Young Dick

by John Jarvis

CHAPTER SIX

  “You may return these charts to their drawers, boy,” the Captain ordered as chairs scraped and the senior officers left the Captain’s cabin. One of the charts was aged and worn. It had border drawings of cherubs blowing wind, penned notations in a language Richard could not recognize and frightening pictures of mythical sea monsters. The area where the Subtile was sailing was marked 70 degrees west to 40 degrees west and 25 degrees north to 35 degrees north; it was entitled Sargassum.

  For a reason he could not fathom, Richard felt a sense of foreboding. The feeling increased after an incident on the quarterdeck the following day. A large strange sea bird that nobody could identify other than it was not an albatross flew on board and flapped around the Captain’s head. Annoyed, he tried to shoo it away, but the bird persisted. Finally, the Captain grabbed the bird around its long neck, but the bird’s bill contained razor sharp teeth and it opened the Captain’s arm to the bone. Screaming obscenities, the Captain snatched up a cutlass, severed the bird’s head and threw the body overboard.

  “Send up the doctor before I bleed to death,” he yelled. A deeply superstitious crew began to murmur.

  “’ave you ever seen anything like that before?” one asked to a sea of shaking heads. Jamie was approached by a concerned Bosun. “Sir, have you ever heard of something like that happening before?”

  Jamie admitted that he had not.

  “The men are restless, Sir, it may be as well to make some token change.” Jamie agreed and after consultation with his injured Captain, Subtile’s course was corrected five degrees east and a prevailing wind obliged. Subtile was now racing at nine knots towards the Sargasso seaweed.

  It was rare for Richard to have any spare minutes, but when he did he spent them up the foremast in the crow’s nest. Here he felt divorced from the ship and its endless routines, and with the wind in his face and hair he was the nearest he would ever be to a sea bird and freedom. Today he shared his space with seaman Billings, a young man said to have the sharpest eyes on the ship. Today Billings would be out-sighted.

  “What is that line on the horizon?” Richard asked. Billings shaded his eyes and wished he had the use of one of the precious telescopes.

  “It could be just the horizon; sometimes the light plays tricks on us,” suggested Billings. Within half an hour the line on the horizon was no trick but a definite smudge rising and falling independent to the horizon.

  “I will go below then, you can call the sighting,” suggested Richard. Billings nodded in approval. Richard shimmied down the rigging as he had been taught, with hands and feet working together, and he landed on the deck with a thump. Above him came the cry, “Flotsam on the port bow!”

  On the quarterdeck Jamie swung a precious telescope to port and sent for the Captain.

  “Damn your five degrees correction, First Officer, we are headed straight for it,” cursed the Captain.

  “We could reduce sail and put in a few tacks, Sir,” suggested a chagrined Jamie.

  “That is about all we can do. First, stand by to come about!” ordered an exasperated Captain. The crew swarmed up the rigging to reduce sail, the tiller ordered hard over, and Subtile creaked and groaned its way to starboard.

  “What is it?” a sailor asked when the Bosun had time to fill his pipe.

  “It is the Sargasso Sea lad: a mass of floating sea weed that can trap a becalmed ship and hold it in its grip until it rots,” said the Bosun between puffs.

  “Oh my God,” prayed the sailor.

  “It is going to be a close run thing,” said Jamie, half an hour later, after Subtile had put in another tack.

  “We are not going to make it,” despaired Jamie after a further half hour. The crew watched in horror as Subtile headed towards the green morass of weed.

  “Clap on all sail, First; the weed cannot entrap a moving vessel,” ordered the Captain. Subtile’s newly dropped canvas filled with air and she gathered speed before the wind.

  “Look there, Sir, further to port: another ship,” cried an excited Richard. Ship was something of an exaggeration; it was a hulk with blackened bare masts and spars trailing the remnants of rigging like ragged hair. The hull had lost all its paintwork blistered by the sun, and it appeared deserted. Just then the wind fell to a faint breath.

  “Mary Mother of God,” cried one of the Catholic crew and crossed himself. The remainder wondered if Subtile was to suffer the same fate. Subtile was becalmed, yet it drifted towards the mass of seaweed.

  “It is the current, lad,” said Jamie, answering Richard’s unasked question. “It is either drifting us towards the weed or vice versa.” The weed took Subtile into a wet leafy embrace. The Captain issued a barrage of orders.

