Greenbeard (9781935259220) (41 page)

Mr Benjamin came huffing-and-puffing back onto the quarterdeck with his two assistants; Sid the watchmaker had a leather sheath over his wounded finger, tied around his wrist with a thong. He and the other, a millwright from Sheffield, looked apprehensive, but nevertheless agog with excitement.

Captain Greybagges stepped forward to the front of the quarterdeck and grasped the rail.

“My friends! Lusty buccaneers! Harken to me well!” he roared. “I promised
you wonders, and now you shall see one! Take hold of something so you shall not fall, especially you jacks in the rigging! Take hold
now
, and keep a-hold!”

The Captain turned back to Bulbous Bill Bucephalus at the binnacle.

“Bill, move the lever marked ‘X-ENGAGE' down until it locks! Good! Steersmen at the wheel, be ready for my orders! Bill, move the lever marked ‘X-FORCE' –
slowly! gently!
– upwards, but only until the dial reads
one
on the scale!”

The sailing master obeyed, and with a slight but distinct lurch the
Ark de Triomphe
started to move forwards.
Started to move forwards against the wind!
There was a shriek from the rigging, but no thud of a body hitting the deck. Several of the pirate crew on the deck staggered and fell over, despite their sea-legs.

“I told you lubbers to hang on!” roared the Captain. “Now cut the anchor-cable! Don't just stand there with your bloody mouths open, you fools! Cut the bloody cable
now
!”

There was the
thunk!
of axes as the two hefty pirates on the foredeck roused themselves from their amazement and attacked the cable. The cable parted just as the frigate's slow forward movement started to bring it taut. It fell into the sea, the splash audible in the stunned silence.

“Don't bloody stand there, you lubbers! Don't think! Get about your work now! Do your
appointed tasks
now, or, so help me,
I shall shoot you dead
while you stand
with your bloody mouths open gawping like bloody moon-calves! Now go!
”

Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges drew a pistol from his belt, fired it in the air, threw the discharged pistol to the deck and drew another one to reinforce his threat. The crew ran to their positions, a mutter of oaths and expletives breaking the stunned silence.

The
Ark de Triomphe
moved slowly forward against the wind, against all nautical principles and against all reason. Morgan's vessel had now come into the bay, heading straight for the
Ark de Triomphe
.

“Steersmen! Twenty points to port,
now!
” roared Captain Greybagges. The steersmen obeyed, their eyes wide and their mouths still open from shock and surprise.

“Bill, move up the X-FORCE lever until the dial shows two!”

The
Ark de Triomphe
increased speed in complete defiance of the wind and curved to port, cutting a wake, its sails flapping uselessly, driven back against the
masts by the light contrary breeze and the frigate's forward motion. Morgan's vessel came on, slowing now that the wind was lessening in the shadow of the land.

Captain Greybagges jumped down from the quarterdeck into the waist and bellowed down the companionway; “Peter! Roll out the starboard guns! Be ready to fire, to fire as they bear, but do not fire unless upon my express order! Do you hear me?” A faint acknowledgement echoed up from the gun-deck. “Repeat what I said!” Blue Peter repeated the Captain's exact words. “Good! Stand ready upon my word!” The Captain ran back up to the quarterdeck. There was a
thump-thump-thump-thump
as the gun-ports opened, and a rumble as the guns rolled out.

“Bill, reduce the X-FORCE back to one! Steersmen, now to starboard, thirty points! Quick as you can!”

Captain Greybagges stood breathing heavily, making an obvious strong effort of will to compose himself.

“Bill, steersmen, we are going to cross Morgan's stern now, and if the little sod makes one move -
just one bloody move!
– I shall rake him, and be damned to him! Steersmen, straighten her up now, and be prepared to go port-thirty upon my command.”

The
Ark de Triomphe
curved around Morgan's ship and across its stern. Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges stood at the starboard quarterdeck rail, noting Blue Peter at the foot of the companionway steps, waiting ready to relay the order to fire to the gun-deck. There was an almost complete silence. Captain Greybagges swept off his black tricorne hat in an elegant gesture.

