Galleon (14 page)

“Stepping a new mast and sending up the topmast, and then swaying up the yard, followed by a few hundred miles slogging to windward – that’ll soon remind them of the happy life of a sailor!” Thomas growled.

“How awful the
Griffin
looks without the mast,” Aurelia said. “Just an old box sitting in the water…”

Ned pointed ahead to where a group of men standing in a line seemed to be performing some complicated dance. “There’s our new mast, lying on the ground with the men shaping it up with their adzes.”

Diana, riding astride and dressed in a long skirt which had been joined and seamed down the middle so that she wore what were in effect voluminous breeches, said: “Don’t let’s stop to watch them. I feel faint even watching a man pick up an adze. It always seems he’s bound to chop off his foot.”

“They don’t, though.”

“They do, though, Thomas. Remember when we went down to that shipyard in Bursledon – one of the two brothers who owned it walked with a crutch.”

“Perhaps his wife had stamped on his bunion.”

“An adze, while he was shaping up a keelson. And don’t argue, Thomas, because I asked him while you were flirting with the wife.”

“Lobb has only just started on the mast,” Ned said.

“How can you tell from this distance?” Aurelia wanted to know.

“That two-wheeled thing with an arch-shaped axle that they use to move tree trunks – you can still see the track of the horses’ hooves and the wheels in the dust. It rained a couple of days ago – we passed through the muddy patches – but those marks in the dust–”

“Yes, my dear,” Aurelia said amiably, “but how long before we can sail?”

“Lobb will tell us, but from here it looks as if there’s at least another week’s work with the adze. Lobb’s chosen a thick tree so that he’ll be left with the heartwood, but there’s a lot to be trimmed off.”

Lobb, waiting for them, looked anxious: the first he knew that Ned was returning to the ship was when he saw the approaching column of men. The former second mate of the
Peleus
and the mate of the
Griffin
, and acting as master while Ned was away, was a Man of Kent, coming from Little Chart, near Ashford. He had a particular loyalty to the Yorke family, Ned had once explained to Aurelia with a straight face, because as a young man before being transported he had regularly poached over the Yorke estate at Godmersham, a few miles away.

Ned slowed down to tell Saxby to take the men straight out to the
Griffin
– Lobb was bound to have a couple of boats at the little jetty – and warn every man that could handle an adze that he would be needed tomorrow. In the meantime, half a dozen men could return the horses and mules to the livery stable and bring the account back with them.

“Now,” he said to Thomas, “let’s see what Lobb has to tell us about his problems.”

Lobb had plenty to say. After raising his hat to Aurelia and Diana, and helping them down from their horses while, much to the two women’s amusement, Ned and Thomas dismounted painfully, swearing that every muscle in their thighs had been torn adrift, he came up to Ned and shook his head. “T’ain’t the mast, sir. There’s so many shakes in the yard we need a new one. It’s this heat driving down on the wood all and every day: just dries out the natural oils and the wood cracks like thrice-baked biscuit.”

Ned looked over the where the men balancing on the top of the tree trunk were chopping with the adzes as though hoeing a trench.

“You haven’t found anything suitable to shape up?”

Lobb waved at the forests covering the hills across from the anchorage. “Trouble is, most of this timber is foreign to me. I’m all right shaping up a piece of fir for the mast and spruce for a yard, but damn me if I know out here what’s springy enough for a yard.”

“Aye,” said Saxby, “might be springy enough when you cut it, but will it stiffen up in three months’ time, when the wood starts drying? A stiff yard will go bang on us in the middle of a gale o’ wind.”

Thomas said: “If I can be of help: I know just the tree for yards. Stays springy in all seasons, doesn’t get shakes as long as you keep it well oiled, and we’ll be able to find one of a decent diameter, so you don’t wear out the adzes trimming it to size.”

“Thanks,” said Ned. “Why don’t you call the men, and keep back a couple of horses so that–”

Thomas looked at Lobb. “Shall we go now? We’ll find a tree and you can mark it. I want to sail tonight.”

Lobb looked startled but hailed the men collecting the horses and mules into a string. “Wait a moment, Sir Thomas, I’ll find myself an axe.”