  “Lower two longboats, First, and rotate the rowers;:we will have to tow ourselves out of this mess. Lower two bosun’s chairs over the bow and have the men clear the weed with cutlasses and axes. Send the remainder of this watch below to rest out of the heat.” The Captain took his own advice and retired to his cabin. Richard, spared all of the action, could not take his eyes off the wreck.

  “It is an old Dutchy,” said the veteran helmsman, who had little to do. “See how high the fore and stern castles are to direct fire down onto galleys. She must be over a hundred years old.”

  “The crew must have starved to death,” suggested Richard.

  “Not starved,” said the doctor who had joined them on the quarterdeck. “See that tattered remnant of a yellow flag on the mizzen? She had the plague or fever: that’s what killed the crew.”

  “Sir, can I board her and check out the cargo; she might have been carrying something valuable,” asked Richard.

  “I doubt it: see how high she rides in the water and besides, we don’t need to bring a plague aboard,” replied Jamie.

  “There would be no plague after all this time, First Officer, the pestilence would have died with the crew,” the doctor said. Jamie sighed.

  “Very well lad, I will ask the Captain. Third Officer, take the deck.” Jamie took a look at the rowers and went below to report and request.

  “You have permission to board, lad,” said Jamie to Richard, who could hardly restrain himself. “The Captain believes it will help the crew take their minds of the weed; take the dolly boat and two hands.” The Bosun had the boat lowered and detailed two crewmembers, Billings was one of them. The shallow boat had no problem in crossing the weed as it floated over it. The problem was catching crabs of wet leaves; Billings and his mate swore at the foliage. The death ship soon loomed over them, forbidding and forsaken.

  ,“I am not boarding that,” said Billings’ Mate. Jamie threw up a grappling iron and tasted that it held fast.

  “Let’s go,” he said to Billings. The top deck was a mess; a few culverins remained chained to their posts others had obviously broken loose, rolled across the deck and smashed through the bulwarks. There was no sign of life.

  “Walk carefully across the deck,” advised Billings. “Step on the rows of securing pegs, they are fastened to the ship’s ribs.” The two youngsters made their way carefully to the stern castle and captain’s cabin. There were no bodies anywhere and the captain’s cabin was locked fast by a heavy door. “I’ll fetch an axe,” said Billings. The sturdy iron lock did not budge to Billings’ bludgeoning but the hinges did, powdering out of the rotten framework and causing the door to crash inwards. “After you,” invited Billings through a cloud of dust.

  Richard stepped forward and into yesteryear. Two pairs of blue eyes looked into a pair of sightless sockets. The Captain’s skeleton lay scattered over his desk and the bones of his right hand lay pinned under a pistol. Under the deck lay a strong box, its weight sinking it through the rotting deck timber.

  “We will take that, check the other cabins,” said Richard. Billings padded off and Richard made a quick search of the cabin. He could not find the ship’s log, but her name was faintly visible on some surviving paperwork. Van Der? Den? Trump. Richard picked up the pistol: it was of a l
ighter caliber, perhaps a dueling piece. Its lock was an older snaphaunce type, but it was beautifully made and in mint condition. He checked the touchhole; it was devoid of any powder and tucked it into the back of his shorts. Billings returned and together they struggled to haul the heavy strongbox topside. They rested at the top of the ladder. “Let’s check the holds,” suggested Richard. They found a rotted hatchway and kicked it clear of wood. Whatever the cargo had been, it had rotted dry years ago but the fragrance remained: herbs and spices from the Far East.

  “Let’s go,” said Billings, “this hulk gives me the creeps.” They lowered the chest using the grappling hook’s line to an astonished crewmember and rowed triumphantly back to Subtile.

  “Well done, Richard,” said the Captain, standing with his senior officers in his cabin. On his desk lay the strong box; the lock had been sprung but the lid remained closed. Richard straightened with pride: it was the first time the Captain had referred to him by his name. “The contents will more than pay for this ship and its refit, the investors will be happy, and so am I.” The Captain smiled and turned to his officers. Richard smiled and returned to his duties; he never did find out what was in the box.

  “Sir, permission to use the old hulk as target practice – there is nothing like the real thing,” requested the Gunnery Officer.

