Beasts Royal: Twelve Tales of Adventure

  Copyright

  Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by Putnam 1934

  Copyright © The Estate of the late Patrick O’Brian 1934

  Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

  Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com

  Patrick O’Brian asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Acknowledgement is made to the Oxford University Press for permission to use ‘Wang Kahn’ and ‘The White Cobra’, and to the editors of Chums and Greatheart respectively for ‘Skogula’ and ‘A Peregrine Falcon’.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  The short stories in this collection are entirely works of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in them are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008112943

  Ebook Edition © August 2015 ISBN: 9780008112950

  Version: 2015-09-11

  Dedication

  TO

  MY FATHER

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  I: Shark No. 206

  II: A Peregrine Falcon

  III: Skogula

  IV: Python

  V: The Condor of Quetzalcoatl

  VI: Old Cronk

  VII: Gorilla

  VIII: Wang Kahn

  IX: Rhino

  X: The White Cobra

  XI: Jehangir Bahadur

  XII: Jellaludin

  Further reading

  The Works of Patrick O’Brian

  About the Publisher

  SHARK NO. 206

  I

  Shark No. 206

  Number 206 was a tiger-shark, a long, lean man-eater, the terror of pearl-fishers and coral-divers. When he was very young he had been taken out of the sea in a net by a scientist in the Ichthiological Observatory, and a ring with the inscription T.S. 206 on one side and the observatory’s address on the other had been fastened in his gills and he had been entered in the books as shark No. 206.

  Since then, however, he had had time to grow into the huge fish that was known as the Devil by the native pearl-divers of the Island of Waitoa in the South Seas.

  The lagoon in which the pearl oysters bred was not very well protected by its storm-battered coral reef, and at high tide the sharks could come in with the rollers as they went over the half-submerged reef. The ground sharks and the bottle-nosed sharks could easily be frightened by splashing, or at the worst they could generally be kept off with a long knife, or if that failed they did not usually kill their victim, but only took an arm or a leg. But neither splashing nor a knife could deter a tiger-shark, nor would one ever be contented with an arm and give the wretched man a chance of life; they would take the whole man, leaving only scarlet water behind.

  No. 206 was particularly dreaded by the pearl-divers; he would not stop for anything, and always got his man.

  He would rise up from the oyster-beds like the shadow of death, and if once he reached his victim the man was dead.

  He did not stay in the lagoon of Waitoa, however, as there were many other sharks, and the divers were very cautious.

  One day, when a whaler called at Waitoa, 206 followed it as it left, and fed on the scraps which were thrown overboard.

  The twenty-foot man-eater was not proud, and he would eat bad salt pork or potato peelings with the humblest dog-fish; he would often eat the humble dog-fish too.

  No. 206 was always hungry; he would eat anything, including tin cans; given time he could digest them, and even thrive on them. The only time that his immense appetite was quite sated was when the whaler, which was in luck, caught three great sperm whales. They were towed along by the ship, and 206, in company with a host of other sharks, fed long and full, and the two little pilot fish which guided him to his prey became fat and slow.

  The whaler, however, sailed south until she came to the icy Antarctic seas where the great whales bred, and thither the tiger-shark could not follow her, as he was used to the tropical seas in which he had been hatched.

  He left the whaler when another ship crossed her path and followed the new ship, which was a slow, grain-carrying four-masted sailing ship, schooner rigged. She was from Sweden, and her name was the Björn Anderssen.

  The tiger-shark followed her for many days until it happened that a Friday fell on the thirteenth of the month.

  Now as Friday the thirteenth was notoriously a bitterly unlucky day, the wooden-legged sea-cook on board the Björn had felt justified in fortifying himself with rum, and he left his galley to go forward to the fo’c’sle, where one of the hands was known to possess a bottle.

  Hardly had he left his galley when the Björn ran her head into a comber and shipped a green sea; the waist-high wall of water swept the cook overboard.

