you are not saying that Mr Holby was knocked down and dragged overboard?'
Uncertain what I was getting myself into, I said in some alarm, 'No, sir. I only report what I heard.'
'Did you hear a splash?'
'No, sir.' I struggled to a sitting position. My throat was parched. The wind was fresher and the sway of the ship was steepening. Through the hatch I saw dark, fast-moving clouds.
'What is your name, boy?'
'James Ogilvie, sir.'
'And what happened to you?'
'I vomited over Mr Salter, sir.'
For a startled moment I thought I detected a glint of humour in the man's eyes. I thought, I will never have another opportunity like this again. Boldness and desperation made me add, 'And I can read and write. And I have read the Lives of Plutarch and I know the propositions of Euclid.'
The man peered at me in astonishment, as if a cabbage had spoken to him. 'Indeed? What, then, is the theorem of Pythagoras?'
'That the square on the hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle equals the sum of the squares on the other two sides.'
His astonishment increased, and I could not help but add: 'And I have found a way to prove it other than by using shears and rotations of triangles in the manner of Euclid. I can prove his theorem by dissection. I take the large square on the hypotenuse and divide it into pieces which I can rearrange to fit exactly into the two smaller ones.' I remembered this well. I had played the game with sticks in our barn one afternoon while, I fear, our cow had gone unmilked.
He stood silently, his mind grappling with the notion of a speaking cabbage. Then: 'God's wonders will never cease. We will speak further of Pythagoras, Mr Ogilvie. But for now, you will tell nobody what you heard on deck last night. Keep your mouth firmly shut.'
'I will, sir. I will.'
On the stairs, Mr Harriot paused briefly and looked back at me, puzzled. As his footsteps receded, I almost forgot my bruises. I am not ashamed to say that I wept with happiness. I had told a gentleman that I was not tavern spawn, to be worked to death on the riggings. I would tell him of my new proof of the theorem of Pythagoras. Who could say, perhaps Euclid had been my salvation? Within the hour, stiff and light-headed, I was on deck again, breathing the spray-filled air and thrilled to be a part of this voyage.
But I did not have time to reflect on my good fortune, if such it would turn out to be. Mr Holby was still missing and a search of the ship was underway. The Turk spotted me and I joined him and Michael in the bowels of the ship. We carried burning tar-covered ropes for light. I was still unfamiliar with the ship and soon became lost as I followed the Turk down ladders and along dark corridors. The smell of wood-smoke was strong as we passed the galley. In the very depths of the ship, when it seemed the next stage down must be the sea, the smell was truly vile.
'Seawater in the bilge,' Michael explained to me.
'What is the bilge?' I asked.
Michael laughed. 'Scotch, it is the space between the hold and the keel. The seawater leaks into it and creates the foul stench. Is your ignorance so great that you will ask me what is the keel?'
I ignored him and followed the retreating Turk, whose flickering shadow reminded me of some genie. In the black hold we clambered around the barrels and sacks, while chattering and scurrying surrounded us and red eyes in dark corners reflected the light from our ropes. Once I accidentally trapped one of these large and dangerous creatures. It reared up on its hind legs and glared at me furiously. I stared uncertainly. Suddenly something hissed by me. There was a thump and a cry of delight from behind as the Turk's knife thudded into the body of the big rat. It lay quivering, impaled on a sack of grain. As I leaned over it I saw dozens of fleas spreading away from its body. Had I tried such a trick with my ballockknife I would have hit the rat with the hilt, or more likely have missed it altogether. The Turk didn't need to
Uncertain what I was getting myself into, I said in some alarm, 'No, sir. I only report what I heard.'
'Did you hear a splash?'
'No, sir.' I struggled to a sitting position. My throat was parched. The wind was fresher and the sway of the ship was steepening. Through the hatch I saw dark, fast-moving clouds.
'What is your name, boy?'
'James Ogilvie, sir.'
'And what happened to you?'
'I vomited over Mr Salter, sir.'
For a startled moment I thought I detected a glint of humour in the man's eyes. I thought, I will never have another opportunity like this again. Boldness and desperation made me add, 'And I can read and write. And I have read the Lives of Plutarch and I know the propositions of Euclid.'
The man peered at me in astonishment, as if a cabbage had spoken to him. 'Indeed? What, then, is the theorem of Pythagoras?'
'That the square on the hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle equals the sum of the squares on the other two sides.'
His astonishment increased, and I could not help but add: 'And I have found a way to prove it other than by using shears and rotations of triangles in the manner of Euclid. I can prove his theorem by dissection. I take the large square on the hypotenuse and divide it into pieces which I can rearrange to fit exactly into the two smaller ones.' I remembered this well. I had played the game with sticks in our barn one afternoon while, I fear, our cow had gone unmilked.
He stood silently, his mind grappling with the notion of a speaking cabbage. Then: 'God's wonders will never cease. We will speak further of Pythagoras, Mr Ogilvie. But for now, you will tell nobody what you heard on deck last night. Keep your mouth firmly shut.'
'I will, sir. I will.'
On the stairs, Mr Harriot paused briefly and looked back at me, puzzled. As his footsteps receded, I almost forgot my bruises. I am not ashamed to say that I wept with happiness. I had told a gentleman that I was not tavern spawn, to be worked to death on the riggings. I would tell him of my new proof of the theorem of Pythagoras. Who could say, perhaps Euclid had been my salvation? Within the hour, stiff and light-headed, I was on deck again, breathing the spray-filled air and thrilled to be a part of this voyage.
But I did not have time to reflect on my good fortune, if such it would turn out to be. Mr Holby was still missing and a search of the ship was underway. The Turk spotted me and I joined him and Michael in the bowels of the ship. We carried burning tar-covered ropes for light. I was still unfamiliar with the ship and soon became lost as I followed the Turk down ladders and along dark corridors. The smell of wood-smoke was strong as we passed the galley. In the very depths of the ship, when it seemed the next stage down must be the sea, the smell was truly vile.
'Seawater in the bilge,' Michael explained to me.
'What is the bilge?' I asked.
Michael laughed. 'Scotch, it is the space between the hold and the keel. The seawater leaks into it and creates the foul stench. Is your ignorance so great that you will ask me what is the keel?'
I ignored him and followed the retreating Turk, whose flickering shadow reminded me of some genie. In the black hold we clambered around the barrels and sacks, while chattering and scurrying surrounded us and red eyes in dark corners reflected the light from our ropes. Once I accidentally trapped one of these large and dangerous creatures. It reared up on its hind legs and glared at me furiously. I stared uncertainly. Suddenly something hissed by me. There was a thump and a cry of delight from behind as the Turk's knife thudded into the body of the big rat. It lay quivering, impaled on a sack of grain. As I leaned over it I saw dozens of fleas spreading away from its body. Had I tried such a trick with my ballockknife I would have hit the rat with the hilt, or more likely have missed it altogether. The Turk didn't need to
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