The Angel's Command (20 page)

The mate entered and saluted respectfully. “Come to report a man missin', Cap'n, the French prisoner.”

Teal held his arms wide as a crewman belted the Spanish sword and scabbard about his waist. “Really? I'm surprised he lasted this long, eh!”

The mate looked at him questioningly. “Sir?”

Looking away from the cheval glass, the privateer captain shook his head pityingly. “Oh, use your head, sirrah! A demned froggy informer, alone on a ship with three English lads he'd been tellin' tales about. I'd have wagered a side of gammon to a pig's snout that he'd have had a fatal mishap long since, eh! How do I look?”

The mate tried to sound enthusiastic at Teal's attire. “Ye cut a good dash, sir, all shipshape an' Bristol fashion!”

Teal sniffed. “Confound Bristol, London's the place t'be seen. Faith! Are ye goin' to leave your captain standin' here all day, or will ye attend the door an' let me out on me own deck? Move y'self, man!”

Once on deck, Teal swept the starboard horizon with his telescope. Highly satisfied with what he saw, the privateer smiled brightly at his steersman. “Hah, just as I thought, Cape Ortegal on the Spanish coast. Admirable navigation, even though I do say it meself! Keep her out from the coast 'twixt Gijón an' Santander. We'll skirt the Gulf o' Gascony, then up to the Arcachon Basin, eh! Mr. Mate, ye can fetch those three ruffians here from the
Devon Belle.
Have 'em report t'me.”

There was a definite spring to Teal's step as he strode the deck. He felt pleased with himself.

The three miscreants—the bosun, Joby and the master gunner—had murdered Ludon some time during the previous night. They had climbed down from their masthead perches and cornered the informer. It was all done swiftly, a quick rap over the head with a belaying pin, and the unconscious Ludon was hurled overboard with a necklace of holystones to hasten him underwater. Now they stood ashen-faced and resigned in front of their captain, who, they were certain, would inflict extreme punishments on them.

Redjack circled the trio, looking them up and down. Much to their amazement, he winked at them and laughed. “Frenchie went missin' durin' the night when 'twas nice an' dark, eh? Strange fellow . . . Did any of ye see him takin' his midnight dip?”

The bosun acted as spokesman for his mates. “No, sir, we was too busy keepin' life'n'limb together atop the masts, sir. None of us seen nothin', Cap'n.”

Teal nodded approvingly. “Well said, true blue an' never betray one's shipmates, eh? That's the British way, m'lads! Methinks ye've had enough of mastheads an' half rations. A happy ship's what's needed, so I'm returnin' ye to duties aboard the
Royal Champion.
Be good men, behave yourselves, an' serve king an' captain loyally. Well, what have ye got to say for yourselves, eh?”

The trio could scarce believe Teal's change of heart. They tugged furiously at their forelocks, chanting, “Aye aye, Cap'n! Thankee, sir!”

But Teal had strode off toward his cabin.

Joby stood openmouthed—he had fully expected to be hanged for murder. “Well blow me down, Cap'n's changed tack for the better!”

The master gunner nodded his grizzled head. “Aye, an' so would I if'n I was sailin' in these waters. Spain an' France ain't friendly to English vessels, especially privateers. Old Redjack's goin' to need every man jack of us in case of attack, that's what I say!”

The bosun agreed wholeheartedly. “Redjack wouldn't look too happy with a Spanish or French man-o'-war comin' at him. Not with a bosun an' a master gunner out o' commission. What say you, Joby?”

The former carpenter's mate grinned. “Let's go an' see what Cookie's got in the pot. My stomach's stickin' to me spine with 'unger!”

The bosun threw an arm around Joby's shoulder. “Good idea. There should be plenty o' vittles in the galley. There's one mouth less to feed—the Frenchie's!”

They hurried off to the galley, laughing like children.

By nightfall the
Royal Champion
had passed Gijón and was halfway to Santander, running at full sail, with the
Devon Belle
tagging behind like a puppy dog.

Redjack pored over the charts in his cabin, humming the melody of “The Jolly Captain.” He felt that now, more than at any other time in his life, luck and good fortune were at last smiling down on him. What a tale would be told around the taverns and fashionable coffeehouses of London! Redjack Teal arriving home with a fine Spanish galleon and two others in tow, carrying with him a fortune in gold coin, the weight of a man!

