On a Making Tide (10 page)

‘You’re havin’ me on.’

‘Am I?’ replied Judd, spitting on his hand. ‘A whole commission pay I’ll place on that.’

The mood of the ship changed even more as they crossed the wide ocean. Boredom set in, a longing to be on the land that lay somewhere over the bowsprit. That produced an increase in fractiousness, a series of petty disputes that destroyed any harmony. McGrath seemed particularly affected, though the mood was general. Horatio Nelson noticed it and confirmed his impression with Amos Cavell, then broached the matter with John Judd.

‘It was ever thus. A cruise starts off with a levelling, then settles down to peace an’ quiet. Most of the lads we fetched on board can’t run to one meal a day ashore, let alone three. So once they’re settled in they’s happy for a full belly. But that don’t last, an’ all the vice that’s stayed pent up starts to break out.’

‘Vice?’ demanded Nelson, intrigued.

John Judd’s eyes were on him, for once without the light of humour. ‘When I tell you, at certain times, to stay clear of the hold, there’s a purpose. Some of the crew have attachments and need peace.’ Nelson fought to keep his face still, determined to pretend he had no idea what Judd was on about. ‘And I tell you no lie when I say that those near a young ’un who might be troubled keeping their hands to themselves have been warned off. It ain’t always so for a ship’s boy, I can tell you.’

Even here on an open deck, the smell of
Raisonable
’s
bilge water was in Nelson’s nostrils, the breath of Rivers, his spittle, his voice. ‘Warned off by you?’

‘Not me, but I’m friend to McGrath, ain’t I?’

‘He’s the most miserable sod afloat this minute,’ said Amos, who was clearly bored by this. ‘I ain’t seen him smile for near a week.’

‘Happen he has reason.’

‘Like what, Little Bitt?’ Nelson asked, his breaking voice half-growl,
half-squeak
.

Judd was really frowning now, as though what he had to say was more unwelcome than either pederasty or bestiality. ‘We don’t get saints serving. There are some right good men, don’t get me wrong. But it stands to reason that if’n you take a body of tars from all and sundry places, one or two are
bound to be less than right honest. It makes no odds what ship you serve in, Navy or trade, the one thing that drives a fid though peace and quiet is the thought that one of your mates is thieving.’

Neither boy responded, so after giving them a meaningful look, he continued, ‘It’s the bane of ship life, with men bein’ all mewed up close. You can’t hide or make safe all you value, and half the time there’s no money worth to what goes astray.’

‘McGrath has had something stolen?’

Judd looked keenly at him.

‘Which is why he’s got a monk on,’ Amos added.

‘You’d be in a hermit mood too, if you’d been robbed. I’m just guessin’ mind, since he ain’t said owt. But all the old signs are there.’

The angry looks that McGrath had been casting around were easy to recall but whatever they had made plain to John Judd had escaped Horatio Nelson. ‘Does he know who’s done it?’

‘Would he be a-broodin’ if he did?’ Judd replied, slowly. ‘Seems to me he ain’t got a clue, which is bad, ’cause it means he’s uneasy about every party in the mess.’

‘Including you?’ piped Amos, amazed.

‘Never in life. But what about you, boy? There’s no law says a thief has to have hair on his chest.’

‘Should he not tell Rathbone?’

‘None of the Captain’s business, Nellie. This is the lower deck.’ Judd sucked his cheeks in, clearly troubled. ‘Never take your troubles to the master, ’cause he has to apply the proper law. Below decks we have our own ways, though with a hard bargain like McGrath you never know what could occur. He’s a brooder any road, an’ he could explode in the next minute.’

‘And what happens then?’

‘He’ll hit someone for certain. But, worse than that he’ll start accusing, which means that every man jack in the mess will get shirty. Then they’ll start looking at one another for a clue to the miscreant. Next thing, another few accusations will fly about, which’ll lead to a fight. If it ain’t sorted it could last us all the way to the Windies.’

‘There must be something that can be done.’ This particular statement was made before the perpetrator realised how pompous he sounded, indeed how like his own father.

Judd looked at him and gave a wry smile. ‘Oh, yes, young Nellie, there is. An’ happen John Judd is the man best placed to do it.’

Over the next two days McGrath’s face grew darker, his beetle-brow shrinking even more as he examined everyone with deep suspicion. Even Streeter, who had given him a fair fight and not disgraced himself, was walking around the Irishman as if broken glass lay under his feet. It was a situation that the two boys couldn’t resist. Seeing a man about to explode, they were determined to witness the event at the point of combustion,
unconcerned that watching only added fuel to an already flaming temper. To extend their observation to a point where they even had their quarry at his place of easement was carrying things too far. Luckily for Horatio Nelson, Amos was closest to McGrath when he cracked.

