weather fell behind in the ship's wake. It
grew progressively colder, windier, and harsher. The south Atlantic's vast, heaving ocean wastes were relentless and
hostile, with troughs deep as valleys and wavecrests like huge hills.
It took a lot of getting used to, one moment being lifted high with nought but sky around .. . next instant, falling
into perilous troughs, facing a blue-green wall of solid water. Having few duties to keep him busy was very frustrating,
and Neb sat with Denmark just inside the stern cabin doorway, forbidden to move until the captain ordered it.
Vanderdecken talked to himself a lot when studying charts and plotting his vessel's course. The boy could not
avoid hearing most of what was said.
'Yesterday we passed the coast of Brazil in the Southern Americas, somewhere 'twixt Recife and Ascension
Island. I gave orders to the steersman to take another point sou'west. In three days we should pick up the currents
running out from Rio de la Plata, sailing then closer to the coast, but keeping well out at the Gulf of San Jorge towards
Tierra del Fuego and Cape Horn, the most godforsaken place on earth.'
Neb could not help but shudder at the tone of Van-derdecken's voice. He hugged his dog close, seeking reassur-
ance in the friendly warmth of Denmark's glossy fur. The captain glanced across at him, setting down his quill pen.
'Bring food and drink, boy, and don't waste time dawdling with the hands. I need you back here. Jump to it!'
There were lines strung across the deck. Without these ropes to hold on to, a body would be swept over the side
and lost forever in seconds. Neb came staggering into the galley with his dog in tow, both of them drenched in icy
spray. Petros had wedged himself in a corner by the stove. His stomach wobbled as he strove to stand normally on the
bucking, swaying craft. The Greek cook glared hatefully at the boy, upon whom he seemed to blame all his
misfortunes.
'You creep in here like a wet ghost. What you want, dumb one?'
Neb picked up a tray from the galley table and conveyed by a series of gestures that he had come for food and
drink. With bad grace Petros slopped out three bowls of some unnamed stew he had concocted and three thick ship's
biscuits that clacked down on the tray like pieces of wood. He waved his knife menacingly in Neb's direction.
'You an' that mangy dog get food for nothing. Get out of Petros's galley before I kick you out!'
He raised a foot, but dropped it quickly. The black Labrador was standing between him and the boy, its hackles
up, showing tooth and fang, growling dangerously. Petros shrank back.
'Take that wild beast away from me, get your own coffee an' water from the crew's mess. Go on, get the dog
out!'
Neb delivered the food to Vanderdecken, then went off to the crew's mess bearing his tray.
Jamil and Sindh had just arrived in the fo'c'sle cabin after checking the rigging. As Neb came through the door,
they cast surly glances at him, another case of malcontents blaming him for their bad luck, though with some
justification in their case. Vogel, the German mate, was also suspicious of Neb and his dog. Talk among the crew was
that the captain used them both to spy on the crew. Not wanting to lose his position as mate, Vogel elbowed Jamil and
Sindh aside, allowing the boy to fill two bowls with coffee and one with water for the dog. 'When you two have had
coffee, I'll chain you back in the anchor locker,' he said to the seamen. 'Kapitan's orders. Hurry up, boy. There be
cold, thirsty men waiting to get a drink!'
The tone of the mate's voice caused Denmark to turn and snarl. Vogel sat quite still, as if he was ignoring the
dog, though it was obvious he was scared to move. 'Get that hound out of here, back to the kapitan's cabin!'
Neb nodded meekly, not wanting to upset the big German. Sindh took his turn at the coffee urn, commenting,
'Bad luck to have dog aboard ship, eh, Jamil?'
The Arab grinned wickedly. 'Aye, bad luck. This ship be all bad luck, poor fortune for poor sailors. Wrong time,
bad season to be going 'round Cape Horn. You know that, Mister Vogel?'
The mate stared at the hawkfaced Arab. 'Never a good time for going 'round Horn, no time. I know of ships that
never get 'round. Many try once, twice. For long time. Ugh! They run out of food, starve. You see that bad ocean out
there, dumb boy? That is like a smooth lake to the seas 'round Tierra del Fuego and Cape Horn!' Neb placed his
drinks on the tray and maneuvered carefully out of the cabin, with Jamil's parting remarks in his ears.
'Ship won't run out of food if it gets caught in the seas— we got fresh meat on board. Dog! You ever eat dog
before, Mister Vogel?'
'No, but I hear from those who have, in Cathay China— they say dog make good meat, taste fine. Hahahaha!'
Neb crossed the spray-washed deck with a set jaw and a grim face, Denmark at his heels.
Winter came howling out of the Antarctic wastes like a pack of ravening wolves. Once the
had passed the Islands of Malvinas the ocean changed totally. It was as if all the waters of the world were met in one
place, boiling, foaming, hurling ice and spume high into the air, with no pattern of tide or current, a maelstrom of
maddened waves. Beneath a sky hued like lead and basalt, gales shrieked through the ship's rigging, straining every
stitch of canvas sail, wailing eerily through the taut ropelines until the vessel thrummed and shuddered to its very keel.
Every hatch and doorway was battened tight, every movable piece of gear aboard lashed hard down. Only those
needed to sail the ship stayed out on deck, the rest crouched fearfully in the fo'c'sle head cabin, fear stunning
