Haul Away, Oh Hear Me Sing; We're Bound For South Australia!
Haul Away, Oh Hear Me Sing; We're Bound For South Australia!
Shantyman Season 1 Episode 5
Welcome to the fifth episode of my free serial adventure! (Ah! It’s getting so exciting!) If you don’t wish to receive these weekly (there’s only more in this season) you can choose to only receive monthly updates in your subscription settings. Thanks, friends!
I wish I was on Australia's strand
Heave away, haul away
With a bottle of whiskey in my hand
We're bound for South Australia
Haul away you rolling kings
Heave away, haul away
Haul away, you'll hear me sing
We're bound for South Australia
“Three cheers for the shantyman!” Mac Gryffud yelled over the crew of the Dawnswyr. “Hip-hip…”
“Hooray!” The men answered each time Gryffud prompted. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Hudson!”
Captain Morris instructed the helmsman and then shook Jack Hudson’s hand firmly. “Come to my cabin after the celebrations and we’re underway.”
Jack Hudson nodded and resumed his humble refusal of credit for the success of their mission. Though most men knew little about the treasure they sought, they knew the mission was successful.
Morris and his men had recovered one of the tablets of Caedmon, a relic unknown to the shantyman until days ago. And Jack’s music had helped retrieve it. It would have been a much harder task for him, however, to leap to the boat and get it himself. No, Jack knew every man played his part. And that’s what he told the crew when they congratulated him.
As Hudson had worked alongside and performed shanties for the crew for several months, he’d watched them closely. Most of them all but worshiped their captain. Jack had surveilled Captain Morris as well. He was a skilled leader at sea, but it took more than that to earn such loyalty as he had from his crew. Hudson saw the way his eyes roved over the deck, watching the landsmen learn the ropes from the seasoned sailors with a smile in his eye. Morris was covertly protective of the youngest sailors on his ship and pretended not to take it easy on the eldest.
When the shantyman knocked and entered Captain Morris’ cabin, he had none of the apprehension that he’d had on his first call there. Of course, there remained a large gap in position. But Jack entered as a trusted advisor would into the court of a king, knowing he was welcome and valued. On top of Jack’s inspection and approval of his captain’s character, they’d been through the kind of adventure that formed a brotherhood between the hearts of men.
“Have a seat, Jack. Drink?”
“Yessir, thank you.
Captain Morris poured chwisgi, welsh whiskey, into a glass and they sipped in silence. Jack stared out the port hole and Captain Morris at his trunk. They left the sweet satisfaction of victory undisturbed for a few moments.
“I told you that someday, I may need you to guard what has been entrusted to me. It’s time you know what exactly that entails.”
“You mean the tablet, sir?”
“The tablets, and something much more precious than that.”
Jack Hudson sipped his whisky, patiently waiting for Captain Morris to expound.
The captain took the slab of carved granite out of its cloth covering on his desk and stowed it beneath a false bottom of a nearby sea chest. He set it alongside a nearly identical tablet with another verse on it and resituated the false bottom securely in place.
Hudson couldn’t help feeling as if he’d witnessed something private. In fact, he’d almost turned to avert his gaze. If Morris stowed the tablets in front of him, though, there was a reason.
“Caedmon’s tablets will excite the people and inspire their outcry for goodness to prevail, but a dead man cannot lead them.”
“You’re not planning on resurrecting the saint himself are you?”
Captain Morris smiled. “No, Jack. They have saints. What they need is a king.”
The shantyman paused to choose his next words wisely. A Welsh revolution, even piracy, had crossed his mind earlier in the voyage. He’d discounted it more every day he grew to know the captain’s character. But once again, he feared he might have gotten wrapped up in such a scheme.
“You mean besides the King they have, sir?”
“As if that German aristocrat cares for us.”
“Then, I’ll venture a guess you don’t mean Prince Frederick either.” Jack Hudson, normally imperturbable, shifted in his seat at this boldly treasonous conversation.
“Prince of Wales, my arse.” Captain Morris sniffed, as if to retract words that might have followed but that he didn’t wish to escape. “They can keep the lot of ‘em and their thrones and titles.
