“‘IT IS THEREFORE ordered and adjudged by this Court, that you be transported upon the seas, beyond the seas –’” William looked out through a crack in the closed dead-light. “‘– to such a place as His Majesty, by the advice of His Privy Council, shall think fit to direct and appoint, for the term of your natural life.’”
“Your memory is good,” said Jeremiah, from beneath.
“You don’t forget,” said William. “They put a quietness on you, do them words. ‘Upon the seas, beyond the seas.’ It’s just I never thought as how there’d be so much.”
“Ay,” said Renter, “and a lot of it’s wet.”
“It’ll take some getting round,” said William. “And the sky’s looking black aback of Bill’s mother’s.”
“You’d best come on down, then,” said Renter. “The chairs are talking.”
William crouched along the gloom of the gun deck to the companion ladder and into the dark of the orlop and its air festered with slough and staled blood. He found his hammock and hauled his chain up.
“William?” said Jeremiah.
“What?”
“Suppose: now let us, for the sake of discourse, suppose that Fortune were not to smile on you. Let us suppose that New Holland were to be your domicile, in truth, for the rest of your natural life.”
“But I’m going home.”
“I said the chairs were talking. It’ll be tables next,” said Renter.
“I’m feeling badly,” said Eggy Mo.
“They’re doing some running aloft, by the sound of it,” said Renter.
A chair fell over, and the tables began to slide.
“Seun agus saor agus –”
“Nay, Sawney!” shouted William. “Don’t you start! Else you’ll have ’em all yowking!”
“– Le gaotha caona, caomha, coistre, cubre –”
“Sawney! Be told!”
“Leave him,” said Renter. “Sawney knows his boats. And if he’s praying, I think I just might try.”
A crag of water hit the side of the ship. Sea cascaded down the companion.
“Batten all hatches!” cried a distant voice, and the decks thudded into black.
“Open up!” Eggy Mo screamed. “I’ll not drown! You’ll not let us! You’ll not drown us! Open up!”
“And is it you’ll be teaching iron to swim?” shouted Pad.
Eggy Mo was sick into his hammock, coughing and weeping. “I want me Mam.”
“And don’t we all?” said Pad.
Another sea swept the ship, and water dripped and trickled from the gun deck above. Crying began, both women and men, and the sound of retching. Shouts went up.
William put out his manacled hands in the darkness, balancing the hammock, until he reached Eggy Mo. Tender, so as not to capsize himself, he worked his way to Eggy’s hand, which gripped his in spasm.
“Come here, youth,” said William, “and I’ll tell thee a tale.”
“Will you?” said Eggy Mo.
“Once upon a time,” said William, “though it weren’t in my time, and it weren’t in your time, and it weren’t in anybody else’s time, Jack and his mother were living on a common –”
“Where is me Mam?” said Eggy Mo.
“She’ll be here presently,” said William. “Anyroad, they were living on this common in a tumbledown house of sorts, with nobbut a white cow to keep them.”
“Wasn’t it a brown un?” said Eggy Mo.
“No. I’m telling you. It were white.”
“Ay, white,” said Renter.
People were blundering about in the wallow and dark, their chains splashing in the water that was gathering on the deck as they tried to find the ladder. Table and chairs were knocked over, and the cries of those who had fallen and could not get to their feet became panic.
“Stay in your hammocks!” shouted William. “You’ll be all right! Anyroad, ‘Oh,’ says the man, ‘I’ll give you more than you’ll get at the market. If you’ll sell me your white cow, I’ll give you five beans.’”
“Three,” said Renter.
“No, they were never,” said William.
“Three.”
“Oh no they were not! I know how many beans make five!”
“‘Infandum, regina, iubes renovare dolorem.’”said Jeremiah.
“You what?” William nearly lost his balance. “What are you at?”
“Assimilating the disgorgement and crepitation of others while en route for the Antipodes at His Majesty’s Pleasure,” said Jeremiah, “and assaying to improve on the Bedlam about me. Cows and beans, my dear fellow, cows and beans? When we may founder? Cows and beans!”
“What was it you said?”
“Words that appeared to be appropriate to our situation: no more.”
“What’s it mean?”
“‘O queen, you bid me relate unspeakable distress.’”
“Is there any more?”
“What’s it about?”
“It concerns a man who sails from home to find a foreign land.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“It is over long,” said Jeremiah, “and I find it somewhat tedious.”
“Learn me!” said William. “You must learn me that whateveritis!”
