7
THE SHIP'S CARPENTER OF THE
ready for the ordeal to come. Even more than the hardest chore, the crew hated and detested regulation shanty singing
and hornpipe dancing. None of them were skilled at dancing, and most of them had voices totally unsuited to singing.
But it was mandatory in the British Royal Navy that a captain could order his crew to sing and dance as an exercise.
Redjack Teal ignored the fact that they were privateers; he preferred Royal Navy customs and discipline.
Highly relieved that they were not part of the exercise, the mate and bosun stood by, ready with the rope end and
belaying pin to deal with reluctant singers and lackadaisical dancers. Suppressing a snigger, the bosun cast an eye over
the waiting crew. 'Look at 'em, did ye ever see such a blushin' pack o' bearded beauties? They're enough to give any
maiden nightmares!'
Trying hard to keep a straight face, the mate replied. 'I'll wager Teal tells the carpenter to play 'The Jolly Captain.' I
think 'tis the only shanty he knows.'
The carpenter, who had overheard the conversation, spat over the side in disgust as he repeated the name of the tune. '
'Jolly Cap'n'? We're on the wrong ship t'be singin' about a jolly cap'n, mate. Stow it, here he comes!'
Teal appeared on deck. Drawing in a deep breath, he tapped his chest. 'Wonderful day, eh? Sea air, nothin' quite like
it! Bracing. Makes a man want to sing an' dance! You there, er, Carpenter, give us a rousing tune. Hmm, let me see.
Ah, 'The Jolly Captain,' I like that one. All hands look lively now, no slackers or mumblers. Carry on, player. One,
two, . . .'
Teal tapped his foot in time to the music as the carpenter played. The crew were forced to dance awkwardly, imitating
the tasks of rope hauling and capstan turning as they bellowed the lyrics discordantly.
'Ho the wind is blowin' fair, lads,
An' the sun shines on the sea,
Adieu to all our sweethearts,
An' old England on the lee.
We'll sail the oceans over,
In a good ship tight'n'free,
We've got a jolly cap'n,
An' right happy men are we!
Hurrah hurrah hurrah, me boys,
For the king's royal family,
An' for the jolly cap'n,
Who takes good care o' me!
There's skilly in the galley, lads,
An' good ale in the cask,
From far Cathay to Greenland,
What more could sailors ask.
Through storm an' tropic weather,
We'll sing away each mile,
For merry men are we to see
Our jolly cap'n smile!'
Teal made a rolling motion with his hand and called to the carpenter, 'That's the stuff, keep goin', man, play it again!'
He pointed at the mate and the bosun officiously. 'You two there, see they all step lively. Any man not singin', give
'im somethin' to sing about, hot an' heavy!'
Further west along the coast from Guayama, the little settlement of Ponce basked in the noon heat with hardly a breeze
to ripple the tall palms. Captain Rocco Madrid had anchored the
taken his crew ashore. In the village, he interrupted the locals at their siesta. To show them he was a man not to be
trifled with, he drew his sword and whipped off the head of a fighting cock that had pecked at him. The good folk of
Ponce did not scream or panic, they merely sat in the shade of their palmetto-thatched huts, staring at the pirates
silently.
Madrid glared back at them awhile, then turned and gave orders to Portugee and Boelee. 'Take half a dozen crew and
search the other side of the headland for signs of the Frenchman. I'll deal with these villagers. Don't waste time. If
Thuron hasn't been here, we'll need to move on to Guayama swiftly.'
When the men had left, Madrid pointed to an old fellow with calm, dignified features, who looked likely to be some
type of village patriarch. 'Have any ships been here? Speak.'
The man shrugged. 'Not for a long time, senor.'
Touching the man's throat with his sword point, the Spaniard loaded his voice with menace. 'If you lie, I will kill you!'
The old man did not seem impressed. He sounded matter-of-fact. 'What reason would I have to lie? No ship has been
here of late.'
Rocco Madrid had encountered Caribs like this before. He knew the old man was speaking the truth. However, he felt
the need to assert his authority before he lost face to the patriarch's impassive stare.
Rocco sniffed the air and nodded toward a fire, which was tended by two women. 'What are you cooking there?'
One of the women looked up from a cauldron she was stirring. 'Stew, with goat meat, plantains and maize.'
Rocco pricked the old man's throat with his blade. 'Get me some, and my men, too!'
The patriarch's eyes looked sideways at the woman. 'Give them the stew.'
The woman moved to start serving, but Madrid flicked the sword tip beneath the old man's chin. 'You will serve us!'
With a neat movement, the man slid away from the sword and stood erect gracefully. 'I will serve you.'
Pepe, the lookout, sat alongside Rocco, guzzling stew from an earthenware bowl. Smiling happily, he wiped grease
from his lips with the back of his hand. 'Capitano, this is good stew, yes?'