He would become a legend in his own lifetime.

 
Morning sunlight glittered over the ocean as
La Petite Marie
weighed anchor and sailed. Raphael Thuron stood at the wheel, grinning at the antics of Ben, who, with his dog's assistance, was taking a turn at steering the vessel.

The Frenchman encouraged his lucky friends. “Hold her steady, that's the way! Now take her a point east. Not too far, Ben! Watch Ned, he's got the hang of it!”

The black Labrador stood on his hind legs, both forepaws resting on the wheel, chiding Ben. “You heard the cap'n—hold her steady, mate, like I'm doing. If I weren't going t'be a cap'n one day, I think I'd make a first-class steersdog!”

Ben tried to keep from laughing as he steadied the wheel. “Sorry, Ned, I can't help it if I'm only a clumsy human!”

Mallon and another buccaneer named Corday were hauling up pails of seawater and swilling the midships decks. Hearing Thuron's laughter, they turned to watch the boy and his dog at the wheel. Mallon shook his head. “Just look at that, mate. It ain't right. I never heard of a lad an' a hound at the wheel of a ship, have you?”

Corday lowered his voice. “I'm beginnin' to think there's some truth in what Gascon's been saying.”

Mallon eyed his shipmate. “Tell me.”

Corday emptied his pail, watching the water run off through the scuppers. “Gascon says those two are Jonahs, an' bad luck to all hands aboard. He says that—”

Pierre's hand descended hard on Corday's shoulder. “Who says what? Come on, man, spit it out!”

Both Mallon and Corday went silent. Pierre folded his brawny arms, staring sternly at them. “Only fools listen to the scuttlebutt of a thief an' a deserter. Better not let the cap'n hear you say a word agin Ben an' his dog. Now get on with your work an' stop tittle-tattlin'. If ye've got anythin' bad to say about anybody, then say it about me. But say it to my face!”

The loyal Pierre strode off, leaving the subdued pair to continue their chore in silence.

Ben and Ned were still having fun at the wheel when Pierre called the captain to one side and whispered in his ear, “I think 'twould be a good idea if you or I steered the
Marie,
Cap'n. Either that or let the crew take their turn at the helm.”

Thuron raised his eyebrows quizzically. “What? Don't ye like my lucky friends guiding our vessel? Look at them, Pierre, those two will be as good as Anaconda was someday. What's the matter with ye, man?”

The bosun of the
Marie
averted his eyes. “There's a bit o' talk goin' around, Cap'n. Some of the crew don't like it.”

Any good humour the Frenchman felt suddenly evaporated. “They don't like it, eh? Then they'll just have to endure it. I'm master aboard the
Marie,
and 'tis I who gives the orders! But what don't they like, Pierre? What's all the talk about?”

Pierre shifted his feet awkwardly. “I know it sounds foolish, Cap'n, but the rumour is that Ben and Ned are a pair of Jonahs—bad luck to all hands.”

Thuron immediately relieved his two friends at the helm, taking the wheel himself. “That's enough for one day, mates. Go to the cabin and tidy my charts away, will ye? We need to look shipshape for our homecoming to France.”

Ben saluted smartly. “Aye aye, Cap'n. When we've cleaned the cabin up, I'll get you something to eat from the galley.”

A frown creased Thuron's brow. “No, don't do that, lad. Stay in the cabin with Ned. Stay away from the crew for a bit. Don't ask questions, Ben, just do as I say.”

A bewildered glance passed between the boy and his dog, but Ben obeyed without comment. The Frenchman watched the pair wander off to his cabin. An uneasy feeling crept over him. Had someone found out about Ben and Ned? It was a worrying problem to contemplate. Most seamen were not very well educated, but practically all of them were superstitious, particularly buccaneers. If a crew began believing rumours about having a Jonah aboard, there would be no question of reasoning with them. No matter how well a captain treated his men, there would be no stopping them once their superstitions took hold. Both he and his two lucky friends would be in grave danger.

The black Labrador peered through the partially open cabin door as he communicated with Ben. “Here comes the cap'n. I wonder what's wrong. He looks worried.”

The Frenchman entered and sat down on the bed, then beckoned to them both. “Close that door. I must speak to you.”

Ned pushed the door shut with his forepaws. Ben stared anxiously at the captain. “What's the matter, sir?”

Thuron spoke earnestly. “What you told me, Ben, about your past life. Have you repeated anything to the crew?”

