Greenbeard (9781935259220) (30 page)

There was a moment of pause, then a rumble of appreciative laughter.

“Arrgh! Curse all bumboats an' damn wherries too! Wi' a wannion!” squeaked Bill, the tone of his voice sent even higher by hot rum-grog.

“There is substance to my joshing,” said the Captain in a less-piratical voice,
“for there are indeed many variations upon a wooden tub with a mast, so many that they resemble the varieties of animals. Is a zebra a horse? Or do its stripes make it necessarily a relative of the tiger? Its preferences - to run in herds, to eat grass, to kick its enemies with its hind legs – must lead one to believe that it is a horse and not a tiger, and so it must have a
pneuma
or spirit, some kind of a soul which predisposes it to a horse-like behaviour, and not to a solitary life of carnivorous predation. Is each sailing vessel equipped thus? Do some ships huddle together in fleets because they are predisposed to do so by their nature, like horses? Do other ships plough a more solitary wake, maybe even a more savage one, because their souls ache to prowl the seas in lonely freedom, as does the tiger in his jungle?”

The Captain would have spoken more, but he was interrupted by a polite “ahem!” from a man sitting in an armchair by the fire.

“Excuse my horning-in, sir!” he said, arising from the depths of the winged armchair which had concealed him, “but I guess and calculate that riverboats are surely possessed of souls! Souls that love to wander! Mischievious and sprightly souls! Powerful souls full of great determination! I have voyaged through these lands on rivers wide and narrow, in boats great and little, and I speak from experience. Excuse me again! I am remiss! I am Richard Bonhomme, trader, horse-coper, arkwright and
voyageur!
”

The small portly man puffed out his chest like a bantam-cock, swept off his battered hat and bowed, tottering slightly.

“Why, no slight taken!” said the Captain. “It be a free discussion. Be pleased to join us and sit at our table.” He called for more drinks.

 

 

“… the birch-bark canoe is decried by mariners, but it is a … a paragon of the nautical virtues!” Richard Bonhomme took a gulp of grog. “The cunning Wampanoag or Pequot indian can make a small one in a matter of days, but it will carry him for a thousand leagues or more. All he needs is birch-bark, split-pine laths, vines for stitching and pine-sap for caulking, all of which can be gotten in the forest. You may think such a craft simple to make, but I would wager that your ship's carpenter could not make one in less than a month, and it would not then stay afloat for one single day. It is an art. Canoes can be made over ten paces long,
too, to carry three tons of cargo and ten men! The big canoes take longer to make, and need careful handling, but no other boat will take the trappers deep into the interior where the beavers, martens and lynxes roam, for often the canoe must be carried over
les portages
, and a wooden boat would be too heavy. I have built many such canoes, and made many such journeys. Each canoe is different, too, so they must have souls, it stands to reason!”

The Captain, Blue Peter and Mr Benjamin listened carefully, but Israel Feet and Bulbous Bill were playing cards in a tipsy fashion, only lending half an ear.

“Mr Bonhomme,” said Mr Benjamin slowly, “I am Frank Benjamin, and I believe that you are my cousin!”

Mr Bonhomme stared at him, round-eyed with surprise, then nodded slowly.

“Frank Benjamin! Of course I have heard tell of you! The famed mechanician and printer of books and pamphlets! How pleased I am to meet you at last, cousin!”

“And I you, Mr Bonhomme. Please do call me Frank! I heard through the gossipings of my family's womenfolk that you are become prosperous through horse-trading, which says much for your wit and cunning!”

“It is true, Frank,” Mr Bonhomme simpered, “I have been blessed with some good fortune, but I must be modest and say that I was lucky to be amongst the first of the
voyageurs
, and so able to make a goodly profit before the whole business of trapping fur was stolen away, stolen away by powerful companies, companies with deep pockets for the bribing of government clerks, curse them all! I was lucky, too, to be among that company of freedom-loving men and women, whose home was the woods, and whose eyes were always upon the unreachable horizon! Alas! Those that remain are now no more than mere employees, slaves to the whims of stock-holders in London and Paris. I, too, would have stayed a
voyageur
, for I love the woods and the rivers, but my back and legs were getting no younger, and carrying a pack over the muddy trail of a
portage
was no longer such an easy stroll. Still, I was blessed there, too, for I put my money into horse-trading just as the demand for horses and mules grew great here in Virginny, and then into breeding-studs, stables and livery, too, so I have not done so badly. I still dream of the woods, though, and the rough companionship I knew there. I even miss my indian friends, for they are savages, it is true, but they have a wild nobility that we civilised peoples have not had since the times of the warriors of the ancient legends. Some of them do, anyway! You are of my family, cousin Frank, so please
call me Richard. You fellows, too, as we meet so congenially, and talk of the souls of boats like philosophers. I salute you all!”

