The Pirates in the Deep Green Sea (15 page)

The porpoises behaved very well. They swam slowly till Timothy and Hew had found their balance, and then they dived and came up, and dived again, in an easy movement like that of horses on a merry-go-round. It was very pleasant to be lifted from the sea into the bright summer air, and carried swiftly down through the sunlit water, and out again in wreaths of spray; and Hew and Timothy urged their mounts to swim more quickly. The other porpoises kept pace with them, and William Button and Henry String, on the basking-sharks, followed close behind.

But William Button and Henry String did not behave so well as the porpoises. After a few minutes William winked at Henry, and bringing their sharks alongside Timothy and Hew, as though to challenge them to a race, they leaned out and pricked the porpoises with their lances. The porpoises leapt
wildly out of the water, then rushed through the sea at a furious pace. And now their movement, as they dived and came up again, was very violent indeed. They seemed to be running for their lives, and at the same time jumping over dreadful obstacles.

Timothy and Hew could do nothing but hold on with their legs as tightly as they were able, and try to keep their balance. They had no means of controlling the porpoises, and though they shouted ‘Stop! Stop!' whenever their heads were above water, the porpoises paid no attention at all. After a little while the boys began to feel curiously tired, and rather dizzy, and very uncomfortable. They felt hot and nervous, they wanted to yawn and lie down. Timothy glanced at Hew, and saw that he was very pale; and Hew thought Timothy was looking green. They realised, then, what was the matter with them. They were both sea-sick.

Timothy was the first to fall off, and slowly he sank through the sea until he came to rest on a muddy bottom between two huge boulders. He lay there for a long time, and was very unhappy. He felt far too ill to wonder what had happened to Hew, or where William Button and Henry String had gone. He was all alone, he was lost on the bottom of the ocean; but he was too miserable to worry about that.

When at last he felt a little better he swam slowly here and there, hoping to meet someone. But in that part of the ocean, it seemed, he was the only living person. He could not find the Powder Monkeys, he could not find Hew, and for two or three hours he did not even meet a fish. He rose to the surface and swam to and fro in the evening light, but the surface of the sea was as empty as its depths. The sun was setting, and by now he was feeling not merely sad and lonely and a little frightened, but extremely hungry. So when the sun sank below the horizon he swam down to look for a sleeping-shell.

His luck changed, and after swimming rapidly for about half an hour he saw another notice board warning fishes to keep out, and beside it, in a pleasant little valley on the floor of the sea, the curving outline of a sleeping-shell. He looked both inside and out for the caretaker—every shell, he had learnt, was looked after by an elderly crab—but there was no one there. Crabs, he thought, did not make very conscientious caretakers, but perhaps they were the only creatures who would take on so dull a job. He was disappointed, however, that there was no one to talk to, and he was in a melancholy mood when he went to the cupboard to look for his supper. But he made a good meal of shrimp paste and bloater paste and lobster paste, and choosing a comfortable-looking bed in the innermost, narrow part of the shell he lay down and quickly fell asleep.

Some hours later he woke in a great fright, and heard voices at the entrance. There was a man's voice, loud and rough, and the voice of a whimpering little boy.

‘Look alive, now,' the man was saying. ‘Look alive, you miserable scrap of skin and bone, and find a couple of soft-heads and hang 'em up in the proper place. The Captain likes plenty of light, and you'd know that by now if you had any brain in that half-pint head of yours.'

‘Yes, Mr. Kelly,' the boy's voice answered. ‘Yes, I do remember. I've got the soft-heads here and I was just going to hang them up. I was, honestly I was.'

‘Stow your gab,' said the man.

‘Yes, Mr. Kelly,' said the boy, ‘yes, I was just going to.'

A moment later the outer half of the shell was filled with a strange light and Timothy, peering cautiously from the narrow inner part that was still in darkness, saw that a wretched-looking little fellow—whom he took to be a Cabin Boy—had hung up a couple of fish of curious appearance that gave out a silvery light and served the purpose of a lamp. They were the soft-heads, he supposed, of which the man had spoken.

Then the man came in and Timothy saw, to his alarm, that he was dressed rather like the pirates whom Sam Sturgeon had discovered in the wreck. His vest was red—though not so red as theirs, but rather the colour of brick—and his trousers were dark brown with ragged edges. He was short and fat and very ugly, and looked as though, in private life, he might have been a hangman.

