An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (8 page)

“I won’t go, I won’t!” he muttered.

Lizbeth pulled him by the sleeve.

“Come into your room,” she said urgently.

Shuffling his feet, Francis obeyed her, and when they entered the bedchamber and Lizbeth had closed the door behind them, he flung himself downwards on his bed, beating his fists against the pillow as a child might do.

“I won’t go, I won’t!” he said again.

Lizbeth felt for the tinder box and lit the candles on the dressing-table. She wondered what she could say to comfort Francis and as she walked across to the bed, she remembered her mother’s words.

“You must look after Francis,” she had said as she was dying.

“Yes, Mother,” Lizbeth had answered.

“He cannot look after himself. You must remember that, always.”

Lizbeth was remembering it now. Francis could not look after himself. She sat down on the bed and started to stroke his hair.

“I won’t go to sea,” Francis cried helplessly and miserably into his pillow but he said it without conviction, for he was not strong enough to defy his father, and both he and Lizbeth knew it.

Lizbeth felt the tears gather in her eyes. She, too, was suffering.

“I hate them all. They are all against me, and I never have a chance to do what I want to do. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair,” Francis sobbed.

It was not fair, Lizbeth thought, that there should be so much unhappiness under one roof.

4

Rodney Hawkhurst walked up and down the quarter-deck watching the last-minute turmoil of getting the ship ready for sea. Men were scurrying about the decks; the shrill whistle of the pipes, hoarse orders from the boatswain’s mate and several round oaths told him they were heaving the pinnace up alongside.

On the quay were the usual crowds of weeping women and round-eyed children, their forlorn helplessness all the more pitiable because Rodney knew that many of the men to whom they said farewell were as excited as he was to know that the moment had come to leave the shore and take to the open sea.

He was impatient to the point of irritation with all the last-minute delays which invariably occurred and which, every time one sailed, were unexpected and unanticipated. Among the noises on the decks he could hear the baaing of the live sheep which had been brought on board at the last moment.

There was a litter of pigs, too, down below decks, and two or three dozen hens which he had purchased in the market that very morning, but which he thought now might have been an extravagance. Over and over again he had totalled up in his mind the provisions and stores he had sent aboard and had wondered if they would prove enough for the voyage that lay ahead. Among them were rice, peas, oil, candles, lanterns, lamps, sails ox-hides, hemp and sheet lead to stop shot holes.

He had spent every penny he could spare on the best salt beef, bacon and pork available, besides six tons of ship’s biscuit which the chandler swore had not been long in his possession.

Any man who went to sea expected incredible hardships, danger and bad food, but Roger was determined that as far as possible he would save his crew from unnecessary suffering. He knew how easily men got depressed and disgruntled on a long voyage and that the monotony and rottenness of their victuals had much to do with their ill humour and petty spitefulness.

He had learned, when he sailed with Drake, to consider the well-being of the men as well as that of the officers. In most ships, the treatment meted out to seamen was unnecessarily brutal. Rodney was determined that on his own ship, while modelling his discipline on naval tradition and custom, he would temper justice with mercy and try, if possible, to lead his men rather than to drive them by sheer physical violence.

The
Sea Hawk
was not a pretty ship and Rodney had no extra money to spend in decorating her, but she was sturdy and well-built, and his First Lieutenant, Master Barlow, had confirmed his opinion that she would be easy to manoeuvre. She carried twenty-two guns, seven demi-cannon on each side of her lower deck, six falconers firing grape on the upper and two chasers of bronze on the poop near the helm.

Besides these more formidable pieces of artillery, Rodney had a number of arquebuses and an armoury of fire-bombs and javelins tipped with tar which had proved so effective when used by Drake.

The
Sea Hawk
carried a crew of eighty; fifty were good fighting men, seasoned and experienced, whom Rodney and Barlow both considered themselves extremely fortunate to have obtained. Nearly two dozen of them had served with them before and had been tempted to embark on this adventure by a promise of a larger share of the booty than was usual.

