Rats
"Sorry, sorr. It be rats for shorr." said the Captain. He took great delight in almost, but not quite, rolling his Rs, although if you followed his speech carefully you would swear that his accent came and went to suit his needs.
"There be one o'they buggers right there."
He was indicating the dead, bloated body of a rodent floating in the various evils of the bilge. You could just barely make it out by the feeble light of his lantern, which was merely a wooden frame with the stretched and almost transparent skin of some animal covering it. It was nothing more than a flame-proof way of taking a candle below decks; an open flame down here was punishable by death, even if you were the Captain.
"Good God, what is that smell?" said the gentleman accompanying him. He was tall and extremely well dressed; he wore what were undoubtedly very expensive boots. They matched his top hat, which made him bend pretty much double under the low ceiling which was in fact the floor of the hold above. The bilge was really just a barely walkable space in the middle of the bottom of the ship, in between the tons of rocks both fore and aft that kept the bottom of the ship pointing down. He held a silk handkerchief to his nose in a vain attempt to stop the smell of garbage, feces, and the bodies of vermin.
"Why, it be the smell'v a summer's evening in the garden, sorr. The smell'v yer first true love."
"I think not, good Captain."
The Captain leaned in close to the gentleman, which caused a momentary flicker of the lantern. This made odd shadows dance across the Captain's face; the smell of his breath competed with that of the bilge as he added, "Then it be the smell o' t'bilge wi'out no major leaks, sorr. It be the smell'v a boat what floats." Contempt and worse dripped out of his every pore.
"But there is human filth in there!"
"Aye, sadly that be true, sorr. When the sea be rough, or the grog be upon them, embarrassed I am to say so, but many's the man who will find his relief down here below decks, sorr, rather than risk his very arse hangin' it over th' edge o' t'ship."
The gentleman had not considered what the sailors did for their daily ablutions. He himself had a bucket of course, as any gentleman would.
"But why in God's name would a dead rat be here?"
"It grieves me to say, sorr, that God has nought to do wi't. Or not your God nor mine, leastwise. Whatever it is that the rats theyselves believe, sorr, I believes meself that they bring their departed here a-purpose. Keeps wherever they're livin' that much nicer, I expects. Ye see, I believes the rats has a social structure, as it were. The poor rats, and the dead and dying rats, why they finds themsel's down here at the very bottom of t'ship. The further up the ship ye goes, ye sees, why, the better a class of rodent ye finds."
The gentleman made a face at that thought. There was only the one class of rat, and he was looking at it.
"And these 'high class' rats have been into the stores."
"Well truthfully, that be yer middle class of rodent. The working class, as it were. But aye. They have."
"And the seeds."
"That is true, sorr. All spoilt."
"Damn it, man, we can get fresh supplies. But where are we to get more seeds on this God-forsaken rock?"
"That would be something upon which I could not comment, sorr. The supplies, as you say, can be replaced, though at a pretty price I'll be bound. But gardening does not appear to be a hobby pop'lar amongst the locals, you might say. Not like drink nor wimmen, fightin' and such. Those be pop'lar hobbies right enough."
"And how in the hell did we get rats in the first place? Did we not smudge the entire ship before we left?"
"Aye, you certainly did, sorr. And a right proper smudgin' it was. Me lad, Jacob if memory serves, who was s'posed to be swabbin' t'upper decks, was in fact below decks, sleepin' in the hold. And asleep he remains, at the bottom of that very harbour, as his eternal reward. 'Tis why this otherwise pleasant bilge offends yer delicate nose, sorr. Ship's boy does many things around and below decks; labours of love they are. And a boy's greatest love has got to be mannin' the burr, that is to say the pump, sorr, and the other necessaries to the cleanin' o' t'bilge. And in his free time, why a boy likes nothin' better'n to hunt rats below decks and otherwise keep the hold safe. But no longer for poor Jacob. I spent a vast fortune out o' me own pocket to purchase the lad out'v that workhouse where he was doomed to a life o' penury, sorr, to give him the gift of the sea. For this very voyage it was. Now we has no boy. A smelly bilge and a hold full o' rats be the inevitable result, sorr."
