by Tony Main
‘Classes to resume next week,’ he informed Sassy.
‘Are you sure? Remember you’ve been ill,’ Sassy replied.
‘We’ve been so worried,’ said Ruth. ‘We thought you were losing your senses.’
‘What nonsense! I can’t imagine what gave you that idea!’ retorted Doc.
Ancell observed the owl holding court. He thought it was typical of Doc to bask in the limelight, blissfully unaware of the anguish he had caused.
Doc caught his eye. ‘What are you fretting about now!’ he demanded.
‘I thought you were going to die!’ Ancell accused him.
‘You’re always worrying. If it’s not one thing it’s another. The point is I’m perfectly well now. Think positive!’
Ancell nodded meekly, consoling himself that Doc was fast getting back to his irritating best.
Doc’s recovery generated an air of light-hearted celebration, even frivolity about the ship. The Cook served Jobey a double portion one lunchtime simply to enjoy watching his mixture of disbelief and amazement as he struggled to comprehend his good fortune. Pickle persuaded the unlikely couple of Chips and Waff to learn to waltz, and Capt. Albern strode about the quarterdeck conducting a triumphal march to an imaginary orchestra.
It was the ideal time, the children decided, to execute their long-plotted scheme to take a turn at Misty’s wheel. They had to wait impatiently for two days for the perfect opportunity, but early one afternoon they nodded to each other that now was the moment. Misty was heeling gently to a steady breeze. Tam and Thom, who they judged to be the most easy-going of the crew, and anyway would be too polite to refuse, were on watch. Capt. Albern, they suspected, was taking an after-lunch nap, and Skeet, unable to stand still on the quarterdeck for long, had loped to the bow to help Chad renew a lashing.
Chantal had been selected to make the initial approach, and a raffle held for the remaining order. Truename was disappointed to find he was last.
‘Now! Hurry! Or I’ll never get my turn,’ he whispered to Chantal, giving her a push.
Chantal sauntered to Tam at the helm.
‘Could I have a go – just for a moment?’ she asked demurely.
Tam looked wary and glanced at Thom. Thom shrugged, and for five minutes with Tam at hand, Chantal took the wheel.
‘Your time’s up! My turn now!’ announced Sassy, appearing at Chantal’s side.
Tam and Thom turned to see the queue behind her.
‘All of you?’ Tam questioned Sassy as she took Chantal’s place.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ said Sassy sweetly.
Tam and Thom sighed. They knew when they were beaten. Skeet and Chad watched from the bow and observed Merrie sprint from the galley to place himself at the head of the queue, only to be bundled to the back of the line. Skeet decided there was no harm provided Tam held a steady course, which he was quite capable of doing whoever was standing in his way. Ryan, Ruth and Max followed – then Thom ambled to the galley to collect a box for Truename to stand on. Within seconds of Truename taking the wheel, Tam stood back and watched.
‘You’re a natural,’ he said.
Truename laughed. ‘I can feel her! She’s really alive!’
‘Treat her tenderly and she’ll respond,’ said Tam.
‘Never force her and she’ll look after you,’ said Thom.
‘You’ve had twice your time,’ complained Merrie.
Truename handed the helm back to Tam. ‘I could stay there forever,’ he said, his eyes sparkling.
‘I do believe you could,’ said Tam with a smile.
Merrie jumped on the box, but his time was spent in a one-sided wrestling match with Tam, Merrie straining to steer Misty wherever the whim took him and Tam holding her on course.
Ancell watched and was reminded of The Cook’s mocking observation when he had stood behind the wheel the day he first stepped on board. He liked the thought of The Cook seeing him masterfully take command. Casually he sidled up to Tam and Thom.
‘I’ll take her for a while if it’s all right with you,’ he said.
Convinced it was impossible not to steer a steady course in such benign conditions, Tam stepped aside. With a glance at the galley, Ancell gripped the wheel.
