against such injustice, nothing but her own indignation which sustained her through another back-breaking hour. She had just thrown the final bucket of dirty water over the side when four bells sounded.

  "Come along, lad," said Luke with a cheery grin. "You have done well. Now you can eat with the grown men."

  She was grateful to accompany the crew to the galley, but a little taken aback by the repast set before them; stale sea biscuits and dried beef, which she found difficulty in chewing, let alone washing down with the beer provided, which was sour and undrinkable. She discovered to her astonishment that the meal appeared to be standard fare, for there were no complaints and the men sitting alongside her ate all that was put before them, Cheese was produced but she let it pass by, for it was far gone in green mould. It was a long way from the delicious simple repast of bread, butter, cheese and wine she had shared with the Captain. With a shudder, she saw how eagerly the crew devoured such food, which even in frugal Craighall would have been conveyed to the midden long since.

  She realised that the Captain's indignation at the unscrupulous victuallers who provided ships with such fare had been justified. To think that men worked and fought upon rations little better than pig-swill, ay—and had even their lives demanded of them for such fare. She found herself looking with compassion upon her tormentor Luke, despite his rough treatment of her, and she noticed that only the imprested men grumbled. However, they too lapsed into weary silence when they were informed by the other experienced seamen that this was regal fare indeed compared with what was to be eaten after two months at sea.

  Hoping none would notice her absence from the deck, she returned gratefully to the cabin and decided to continue her efforts at orderliness there with a much-needed mop and duster. Through the open door she could see the crew at work on mast and sail, livening their tasks by singing the sea shanties that lay at the very heart of the Queen's ships:

  "We weighed our anchors—ho!

  And so we sailed away—ho!

  Where the sun so shone most glorious, lads—

  To Lisbon we are bound, ho!"

  She remembered how, riding through Hythe with her aunt, she had heard such snatches of song issuing forth from drunken men leaving the taverns. Aunt Mary had been shocked, and had announced that she felt unclean when one of the seamen had drawn the curtains and drunkenly thrust a hand into the litter.

  Beth smiled, wondering if her aunt would faint clean away, could she guess at the company her niece now kept. As for Uncle Ephraim with his marriage contract—that gave her the only satisfaction of her entire misadventure, in realising that the hopes of this greedy couple had been blighted. For it was certain that no respectable man would ever wish to wed their ward now—

  She frowned, for in that statement of respectability she was forced to include the righteously-reared Will Robb. But surely he was different from other men? And she tried to thrust from memory his shocked face, his words about a maid behaving in such fashion—

  A
shadow fell across the threshold. Beth ignored it, and suspecting that the Captain had returned became even brisker with her mop and bucket.

  "Will you take these from me, Master Perkins?"

  It was one of the crew and he carried in his arms the Captain's cloak and hat, his satin doublet and hose. He regarded Beth so solemnly as he reverently laid his bur-den into her arms that she wondered if some dire misfortune had befallen the Captain.

  "Is—aught wrong?" she asked.

  "Nay. Cap'n says these are to be well taken care of. They are his best clothes. He needs rough garments for the work ahead."

  Replacing the uniform in the press, she closed the door and deciding she was very tired after the day's labours, she crept to one of the padded chairs and sank gratefully into it. She meant only to rest but with a little sigh, she closed her eyes.

  "Master Perkins! Master Perkins, where are you?"

  The voice brought her abruptly out of an uneasy dream and she was surprised to find that she had slept for some time and that dark shadows filled the cabin.

  Luke's giant frame filled the doorway. "Bo'sun says you are to come along wi' me, lad. Come now, be brisk."

  "Where do we go?" she asked following him to the ship's rail where he indicated that she should descend the frail rope ladder which heaved uncertainly over a rowing-boat, bobbing against the ship's side.

  "The fighting men are all needed, but it seems you can be spared."

  "Spared?" she asked. For a moment, bewildered, she wondered if she was to be rowed to safety. "Where are you taking me?"

  "We go to stand by for Cap'n while he does what is necessary to prepare the fireships."

  Beth followed him down the swaying rope ladder which needed all her skill and concentration. Once in the boat, he thrust one of the oars into her hands. "Now row—I will set the pace."

  Not quite fully awake, she did as she was told, urged on by Luke. Once she looked over her shoulder, saw that they rowed towards the mighty galleons of the Armada, painted in the unearthly beauty of a dying sun-set. And the nightmare of unreality grew steadily within her as she realised the next move a malicious destiny had in store for her.

  She was going with Drake's fireships on a mission to destroy the Spanish Armada. She, Beth Howard, a frail girl who had never rowed beyond the shallows at Hythe on a peaceful summer day.

  They rowed through the ranks of the Queen's ships, their tall masts and spars a forest of dark unearthly trees swaying against the night sky, upon whose firmament the first stars had arisen. An occasional ship's lantern threw a bright beam across their path and she saw behind it a group of men sitting by a table, their attitudes conspiratorial in the flickering shadows, as were those of isolated seamen who leaned over rails or paced decks far above them.

  Only the creaking timbers, the freshening breeze ruffling the sea with patterns of lace, or the circles which radiated endlessly from the oar Beth wielded so inexpertly, broke the tense secret air. Then the smell of pitch, of salt sea and stale cooking and bilge water, brought the scene away from an unreal tapestry hanging upon a draughty castle wall into fierce reality.

  Beth wanted to lay down her oar, freeing her already bruised hands, and protest at this outrage of destiny. She wanted to cry out loud that she was not Master Ben Perkins, an imprested cabin boy, but Beth Howard of Hythe. Only caution restrained her, and the realisation that such behaviour might bring even greater anguish than her present ordeal. Caution and the thought of Will Robb—who even at this moment would be planning how to rescue her, how to return her safely to England.

