Robbie Taggart

by Michael Phillips

  “He must have once.”

  “That was a very long time ago.” With the words, Drew ducked into the hatchway and disappeared.

  A few minutes later the Vicar returned, humbly delivering the required tool to Jenkins. As Robbie observed the remainder of the proceedings, he could hardly fathom what could be at root in the heart of such a weak soul. He had always been the sort of person himself who would fight for his rights, who would stand up for what he believed in. Drew, on the other hand, seemed to shout out his weakness like an oracle proclaiming doom. Yet Robbie could not escape the conclusion that there was more to the man than the apparent cowardice he seemed bent on portraying. What he was hiding, what he was afraid of, Robbie could only guess. If it was true cowardice, that would be unfortunate. For Robbie was good-natured enough to accept almost any other kind of man but that.

  Still wondering what other motives might be able to account for Drew’s peculiarities, Robbie walked slowly to the chart house. He had been there about a quarter of an hour when suddenly he heard a great clamor forward. He hurried out to see Turk at the forehatch screaming in an unintelligible mixture of Cockney and Arabic.

  “What’s the trouble?” Robbie shouted, trying to make himself heard.

  “Robbed!” screamed the Arab. “I am robbed!”

  “Thievery’s a serious crime aboard a ship. What makes you think so?”

  “I tell you,” replied Turk, calming enough to make his English coherent, “someone’s been rifling through my locker!”

  “Is that all?”

  “That’s enough, ain’t it?”

  “But was anything taken?” As he spoke Robbie could see the rest of the crew gradually gathering about the scene. He glanced up at them as if to find his answer there.

  “Nothing, as I can see—yet!” returned Turk. “But a man’s locker is sacred, and someone was in mine! If ye got no trust on a ship, ye got nothing!”

  Robbie was struck with the incongruity of words about trust coming from the man on board he would trust less than any of them.

  “So, Turk,” said Robbie, “what proof do you have to make such accusations?”

  “Proof! You want proof!” shouted Turk, his rage starting to boil over again. “Well, I gots it! The lock has been broke on my locker, so I tied a len’th of hemp roun’ it. And I used a special knot! The dirty thief re-tied it so’s it looked like my knot. But it wasn’t the same! That’s how I know!”

  “I know what he’s talking about,” put in Jenkins. “We used to call that one there a thieves’ knot. It’s just like how if you tie a square wrong, it won’t hold. I know the knot Turk ties. But not many know it, even many sailors. Most blokes try to imitate it. That’s what they’re tryin’ to tie, and it looks the same, but won’t hold. I seen other blokes make the same mistakes. One fellow I knowed tied a knot like that in the rigging once when his wife’s lover was climbin’ aloft. Killed the bloke . . . couldn’t hold his weight.”

  Robbie could not refrain from an involuntary shudder at Jenkins’ story. His own accident aboard the Macao had been similar. He had been climbing up a ratline to secure a top gallant during a heavy squall when one of the lines gave loose. A fall from aloft was nearly always fatal, whether the man fell into the sea or on deck. In Robbie’s case the fall was broken by some webbed rigging that slowed him down, and thus his final free-fall to the deck had only been some twenty feet. A few bones had been broken; even that could have proved fatal had they been far out at sea. However, fortune had it that they were near port and had reached a doctor within two days. His recovery had been complete, even though at the time it had put him out of commission for several months.

  His was an accident though, and Robbie recoiled at the thought of such a mishap being contrived, though it was no secret that seamen were a hard and rowdy lot. The kind of life they lived required it. Yet there remained a certain unshakeable honor—an undefinable camaraderie—even among the worst of them. Every once in a while one showed up who was rotten through and through, but Robbie had rarely encountered such. Even two men who might come to blows in the rigors of sea life would probably lay down their lives for one another if crisis demanded it. He was certain even men such as Digger and Turk would demonstrate their loyalty to the rest of the crew, even him, if put to it.

  Thus the slightest hint of robbery among mates caused Robbie a sense of revulsion. But he would give any suspect fair play until proof was conclusive. Turk, however, was not so benevolent.

