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    A Handful of Salt
    A Handful of Salt
    A Handful of Salt
    Ebook307 pages4 hours

    A Handful of Salt

    By TONY NASH

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    In this first sequel to 'A Handful of Dust', Joshua Nash, the bastard son of Thomas by an aborigine woman, opts for a sailor's life on one of this father's ships; his ambition is to become Commodore of the Fleet. He earns his right of passage, enduring gales, mutiny, disaster and hunger. On a trip to the West Indies, by a trick in the fog, Joshua's crew is overpowered by the 'Scorpion' and her band of pirates. Joshua is put overboard in a tiny coracle and set adrift to die. By drinking his own urine he lasts for several days, but is at the point of death when taken on board a Royal Navy ship. There he is insulted by the First Mate, and calls him out. In the dual his opponent tries a dirty trick that misfires, killing him. The Captain of the ship, impressed by Joshua, takes him on as a temporary Lieutenant. During the voyage he sees his old ship at anchor, but the RN vessel can not approach. They fight and capture French ships, and Joshua is given command of one to take back to England. There he is offered a permanent commission in the Royal Navy, but declines. He rejoins his own fleet and they head for the West Indies again, where he retakes his ship and captures and imprisons the Scorpion. They fall in love. She is the daughter of a hildalgo, whose estate has been taken from him by an uncle. Together, Joshua and the Scorpion go to Spain and win back the estate, though she is shot and almost dies. Joshua takes her back to Australia to meet the family and marry her, and to arrange a fantastic 65th birthday party for his father. At that party, his mentor, Amos, retires from the sea and Joshua achieves his ambition. He is made Commodore of the Fleet, the first aborigine master mariner.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTONY NASH
    Release dateOct 8, 2014
    ISBN9781631737381
    A Handful of Salt
    Author

    TONY NASH

    Tony Nash is the author of over thirty detective, historical and war novels. He began his career as a navigator in the Royal Air Force, later re-training at Bletchley Park to become an electronic spy, intercepting Russian and East German agent transmissions, during which time he studied many languages and achieved a BA Honours Degree from London University. Diverse occupations followed: Head of Modern Languages in a large comprehensive school, ocean yacht skipper, deep sea fisher, fly tyer, antique dealer, bespoke furniture maker, restorer and French polisher, professional deer stalker and creative writer.

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      Book preview

      A Handful of Salt - TONY NASH

      A Handful Of Salt

      Tony Nash

      Sequel to ‘A Handful Of Dust’

      Copyright © Tony Nash 2014

      ISBN 9781631737374

      Other works by this author:

      The Tony Dyce thrillers:

      Murder by Proxy

      Murder on the Back Burner

      Murder on the Chess Board

      Murder on the High ‘C’

      Murder on Tiptoes

      The John Hunter thrillers:

      Carve Up

      Single to Infinity

      The Most Unkindest Cut

      The Iago Factor

      Other books:

      The Devil Deals Death

      The Makepeace Manifesto

      The World’s Worst Joke Book

      Panic

      The Last Laugh

      Historical saga:

      A Handful of Dust

      A Handful of Salt

      A Handful of Courage

      Hell and High Water

      And The Harry Page Thrillers:

      Tripled Exposure

      Unseemly Exposure

      This is a work of pure fiction, and any similarity between any character in it and any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional. Where actual places, buildings and locations are named, they are used fictionally.

      "Never trust her at any time, when the calm sea shows her false, alluring smile"

      Lucretius – De rerum Natura

      All I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by

      Walter Masefield (Sea Fever) 1902

      BOOK TWO – JOSHUA 1790 – 1857

      CHAPTER ONE

      Sydney Cove January 8th 1807

      The longboat had almost reached the ship, gliding effortlessly through the flat calm waters of the bay under the practised strokes of the oarsmen, when Joshua asked urgently, ‘Could I be a sailor, Father?’

      Thomas Nash drew back on the thwart, astonished; it had not been mentioned before.

      ‘A sailor? Is that what you wish, really?’

