Deluded Your Sailors (30 page)

—Speak
not
to me of Barbary.

Voice still calm, Head got to his feet. —This is not about old injuries, Matt. This is not even about two naval officers arguing over stolen gold. Did you take it? And what work be Benvolio in all this?

Finn scowled. Pilgrim looked at the ceiling.

—Did you steal the gold? Matt, know you what I risked? Me lying to the Navy, and Gosse hinting about molasses?

Finn said nothing.

Head took a step toward Finn and seemed about to touch the captain's face. —Who are you?

—Surfeit!

Finn punched the oak door. Skinned knuckles quickly bled.

—I'll thank you not to mention this conversation to anyone else, Head, just as you thank me not to mention molasses, conny?

Pilgrim, to
Kittiwayke
.

They gave Head no time to see them to the door.

Past midnight, Con Pilgrim rattled his fingers against Newman Head's study window. The merchant stirred himself from his chair before the dormant fire. Neither man showed surprise at seeing the other still awake and dressed.

—Pilgrim. Come in. I'll stir the fire. Sit here, tis warmer.

—Leave the fire. I prefer none see my shadow.

Head chuckled and quietly pulled up another chair. —Won't be seen with a loyal Englishman? Oh, Pilgrim, I jest with you. You are too valuable a man to quarrel with.

—I've not come to quarrel.

—Speak plainly, then.

Pilgrim sat, staring at the embers. He leapt up and blundered towards them, blew them to angry orange, jabbed the grate with a new split. Ash clouded up the room. Leaning against the chimney, still clutching the poker, he turned to face the merchant. His large body blotted out much of the revived flame.

—I've known Matt Finn a good while, some years now, and I am the only man he calls friend. Twice now Finn's saved me from drowning. I cannot swim, as you know.

—I remember. Sweet God, Pilgrim, you sank like you'd leadbummed your feet.

—And Finn jumped in right quick. Knew naught of me, only that a man had fallen in the water.

—Only what any decent man would have done.

—But no other man did. Not Gosse, not you, not any of the dozen or so of ye.

Head frowned. —Aye, Finn jumped in before anyone else.

—Patience, Head, for I haul lines bound to strange ends. I've seen Finn act thus many times. Not so spectacular a stunt as the rescue of a drowning stranger, but nearly good as. Little decencies, courtesies and kindnesses easy to miss. Sometimes he keeps back pay from some of the men until we return home, and then he pays the man's wife. He attracts children, which bothers him. I call him the Pied Piper of Bristol, though he's asked me not to. My point is this: strange self and stranger history aside, Finn does be a good man.

—I'll not dispute.

Flames crackled.

—Goodness in him. Works through him, like someone weaves it there.

—Our Lord God works at a loom? Not an idea our old fathers would – —Head, please, help me reason. Help me understand. I sailed with Finn on
Apple Bough
, and then he bade me follow him to
Kittiwayke
. A more solitary and Godless man, I have never seen.

He carries a rock twice the size of his hand in his coat's left pocket.

Knew you that? And a dagger in his right boot. He be not Godless by design, but Godless he be, Godless and seeking. He recites but one prayer: ‘God grant me a full belly and a dull voyage.' We talked of God when Finn wanted. I have had many more proper Sundays than Finn and so chinked his gaps the best I could. I – Pilgrim put down the poker, turned from Head and squat down, his eyes to the flames. He looked at once much younger than his twenty-five years, young and frightened, and much older.

For a moment, Head saw how Pilgrim would look as an aged man:

white hair, pouchy cheeks, deep lines.

—August there I finally recognized the salt desert Finn wanders. The omens were out. Omens be what my aunt called them. Sudden blue flashes, flames they be, gone as quick as be seen.

High in the night sky. Best seen on first watch. I was the watch officer, and
Kittiwayke
cut along fine, all quiet and counted for.

Captain Finn came on deck. Scowling a bit, but that be how he often looks. And fit to disappear within his greatcoat. The night did not be cold. Finn's head bobbed out of the greatcoat like a head out of water. Stayed aft, arms well within the coat, head back, staring at the omens. Beautiful things, quick flames in the sky.