The deck of the
Griffin
looked like an abandoned ship’s chandler: coils of thick tarred rope represented the shrouds; heavy wooden discs each with three holes drilled in them, forming the corners of a triangle, were newly tarred and piled up in a pyramid. They were the deadeyes fitted to the lower end of the shrouds so that laniards could be reeved through the holes and those in the chainplates in the hull and hauled tight so that each shroud was taut as it did its job of supporting the mast.

The yard condemned by Lobb was lying along the deck, almost obscenely naked to a seaman’s eye now it was stripped of sail, halyard and braces, as well as the rope suspended under the boom, the stirrups, on which men stood hunched over the yard as they reefed or furled the sail.

Ned walked over and inspected the spar. Lobb had not been exaggerating, and the answer to the question “Why did no one spot it earlier?” was that at sea the wood was protected from the sun much of the time by the sail, but it was routine in harbour to send down the sail so that chafed areas, rips and worn reef points could be repaired.

A month or more at anchor here, with the sun scorching down on the unprotected wood, produced those shakes, or splits. Any mast or spar was bound to get shakes – that was natural, and the reason why spars were oiled, so that water running down into the cracks would not set up rot, but this yard had seen too many scorching hurricane seasons; for too many days the sun had beaten down on it at noon, when a standing man cast a shadow no wider than the brim of his hat. Yes, some of the shakes were wide enough for a man to slip in a hand edgeways.

Ned thought of beating nearly a thousand miles to windward to reach St Martin and Anguilla. Many times these Trade winds blew as strong as a gale but out of a clear sky and kicked up a big head sea. That was when every mast and spar and inch of rigging and yard of canvas was tested. Too many captains trying to make do had to limp back into port under jury rig, often with hatches stove in and cargo damaged, or else nothing more was heard of them or their ships…

There was the sail spread out over the poop, with half a dozen men working on it, each with a rawhide leather palm looped over his right hand to give a solid backing to the needle, like a monstrous thimble, as he stitched.

Ned realized that the sail was draped over skylights and the companionway, acting like an enormous blanket. The saloon and their cabins would be scorching hot, starved of any cooling breeze. Saxby, who was standing with him, grunted and said: “Think you’d better come and have supper with us in the
Phoenix
, sir. I’m sure Mrs Judd would be honoured. We’ll all be able to watch the
Peleus
sail. Might even give her a gun or two in salute – just enough to scare the Governor!”

Ned had just noticed that Aurelia was hurrying up the companionway, obviously hot and flustered. “Oh Ned, it’s an oven down there!” she said. “It’ll take hours to cool down.”

Ned glanced at Saxby: “We accept your invitation,” he said, and explained to Aurelia, who looked relieved. “Tell the men to move the sail when they’ve finished for the day,” she told Ned. “We must get some air down to our cabin, or we’ll never sleep tonight.”

Saxby and Mrs Judd proved to be excellent hosts for what was the first social visit that Ned and Aurelia had ever made to the
Phoenix
. Because Saxby had been the foreman on the estate in Barbados and Mrs Judd had ruled in the kitchen, there was at first a shyness. Ned was hard put to keep a straight face: the sight of Mrs Judd acting shyly had something of the shire horse pulling a light gig. She wore a very low-cut silk dress of a dark green: the very full sleeves were open down the front and held together by clasps of what looked to Ned to be gold and rubies. The skirt was wide and the whole dress seemed cunningly designed to disguise her hips, which were rather too wide, while emphasizing her breasts, which were full and seemingly anxious to leap out over the top of the dress, which was edged in a darker green lace.

The four of them watched the
Peleus
sail and Saxby let his men fire each of the guns on the larboard side as the ship passed, Thomas and Diana waving from the poop. The smoke of the guns set Mrs Judd coughing and she was soon cursing Saxby. “You’re like a small boy. Any excuse to make a noise – look how you’ve startled all the birds. Who’d have guessed there were so many pelicans. Now all the terns are squawking. Really, Saxby!”

“Got to give Sir Thomas a good sendoff,” Saxby said complacently. “After all, he’s going to be the gamekeeper until we get up there.”

“If he finds as much silver as you say there is, he’d better start polishing it. As sure as my name’s Martha Judd, I still think we was wrong to give all that gold to the government here. That General Heffer looks like a sheep and he has the brains of a sheep–”

“You ought to meet the new Governor,” Saxby interrupted.