Rodney had indeed worried himself almost into a fever about his crew. It was not to be expected that he would get the pick of the best men when they had a chance of sailing under the leadership of acknowledged heroes like Drake and Raleigh. Men were also being taken up for the Queen’s service for the ships which Her Majesty was preparing to put under Lord Howard’s command.

It was Barlow who had relieved Rodney of his anxiety, and who had eventually collected a better crew than he had even dared to hope for. Ships’ boys, volunteers and a number of craftsmen like the ship’s carpenter and blacksmith made up the complement.

Then there were the officers: Barlow and three other lieutenants, Baxter, Gadstone and Walters by name; Hales, the Master; Simson, the Purser; and Dobson, the Surgeon – a reputedly good man although Rodney already had his doubts as to the wisdom of engaging him.

He was elderly for one thing, and had come aboard with bloodshot eyes and a thick, repulsive stomach cough which he attributed to a thick night ashore, but which Rodney suspected came from an undermined constitution. However, it was too late to do anything about it and Rodney hoped that, once they got to sea, this and many more problems would settle themselves.

The pinnace was aboard, the few remaining stores were being taken below. Rodney looked to see that the water butts were secure in the hold. They were one of the last things he had had filled. He knew only too well what the casks became like after a few months at sea – foul and alive with living things. It was always desirable to put off bringing them aboard till the last possible moment.

In a few minutes now they would cast off. A diversion was caused on the quay as a seaman, very unsteady on his legs, was half-dragged, half-supported to the ship by a painted prostitute whom Rodney remembered seeing around the docks on previous occasions. She steadied the man across the gangplank; then as he fell face down on the deck, she shouted a cheery, if lewd farewell which raised a roar of laughter from the men working on the deck.

With her hands on her broad hips and her dress open almost to the waist, the harlot exchanged a spirited badinage with those on board, which was listened to sourly and with disgust by the other women on the quay.

“Make sail, Master Barlow,” Rodney said sharply. He could delay no longer.

Everyone should be aboard by now; and as he thought of it, Rodney’s expression darkened and he turned to walk impatiently up and down the quarter-deck.

He was remembering the moment when he must see Francis Gillingham and welcome him to the ship. He had particularly instructed Barlow to meet him when he arrived and to keep him out of sight at least until the turmoil of sailing had subsided a little.

“I swore I would have no damned gentlemen adventurers aboard my ship,” Rodney had cursed when Sir Harry’s letter was brought to him. “By my Faith, I have a good mind to refuse to take him.

“But Sir Harry Gillingham is a chief venturer!” Barlow answered quietly. “Suppose, Sir, he asked for the return of his gold?”

“I would tell him to go to the Devil,” Rodney replied, but he knew, as he spoke, that it was mere bravado and that he must do as Sir Harry asked, take his son on the voyage and try to make a man of him.

Sir Harry had not explained why he had come to this sudden decision regarding Francis, but from the tone of his letter Rodney guessed that something was amiss.

“The boy’s got himself into trouble of some sort,” he growled to Barlow, “but we’ve no time to play nursemaid to some puling brat.”

It was true that Rodney had long ago decided to have no gentlemen adventurers aboard the
Sea Hawk.
They were invariably a nuisance, impatient only for the treasure which the voyage would bring them, they were usually too sea-sick and undisciplined to be of any real use in the management of a ship.

Rodney was also well aware that this voyage was likely to prove both dangerous and perilous. One ship on its own was very vulnerable to attack, and though he had every hope and confidence that they would quickly capture a smaller ship or a pinnace, that was small comfort in the initial stages of their journey. There was also the other side of the picture – they might be sunk or taken prisoner and there would be no one to come to their rescue.

The ship, too, was full to capacity, and although there was a spare sleeping cabin alongside his own aft under the poop, Rodney had decided to keep it empty, thinking there was every likelihood of its being used by some important prisoner. If not, it always could be useful for storing part of the spoils.

However, it was no use complaining. There was nothing he could do about it save try and sail sooner than he planned and hope that Francis would reach Plymouth too late.