  “The skipper taught me that knot,” he was saying, “an’ I’ll wager there ain’t a handful of you that knows it. But it’s the one who don’t know it as was in my stuff. An’ I’ll say right here—I seen the Vicar go below not twenty minutes ago.”

  “What a minute, Turk!” said Robbie.

  “Don’t you go tryin’ to coddle him now, Taggart. I didn’t see no one else go up or down in the time since I last checked my gear.”

  Several voices at once agreed with Turk, and Drew was gradually isolated from the rest of the crowd as they eased away from him.

  “What have you got to say for yourself, Drew?” asked Robbie.

  The Vicar stood in silence for some moments, as if he were mulling over the consequences of various replies in his mind. But before he had a chance to speak, the coxswain pushed his sturdy frame through the group.

  “I yust heard what is happen here,” he said breathlessly, for he had jogged there from his post at the helm. “An’ Mr. Turk be mistaken about Mr. Drew’s being da only one to go below. I vent dere mysel’ only about half an hour ago.”

  “That’s right,” said another, suddenly recovering his memory. “An’ ain’t the skipper himself down there right now?”

  A trickle of laughter spread through the group, for whether the men respected Pike or not, they knew the notion of his involving himself in petty theft, or even attempted petty theft, was inconceivable.

  Robbie laughed with the rest, glad for the release of tension.

  “Well, Turk,” he said, “it appears we have three suspects now. Whom will you accuse?”

  “You’re protecting him, Taggart,” objected Turk, his menacing eyes seeking Robbie’s with unspoken threat. “I ain’t heard no denials yet.”

  Torger merely laughed at the very idea. Drew remained silent. Fearing he might incriminate himself just for the sake of doing so, or with some obscure quotations whose meaning remained hidden to all but himself, Robbie quickly cut in.

  “So . . . we have two denials,” he said. “And I presume you will agree that we will most likely receive one from the captain as well. However, if you would like to question—”

  “So that’s how it is, is it, Taggart?” exploded Turk, seething. “Take care of your babies, and to blazes with the rest of us!”

  “Now you listen to me, Turk,” said Robbie firmly, but maintaining his calm. “You cannot prove a theft has been committed, and I will not lay such a serious charge against any man on board this ship without hard evidence. All we know at present is that your cords were tampered with. It may well be that someone found them loose and, as a good deed, tried to re-tie them.”

  “Then why won’t he admit it?”

  “It is doubtful at this point that you’d believe any explanation. If I had done it myself, I think I’d hesitate saying anything after seeing the fire in your eyes. I grant that the situation bears watching. But I’ll not punish a man without proof.”

  “I’ll take it to the skipper!”

  “Do that,” said Robbie confidently. “But you’ll get no different response.”

  As assured as Robbie sounded, however, in reality he was not at all certain just how Pike would react. He was not an easy man to understand, perhaps with more undercurrents of conflicting motives than even the Vicar. His mood had a great deal to do with his response to any given situation. Till now he had been completely supportive of Robbie. But who could tell what the stress of the sea might bring?

  Turk spat at the deck and stormed away. He
did not, however, go below to Pike’s cabin.

  The men slowly dispersed, and by and by the work around the ship resumed. But Robbie continued to mull the incident over in his head. Was it possible there truly was a thief aboard? And worse, could it have been the Vicar? Heaven only knew he didn’t appear to have the guts for such an act—especially against a ruthless character like Turk. On the other hand, sneaking about while no one was watching might just be something he would do. Could he have been looking for whiskey?

  When Robbie finished up his business in the chart house, he decided it was time to find Drew and get to the bottom of it. He had taken quite a chance in standing up to Turk on Drew’s behalf. And if it turned out he was in truth a common burglar, he’d keel-haul him.

  But before he ran across the Vicar, Robbie encountered Pike.

  “I heard there was some trouble,” said the skipper, limping toward him from the forecastle.