‘You stinking little toe rag,’ the Irishman yelled, leaping to his feet, one huge hand hauling up his trousers while the other shot out to catch the boy by his collar. The garment was worn loose to ward off the sun and it seemed as if the youngster was going to slip bodily out of it as McGrath lifted his arm. But Amos, squealing with terror, stayed inside, the white linen stretched above his head.

‘I’ve a good mind to wipe my arse with you. Then we’ll see how much you want to stay dogging my every step.’

‘Please, McGrath,’ Amos screamed, as he was swung out over the bows, well clear of the nettings.

As they were right at the peak of the prow, few people could see what McGrath was doing. And if they could hear the squealing, they could also hear the Irishman’s angry voice, and were not about to come forward to investigate. Let down as far as possible Amos’s calves were soaked by the forward motion of the ship. As soon as the sea dropped back he was hauled in again, close to the angry sailor’s face.

‘You’ll be after telling me what you’ve done wi’ my Pigtail or, Jesus bear witness, next time I duck you I’ll leave go.’

‘What Pigtail?’ Amos shouted, turning his head away from McGrath’s eyes. Nelson was shouting too as his bantam-sized fists pummelled the Irishman to little effect.

‘My fuckin’ baccy. A whole wad of prime Pigtail. I want to know who you sold it to.’

Amos tried to say he knew nothing about McGrath’s tobacco, but the man’s grip had tightened and the shirt was now knotted over his throat. Then one of Nelson’s punches swung wide, taking the huge man in the groin just below the hand that was still holding his trousers. McGrath roared in pain, and swung a fist at his assailant’s head. Not only did he miss the nimble lad, but the ducks ended up round his ankles, and tripped him up.

This was mostly bad news for Amos who, if he was saved from drowning was nevertheless roughly hauled over the bowrail. McGrath let him go and he crumpled on to the wet planking, still unsure as to which way was up by the time the Irishman got his ducks up round his waist. Nelson was standing just out of reach trying to tempt McGrath to follow him by cursing him roundly as ‘a no good swab, a grass-combing bugger not fit to be boiled for tallow’.

John Judd arrived just as the huge sailor, roaring like a bull, was about to launch himself on the boy. Judd pushed Nelson behind him, his hands held up to his friend in fearful supplication. ‘Now, stow it, McGrath.’

It was only in that place of relative safety that Nelson realised what had
just happened. Without thinking he had landed several blows on the hardest man in the ship. The burst of fear was mingled with pride at his own audacity.

‘Step aside, Judd.’

‘What?’ Judd replied with disbelief. ‘So you can beat up a nipper?’

‘Did you cock an’ ear to what he said?’

‘I did, and it was cheek for certain. But I reckon he’s just spoke to save young Amos.’

Clearly McGrath had forgotten about Amos, who was now crouched on his hands and knees watching the Irishman’s back. As the sailor turned, he shot for the bowsprit.

‘Where’s my damned baccy you little sods?’ he growled, his head jerking back and forth. ‘’Twas in my chest and some skulkin’ low life bastard has gone an’ lifted it.’

‘Weren’t locked,’ said Judd, almost to himself, since a man like McGrath felt, quite rightly, that he had little need to protect his possessions. While both men were pondering this, and at a cocked thumb from Amos, Nelson took the opportunity to slip away.

‘Thanks mate,’ gasped Amos, and Nelson’s chest swelled with pride.

‘You’ll be after tellin’ me I’m to blame,’ growled McGrath.

‘I can see how such as that would work on you,’ said Judd, moving forward, his finger tapping his head, well within the range of those bunched fists. ‘That’s why you’ve been a-brooding.’

‘There’s not a man on this barky would cross me, mate, an’ well you know it.’ The use of the word ‘mate’ was reassuring, hinting that some of McGrath anger had dissipated. But he could still be heard on the forecastle as he continued, ‘But them tykes might pinch my Pigtail to sell on.’

‘Never in life,’ said Judd. ‘They might be imps, but they ain’t light-fingered.’

McGrath looked unconvinced, but Judd pressed home his advantage being the hard man’s friend. ‘What if I was to say to you, McGrath, that John Judd could find out for certain who snaffled your Pigtail?’

‘An’ how, in the name of Brian Boru, are you going to do that?’

‘You wait and see.’

