A DREADFUL OCCURRENCE TODAY when a flock of gannets appeared near by and buzzed over our heads, cackling away something terrible. We grew terribly excited, each one of us, for if we could manage to catch one, it would make fine eating. Mr Fryer picked up the spear slowly and told us all to sit still in the tub, no one was to move; we were to wait and see if one of the gannets would land on the edge of our launch.
‘If we had two spears, then things would be a damn sight better,’ came a voice from behind me – I was unsure whose, but I kept my eyes facing forward and did not turn round to give the scut any pleasure from the remark.
‘Quiet, please, gentlemen,’ said Mr Fryer in a low, peaceful voice. ‘Mr Bligh, perhaps a morsel of bread on the rim?’
‘If we lose it, it will be a terrible waste,’ he said, unsure whether to agree to the request or not.
‘And if it brings one of these birds down to rest I promise you that he shall not fly again.’
The captain hesitated for a few moments, but none of the gannets showed any sign of landing and, rather than risk their flying away, he grabbed a tasty chunk from the crate and placed it carefully on the side of the boat, close to the master himself.
‘If you can kill him before he eats it, all the better,’ he said quietly as he placed it down.
It was a fine piece, that was for sure, more than he ever offered any of us, but then again it was necessary to be that size in order for the birds to see it and think it worthy of a swoop. My stomach growled and lurched in famished pain as I stared at it and I dare say I was not the only one on board who had an urge to lunge forward, grab it and swallow it before anyone could stop me, although to do so may well have resulted in instantaneous murder.
‘Come on now,’ came Mr Fryer’s voice, and I swear he locked eyes with one of the birds, because a few moments later one started to descend and hover above the bread, watching it carefully, watching us, waiting to see whether we meant it any harm. ‘Quite still, everyone,’ he said and not a man on the boat dared to breathe, let alone shift in his seat. The moments felt like hours but then, to our delight, the bird rested his legs on the side of the tub, pecked down on the bread and swallowed it before any of us could stop him, but he was rewarded a moment later by Mr Fryer’s spear piercing through his skin quite cleanly and pinning him to the deck.
The sound of the bird’s surprised screech coincided with our raucous cheer and the flapping of the gannets overhead, who flew away immediately, and I swear I could not remember when I had last felt so deliriously happy.
‘Three cheers for Mr Fryer,’ cried Mr Elphinstone and in our delight we went along with the farce, and the look of relieved joy on the master’s face was a sight to behold. I could not remember ever seeing him so pleased with himself. He turned to the captain and offered him the dead bird and Mr Bligh clapped him on the back soundly.
‘Well done, Mr Fryer,’ he said, trying to keep his enthusiasm in check. ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a clean shot.’
We watched as the captain pulled the spear from the bird’s body and set about plucking the feathers from the carcass. There was none of us who thought for a moment that he was about to divide the bird eighteen ways – on the contrary, we knew only too well that the meat would be finely separated and might last us four or five days if the captain took care with it – but, nevertheless, it was a welcome change from the morsels of bread we were accustomed to, a healthy chunk of which had just been digested by our victim.
Mr Bligh held the plucked bird at the side of the boat and took his knife to gut it and, as he did so, as the blade entered the flesh and pressed northwards to divide the body equally along the centre, those of us close enough to see let out a disgusted cry. Rather than the healthy white meat and red blood and organs we expected to see, a black, tar-like substance emerged instead. The captain hesitated, curling his lip, before resuming his slicing and then a moment later, to our surprise, let go of the body, flinging it back to the sea with a cry.
‘Captain!’ I cried, shocked by what he had done.
‘He was diseased,’ said the captain, and I swear that had he had food in his stomach he would have retched it overboard as well. ‘There was nothing to eat. A taste would have killed us all.’
‘It’s an omen,’ said William Peckover, standing up and looking thoroughly defeated by the experience. ‘It’s an omen, men,’ he repeated. ‘The black diseased bird says that we shall all die.’
‘Sit down, Mr Peckover!’ snapped the captain.
Peckover opened his mouth to repeat his assertion, but then thought better of it, resumed his place and shook his head. No one spoke, the rowers continued to row, the tub continued to go forward, the rain started to fall, and each one of us wondered whether Mr Fryer had just been unlucky in the gannet that had landed or whether Mr Peckover had reason in his comments.