hammock slid into the sea and vanished, the body weighted down by a couple of roundshot placed at the man's feet before the hammock was finally sewn up.
Brewster stood still, Prayer Book in hand, his vestments tugged by the wind, while the next body was placed under the flag on the plank. Once again he read the funeral service, and he had a happy knack of making it sound fresh; there was no sense that he was repeating parrot-fashion a service that he would have to repeat five times.
Finally the plank tilted for the fifth and last time and Brewster led the men in a hymn. He had chosen one which was a favourite. The men sang it with gusto, and Ramage realized that as soon as they dispersed they would be chattering among themselves, happily, the last few grim minutes forgotten. It was not that these men were cold-blooded or hard-hearted: death was something they had to take in their stride. Dwelling on it would probably drive a man mad, so he mourned at the funeral, sang a hymn and meant it, and then went about his business, ready to go into action again.
CHAPTER TEN
Ramage took his Journal from the drawer. He noted the latitude - the Dido was now sweeping south and already down level with Guadeloupe - and the longitude, which put them about seven hundred miles short of Barbados.
He still had to write his report on the Junon and Sylphe affair, ready for the admiral at Barbados, and he knew he must get it done quickly because the details were already fading in his memory.
How was Eames getting on? He decided he did not envy him: getting the Heron back to Plymouth with all those prisoners on board, while shepherding the Requin, would be a constant worry. Apart from fearing that his own prisoners would rise on him, he must watch the Requin all the time, looking for signs of trouble on board. Ramage shrugged: Eames was quite content because - as he had freely admitted - he had never been lucky with prize money, and now he had head money, too, for all the prisoners he had taken from the Sylphe: head money - calculated on the number of prisoners taken - which had come without having to fire a single shot. Ramage could have made a claim for a share, but had decided against it because Eames had put up a spirited fight against the Requin.
Distances, noon positions, wind directions and strength, courses steered: the facts required for his Journal were mundane: nowhere could he write how exciting it was to be commanding a ship of the line sweeping down to the West Indies in the Trade winds, feeling alive as the ship pitched and rolled her way westward and the sun was warmer every day.
Nor, for instance, could one mention the flying fish spurting likesmall silver arrows out of the sea and following the crests and troughs until they vanished into the water again. Occasionally they flew high enough to land on deck - twenty or thirty feet - to flap about helplessly until snatched up by seamen who would then try to bribe the cook to boil them. They looked like fat herrings with wings and had much the same colouring and, one of the men had once told Ramage, much the same taste.
The men liked watching the schools of dolphins which played round the ship from time to time. Play was the right word: they raced and cavorted round the ship like children playing chase in a street; they delighted in swimming fast across the Dido's bow, as if in competition to see which could pass closest to the stem without actually touching. Their speed was amazing: they made the Dido, doing eight knots, look as though she was stopped in the water.
And then, hundreds of miles from the nearest land, there were the birds - Mother Carey's chickens, swooping low over the water but never seeming to eat or, for that matter, rest. And then came the - to Ramage - exciting day when they sighted their first tropic bird. All white, it always flew with strong wing beats, and was usually going east or west. The first he had seen this voyage passed eastward at eight o'clock in the morning and returned westward at six in the evening. Where had it come from? Where was it going?
Ramage had often see colonies of them on the islands: they nested among the cliffs away from people - he remembered seeing them on the west coast of St Eustatius, the north-western side of St Martin and the south and west sides of Antigua, but one rarely sailed from one island to another without at least one of them flying overhead. The odd thing was one could never determine their destination: they never seemed to be bound for any particular island, yet they always flew in a dead straight line. Then there were the whales. One would suddenly become conscious of them surfacing almost alongside, silent and enormous, but occasionally one heard and saw them spouting water into the air. They, like the dolphins, were not alarmed by the sight of a ship of the line ploughing through the water: in fact the bulk seemed to attract them closer, instead of frightening them off.
But one of the joys of a seventy-four, as far as Ramage was concerned, was 'the captain's walk', the balcony built outside the cabin across the stern and stretching from one side to the other. He could pace along it, looking down at the Dido's curling wake, and he found himself fascinated by the loops and whorls the ship left in the water. At night there was often heavy phosphorescence, when the Dido would seem to be leaving a wide trail of light in the water. At times it was light enough to read a newspaper, and once when talking to Aitken out there he had been able to see every detail of the Scotsman's features.
More surprising in the darkness were the antics of the fish caught in the Dido's wake: he could see them swimming under water, leaving trails of phosphorescent light. It was ironic that one only saw them in the dark of night: in daylight the reflection from the top of the water prevented any sight of them. Then occasionally in daylight - as if to remind one that the sea was unfriendly - Ramage saw the fin of a shark cutting through the water. And from time to time there would be a sudden flurry as dozens of flying fish suddenly took to the air, or other fish leapt out of the water in a desperate attempt to escape, as some predator attacked them. The effect was the same as throwing a heavy stone into the middle of a pond - the splashes of escaping fish radiated outwards like the spokes of a wheel.