Suddenly Misty, who had behaved perfectly until that moment, decided to play games. First, she romped off downwind, then as he desperately spun the spokes to haul her back, she bucked back into the wind and came to a shuddering halt, her sails flapping in protest. Simultaneously, Thom pushed him aside, Tam brought the ship back on course, Skeet and Chad sprinted aft, Waff and Chips rushed from the bosun’s locker to stare, The Cook peered from the galley, and Capt. Albern’s head appeared from the companionway.
‘Sorry Skipper!’ apologised Tam and Thom.
‘It was my fault,’ owned up Ancell, still bewildered at what had happened.
Capt. Albern frowned at Skeet, Tam and Thom, gave Ancell a hard look, and muttering darkly returned below.
‘How do you expect us to rest, making all that row!’ yelled Pickle and Jobey, clambering from the fo’c’sle.
‘Dreaming again!’ sighed Chad.
Ancell ignored them all. His eyes were on The Cook, who was leaning against the galley, doubled up with laughter.
‘Sorry!’ he muttered to Tam and Thom, and fled below. He passed Doc on the way.
‘What’s going on?’ demanded the owl.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ reported Ancell, and quickly shut his cabin door.
Doc stumbled on deck. ‘Why were the sails making all that noise?’ he asked.
‘Ancell took the helm,’ grumbled Waff.
‘Can I have a go too?’ pleaded Doc.
‘No!’ shouted everybody.
Ancell bore the unrelenting teasing throughout dinner with as much dignity as he could muster. Not unexpectedly, The Cook suggested he should wait until Misty was safely moored before he next took the helm. Every member of the crew managed to think up some joke about dreaming hedgehogs, and after the meal Truename drew him aside to explain that steering a ship was a matter of feel, and left him with a paternal pat of encouragement. Then Doc arrived with a sheaf of diagrams covered with arrows indicating the balancing forces of the water resistance on the hull and the wind on the sails, which, he lectured, provided a ship’s momentum.
‘It’s the same principle as birds flying,’ he explained, ‘but of course as you can’t fly you wouldn’t understand that either.’
Ancell handed back the papers. ‘I suppose this comes from your many years of experience at the helm? You should tell Tam and Thom how it’s done. I’m sure they’d appreciate your advice.’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic,’ retorted Doc. ‘Anyway, they’re naturals. But an explanation should be of benefit to someone as inept as yourself.’
‘Would you mind going away,’ said Ancell.
‘If you’re not willing to learn I certainly shall,’ huffed Doc.
Ancell watched the owl negotiate the deck, and felt much better when The Cook swung open the galley door and Doc walked straight into it.
Chapter 15
The crew were still amusing themselves thinking up hedgehog jokes, when with a faltering puff of farewell, the trade winds left Misty to roll uncomfortably in fickle airs, so light and variable, they had to work hard to keep her moving.
Skeet and Chad watched Capt. Albern pace the quarterdeck, send Tam aloft to examine a block on the topsail yard, check Thom at the helm was on course, and with a vague nod in their direction, disappear below.
‘Why does he check everything when I’m on watch? It’s as though he no longer trusts me,’ complained Skeet. ‘And why does he keep climbing to the crowsnest? There’s nothing to see.’
Chad nodded. ‘He knows I inspect the rigging every day, and as for making sure we’re on course, he k
nows that lying on his bunk. I’ve never known him so uneasy. The only time he relaxes is at nightfall.’
‘Maybe he’s just tired.’
‘He’s missing Truegard. That’s for sure,’ said Chad.
Chad was correct. Hunched over the chart table, the sea otter was feeling very alone without his first mate to share his fears. Though he had said nothing at the time of the albatross’s warning, he had known the man who would gladly flog him to death was Laughing Jack. Early in his naval career the two of them had served on the same ship. Jealous of the senior officers’ high regard of Albern, Laughing Jack had stolen the belongings of a few of the crew and hidden them together with items of his own in Albern’s sea bag. He had then reported a thief on board and the ensuing search had revealed Albern to be the culprit. It was only by chance that a sick seaman lying hidden in his hammock had observed Laughing Jack creeping about the fo’c’sle. His evidence, coupled with the fact that Albern was on watch at the supposed time of the thefts, had led the captain to find Laughing Jack guilty of scheming to blacken Albern’s character. Laughing Jack had received a dozen lashes, and at each cut of the cat-o’-nine-tails had sworn that one day he would make Albern suffer the same. Vengeance had consumed his life from that moment on, and jumping ship at the first opportunity, he had quickly become the most merciless pirate to murder and plunder his way across the oceans.