First dog watch, we'd been discussing Lucifer. The last sermon we heard afore departure had been about the deadly sin of pride.

Finn asked me later if murder were not worse. I said aye, but pride usually played a heavy part in any murder. Then he asked if the angels had committed murder before God cast them out. That haunts Finn, God casting out the angels. The reflection of a blue flame shone across the wet of Finn's eyes. He pointed upwards and said to me: ‘The angels fall.' I saw only stars and omens. Another blue flame, gone quick as we saw it, and Finn said again: ‘The angels fall. Watch, Pilgrim.' And I did. Finn said: ‘So many angels, God casts them out still.' Some of the flames fell low in the sky, on the horizon. Into the sea.

Then Finn turned to me, right quiet: ‘I dreamt of God tonight, Pilgrim. An old man limped along the shore, made dark by the setting sun. With one hand He picked up rocks, shook them in His palm and tossed them away, where they mingled with other rocks and the water. In His other hand, fit to shake on wet ink to dry it:

dust.'That frightened me, Head. I cannot tell you how that frightened me. I be no cleric, so I could think of no words. Finn leant on the starboard bow. Omens flamed in the sky, and the waves glowed. Believing the angels fall still, Finn reasoned so: if God had cast out the angels, and cast them out still, what punishment yet awaited men?

Head knew he should offer the mate a drink, for his mouth must be dry. But he stayed silent, suddenly feeling he had no right to speak.

—Then
Kindly One
. In April. From Bristol. Just coming out of Harbour Grace as we voyaged in. The sun and the wind beat on us from all sides. Fair beating winds, Finn calls that. We could scarce hear one another on
Kittiwayke
, let alone the calls from
Kindly
One
. Sky gone light to dark blue in a head's turn. Clouds blew across it and raced the whitecaps.
Kittiwayke
full and by, and Finn laughing. We hailed our fellow English ship, all of us inclined to skylark. Each captain hallooed and traded news, Finn of Salem and Boston, Tilley of Bristol. Finn declared he'd been born in Bristol but not seen it sixteen or seventeen years.

Our two sloops being close enough, Finn and I swung aboard
Kindly One
. Captain Tilley welcomed us again. I made our two lines to belaying pins when Finn gave a start and softly called on Christ.

Kindly One
's boatswain, bent and bald and spotted by the sun, some of his ear gone, looked on Finn with much surprise. Clearly each recognized the other, and the old boatswain took breath to speak.

Finn smashed the boatswain's face with a belaying pin. I hear that wet crack now, ash on bone. The boatswain's arms twitched about his head all sickly and weak, fox in a trap. Finn struck again, and again, and the boatswain fell dead, face wrecked.

This happened in much less time than it takes to tell.

Then Tilley cried out: ‘Mark, sir, you've killed him,' to which Finn replied, very flat: ‘He's fortunate I did not shove the pin up his arse first.' And with that he fixed Captain Tilley a blow across the head, enough to knock him bloody. Tilley fell, insensible. I tried to pry the pin from Finn's hand. I am much larger, but I could not move that pin without breaking my captain's bones. Finn looked for a moment set to bash my head with it but then he threw the thing overboard, blood and flesh stuck to it. He looked like a man in mortal pain.

I unmade a
Kittiwayke
line, yanked it tight and got it into Finn's hands. Finn swung over to
Kittiwayke
and called for grease, rags and flame. Just as I set to swing myself, two men from
Kindly One
hauled me back from the gunwale and called over insults and threats.

Finn lobbed back quick work of a ball of rags and rope ends set alight. The ball landed heavily in the bows, and the flames caught.

The men let me go.
Kindly One
shuddered in the changing wind and drifted a short way. My line gone short and tight, I had to jump.

I saw the pit between our two sloops, the black water lit on top by the glow of flames. No rescue from drowning this third time.
Kindly
One'
s men scrambled for buckets and water, and
Kittiwayke'
s men stood behind Captain Finn.