"Alright, man, we'll find a boy. But in the meantime what do we do about the plaguèd rats?
"Well p'ison be the best, sorr, as ye right well knows. But it seems we don't have any, and ye won't find it anywhere hereabouts. Against t'law it seems. If ye can't use p'ison then there are some as swears by cats. Some prefers ferrets. I've even had the pleasure o' meetin' a capt'in from t'other side o' t'world who had a pet snake as ate rats. Spent a deal o' time an' coin tryin' to pry the secret out o' sailin' to t'other side out o'im ye may be certain. To no avail, sadly. But in all truth it be a dog you be wantin', sorr. That's just what you needs when you be talkin' rats. Me dog Jack; now there were a true rat catcher. I been forty years at sea, man and boy. Five years afore the mast and these last thirty-five abaft. And in all those years the on'y peace to be found from the rats was on a ship what had a dog. So once I got me papers I got me a dog too, and until he up and died Jack was me true companion. And never a rat was to be seen. Well, never a live one to be sure. A dog's what you want indeed, sorr. Though you first needs a boy, as can keep the dog focused on the task. Otherwise a dog is more likely to wander around above decks, ye sees."
"Then we'll get a boy and a dog as well."
"Ah, well, a dog's not very likely here sorr. Fairyland be the stopover p'int for every ship that plies these waters, y'see. And as such it has a fair supply o' rats. And as yon floater will tell ye", and he indicated the dead rat bobbing in the bilge, "they do have ways o' makin' it onto a ship no matter how hard ye tries to make it otherwise. And so if anyone here has a dog that has a taste for rats, sorr, why they has him under guard. No matter how much coin ye has, sorr, I would say ye can afford either t'supplies or t'dog. Now if you gets the supplies, then you still has the rats. And if you gets the dog, why then you has no rats and no supplies neither. It be quite the dilemma. Happily, a boy be no problem here in Fairyland. T'place is fair bursting with young gentlemen, anxious f'r a life at sea."
"And why in the name of all that's holy would they call the place Fairyland, anyway?" asked Richard. "From what I've seen of the place it's anything but a place of beauty. It's a series of dung heaps piled upon a barren rock."
"Aye, that it most certainly is. It's a sort of a joke ye sees, started by some ancient cap'n as no one can recall his name nor when it might have been. The place were called Away in them days, but the joke name stuck, as joke names tend t'do. So it is now called Fairyland, though the inhabitants are not what ye might refer to as the fair folk."
The Captain became suddenly alert. Impossibly, in the fetid environment of the bilge, he sniffed the air.
"Ten p'ints a-starboard." he said as he took a half step to the right, away from the sloshing bilge and slightly up the curve of the hull, even though he had to practically squat under the low ceiling to do so.
"What in God's name..." began the gentleman as the breeze freshened outside, nudging the boat to the left on its leash, making it point slightly to the right of where it had been. A very small tidal wave began in the bowels of the bilge and engulfed the gentleman's expensive boots, before washing towards but not quite reaching the Captain.
"Me apologies, sorr. Twelve p'ints."
The Captain chuckled in a low and mean sort of way. Sir Richard made an oath of frustration just short of blasphemy and kicked some filth off his boots.
"But just now, sorr, an idear has presented itself to me. A solution to the problems o' supplies, rats and boys too as it were." continued the Captain.
"Well out with it, man!"
"If we was to turn about, head Home, ye sees; why then we could fumigate the rats, take on fresh supplies, get a lad and a dog too. Then we could start again. A fresh start you might say."
"But my good man, surely the crew would expect more wages for such a delayed start to the voyage."
"Ah, now that be the crux o' t'matter, to be shorr. We are all of us servants of t'law, sorr. And in this case t'law be quite clear. Ye have hired the ship, the captain and crew, to 'take the gentleman howsoever further he wisheth to proceed in an westerly direction, then to return him safe and sound upon these shores.' Those shores being Home. And an westerly direction being where we are, ye sees. So the current contract be completed upon our return, sorr, and, as I says, we would be starting afresh."
Richard was being had. The Captain intended to weasel out of his contract with full pay.