Mr Bonhomme raised his glass of grog and emptied, the buccaneers followed suit and banged their glasses down on the table.

“Captain Greybagges ….” said Mr Benjamin, in a tentative voice.

“Sylvestre, if you please, in these cordial circumstances,” said the Captain, refilling his glass from the jug.

“Sylvestre, meeting my cousin Richard for the first time is a pleasant surprise, yet it reminds me that I have a mother, six brothers, ten sisters, a wife, a son and a daughter, none of whom have I seen for over a year. This Dutchman of yours will not arrive for a week, so might I have a leave of absence, a furlough, for three days, to visit them? You know that I will return and not ‘jump ship', as you matelots say.”

“You are fortunate that that you ask me this now, while I am in drink and thus full of good cheer,” said the Captain. “You are vital to our company in this enterprise, yet I am inclined to allow you this, provided you will return. How far is your family home? How debatable are the roads you must travel? The malice of an indian brave or the greed of a footpad might delay you, or worse, and then our success will be put in doubt, despite the good work that you have done in schooling your assistants.”

“Upon horseback it is but half a day, …” said Mr Benjamin.

“And I shall provide the horse!” cried Mr Bonhomme. “And I shall accompany my cousin Frank, with two of my men, stout fellows and not shy! We shall bring Frank back to you even if we have to carry him on a shutter, if he shall be the worse for drink, ho-ho!”

“Why, then it is difficult for me to refuse, Frank,” said the Captain slowly, not looking entirely content.

“Upon my honour, Captain!” said Mr Bonhomme, placing his hand on his chest, “I shall ensure my cousin's timely return! We could start now, and so be back the sooner! We will arrive in Boston after dark, ‘tis true, but the last four leagues are on a straight path through open pasture, and there is the twilight until the moon rises. Come cousin! On with your hat! Let us away!”

Captain Greybagges put on a stern expression, then nodded.

“I mislike enterprises conceived in grog,” he said, “but if your two stout fellows are sober and your horses obedient, Richard, then maybe you will arrive
approximately in one piece. Go now, Frank, before I change my mind.”

Mr Benjamin struggled to his feet, trying to put on his hat and finish his grog at the same time.

“Thank you, Captain! … Sylvestre!” he gasped, putting his glass on the table.

“Do you have enough money in your purse? Are you sure? Then get on your way as quick as you can, lest nightfall catch you on the road. Do please pass my kindest regards to your mother and family.” The Captain waved them away, with a brief smile.

The two hurried from the inn. The First Mate and the sailing master appeared not to have noticed, intent upon their cards. Bulbous Bill discarded a two of diamonds, took the top card from the deck, examined it, smiled, his fat jowls dimpling, and laid his hand down on the table-top.

“Har-har! A forced
quinola
an' so the
espagnolette!
Your goose be cooked, Izzy! Har-har!”

“Bloody
Rovescinio
! I curses the cursed game! I do swear that you be making up the rules as we plays, Bill! ‘Pon my oath I does! Where is Frank and the little fat cully?”

Captain Greybagges sighed and shook his head sadly. Blue Peter stood up.

“Captain, I will follow after Frank and his cousin,” he said. “If Mr Bonhomme's horses are overly boisterous, or if his stout fellows are as inebriated as he is himself, I shall persuade them to wait upon the morning. Otherwise I shall make sure that they are expeditiously away on their travels.”

He put on his hat and strode from the inn. Captain Greybagges sighed again, gestured to the innkeeper for another jug of grog, and turned back to the table.