      ‘Yes, Father. I have given it a great deal of thought. At first glance I have the appearance of a white man, and on our own property I am accepted by your men as an equal, but look at the shape of my eyes and the colour of my skin. They are clear giveaways. We aborigines are still looked on as only one step removed from the animals, and I believe that it will be a very long time, if ever, before we are accepted as full citizens of Australia. You know as well as I that it will certainly not be during my lifetime. Of course I could stay on your station and never leave it, but you, having lived as one, know full well that confinement to an aborigine is far worse than death. If I stay ashore in this country, outside our own land holdings I shall forever be second class or worse. At sea, if Amos’ crew is anything to go by, I would be accepted for what skills I acquire, not for the colour of my skin or the shape of my eyes. I can find my place by hard work.’

      He knew that Sven Larsen, Amos’ First Mate, was Swedish, and that three of the matelots were Spanish, Portuguese and Dutch. Many of the other men also appeared to have mixed blood. He would not be out of place amongst them.

      ‘But I own the ships with Amos.’ Thomas insisted, ‘If you wish to go to sea you can go as my representative. You have no need to learn sailoring.’ He suddenly asked himself why he was protesting; it was a novel idea, but perhaps a good one. His son’s concerns were real enough, God knew, and echoed his own. The aborigine extermination program was thankfully terminated, but a blind eye was still turned to their murder, and the ‘rum solution’ was, if not officially sanctioned, certainly looked upon with favour by the powers-that-be.

      Joshua slowly shook his head, ‘A figurehead, Father? Were you I, would you be content with such a life? No, I know you that you would not. I have watched you; you ask no man to do what you cannot do better, faster, and with more aplomb. I shall start at the very bottom and work my way up to become a ship’s master. Look at it another way: if I were at home I would at some point go walkabout, as my ancestors on my mother’s side have done for thousands of years. Think of me as doing just that, except that it will be on water instead of dry land.

      Thomas knew when he was beaten. He shrugged resignedly, ‘So be it, Joshua. I well understand your motives, and it pleases me to see something of myself in you. Have you told your mother?’

      His son let out a little snort of disbelief, ‘Oh, Father! Come now, think.’

      Of course; the aboriginal way: when it was time to go, they went. There was never the slightest regret, only the knowledge that one day they might possibly come back, but that wherever they were it was where they wanted to be.

      ‘There are other benefits: you will be able to meet your brother, James.’ Thomas had long before described the estate in England. ‘You shall deliver my letter personally.’ He had been exchanging letters with his firstborn, using his ships to carry them, once every two years, and the ship’s master had brought two letters from James with him this time, one of them for his mother, Martha, the second one she would receive from the son she had been forced to leave hidden in England when she and Thomas were transported to the Australian continent as criminals. In his letter to his father James reported that he had yet again extended the family’s land holdings and had enjoyed good harvests and profits. He mentioned a maiden, Eleanor, twice in the letter, and it was clear that a wedding was in the offing. It seemed that on both sides of the world things were in good order.

      Thomas stood and took the rope ladder in his hands to climb to the deck of his flagship. ‘Very well, let us see what the master has to say about it.’

      Amos Swale, whom Thomas had appointed Commodore of the Fleet, was waiting for them by the gunwale.

      As Joshua swung his leg over the side a small bundle of brown and white fur flew down the half dozen steps from the quarterdeck and across the planking to buzz round and round his legs before he felt a slight nip on his right heel.

      Amos laughed, ‘He obviously likes you, Joshua. If he did not, you would be bleeding.’

      The lad bent and stroked the head of the little terrier and it began to jump high in the air, over and over, like a Springer spaniel. He picked it up and it licked his face.

      Thomas asked, ‘A new addition, Amos?’

      The ship’s master nodded, ‘As you know only too well from personal experience rats are always a huge problem on board ship, and since I have had Scamp they are well under control for once.’

      Thomas nodded, ‘A very good idea, and such a simple one. And while we are speaking of additions to the crew, have you room for another deck hand, Amos?’

      The master laughed, ‘I thought you wanted to stay farming, Thomas.’

      ‘I do, but Joshua has an urge to go to sea and learn your trade.’

      Amos looked Joshua up and down, appraising him. The lad was, he knew, seventeen years old, built solidly and a younger version of his father, with but little of his aboriginal ancestry obvious. From his acquaintance over the years as the lad grew he knew that Joshua was intelligent and keen to learn. Had he been a congenital idiot Amos would still have had to agree to take him in hand, but with Joshua he imagined it would be a pleasure, and to have a representative of the family on board would be no bad thing. If the lad were anything like his father he would be a grand addition to the crew, and even if he were not, Amos owed much to Thomas.