“Teach Latin? Amongst this canting crew? But why not?” said Jeremiah. “And an acquaintance with the language, in particular with an ability to read the first verse of the Fifty-first Psalm, whence its vulgar sobriquet of ‘Neck Verse’, brings with it the singular advantage of escaping the full rigours of those offences that are held to be capital, as I have good cause to know. Yes, you shall learn your Latin, William. There are worse things to be done with fourteen years.”
“No,” said William. “You must do it in a sixmonth. I’m going home.”
“Then you may as well remain with cows and beans. Cows and beans, William, cows and beans.”
The ship pitched under the seas, and the cries in the dark spread along the deck, swearing, pleading, praying and wordless. Only the Irish kept calm, with an unbroken jig of spoons and mouth music. William comforted Eggy Mo.
“– No sooner done than in come the giant, and a great hairy chap he were, by all accounts.”
“And what does he say?” said Eggy Mo.
“He says:
‘Fee! Fi! Fo! Fum!
I smell the blood of an Englishman!
Be he alive, or be he dead,
I’ll grind his bones to make my bread!’”
“By all the Saints!” shouted Pad. “He’d be the great one for a political organisation!”
The hatch was thrown open and there was a rushing of feet on the ladders, and an escort of sailors carrying torches, and of marines with bayonets fixed, pushed the crowd to the sides, leaving a passage clear. Along the gangway came a lieutenant, and with him the chaplain, holding a lantern. The clothes of them all trailed water.
“Aha,” said Renter. “Here comes Bobby Knoppy.”
“Is all well, Mr Erbin?” said the chaplain to Jeremiah.
“By no means, Mr Knopwood,” said Jeremiah. “The people fear for their lives. They are persuaded that the ship will sink.”
The check that the sudden occupation had brought became panic again, and the marines had to use the butts of their flintlocks in the closed space.
“Silence!” ordered the lieutenant. “Silence!” His voice cracked.
“He says hush up!” shouted William.
The noise and the groaning subsided. The Irish continued a muted music. They were sitting on their tables, their weight keeping them steady.
“Hush up, Pad,” said William.
“Diddle-i-di-di-di, di-diddle-i-diddle-i-diddle-i-di,” Pad sang, smiling.
“Listen to the parson!” said William.
The deck was silent for a moment. In the light, those who had fallen were helped to stand.
The chaplain looked William in the eye. William held his gaze.
“Name?” said the lieutenant.
“William Buckley.”
“Say ‘sir’ to the chaplain.”
“Me grandad always told me as ‘sir’ was a poor word for a fool,” said William.
The chaplain laughed. “Why is this man double ironed, Mr Johnson?” he said.
“I don’t know, sir,” said the lieutenant.
“Then do me the honour of discovering the cause.”
“Yes, sir. Sergeant!”
“Sir!”
“Take charge.”
“Sir!”
The lieutenant ran up the ladder.
“Your grandsire’s wisdom,” said the chaplain to William, “will, I fear, strain my composure on the voyage.” He turned to face the prison deck. “Now! If you heathen, lero lero bullen a-la Teigues will cease from your papist pratings for a moment, I have news for you all. There is a storm, but I have been in worse. And the ship is of His Majesty’s line, and not one of your transports that should never lose sight of the Thames.”
“But is it the storm that knows it? Sir?” said Pad. “And it’s not you, like a rat in a trap. Sir.”
“It is my intention to be with you till the storm abate,” said the chaplain. “And, if you will give us leave to say a prayer in peace, I shall offer you and your fellows what succour I may or that you will allow.”
“You’re on. Sir.” said Pad.
The lieutenant came back down the ladder and spoke in the chaplain’s ear.
“Indeed?” said the chaplain, and looked again at William. “The lieutenant has it from the Captain, Buckley, that, although you be charged with no offence other than that that brought you here, there is a note in the Captain’s Orders from the highest office of the Admiralty that you be confined in double irons for the duration of this voyage. Tell me: how may the matter stand thus?”
“That devil wants me dead,” said William.
“I recognise no authority,” said the chaplain, “other than God Almighty, and through His servant George our King, and His Archbishop. Mr Johnson. Have removed all but the leg irons. On the instant.”
“Yes, sir,” said the lieutenant. “Sergeant, have this man taken up and unmanacle him.”
“No,” said William. “Thee hold thy water. He thinks as I can’t do it. I’ll bloody show him. Leave them irons be.”
“Pride, William,” said Jeremiah. “‘The mouth of the foolish is a rod of pride.’”
“No,” said William. “It’s him or me.”
“Who?”
“Never you mind. I know. Leave them slangs.”
“I cannot command you,” said the chaplain.
“No, you can’t,” said William.
