Silver by Andrew Motion

Author:Andrew Motion [Motion, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-307-88489-3
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2012-08-07T04:00:00+00:00

30

The Battle on the Shore

I WANTED TO stay still and grieve. I wanted to creep into the earth, and pull the grass over my head like a blanket, so that I could lie unnoticed beside the captain. My mind was not ready to leave his protection. My instincts, however—my instincts were interested in nothing but saving my life. With despicable energy I jumped up, seized the captain’s sword where it lay in his open hand, turned tail, and began running fast toward the shore. In the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Stevenson and Mr. Creed follow suit—Stevenson pulling his hat from his head, to prevent it being swept off in the rush. The skin of his forehead was extremely white, and made a strong contrast to his weather-beaten face.

At every step I expected a musket ball or the edge of a blade to slash into my shoulders. But either because they reckoned we were easy prey, or because they were distracted by the appearance of the Nightingale, Smirke and his men did nothing. As I continued running, and my mind reassembled itself, I heard them calling to one another—saying how pretty our ship looked, and how they would be home soon. When I threw a glance over my shoulder, several of them were pointing and clapping one another on the back; only Smirke and Stone seemed less than excited—Smirke because he was gloating over the dead body now stretched before him; and Stone because he was intent on reloading his pistol.

The ground I ran across—it would be better to say flew—was the old marsh that Scotland and the other prisoners had turned into rice fields. Even at speed, I was conscious of how neatly everything had been made: the rows of young plants, and the low walls that created a terrace leading down to the shore, where fertile earth gave way to sand. It made me pick up my feet in a high-stepping gait, because I did not like to destroy what they had so carefully created, even though I was fleeing for my life.

As the three of us reached the shore, Bo’sun Kirkby and Mr. Tickle ran forward—Mr. Tickle with his unlit pipe still clamped between his teeth. For all that he was not my captain, I was mightily relieved to see how determined he looked, especially since the prisoners—whose tight formation on the sand behind him had now broken up—were extremely confused. One or two had dropped down and pressed their faces to the sand, mumbling prayers that were inaudible to everyone except Mother Earth. Others had tramped into the water and stood with waves breaking around their knees, unable to decide what most deserved their attention: the pirates behind them or the Nightingale—which was now a few hundred yards offshore and putting down her anchor.

Our friends’ distress, combined with their near-nakedness and shivering, was miserable to see. Only Scotland had kept his composure—still standing beside the bo’sun, with his arms held out so that his wife could shelter behind him.

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