      ‘I think I can find him a corner somewhere.’ He told them.

      ‘I want no favours.’ Joshua assured him, ‘None at all.’

      Thomas resisted the smile that threatened to cross his face. He had noticed the look in the ship’s master’s face and knew his son would get them nevertheless.

      Amos showed Thomas the company books for the previous two years, audited by the banker Dalbey’s employees in Norwich and Thomas handed over a leather portmanteau which held five more bags of gold to be banked in England.

      Amos told him, ‘The fleet now numbers twelve, Thomas, and two more ships are being built in Great Yarmouth at this moment. We trade with America, Australia, Africa and Europe, everything imaginable except slaves, and with some items the rewards are five and six-fold. Even with paying for the new ships money is piling up in the bank. There is no sea war to speak of at present; the Royal Navy has every Frenchy they have not already destroyed penned up tight in their ports, scared to venture out. Piracy though, from which our fleet has luckily not yet suffered, is rife in some parts of the world. We try to avoid those areas. We have been lucky in another way: so many Naval officers and crews have been laid off that finding first class men to man the ships has been much easier than usual. Your far-sightedness has made me very wealthy.’

      Thomas was suddenly worried, ‘Wealthy enough to gamble, Amos?’

      The master grinned widely, ‘That was a lesson never to be repeated, Thomas; you and your cardsharping friend Roger Clarke convinced me of that.’

      ‘And what do you intend to do with all that wealth, Amos?’

      ‘You may think me a fool, Thomas, but I have no wish to settle down on land, unless I become too ill to bestride a quarterdeck. Should that happen, I would like to come to die and be buried on your land with your permission, but as long as I am able-bodied and can carry on to the end, the lads can throw me overboard for the fishes when I am done, and I will live down there in Davy Jones’ locker, surrounded for eternity by ever-willing mermaids.’

      Joshua laughed, ‘That sounds good to me too, Father, though I would hope that I had a good few years of adventuring before that happened.’ He addressed Amos again, ‘Just think, I shall be the only aborigine seaman in the world.’

      Amos corrected him, ‘But not the original.’

      ‘How so? There cannot have been others.’

      ‘There is a line of thought among scientific thinkers that your race of people came to Australia from Polynesia thousands of years ago. They were tremendous seafarers. If true, you have the sea in your blood.’

      Joshua looked hugely pleased, ‘There, you see, Father, I am going back to my roots.’

      Thomas smiled, trying not to show his reluctance to let this son he so dearly loved go to sea, with all its inherent dangers. He would have preferred to keep him on the sheep station with his sisters and brothers, but there were advantages in what he was doing. Amos, though not an old man, was old in sea years, and would at some time come to the end of the line. There was also the ever-present risk of accidental death at sea. The shipping company was expanding every year, and if Joshua made a success of the life he could command one of the new ships in time, and take over as Commodore when Amos retired or died. He himself had always followed his own destiny, and Joshua had much the same kind of determination.

      He stopped the huge sigh that was threatening to make itself heard and was about to hold out his arms to envelope his son but stopped that movement too. That was something else that was not the aboriginal way.

      Instead he punched Joshua lightly on his broad chest, ‘Good on you, son. I wish you every success. Amos will give you any money you need whenever you go ashore. Goodbye, Amos. Take good care of him.’

      He turned and strode to the gunwale, swung his leg over and began to descend the rope ladder down to the longboat, not looking back, and fighting fiercely the tears that were forming at the corners of his eyes.

      Joshua stood next to Amos, watching until the oarsmen had pulled the boat into the quayside and Thomas jumped out. He turned and waved once before climbing onto the horse that was being held ready for him by one of his men, and they saw him disappear in a cloud of dust, back towards his land far beyond the town of Parramatta.

      Amos grinned, ‘There you are, Joshua, no going back now.’

      ‘It seems quiet on board at the moment, with the men in town. Can we make a start on my education, Captain?’

      ‘Surely. What would you like to know first?’ Amos was pleased. He’d judged the lad aright.