‘I’ve been mullin’ on it since well before he blew,’ said Judd, clearly pleased at the looks of certainty on the two boys’ faces. At least they didn’t doubt him. The rest of the crew did, and were placing bets that it would be Judd himself who would feel the weight of McGrath’s displeasure, which was to be welcomed since it was like to save them. ‘Now, you just run along and attend to your duties while I get my little surprise ready.’

Amos, Nelson and the rest of the crew watched Judd like hawks. As Rathbone made his noon observation, he was spotted standing by the lee rail, muttering incantations and throwing various objects into the sea. This included the innards of a chicken, whose neck had been wrung to provide
the cabin dinner. Some of the bird’s blood followed, which, added to the dirge-like tones of Judd’s prayers, caused much unease among a deeply superstitious crew.

Dinner was eaten in silence, with the Irishman’s eyes never still as he sought guilt in every move or gesture. Only Judd was relaxed. Taking advantage of the tension, he helped himself to twice the normal allowance of food. Being Saturday, there was grog to consume, but no one really seemed to want it until they were sure what was afoot.

Observing this, Judd reached behind him, and pulled from a ditty bag a set of thin sticks. In the lantern-light, every eye was drawn to the dark blood that tipped the end of each one. ‘Do all concur that there be such a thing as sea justice?’ he asked, to nodding heads and grunts of assent. ‘An’ that McGrath here has been cruelly robbed of his rightful chattels?’ His eyes ranged round the table. ‘We’re all tars at this mess table, an’ we know that there are laws and retributions that have nowt to do with judges and courts. Have we not all seen the won’t-take-no-for-an-answer sodomite fall from the yards, his vile blood to stain the deck, the slack-arsed swine who crows on his mate lost o’erboard on a dark and windy night, with no man’s hand anywhere near him?’

Judd’s voice had dropped low, seeming to draw in the deck beams above their heads. ‘Now, there are those that cry mishap an’ refuse to see the power of old Neptune at work. But there are others, men like us, who knows that venerable laws govern the lives of sailors, doctrines that go back to a time hidden by the mist.’

Horatio Nelson felt his skin crawl, such was the effect of John Judd’s litany. All his father’s admonishments regarding sorcery and devilry, which tried to well up and force him to leave, could not stand against the power of a present speaker. Judd’s eyes seemed to have grown larger, as if he was no longer the same gentle fellow who took such care of his boys. He looked at Amos, seeing that he, too, was deeply affected. They both started, as Judd’s words cracked like a whip.

‘There be a thief among us,’ Judd cried, ‘an’ that, as you know, is enough to summon the old spirits. I have said words to the waves, summoned Neptune’s aid in cantos that are death to the hound that lies. I have spoken with the spirits, as a few of us can, and they say that McGrath shall have his Pigtail returned, and his vengeance on the villain who lifted it.’

The bundle of thin sticks was shoved into the middle of the table, the base in his fist, the bloody tips held upright. ‘In here there is one piece for each man. They must be returned to my hand by suppertime, and he that stole McGrath’s Pigtail baccy will have the longest one of us all, for with his guilt and my spells, the wood will grow in his possession and nail him as sure as my name is John Judd. Let no man see it as you choose, for the evil eye rests in the miscreant, and he may do to yours, with no more’n a look, what should be done to his own.’

Tentatively, each man took his choice, some quickly, others hovering
over the tips. The last two were offered to the ship’s boys for, as Judd observed, the spirits required them all to hold a piece of the true wood. Slowly the sailors moved away, to carry out the duties that had been assigned to them for the late afternoon. As the work progressed they would stop suddenly, pull their sticks from their pockets and turn to examine them. No genius was required to see the relief on the faces when they observed that theirs was the same length as when they had drawn it.

Time dragged until supper, began to seem near standstill as the men ate, so by the time Judd called for the sticks to be returned, the atmosphere was as taut as a bow string. One by one they laid them, even in length, on the table. As the line increased, so did the fear, for the number of potential culprits diminished. Catgut the fiddler was near the last to oblige. Heads turned in wonder when they saw that his stick was a good inch shorter than the rest.

‘You are undone, Catgut,’ said Judd softly. The scrawny fiddler tried to laugh, but one look into John Judd’s eyes killed the sound in his throat. ‘All the sticks were the same, each and every one. To be shorter, a man would have to break a bit off. Why would he trouble to do that, lest he thought himself guilty and wanted to be sure his stick hadn’t grown? Now, delay no more an’ tell me where you’ve hidden McGrath’s Pigtail.’