Tales of Terror from the Black Ship (5 page)

Tom moved to chase him away, but before he had taken a step, the cat bolted through his legs and disappeared out of sight into the surrounding darkness. Tom cursed him under his breath, but he had more pressing concerns.

He quickly cleaned the blood from the rail with water from a nearby pail and threw the hatchet into the sea. Then, with a calmness that surprised him, Tom carried on with his watch as if nothing had happened, and when it came time to be relieved, he took to his bunk and slept easily. Just as the ever-changing sea had closed over Harper, so too had Tom’s thoughts; he paid him no mind at all.

The following day the crew were called to attention and told that a man was missing, and that the man was Harper. Tom naturally feigned surprise and joined in with the mutterings and so forth until he realised that Captain Fairlight was standing at his side.

‘You were on watch last night, Webster,’ said the captain. ‘Did you see anything?’

‘I did not,’ said Tom, all serious and grave and shaking his head. ‘Well – that is . . .’ he began, with mock confusion.

‘Come now, lad,’ said the captain. ‘Let’s hear it, if there’s anything to hear.’

‘Well, sir,’ said Tom, ‘I did see Harper at one point. But I don’t think I should say . . .’

‘Say what, lad?’

Tom took a deep breath and studied his feet for nearly a minute before replying.

‘He was drunk, sir,’ he said, staring at the deck all in sham reluctance. ‘And he was still drinking. I told him he ought not to be there but he bade me go to hell, sir, and made to strike me, so I was too afeared to stop him, sir.’

Tom was so taken with his story that he surprised himself when tears sprang to his eyes.

‘I know he was not a popular man, sir, but I wish to God now I had been braver so as I could have been some help to the poor wretch. If I had spoken up, then he might still be here, sir.’

Tom flinched as the captain clapped a hand on his shoulder. He feared he had gone too far and given himself away. But the captain was smiling.

‘No blame can be laid at your door,’ he said. ‘Not wanting to speak ill of the dead, but Harper was a devil for the grog and, though I like a drop of rum as well as the next man, the sea ain’t the place for drunkards.’

There was much nodding and muttering at this, for every man aboard knew it to be true. It was all too easy to imagine Harper had simply fallen overboard in a drunken stupor. Tom could picture it perfectly himself, even though he knew otherwise.

The captain spoke a few words from the Good Book and the crew said their amens. In no time at all they were on with the business of sailing and Harper was lost in their wake. It may seem harsh to those who do not know the sea, but a sailor accepts these things and moves on.

In the days that followed, Tom was surprised to find that some of the crew who had most scorned him for his supposed friendship with Harper now gave him a sympathetic nod and smile and included him in their talk. All the old animosity was gone in an instant. The curse of Harper had been lifted.

The world seemed so much brighter, so much
better
for Harper not being in it that Tom found it hard to believe that his actions could have been wrong. If anything, his death felt like a blessing. In fact it would have been true to say that Tom’s thoughts would have been entirely untroubled had it not been for the cat, Pitch.

Tom could no longer, in any degree, bear the company of that creature Harper had held so dear. He had never wasted any affection on the animal and felt the dislike to be mutual, but the cursed feline now seemed to strike a pose whenever he saw Tom, pausing in his cattish activities to look at him in such a way that made the boy feel the cat was judging him.

And how could a cat –
a
cat!
– stand in judgement of him, an animal that killed without thought or conscience? Why, Tom had seen that flea-bitten creature kill a thousand times with no more motive than boredom or amusement, torturing some mouse for half an hour before absent-mindedly leaving its headless, uneaten corpse as litter on the deck. How dare this murderous devil judge him? Just because he reserved some special affection for that bully Harper!

It was offensive, and in spite of the fact that none of the crew could possibly know why the cat stared at him so, Tom still vowed that he would not tolerate it. When the opportunity arose, Pitch would join his friend Harper at the bottom of the sea.

The cat seemed to register this change in Tom and, though Tom would still turn to find the animal staring at him from some vantage point or other, as soon as he made the slightest move towards him, the cat would speed away as if the Devil himself was at his tail. Tom had even found the beast peering out of the drain hole through which he had kicked Harper’s severed hand. He had come close to doing the same to the wretched cat, but Pitch was too quick for him again.

Tom determined to bide his time. Eventually the cat would let down his guard and Tom would come across him napping on a coil of rope, as he was often wont to do, and then he would see to the animal once and for all. Once. And. For. All.

g

Later that same week Tom was on deck, lost in these thoughts of how he would do for the cat, when he noticed that the captain and two of the crew were in a huddle near the rail where he had sent Harper to his watery death.

The fear that he was about to be found out hit Tom with such violence that he could barely breathe in that instant and his throat felt as if Harper’s ghost had risen up from the deep and gripped him round the neck.

With all his remaining strength Tom approached the captain and the others, sidling towards them so as not to arouse their suspicions. He was disturbed to see that one of the crew was pointing to a nick in the rail, and heard the other say that there was a hatchet missing that had been nearby and this looked for all the world like it had struck the rail.

‘And is that blood there?’ asked the captain, pointing to the decking under the rail.

‘Aye, sir. Blood, sir,’ said the sailor, crouching down and peering at it.

‘There’s been some evil afoot,’ said the captain slowly. ‘Say naught for now, mind you, but keep your eyes and ears open.’

Tom cursed himself for a fool. He had cleaned the blood from the rail but had not thought to look at the deck. In any case, it being so dark, he had seen nothing.

But then, of course, he had been distracted by that damn animal too. Had it not been for the cat, he should have thought more clearly. Curse that creature! But it was too soon to panic.