“If it’s not about the throne then…”
“I told you before, it’s about stopping evil, a sneaky one. There are those such as yourself who commune with angels. And there are those who commune with the fallen. Those men would enter into the knowledge of the evil ones at any cost. But you know the cost, Jack; you know the cycles. Evil men are willing to pay because our blood is the currency, our children, our future. If we don’t stop them now, they will begin a process that will ruin mankind. Machines, Jack. Mankind will lose all sense of purpose if they find a machine to replace every one of us.”
“Surely they can’t. There’s no machine that can keep a ship rolling across the sea, Captain.”
“But there will be if we don’t stop them. And political kings are little more than marionettes. King George doesn't even realize how little power he truly wields. There’s no point in stealing an impotent throne. No, I have a king who doesn't need Westminster to say so. And the people will follow him because he’s the rightful heir to their loyalty. He’s the Pendragon.
“The what, sir? Surely you don’t mean Pendragon as in Uther.”
“As in Uther, Arthur and all of their descendants, including Mac Gruffyd.”
“Them is tall tales, sir! And say you do have the Pendragon, someone with some kind of ancient regal right. What’re you to do with him if you’re not vying for the throne of England?”
“The table is set. The knights are waiting.”
“Oh, no, no, no. You’re not going to tell me…”
“Yes, Jack. The round table.”
“Fables. Fairy tales.” Jack shook his head, refusing to consider it.
“Perhaps I know you better than you know yourself. Because I know you believe in fairy tales. You’ve seen them. My men watched you invoke legendary beings to fight evil so-called myths. You have used the prayers of the saints, Jack, the goodspell. You walk every day in the world of folklore. Why is this particular tale so hard to believe?”
Jack tipped back his last several sips of whisky at once, speechless. Captain Morris was right about one thing. The shantyman had seen giants and sea monsters with his own eyes. He’d prayed in the face of possessed beasts.
“For every power-hungry, bloodthirsty man in a seat of power on the British Isles, there is a selfless one who holds the trust of his fellow townsmen. We have gathered the men who are the true gatekeepers of every village, town and city in Wales. They will bring the rallying cry of the Pendragon to their friends and neighbors. They’ll stand against the dissolution of the human race. The people of Wales and beyond will cry out and evil will be overpowered in our homeland for our time.”
The Captain’s voice rose with this speech and his excitement drew Jack along with him.
“You’re telling me Mac Gruffyd is that man? He’s a babe!”
“Oh Jack, don’t make yourself sound so old. He’s a grown lad with the strength of spirit of a king. You saw him in the caverns. The Cave of the Red Dragon belongs to the King of Wales. Even if he hadn’t leapt into action like a true hero, it had to be him that recovered the tablet. Because the cave belongs to the Pendragon.”
There was nothing more to discuss. Jack would need time to think about the pendragon business. Gruffyd was a brave sailor and dynamic person, but rightful heir to an esoteric ancient throne? If Captain Morris wasn’t attempting to usurp King George, then the mission wasn’t treacherous. Whether or not his story held water, Captain Morris was a good man. Jack felt bound to the mission now, at the very least for the sake of Caedmon’s tablets.
“Well, what is it you need me to do, sir?”
“The next tablet is buried on an obscure island. I’ll need the magic of muscle rather than music this time. But with the unrest between Britain and Spain in the Caribbean, the colonies experiencing growing pains and Pirates scattered by the threat of the noose, I fear the ship being taken. If that were to happen…”
“Oh sir, I’m sure–”
Morris put his hand up to silence Jack. “Our enemies are tricky. They have as many eyes roaming about the earth as I do. They know we’re on the move, but they don’t know exactly what or whom they are looking for. If we are taken, you are in the perfect position to ensure Gruffyd’s safe return to Wales, with the tablets if possible. No one will suspect anything of you.”
“I think Sibly would say otherwise.”
“No one will suspect anything besides supernatural shanty abilities.” The Captain said with a smile.
“It’s no small thing you’re asking.”
“Aye, but the possibilities for not just Wales but the whole island and the colonies are worth living and dying for.”