"God in heaven, man! That is plain and bald-faced robbery!"
"No, sorr. It be rats. Ye has my opinion on the matter and I be yer humble servant, awaiting yer decision on howsoever further ye wisheth to proceed."
Richard turned his back on the lecherous grin of the captain, climbed the 'stairs' - more of a rickety ladder - from the bilge to the cargo hold on the next deck up by the feeble light of the captain's lantern. This was the orlop deck; Richard was learning some vernacular in spite of himself. The captain made no move to follow, and Richard presumed the captain had further business down there; possibly adding the filth of his own bowels to the filth already in the bilge, maybe saying a few words over the body of his deceased mate, the rat. In any event, the captain remained in the bilge. As Richard climbed up to the orlop and entered its cargo hold he could see by a bit of light making it down from above through the open hatch, and he let his eyes adjust to that before attempting the early morning sun to be found higher up.
The mess of the supplies was much in evidence. The accursèd rats were not happy to merely take what food they required; they had to spoil the rest. Each and every bag was opened; each and every hardtack had bight marks, the only exception being those already crumbling to dust from weevils and therefore incapable of displaying marks. Every sack of rice, every bag of oatmeal, the sacks of peas, the molasses and in particular the bags of raisins; all opened and full of the corruption a plague of rats can inflict. But that in and of itself was not too serious. Richard had himself eaten the leavings of rats on many of his expeditions to the wilds of the far east and he had found that rat feces lent a certain piquance to the otherwise bland fare of exploring, especially for the junior officers and assorted underlings. Officers such as Richard generally had private provisions, as was the case on this voyage. But while the vermin had not directly destroyed everything, per se, they had also gnawed through the bungs on the beer, and the beer had soaked everything else. In the summer heat it would be only a matter of days before most of the supplies would begin to smell so foully that no man aboard would eat them, unless at the extremities of hunger. The lot of the supplies that had soaked up beer would have to be thrown overboard, and that job would no doubt be one of the many labours of love for the new ship's boy when they found one. Him and the dog, who would no doubt pitch in and help to dispose of the rotting provisions.
The rats had left the hogshead of oil and the pipe of vinegar, apparently not to the taste of rodents. While they had certainly been gnawed extensively, several hundredweight of dried and salted cod, freshly acquired here, and several other hundredweight of what could conceivably be called dried and salted meat appeared to be serviceable; they could be re-dried or were spared the worst of the sloshing beer by virtue of being stacked on top of yet more dried foodstuffs. The butter was likely salvageable; it had footprints on it and the odd turd and some tufts of fur but was otherwise waterproof and fit for seamen at least. The hard cheese would need a little scraping to be hair-free and of use. The jugs of honey were mostly breached and, together with the molasses, added a viscous gooeyness to the thick soup covering the floor of the cargo hold. The pickled cabbage was untouched, and Richard determined that if it was unfit for rats then he himself would avoid it.
Richard looked about the hold. Where were the damnable creatures? God alone, or possibly the Devil as well, knew where they could live on board a ship and never be seen until they died. And why in God's name was the Captain only mentioning this now? The rats had been at this for at least a week - about the same amount of time they'd been at anchor in Fairyland's dubious harbour. Of course the answer was obvious. The bungs had also been gnawed through on the grog. Maybe because the beer was all gone? God help the rat who finally made it through to the contents of that cask. Possibly it was the poor fellow down below. If they were expecting beer then the hellish grog would have done for them. Grog was supposed to be below one hundred proof, that is to say, gun powder soaked in it would no longer ignite. But by the smell of the spirits haunting this hold Richard could tell the grog that was brought along on this voyage could itself be used to fire the cannons. In any event, that, more than the loss of most of the food, had likely alerted the crew of the need to reprovision.
