Chapter 6

Thad appeared at the rail and tossed the master a rope, calling out cheerily that it was a fine day. Apparently the boy had not yet noticed that anything was wrong with his hero. Simon wished the youngster was less attentive and thought of contriving an immediate errand for him in some other part of the ship, but decided to brazen it out the best he could. With a great effort he heaved himself aboard, produced a weak imitation of a smile, and said, with laboured precision:

‘I’ll relieve you now, my boy. Perhaps you would like to go to the Synagogue.’

‘Hell, no!’ scoffed Thad, expectant of an approving grin.

But Simon’s face was sober and he made no comment. Walking slowly aft, he sat down on the sun-warmed tiller-seat and dully occupied himself with a pretence of mending some frayed odds and ends of old ratlines. After a while Thad strolled back and volunteered to help, but Simon shook his head absently. When an hour had passed, the loyal young fellow—showing some concern now—returned with a plate of smoked fish and a couple of hard biscuits in one hand and a mug of sweet cider in the other.

The skipper nodded his appreciation, gestured to Thad to put the plate down on the seat beside him, and reached out a hand for the mug. He raised it almost to his lips, sniffed it, blinked rapidly a few times—and shuddered.

‘Not feeling very well today, my boy,’ mumbled Simon truthfully.

Thad murmured something that sounded like sympathy and moved quietly away. It was evident that the master did not want to be disturbed. Doubtless, reflected Simon, as he gazed at the retreating figure, the boy had guessed why. And that was too bad; but at least Thad would know now what the trouble was, and not be fretting for fear he had somehow got himself into the boss’s disfavour.

Simon continued thinking about young Thad. He was a good boy, a good sailor, a good fisherman; but a sore trial to his parents. It was said that they felt they had lost their son and that it was Simon’s fault. Well—maybe it was true, viewed from the angle of their fanatical piety. The youngster was completely devoted to him, even to the length of imitating the master’s little tricks of speech and manner until the crew joked about it.

Bending forward, with his aching head in his hands, Simon retched disgustedly. Thad’s parents were right: he was a bad influence. He wondered what Thad would say if he called to him and said, ‘See here, boy; why don’t you wash your dirty face and comb your hair and go to the Synagogue today? It would please your mother. Even if it didn’t do you any good, it would be worth something to make your parents happy…’ But no—he couldn’t do that: he had already bewildered young Thad with his extraordinary behaviour. It was enough disillusionment for one day.

Glancing up dully, he saw Thad vaulting over the starboard rail on to the deck of The Sara. Something had attracted his attention. He was leaning far forward now at the taffrail, shading his eyes with both hands. Presently he turned about with a broad grin and called to Simon excitedly: ‘Damned if they haven’t got her moving!’

Simon’s curiosity brought him lumbering to his feet. He sluggishly climbed aboard The Sara and followed Thad’s pointing finger. A full half-mile away, the discarded little fishing-smack that had been beached, at least three years ago, by poor old Japheth when he was no longer able to work, was making sail, a few hundred yards off shore.