  The watchful pilot fish darted ahead of the shark. Following his two brightly-coloured guides, 206 came upon the unfortunate sea-cook struggling in the water.

  The triangular black dorsal fin cut the surface, travelling incredibly fast towards the doomed man; five yards off the fin disappeared, and the shark’s white belly flashed in the sun as he turned over to engulf the man.

  The cook had seen his death coming for him in the shape of a great fish, and he had fainted before it reached him, so he did not feel the fierce teeth as they sheered through flesh and bone like butter.

  It was all over before a boat could be launched, and all that was left to tell of the unfortunate sea-cook was a rapidly dissolving red stain in the sea.

  The cook’s wooden leg troubled the tiger-shark for some time, but he soon forgot it.

  The next day the sailors took a great barbed hook and bent it to a thin steel cable, and fastening a lump of salt pork to it they threw it overboard.

  No. 206 was the only large shark following the Björn so they felt fairly sure of hooking the right fish.

  The sight of 206 – and, for that matter, of any shark – was not at all good, unlike his nose, which was marvellously keen, and so he always let himself be guided by his pilot fish, who lived with him, sheltering behind his gills in times of trouble.

  They had keen sight, and the shark could easily follow their brightly-coloured bodies, although he guided himself towards his prey to a considerable extent by his sharp sense of smell.

  When the salt pork was dropped overboard the pilot fish darted forward, leading 206 to the sinking meat.

  The sailors could plainly see the pork in the calm, clear water. All at once the tiger-shark glided out from beneath the keel and took the meat. The sailors all pulled on the cable together in order to strike the hook well into the shark’s mouth. It lodged firmly between two of his many rows of teeth.

  As soon as 206 felt the hook he dived, but the seamen had the cable wound round a winch, and that checked the cable, pulling the shark up short. />
  No. 206 tugged for some time before he understood that he was held by the cable. Meanwhile the sailors were winding in the line on the winch. For a few moments the shark let himself be dragged upwards, and then the sense of danger penetrated into his bewildered brain.

  Instantly he set his great weight against the upward motion, but still the men gained, drawing the cable in foot by foot, rewinding it on the winch.

  No. 206 felt frightened for the first time in his life, and he lashed the water desperately, pulling against the hook. He did not gain, but he stopped the winding of the cable. He could not keep up the tension, however, and slowly the rewinding recommenced.

  The bo’sun went below for an axe with which to cut the shark’s spine when they had it on deck.

  Fighting every inch, the tiger-shark was slowly nearing the surface when he realized that if he did not get off the hook quickly, he would never get off it at all.

  The pilot fish were circling distractedly, but they were quite useless now.

  Suddenly 206 gave way and shot up to the surface, flying clear of the water in a prodigious leap. He came down with his full weight on the taut cable.

  The great jerk unseated the winch, which tore free from the deck and flew over the side, carrying with it three of the men who were holding the cable.

  Instantly the bo’sun, who had an axe in his hand, ran to the nearest boat and cut the ropes holding it to the davits.

  He and the first mate jumped down into it and reached the men before 206 had finished wondering how he had got free, for the hook was still in his mouth.

  The iron winch, sinking rapidly, gave a hard downward pull on the hook, which tore free, taking some teeth with it.

  It took the shark some time to realize that he was free of the hook, but when it got through to his confused brain he went back to his old place under the keel of the ship, where his pilot fish rejoined him.

  Strangely enough he did not associate the ship with danger, but only salt pork, which he decided never to touch again.

  The sailors, when they saw that the shark still followed the ship, took a stouter cable and hook.

  The master, however, insisted that the capstan should be used, for although he fully agreed that the cook should be revenged, he hardly liked to account for the loss of another winch to the owners.

  On the next day they dropped the pork overboard as before, and the whole crew from the captain down watched it as it sank. No. 206 came from under the keel, but he would not touch the meat.

  Even when it was thrown over with the offal from the galley he picked it out and would not touch it. For three days the sailors tried to make him bite, but without success.