Richard lamented the loss of the ship's provisions. But the real tragedy was the seeds. Every single sack of seed had been breached, and now most of the seed lay on the sticky and wet floor. Some had even started sprouting. The seeds were irreplaceable without the captain's self-serving return voyage Home, and it had taken them a week to make it this far. It would put the expedition at least a month behind schedule to return Home, and that would put them past planting season, at least in northern waters. Fairyland was supposed to have been a quick stopover at the extremity of the known world to do whatever it was sailors did in port, take on fresh water and such. No more than a week. Now the week was up but they had a veritable plague of rats! Damnation! Richard would have to go ashore and establish credit with some unsavoury person simply to be able to continue the journey, as he didn't have enough ready coin for this emergency. Or he could return Home, a failure, and try again. And quite a bit poorer too if he had to finance a completely new journey.
He climbed the ladder up to the next deck, under the fo'c'sle, which Richard had recently learned meant 'forecastle', and was apparently the part of the main deck in front of the mast. This is where the regular sailors had their quarters. Though there was nothing 'regular' about either them or their quarters. Pirates, the lot of them. He could see that now. The off-duty crew were mostly asleep in their swinging hammocks but a few were playing cards and drinking and conversing in their barbaric patois that ceased and turned to stifled laughter as soon as they saw Richard. If he were able, Richard would have the lot hanged and hire a completely different boat. But this was the only captain, ship and crew available and willing to sail from Home to the edge of the world. No other captain could be enticed by the promise of adventure; and it was only the promise of adventure with a healthy dose of plunder and especially cold, hard cash up front that had netted Richard the good ship Fancy, her slippery captain Ben Avery and his foul crew. And now the entire endeavour was in jeopardy because somehow, rats had gotten on board a completely rat-free vessel, which was anchored a cable's length offshore, specifically because no rat could possibly swim a cable of ocean and then climb an anchor rope which of course had rat guards on it. Incredible!
Richard continued his climb, and was suddenly engulfed in both sunshine and the relatively sweet air of Fairyland Harbour. He was now on the main deck, or the weather deck, as the men called it. Aft of the main mast they seemed to call it the poop more often than not. There were a few cramped cabins on either side of the ship at this level for the 'officers', if such a term applied to the senior pirates on this cruise. At the very back of the poop was the door that led to Richard's quarters, under yet another, smaller deck. It was poor accommodations, barely fifteen feet from the door to the windows at the back of the ship, but it did have the full width of the ship. Despite its name, there was nothing fancy about the accommodations in the Fancy. There was very little wasted space. In Richard's cabin, for instance, a lot of the useable space was taken up by the 'stern chasers' - two smaller cannons pointing backwards to dissuade followers. Spartan as it was, this cabin had originally been the captain's captain, who now occupied the quartermaster's cabin, who now occupied the sailing master's berth, who himself was in the gunner's bunk, and the gunner was now sharing space with the powder monkeys. There was not a one of the senior ranks who was pleased to have Sir Richard aboard.
Above Richard's cabin, and forming its roof, was the highest deck of the ship; the quarterdeck. This was the domain of whomever was running the ship at the moment. It seemed that amongst the captain, the quartermaster, the sailing master and even the gunner, whichever of them was the least drunk at any one time was in charge. To the extent that Richard had personally witnessed the quartermaster scream venom at and physically assault the actual captain for some unfathomable offence or another, and send the man off to his quarters in shame. Currently, the sailing master was resident on the quarterdeck, yelling obscenities in a good natured way at the man handling the giant ship's wheel and dozens of men scampering about on deck and in the rigging, like so many monkeys.
The ship swayed almost gracefully on the swells, and moved ever so gently to point into the freshening breeze. All sails neatly tied up (furled, someone had said), of course. And a good solid anchor line from the front of the boat (the prow, or the bow, something like that) which apparently connected to two anchors in such a way as to keep the boat more or less in one place, but free to swing around into the breeze and currents. Richard had to admit ignorance on all such matters and much to his dismay had to trust in Captain Avery to know how it all worked. The nautical life was not to Richard's taste and he would far rather be slogging through swamps or riding a camel off to adventure. Pretty much anything but this. It came as a surprise to all of his 'shipmates' that he was not given to sea-sickness. There was that at least.