  “Just some accusations,” Robbie replied, determined to keep talk about the incident as understated as possible.

  “That Vicar bears watching.”

  “Oh, I think he’s harmless enough. Turk worries me more.”

  “How much do you know about him, Robbie?”

  “Who?”

  “The Vicar.”

  Robbie slowly shook his head. “Not much, really.”

  “Well, I hear he nearly killed a man once, and that’s why he’s been exiled from his fancy Hyde Park life.”

  “I find that too incredible to believe!” replied Robbie. Yet even as he spoke he recalled Drew’s words the night before they departed England: I fit in more than you think, Taggart.

  All at once Pike stopped, turned, and faced him, then said, jabbing a long, crooked finger into Robbie’s chest to accentuate his words: “Things ain’t always what they seem, mate!”

  It was the first time Robbie had ever taken close note of the hard glint in Pike’s sallow eyes. For the briefest of moments he wondered that he could have considered himself friends with such a man.

  Almost as if reading Robbie’s inner hesitancies, Pike broke into a great rolling guffaw. Were one to regard his face closely, he would have seen that glint still present, but the uncharacteristic laughter made Robbie forget—at least for now. There were too many real problems and dangers at present for Robbie to occupy his mind with imagined fancies about their skipper. If he let himself dwell on such fleeting notions, before long he’d start believing himself caught on some ill-fated ship of doom bound for a fate unknown.

  The vessel ran smoothly the following morning, as if she were not aware of the potential for strife she carried. Their pilot disembarked at the Isle of Wight where they were held up several hours with blustery weather and contrary winds. When they sailed the next day, none aboard had any idea that their number had suddenly increased by one, nor that this particular addition would likely light the already short fuse of conflict aboard the Sea Tiger.

  13

  Stowaway

  They were met with strong headwinds off the Channel Islands, and it seemed as if an end had come to pleasant seas.

  The yards and sheets required constant attending as Pike attempted to tack his way through the weather, veering more north than he would have liked. After twenty-four hours they’d made but little headway, though each man was exhausted. Finally the winds eased up, and the next afternoon they caught sight of the Lizard. But its significance was not dulled with the delay.

  The Channel lay behind them now. From here on it would be open sea.

  Torger, as if to celebrate their last sight of English soil and the swinging about of the winds, went below after his harmonica.

  But after several minutes absence he returned with quite a different prize.

  “Look vat I gots here!” he exclaimed, with a bemused expression on his broad, friendly face as he emerged topside.

  Grasped firmly but gently in his large, fleshy hand was the slender arm of a most unlikely sailor—unlikely, that is, in that his reluctant charge was a feisty, squirming young girl of not more than fifteen or sixteen. In all other aspects but her sex, she appeared more a sailor than young Sammy, or even the Vicar for that matter. Atop a long mass of tangled brown curls sat an old captain’s cap, complete with faded gold braid. This cap had been pushed back on her head during the brief scuffle with Torger, revealing a face which, beneath the smudge and grime of two days in the hull of the ship, showed promise of one day becoming rather pretty. The tough scowl which at this moment framed her pale gray eyes, however, hinted prophetically that if she did not take care, those features that contributed to her youthful attractiveness now could, as the years passed, make of her a hard and bitter woman. Dressed in several layers of breeches, shirt, vest, heavy coat, and thick woolen scarf, she looked as if she carried her entire wardrobe on her back, which indeed she did.

  It was Digger who chanced to be nearest the receiving end of Torger’s announcement. He stopped at the hatchway, first with an angry grimace across the hardened features of his face. But on closer scrutiny of the coxswain’s find, his mouth widened into a lecherous leer.

  “Ha! ha! Who says this be a rum ship?” roared the bo’sun as he grabbed the girl’s chin in his thick paw to inspect her closer. “Now wot’s a pretty little thing like yersel’ stowin’ away aboard a crate like this fer?”

  The girl’s sole response was to jerk her chin from his sweaty grasp, shooting as she did a fierce look at him from her pale, thickly lashed eyes.

