y'selves English privateers, hah! Plowfield donkeys an' cabbage-furrow bumpkins, that's what y'are! But things are
goin' to change, I'm goin' t'make marines of ye, fightin' sailors that'd make the wives of England proud! No more rope's
end, 'tis the cat-o'-nine-tails for any man who doesn't jump to it. We're goin' to capture the Frenchman, or we're goin'
to send him'n his whole demned froggy crew to perdition an' a watery grave! Do ye hear me?"
All hands shouted as one man, "Aye, sir!"
He turned to the mate who was holding the Madeira goblet in waiting. Teal took several sips and mopped lightly at his
cheek with a kerchief. Berating a crew was tiring work. He was about to leave the deck when the mate reminded him.
"Permission to carry out burial at sea, Cap'n?"
The captain tried to look as if he had not forgotten. "Oh yes, quite. Chappie the mast fell on, wasn't it? Well, fetch him
out an' let's get on with it."
The corpse was borne to the amidships rail, wrapped tightly in sail canvas, weighted at the feet with holystones—
chunks of sandstone used for scouring the decks. The canvas was rough-stitched up the centre with twine, the last
stitch being put through the dead man's nose: a traditional seafaring way of making sure the man was really dead. Six
crewmen held the bundle, balanced on a greased plank, over the rail. Teal took the Bible and skimmed swiftly through
the regulation prayer for the dead, ending with a swift amen, which was echoed by the crew.
Then the six bearers began tipping the board up, reciting as they did:
"Let's hope Father Neptune
Has saved him a fine fortune,
An' all the pretty mermaids
Will sing a sweet 'n' slow tune.
For here goes some mother's son,
Now all the prayers are said,
With holystones round both heels,
Tip him overboard, mates, he's dead!"
There was a dull splash as the canvas parcel hit the waves and vanished down into the sea.
Captain Redjack straightened his cravat. "Put on all sail, Mr. Mate. Take her due east in pursuit. Let me know when
the Frenchman's sighted. Er, by the way, what was that fellow we just put down, eh?"
"That was Percival, Cap'n," the mate replied.
Teal looked faintly mystified. "Percival who?"
"Mounsey, your cook, sir."
The captain shook his head sadly. "Cook, y'say! Hmm, rather inconvenient. See if y'can find a good man to replace
him."
Three days had passed aboard La Petite Marie. The weather had stayed fair and the winds steady. Ben stood in line,
carrying two bamboo drinking cups. Beneath the makeshift canvas galley awning, Ludon and a crewman named Grest
were serving the water ration out to all hands. Ben held out the first cup, and Grest filled the ladle two thirds and
tipped it into the tow-headed boy's cup. Then Ben held out the second cup.
Grest eyed it, glaring at Ben. "One man, one measure, that's all anybody gets!"
Ludon whispered something to Grest, who wordlessly dipped the ladle and gave Ben a second measure.
Captain Thuron strode up. "Are you having any trouble, lad?"
Ben shook his head. "No trouble, Cap'n, just getting the water for me and Ned." The boy walked off, followed by his
dog.
The captain poked a thick finger in Grest's shoulder, making the man flinch. "That dog gets water, the same as any
man aboard. Make sure you serve him the proper measure, d'you hear?"
As Thuron strode off, Grest muttered. "Water for a dog? There's hardly enough to go round for ourselves!"
Thuron turned, having heard the remark. He smiled at Grest. "Hand me that ladle, friend."
Grest did as he was ordered. Thuron bent the metal ladle handle easily in his powerful hands. Still smiling, he placed
the bent ladle round Grest's neck and twisted both ends together. It was like an iron collar round the man's neck.
Thuron allowed the smile to slip from his face.
"The day you want to be captain, just let me know!"
Ned licked his bamboo cup dry. "Funny how you take a simple thing like a drink of water for granted, until there's not
much to be had."
Ben smiled into his dog's dark eyes, returning the message. "No sign of rain either, or we could've collected some by
spreading a sail and catching it. I wonder how far off Hispaniola and Puerto Rico are."
The black Labrador picked up the cup in his jaws. "I don't know. Let's go and ask the cap'n."
Thuron was standing in the bow with the glass to his eye. Ben and Ned went around by the starboard side, avoiding
those still in line for their water. Ned stopped at the back of the canvas-sheet galley, alerting Ben with a swift thought.
"Don't make any noise, mate. Come and listen to this."
Ludon and Grest were whispering to a man named Ricaud as they served him water. "When we were moored at Santa
Marta, Thuron kicked me, just because I tried to stop that cur from barking!" Ben overheard Ludon complaining. He
also heard Ned's indignant mental reply.
"Cur? Huh! Listen to that scurvy mongrel!"
Grest was in agreement with Ludon. "Aye, if that lad an' his dog are so lucky, then why are we runnin' from a
privateer, with hardly a bite to eat nor a drop to drink? Call that lucky?"
Ricaud was a whiner, Ben could tell by his voice. "A drop is right. How can a man survive on only this lousy dribble
of water? How much is left in that barrel, Grest?"
They heard Grest swish the water as he tipped the barrel. "Not enough to get us through tomorrow. We might be
sightin' land about then. I'll tell ye one thing, though, Thuron's out to cause trouble for me. I'm not staying aboard this
ship. Once I'm ashore I'll be off. There's plenty more vessels lookin' for crew round those two islands."
Ludon's voice answered him. "Let me know when ye jump ship. I'm not stayin' aboard to be kicked around. How about
you, Ricaud?"
There was a chuckle from Ricaud. "The great Cap'n Thuron wouldn't be so high'n'mighty without a crew. I'm with ye,
an' I'll put the word round. I wager there's more'n a few among us who'd be wanted by the authorities back in France."
Ludon sounded cautious. "You're right, mate, but don't let Pierre or the Anaconda know, they're loyal to Thuron. Just
ask around, easy-like, but make sure you talk to the right men."
Ned stared at Ben, transmitting his thoughts. "You go and see the cap'n. I'll keep my ears and eyes open around here.
Tell him what you've heard, Ben."
Thuron was scanning the horizon through his telescope and had his back to Ben. On hearing the boy's footsteps behind
him, the Frenchman turned. Ben felt embarrassed at having to tell his friend what he had heard. "Cap'n ... I... er ..."
The buccaneer stared into his companion's mysterious blue eyes: he saw ageless honesty mingled with storm-clouded
distant seas. He smiled to ease the boy's discomfort. "Speak up, lad. What's troubling you?"
Ben tried again. "It's the crew. They're ..."
The Frenchman nodded knowingly. "Planning to desert the Marie when we make landfall. Don't look so surprised, Ben
—it doesn't pay for a captain to be ignorant of his crew's feelings. No doubt you've heard the muttering and spotted the
hard glances. I've watched them, too, for a while. Ah, they aren't bad men, really, but they get like that from time to
time. Well, look at it their way. We've run from Rocco Madrid, been attacked by the privateers and now we're about to
run out of rations. What right-thinking seaman wouldn't want to leave such a vessel? The Caribbean isles' are friendly