The Slave Dancer by Paula Fox Read Free Book Online Page B

the wind, and without that, ship and crew would be lost in the wastes of the ocean.
    I made haste to return below. There, I found Purvis, Stout and Sharkey looking at the egg, an ordinary enough object in the light of the oil lamp. Someone had placed it in a tarpaulin hat, and the three sailors stared down at it as though it was a priceless jewel.
    Although we’d had no eggs for our mess, I thought they were making a bit much of it. Still frightened by my vision of empty water casks, I said, “Would Curry give me some beer, do you think?” hoping one of the men would answer.
    Stout murmured, “Don’t fret, lad. Ill see you get what you need.” But Purvis let go of the hat, leaving it in Stout’s hands, and gave me a wallop across my back.
    â€œNone of that mewling,” he said furiously. “None of us is better off save two we won’t mention, and I’ll have no cat cries from you, Jessie. You get the same amount to drink as all of us, and that’s a far sight better than you’d do on some ships I can think of.”
    I shrugged as coolly as I could, but felt better, not that I would have admitted it to Purvis.
    Despite the murky dawn, the morning was clear and sunny. Later that day, a wind of sorts blew up. At the first breath of it, the men straightened their backs and moved smartly about the deck. Their voices rang out clearly, and in the galley, Curry sang a tune to himself in a horrible cracked voice that sounded as if it had been fried in lard. Only Nicholas Spark stalked about the ship like a spirit of mold and decay.
    We made good speed that day, although as dusk approached the wind slackened somewhat, as did our spirits. Then we were summoned to the deck, even those men who were resting after their watch.
    We stood in a clump amidship while all about us a great flaring sky of twilight burnished our faces and streaked the masts with a tender golden light.
    The Captain and Spark were some distance away from us, regarding us fixedly. Gardere was at the helm, and Sam Wick and Smith were occupied with the sails. The eerie silence, the molten hills of the sea, the unmoving figures of Master and Mate filled me with dread and yet a kind of exhilaration as though we were all waiting for the appearance of something supernatural. Then the Captain spoke.
    â€œIt has come to my attention—I’ll not confide to you how—that a certain precious thing has been taken from me, stole in the dark by a scoundrel, grasped by his filthy claws, made off with to his hole.” He paused. In the awesome silence that followed his words, I saw once again that dawn apparition carrying the moon egg.
    â€œTo its hole!” the Captains voice rang out. “And there, EATEN!” he screamed. “My precious thing, EATEN!”
    Spark stepped forward holding in his hands a length of tarred rope.
    â€œThat scoundrel, that Irish bucket, that thieving scum of the earth, will now show himself,” the Captain ordered, his voice suddenly quiet.
    None of us moved.
    â€œPurvis!” cried Spark in his burnt out voice. “Forward, Purvis!”
    Purvis went to stand before them.
    â€œThe wind’s freshening again, ain’t it?” the Captain observed conversationally to Spark.
    â€œI believe it is, Sir,” replied the Mate.
    â€œIt’ll blow hard this night, would you say, Spark?”
    â€œI would, Sir.”
    â€œCooley, Stout, fasten the egg-stealing serpent to the mast,” said the Captain.
    Without a second’s hesitation, the two sailors took hold of Purvis and bound him with ropes to the mast.
    â€œNow, Spark, remove his shirt with your rope!” ordered the Captain.
    Nicholas Spark flogged Purvis’ shirt from his back. Beneath the leaping of the rope, blood and cloth mixed. The sun began to die on the horizon, and still he beat him. Faint, my legs like porridge, I leaned against Ned who made not the slightest accommodation of his body