Now that Misty had rescued the children, Capt. Albern was in no doubt Laughing Jack would pursue her, even more determined to exact his revenge. That Misty had a start of a few hours, days, or even weeks was of no consequence. Carrying double the canvas and sailing at more than twice the speed, “The Executioner” would sail ahead and wait to ambush her where she was most vulnerable. Whatever course he chose to take, Misty could not avoid the areas of calms where “The Executioner” stood the best chance of sighting her. The sea otter stared at the neat cross marking Misty’s position bordering the bright blue waters of the often-windless Sargasso Sea. There was the possibility that “The Executioner” might be patrolling more to the east or to the west, but she was a powerful vessel and could sweep wide distances while Misty laboured to make a few miles. Laughing Jack would not be far distant. He could only hope that fate was on his side.
‘The dolphins are back!’ yelled Merrie in the middle of a maths period, and led the charge to the ship’s rail. Doc sighed and closed his textbook. It was not the first time dolphins had interrupted a class. During the trade wind passage they had often surfed on Misty’s bow wave, as if urging her on faster, before, on some magical signal, leaping far ahead to leave everyone admiring their grace and speed.
‘Class dismissed,’ he announced to an empty afterdeck, and followed the children, noting it was always Merrie who saw them first and brought his lessons to an end.
‘Hurry up, Doc, or you’ll miss them!’ shouted Ruth, hanging far over the side. ‘There’s a whole school of them!’
‘They travel in pods,’ corrected Doc. ‘Dolphins are toothed whales. This is a nursery group of females and their young – so in a way it is a school as you said.’
‘I wouldn’t mind being in that school. I bet they’ve never heard of homework,’ muttered Merrie.
‘How slender and streamlined they are,’ said Chantal.
‘They’re common dolphins – smaller than the bottlenose ones we’ve seen before,’ Doc explained.
With no bow wave to play on, the dolphins cruised alongside, raising their beaks to smile up at the children. Merrie caught the eye of one he thought especially graceful and waved. The dolphin held his gaze, then effortlessly slipped below the water to surface directly below him.
‘Come and swim with me,’ she called.
Merrie stood entranced, and for the first time in his life coloured bashfully.
‘What’s your name?’ he stammered.
‘Noya. What’s yours?’
‘Merrie.’
‘Come on Merrie! Jump! Ride on my back!’
‘I’d get all wet!’
Noya dived – then shot out of the water past the harvest mouse’s nose, her shining black back and creamy white belly flashing in the sunlight as she executed a mid-air roll. She then deliberately flopped on her back with a splash that soaked him to the tip of his tail.
‘You’re wet now!’ Noya laughed.
Merrie wiped the salt from his eyes. He thought Noya was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
‘Promise you won’t let me drown!’ he called.
‘Of course not! Come on! Let’s have fun!’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘You’re scared!’
‘No I’m not!’
‘Then come on!’
‘Don’t you dare!’ cried Doc, lunging for the harvest mouse, but Merrie, putting his trust in Noya and holding his nose, had jumped. He barely touched the water before Noya slid beneath him and took him on a triumphant high-speed circuit of Misty.
‘Anyone else want a ride?’ asked another young dolphin.
‘All of you come! We can have races,’ called another.
‘I bet none of you can beat Noya and me,’ yelled Merrie.
‘We’ll see about that!’ shouted Truename, hurling himself over the side, and within a second was sitting astride a dolphin in hot pursuit.
Ryan grabbed Ruth’s hand. ‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Let’s go!’ laughed Ruth. A moment later, Sassy, Chantal and Max hit the water.
‘Come back all of you this minute!’ wailed Doc, fluttering helplessly up and down the rail as his pupils, each astride a dolphin, careered round the ship whooping with delight.
