Free The Continental Risque by James Nelson Page B

to share his triumph, to gloat, to explain to those more stupid than he, and that was pretty much everyone, just how clever he had been.
    Always, on any crew, some sycophant was ready to lap up his words, and on this voyage Tom Elphinstone was that man. He followeed Hackett around, agreed with everything he said, waited for more. On a night watch, 3 A.M. , Hackett found himself alone with Elphinstone on the quarterdeck, taking their trick at the helm, the mate having gone forward to stop a fight from breaking out. It was a rare thing on shipboard, to find yourself alone. Hackett could hold it in no longer.
    â€˜I done this, you know.’
    â€˜What?’ asked Elphinstone.
    â€˜This whole thing, about the cook? I started the whole damned thing. I brought the crew down, tore the ship apart, because I wanted to. And I could do it because I’m smarter than any of these sons of bitches, including you.’
    Stupid, stupid! High aloft in the rigging was the only safe place on shipboard to tell a secret. He knew it and he ignored it. But who would have thought that the captain would have been awake at that hour? Of course it was his own fault that Barry could not sleep. But who would have thought? The old man’s skylight was open, the skylight just behind and below where they stood, and it communicated from the quarterdeck right into the great cabin. Barry heard every word.
    But Hackett didn’t realize his mistake for some time. Barry was smarter than he had thought, the whore’s son. Barry brought Elphinstone into the cabin the next day, along with both mates, and made him talk. And when they had forced from him everything he knew, they extracted from him, on pain of great punishment, a promise to report to them anything more that Hackett said.
    And Hackett said a great deal. He found in Elphinstone an eager follower, one who devoured his tales. It made him wild now to think of how he had regaled Elphinstone with stories of his clever manipulations. He had even confessed to things he had not done! And all of it going straight aft to the great cabin.
    Three days after his confesion on the quarterdeck Hacket was in chains.
    â€˜Reckon you’ll get your trial next week,’ the sheriff said as he prepared to shut the heavy iron door of the cell. ‘Mutiny, it’ll be.’
    â€˜Mutiny, that’s a lie. You gonna arrest Captain Barry for chaining me up like a dog?’
    â€˜No, Hackett, of course I’m not, you stupid whore’s son. That ain’t even worthy of you.’ The sheriff seemed about to leave, then paused. ‘Barry says he has a witness, fellow that’ll tell everything you done.’ He was being particularly talkative. Hackett wondered if he was lonely. He hoped so.
    â€˜He got someone willing to lie about what I said. I didn’t do nothing. It’ll be that bastard’s word against mine.’
    At this the sheriff burst into laughter, and Hackett felt the rare urge to physically, personally, beat someone.
    â€˜Oh, well, you’ll hang for certain, if that’s the case!’ the sheriff said. He stepped out of the cell and closed the door and three minutes later Hackett could still hear him laughing at the far end of the hall.
    Nothing was more horrible to Amos Hackett than to be left alone with his thoughts. He was terrified of death, in fact, because he had some vague notion that death would be like his time in the merchantman’s hold: aware, thinking, feeling his rage increase, yet unable to talk to anyone, unable to release it.
    The prison cell was little better. He could move, at least, and he could see. He had the sheriff or guard to speak with three times a day when his meals came. But each day that passed brought him closer to a hopeless trial and then the gallows and then the black nothingness of the hold.
    He heard keys jangling in the door. He looked up quickly. Breakfast was not an hour past, there was no call for his door to