Suki, page 40
The purser’s face was dark with gathering anger. ‘’Od’s teeth!’ he said. ‘What now? Are we to change our entire plan of campaign to suit two naked savages? Is that the humour of it? Have sense, Mr Daventry. They are old and sick and they stink the place out. If ’twere a farm they’d have been put down long since.’
‘Howsomever this ain’t a farm, Mr Smith. Nor we farmers.’
‘No, sir,’ the purser said angrily. ‘We are traders and your foolishness is losing us time and money. Have done with it and come aboard and let’s hear no more on’t.’
The young slave had slumped to the ground and was sitting with his head on his knees.
‘No, sir,’ Jack said, his jaw set. ‘We’ll not leave them here to die. They return with us.’
‘No, sir. I am the master here and I say they do not.’
‘I take responsibility.’
‘You, sir, will take a cuff of my cane,’ the purser bellowed. ‘’Od’s bowels! Am I to be dictated to by a jumped-up jackanapes with no sense and no breeding? Your grandfather a duke! D’you take us for fools?’
Jack was stung. ‘’Tis gospel truth, Mr Smith, and I’ll thank you to mind it.’
‘’Tis poppycock. And we’ll hear no more on’t. Come, sir. Aboard, if you please. The boat waits on us.’
Jack squared his shoulders. ‘I’ll not move without my slaves.’ The purser was furious and decisive. ‘Then you must be forced, sir. Seize him, Mr Reuben, if you please. Frogmarch, if necessary.’ The bosun was embarrassed to be asked to arrest his shipmate but he obeyed orders, that being his trade. ‘Best do as he say,’ he said in Jack’s ear. ‘’Tis a mean old swabber an’ means to have ’ee in irons. We don’t want that.’
There was a pause as Jack considered whether or not to resist, the captain stood aside as if it were no concern of his, and the purser watched, tapping his breeches with his cane. Whatever is done here now, Jack thought, I shall answer for it. ’Tis too public for a brawl and I’ve lost the argument without my pistols. They’ll be the first things I look for when I get back to shore. ’Twas folly to travel without ’em. I’ll know better next time and no mistake. In the end, he followed the bosun aboard, scowling and furious but powerless to do anything else.
It was dark by the time the Bonny Beaufoy put in to the harbour in Nevis and as nobody, except Jack, had any urge to go ashore, the gangplank wasn’t lowered. But the purser seemed to be in a good humour again, regaling Mr Dix with stories of the sale, and there was such an air of happy anticipation among the crew that it made him feel easy despite the dishonours of the day. So he decided to forget about his pistols for the moment. There would be time enough to collect them in the morning.
‘We’ll make our adieus at first light,’ Mr Tomson said, ‘check the cargo, water and so forth, and then we’ll be off back to old England. How say ’ee to that, my lubbers?’
They lit torches and gathered on deck to sit in the cool air under a yellow moon and sing sea shanties to the accompaniment of Dickon’s wheezing accordion. ‘For we’ve received orders for to sail to old Eng-er-land. And we hopes in a short time to see thee again.’
Chapter 28
Jack was awake, dressed and ready for the day as soon as the sun rose the next morning. Blue was lying in his usual place beneath the bunk, dressed in his new striped breeches and fast asleep, but he woke at the touch of his master’s hand, and scrambled to his feet, shaking the sleep from his eyes and declaring he was ‘ready’. So they swung up on deck together.
There was an encouraging swell running out at sea and, even within the harbour wall, the Bonny Beaufoy and the Yorick swayed away from the quay as if they were eager to be off. Their movement reminded Jack of something he’d heard in a theatre once, ‘they strain like greyhounds at the slip’, and the words sang in his head as he and Blue set off for the gangplank and the retrieval of his precious pistols. Oh, he couldn’t wait to get back to England.
The quay was awake, too, and busy. The last of the water barrels was being trundled aboard with much unnecessary heaving and shouting, and Mr Tomson was ashore, patting the ringlets of his beard as he conversed with Mr Ferguson, who had come down to supervise the loading of his parting gift, which was ten crates of newly picked fruit. It was in every respect the sort of scene common to any departure and one Jack had seen on several occasions since he joined the ship. Not worth notice.