Stafford put down his mug and pointed at Gilbert. 'Yus, you're going to enjoy the islands. Why, you'll be sucking the monkey with the best of them!'
'Shall I? Why should I like the islands?'
'They're so beautiful - every one different. And the sea so clear that in places you can see the bottom in ten fathoms.'
'But what is this monkey?' Gilbert inquired.
'Ha, that's a treat in store. You know what a coconut is like?'
Gilbert shook his head, so Stafford described it.
'This shell,' he added, 'is full o' what they call milk, or coconut water, and it's very refreshing to drink. You just cut off the top o' the shell or punch an 'ole in it.'
'What's all that got to do with monkeys?'
'Well, last time I saw it done a young midshipman was taking a party of us on shore, and it was very hot. Very green, this young lad; he'd never heard of sucking the monkey. So we asked him if we could buy some of this old lady's coconuts, so we could drink the coconut water. He agreed, so we paid up and soon all of us were sucking the monkey.'
'Oh, I see: drinking the coconut water is called sucking the monkey,' Gilbert said. 'I don't think that's very funny.'
'It's not. We weren't drinking coconut water! We were drinking rum: what the old ladies sell is not a coconut full of coconut water but a coconut filled with rum - that's sucking the monkey! The poor midshipman never did find out why we suddenly got so cheerful.'
'Drinking rum in the hot sun just gives you a headache,' Gilbert protested.
'It does,' Stafford agreed. 'I was a lot younger then. But you've come across it, haven't you Jacko?'
The American nodded. 'I remember once every man in a working party had two coconuts each and got so drunk he couldn't walk straight. Neither the midshipman nor the first lieutenant had ever heard of sucking the monkey, so they never did discover how the men got at the rum.'
'Rum must be very cheap.'
'Yus, and easier to find than water. You'll see the sugar growing - like 'normous grass when it's ripe - and you'll get fed up with the stink of molasses, which is what they make from the sugar. Strange to think that rum comes from stuff that looks like overgrown grass.'
'Very overgrown,' Jackson said. 'It stands higher than a man when it's ready to be cut.'
'That's what the slaves are kept for,' Stafford explained. 'They plant and weed and then cut the cane. Hard and hot work in the boiling sun.'
'What else is there beside sucking the monkey?' Gilbert inquired.
'If you mean tricks to play on midshipmen, that's about the only one. But to eat - there's more fruit than you could dream of. Oranges you buy by the kitbag, then there's bananas and pawpaw - just you wait until you go to market: the old ladies have it all spread out on the ground and you just choose what you want.'
'But I hear there are things like yellow fever and blackwater which take you off in a couple of days . . .'
'Oh yus, there's plenty of that. I know of one frigate that lost thirty men from yellow fever in a week. Ho yus, yer got to stay alive if yer going to enjoy the West Indies.'
'How do you do that?'
Stafford shrugged his shoulders. 'Yellow fever can strike whether you've just come out or you've been in the islands for years - so I'm told, though I reckon the longer you've been out, the less chance o' getting it. But there are a lot more fevers, and bad cuts can go gangrenous very quickly, so watch out. Mr Bowen's been out here a lot and he's very good - about as good a surgeon as you could wish for. He won't make much work for that parson - leastways, I don't 'spect so. That parson's got a burying sort o' voice, I must say. He let himself go when we buried those five chaps. Still,' he added philosophically, 'if you're going ter go, he gives you yer money's worth.'
'I must say you make it all sound very inviting,' Gilbert said mildly. 'If the rum doesn't get you, the yellow fever will, and if you cut yourself there's always gangrene!'
Stafford laughed and said: 'Don't get too depressed. The West Indies is the favourite station for Jacko and Rosey and me - better than the Mediterranean. You'll like it - if you live long enough!'
Barbados came up out of the haze, long and low on the western horizon, just as Southwick had calculated. As usual the outline of the island was faint, blurred by the spray blowing inland as the rollers crashed into the rocky shore, rollers which were uninterrupted as they swept across the Atlantic from the coast of Africa. Ramage's clerk, Luckhurst, had made a fair copy of the captain's report on the actions against the Sylphe, Junon and Requin, and Ramage had signed it. The weekly accounts were up to date and Ramage had inspected the midshipmen's journals, which were supposed to be filled in daily and shown to the captain each week. As far as Ramage could see they were an indictment of the midshipmen's literacy: only two of them had produced anything which could pass for a journal. On the other hand, one of them was almost outstanding: he had drawn in charts showing how the Dido had manoeuvred in the actions against the frigate and the ship of the line, and he had done a watercolour painting showing the Junon blowing up. It was what a journal should be. Ramage had rejected six others, telling Aitken to warn the owners that
