One pf the men detailed dropped his bundle on the table and looked down at Strachan and the others. He was tall and well muscled, and his broad chest was covered in a deep mat of dark hair. He seemed quite unconcerned about his nakedness and the rasp in Belsey's introduction.
He said calmly, 'Harry Onslow is the name, mates.' He looked over his shoulder. 'An' this is Pook, another good topman from the Cassius!' He spat out the name of the flagship,. and Belsey who was hovering nearby strode across to the crowded table.
'Pay attention!' He stared round the watching faces. 'Don't you start thinking that you've got a real fine fellow here, my friends!' He gave a short grin. 'Turn round, Onslow!' He moved his cane menacingly. 'Just get a bit o' sunlight over You!'
Onslow turned his body obediently so that the light played across his back. Something like a hollow groan came from the packed sailors, and Belsey added coldly, 'Take a good look, afore you start listening to the like o' this scum!'
Allday tightened his lips as he saw the savagely mutilated skin on Onslow's body. He could not imagine how many times the man had been flogged, but that he had survived was surely a miracle.
The whole of his back, from the nape of the neck to the top of his buttocks was ugly with broken and uneven weals, pale and obscene against his tanned arms and legs.
Ferguson looked away, his mouth quivering.
Even Pochin, a hard spectator at many floggings, said thickly, 'Ere, mate, put yer shirt on!'
The other man, Pook, was thin and wiry, and although his back also displayed the clawing embrace of the cat, it was nothing compared with Onslow's.
Belsey sauntered away followed by the other new seamen.
Onslow pulled the shirt over his head and shook out the clean new trousers. Calmly he remarked, 'What is so different about your captain? Does he like his men to look pretty?' He had a lazy Norfolk accent, and seemed quite unmoved by the horror his scars had unleashed.
Ferguson said quickly, 'He's different. He stopped Betts being flogged.' He tried to smile. 'You'll be all right aboard this ship, Onslow!'
Onslow looked him over without expression. 'Who asked you then?'
'All captains are swine!' Pook was tugging on his trousers, and then strapped a wicked-looking knife around his waist. 'We've had a bellyful in the Cassius!'
Onslow said, 'Betts, did you say? What happened to him?' 'He attacked the purser.' Pochin looked thoughtful. 'Cap'n Bolitho refused to 'ave 'im flogged.'
'Where is he now?' The man's eyes were dark and unwinking.
'Dead. Went over the side with the main t'gallant!'
' 'Well, then.' Onslow pushed Ferguson off the bench and squatted in his place. 'It didn't do him much good, did it?'
Old Strachan folded his carving in a piece of sailcloth and said vaguely, 'But the lad's right. Cap'n Bolitho promised that he would see us fair if we pulled our weight. We'll be taking a run ashore soon.' He squinted towards the hatch. 'Just think of it! A walk through them hills, and maybe a drop o' somethin' from a friendly native!'
Ferguson tried again. As if he had to believe in somebody to retain his own sanity. 'And Mr. Herrick said he would try and get a letter put aboard the next homebound ship for me. Just to tell my wife I'm alive and well.' His expression was pitiful.
'You can read and write, can you, little man? Onslow studied him calmly. 'You could be very useful to me.'
Allday smiled to himself. Already the noise and rumble of voices was returning to the messes. Maybe Ferguson was right. Things might be better from now on. He hoped so, if only for Ferguson 's peace of mind.
Pochin asked sourly, 'How did you get the lash, Onslow?'
'Oh, the usual.' Onslow was still watching Ferguson, his face deep in thought.
Pook said ingratiatingly, 'E-kicked a bosun's matel An' afore that he…'
Onslow's mouth opened and shut like a trap. 'Stow it! It's what happens fro n now on that counts!' Then he became calm again. 'I was a boy when I came out here ten years back. For years I've been waiting for -that last voyage home, but it never comes. I've been shipped from one captain to the next. I've stood my watches, and I've faced broadsides more times than I can remember. No, mates, there's no let-up for our sort. The only way out is sewn up in a hammock, or take our own course like the lads in the Andiron.'
He had every man's attention now. He stood up, his face set and brooding. 'They chose to leave the King's service. To make a new life for themselves out here, or in the Americas!'
Strachan shook his grey head. 'That's piracy!'
'You're too old to matter!' There was a bite in Onslow's voice. 'I've – yet to find a fair captain, or one who thought beyond prize money and glory for himself!'
At that moment shadows darted across the hatches and the air was filled with twittering pipes.
Pochin groaned. 'Blasted Spithead nightingales! Do they never get tired of blowin' 'em?'
The voices of the bosun's mates echoed round the berth deck. 'All hands! All hands! Stand by to make sail! Anchor party muster on the fo'c's'le!'
Ferguson stared blankly at the sunlight on the ladder, his mouth hanging open. 'He promised! He promised me I could got a letter home!'
Onslow clapped him on the shoulder. 'And he'll promise a lot more, I shouldn't wonder, lad!' He faced the others, unsmiling. 'Well, mates! Do you understand now what I was saying?'
Josling, a bosun's mate, appeared on the ladder, his face running with sweat. 'Are yew deaf? Jump to it therel A taste of my little rope for the last on deck!'
There was a stampede of running feet as the men came to their senses and surged up to the sunlight.
'Stand by the capstan!' The orders clouted their ears. 'Hands aloft! Loose tops'ls!'
Allday saw Ferguson staring wildly at the green, inviting island with its low, undulating hills. He felt a lump in his own throat now. It was not' unlike Cornwall in the summertime, he thought.
Then he touched Ferguson 's arm and said kindly, `Come on, lad. I'll race you aloft!'
Vibart's booming voice filled the air. `Loose heads'ls! Man the braces!'
Allday reached the mainyard and ran quickly along the footrope to join the others lying across the thick spar. Below him he could see the busy deck, and over his shoulder he could identify Bolitho's tall figure by the taffrail.
From forward Herrick yelled, `Anchor's aweigh, sir!'
Allday dug his toes into the footrope as the sail billowed and filled beneath him and the great yard moved ponderously to catch the wind. Already the land was sliding away, and by the time the sails were set and trimmed it would be lost in the haze. Perhaps for ever, he thought.
7. A SPANISH LUGGER
Herrick moved slightly around the mizzen mast in an effort to remain in the shadow cast by its thick trunk. He found that his eyes were constantly slitted against the harsh glare, his tongue continually moving across his parched lips as the forenoon watch dragged slowly to its conclusion.
Above his head the sails hung limp and lifeless, and there was not a breath of wind to ruffle the flat, empty expanse of sea, upon which the becalmed frigate lay motionless and hushed.
He plucked at his grubby shirt, immediately irritated by the futility of his action. It felt sodden with sweat, yet his whole being seemed to cry out for moisture. He could feel the deck seams gripping stickily at his shoes, and once when he had inadvertently rested his hand on one of the quarterdeck ninepounders he had almost cried out with pain. The barrel had been as hot as if it had been firing without pause. His lips curled bitterly at the thought. There had been no action, nor was there likely to be under these impossible conditions.
After leaving Antigua the Phalarope had sailed directly to her allotted station, but apart from sighting another patrolling frigate and then later the bulky shape of the Cassius, she had kept the sea to herself.
And now, to top it all, the frigate was becalmed. For twenty-four hours she had idled aimlessly. above her reflection,. carried at will by the sluggish currents, the lookouts worn and weary from staring hopefully for a squall
