was his second premonition. It would prove to be as accurate as the first, though it was not the night itself that they would remember, but his part within its events. This night would almost come to be regarded as the night the voyage started, for prior to it, Martin’s presence had been noticed by only the few who had shared his acquaintance in the confines of officer quarters. This was now his first moment, his real arrival. Later, during the battles that would be fought, there would be those who sought him out in the midst of the action, eager to share his space. There were those who thought him to be untouchable, blessed, impervious to any bullet or blade. This was the night that it all began, when the first of them saw a reason to follow him.
The men were gathered outside, bracing themselves against the excesses of the storm for a reason. They were under orders to check the movements stirring in the holds below. Occasionally, the ship would shudder as if she was being assailed from the deep, her bow scraped along a reef or even shaken by the tentacled grip of an aquatic monster hiding under the waves. For the captain and his crew however, the truth was all the more disturbing; the threat came from within, the precious goods that gave purpose to the entire venture had broken loose and were in danger of destroying both themselves and the ship. Captain Henry had ordered that the movement be halted and this group had gathered around the hatch that would give entry down into the after hold. None however showed any inclination to pass inside, instead they crouched with an ear to the opening as if waiting for a signal from below.
‘Is there anyone down in there?’
Martin had to shout just to hear himself in the rain-soaked gale. His question drew only a shaking of heads by way of reply.
‘What is the problem?’
Again, no one rushed to reply. Martin had the feeling he was breaking some kind of silent truce between the men. He had had enough though of being treated as an interloper.
‘I will go inside.’
He placed one leg on the iron hinge that held the hatch door open and prepared to climb down. An arm appeared to halt his progress and pull him back towards the deck. It was Fotheringham, who appeared excitable and spoke between taking in gulps of air.
‘There is no problem here, Doctor, we have been listening out for stray cargo for the last hour. Everything in this hold is properly stacked and bound, I will swear by it.’
‘Then why won’t you let me go in and check?’
Fotheringham shook his head in a display of exasperation. ‘Because you have no business down in the holds, sir. It is dark inside, there is nothing to see, and if harm should come to you when down below I have no intention of being held accountable for it.’
The look on Martin’s face made Fotheringham draw the young surgeon closer; he spoke more quietly, pressing his mouth close to Martin’s ear. ‘It is dangerous, sir … a man could be crushed … there is no point in courting danger. We must only enter if strictly necessary and that will be if we hear something that makes us feel that is an appropriate action. Then it will be one of the hands, sir; them that were responsible for stowing the cargo should also be charged with securing it when it breaks loose, that’s what the captain says.’
‘Where is he?’
‘The captain? Up on the forward hatch. That’s where it sounds as if something is happening, they will have the Devil’s job to fix that. I wouldn’t go bothering him now, and I wouldn’t go volunteering to go inside either … Unless you want to be judged a fool, or just plain impertinent, sir. Understand?’
Martin paused; he didn’t understand, but the debate hardly seemed worth entering. A fool or impertinent. Whose opinion was this meant to be, the captain’s, or his supine lackey’s? How could it be that the ship – and all aboard – were in danger, yet the situation could only be saved by those who were expendable rather than those charged with command?
The Anne rose up on another menacing swell, the surging motion passing through from side to side leaving them all clutching at the rails and each other for safety. All except Martin, who rode it in his boots, hands staying still by his side as he eyed the purser with an expression approaching distaste.
‘As long as he doesn’t take me for a coward I shall be well satisfied.’
He turned and moved forward, striding against the full force of the wind as he made his way along to join the second group of men on deck. This was much larger, over twenty gathered around the opening to the largest of the holds. As the bows were lifted by successive waves, the Anne’s prow was left high in the air, making Martin’s journey an uphill hike. He gradually edged higher, closer to the advance party clinging on near the summit. He could hear the captain’s voice as his bellowed instructions were blown down towards him.
‘No lamps … Let your damn eyes do their work!’
The tone was harsh; Captain Henry meant his men to obey. Martin saw immediately that this group had the more demanding of the deck assignments, foremost and most exposed to the elements, entrusted with the largest hold, the one that was making the most noise. Even to a novice sailor like himself, the difference between the echoes emanating from this space and the one he had just visited was distinct. Here also, the men were set about their business; desperately tying down the sails to the yards to stop them being inflated by the blasts of wind, sweeping the water from the deck that the waves sought to deposit every time they launched an assault over the bow, feeding the lengths of rope into the deep, dark, dangerous pit that was the hold where their colleagues were now surveying.
‘Captain Henry?’
The captain’s head jerked around swiftly. His mouth was drawn tight.
‘What?’ He looked at Martin with immediate distrust, as if he did not recognize him. His expression barely changed when the stranger’s identity finally registered. What use a surgeon in a crisis like this? ‘… What is it, man!’
‘I am here to let you know my services are available, sir.’
The offer seemed to leave the skipper wrongfooted.
‘Aye … Of course. We have … no need. No injuries.’
‘I will do whatever is required, please be assured of that, sir.’
The captain waved a hand, the motion almost dismissing Martin and the rain as one and the same irritant.
‘How many are down there?’
The captain ignored the question. It was left to the second mate, Gardiner, to furnish an answer. He tugged Martin to one side, perhaps fearful of being overheard by his superior.
‘Jim and Peter … the lads. It was them who was meant to have it all secured when we left port, so them ’as to sort it out, Captain says. He’s not best pleased, no, sir … Can you smell the scent of alcohol?’
Martin pushed his head directly over the hatch; a sweet odour met his nostrils, mixed in amongst the damp wood and salt spray. He nodded. Gardiner stepped closer and spoke with the voice of a man in mourning.
‘Spillage, for sure, aye. Captain Henry is not best pleased,’ he said solemnly.
The captain’s displeasure was obviously the prime concern of the ship’s senior crew, a matter more pressing than the danger of the loose cargo itself. Martin wondered how it could be that one man could impose his will so absolutely