      ‘The masts, the sails?’

      ‘Very well; the Martha Nash, lying over there in the roads, is the second largest vessel in the fleet, at five hundred and forty tons. She is a brig, faster and more manoeuvrable than the Thomas, but we, at six hundred and eighty tons, can carry a great deal more cargo. One day you will be responsible for ordering the laying down of new ships, so the first things you must consider are what cargoes they will be carrying and which ports they will be travelling between. Then you can assess what the profit margins are likely to be, taking into account the speed of transit versus the weight carried and the type of cargo. The convict transports on the First and Second Fleets were all fairly small ships, up to four hundred and fifty tons and a mixture of types: barques, brigs and a heavy sailer, and the convicts had a hard time of it, as I am sure your father has told you. With our larger vessels they have things much better. It is still a hazardous journey and by no means a picnic, but the prisoners arrive in much better shape, and very few die on our ships. Those that do are usually already seriously ill when we take them on board from their long spells incarcerated in those noxious prison hulks parked in Portsmouth Harbour. There is talk that transportation will end sometime, but at the moment it is good business for us.

      So, the Martha Nash, being a brig, is a two-master, and on a brig the main mast is the one aft. It has a gaff-rigged sail; that’s a fore-and-aft one, at the bottom, which the helmsman uses to get better manoeuvrability. The sails are furled at the moment, but from the deck going upwards they are the mainsail, the main topsail, the main tregallant, properly called the topgallant, though many of the men find that difficult to get around the tongue, and the main royal as the topmost. There is another sail off that mast, the spanker, which sticks out behind on a boom.’

      He went on, naming in turn the rest of the sails on the Martha, before turning to his own ship, ’The Thomas Nash is the flagship of the Fleet, and she is a three- masted barque. We carry fore-and-aft sails on the aftermost mast and she is square rigged on the others…’ He continued for more than a minute, while Joshua tried to remember the extended litany. Eventually Amos grinned, knowing that if the lad remembered even a tenth of what he had just told him he would have done well, ‘There you are, Joshua; as the preacher man would tell you, here endeth the first lesson.’

      Joshua thanked him. His instruction was going to come in small portions, obviously. He intended to push for as much information as he could, but there was time on his side. Amos obviously wanted him to absorb one lesson before starting another.

      There were two seamen on deck; one, a skinny little man no more than five feet tall, his skin burnt almost black by the sun and with a face like a monkey, was splicing a rope’s end. The other was fishing from the bow with a rod made from a bamboo cane. Most of the crew had gone ashore.

      Amos had returned to his cabin to work on his charts. Scamp had stayed next to the lad, looking up expectantly.

      Joshua sat down silently next to the seaman and watched the dexterity of his fingers as the rough end of the rope became a perfectly smooth knob.

      The man looked up, ‘Who’re you?’

      ‘Joshua.’

      ‘I’m Tricky - least, that’s what they call me. Never did know my real name, nor who my mother and father were.’ He stroked the dog, which had sat down between them, ‘Looks like you made one new friend. He’s magic with the rats. You never seen a rope spliced afore?’

      Joshua shook his head.

      ‘Want to learn?’

      ‘Very much.’

      ‘Bring me that old bit from over there.’

      Joshua fetched it. Tricky cut it in half and handed one piece to him.

      ‘Now first of all you have to unravel the strands, like this.’ He opened up the first nine inches of the rope and Joshua followed suit. ‘I’ll show you the back splice first. You make a crown knot by pushing each strand of rope over the one next to it, like so, then pull it tight. After that you just splice each strand into the rope by pushing it over and under alternate strands. This is a pretty tough old rope, with some tar in it. I use a marlinspike to open up the strands. We don’t use this kind of splice much because the rope is thicker after you’ve finished and it will not go through a pulley or a block. If really pushed you use it until you can find time to do a whip finish, which is more permanent. Now you try.’

      Joshua found that what looked so easy in Tricky’s hands was anything but in his. He managed to complete the splice, looked at it and laughed, ‘I do not somehow think Amos would accept that as seamanlike, do you?’