“Mr Knopwood,” said Jeremiah, “is the ship equipped with slates and pencils that we may use?”
“You have but to ask,” said the chaplain. “And now let us proceed, if we may. Mr Johnson. Do me the honour of going to my cabin and bringing me the bottle of brandy wine that you will find there. And then I should be gratified if you and your men were to retire.”
“Sir, I may not leave you among the convicts without a guard!”
“To supplicate our Father with flintlock and steel would be a blasphemy, sir,” said the chaplain. “Let us not dispute.”
“But your life –”
“Is in God’s hands. And I would have the brandy in mine.”
The lieutenant saluted, returned with the bottle, and withdrew his men. The chaplain stood alone in the pool of lantern light, in the stench and the darkness, feet apart against the roll of the ship, head bent under the beams.
“Let us go to our hammocks, and address ourselves to that Power that rules the heavens, the seas and the dry land.”
There was shrieking and spewing and the rattle of chains, but at last even the Irish settled.
“Thou, O Lord, that stillest the raging of the sea, hear, hear us, and save us that we perish not.”
“I chases ’em.”
“O blessed Saviour, that didst save thy disciples ready to perish in a storm, hear us, and save us, we beseech Thee.
“Lord, have mercy upon us.”
“I flaps my apron at ’em.”
“Christ, have mercy upon us.”
“But they sees me coming.”
“Lord, have mercy upon us.
“O Lord, hear us.”
“They sees my apron.”
“O Christ, hear us.”
“God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Ghost, have mercy upon us, save us now and evermore. Amen.”
The lantern swung shadows at the blessing.
“But I’ll get ’em, one day.”
“Amen.”
The chaplain went to the hammock and looked in.
“What is wrong with this man?”
“It’s lag fever, sir. He means no harm.”
“He was rocked in a stone kitchen, sir.”
The chaplain uncorked the bottle and wetted the lips with brandy.
“Here, my lad. This’ll bring back your dossity.”
“But I’ll get ’em, one day.”
The chaplain went from hammock to hammock, giving comfort and prayer, ignoring the curses, until he came to the Irish. Only Pad now sat on a table. The rest had gone to their hammocks and were lying with their faces turned away. The chaplain sat on the table, across from Pad, with the lantern and the brandy bottle between them.
“Now, McAllenan, is there anything a Protestant bug can do to help a heathen Teigue?”
“You have me name, sir!”
“I have more than your name. I have your character.”
“Well, well, sir. There’s a thing.”
“What can I do for you? Will you pray with me?”
Pad rummaged in his hammock and brought out a lump of bread and a lump of cheese, both dusted green with mould. He put them on the table.
“If it’s not too much trouble, sir, you can flick us some pannam and caz.”
The chaplain took a penknife from his pocket and cut a slice from each lump. He gave the bread to Pad.
“The Body of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was given for thee, preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life.”
Pad looked at the bread.
“Body of ballocks. Eat it yourself.” He bit into the cheese.
The chaplain took the bread and ate it, and then cut another piece and gave it wordlessly. Pad swallowed the bread. His face was innocent as a child’s.
The chaplain pushed the brandy forward.
“The Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
The chaplain was silent.
Pad looked at the bottle, and up again at the chaplain. The chaplain said nothing. Pad laughed, and uncorked the bottle. The chaplain waited. “Slàinte mhaith!” said Pad, tossed back his head and upended the bottle. He gulped several times, set the bottle down and breathed deeply. “Unto everlasting life,” said the chaplain, and did the same. He put the cork back.
“Oh,” said Pad, “this is the œcumenical time we’re having, isn’t it, sir? œcumenical. And that’s the big word for a heathen, hedge-school, papist Teigue from Ballimony!” He laughed. “Now it seems it’s me mates that have turned in, the idle ones. Would you be keeping me company in this terrible storm with a hand or two of Spoil-Five?”
“Certainly,” said the chaplain.
“I’ll just get me pack,” said Pad, and he winked at William as he felt in his hammock. He sat down again on the table, holding a dismembered book, crudely marked as playing cards. “And would you like to be having a small wager, to give the game an edge, like?”
“How may we wager,” said the chaplain, “when we have no spoils in common?”
“Well, sir, how would it be if, every time I lose, that’s three Hail Marys, and, if I lose overall, we’ll put a Novena on the top of them?”
“And what shall be my wager?” said the chaplain.
“Oh, the pleasure of your company, sir. Indeed, for every game you lose, you shall have a tot of your o-be-joyful; for I’m not the one to make a man sorry over a game of cards.”
“You’re nothing but a rogue, McAllenan,” said the chaplain.