A bell clanged on shore, likely from the ornate church on the hill. The church seemed quite out of place here, in what could otherwise be described as hell. The town at Fairyland - the town itself had no name, only the harbour - was built around a crescent shaped hill, the arms of the crescent extending into the sea and forming natural breakwaters that extended some two or three cables seaward. It made for a serviceable harbour unless the wind were coming from due east, which the Captain had assured Richard 'mostly ne'er happens. But God help us all if't does.'. At the bottom of the hill was the sea, and therefore the docks. It was worth your life to be caught unarmed on the docks at any hour, but particularly at night. Or so Richard was led to believe by his crewmates who assured him that 'A proper toff such as yersel' should be leavin' the docks to them as knows the docks'. Richard had been there twice so far, at broad noon, with the tenuous protection of some of the ruffians from the Fancy, who were slightly less hostile towards Richard than the other ruffians to be found ashore. Slightly above the docks going up the hill were the various businesses that made a living, indirectly, from the sea. These were the storehouses that bought and sold various needful items, and the bars and whorehouses that satisfied all other needs. Whenever a seaman would deign to talk to Richard, or whenever he overheard and properly understood their guttural speech, these businesses were spoken of with a certain uncouth fondness. The next ring up the hill, and from Richard's viewpoint the various strata of the town were in fact discernible rings, was where the poor lived - 'Old Town' - slightly above the utter lawlessness of the docks and warehouse district. In a house built in the poor district one could no doubt be assured of going to sleep and subsequently waking up. Unless you didn't. For Richard's money, If you wanted to be fairly certain of your safety then you would have a house on the next ring of the hill, New Town, which he had heard was as low as the local constabulary would venture in any official capacity. And so therefore no place that any of the jolly crew of the Fancy would venture, as they had some misunderstandings with the constabulary. This was the tier of the hill where the merchants apparently lived. And where the bank was, more to the point, which would shortly be of concern to Richard. High above everything else, clearly visible from the deck of the Fancy, was the church, and its bell, which was presently clanging.
There was suddenly the bark of a huge gun, and the telltale puff of smoke high up on the top of the hill, just above, and likely on the grounds of, the church. Richard knew very little about ships but he knew a great deal about cannon. He hit the deck flat and covered his head with a speed that betrayed years of service in the cavalry. To the general guffaws of all about. It was the Captain himself, apparently relieved, as it were, of his duties in the bilge, who sauntered over, barely able to conceal his mirth.
"Ah, ye have been introduced to Bess I sees."
"That was a cannon!"
"Aye, 'tis a culverin bastard. Can hurl an eleven pound shot half way to hell and hole any ship wi'in or shortly wi'out the harbour. But Bess is showing her age these days and is mostly fired wi'out shot. Bless her. It be mostly Bess' sisters what keeps the peace nowadays, keeps us all safe. From each other, as it were."
"But why is it firing now? Is there trouble?"
"Ah, neither Bess nor her sisters has never been fired in anger. In a cross manner, perhaps. A little out-of-sorts. Time o' the month, sort o' thing. But never anger. Everyone knows they is there. So they don't need to be, you might say. Bess be simply firin' the approach of a new ship, which can be seen to a great distance from t'hill upon which Bess sits. So's all the sellers and buyers and bars and whores and thieves can prepare themsel's. A public service, it is."
The ragged crew guffawed heartily and went about their various tasks, their mood greatly lightened at Richard's expense. He heard the words 'Toff' and 'Nob' frequently in their otherwise indecipherable speech.
"So what says ye now?" Asked the captain, staring at the entrance to the harbour. For all his mirth, the arrival of a new ship seemed to have captured his attention.
"About?"
"About which direction we heads when we leave this lump o' rock. Be it east or be it west?"
"About how long can we sail with what we have now?"
"What we has is the bare essentials for a week at sea. Me mates are even now bolstering our supplies summat..." by this, Richard knew they were off in search of grog. The captain hawked a giant quid of foul-smelling and -looking liquid overboard. "... and I'd be obliged if you were to go ashore and square up some o' me markers. We has lots of fresh water, at least. Mark ye, now. A week at sea heading east gets us Home. A week at sea going west gets us a week closer to hell but nought else."
"And what if I were to purchase completely new provisions onshore?"
