directly for Good Hope.
‘Keep her under your eye.’
As Hal watched her, the caravel dwindled in size until her white sails merged with the tossing manes of the wind-driven white horses on the horizon.
‘She’s gone!’ he shouted at the quarterdeck. ‘Out of sight from here!’
Sir Francis had waited for this moment before he brought the galleon around onto her true heading. Now he gave the orders to the helm that brought her around towards the east, and she went back
on a broad reach parallel with the African coast. ‘This seems to be her best point of sailing,’ he said to Hal, as his son came down to the deck after being relieved at the masthead.
‘Even with her jury-rigging, she’s showing a good turn of speed. We must get to know the whims and caprice of our new mistress. Make a cast of the log, please.’
With the glass in hand, Hal timed the wooden log on its reel, dropped from the bows on its journey back along the hull until it reached the stern. He made a quick calculation on the slate, and
then looked up at his father. ‘Six knots through the water.’
‘With a new mainmast she will be good for ten. Ned Tyler has found a spar of good Norwegian pine stowed away in her hold. We will step it as soon as we get into port.’ Sir Francis
looked delighted: God was smiling upon them. ‘Assemble the ship’s company. We will ask God’s blessing on her and rename her.’
They stood bare-headed in the wind, clutching their caps to their breasts, their expressions as pious as they could muster, anxious not to attract the disfavour of Sir Francis.
‘We thank you, Almighty God, for the victory you have granted us over the heretic and the apostate, the benighted followers of the son of Satan, Martin Luther.’
‘Amen!’ they cried loudly. They were all good Anglicans, apart from the black tribesmen among them, but these Negroes cried, ‘Amen!’ with the rest. They had learned that
word their first day aboard Sir Francis’s ship.
‘We thank you also for your timely and merciful intervention in the midst of the battle and your deliverance of us from certain defeat—’
Hal shuffled in disagreement, but without looking up. Some of the credit for the timely intervention was his, and his father had not acknowledged this as openly.
‘We thank you and praise your name for placing in our hands this fine ship. We give you our solemn oath that we will use her to bring humiliation and punishment upon your enemies. We ask
your blessing upon her. We beg you to look kindly upon her, and to sanction the new name which we now give her. From henceforth she will become the Resolution .’
His father had simply translated the galleon’s Dutch name, and Hal was saddened that this ship would not bear his mother’s name. He wondered if his father’s memory of his
mother was at last fading, or if he had some other reason for no longer perpetuating her memory. He knew, though, that he would never have the courage to ask, and he must simply accept this
decision.
‘We ask your continued help and intervention in our endless battle against the godless. We thank you humbly for the rewards you have so bountifully heaped upon us. And we trust that if we
prove worthy you will reward our worship and sacrifice with further proof of the love you bear us.’
This was a perfectly reasonable sentiment, one with which every man on board, true Christian or pagan, could be in full accord. Every man devoted to God’s work on earth was entitled to his
rewards, and not only in the life to come. The treasures that filled the Resolution’s holds were proof and tangible evidence of his approval and consideration towards them.
‘Now let’s have a cheer for Resolution and all who sail in her.’
They cheered until they were hoarse, and Sir Francis silenced them at last. He replaced his broad-brimmed hat and gestured for them to cover their heads. His expression became stern and
forbidding. ‘There is one more task we
‘Keep her under your eye.’
As Hal watched her, the caravel dwindled in size until her white sails merged with the tossing manes of the wind-driven white horses on the horizon.
‘She’s gone!’ he shouted at the quarterdeck. ‘Out of sight from here!’
Sir Francis had waited for this moment before he brought the galleon around onto her true heading. Now he gave the orders to the helm that brought her around towards the east, and she went back
on a broad reach parallel with the African coast. ‘This seems to be her best point of sailing,’ he said to Hal, as his son came down to the deck after being relieved at the masthead.
‘Even with her jury-rigging, she’s showing a good turn of speed. We must get to know the whims and caprice of our new mistress. Make a cast of the log, please.’
With the glass in hand, Hal timed the wooden log on its reel, dropped from the bows on its journey back along the hull until it reached the stern. He made a quick calculation on the slate, and
then looked up at his father. ‘Six knots through the water.’
‘With a new mainmast she will be good for ten. Ned Tyler has found a spar of good Norwegian pine stowed away in her hold. We will step it as soon as we get into port.’ Sir Francis
looked delighted: God was smiling upon them. ‘Assemble the ship’s company. We will ask God’s blessing on her and rename her.’
They stood bare-headed in the wind, clutching their caps to their breasts, their expressions as pious as they could muster, anxious not to attract the disfavour of Sir Francis.
‘We thank you, Almighty God, for the victory you have granted us over the heretic and the apostate, the benighted followers of the son of Satan, Martin Luther.’
‘Amen!’ they cried loudly. They were all good Anglicans, apart from the black tribesmen among them, but these Negroes cried, ‘Amen!’ with the rest. They had learned that
word their first day aboard Sir Francis’s ship.
‘We thank you also for your timely and merciful intervention in the midst of the battle and your deliverance of us from certain defeat—’
Hal shuffled in disagreement, but without looking up. Some of the credit for the timely intervention was his, and his father had not acknowledged this as openly.
‘We thank you and praise your name for placing in our hands this fine ship. We give you our solemn oath that we will use her to bring humiliation and punishment upon your enemies. We ask
your blessing upon her. We beg you to look kindly upon her, and to sanction the new name which we now give her. From henceforth she will become the Resolution .’
His father had simply translated the galleon’s Dutch name, and Hal was saddened that this ship would not bear his mother’s name. He wondered if his father’s memory of his
mother was at last fading, or if he had some other reason for no longer perpetuating her memory. He knew, though, that he would never have the courage to ask, and he must simply accept this
decision.
‘We ask your continued help and intervention in our endless battle against the godless. We thank you humbly for the rewards you have so bountifully heaped upon us. And we trust that if we
prove worthy you will reward our worship and sacrifice with further proof of the love you bear us.’
This was a perfectly reasonable sentiment, one with which every man on board, true Christian or pagan, could be in full accord. Every man devoted to God’s work on earth was entitled to his
rewards, and not only in the life to come. The treasures that filled the Resolution’s holds were proof and tangible evidence of his approval and consideration towards them.
‘Now let’s have a cheer for Resolution and all who sail in her.’
They cheered until they were hoarse, and Sir Francis silenced them at last. He replaced his broad-brimmed hat and gestured for them to cover their heads. His expression became stern and
forbidding. ‘There is one more task we
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