      ‘Well they say Rome was not built in a day, but then they did not have us on that job. We’ll do another like that in a while, but I’ll show you a couple more. The eye splice is similar to the back splice, where you want to put an eye in the rope. You have to unravel a lot more rope before you start, because you have to allow for the eye. There. Now you pass the centre strand under a standing strand, the lower one under the next standing strand and the top one under the next, and so on. Then we have the short splice, to join two lengths of rope. That’s an easy one.’ He quickly cut another piece of rope and Joshua looked on, amazed at how quickly the two pieces became joined.

      Tricky undid it again and passed it to him.

      Five minutes later he passed it back.

      Tricky grinned, ‘Not too bad for a landlubber. You’ll do, I think.’

      ‘Can I have some of these pieces to practise with?’

      ‘Help yourself. This is old stuff, but don’t cut too many lengths off; we might need it sometime. Have you got a hammock?’

      Joshua shook his head.

      ‘Well, you’re in luck. Sammy Bright forgot to tie his lifesaver and went overboard to feed the fishes during the last storm, so you can take his. I’ll show you. Come on.’

      Joshua had heard his father’s tales about the hulls of ships, but was still not prepared for the cramped quarters: hammocks strung in rows, with less than three feet between them.

      Tricky could see the thought passing through his brain and told him, ‘This is sheer luxury, Joshua. When I served with Amos on the old Reliant the hammocks touched one another, and as one man fell out of one to go on duty another man took his place. You’ll soon get used to it. Where’s your gear?’

      ‘I have no gear.’ Joshua kept a straight face while laughing inside. What would an aborigine want with ‘gear’? When he reached England he supposed he would have to buy some if he were to stay with James, but for now all he needed was food and water.

      ‘Bloody hell. No gear. Ah, well, you can’t lose it or have it stolen then, can you?’ Tricky looked him up and down, ‘You know, Sven is likely to want to have a go at you, with your build.’

      ‘Sven? How do you mean?’

      ‘He likes to fight, and we don’t have too many big men on board.’

      ‘Is he good?’

      Tricky guffawed, ‘Good? He’s better than good! That’s what he spends his time on shore doing, every day. He’s never been beaten. You’ll be mincemeat by the time he’s finished. Watch out for his left fist. He’ll hit you so often with the right that you’ll think he never uses his left. Just when you think you might stand a chance of not dying it will come out of nowhere in a roundhouse and clout you under the jaw. Then it’s goodnight.’

      Joshua had seen some of Thomas’ men having bouts of fisticuffs for fun, but had never attempted it himself. It seemed that he was going to have to learn fast. Sven was huge: six feet tall at least, and looked almost that across his chest. Joshua was no midget at five feet ten and heavily built, but Sven was twice his weight and had at least a three-inch reach advantage. He realised the tip his new friend had given him might just save his life.

      ‘Thank you for that, Tricky.’

      ‘My pleasure, but don’t feel bad if I don’t back you to win.’

      It was three days before the matter was put to the test, and it was precipitated by Sven, returning from five days on shore, knocking on the master’s cabin door.

      When told to come in he entered to find Amos leaning over a chart, protractor in hand, showing Joshua how he had done the deduced reckoning to find the course made good on the last journey from the Cape of Good Hope to Sydney Cove.

      Sven knew that Joshua was Thomas’ son, since he had been on board several times with his father. The Swede was an astute man, a combination of big man with brains, and he saw that Joshua was being groomed for fast promotion. He saw his own position in jeopardy and felt anger.

      Amos lifted his head, ‘You know Joshua, Sven. He is joining us.’

      The Swede nodded his head to Joshua but said nothing out loud to him, his eyes saying it all. To Amos he said, ‘Back on board with the rest of the crew, master. Blake will not be fit for duty for two days – got into a fight when I was not with him.’

      ‘Very good, Mister Larson. Carry on.’

      When the door closed behind him, Amos told Joshua, ‘You will have a problem there. Something I could not control even should I wish to.’

      ‘So I have been told.’

      ‘Do you think you can handle it?’

      Joshua shrugged, ‘I bounce well.’

      Amos smiled, ‘I will stop him before he kills you.’

      ‘Well, thank you, Amos. That is awfully kind of you.’ He was not being sarcastic; he knew that Amos meant exactly what he said.

      ‘He is not a bad man, but he is a Swede.’

      After the evening meal of fresh meat stew the men all congregated on deck. The festivities began with half

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