“
Rovescinio
you say? By my bones! That be a game fit only for Venetian
zoccoli
, prancing nincompoops and French dressmakers! Deal me in, Bill, and I shall skin you both.”

 

 

They played several hands, Bulbous Bill winning all of them. Loomin' Len came and asked if the crew could go ashore, as their tasks were done.

“Of course!” said the Captain. “This is a fair haven for we jolly pirates. There is but little chance of any surprises, so long as we pays our way, respects the local customs and the indians don't go on the war-path, har-har! Look-outs to be posted
and watches to be kept, mind! You know the drill with the crew. Parties of six only, bully-boys to stay sober, no trollops on board. Sails need be mended and trunnions be slushed on the morning, remember, so no man to get himself paralytical, and no fighting.”

Loomin' Len made to leave.

“Oh, and see if 'n you can't find Peter. It ain't like him to go wanderin' off, specially when we shall be havin' ourselves some afternoon tea. And cakes, too, if I am not mistaken.” The Captain sniffed the aroma of baking from the inn's kitchen, sipped his grog, now cold, and picked up his cards. After some deliberation he discarded two and took two from the pack. The game continued.

 

Loomin' Len came back into the inn, followed by several pirates. They doffed their knitted caps, mumbled greetings to the Captain and sat at the table by the fire. Loomin' Len came to the Captain, bent down and whispered:

“He's hired a hoss, Cap'n, an' he's rode orf. The ostler said he didn't say where he's going, but he didn't foller after Mr Benjamin and his pal. Says he spurred the hoss an' rode orf like he was on a wager, coat tails a-flying.”

Captain Greybagges hand stopped halfway through carrying his glass to his lips. He sat perfectly still for several seconds, then placed the glass back on the table.

“Izzy, Bill, come let us get some air,” he said softly, standing and putting on his black tricorn hat.

The First Mate and the sailing master hurried after the Captain, who was almost running. They were a unsteady on their feet from the afternoon of rum-grog, but they caught up to him as he entered the stable-yard of Mr Bonhomme. With a few terse questions the Captain confirmed what Loomin' Len had told him. He tore off his hat and nearly threw it onto the ground with anger, but mastered himself and put it carefully back upon his shaven head, breathing heavily.

“Damn the man!” he hissed. “Damn me for a dunderhead, too! I come ashore and forget myself, drinking and playing cards like any empty-headed jolly sailor on a toot! I have a little time waiting for a damn Dutchman, I think! We are safe-berthed! I may relax and grow my beard a little! What a tomfool I am!”

“Where is he away, then, Cap'n?” said Israel Feet, exchanging a puzzled glance with Bill.

“He is gone to burn down his former master's house. I did not realise the depth of his feelings about the things he endured as a slave. He is a proud man, and he means to have his vengeance if he can. We must stop him.” The Captain turned and shouted to the ostler, who was pitch-forking hay into a manger; “You! Fellow! We must have three horses and we must have them now! Here is gold!”

Captain Greybagges led them out of Jamestown at a sedate walk, telling his two friends that they must not give any indication of hurry, but when he came to the road that Blue Peter had taken he spurred the horse, snapped the reins and galloped, snarling ‘gid-yap! gid-yap!” at the startled nag. Israel Feet followed him on a lean gelding, almost keeping up despite his lack of horsemanship, and Bulbous Bill Bucephalus trailed after, his wobbling bulk bouncing on a large and good-natured mare, a good-natured mare which, despite its complaisance, ignored his squeaked exhortations and trotted with no sense of urgency. A small boy with ragged trousers and a fishing-pole over his shoulder stared open-mouthed with surprise as the trio rode past him into the deepening twilight.

 

 

Blue Peter, many miles ahead, lay along his horse's neck and growled words of encouragement to it as it hurtled along the muddy road. The horse's flanks were lathered with sweat and slather foamed from its lips. Clods of earth kicked up by its flying hooves fell back to the ground seconds after it had passed and become invisible in the gloom. Through Blue Peter's mind ran the phrase
trust your heart, trust your heart, trust your heart
, like a mantra. His emotions roiled and swirled like a hurricane, but at the hurricane's eye, at his heart, there was a calm filled with the cold thirst for vengeance.