“Well, anything’d be an improvement on a sheep.”

Ned said: “Not always, I’m afraid. Sir Harold Luce looks like a ferret.”

“As long as he doesn’t stink like one,” commented Mrs Judd sourly. “Well, there’s the
Peleus
going out of sight. Let’s go below and sample some of that wine you’ve been boasting about, Saxby.”

The
Phoenix
’s saloon was large, airy and comfortable: panelled in mahogany, it had settees built in on both sides and across the after end of the cabin, with a table set in the middle and the steward (or Mrs Judd) able to serve from the forward side. A large open skylight over the table allowed a comfortable and cooling draught.

Noticing the silver goblets, cruets and silver cutlery already set out on the table, Ned realized that Saxby had after one of the raids taken part of his share of the purchase in silverware, instead of money. What more natural and sensible? Saxby came from a humble family but was now (thanks to buccaneering) a wealthy man, and he liked to have around him, where he could touch it, some symbols of his wealth. Perhaps Mrs Judd was content to polish it, for the same reason. The goblets were very good examples of the silversmith’s art. Italian? Spanish? Obviously the couple enjoyed them.

“Lobb tells me he’s been hearing about some of the Governor’s new ideas,” Saxby commented.

“Surely Sir Harold hasn’t had another meeting of the executive council?”

“No, he has a crier now parading round Port Royal, ringing a bell and telling all who care to listen (not many, Lobb says!) about his latest decrees.”

“Gunpowder!” Mrs Judd said as she walked into the cabin and put down a carafe of wine with a thud.

Ned looked startled and Saxby explained. “All foreign ships visiting Port Royal – no matter whether or not they’re carrying cargo – will have to pay a tax of so many bushels of powder.”

“Hmm, he’s starting to build up an arsenal, eh?” Ned said.

Saxby shook his head. “No, that’s not the way people see it. Only two foreign ships have been in so far and had to pay it, and Lobb says the powder was afterwards taken on shore and then, at night, tipped into the sea. He reckons – and so do I – that Luce wants to make sure the buccaneers don’t use the port. If the foreigners among them keep losing powder in taxes, Luce reckons they’ll stay out.”

“Call it a hint,” Mrs Judd said as she poured the wine. “But when the Spanish come he’s going to have to do more than drop hints to get anyone to come and rescue him.”

“The fact is Port Royal is the best base for us. We’d just trained Heffer when they sent out this man Luce,” Ned said glumly.

“You must train Sir Harold now,” Aurelia said. “In the long run it will be worth the trouble.”

“You can never train a ferret enough to trust it,” Ned said. “Just when you think you’ve succeeded, it nips you the next time you pick it up.”

Saxby chuckled, obviously recalling some episode from his life in Lincolnshire. “Or else the damned animal stays down the burrow eating the rabbit it’s just killed and won’t come out.”

“That’s Luce,” Aurelia said, “crouched in the burrow sulking and eating.”

“And stinking,” Mrs Judd said. “Nasty things, ferrets. My first husband kept them. Grew like them, he did.”

“
First
husband?” Saxby said. “Wasn’t that Judd?”

“Judd was my last one. I’m talking of the first,” Mrs Judd said, and Ned wondered if Saxby realized that although the late Mr Judd was the last husband, he probably was not even the second. Did she wear them out and toss them aside? Well, Saxby obviously was not a jealous man, and he looked strong enough. If Martha Judd has any sense, Ned thought, she’ll realize there are not many Saxbys in the Caribbee. At that moment he saw her watching one of the silver goblets as she poured the wine and realized that Martha Judd was quite happy with her lot, thank you: Saxby, silver to polish and a life of freedom was all she sought. She was wise enough to know what she was looking for and recognize it all when she found it.

By the time they had dined and gossiped and one of the
Phoenix’s
boats had taken Ned and Aurelia back to the
Griffin
, their cabin had cooled down. After Aurelia undressed and was sitting at the foot of her bunk combing her long blonde hair, she asked: “If the galleon is carrying plate, and if we capture it, Ned, what then? Where do we go? We won’t be able to come back here.”

“Jamaica isn’t the centre of the world, darling.”

“No, but the world gets small if the King decides that by attacking a Spanish ship we have committed treason.”