Until, that is, he stepped off the gangplank to find himself instantly surrounded by half a dozen seamen from the Yorick, one of whom thrust a loaded musket into his chest.
He’d been holding himself in readiness for trouble of some kind, but he wasn’t prepared for anything as sudden and as violent as this and the shock of it was palpable.
‘How now?’ he said, pushing the musket aside, and he tried to make a joke of it. ‘Do ’ee take me for a villain, sirrah?’
‘Aye, sir,’ the purser’s voice said. ‘That being exactly what you are, sir. Clap him in irons if you please, Mr Cooper.’
‘I think not, sir,’ Jack said, turning to face him, ‘since I have done nothing wrong to warrant it.’
‘I think so, sir,’ Mr Smith answered, ‘since you are outnumbered, sir, and have no pistols about you to threaten us with. Let’s have him shackled, Mr Cooper.’
‘At your peril, Mr Cooper,’ Jack warned him. ‘I am related to a duke of the realm, I would have you know, and my family do not take kindly to rough treatment.’
The threat stopped Mr Cooper in mid-stride. He put out a hand to stay his fellows and looked across at the purser questioningly.
‘The man is mad,’ Mr Smith said, scathingly, ‘and may be ignored. Depend on’t. He thinks slaves are our equals, if you ever heard the like. “Human like us.” Ain’t that the way of it, Mr Daventry?’
There was a roar of happy mockery. ‘Hell’s teeth! What sort of folly is that!’
‘Human like us! He’m sea-crazed, damn his eyes.’
‘Raving mad.’
‘Send ’im to Bedlam, the dog!’
‘Aye, sir, so ’tis,’ Jack shouting to be heard above the uproar. ‘’Twould be plain to see.’ But he was wasting his breath for they were surging forward to seize and bind him. No, dammit, he thought, you’ll not take me without a struggle, and he drew his strength together to fight them, although he knew it was useless, for he was outnumbered six to one and a musket is a heavy argument. He deflected blows, ducked, punched, struggled from their grasp, until they clubbed him to the ground with their muskets, and then he kicked and writhed against the hands that were trying to force his ankles into shackles. ‘Hell’s teeth, sir! I’ll not be treated so. I am a gentleman.’
The side of his face stung from their blows and there was blood in his mouth and his ears were singing with the power of his struggle. ‘I’ll not be treated so.’
But in the end he was trussed and bound, with his hands roped behind his back and leg irons locked about his ankles.
They frogmarched him up the gangplank and on to the Yorick, opened the hatch and flung him into the hold. The last thing he heard as he fell was the purser’s gloating laughter and his voice shouting, ‘The equal of slaves, eh Mr Daventry? Now see how well you like their lodging.’
The ignominy of it was so extreme that for a few seconds he simply lay where he’d fallen, with his head wedged against a sack of flour and his arms and legs spread-eagled, too stunned and defeated to speak. The hatch was closed with a clang, feet stamped away, darkness and dust settled around him, musty and full of menace. ’Od’s bowels, ’twas not to be endured.
Anger invigorated him again. He was on his feet and raging in the darkness, in a surge of fury and hatred and impotence, acutely aware of everything around him, every sound, scent and sensation magnified as if his world had suddenly been writ large. He could hear sails being set above him, the capstan protesting, the slap of bare feet on the deck, and knew from the tone of the captain’s voice that he was irritable and prone to flog. He could smell every article of the cargo, although he couldn’t see beyond the nearest sack, from cornmeal to ship’s biscuit, through every variation of meat, rank, salt and freshly killed pork, bacon, beef and goat. Everything was louder, more pressing, more immediate. Rats scrabbled past his feet, their claws as loud as rakes, the timbers creaked like the crack of thunder, every slap of wave against the hull was clear as a gunshot, and his leg irons burned his bare skin with every movement he made. ‘I’ll not be treated so, hell’s teeth! I’m a gentleman. I’ll not be treated so.’
Time was an irrelevance. There was no day, no light, no freedom, no justice. Just the need to roar, shriek, protest, demand redress. ‘I’ll not be treated so.’ It was a very long time before he realised how futile it was. He was being treated so. No matter how loudly he roared, nobody answered. There was nothing he could do now but endure. He slumped back on to the sack of wheat, his bound hands behind him, and abandoned himself to weeping.
