Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

28

With the exception of Cuthbert, most of the Long Patrol hares were ill-suited to seafaring life. The Purloined Petunia had been outward bound little more than a day and a half from Salamandastron, yet she was making remarkable progress. The odd hare, in his role as the sea otter captain, Frunk W. Bloodpaw, had driven them hard both night and day. Initially, nearly all the crew were seasick, but Cuthbert, playing the bully skipper to the hilt, had worked them so severely that all thoughts of illness had been knocked out of them. He further compounded the treatment by singing them a shanty entitled “The Landlubber’s Lament,” accompanying himself on the ship’s drum with his two ladles.

“There ain’t nothin’ like a life at sea,

when yore on pleasure bent,

so hearken crew, I’ll sing to you,

The Landlubber’s Lament

bold lads, the Landlubber’s Lament!

I dearly loves a storm each morn,

when the ship heaves up an’ down,

an’ up an’ down an’ up an’ down,

an’ oftimes round an’ round

bold lads, an’ oftimes round an’ round!

Wild gales rip through the riggin’,

all the decks aflood with sea,

wid waves as high as mountains,

Ho, that’s the life fer me

bold lads, ho, that’s the life fer me!

So I boils up some ole skilly,

an’ I stirs the duff in too,

in me greasy liddle galley,

’tis the stuff t’feed the crew

bold lads, the stuff t’feed the crew!

Pots o’ cold’n’watery cabbage,

lots o’ slimy turnip ends,

an’ some fish heads with the eyes in,

to see that we’re all friends

bold lads, to see that we’re all friends!

Then I’ll feed ye second helpin’s,

just t’keep ye well content,

an’ at night I’ll serenade ye,

with the Landlubber’s Lament

bold lads, the Landlubber’s Lament!”

Tiria had put off her regalia whilst onboard, redressing in her old tunic and kilt. The ottermaid did not stand on the ceremony of her exalted rank; instead, she chose to take a turn at the oars with the hares. Sitting on the bench alongside Colour Sergeant O’Cragg, she rowed out the late-night watch, with both of them pulling lustily on a long sweep oar. The sergeant, a big sturdy hare, was usually taciturn by nature, seldom questioning things. But as they toiled together, he murmured to Tiria, “Beggin’ yore pardon, miss, but h’are ye sure we’re a-goin’ the right way?”

He paused a while before voicing his thoughts. “Wot h’I means is this. When yore surrounded by water, h’everythin’ looks the bloomin’ same, miss. ’Ow d’ye suppose Cap’n Major Frunk knows where this ’ere Green h’Isle is?”

Tiria did not really know, but she thought up an answer. “I expect he knows by the position of the moon and stars. Though in the daytime, the cap’n steers by the sun, which always rises in the east and sets in the west. Also, we have our osprey. If the ship strays off course, Pandion can fly out and find the right way to go.”

Sergeant O’Cragg was satisfied with her explanation. “Thankee, miss, ’tis good t’know. Though h’if ’twas me steerin’ by those stars, we’d soon be lost. ’Ave ye ever seen’ow many stars there is h’in the sky at night?”

Tiria turned her gaze upward. What the sergeant said was true. On first glance, there seemed to be the usual amount of stars, but as she continued to look, more stars than she had ever dreamed of became visible. All the vast tracts of the nightdark sky were aglitter with innumerable pinpoints of light—some large, some small, others so minute that they resembled dust, covering infinite areas of the uncharted dark vaults. It was a staggering sight.

Tiria lowered her eyes, blinking as she agreed with her companion. “Good grief, Sergeant, there seems to be more stars than sky up there. I’ve never looked long enough to notice it before, it’s almost beyond belief!”

As they bent their backs to the oar stroke, Sergeant O’Cragg came up with another question. “Wot d’ye suppose they really h’are, miss?”

This time Tiria was stuck for an answer. “I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it. Have you any ideas, Sergeant?”

He surprised her with his reply. “They’re the spirits h’of warriors, miss, h’every brave beast that ever fell h’in battle. Leastways that’s wot ole Colonel Gorsebloom used t’tell me when h’I was nought but a liddle leveret. The colonel brought me h’up, y’see. H’I don’t recall ’avin’ no parents, miss.”

Tiria glanced sideways at her hulking oarmate. He looked embarrassed by his own words. She gave him a friendly smile. “Really, I wonder what made him say that?”

O’Cragg shrugged. “ ’Cos h’I asked ’im. The colonel taught me this ’ere poem h’about stars. Would ye like to ’ear it, miss?”

Tiria replied readily. “I’d love to, if you can still remember it.”

The colour sergeant winked at her. “ ’Course h’I can, just lissen t’this.”

Proudly, he recited the poem taught to him by his old mentor.

“There are many places a spirit may rest

when life’s long march has ended.

Every creature returns to its home,

exactly as nature intended.

The cowards and traitors, the liars and cheats,

each in their turn is awarded,

someplace that they deserved to go,

as their actions in life accorded.

Those who proved untrue to their friends

lie thick in the dust of the earth,

trodden on forever by all

to show what treachery’s worth.

In the mud of swamps, in rotting weeds,

they lie imprisoned by evil misdeeds.

But the warriors true, the brave of heart,

who valiantly upheld the right,

they are raised on high, to the velvet sky,

bringing light to the darkness of night.

They’ll stand there as long as the sky will,

their honour in brightness will glow,

a lesson to see, for eternity,

of where the real warriors go!

So ere my eyelids close in sleep,

these are the words I will say,

may I have the courage and faithfulness,

that my spirit should join them one day.”

The ship sped on through the night as they rowed in silence. Tiria was lost for words. Who would have thought that the big colour sergeant, hard as granite and tough as oakwood, had a heart so innocent and simple? In the midst of these thoughts, she was startled by the arrival of their relief, Quartle and Portan.

“I say, shove over, you chaps. The blinkin’ buffs have arrived, wot!”

“Rather, we’ll be rowing the jolly old tub until dawn!”

Tiria and the sergeant rose from the bench as the two subalterns scrambled into their places at the sweeps.

Quartle twiddled his ears in a jocular manner. “Expect your old royal royalness is about ready for some flippin’ shuteye, eh, miz?”

Portan winked impudently at the sergeant. “Nighty night, Sarge, off y’go, wot! I’ll bet you dream about bullyin’ greennosed recruits round the old barrack square. Leff right, leff right, pick those paws up, laddy buck!”

Colour Sergeant O’Cragg riveted them to their seats with his famous parade-ground glare. “One more word out of ye, an’ h’I’ll pick yore paws h’up an’ sling ye h’into the sea, you’orrible liddle beasties!”

Tiria was still chuckling as she wrapped herself in an old cloak and lay down behind the small galley. Slumber was not long in claiming her after half a night of rowing. Cuthbert never slept; when on board, he was constantly on duty. The odd hare sat at the tiller in a sort of half-doze, steering his vessel by instinct. Apart from the gentle lap of waves, it was quiet. The Purloined Petunia ploughed smoothly over the deeps, on into the starstrewn night. Thirty-one hares, a fish hawk and one ottermaid westward bound.