They stood bare-headed in the wind, clutching their caps to their breasts, their expressions as pious as they could muster, anxious not to attract the disfavour of Sir Francis.
"We thank you, Almighty God, for the victory you have granted us over the heretic and the apostate, the benighted followers of the son of Satan, Martin Luther."
"Amen!" they cried loudly. They were all good Anglicans, apart from the black tribesmen among them, but these Negroes cried, "Amen!" with the rest. They had learned that word their first day aboard Sir Francis's ship.
"We thank you also for your timely and merciful intervention in the midst of the battle and your deliverance of us from certain defeat. -" Hal shuffled in disagreement, but without looking up. Some of the credit for the timely intervention was his, and his father had not acknowledged this as openly.
"We thank you and praise your name for placing in our hands this fine ship. We give you our solemn oath that we will use her to bring humiliation and punishment upon your enemies. We ask your blessing upon her. We beg you to look kindly upon her, and to sanction the new name which we now give her. From henceforth she will become the Resolution."
His father had simply translated the galleon's Dutch name, and Hal was saddened that this ship would not bear his mother's name. He wondered if his father's memory of his mother was at last fading, or if he had some other reason for no longer perpetuating her memory. He knew, though, that he would never have the courage to ask, and he must simply accept this decision.
"We ask your continued help and intervention in our endless battle against the godless. We thank you humbly for the rewards you have so bountifully heaped upon us. And we trust that if we prove worthy you will reward our worship and sacrifice with further proof of the love you bear us."
This was a perfectly reasonable sentiment, one with which every man on board, true Christian or pagan, could be in full accord. Every man devoted to God's work on earth was entitled to his rewards, and not only in the life to come. The treasures that fitted the Resolution's holds were proof and tangible evidence of his approval and consideration towards them.
"Now let's have a cheer for Resolution and all who sail in her." and Sir Francis They cheered until they were boars silenced them at last. He replaced his broad-brimmed Hat and gestured for them to cover their heads. His expression became stern and forbidding. "There is one more task we have to perform now," he told them, and looked at Big Daniel. "Bring the prisoners on deck, Master Daniel."
Sam Bowles was at the head of the forlorn file that came up from the hold, blinking in the sunlight. They were led facing the ship's company. aft and forced to kneel, Sir Francis read their names from the sheet of parchment he held up. "Samuel Bowles. Edward Broom. Peter Law. Peter Miller. John Tate. You kneel before your shipmates accused of cowardice and desertion in the face of the enemy, and dereliction of your duty."
The other men growled and glared at them.
"How say You to these charges? Are you the cowards and traitors we accuse you of being?" "Mercy, your grace!" Truly we repent. Forgive us, we beg you for the sakes of our wives and the sweet babes we left at home," Sam Bowles pleaded as their spokesman.
"The only wives you ever had were the trulls in the bawdy houses of Dock Street," Big Daniel mocked him, and the crew roared. Let's watch them "String them up at the yard-arm! dance a little jig to the devil."
"Shame on you!" Sir Francis stopped them. What kind of English justice is this? Every man, no matter how base, is entitled to a fair trial." They sobered and he went on. "We will deal with this matter in proper order. Who brings these charges against them?"
"We do!" roared the crew in unison. "Who are your witnesses?" "We are!" they replied, with a single voice.
"Did you witness any act of treachery or cowardice? Did you see these foul creatures flee from the fight and leave their shipmates to their fate?"
"We did."
"You have heard the testimony against you. Do you have aught to say in- your defence?"
"Mercy!"whined Sam Bowles. The others were dumb.
Sir Francis turned back to the crew. "And so what is your verdict?"
"Guilty!" "Guilty as hell!" added Big Daniel, lest there be any lingering doubts.
"And your Sentence?" Sir Francis asked, and immediately an uproar broke out.
"Hang them!" "Hanging's too good for the swine. Keel haul "em."
"No! No! Draw and quarter "em. Make them eat their own balls."
"Let's fry some pork! Burn the bastards at the stake."
Sir Francis silenced them again. "I see we have some differences of opinion." He gestured to Big Daniel. "Take them down below and lock them up. Let them stew in their own stinking juices for a day or two. We will deal with them when we get into port. Until then there are more important matters to attend to."
For the first time in his life aboard ship, Hal had a cabin of his own. He need no longer share every sleeping and waking moment of his life crammed in enforced intimacy with a horde of other humanity.
The galleon was spacious by comparison with the little caravel, and his father had found a place for him alongside his own magnificent quarters. It had been the cupboard of the Dutch captain's servant, and was a mere cubby-ole. "You need a lighted place to continue your studies," Sir Francis had justified this indulgence. "You waste many hours each night sleeping when you could be working." He ordered the ship's carpenter to knock together a bunk and a shelf on which Hal could lay out his books and papers.
An oil lamp swung above his head, blackening the deck overhead with its soot, but giving Hal just enough light to make out his lines and allow him to write the lessons his father set him. His eyes burned with fatigue and he had to stifle his yawns as he dipped his quill and peered at the sheet of parchment onto which he was copying the extract from the Dutch captain's directions that his father had captured. Every navigator had his own personal manual of sailing directions, a priceless journal in which he kept details of oceans and seas, currents and coasts, landfalls and harbours; tables of the compass's changeable and mysterious deviations as a ship voyaged in foreign waters, and charts of the night sky, which altered with the latitudes. This was knowledge that each navigator painstakingly accumulated over his lifetime, from his own observations or gleaned from the experience and anecdotes of others. His father would expect him to complete this work before his watch at the masthead, which began at four in the morning.
A faint noise from behind the bulkhead distracted him, and he looked up with the quill still in his hand. It was a footfall so soft as to be almost inaudible and came from the luxurious quarters of the Governor's wife. He listened with every fibre of his being, trying to interpret each sound that reached him. His heart told him that it was the lovely Katinka, but he could not be certain of that. It might be her ugly old maid, or even the grotesque husband. He felt deprived and cheated at the thought.