Presently, there was a shuffling sound somewhere to his left and he heard a soft voice calling his name. ‘Jack! Mr Jack!’
‘Blue?
The outline of Blue’s face moved into his limited vision, a gleam of blue eyes, the line of a cheek. ‘Yes, Mr Jack?’
The shock of knowing Blue was there was almost as great as the shock of being thrown into the hold. ‘How did you get here?’
‘I run. I come down before.’
The trust and affection revealed by such an action moved Jack to tears all over again. But this time, they were tears of elation. ‘There is more human kindness in you, Blue,’ he said, ‘than in the entire crew of this ship. The entire benighted crew, ’Od rot ’em. Undo these ropes, will ’ee. Ah! That’s better. They fell upon me like wolves, Blue, like ravening wolves. They pulled me and kicked me and beat me with muskets as though I were a dog. ’Od rot ’em, whilst you… You treat me as one human being to another, as a friend, nay more than a friend. What friend would risk life and limb for me in this hell-pit. I was right in everything I said and you bear it out. You are human as I am human. I cannot tell you…’ And he wept again.
The child didn’t understand more than three words from such a babble, but he sat beside his master in the darkness, untying the ropes that bound him and occasionally patting his arm for comfort, for now they were like slaves together in this place and touch was possible. And Jack was glad of his comfort for his rage told him how low spirited he was becoming.
Time passed. They felt the ship leave harbour and hit open sea and soon they were being thrown about as the vessel dipped and swung through the swell. From time to time, Blue whimpered as a particularly heavy wave sent them both lurching.
‘Take heart,’ Jack said, and this time it was his turn to comfort. ‘’Tis only the sea, Blue, and the stronger the sea, the sooner we shall be home.’
‘Home? What is home?’
‘My home, Blue. England. That’s where we’re going. And the sooner there the better. You shall be a free man in England. I’ll see to it. Providing I’m a free man myself.’
The conversation was getting incomprehensible again. ‘Master?’
Best turn to something easier. ‘I am glad you are here with me.’
‘I am glad also.’
Hours passed. And passed. And soon, what with the stuffy air, their own inertia and the rocking motion of the ship, they both slept. When they woke, they no longer knew whether it was night or day. The heat was stifling and there was a rat gnawing at Jack’s shoe. He kicked it away, viciously, before he remembered that he was shackled, and the sharp movement tore the leg iron into his skin. The pain of it brought him to full consciousness. He realised that he was in urgent need of a piddle and struggled to his feet to find an empty corner of the hold.
As he was relieving himself, he heard footsteps above his head and rough voices shouting by the hatch. ‘Come out! Come out Jack Daventry! We wants to see yer.’ The hatch rose to reveal a strip of blue sky and the dark outline of three sailors, who were leaning in towards him, smelling strongly of sweat and rum. Am I to be a sport to these ruffians? he thought. But he straightened his breeches and swung out of the hold as well as he could for the encumbrance of his irons, calling to Blue to follow him.
‘Hello!’ one of the sailors said. ‘What’s this? We got a savage aboard. We’ll have some sport now, my lubbers.’ He had a whip in his hand and raised it to crack within inches of Blue’s hunched shoulders, grinning with delight at the pain he was going to inflict.
‘Send for Mr Jerome, if you please, sir,’ Jack said. ‘This is my servant, come aboard with me, and we’ll not be flogged or I shall know the reason why.’
‘He’ll know the reason why, will he, lousy swabber?’ the sailor mocked and this time he aimed the whip directly at Jack’s head. He was quick, but not quick enough. Jack lunged forward, ignoring the pain of his shackles, to catch his fist, whip and all, before the blow could fall. Then he was under a pile of bodies, one trying to pin his arms behind his back, another flailing punches, a third kicking and yelling and there was nothing in the world except a confused blur of fists and faces, a roar of voices, struggle, and the pain in his ankles.
A whistle was being blown, sharp and commanding. Other voices were yelling, ‘Get back you dogs! Stand clear or I’ll have ’ee whipped.’ Mr Jerome was standing barrel-chested and splay-footed before them, bellowing that he was to be obeyed.
‘Feed un and get un back below,’ he roared. ‘’Od rot it, we’ve no time for this sort of caper. They’m less than a league away, damme. Clear the decks.’