  “Not yet, Guns: I want the wreck intact and in sight to remind the rowers what will happen if they are not successful.” At that moment Subtile lurched and moved; she was making way. The sailor thumping down the ladder to report the arrival of wind had to jump clear to allow the Captain and his officers right of way to the deck. The situation pleased them. A fair breeze was buffeting them from abaft and Subtile was about to overrun the towing longboats. “Recall the longboats and hoist in the bosun’s chairs, First, then clap on all sail, I can detect clear water ahead and Guns, you have permission to send the loyal captain of his ship to his grave.”

  Mindful of the increasing angle, the two six pounders were quickly loaded and opened fire. Normally such a light poundage would have little effect on a sturdy trader built along the lines of a galleon, but the weakened and rotting wood soon yielded to the onslaught and the ship began to settle. One shot struck the water short, ricocheted off the weed and slammed into the hull at the waterline. The timbers opened and the wreck rapidly began to sink, bubbles and debris squirting to the surface. No sailor likes to see a ship go down and several turned away from the wreck, sinking bow first below the weeds. Subtile’s sail filled and she bounded clear like a dog off a leash. “Set your course south east for Capetown, First; we have wasted enough time.” The Captain took a satisfied look at the sails and retired below.

  Below Richard had taken advantage of the action above deck to present his pistol to the armorer, a veteran with a wooden foot. He had cost less but was glad to sign on; the alternative was begging.

  “It is a fine but unusual pistol lad, see how fine the craftsmanship is, yet there are no decorations. It is neither a gentleman’s nor a military piece. The lock is an older snaphaunce but some consider it superior to the newer flintlock. The snaphaunce is too expensive for military use, and in the end it all comes down to money and simplicity of use by the squaddies. The barrel is superb; those Dutchy’s know how to make em, I will be able to drill the shot out for you and clean out the residue of the long dried out powder, then you will have a fine weapon lad; come off the wreck, did it?” Richard nodded.

  The run south to Capetown proved uneventful; only when Subtile came within sight of Africa’s west coast did the crew become uneasy. The coast was inhospitable barren rocks and sand dunes with the wrecks of ships driven ashore visible above the sands. The bleached ribs of the wrecks protruded out of the sands like bones and the screeching of land birds seemed to be inviting Subtile ashore. The Captain changed course and took a wider loop to approach Capetown at the tip of the continent. The adverse winds were atrocious and kept Subtile standing off for two days before she could nudge her way into the bay and dock. The Captain made a show of seamanship by dropping sails expertly and allowing Subtile to ease its way to the jetty. A nuggety Hollander in charge of receiving the lines nodded in approval. A gangway was lowered to allow the Dutch Harbor Master aboard, but there would be little for him to inspect and levy dues on.

  The armorer had a surprise for Richard: he had unloaded and oiled the pistol. “Take this powder flask, young master, and here are a few balls. I had to shave and grind them to fit the smaller bore, so use them sparingly until I can make others. Promise me you will take it with you if you go ashore; I don’t trust them darkies and the Dutch even less.” Richard promised; now all he had to do was gain shore leave.

  The door to the Harbor Master’s office closed.

  “Het is een oorlogsbodem vermomd al seen ontdekkingsschip en het zou grote averij kunnen toebrengen aan onze Oost Indische handelsdelegatie,” was het verwijt van de Nederlandse garnizoens-commandant.

  “Een vijf kanon’s fregat zal onze floot nauwelijks schrik kunnen inboezemen en ik wile r op wilzen dat elk onzer schepen de meerdere is van de Subtile,” verweerde zich de vice-gouverneur.

  “Weet u dan niets van Engelscher oorlogsvoering mijnheer. Het zijn ijzervreters en men verheugt zich op het enteren van de tegenstander.” De Commandant leunde achterover om zihzelf tot kalmte te bewegen.

  “Heren alstublieft! Verschiet uw kruit toch niet zolang geen der 6 kanonnen hebben gesproken,” bracht de havenmeester te berde. “Ik verzoek u om zowel de ganse floot als de kolonien op de hoogte te stellen middles een omniddelijk schrijven teneinde de bewegingen van de Subtile te volgen en zonodig te escorteren.”

  “Accoord,” gaf de Vice Gouverneur toe.

  “Humph” verzuchte de garnizoens-commandant.

  The door of the harbor master’s office opened.