Jack nodded silently. He would need time to process, but he was no stranger to putting his life on the line. If honor should demand it, he would do it every day for the rest of his life.
“We’ll retrieve our tablet from Australia and then there’s one more we need to get in Northumberland.”
“Caedmon’s land.”
“You’re quick when you want to be. Just so long as it’s not Arthurian legends.” Morris smiled. “ Now, would you have me drop you off at the nearest port to find a whaleship to haul you home? I hear Hawaii is lovely.”
“So it’s whales or Wales, eh?”
Captain Morris laughed, knowing Jack well enough to see a joke as a good sign.
“Yes, I’ll see the boy home.” Jack assented.
“I knew you would.”
Jack assumed he was dismissed and stood to leave.
“There’s one more thing.”
“Yessir.”
“There’s at least one traitor on board, though probably more. While Rhys and I get the tablet, I need you and Weaver to take care of the man I have imprisoned in the hold. That Wolfe nearly killed Gruffyd in his sleep.”
“So that’s what that commotion was for!” Jack thought back to his dreams. A chill tickled his neck at the remembrance of legend and reality intertwined. Had he ever woken up? But there he was, being asked to deal with the traitor he’d heard in the bowels of the ship.
“Are you asking us to execute him?” Jack hoped not.
“No, I think marooning would suit him better. Look here,” Captain Morris said, tapping the map. Inside a deep inlet into the island, there was a roughly crescent-shaped bay with a small island off the southerly tip.
“We’ll row ashore and retrieve the tablet from this bay. You and Clement will drop him on this island with the usual things. Maybe he’ll live long enough to hear of our victory. Clement has his orders; he’ll find you when the time comes.”
“Aye, Sir.”
“That’ll be all, Hudson. And thank you, mate.”
Jack touched his hat and returned to the unending duties of a sailor, leading the men in song all the while.
In South Australia my native land
Heave away, haul away
Full of rocks and thieves and fleas and sand
We're bound for South Australia
Haul away you rolling kings
Heave away, haul away
Haul away, you'll hear me sing
We're bound for South Australia
The Dawnswyr’s long, diagonal Pacific crossing went about as well as you could expect sailing a ship halfway around the world to go. There was good weather and poor, fair winds and treacherous ones. By the time their destination came into view, nearly every man volunteered to fetch fresh water from the island. But first, they had to find their port.
The privately commissioned map from the hand of Welsh engraver Emanuel Bowen was a crude likeness at best to the actual shape of the Southern Continent. Thankfully, they sailed southward past the vaguely drawn eastern coast of Terra Australis to a smaller island labeled with the Dutch name Van Diemen's Island, which was engraved in more detail.
Almost to the southern tip of the island, an inlet opened northward toward the heart of the island. In fact, the way the inlet cut up through the island seemed very much like a rent heart. Jack had a clear view from the mizzen top where he remained long after the sail was secured and the men below had finished with the halyard In reality, he was only seeing a small, jagged sample of the large island. Could good come from such a place? Or would they find only heartbreak? Immediately, Jack chided himself for always seeing hidden meanings where he shouldn’t and laughed it off.
With nearly all her sails taken in, the Dawnswyr glided gently into the inlet. It was afternoon. The reflection of sunlight off the turquoise water seemed to illuminate the wild jungles on the island, lending it an otherworldly brilliance. Strange trees rolled on like breakers over an ocean. There was not a patch of open ground to be seen. From the ratlines up the mizzenmast, Jack imagined the Dawsyr sailing straight from the water up onto the treetops, as if the wind would carry them smoothly right through the sea of blue-green foliage. He was disappointed when the bosun’s whistle sounded and Mr. Briggs’ yelling interrupted his fantastic reverie.
“All hands! Prepare to drop anchor!”
The boat came alive in the way an anthill does when disturbed. Mr. Weaver stood at the base of the mizzenmast waiting for the shantyman to descend. Jack dropped the last few feet and waited for the First Mate to speak.
“I have a couple of good men who’ll bring him up, but not ‘til all the landing parties leave.”