  “Don’t you touch me!” she hissed vehemently.

  “Well, what’d ye expect aboard a freighter, missy?” replied Digger, in mingled anger and amusement. He would not be put off so easily.

  “I can take care of myself, an’ I don’t care where I am!”

  Just as Digger reached toward her again, Robbie walked onto the scene, quickly stepping between the bo’sun and the Tiger’s uninvited passenger.

  “Leave the girl alone, Digger,” he said; “can’t you see she’s afraid?”

  “It don’t look like fear in them eyes to me,” Digger replied, glowering at his adversary. “And who made her your business anyway, Taggart?”

  “Whatever happens on this ship is my business. The sooner you accept that, Digger, the sooner we’re going to start getting along.”

  But one look at the girl, as she shook her tangled mane and straightened her shoulders proudly, told any observer that perhaps Digger was right—fear was the last emotion her defiant carriage exuded. Her present look of belligerence hardly seemed appropriate for a nonpaying sneak, by rights a criminal aboard the Sea Tiger; she stood facing the three men as if she were rather the owner of an entire fleet.

  If Robbie had first thought he had come upon another Jamie MacLeod, innocent and unstudied in the ways of the world, that look in this girl’s eyes quickly dispelled the notion. It was clear, as she said, that she did indeed know how to take care of herself, and had been doing so along the southern coast of England for several years. Whether she was an orphan, or whether her parents had merely cast her adrift in their poverty, even she did not know. Nor had she yet reached an age where she often questioned her background. She took what came her way, manipulated people and circumstances to suit her, and had through the years fallen into a lifestyle with which she could be content. Her independent nature taught her to go where she chose, to answer to no one but herself; she was still young enough to find the lack of family constraints a blessing rather than a cause for loneliness.

  “So, vat ve going to do with you, missy?” said Overlie as both Digger and Robbie sized up the situation in their own minds.

  “Digger, go tell the skipper what we’ve found,” said Robbie. “In the meantime I’ll take her down to the galley. She looks as though she could use a meal.”

  “I found her first!” protested the bo’sun loudly, if not entirely truthfully.

  “That’s an order, Digger!”

  The bo’sun’s fingers knotted into fists as he glared at Robbie for a long, tense m
oment. Finally, seeming to think better of a confrontation at that juncture, he said, “You’re goin’ to go too far some day, Taggart,” then spun around, muttering as he stalked away.

  Ignoring the threat, Robbie turned his attention to more urgent matters, namely, what to do about the Tiger’s young stowaway. “I think you can safely release the young lady, Torger,” he said with a hint of a smile in his eyes. “She can’t run very far,” he added for the girl’s benefit.

  “Now, miss,” said Robbie to the girl, while Torger transferred responsibility for his temporary charge and made his escape, “I’m Robbie Taggart, first mate here. Who might you be?”

  She folded her arms firmly across her chest, resigning herself to whatever fate might be in store. Though the imperceptible softening of her features indicated her growing realization, judging at least from the looks of the man in front of her, that she might not be in for such a bad time of it after all.

  “My name’s Kitty,” she answered.

  “Short for Katherine?” asked Robbie, thinking it rather too-fine sounding an epithet for so ragged a girl.

  “So they tells me.”

  “They?”

  “People—you know. Besides, it was a long time ago.”

  “Have you a family?”

  “I’m my own family, and a long sight better than some whole broods I seen round and about!” She paused, then added, “So if ye’re thinkin’ of some do-gooder thing like sendin’ me home, you can forget it, ’cause I ain’t got none. You may just as well keep me aboard.”

  “Hmm,” said Robbie, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “the captain’ll have to decide that. In the meantime, you must be hungry after two days in the hull.”

  “I am at that,” she answered, thawing still further toward this good-looking first mate.

  Johnnie was none too pleased at having to mess up his spotless kitchen at such an hour. But since it was Robbie making the request he put forth only mild protests. The fare was simple and cold, for Johnnie had banked the fire in the stove, but the young misfit fell to it with relish nonetheless.