"Then I believes that the rats would throw a party in yer honour, yer honour. And we would still have a week at sea. I sees no recourse for it, sorr. We'll have to turn about. Unless we can find us a boy and a dog. And a whole lot of needfuls."
Richard had never failed at anything in his life. The steely glint in his eyes took some of the mirth off the Captain's face.
"I'll be going ashore, Captain. Have the boat readied." he said, and swept past the Captain towards the back of the ship to his quarters.
"Aye, sorr. To be shorr." replied the Captain, followed by something else too faint to be heard.
Richard stormed into his room and locked the door. Although it was generally understood that the lock was only for the common seamen; all of the officers had a key and no-questions-asked access to the stern chasers for any and all purposes. Richard opened his sea chest. There were several things he would need to go ashore today. Firstly, of course, were some coins. He had no doubt the Captain had left his markers - the knave of spades with his slashing signature - all throughout the docks and the various enterprises that serviced, in a manner of speaking, such as the Captain. It was part of the arrangement that Richard would pay for any reasonable marker on this voyage, though the limits of what could be considered reasonable were routinely breached. Additionally today, Richard would need his documents from the Home bank to secure credit. This was to have happened later in the voyage, but events had changed with the rats.
Secondly, Richard would require something flashy to say he was no one to take lightly. His sabre, a treasured keepsake from his cavalry days, would do the trick nicely. A full ten inches longer than the short but menacing cutlasses that everyone around here seemed to favour. And certainly it was a pretty piece of weaponry, with jewels and even some gold filigree artfully worked into its hilt. It spoke of the superiority of the man carrying it, both in social standing and in fighting prowess. He considered, out of an abundance of caution, taking the brace of pistols to hide under his great coat. He had never fired the pistols actually at anyone, but surely that would be the same as shooting stumps and other objects and Richard was a crack shot at that. But the utter vulgarity of the weapons dissuaded him. There was nothing genteel about them, and they would speak, not of the superiority of the man holding them, but of his base nature. And lastly, to make his superior station abundantly clear, Richard donned a new shirt. Pure silk from the fabled markets on the other side of the world, and worth more than any man he was likely to meet today could hope to earn in a year. It was a sombre French Green; Richard was extremely devout and tended towards sombre colours that showed his humility. Black, of course, was the ultimate in sadd, or sombre, colours. But only the very very rich could afford black. Black became grey so quickly that one had to have an inexhaustible supply of black garments. Richard eyed himself critically, though with approval, in the buffed piece of silver he used as a looking glass.
Thus suitably equipped, Richard left his cabin and climbed the quarter deck aft to where the boat was stored. It was, much to his amazement, ready and waiting for him, bobbing about on the water. He yelled down to the crew; 'hailing' it was called. Their response had no particular nautical term, it was merely the response of ruffians anywhere. Their annoyance and distaste for having to suffer Richard's company seemed to be softened somewhat, though, by the prospect of a day ashore, and several of the vulgarities hurled Richard's way seemed to be encouraging him to make haste getting aboard so the expedition could proceed.
Before he could swing over the edge and lower himself, quite literally, to the level of the sailors, something scampered between his feet and in a blur at the edge of Richard's vision shot over to a big coil of rope, neatly stored off to the side. It was a sleek and apparently well fed rat. It was standing on its hind legs, staring at Richard. It appeared to not even notice the swells of the ship, easily riding them in the same manner as the Captain and his ilk did, while Richard had to constantly hold on to something. Richard mused that it was as if the rat had spent its entire life at sea; then he realized that this was most likely the case.
He bowed to the rodent. A random swell caught the ship, which dipped at the stern, and the motion caused the rat to sway somewhat in perfect harmony with the swell. It almost appeared to be a perfunctory bow, returning that of Richards.
"Well met, sir." said Richard, as he unsheathed and tipped his sword towards the vermin's knee, although when your adversary is less than a foot high that is largely guesswork. The rat, for his part, did not so much as blink. Richard next raised his arm to have his sabre parallel to the ground, pointing generally, though not threateningly, towards the rat, before bending his elbow such that the blade was right in front of his lips. Then he brought the weapon down gently before sheathing it.
"En garde, sir."