Sacred Hunger - Barry Unsworth [182]
The men listened, or appeared to listen, out of deference, because he was a gentleman, because he was paying for his passage. Delblanc saw soon enough that he was using the wrong language with them and was beginning to try out a different one until warned by Thurso in terms not very civil that if he persisted in thus distracting the crew, he would be confined to his quarters for the rest of the voyage. ‘I will silence his blabbing,’ he swore to Barton. ‘I will board him up in his cabin.’ This proved unnecessary. One look at the captain’s face was enough to convince Delblanc. It was in his reaction to this threat that he showed the quick grasp of realities that later came to distinguish him. A man can do no good locked up in his cabin. He went more circumspectly thereafter.
In this he was wise. Thurso’s punishments now were mere savagery – there was no pretence of justice in them. Davies, elected as spokesman, went aft to complain about the quality of the beef, which was offensive to the smell and visibly putrid. Though he spoke respectfully and kept his eyes down, he had hardly got out a dozen words before Thurso, in an access of fury, had him seized up to the gratings and flogged him with a rope’s end, groaning and panting himself with the force of the blows, only desisting when obliged by exhaustion.
‘Davies will niver forgive it,’ Sullivan confided to Paris. ‘Niver, not if he lives to be a hundred. He feels it was not deserved. Davies is a steady man, that is why he was chose, an’ he spoke to the captain fair. It would have been the cat, but Thurso couldn’t wait for it to be fetched, he was in such haste for blood-lettin’.’
‘These are difficult days,’ Paris said. He had made it a point of principle not to join in any direct criticism of the captain.
Sullivan hesitated briefly, then said, ‘I know it is not me place to speak, but there is bad will buildin’ up towards the captain an’ the mate …’ Again he checked, this time for longer. His next words came in a rush: ‘I don’t care a farthin’ what befalls Thurso, he has treated us worse than the blacks. But you stand close to him, Mr Paris, because you are related to the owner, beggin’ your pardon … I wanted to say you should keep a weather eye open.’
‘Thank you, I will remember it,’ Paris said.
Sullivan gave his gap-toothed smile, relieved that his words had not been resented. Ever since the surgeon had spoken kindly to him in the matter of dancing the slaves, he had felt a loyal affection for Paris. He had come partly to utter the warning, partly to ask for a favour: he wanted Paris to act as witness for him.
‘McGann will not believe I did it,’ he said. ‘We had a shillin’ on it, McGann bet me a shillin’ that I would not dare to face Thurso. Well, he knows I went, but the miscreated Caledonian pretends not to believe I spoke as I did.’ Sullivan shook his head at McGann’s obduracy and his long, unkempt black hair swung round his face. ‘He says he won’t part with his shillin’ till he gets proof it was me music I spoke of to Thurso, an’ the fact that I could not hear meself playin’ owin’ to the clankin’ of the chains.’
‘Yes, I see.’ Paris saw from the other’s expression that this was a serious matter for him. Sullivan was naked to the waist and terribly thin now, the bones of his shoulders standing out clearly;