“And aren’t all Teigues?” said Pad. “And aren’t you the one to know that? But, if you want to put some weight to it, if you lose overall, shall I be taken as your servant, with leave to come and go about the ship while on me duties, and scour no darbies, day or night. How’s that for a wager?”
“You would sleep here,” said the chaplain.
“But no irons,” said Pad.
“No irons,” said the chaplain.
“Let me deal you a hand, sir,” said Pad. “They’re poor things for cards, but a man has to take as he finds.”
Pad dealt out the cards, and the chaplain began to pick them up. He stopped.
“This is the Book of Common Prayer!”
“The what, sir? Ah, you’ve the bee’s wisdom on you. But how’s an ignorant, heathen, papist, hedge-school Teigue to know it?”
“It is sacrilege!” said the chaplain.
“Could we not say œcumenical, sir, in such a storm as may be the finishing of us? It’s a grand sounding word, and no harm meant. Will you not play me œcumenical cards?”
“McAllenan, you’re everything I’ve heard said of you, and more. But, damme, I like your spunk!”
“Well, that’s a start,” said Pad.
“Then what happens?” said Eggy Mo.
“The giant looks,” said William, “and he sees Jack chopping, and he roars and he roars. But Jack chops and he chops; he chops right through that beanstalk.”
“Wait on,” said Eggy Mo, and was sick again.
“Mr McAllenan can read,” Jeremiah whispered.
“How do you know?” said William.
“Watch his eyes.”
“The giant swings like a plumbob,” said William, holding Eggy Mo’s hand again. “What a caterwauling! He tries to get back up the sky; but the more he grabs at the beanstalk, the more it comes away; until, grabbing and tugging, blahting and yowking, he drops right down into the garden, all tangled in the beanstalk.”
“The Psalms of David, One and Two,” said Jeremiah. “That is the Ace of Spades: or Old Frizzle, as it is known among the Fancy, I believe. And the Ace of Diamonds, the Earl of Cork, is the Table to Find Easter Day.”
“And there he lies,” said William, “dead as a doornail.”
“The Creed of Saint Athanasius is Jack Shepherd, the Knave of Diamonds. I fear that Mr Knopwood is taking too much of the brandy.”
“‘That’s reckoned him up,’ says Jack, ‘rump and stump, it has. Rump and stump.’ And it has. But Jack and his mother, what with the giant’s gold, his red hen and the singing harp – well: they’re in clover. And, if they’re still living, they’ll be there yet.”
“That was good. I liked that,” said Eggy Mo, and he fell out of his hammock into the stew below, and lay there.
“The ten of Hearts is the Table of Kindred and Affinity,” said Jeremiah.
They watched.
“Your o-be-joyful’s gone, sir. The bottle’s empty.”
“Lero, lero, lero, lero,” said the chaplain.
“So I’ll be having the slangs faked tomorrow, sir. And I’ll look forward to serving your honour.”
Pad gathered the cards. He lifted the chaplain’s legs and tucked them about the table’s and cradled the bottle in the chaplain’s arms. Then he climbed into his hammock.
The ship heeled, and, with only the one dead weight to hold it, the table slid along the deck, drawing the glow of the lantern with it. The chaplain’s eyes were closed, but he bounced his buttocks and cried, “Yoiks! Tantivy! Tantivy!”
The Irish turned over to see, awake and grinning.
“Bear a bob, there!” shouted the chaplain as the table reversed and trundled back down the deck. He began to sing.
The Irish took up their spoons and played the tune. The table slid away again, carrying the light, to the furthest reaches of the orlop, but the chaplain’s throat was strong.
“There was an old prophesy found in a bog.”
“Lilli burlero bullen a-la!” answered the hammocks.
The table disappeared, but for its glow, into the stern, and came back, skidding in the slime.
“‘Ireland shall be ruled by an ass and a dog,’” sang the chaplain.
“Lilli burlero bullen a-la!” echoed the deck.
“Lero lero lilli burlero, lero lero bullen a-la.
“Lero lero lilli burlero, lero lero bullen a-la!”
The table spun as the ship yawed.
“And now this prophecy is come to pass.”
“Lilli burlero bullen a-la!”
“For Talbot’s the dog and James is the ass!”
“Lilli burlero bullen a-la!
“Lero lero lilli burlero, lero lero bullen a-la!
“Lero lero lilli burlero, lero lero bullen a-la!!”
The table upended against the hull, and the chaplain was pitched into the vomit, his head on Eggy Mo’s lap. The lantern went out.
“Where I dine, I sleep,” said the Reverend Robert Knopwood.
“Amen,” said Pad in the dark.