His voice was shaking with emotion — fear, anger, agitation, pride — and his face was red as a turkey cock. Jack was instantly alerted. He saw that they were sailing in a more southerly direction than he would have expected, that there was no sign of the Bonny Beaufoy, that lookouts were in the rigging, decks cleared for action, gun crews standing ready. And he realised, with a rush of excitement and exhilaration, that they were heading for a sea battle and that, if he made a bold enough bid for it, he could be released from his shackles to join in the fight.
‘You’ll need every man jack, Mr Jerome,’ he said, ‘and I’m a man jack to equal any on board. Release me of these irons, sir, and give me a pair of pistols and I’ll do you good service. I’m an uncommon fine shot and cool under fire.’
Mr Jerome looked puzzled. ‘You’m on deck to be fed and watered, sir. No more. What folly’s this?’
‘No folly, sir. Believe me. An honest offer. You’ll not get a better.’
‘’Twill be no sawdust brawl, sir. We fight the French.’
‘Aye, sir, as I see.’
‘How if you were to turn your pistols on me or the captain?’
Jack made a joke of such a suggestion, laughing, ‘Not an eventuality, I give you my word as an honest gentleman. For what would I do then? I’m not like to jump ship in the middle of the ocean and you’ve enough firearms aboard to overpower me twenty times over, which is clear to any eye. Besides, why would a man shoot his fellows when there are Frenchmen to fire upon! They will be target enough for me or any man.’
The second mate was almost won over. ‘I like the cut of your jib, sir,’ he said, ‘damme if I don’t.’
‘Then let it run, sir. ’Tis sound British canvas all the way from Brissol.’
‘Aye dammit, so ’tis. Very well then.’ He turned to give orders to his men, who’d drifted away from his conversation, irked that he should be taking the part of a madman. ‘Feed un, water un, take off those irons. No more brawling, mind, which apply to all of you. If there’s any flogging to be done, I shall do it, an’ I’ll have the skin off your backs, mark ’ee. When he’m fed, send to Mr Warwick for a pistol.’
They were puzzled and annoyed by such a change of tack and one of them was bold enough to protest. ‘But he’m a madman, Mr Jerome, sir. That there Mr Smith, he told Mr Cooper. I seen it all. I was one what brought un aboard. He’m lunatic.’
‘No, sir,’ Mr Jerome told him. ‘He’m never lunatic. He’m from Brissol same as me, sir. We have a different way of goin’ about things. Tha’s all ’tis. Aren’t that the truth of it, Mr Daventry?’
So Jack and Blue were given the remains of what appeared to be the mid-morning meal, handed a mug full of grog which they shared between them, and allowed down to the heads. By that time the ships that the Yorick was stalking were clear on the horizon — a merchantman, heavily laden, and a frigate under limited sail.
Jack’s irons were removed. The Yorick made good speed, visibly closing the gap between herself and the French, the wind being in her direction. The weather was warm, the sky clear. All preparations had been made, even to the production of Jack’s requested pistols, balls, powder and all. It was simply a matter of sailing and waiting. Tension and irritability increased. There was much chewing of tobacco, much contemptuous spitting, much prowling and shifting of feet, more and more lurid swearing. Only Blue and Jack were calm, the boy because he had no inkling of what lay ahead, the man because he was determined to be courageous.
By three o’clock that afternoon, they were close enough to see the rims of the frigate’s cannon gleaming in their portholes and to watch the French crew trimming sail so as to give the ship more manoeuvrability. The English gun crews stood to, were told to hold their fire until the signal was given, licked dry lips as the Yorick bore down on her prey. Their own sails were trimmed. Ropes screamed. Canvas creaked. The sea hissed from their prow. The wait was interminable, particularly as they could now see that the French frigate was going about ready to aim her cannon.
When the order came to fire it was greeted with a whistle of relief and, as the cannon recoiled from their first roaring barrage, the crew gave a cheer. It was a moment of high drama and unalloyed glory. And was followed almost instantaneously by another of sheer terror as the French guns blazed fire from every port. For a few seconds the air between the two ships was full of hurtling missiles, then the first shots landed and a French mast was split, canvas afire and men screaming, and a ball whistled past Jack’s shoulder and ripped a hole in the foredeck, as they bucked through waters grown choppy with activity and received another shot amidships as they steadied in the line of fire.