“Why, Captain Morgan, my compliments! I suggest that if you are prepared to lower yourself so far as to go a-hunting of your old friends –
your old shipmates, who never did you any harm!
– then you should at least find yourself a seaworthy vessel! One that can sail in these capricious coastal breezes. A good day to you!”

He made an elegant bow, one leg forward, sweeping his hat across his chest. The
Ark de Triomphe
slid past the stern of Morgan's ship, its sails flapping. He replaced his hat and turned to the steersmen.

“Port thirty, if you please, straighten her up, then out the bay-mouth to the sea. Bill, take her back up to two on the dial, so that we may get expeditiously away from here.”

The
Ark de Triomphe
slid through the bay-mouth and into the open sea, beginning to pitch a little as it hit the ocean waves. Sylvestre de Greybagges started to laugh, and laughed and laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Oh, my! Oh, my! That was good!
Bloody
Captain
bloody
Bloody Morgan stood there in his fine plum-coloured coat with his jaw on his chest and his eyes popped out of his head like organ-stops! He was so close I could almost have reached across and tweaked his long nose! He could not have been more stunned if I had hit him on the head with a caulking-mallet! He was so utterly dumbfounded that I expect when he recovers his wits he will babble like an idiot, poop his britches and then fall over in a swoon! Oh, dear me! Oh, dearie, dearie me!”

“They have run aground,” said Bulbous Bill, looking astern from the aft rail with the Captain's telescope.

“Let me see!” The Captain grabbed the spy-glass, looked and burst into another attack of mirth, slapping his thigh. “Oh, dearie me! It just gets better! They must have stood there as still as marble statues, their mouths agape, until their barky hit the beach!”

 

 

The
Ark de Triomphe
slid through the sea, now once again under the power of her sails alone, with a fair wind at her starboard quarter. The sea was quiet, merely rippled, and above her the sky was blue with a scattering of clouds, the sun lowering itself down to the horizon behind them as dusk approached, its light giving the white sails a rosy glow.

“I heard your words to Morgan, Captain,” said Blue Peter, “but I would give a bagful of gold to have seen his face!”

“It was comical, Peter! I have not seen anything so damned amusing in a very long time,” Captain Greybagges grinned a wolfish grin, “and then he ran aground, too!”

“Why did you not give me the order to fire? He had come for us – for you, who once sailed with him! – with malice in his heart, and greedy for more honours from the King, even though he is as rich as several Pharoahs already.”

“Well, Peter, that might perhaps have made him a martyr; ‘Brave, loyal,
honest
Captain Morgan murdered by the vile
treacherous
pirate Captain Greenbeard!' the broadsheets would have thundered! ‘We must scour the oceans and destroy this
wicked highwayman of the high seas! England can ask for no less!' but now it will be rather ‘That wily rogue Greenbeard outsails and out-manoeuvres wooden-headed Captain
Tom Fool
Morgan, even showing mercy and allowing him to keep his miserable life, and then diddles him into running his own ship up onto the beach, the clumsy idiot!' Which is much better in the long run of things, you must confess. And I did not wish to cause great slaughter to his crew, who are not really to blame for Morgan's ambitions, after all, even though they sail under his command.”

“Um. Even so…” said Blue Peter, looking doubtful.

“Oh, Lord! You gunners are a bloodthirsty lot, aren't you? I know that a raking is the supreme challenge for a master gunner, but have you ever raked a ship yourself?”

“Well, no…”

“I haven't, either, and I would if I had to, but
only
if there was no possible alternative, for it is not something that should be done lightly. I conversed once with an old Navy captain who had managed that feat. He had taken his ship across his enemy's stern, each one of his guns firing as it bore, each one of those thirty-two-pound cannon-balls smashing through the stern windows and ripping through the whole length of the ship –
boom! boom! boom! boom!
– and he said that as they drew away from the enemy ship she lay stricken in the water like dead animal, with blood pouring in great gouts from all her gun-ports, alike to water gushing from broken guttering in a rain-squall. He said that all his crew started muttering prayers for their poor enemies when they saw that, some of them crying, and they were men hardened by many a sea-battle. He said he had never forgotten the sight and never would, and that he prayed every night for forgiveness, and lit candles for the souls of the dead every Sunday without fail, and still sometimes he would dream evil dreams and awake weeping for what he had done. Don't wish that upon yourself, Peter! Especially for such a dunce as Morgan! Even though he was ready to fire upon us, for I saw the red glow of his gunners' linstocks through his gun-ports as we crossed his wake. That is so typical of Morgan! He is such a skinflint that he has not got flint-locks for his cannon, rich though he is.”