‘Now bring the Captain's stool,' he said, ‘and his
own particular mug with the picture of roses on it, because I dare say he'll be tired after his long day's march.'

‘Yes, Mr. Kelly,' said the boy in his whimpering voice, and at that moment another figure appeared at the entrance to the shell.

This was a tall, thin man with sloping shoulders like a bottle, and a long cruel face, the colour of cheese. He was dressed in the same colours as Mr. Kelly, but also wore, hanging from his shoulders, a short cloak that matched his vest, and a brass hilted cutlass dangled at his belt. As he came in, Mr. Kelly bowed to him in a very polite and humble manner, though he could not bow deeply, as his paunch prevented him.

The Cabin Boy brought a little three-legged stool made of whale-bone, and the newcomer sat down and said in a mournful voice, ‘I haven't the strength I used to have, Darby, my dear. I'm not the man I was. I get tired too easily nowadays, and the doctor tells me that my vital organs are much impaired.'

‘But your brain's as good as ever it was, Captain! You've still got the sharpest wits and the cunningest mind in the ocean. When it comes to a problem that no one else can solve, why, what do we all say? Send for Inky Poops, and he'll tell us what to do! That's what we say, Captain, and that's the truth of it.'

Timothy, watching them from the dark and narrow part of the shell, felt his heart beat quickly with fear and excitement. So this was Inky Poops! Here, within a few feet of him, was one of the pirate captains who were plotting to win control of the sea, and from the look of him he would not show much mercy to anyone he found spying on him. Timothy lay very quietly, keeping well within the darkness of the shell, and listened eagerly to all that was said, and tried not to think what might happen to him if he were caught.

Inky Poops was pleased by his lieutenant's flattery, and over his face that was the colour of cheese there spread a horrible expression which
was probably meant to be a smile; and his mouth opened a little to disclose two long yellow teeth, one on either side of it.

‘You're too kind, Darby, my dear,' he said, ‘too kind by half, though what you say is true enough. I can still out-talk these dull, old timber-headed tarpaulins that we live among. I can outwit them, and out-smart them, as I always have out-smarted them from the first time I ever went to sea as a little boy helping the steward in a Bristol ship called the
Betsey Jane
. I started on the bottom rung, Darby, and I've worked my own way up the ladder. On that first voyage I spent all my time down in the bowels of the ship, in a little cock-pit that smelt of rancid butter and mouldy cheese, with a smoky lantern on the table in front of me, and a pen in my hand. I kept the steward's accounts, and kept them well; for he made a profit, and so did I.'

It was during this period of his life that Captain Poops acquired his yellow complexion and his nickname. After living for two or three years among bad cheese, his face had become the same colour; and because he was rather untidy in his habits, there was often more ink on his face and hands than there was upon his ledger, especially after rough weather. But Darby Kelly was not so tactless as to remind him of such vulgar details.

‘It's an example to us all, is a life like yours,' he said, ‘and it ought to fill any young boy with ambition to go and do likewise.—You, you miserable, pin-headed little squeaker, have you got the
Captain's rum yet?' he shouted to the Cabin Boy.

‘Yes, Mr. Kelly, sir, here it is.—It's your own special rum, Captain, in your own special mug.'

And he gave the Captain a large china mug which was very prettily decorated with red roses and forget-me-nots.

‘A wonderful career,' repeated Darby Kelly, ‘and all due to the sheer power of intellect.'

Captain Poops drank a little rum and said, ‘But I've never got puffed-up with pride, have I, Darby? No, and I never shall, for pride is a great sin. I'll always remember that once upon a time I was just a miserable little boy, like this little boy here, that we call Dingy, because he looks as dirty as if he lived in a coal-mine and not in the nice clean sea.'—Captain Poops caught Dingy by his left ear and twisted it so hard that Dingy began to cry.—‘Yes, that's how I began, and seven years later I was master of my own ship.'

‘Having first persuaded the bo'sun to murder the captain and both the mates while they were fast asleep,' said Darby Kelly with an appreciative chuckle.

‘He was a rough, brutal man, was the bo'sun,' said Captain Poops. ‘I couldn't do such a thing myself. I can't bear the sight of blood, as you know. But when it so happened that the captain and his mates were no more, I had to take command of the ship for the sake of all the others who were aboard. They were simple souls, all of them, and
I was the only one there with education. Education is a very useful thing, Darby, if you've got the brain to make use of it.'

