Thuron answered truthfully. "We encountered that vessel early this morning, Captain. She's a slaver, taking a cargo of
slaves to the Americas. Her master even wanted to purchase my son here, didn't he, Ben?"
The boy nodded dumbly and allowed Thuron to continue. "Luckily we were unladen and gave her the slip. By now
that slaver will be gone over the horizon, sailing due northwest.
"You could run him down in two days' hard sailing, Captain. Slavers are evil men. I hope you catch him and string him
up, aye, and all his crew!"
The Greek captain saluted. "Be sure I will, sir. Any man who trades in human beings needs hanging. Good day to
you!"
Thuron saluted back. "Good day to you and good hunting, sir!"
The Achilles waited until the Marie had gone by. Then she altered course and began piling on sail to chase the slaver.
Thuron let out a sigh of relief. "I wonder why he didn't board and search us?"
Ben exchanged thoughts with Ned, then explained to the captain in a murmur that the rest of the crew could not hear.
"Ned could tell by his eyes that he was afraid of dogs. That's why Ned barked and showed his teeth. 'Twas just a
simple thing, Cap'n, but it changed the Greek's mind—he was scared of being bitten if he came aboard."
Thuron picked the black Labrador up bodily and kissed him. "You clever lucky dog, what are you, eh?"
Ned wriggled furiously, sending outraged thoughts to Ben. "Uuurgh! Tell this great whiskery lump t'put me down. I'll
never kiss any of my crew when I'm captain. Most undignified!"
13
THERE ARE few diversions or amusements for seamen under sail across an entire ocean—other than hard,
monotonous routine. Gossip and talk, known as scuttlebutt, provided the main release of feelings for the crew of the
Diablo Del Mar, now renamed the Royal Champion. The usual run of conversation centred on the injustices all hands
were forced to endure under a captain such as Redjack Teal. This fitted in quite nicely with Ludon's scheme, giving
him leeway to widen the gap of disaffection between the crew and their captain.
Though Ludon was not an educated man, he knew that the policy of divide and conquer was a workable idea. He
looked and listened constantly, finding opportunities to carry tales back and forth in secret. There was nowhere a
prisoner at sea could escape to. Accordingly, the mate, who would not tolerate idle hands aboard, had given Ludon the
job of cook's assistant. He served meals to the common seamen on the mess deck and, much to the cook's relief, was
employed to fetch and carry meals to the captain—a heaven-sent gift to the lone conspirator.
Life aboard the Royal Champion became increasingly difficult, owing to Ludon's scheming. If a man grumbled about
his victuals, suddenly Teal was made aware of it. Being a disciplinarian, Teal would mete out harsh punishment on the
offender. This made the crew resentful and surly, particularly when Ludon would let slip that the captain regarded his
crew as ignorant, wayward oafs. Amidst a welter of truths, half-truths and downright lies, every man aboard became
suspicious of his own shipmates.
One evening, Ludon was serving the day's meal out on the mess deck. He studiously avoided putting out food
wherever there was an empty seat. The bosun growled. "Ahoy there, Frenchie, fill those plates for the gun crew!"
Ludon paused. "But they are not here."
Bad-temperedly, the bosun slammed his knife down on the tabletop. "I said fill those plates! Who are you to say who'll
eat an' who won't? Here comes the gun crew now."
Sitting down to the table, the master gunner held up his hands, all swollen red and scratched. "Lookit that, we've had
t'boil an' scrape out every gun barrel aboard, musket an' cannon. Been hard at it since dawn! See Taffy's hand there, all
bandaged up. He got it jammed in a culverin bore. Wonder he never lost it!"
The bosun inspected the grimy, blood-soaked bandage. "I'd keep a fresh wrappin' on that hand every day if'n I was
you, Taffy. Save it goin' poison on ye. Ah well, that'll learn ye. t'keep your gun barrels clean, Gunny."
With his spoon halfway to his mouth, the grizzled old master gunner exploded with indignation. "My guns have always
been clean. I've served twenty years as master gunner an' no cap'n has ever accused me of havin' a dirty gun aboard!"
Almost apologetically, the bosun replied, "Then why did Redjack punish you an' your men?"
The one called Taffy gestured with his bandaged hand. " 'Cos someone tipped a pail o' rubbish over the cannon nearest
to Teal's cabin door!"
Cramming the loaded spoon into his mouth, the master gunner chewed furiously with his few remaining teeth, speaking
through a full mouth. "Just let me get my hands on the scum who did it!" He spat out a lump of half-chewed meat.
"Garrgh! Is this supposed t'be salt pork? Tastes more like a dead horse out of a glue boiler!"
He glared at Ludon. "Have ye got nothin' better'n this to feed hungry men, eh?"
The French prisoner shrugged. "Cook says 'tis all he has, but your captain, he dines well enough on fresh fish. He is
not short of fancy biscuits or Madeira to go with it."
Pushing his plate away, the bosun spoke sneeringly. "When was it ever different? The crew gets the slops while the
cap'n dines like a lord. Here, Frenchie, take this garbage an' toss it over the side."
Pointing a finger in Ludon's face, the master gunner snarled, "An' keep it clear o' my cannon, or else ..."
Ludon scraped the leftovers into a pot and stalked out of the mess-deck cabin.
When he had gone, the bosun's eyes narrowed, and he nodded toward the door, muttering low. "I don't trust that 'un. I
been noticin' lately, the Frenchie's ears wiggle like a little pig whenever we're talkin'. Take it from me, mates, guard
your tongues while he's about!"
The mate stared oddly at the bosun. "D'ye think that Frenchie's carryin' tales back to Redjack?"
Taffy answered for the mate. " 'Twouldn't surprise me—he's got the looks of a rat. What more could ye expect of a
buccaneer deserter who sold out to that Spanish pirate?"
Stabbing his knife into the tabletop, the bosun looked around at all hands. "So, What're we goin' to do about it, mates?"
Being a fair-minded fellow, the master gunner replied. "Nothin' without proof. Ye can't condemn a man just because of
his looks. There's been many a mistake made like that."
Joby, the dead carpenter's mate, picked up the fiddle that had once belonged to his former friend and twiddled a few
chords on the instrument. It seemed to break the tense atmosphere.
The old master gunner cracked a gap-toothed grin. "Come on, Joby, sing us a song. I'm fed up o' sittin' here lissenin' to
talk of mutiny an' murder. Cheer us up, mate!"
Joby smiled brightly. "Shall I play 'The Jolly Cap'n'?" He ducked swiftly as several chunks of ship's biscuit were
hurled at him, then twiddled another chord or two. "I've put new words to it, listen."
Off he went, singing an insulting imitation of the original.
"Ho the wind will never blow, me lads,
So we've got to row the boat,
An' as for Cap'n Teal, the pig,
I'd like to slit his throat.
He wears a fine red jacket
An' drinks Madeira wine,
Why should we call him captain
When we could call him swine!
Hurrah hurrah hurrah, me boys,
He feeds us nought but swill,
An' makes us taste the rope's end,
That's why all hands look ill!