What did they know? Tom thought to himself. They knew nothing. So a hatchet had gone missing and there might be blood on the deck. Harper could have done all that himself. Who knew what a drunk might do? He might have hurt himself and taken the hatchet with him when he fell or jumped. Anything was possible.

And even if they could say it was murder, which they
could not
– not with any certainty – then they manifestly could not say who the murderer was, not with any kind of hanging-proof.

Harper had had more enemies than Judas, as every man aboard knew, and had barely been missed since his disappearance, let alone mourned. In fact the whole ship knew that Tom alone received kind words from Harper. Tom was the least likely of all to kill him, or so it must seem.

There was no reason to suspect him of anything. It mattered not one jot that the cat seemed fascinated by the scene of the crime – he was not about to speak to anyone. Just the day before, Tom had seen him scrabbling over the side of the ship at that spot and clambering about on the rigging below, where the ropes were fixed to the hull. If only the hated beast had fallen overboard! But the stinking flea-bag could stare at Tom as much as he liked – that meant nothing. Nothing!

As if on cue, Tom turned to see Pitch sitting looking at him with his smug and knowing expression, and Tom lashed out with the mop, almost, but not quite, hitting him.

‘What have you got against the cat?’ said Captain Fairlight, suddenly appearing at his side.

‘Against the cat, sir?’ said Tom a little nervously. ‘Nothing, sir. Why would I?’

The captain grinned and clapped a hand on Tom’s back.

‘Easy, son,’ he said. ‘I have no love for that animal either, but he keeps check on the vermin, so he has his uses, eh?’

The captain wandered away. How dull-witted, how simple-minded he was, thought Tom. He shook his head and gave a little chuckle, noticing that he must have chuckled louder than intended, for some sailors nearby turned and stared at him. But Tom paid them no heed. They were all fools too.

g

Days passed and Tom’s mood lightened. The hated Pitch seemed to have disappeared. Tom hoped that some fatal misfortune had overtaken the beast, but would have preferred to see the creature’s corpse lying at his feet to know for sure.

If Pitch was not dead, then at least the cat seemed to hold Tom in such dread that he could not bring himself to come up on deck for fear of their meeting, and Tom took pleasure in that.

Tom was working the mainsails one day when he looked down and saw the captain once more studying the rail where the hatchet had relieved Harper of his tattooed hand. Something about the way the captain peered forward and picked at the scar in the wood with the end of his finger made Tom uneasy. Without thinking, he ceased what he was doing and began at once to clamber down the rigging.

But no sooner had he reached the bottom than the captain called to Tom, waving him over, and Tom wished he had stayed aloft and cursed himself for a fool. He was still muttering to himself as he crossed the deck, but the captain’s voice was friendly enough to put a check on Tom’s anger and make him come to his senses. There was nothing to link him with the crime other than the fact that he was on watch that night.
I must keep a grip,
he thought.
I must stay calm
.

A sailor nearby looked at Tom strangely as he passed, and he was filled with a sudden panic that he had said these words out loud. He put his hand to his mouth. The captain called him again and Tom hurried over to meet him.

‘I need to speak with you a moment, Webster,’ he said.

‘Aye, sir?’ Tom answered. The captain sighed.

‘’Tis my belief,’ he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, ‘that Harper did not fall that night – leastwise not of his own foolheadedness – but that he was shoved over.’

‘No!’ Tom said with all the surprise he could muster.

‘Aye,’ said the captain, looking about conspiratorially. ‘There are signs of evil-doing of some kind. A hatchet has gone missing.’

‘A hatchet?’ said Tom, shaking his head.

‘Are you sure you saw nothing that night, Webster?’

‘Quite sure, sir,’ said Tom. Though he had tried to sound casual, his voice sounded thin and reedy, as if it came from a long way off.

‘You’re not protecting someone?’ the captain said, staring at him in a manner that made him back away and look about nervously.

‘No, sir,’ said Tom.

‘This is a bad business, lad. To think there is someone on the ship who has killed. If a man was to know about such a killing and not speak up, he would be as guilty as though he had struck the blow. Are you
sure
you do not wish to tell me something, lad?’

Tom’s heart felt as though it was beating so hard and fast the whole crew must hear it. His neckerchief felt as tight as a noose against his windpipe.

‘Aye,’ said Tom, breaking into tears. ‘Aye, sir! I do know something.’

‘Then sing out, lad,’ said the captain.

‘It was Duncan!’ hissed Tom. ‘I saw him that night, standing at the gunwales and cleaning something from the handrail. He said he’d kill me if I spoke.’

‘Did he now?’ said Captain Fairlight, between clenched teeth.

The blameless Duncan was standing nearby as Tom said these words and instantly pulled a knife from his belt, striding towards him with murderous intent.

‘I never spoke a word to you but I’ll sure as hell gut you now, you lying swine!’ he growled, before he was grabbed and disarmed. Tom had to turn away to hide his smile. The fool was damning himself.

Duncan strenuously protested his innocence, but he had threatened to kill Harper on many occasions and everyone aboard knew he was capable of such an act. Tom smiled again.

‘This is no laughing matter,’ said the captain, seeing Tom’s face.

‘Sorry, sir,’ said Tom nervously. ‘I am just relieved to see him safely held. I was sore afraid of him.’ The captain nodded. ‘Is he to be hanged?’

Captain Fairlight said that he would lock Duncan up until they got back to Portsmouth, where a judge would decide his fate. He had never yet hanged a man aboard a ship he’d captained and it was a record of which he was proud.

Tom tried not to let his disappointment show. He would much rather have had the man condemned there and then. The more Duncan yelled his innocence, the more men there might be who would believe him.

‘I hope you do not doubt my word, sir,’ said Tom. ‘For I would not inform on a man for less than murder, and he’ll kill me for sure now if he’s released.’