“I was not eavesdropping,” said Mr Benjamin, standing up suddenly from behind the binnacle, holding a spanner, grease smudges on his face and hands, “but I agree with the Captain …
Cap'n
… sorry, I still struggle with naval
nomenclature.”

“Oh, you gave me a start!” said Captain Greybagges. “I hadn't seen you lurking there!”

“I was checking the orientation of the shafts and greasing the elbows of the rods. Everything is as it should be.”

“You have examined the main shunt, I presume? No sign of sparking? No excessive heating? No charring of the wooden parts?”

“We looked at it first, Cap'n. It was just as it was when we covered it.”

“I am relieved at that, Frank. Please tell me there was
something
wrong
somewhere
, otherwise I might feel that the fates are mocking us.”

“The port-side connexion to the gun-deck had loosened – probably by the flexing of the hull – but it is duplicated on the starboard side, with a cross-over, so no harm could have come from it. We have tightened it, and put in an s-bend to allow it more freedom, so the natural working of the ship's timbers puts no further strain upon it.”

“Aah! You ease my mind, Frank! There was something amiss! The Muslims regard perfection as unlucky, and always put a small error in even their most flawless silk carpets and alabaster
arabesques
. I understand their caution!”

“As to what you were saying to Peter, Cap'n,” continued Mr Benjamin, “it seems to me that by not blowing Morgan to kingdom come you have also not drawn attention to yourself, and that you may not do that because you have now a ship that moves in complete disregard of the wind and tide. I think I mentioned to you before that my idea for an air-powered cannon drew all kinds of unwelcome attention to me. Men are fascinated by engines of death, after all. I confess that I do understand Peter's enthusiasm. Indeed, the temptation to develop the air-weapon was not inspired by the fame, the friendship of the powerful or the wealth that it may have brought to me, but rather by the sheer fascination of building an engine of such power and then
using
it. We are creatures full of curiosity, and nothing tempts us so much as a cannon primed and ready to fire! The
possibilities
intrigue us! “
As swift as a pellet out of a gunne When fyre is in the powder runne,
” said the sage Chaucer. Things other than guns can fire the imagination by their possibilities. I am amazed still by what you have done –
a ship that moves in defiance of the winds!
– and I see that such a wonder would be regarded with acquisitive eyes by many, because of the
possibilities
. A nation possessing such power would dominate the
globe! To advertise the existence of a self-propelled ship would have been foolish. As things are, Morgan's account, if he is so indiscreet as to give one, will arouse howls of mocking laughter, the attempt of a beaten man to explain his dismal failure by an improbable tale. Yet I still sympathize with Peter's disappointment! How fine it must be to fire a perfect broadside, and bring a loathed foe – callous and overbearing in his pride and arrogance! - to well-deserved ruin in an instant!”

“Well, Frank, Peter may well have his chance to perform a perfect broadside before too long, and you will be there to witness it, I promise you. A self-propelled ship is indeed a wonder, yet now I will show you another wonder! Night approaches, and we are alone in an empty ocean. Even the sea-gulls have abandoned us. There are no curious eyes to witness us, and no wagging tongues to spread rumours. Where are Bill and Izzy?”

Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges paced the quarterdeck while the two were called.

“I am as nervous as a cat!” said the Captain to Blue Peter. The ship's cat chose that moment to swagger across the quarterdeck and curl up next to the rail, exhibiting no nervousness at all.

“Ah, Izzy! Please get the jacks to furl all sails, and then bring all of them, even the look-outs, down on deck.”