Читать книгу The West Wind - Crosbie Garstin - Страница 9

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Ortho sprang to the Ghost’s deck, grinning broadly. He had never been within a thousand miles of Macao, Valparaiso or Archangel, and that wrist business was a mere trick, giving an impression of prodigious strength but requiring little. He had learnt it from his old mate MacBride, who in turn had learnt it from a Japanese in China seas. MacBride used to practise it on young seamen who showed signs of getting above themselves. That boatman would jabber in his cups that night, Ortho felt sure, and the recital would not be unflattering to himself. So this was the Ghost. Let ’em say what they like, nobody could build like the French, anyway not for lines. His eye travelled aloft. Brigantine rigged and well set up. Pentacost might be mad, but he knew his work. That fore-yard must be fifty feet long, if an inch; with stunsails set both sides she’d show a spread like an albatross. He thought he’d cross a square-sail on her main-mast as well. The stick would bear it and it made a ship twice as handy.

With her beam she would stand a power of canvas. Ortho wondered if her top-masts could be increased and moon-rakers carried in light airs. “By heck I’ll make her fly,” he muttered. “I’ll show this Nankivel the way out and home.”

“Well?”

He turned about to find an extraordinary old man at his side. He wore sea-boots, a canvas smock smothered in tar and tied in at the waist with lanyard, and a blue knitted nightcap pulled down over his ears. His nose was sharp and commanding; his eyes restless, blinking this way and that as if searching for something; his leathern face entirely without hair, which lack gave him a strangely reptilian appearance.

“Well?”

“Mr. Pentacost aboard?”

“That is my name.”

So this was the founder and high-priest of the ‘Trumpets’! Ortho had expected something out of the way, but nothing quite as odd as this. However, he concealed his surprise and produced Burnadick’s note. The old man read it and glanced up, blinking his lashless eyes.

“Mr. Burnadick says you may be taking command of this ship, Captain ... er ...” he referred to the note again, “er ... Penhale?”

“It is as good as certain. I have taken a strong fancy to her already, if I may say so; her fitting out reflects great credit on yourself, Mr. Pentacost.”

“I thank you, sir. I thank you. One does one’s poor best. But, a seafaring man yourself, you know what these riggers are, scamp what they can, and the pilfering that goes on—chut, chut! ... sinful!” He rolled his eyes heavenwards, showing the whites in a ghastly manner. “Demand the most constant vigilance ... ah!” He pounced upon a chip of wood on the deck and cast it overboard. “Um ... yes ... will you be stopping aboard, sir?”

“No, I have business over Penzance way which will take me a day or two,” said Ortho, thinking that if the old fellow was disappointed in not getting the command himself he was taking it extremely well.

“Yes, sir, I understand. The Lord willing we should be ready for sea in a week at most. The difficulty will be men.”

“Why so? I should have thought there would have been plenty of lusty young fellows anxious to try their fortunes aboard a smart craft like this.”

Pentacost shook his wool nightcap. “Not so many. Seamen give Falmouth a wide berth on account of the Press, and now that Captain Angwin has been laid low all the available landsmen will flock to Captain Nankivel.”

“What men have you aboard now?” said Ortho.

“Myself, second and third mates, bos’un, carpenter, cook and four boys—ah, yes, there is a surgeon engaged also. He is lodging ashore at Mr. Burnadick’s expense. Eleven in all.”

“Well, we must see what can be done,” said Ortho. “Now, let’s have a look below.”

“By all means. I think you will find all in order, except, of course, stores. Um—er—you will excuse what may seem an impertinence”—Pentacost turned upon Ortho, humming and hawing, his eyelids fluttering like moth wings—“seem an impertinence, but are you a papist?”

“Me?” said Ortho, astonished. “I belong to the English Church, I believe—I mean I know I do.”

“Thank you, sir. You will excuse me,” mumbling and muttering; making hen-like rushes at odd ends of rope and planking and hurling them overboard, he led the way below.