  Now the light gleamed on figureheads, grotesque and larger than life, as they passed beneath the prows of yet another squadron, and the great painted eyes seemed to follow their progress with sinister and amused contempt. Beth shuddered, for it was like an omen of disaster.

  At last they reached their destination. In the heart of the Queen's ships, protected by a thin screen of ships from the attentions of prowling Spanish patrols, were the eight ships waiting to be sacrificed. Beth saw a man moving lightly from one to another, and hardly recognised Captain James Danyell.

  He wore a seaman's woollen band around his forehead that hid his bright hair, but his deep voice with its air of authority, the stealthy movements and answering murmur of voices, indicated that he was directing preparations on the fireships. Already she saw they were piled high with faggots and she could smell the pitch men carried, while others loaded the guns and hauled them into firing position.

  "Who will attend the guns?" she asked the Captain, as at last he scrambled down the rope ladder and joined them in the boat.

  "They will attend to themselves. The intense heat as the firewood ignites will make them explode." To Luke he said: "Now we go to inspect the moorings." As Beth's oar splashed noisily, he said sharply: "Row carefully, lads, less noise, if you please. We do not want to be marked down by the Spanish patrols. They seem to have a notion there is something in the wind this night, for they nose around us like anxious curs. You brought arms?" he asked Luke.

  "Ay, Cap'n. They are lying yonder."

  The Captain stretched over. "Here, Master Perkins, you take this. Careful, lad, it is loaded." And he thrust a musket into Beth's hands. "If you see any come too close while I board, then take aim and shoot."

  "But, Captain -I—"

  He grinned at her in the dark. "You have never used a musket before?"

  "Nay, sir."

  "Then this is your chance to learn. Take heart, if you miss your target then the noise will perhaps scare them away."

  Dry-mouthed, Beth stared at the musket lying across her knees. It would require two strong hands to hold it and a far steadier aim than her trembling arms to fire it with success.

  Now they rowed close to the eight ships while the Captain checked the cable that bound each one to its neighbour. Beth observed that darkness had overtaken them and a full moon had arisen.

  The Captain sniffed the air like a hound at bay. "See," he said triumphantly, "God is with us. The wind has freshened. God be praised for giving us this night the best ally we could wish to defeat our enemy."

  A fresh wind had indeed sprung up in the west, a wind which would carry the fireships directly to the Spanish anchorage with the turning tide. It needed no expert seamanship on Beth's side to imagine the result of the inferno they were preparing upon the unsuspecting Armada. Already the movement of the sea was stronger and she felt the tug of the tide under the boat, while above the flying scud across the moon gave promise of a blustery night.

  The Captain was jubilant as the signal was given by trumpet from the flagship to move aside the screen of protective ships, Then, the pathway clear, the moorings were untied from the waiting fireships.

  "Light the fuses."

  The order was passed from ship to ship and the Captain watched the crouching men rush to their duties. Soon a tiny red glow lit the darkness as in the sterns the first pale light of ignited kindling rose, and holding tillers steady, the ships began to steer for the enemy.

  The Captain saw each man complete his duties and leave by the rope ladder for the boat waiting to carry him to his own ship, by which time the tall ships were already on their course with all sails set and the lines of fire growing. On seven the rigging was alight—

  "Seven," counted the Captain.

  "One remains in darkness, Cap'n. Something has happened to it."

  James Danyell exchanged a glance with Luke. "Ay, the fuse has gone out." He stared up at the ship which was nearest to them, hopeful for a sign that they were mistaken. "We must set it alight again, or all will be lost. Come on, lads, row as fast as you can. Faster—"

  Beth was too exhausted to row any quicker, her arms aching, her hands already blistered. She was relying on the strong arms of Luke and praying that the Captain was too preoccupied to notice the difference.

  "Faster—! Before God, Master Perkins, is that the best you can do?" He shouted to Luke: "And you—was there no man you could have brought in
stead of this milksop?"

  "Cap'n—the orders were—"

  "Do not presume to remind me of orders, man."

  "Nay, Cap'n, but I thought rowing boats came alike to all lads."

  "Not this one, I fear, for before God he can do nothing right!"

  Beth felt the tears bite at her throat, since all this hard work, almost beyond her physical endurance, was so scorned. She did not expect compliments from the Captain, but she did expect honest appreciation of her efforts.

  "Move aside there—move aside."

  And she further complicated matters by overbalancing as the Captain seized her and thrust her from the seat, taking over the oar himself. Chafing sore and swollen hands she regarded him with fury. Luckily, he did not observe her anger, oblivious as he was to all but reaching the dark ship ahead.

  At last he seized the cable dangling from the stern.

  "Cap'n," said Luke, "I will go. Let me go."

  "Master Luke, I am Captain and in charge of the fire-ships—"

  "But there is danger—"

  "Then I will take my chance. One man is as another."

  "But lookee, Cap'n, the likes of me can be spared, but not you—"

  Swinging himself lithely on to the cable, the Captain began to climb.

  "Save your breath, Master Luke, and concentrate on keeping that boat alongside."

  He had almost reached the deck-rail when a small Spanish patrol boat appeared racing towards them on the tide. Beth realised that it must have been lurking in the vicinity and seized its chance when the Queen's ships moved away from the fireships. She heard the thud of roundshot in the hull of the ship above them, and remembered the scene in the Captain's cabin when Sir Francis Drake had told the men that once the fire-ships were under way, the Armada's only hope of escape lay in their small boats cutting the cables which bound the fireships together and scattering them one by one, dragging them apart by grappling irons—