‘And what a brain yours is!' said Darby Kelly. ‘Why, if it hadn't been for you, Captain, it wouldn't have been no use for Dan Scumbril to set himself up against Davy Jones. It was you that showed him the way, and I hope you'll remember that when he comes here to-night. I don't say nothing against Dan Scumbril. He was as good a pirate as ever strung up a ship's company to their own yard-arms, and he could drink more rum than any other sailorman from Barbados to the Dry Tortugas. But he hasn't the intellect that you've got, Captain Poops, and you ought to make that clear to him. You ought to make it clear that you're the senior officer in these operations, and Dan Scumbril ought to salute you when he comes aboard.'

Timothy nearly betrayed himself when he heard that Dan Scumbril was coming to the shell. He was suddenly breathless, and his knees felt weak and shaky; but he was so excited that he thrust his head beyond the shadow in which he lay to see how much room there was, and where Captain Scumbril would be likely to sit. By good fortune no one noticed him, and he quickly withdrew again. Both Darby Kelly and Captain Poops were now much occupied with their own thoughts, and Captain Poops appeared to be rather worried. He finished the rum in his rosy mug, and told Dingy to bring him some more.

‘He's a rough man, a violent man, a man without any conscience,' he said solemnly. ‘It won't do to offend Dan Scumbril, for he's not a man you can drive. He's got to be led. I'll have to use all my cleverness to-night, Darby. I'll have to be as cunning as a serpent, and as sweet as honey, and as gentle as my own mother. Oh, it does me good to think of her! I had the best mother in the world, Darby, and it was she that gave me the strength and ambition to pursue my great career. I owe everything to my mother.'

‘I don't owe mine nothing but five shillings,' said Darby, ‘which is what I stole from her purse when I ran away to sea.'

‘That was very wrong of you, Darby, to steal from your mother. Very, very wrong of you! I never stole a penny from mine. When I was a little boy I never stole anything except from my poor old father. He was stone-blind, you see, and that made it easy.'

‘You had all the advantages, Captain,' said Darby Kelly with a look of envy.

‘But I had ideals too,' said Inky Poops, ‘and I've got 'em still. I'm as full of ideals as a Christmas stocking's full of presents for the little ones. That's the sort of man I am: I'm a Christmas stocking for all humanity! And when I think of the way that things are mismanaged down here on the bottom of the sea, it makes me mad! To think of Davy Jones and all his wealth, and the fat mermaids that look after him, and the sailors that stand in long rows
and salute him—oh! it fills my heart with bile just to imagine it! And those great clumsy knots that tie the Parallels of Latitude and Longitude together—why, they're all out of date, they're old-fashioned, they're no good in times like these, and we've got to change them. And we're going to change them, Darby. We're going to make fast the parallels with fine new modern knots of our own invention.'

‘That's the spirit, Captain,' said Darby Kelly. ‘I'm all for idealism too, because often it pays you better than anything else. But keep your eye on Dan Scumbril, and don't let him pretend that they're his ideals when in point of fact they're all your own; and you ought to get the profit from them.'

‘I've made my plans, Darby, be sure of that, and by and large my plan's to send Dan Scumbril to the north while I go to the south and take possession of Davy Jones's Locker and Davy Jones himself. I've got three hundred good men here, well-armed and properly mounted. Dan Scumbril's coming with three hundred more and after we've conferred together in a friendly manner, as I hope, we up anchor and set out to win the sea. And that means, for a start, to get command of the northern parallels, and also to capture Davy Jones and the great treasure he carries with him.'

‘If I know Dan Scumbril,' said Darby Kelly, ‘he'll have an eye on the treasure.'

‘I've got two eyes on it,' said Inky Poops.
‘Wealth is the sinews of war, Darby, and very nice in many other ways as well, and I want Davy Jones himself because I've got some old scores to pay back and I won't be happy till I've paid them. Now, from what I've heard he's only got a few men with him at his summer court — no more than a couple of score according to my information. And so I've come to the conclusion that we could serve our purpose best by splitting our forces, and I'll go south, as I said before, while Dan Scumbril takes a long voyage into high latitudes where it's likely to be rather cold and not very comfortable.'