He watched the flames in
Kindly One
's bows as though watching a sailor furl the jib.

I swung over, fell hard against the hull and hauled myself on board.

Finn ordered we wear on to Harbour Grace, said we must resume our duties. No man spoke an unnecessary word. Finn retired below, and I did not see him again until well after dark. Finn said to me, ‘Pilgrim, I hope you are not badly hurt.'

I answered no, and we stood side by side then a while. The clouds still raced across the sky, grey against black now. We could see them only when they got in the way of the stars.

‘Come with me to the charthouse,' said Finn, and I did. And the wind beat fair. Finn made correction on a chart. He dipped his quill in the inkpot with much care. I asked, ‘Who was he?' Finn said: ‘Ned Coltman. Killed my one friend, smashed my head against a wall, used me foully, sneaked me on board his merchantman, and locked me in a sea-chest, waiting the best time to use me once more before I smothered and he'd have to throw me and the chest over the side.

‘But, Pilgrim: I plaindealt with God. Coltman crowed about God a lot, about me being a gift to him. So I made my deal: God would rid me of Coltman, and I would accept what all after came my way, blessing or offense. God, or perhaps just that blind old madman, Captain Walters, wrecked us in the Isles of Scilly, and most of us died. I and one other lived, but I never knew who, all of a cause that he returned to England while I lay sick with salt water in my lungs. Many things since came my way, and I accepted them all. God and I had a deal. And then today I see him. Atthey warned me my worst enemy would strike in daylight. And I struck.'

The names made no sense to me, but I understood Finn. A sudden madness, a random encounter neither Finn nor this Coltman expected. And so my captain fell into hell. All the men on deck had witnessed the act. All the men, like me, suffered a decision that passed through us like some spirit. It might damn our souls, but we each to the last man chose not to speak of
Kindly
One
. I did be trying to say this to Finn as he shook sand on the wet ink, then picked up the chart and blew the pounce dust away.

Motes floated in the lantern light, and grit fell at our feet.

—Dear God.

Pilgrim turned to look at Head over his shoulder. —Revenge, Head? Murder? Or long-buried defence?

Head sighed. —The unswerving punctuality of chance.

—Myself, I dream of fire. I followed and did naught to stop Finn.—You'd no time. And you said Finn was as like to bash your head in next.

—But I did trust him. That without thought. Trust him, I mean, not just follow his orders. I'd stand by my captain even if he'd said he killed the boatswain because the sea tastes of salt. And I'd have followed him and protected him. I be guilty.

—Twas not you who beat a man to death! And with a belaying pin. Sweet Christ Jesus.

Pilgrim stood up, slowly. —I fear this will make the navy business worse. Will you give Finn over?

—Do not insult me. Captain Cleasby does not want Finn for murder but gold. And as I know little of any murder and even less of any gold, I cannot help Captain Cleasby.

—How can you not know what you know?

—By the lateness of the hour, is how. You take care of Finn at sea. I will look after the questions on land. And I shall keep this story close. Now go, before your captain who needs you finds you gone. This time Head saw his visitor to the door. He held the doorframe and peered into the darkness that had swallowed Con Pilgrim.

20) CHASING WORD
M
OSTLY AT SEA
,
SPRING
1734.

—I should like to see my sister.

Captain Cleasby looked over the top of his hand of cards at the ship's surgeon. He hosted card games in his day cabin; his night cabin lay on the other side of the panel wall. The panels could be moved, and the deck cleared, for battle. —Where is she?

Pollard played a card. —Harbour Grace, Newfoundland.

Cleasby studied the faces of Dr Pollard and Lieutenant Penney and guessed their hands as easily as if the slush lamp light rendered the cards into glass. Kelly's secrets eluded him, which made for better games of Ruff and Honours than he'd played for years. But this also irritated him. Cleasby kept that emotion checked, for now; he relied heavily on Kelly for the daily tedium of staying afloat.