Ben shook his head vigorously. “No sir, not even to Pierre. I wouldn't breathe a word to anyone, except you!”

The captain sighed heavily. “I believe you, lad. But the men are talking among themselves. They say that you and Ned are two Jonahs, bad luck for the
Marie
and all aboard her.”

Ned connected a thought to Ben. “I knew it! Didn't I tell you that Gascon would cause trouble for us?”

Ben turned to Thuron. “Ned thinks that it's Gascon who's been putting the word about.”

The Frenchman patted the black Labrador's back. “Aye, and I think he's right. Do ye remember Gascon shouting out when Pierre was locking him up? He said this ship was cursed.”

Ben agreed. “Yes, but he couldn't possibly know about me and Ned. What are we going to do about it, sir?”

Thuron thought a moment before he answered. “There's not a great deal we can do. Ben, I want you and Ned to keep yourselves away from all hands—stay in this cabin. With a bit of luck things may just die down naturally. We're not too far from France now. Perhaps they'll forget all this silly talk. With the prospect of seeing home again, and with having some gold in their pockets, all hands may forget about cursed ships and Jonahs. Will you do that for me, lad?”

Ben grasped his friend's big strong hand. “Of course I will, and so will Ned. We won't let you down, Cap'n!”

Thuron stood up and made for the door. “Well said, Ben. I knew I could trust you. I'll have Pierre bring your food from the galley. Remember now, with the exception of Pierre and me, you must talk to nobody.”

Lying with his chin on the floor, Ned watched the door close. “Just when I was learning to be a steersdog!”

Ben scratched behind the dog's ear soothingly. “Cheer up, mate, we'll be in the Bay of Biscay by this time tomorrow, and in a day or two more we'll be on dry land.”

 
Over the next few days, the boy and his dog remained confined within the captain's cabin. It was not a pleasant time for either one. Ben had a strong feeling of impending doom, reinforced by constant nightmares of Captain Vanderdecken and his accursed ship, the
Flying Dutchman.
Both Ben and Ned became afraid to sleep—every time they dropped into a slumber, the visions came pouring in. Nightmares of being back aboard that hellish craft, of the icy, mountainous seas off Cape Horn battering and pounding away at the ship. Ice-crusted ropes keening an eerie dirge as hurricane-force winds ripped and tattered sails into shreds. Faces, leering, scarred, cruel and merciless, of dead men walking the decks like zombies. An angry sky, with black and purple storm-bruised clouds boiling out of it. And Vanderdecken! His tortured mind giving voice to the curses and oaths he was bellowing aloud at the heavens.

“Ben! Ben, lad! Are ye alright? What ails ye?”

The boy opened his eyes to see the homely face of Pierre hovering above him as he received Ned's thought. “Thank goodness for Pierre. I was so trapped by that awful dream, I couldn't move a muscle to wake you!”

Ben sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I'm alright, thank you, Pierre. It was nothing but a horrible dream.”

The bosun placed fresh water and two bowls of hot stew beside the bed. “Don't worry, mate, everything will be alright. Don't pay any attention to crew's gossip. They're only simple, ignorant men who know no better. A bit like myself, I suppose.”

The boy felt a real kinship, and pity, for Thuron's bosun. “You're not an ignorant man, Pierre. You've always been good to me and Ned—Cap'n Thuron and you are the only real friends we have.”

Pierre poured water for them both to drink. “You lie back now, mate. Try an' get some sleep. Me an' the cap'n won't let ye down. Only one more night after this an' you two will set foot on French soil. I'll wager you'll both make lots o' new friends there. I've got to go now. Don't open the door to anyone except me or the cap'n.”

When they had eaten, Ben and Ned felt more relaxed. They fell asleep on the big cabin bed, the dog with his paws across the boy's legs. Ben felt himself floating in his dreams. Up and away he went, with Ned at his side, high into the soft night skies. Below he could see
La Petite Marie,
lying like a toy amid the shifting, moon-silvered waves. A euphoric calm descended upon Ben, and he felt almost like an infant, basking in the cradle of heaven, surrounded by pale glimmering stars, one of which was drifting slowly toward him. As it drew closer, he saw that it was an angel, the same one who had delivered him and Ned from the
Dutchman!
Like soft peals of bells across distant meadows, the beautiful vision's voice caressed his mind.