In that one statement, Jack heard several unsaid things. First, good men would be those privy to at least some of their mission and committed to it, men they could trust for some touchy business. It also meant that there were men who were not confirmed as good men. The fact that they waited for the supply search parties to leave meant that every man suspected of not being a good man would be chosen to go ashore. Jack would have to stay busy yet inconspicuously available at a moment’s notice.
It wasn’t too difficult. There was always more work than time on a sailing ship, even anchored off a hooked cape emerging from a utopian scenery. The landing parties were anxious to embark, so it wasn’t long before Jack heard a struggle on the ladder below.
“Hudson! Help us up!”
The shantyman dropped his work and ran to help them lift an uncooperative gagged and bound sailor. He grabbed the ropes that wound around his body like a straight jacket. A shove from the men below and a heave from Jack send the man tumbling onto the deck.
Jack had to remind himself to trust his superiors’ treatment of the prisoner. It was hard for him to manhandle the inmate when he knew nothing of the wrong he’d done. In his early voyages, Jack had gotten himself into plenty of trouble by needing to know why. Even if he wasn’t privy to the mission of the Dawnswyr’s crew, his job was to obey orders.
They lowered a dinghy and transferred their captive cargo. Weaver held on to the prisoner and told the small crew to row to the tiny islet off a point on the main island.
“This island isn't much more than a turtle shell to leave him on.” Gruffyd said as they pulled the boat onto the small stretch of beach. “Won’t he just swim to the main island? A man could make it if he tried.”
“That’s if ‘e can swim at all,” Another man suggested.
“And the sharks don’t get him,” said a third.
“I don’t care what he does. We’ll be ‘round the horn by the time he gets anywhere away from Van Diemen's Land.” Mr. Weaver said with finality.
They half-carried, half-drug the captive to the shade of a tree. The foliage was strange; with leaves like highland pines but shaped like tropical palms. There were shrubs made of wild spikes like giant blades of grass. Here and there, fuschia flowers bloomed. Men had been marooned on much worse.
Weaver continued giving orders, apparently more than ready to be done with the traitor and off the island. “Leave his things there on that rock. You men untie all but his hands.”
While they unbound the man, Jack retrieved a jug of water, a knife and a pistol and set them on the large boulder Weaver had indicated.
Weaver stood over the man who leaned against a tree trunk with his bound hands behind him. The first mate pointed his pistol at the captive, seething. Jack wondered if he actually might execute him for his crimes. The air thickened with tension while he glared down the barrel at the dark-eyed sailor. Weaver took a couple of steps backward and the atmosphere depressurized. He didn’t lower his weapon, but Jack could feel that the moment had passed.
“No funny business, Wolfe. Men, to the boat.” Weaver continued stepping backward with his pistol trained on the traitor. As soon as Weaver reached the water, he turned and leaped into the boat and yelled for the men to row.
At the same time, Wolfe scrambled to his feet and shimmied over his bound hands so they were in front of him. He ran for the boulder.
From the tiller, Clement Weaver did his part vocally to get them quickly away from shore. “Pull boys! Pull like your life depends on it! Row like your mother’s waiting aboard the Dawnswyr! Row! Pull like your father has the strap to your ass!”
Unlike Mr. Weaver who faced forward at the tiller, Jack Hudson saw Wolfe take the pistol in his bound hands. The shantyman saw him peer with one open eye down the barrel straight at Mac Gruffyd rowing directly aft of him.
“Git down sir!” Jack yelled at Weaver as he sprang into action and heaved Gruffyd to one side with all his weight.
Clement Weaver ducked. The traitor Wolfe pulled the trigger. Mac Gruffyd gasped for air that didn’t come. And Jack fell backward onto the rower behind him.
Weaver’s gaze flew back and forth trying to figure out what happened. Mac finally heaved in the air that had been stolen when his ribs hit the hull. Then he saw blood dripping from Hudson’s right shoulder.
“Jack! You there, get pressure on that wound! Gruffyd, take the tiller!”
“Aye, sir.”
Weaver took the shocked young man’s place at the oars and began to pull with the remaining rowers.
There was no more risk from Wolfe. They’d only left him the one customary shot, a mercy in case he wished to take his own life. All the men knew the importance of getting Jack to the ship’s doctor as quickly as possible.