There was a shout to man the main topsail halliards; Rodney watched a rush up the rigging as the men scurried from the halliards to the braces while a roar forward told him that the moorings were slipped. He licked his finger and held it up to see if the wind was freshening – rounding Devil’s Point was not going to be easy. Then with the yards braced round , the Sea
Hawk
turned to starboard and slowly gathered way.

There was a sudden wail from the quayside, the children were fluttering their handkerchiefs excitedly, the wives holding them to their eyes. For a number of them it was the last time they would ever see their men alive.

“Keep your eyes inboard, there,” yelled a Petty Officer, for every man’s attention was needed for the business in hand – that of trimming the sails to the wind.

Rodney felt the ship heel over; Barlow was directing her course as close to the wind as she would lie; and suddenly as he felt the heave and swell of the waves, heard the familiar slap of the sails and the rattling of the blocks and the creak of the timbers, he felt excitement sweep over him, so that he must swallow hard and press his lips together to prevent himself joining in the cheer that the men raised as Stonehouse Bill opened up before them. They were off! Adventure lay ahead, England lay behind.

Rodney had a sudden vision of Phillida. For a moment she seemed to stand beside him, so beautiful that she dazzled him. As he said good-bye to England, so he wished now he could say good-bye to Phillida – not as he had done on leaving Camfield, touching her cold hand to his lips, but as his seamen said goodbye to their sweethearts and wives.

He should have kissed Phillida on the mouth; he should have infused her with his own fire. Now in retrospect he could hardly credit that he had been so foolish as to let her keep him at arms length.

Despite every possible manoeuvre and plea on his part, she had evaded being alone with him. Rodney cursed himself for a nitwit and a weakling. He should have forced himself upon her, even gone to her bedchamber if necessary – it would not have been the first time he had overpowered a woman’s protests and her reluctance.

“Phillida! Phillida!” he whispered her name to the breeze, and then, uninvited, Lizbeth’s face was before him, her eyes alight with mischief, her lips red, mocking. . . .

“Curse the wench!” Rodney forced himself to think again of Phillida, but the moment of her nearness was past and he forgot her a second later.

The sky had been grey and overcast all day, but now the sun broke through, seeming to bring a message of hope and cheer. It glittered on the waves, dazzling Rodney’s eyes as he glanced aloft.

“Set the topsails, Master Barlow,” he said.

With the wind blowing fresher as they neared the open sea they headed into the Sound. The waves were under her bows and under the pressure of increased sail the
Sea Hawk
made her first big roll. The men were beginning to be seasick and Rodney congratulated himself that it was many years indeed since he had known the ignominy of staggering and lurching towards the rails. He had not, however, forgotten the misery of his first voyage when he had been so sick that he had prayed that death might take him. He had learned in the years that followed that many men, however experienced sailors they might be, were always sick in the first few hours of a voyage, before they got their sea-legs.

He must remember to tell Barlow a little later on, he thought, not to push the sea-sick men too hard. The Petty Officers were being very free with the rope’s end he noticed, and he decided that he would speak to all those in authority and tell them that he would have no unnecessary cruelty on board.

The loyalty and affection which Drake inspired was, Rodney knew, to a great extent due to his innate kindliness. The men did not expect it, and it never ceased to surprise them that someone so successful and so fearless as Drake could show them personal consideration and have, what was more, an individual knowledge of every man under his command.

Rodney had sworn to model himself on the same lines, but now he felt almost a sense of helplessness as he watched the men hurrying about the deck and swarming up the rigging. To them he was a figurehead, the Captain of the ship and of their fate, someone who must be obeyed, hardly human, hardly of the same flesh and blood as themselves.

He had got to get to know them; he had got to teach them to trust him. They knew he was untried, they knew, even better than he did, the perils and pitfalls of his first command. And yet no fear, no anxiety could dim the elation in Rodney’s heart. They were at sea, the sails were full-bellied.

He had never known such a thrill, such a sense of wild excitement as filled him at this moment. The
Sea Hawk
was his desire as surely as if she were a woman who had surrendered herself to him. He felt his whole being tingle with the triumphant joy of a man who has fought and conquered – a man who has proved his manhood.