fear of God into any Spanish captain.'
'Aye, empty gunports. Where are the cannon to fill them? And the gunners to work them? We have scarce enough men on board to unfurl the sails.'
'Which we shall do shortly, I'll wager.' This from another man who had joined us. The smoke was beginning to sting my eyes but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to it. I coughed and drank more beer. I was not used to it and it was beginning to have an effect on me, not an unpleasant one.
'Caribbean gold. I do not doubt it, Mr Chandler,' the Turk agreed. I began to wonder if everyone knew everyone else on this voyage.
'And the auto-da-fe, unless the ship is better manned than this.'
' Auto-da-fe?' I asked.
The man looked at me in surprise. 'You do not know of the auto-da-fe?'
I shook my head, bewildered.
The man threw back his head and laughed. 'And the Turk, no doubt, enticed you on board?'
'I had my reasons for wishing to join the ship and had no need of the Turk to persuade me.'
'Be careful not to offend young Scotch,' the Turk said in a half-joking voice.
Michael joined in with enthusiasm. 'He has a short temper and is capable of extreme violence. I have seen him, with my own eyes, leave three men howling on the ground, trying to push their bowels back in place.'
I chose not to dispute these assertions, thinking that such a reputation might afford some protection amongst my new companions in the days ahead.
'The light loading is a ruse, I'll wager,' said the man called Hunger. 'Intended to confuse Mendoza's spies. I believe we will sail round Portsmouth and take on more men and supplies. Then we'll see.'
Full of curiosity, I asked, 'Mendoza?'
The man called Chandler looked at me. 'What backward people the Scots are. Do you know anything?'
'I know how to cut a throat,' I said.
Chandler looked at me through narrowed eyes. No doubt he was trying to assess how much of my speech was bravado and how much was meant. But he had no time to say more. A squat, burly man was walking amongst the sailors, a short cudgel in his hand. He held it strangely and it was a second before I noticed that he had two fingers missing. His face was so covered with black beard and whiskers that he looked like a furry animal. Now he was standing at our bench. Small, pig-like eyes, hard as rocks, stared at me. 'Finish up and get on with the loading.'
'Aye, Mr Salter.' The tone of humility in the Turk's voice surprised me greatly. Somehow I did not think that my reputation as a fifteen-year-old cutthroat would make much impression on this man.
I cannot describe the magic of the next few days. In response to the harsh commands of Mr Salter, we climbed the rigging and unfurled the sails. From the high masts I could see much of London and even the countryside beyond. Then, as the wind caught the sails, we began to slip along the Thames. The Turk pointed out Greenwich and the Isle of Dogs as we passed, and the river slowly broadened until, by the end of the first day, we seemed to be a mile from the nearest shore. Then a great lantern was lit at the rear of the ship and we sailed on through the dark. It was not long before a sense of nausea overcame me, and to the laughter of the others I had to hurry along a corridor, climb stairs in the dark and find my way to the edge of the ship, where I emptied my stomach into the sea.
On the third day, following shouted instructions from Mr Salter, the ship began to turn towards a large town with an enormous harbour. Rows of pretty white houses and shops stretched away on all sides, and its streets were bustling with people. It happened I was furling a sail, whose name was mysterious to me but which was high enough for the act to cause me some fear, with Hunger and the Turk. 'What town is this?'
'Plymouth, Scotch!'
We were slipping alongside a long quay, heaped with sacks, barrels and other supplies. A few children waved. We drifted past a sailing ship not much smaller than our own. 'The Lyon,' said Hunger in a
'Aye, empty gunports. Where are the cannon to fill them? And the gunners to work them? We have scarce enough men on board to unfurl the sails.'
'Which we shall do shortly, I'll wager.' This from another man who had joined us. The smoke was beginning to sting my eyes but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to it. I coughed and drank more beer. I was not used to it and it was beginning to have an effect on me, not an unpleasant one.
'Caribbean gold. I do not doubt it, Mr Chandler,' the Turk agreed. I began to wonder if everyone knew everyone else on this voyage.
'And the auto-da-fe, unless the ship is better manned than this.'
' Auto-da-fe?' I asked.
The man looked at me in surprise. 'You do not know of the auto-da-fe?'
I shook my head, bewildered.
The man threw back his head and laughed. 'And the Turk, no doubt, enticed you on board?'
'I had my reasons for wishing to join the ship and had no need of the Turk to persuade me.'
'Be careful not to offend young Scotch,' the Turk said in a half-joking voice.
Michael joined in with enthusiasm. 'He has a short temper and is capable of extreme violence. I have seen him, with my own eyes, leave three men howling on the ground, trying to push their bowels back in place.'
I chose not to dispute these assertions, thinking that such a reputation might afford some protection amongst my new companions in the days ahead.
'The light loading is a ruse, I'll wager,' said the man called Hunger. 'Intended to confuse Mendoza's spies. I believe we will sail round Portsmouth and take on more men and supplies. Then we'll see.'
Full of curiosity, I asked, 'Mendoza?'
The man called Chandler looked at me. 'What backward people the Scots are. Do you know anything?'
'I know how to cut a throat,' I said.
Chandler looked at me through narrowed eyes. No doubt he was trying to assess how much of my speech was bravado and how much was meant. But he had no time to say more. A squat, burly man was walking amongst the sailors, a short cudgel in his hand. He held it strangely and it was a second before I noticed that he had two fingers missing. His face was so covered with black beard and whiskers that he looked like a furry animal. Now he was standing at our bench. Small, pig-like eyes, hard as rocks, stared at me. 'Finish up and get on with the loading.'
'Aye, Mr Salter.' The tone of humility in the Turk's voice surprised me greatly. Somehow I did not think that my reputation as a fifteen-year-old cutthroat would make much impression on this man.
I cannot describe the magic of the next few days. In response to the harsh commands of Mr Salter, we climbed the rigging and unfurled the sails. From the high masts I could see much of London and even the countryside beyond. Then, as the wind caught the sails, we began to slip along the Thames. The Turk pointed out Greenwich and the Isle of Dogs as we passed, and the river slowly broadened until, by the end of the first day, we seemed to be a mile from the nearest shore. Then a great lantern was lit at the rear of the ship and we sailed on through the dark. It was not long before a sense of nausea overcame me, and to the laughter of the others I had to hurry along a corridor, climb stairs in the dark and find my way to the edge of the ship, where I emptied my stomach into the sea.
On the third day, following shouted instructions from Mr Salter, the ship began to turn towards a large town with an enormous harbour. Rows of pretty white houses and shops stretched away on all sides, and its streets were bustling with people. It happened I was furling a sail, whose name was mysterious to me but which was high enough for the act to cause me some fear, with Hunger and the Turk. 'What town is this?'
'Plymouth, Scotch!'
We were slipping alongside a long quay, heaped with sacks, barrels and other supplies. A few children waved. We drifted past a sailing ship not much smaller than our own. 'The Lyon,' said Hunger in a
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