Tell me something we didn't know! Lewrie sourly thought, musing on that sad news and looking away, up the shattered sternpost and the rudder to the square overhang of the transom. He had to smile, nonetheless, for the sash-windows of his great-cabins were open, and both of his cats were posed in them, paws resting on the sills, intrigued by such a rare sight below.
"We've received enough iron and bronze to have new pintles and gudgeons fashioned ashore," Lewrie stated, looking back at the sweaty Dutchman. "If our own armourer cannot do the work, that is. New oak, of this size…? Or, is there some sturdy local tree that might serve just as well, hereabouts, Mister Goosen?"
"Local timber? Pah!" Goosen countered with a humourless laugh. "Die verdammte African termite eat gut timber, quick as goat eat paper, Kaptein! Unt oop in mountains… die Cederburg, Hex Mountains, die Drakensberg, iss only pine grow tall unt straight," he said, waving a hand at the far distant blue ranges surrounding Table Bay. "Termite, he bad as ship-worm. All rotten, in a few year, oh ja."
"Well, damme," Lewrie sourly said.
"Other African tree," Goosen morosely went on, "if sound, not full of termite, not grow thick unt straight, unt iss only good for die knees, fashion pieces. Before you rooineks come, I can get fine, big wood from Rotterdam… Hamburg oak, English oak, compass oak, unt Americanischer white oak, gut for ship repairs, but now…"he said with a fatalistic shrug. "Ashore, heff many blacksmither, carpenter, but… little to work wit', you see."
"Then we're stuck here 'til an Indiaman comes back with a hunk of teak or mahogany," Lewrie spat. As he mused over that, even more of Goosen's Javanese divers bobbed to the surface from their mysterious work below the hull, gasping for air and laughing together, which did little for Lewrie's sour mood, either.
How long can they hold their breath? he asked himself, for he was sure that they'd been down long before he'd been rowed round the stern. "We can't wait that long, Mister Goosen," he said, trying not to sound like he was pleading. "Surely, there must be something…"
Lewrie rather doubted he and his officers could invent enough make-work aboard an idled, crippled ship for two whole months of dull thumb-twiddling to keep the crew from going dull or querulous. And, if their last shore liberty was anything to judge by, his only other option was to keep them penned aboard ship, else Cape Town would end in splintered ruins long before a replacement rudder turned up!
"Wahl…" Goosen drawled, with a cagey stroking of his beard. "Table Bay iss bad anchoring, Kaptein Leew… Loo… myhneer. Unt, worser iss False Bay, other side of peninsula, below Simon's Town. I know of a fresh wreck, dahr. One of your rooinek Indiamen, drove in by bad wind to first-est shelter. Her kaptein mistake Cape Hanglip as Good Hope, at last see Simon's Town, unt try steer there, but hit die Whittle Rocks, for iss too far North of best-est course to round die Noah's Ark Point. Drive ashore to save what he can before she sinks? Ver' gut work, dat, for he miss Roman's Rock unt hard shoal, then go aground on sand beach North end of Simon's Bay."
"A wreck," Lewrie said, most dubiously.
"Drive ashore bows first-est, Kaptein!" Goosen hooted in glee. "Stern, sternpost, unt rudder still in six, eight feet of water, oh ja! Was three, four month ago, middle of winter. Die burghers down dahr get much work for to salvage… much booty, for it three days before rooinek soldiers, or your navy, get there to stop them, haw haw haw! Almost nobody drown, for rooinek kaptein iss die slim kerel.. . crafty fellow, see? But, ship is total loss."
"God A'mighty, Cap'm sir," Mr. Pendarves exclaimed, "her rudder must be s' big, ye could whittle a barge out'n it! There's some o' it still sound oak, sure!"
"But, you say she's been salvaged over, looted…?" Lewrie said, unwilling to raise false hopes too soon.
"Other chandlers unt me been strip her over," Goosen admitted. "Mast, spar, sail canvas, unt cordage… upper bulwarks, deck planks, unt blocks. Locals take boats, cabin goods, straightest oak timbers for houses, unt I was going to go down dahr unt burn what is left for her nails unt metal, butt…" he drawled, brightening. "Stripped so far only halfway, to midships, so far. Hoisting rings still standing. You hire my kaffir divers to undo bolts unt t'ings, rig hoisting line wit' kedge capstan unt shear-legs…! I sell you big rudder for gut price, Kaptein Loo… myhneerl"
"Well, I'm damned!" Lewrie said with a happy whoosh of wind. "We could sail down round the Cape, take your barge, our launch and cutter, and…"
"Iss big rudder, big sternpost, too, Kaptein," Goosen cautioned. "Get offshore in heavy Cape swell, wit' that aboard, you swamp, sure. Nie, best-est, you hire timber waggon. Volk at Simon's Bay, dey heff many boats, all sizes. I speak to my cousin, Andries de Witt, he heff timber waggons, heff big, strong dray horses. You, me, my kaffirs unt two-dozen men of yours for heavy pulley-hauley. Well, maybe take more waggons, for shear-legs, heavy cables, tents, food unt water, rum unt beer… your men ride in waggons, not walk so far, too, ja! One day down, two, three day work like Trojans, one day back, unt you heff new rudder, quick as wink, haw haw!"
"You're sure it's still there, not looted, yet," Lewrie pressed. "Word of honour, it's in good shape!"
"On Holy Bible, on my vertroue in God, it is so, Kaptein!" the stout older fellow vowed, one hand in the air pointing to Heaven, with a suddenly solemn air.
"And… just how much d'ye expect this expedition of ours will cost, Mister Goosen?" Lewrie asked him, satisfied that the Indiaman's rudder and sternpost was still there, but suddenly leery when it came to talk of "cousin Andries" and his magically available waggons.
"Wreck now belong to me, rudder unt sternpost belong to me unt other chandlers, but… I give you gut price, word on that, too! My cousin Andries, well… I am sure something be worked out, to mutual satisfaction, Kaptein Leer… myhneer," Goosen swore, his face going as cherubic, and as innocent, as the veriest babe at Sunday school.
That's what I was afraid of, Lewrie thought with a well-hidden sigh, but… reached out and shook hands with the cagey bastard. If he played his hand well enough, there was a good possibility that the Navy might sport him the cost, entire!
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Kapitan Lewrie!" a tantalisingly familiar voice interrupted a foul musing as Lewrie's little train of waggons reached the Southern outskirts of tidy little Cape Town, almost into the first of the farms and vineyards, on the dusty road to Simon's Town. "Zdrasvutyeh!"