Birds of Prey - Smith Wilbur (версия книг TXT) 📗
The head space in this deck was no higher than a man's waist so they were forced to crawl down it and drag the wounded men with them. Iron rings were set into the bulkhead, bolted into the heavy oak beam that ran the length of the hold. Sam and his four mates crawled down after them and shackled their chains into the ring bolts When they had finished, the captives were laid out like herrings in a barrel, side by side, secured at wrist and ankle, only just able to sit up, but unable to turn over or to move their limbs more than the few inches that their chains allowed.
Hal lay with his father on one side and the inert hulk of Big Daniel on the other. Aboli was on the far side of Daniel and Ned Tyler beyond him.
When the last man had been secured, Sam crawled back to the hatch and smirked down at them. "Ten days to Good Hope with this wind. One pint of water a day for each man, and three ounces of biscuit, when I remember to bring it to you. You're free to shit and piss where you lie. See you at Good Hope, my lovelies."
He slammed the hatch closed, and they heard him on the far side hammering the locking pins into their seats. When the mallet blows ceased, the sudden quiet was frightening. At first the darkness was complete, but then as their eyes adjusted they could just make out the dark forms of their mates packed around them.
Hal looked for the source of light and found a small iron grating set into the deck directly above his head. Even without the bars, it would not have been large enough to admit the head of a grown man, and he discounted it immediately as a possible escape route. At least it provided a whiff of fresh air.
The stench was hard to bear and they all gasped in the suffocating atmosphere. It smelt like a bear-pit. Big Daniel moaned, and the sound loosened their tongues. They started to talk all at once.
"Love of God, it smells like a shit-house in apricot season down here."
"Do you think there's a chance of escaping from here, Captain?" , "Of course there is, my bully," one of the men answered for Sir Francis. "When we reach Good Hope."
"I would give half my share of the richest prize that ever sailed the seven seas for five minutes alone with Sam Bowles."
"All my share for another five with that bloody Cumbrae."
"Or that cheese-headed bastard, Schreuder."
Suddenly Daniel gabbled, "Oh, Mother, I see your lovely face. Come, kiss your little Danny." The plaintive cry disheartened them, and the silence of despair fell over the dark, noisome slave deck. Gradually they sank into a torpor of despondency, broken occasionally by the groans of delirium and the clank of the links as they tried to find a more comfortable position.
Slowly, the passage of time lost all significance, and none were sure whether it was night or day when the sound of the anchor capstan from the upper deck reverberated through the hull and they heard the faint shouts of the petty-officers relaying the orders to get the Gull under way.
Hal tried to judge the ship's course and direction by the momentum and heel of the hull, but soon lost track. It was only when the Gull plunged suddenly and began to work with a light, frolicsome motion to the scend of the open sea that he knew they had left the lagoon and passed out through the heads.
For hour after hour the Gull battled with the sou'-easter to make good her offing. The motion threw them back and forth on the bare planks, sliding on their backs the few inches that their chains allowed before coming up hard on their manacles, and then sliding back the other way. It was a great relief when, at last, she settled into an easier reach.
"There now. That's a sight better." Sir Francis spoke for them all. "The Buzzard has made his offing. He has come about and we are running free with the sou'-easter abaft our beam, heading west for the Cape."
As time passed, Hal made some estimate of the passage of the days by the intensity of light from the grating above his head. During the long nights there was a crushing blackness in the slave deck, like that at the bottom of a coal shaft. Then the softest light filtered down on him as the dawn broke, which grew in strength until he could make out the shape of Aboli's dark round head beyond the lighter face of Big Daniel.
However, even at noon the further reaches of the slave deck were hidden in darkness, from which the sighs and moans, and the occasional whispers of the other men echoed eerily between the oaken bulkheads. Then again the light faded away into that utter darkness to mark the passing of another day.
On the third morning a whispered message was passed from man to man. "Timothy O'Reilly is dead." He was one of the wounded. he had taken a sword thrust in his chest from one of the green-jackets.
"He was a good man." Sir Francis voiced his epitaph. "May God rest his soul. I would that we were able to afford him a Christian burial." By the fifth morning, Timothy's corpse added to the miasma of decay and rot that permeated the slave deck and filled their lungs with each breath.
Often, as Hal lay in a stupor of despair, the scampering grey rats, big as rabbits, clambered over his body. Their sharp claws raised painful scratches across his bare skin. In the end he gave up the hopeless task of trying to drive them away by kicking and hitting out at them, and set himself to endure the discomfort. It was only when one sank its sharp, curved teeth into the back of his hand that he shouted and managed to seize it, squeaking shrilly, by the throat and throttle it with his bare hands.
When Daniel cried out in pain beside him, he realized then that the rats had found him also, and that he was unable to defend himself from their attacks. After that he and Aboli took turns at sitting up and trying to keep the voracious rodents away from the unconscious man.
Their fetters prevented them from squatting over the narrow gutter that ran along the foot of the bulkhead, designed to carry away their sewage. Every once in a while Hal heard the spluttering release as one of the men voided where he lay, and immediately afterwards came the fetid stench of fresh faeces in the confined and already musty spaces.
