Saltskin by Louise Moulin Read Free Book Online Page A

armpits
and smell it, and had a following of men who feared him.
    The captain of the Unicorn knew the calibre of his men
only too well. There was nothing Angus had not seen. He
had crewed whaling vessels since the age of twelve and he
could see into men's minds. He could tell if a man had sealegs,
and could see Angelo did not, and into the bargain he
couldn't handle his drink.
    On the seventh day of sailing the captain hailed Davy
and said, 'That mate of yours has got to go. We'll be
dumping him at the next port.'
    'No, he'll be all right, Captain.'
    'We dump him — or would you rather he walked the
plank? That might be more fun, eh?'
    As he spoke, a sailor high up in the mast cried out as he
toppled from his perch. He grabbed the great flapping sail to
save himself but his weight dragged on the canvas, ripping
it a fair distance before he lurched to a stop, dangling way
out over the whitecaps of the vast ocean. All the sailors
looked up, stunned. They gasped, waiting spellbound for
the sail to rip further and the man to plunge to his death.
    Only Angelo moved. In his quick way he climbed
the lower shaft of the mast with his long arms and legs.
Angus watched as Angelo climbed fearlessly up, moving
out from the centre mast as if on the branch of a great tree,
sat down and, to the gasps of the men, swung backwards
from his bent knees. He yanked on the sail, gathering it in
his hands, and in so doing winched the sailor up, grabbed
him by the forearm and swung him onto the bar. A cheer
went up in the crowd.
    Davy beamed at the captain, both question and answer
in his eyes.
    Angus said, 'You're to keep him off the grog or it'll be
you who walks the plank.'
    'Aye, Captain.'
    The burst of heroism went to Angelo's head. He felt
invincible. His earlier melancholy now turned to mania
and he sought out jobs to do, never still for a moment.
The first of the tasks he set himself was to mend the rip
in the sail. The captain had feared they would have to sail
with one less, and with a treacherous cape coming up he
was heavy with it.
    Angelo had the sail down just far enough to reach the full
    tear. He wielded the heavy iron needle deftly and the stitches were as fine
    as Angus had ever seen. In six hours, just before dusk, the sail was back
    up and billowing with a strong wind.
     
    Captain Angus had sad eyes. Eyes that looked out from
a leathery face and saw only desolation and yet, since
the torn sail incident, every time he saw Angelo he felt
oddly heartened. Angelo seemed good — good in the way
only simpletons are, and yet with the smallest hint of the
majestic, like the unlikely beauty of a peasant's daughter.
    He noticed the artistically slender hands, the erect, haughty
    carriage. The way Angelo seemed to have supreme confidence in himself, in
    his purpose, his reason for being. Angus sensed it and he recognised it as
    rare and yet the old captain was certain that Angelo was moony in the head.
    He watched him lurch from one group of men to another, from one topic to another.
    Saw the way he irritated people and could not read their displeasure.
     
    Anchored in the inlet of Jacob's River, near the southernmost
point of two islands, were nearly fifty ships, each with
a crew of a hundred men, all there for the whales. Longboats
with square rivets of bronze; barques with prows curling
upwards like a genie's shoe, some painted jet black, others
in varnished hues. Some had been despatched by whaling
companies, others were rogue operators, and still others
belonged to kings and queens who did not expect them
back for three or more years.
    The ships sailed the trade winds and served as junkboats,
trading in whatever was on offer. They were whalers
and botanists, spice merchants, and blackbirders not above
tossing out barrels of whale oil to set shackles and chains
and trade in nut-brown slaves for the mines in Queensland.
Anything could happen; anything went.
    From a distance Jacob's River appeared a hell-hole and
up close it was