‘Look at me! No hands!’ shouted Sassy, and promptly fell off, to be picked up again, spluttering and laughing.
‘How about this!’ yelled Max, balancing high above the water on the beak of his dolphin.
‘Please come back!’ begged Doc, but all he got was a cheerful wave from Merrie as Noya sped past, zigzagging after Truename in a game of tag.
Doc’s despairing cries brought the crew to his side. They watched disapprovingly. As far as they were concerned the sea was for sailing on, not swimming in, dolphins or not – though they had to laugh, when urged on by Merrie, Noya made a shallow leap and the harvest mouse landed facing her tail. Skeet rushed up, took a single glance, and ordered the gig to be lowered that moment.
‘I don’t want the skipper to hear about this,’ pleaded Doc.
‘Not a chance! He senses anything happening on deck even when he’s asleep,’ answered Skeet. Doc glanced aft in dismay, only to see the sea otter emerge from the companionway to stare in horror at the children’s antics. Chad nudged the owl.
‘Write out “I must not lose my class overboard” one hundred times,’ he giggled.
‘It’s more serious than that,’ countered The Cook. ‘I’d say bread and water for a month.’
‘At the least!’ agreed Chad. ‘He’ll need provisions for when the skipper casts him off in an open boat.’
‘We can’t afford to lose a boat,’ argued Waff, ‘but Chips could knock up some sort of a raft. How’s your navigation Doc?’
‘You could visit South America again. You wanted to go exploring,’ suggested Chad.
‘Or Africa is the other way. You said you’d like to visit,’ added Chips.
Doc glared at each of them, and steeling himself, trudged aft. Gloomily waiting to face the captain, who, much to the disappointment of the dolphins, was ordering the children into the gig, he spied a small sooty-grey bird with a white under-wing flying in a dizzy zigzag fashion, sometimes pausing for short glides and sometimes dropping low to patter over the water. It rose to flutter back and forth along the stern rail. The storm petrel cocked her head.
‘I assume you’re not the skipper,’ she said disparagingly. Doc thought that if he were, the first thing he’d do would be to ti
e Merrie to the nearest mast.
‘Over there,’ he replied, nodding towards Capt. Albern.
‘Tell him I’m here,’ instructed the bird.
‘If you want to speak to him, go to him,’ replied Doc, in no mood to be ordered about. The bird took off, made a couple of circuits of Doc’s head, and landed on the rail again.
‘Can’t! I’m not made for standing about on boats. Make it snappy will you. I’ve a long way to go and I’ve not got all day.’
Doc sighed and plodded to Capt. Albern.
‘Skipper there’s a…’
‘Not now Doc!’ replied the sea otter, keeping his eyes on the boatful of children.
‘A storm petrel wants to speak to you,’ persisted Doc.
Capt. Albern looked up and without a word hurried to the stern rail. As a sailor, he had a high regard for the tiny birds.
‘This is a pleasure. Can I be of any assistance?’ he enquired.
The storm petrel dispensed with any pleasantries and came to the point.
‘You might be in danger. There’s an armed ship patrolling ahead of you. Could be pirates.’
The sea otter stared at the bird, his worst fears confirmed. Fate had favoured Laughing Jack.
‘A black hulled vessel?’ he asked.
‘Correct – and she’s edging your way.’
‘Has she seen us?’
‘Can’t say, but she soon will, and be alongside you within two days.’
‘We must run. We need a wind.’
‘No chance of that. There’s a depression moving in to the north west which would give you a blow, but it’s too far off to be of any help.’
‘Thank you for the warning anyway.’
‘Thought you should know,’ said the storm petrel, taking a sidelong look at Doc.
‘Tell me’ she said, ‘is that some kind of a bird?’
‘An owl.’
‘Can it fly?’
‘They do.’
‘An owl,’ repeated the petrel. ‘Amazing! Never seen anything like it!’ and with a final flutter along the stern rail, took off. ‘Good luck!’ she cried.
‘And a safe passage to you!’ called Capt. Albern.