  He had got it firmly fixed in his head that salt pork was not good for him.

  Then one of the ship’s three cats died, and the captain had the idea of changing the bait. Accordingly the cat’s body was thrown overboard one clear morning.

  No. 206 came from beneath the keel and snapped it up without the least suspicion. Instantly the hook struck hard, and the shark knew that he was caught again.

  He dived so quickly that the sailors were taken unawares, and let about twenty fathoms of the cable go over without checking it. This gave 206 a good start, and he streaked under the keel, hoping to break the line against it. But it was too stout, and soon he felt the steady pull of the turning capstan. He had got to the other side of the ship, though and with the cable stretched tightly against the keel, the sailors found that they could not haul the strong fish in by hand, so they fitted the spars to the capstan, and, leaning against them, they turned it as if they were raising the anchor.

  Judah! Judah! Idaho!

  Four black ladies all in a row,

  And one come out of Mexico …

  they sang as they stamped round. The tiger-shark felt the slow, irresistible force, and he was obliged to give way to it.

  Inch by inch he was dragged under the keel again and slowly up the other side.

  When there were only about two fathoms of water left over his head he tried his spectacular leap again.

  Up he shot in a shower of spray, and he gleamed in the tropical sun for a moment, a perfect curve over the blue sea; he came down with a splash that drenched the sailors, but the thick cable and thicker hook held fast, and in another moment he was hauled clear of the water to the tune of the shanty.

  He lashed about in a perfect frenzy of rage, and splintered the rail as he came over the side. When they had got him on deck the men hardly knew what to do with the raging devil which they had hauled out of the depths.

  The bo’sun with his axe was knocked flying, to land unconscious in the lee-scuppers.

  The heavy fish plunged to and fro on the deck, springing about with almost supernatural strength. He scattered the hands, and it looked very much as if he would get over the side again. The captain dived into his cabin, and came out with a rifle in his hands. Taking as careful an aim as he could at the bounding shark, the captain let it have an explosive bullet in the head.

  But 206 died hard, and it was not until the fifth bullet had thudded into his furious brain that he lay still.

  They cut him open, and retrieved, among other things, the cook’s wooden leg, a gold watch, three sovereigns, and the ring numbered T.S. 206, which the captain sent back to the Ichthiological Observatory with an account of its recovery.

  A PEREGRINE FALCON

  II

  A Peregrine Falcon

  A female peregrine falcon surveyed with justifiable pride the two eggs she had just laid. They were a dull reddish brown with beautiful mottling, and as they lay in the untidy, scrappy eyrie they looked very pleasing.

  The falcon eyed them approvingly, and then sat down on them and fluffed out her feathers to keep them warm. Her mate the tiercel returned to the nest in the evening; he brought no food as he had not expected the eggs. Having scolded and flapped about a little, the mother gave the eggs into the charge of her husband, and sailed off in search of supper.

  She flew out over the Newhaven marshes and saw a heron flapping slowly home; she dropped out of the sky on to the startled bird, who gave a squawk of dismay and sank to the ground.

  The peregrine observed the sharp, upturned beak of the heron, and soared up again. She was too hungry to wait and battle, so she mounted higher in wide circles until the marshes appeared as a flat mud-patch below her, and the downs which surrounded them like green hillocks stretching away to the sea in the south and the weald in the north.

  On the banks of the Ouse, which meandered through the marshes, her wonderful eyes detected a movement. Folding her wings she dropped like a stone until she was near enough to see a water-rat, who, unaware of his fate, was eating a small beetle.

  A shadow glided over him, and he looked up in alarm, but too late, for in a split second he was rushing up into the air in the powerful claws of the bird.

  A speck hung high in the air above her claimed the peregrine’s attention; she glanced at it with a swift, sideways motion of her head, and recognized another peregrine, a stranger who lived near Pevensey. Higher still than this bird, far out of human sight, soared the stranger’s mate.

  They both saw her and slanted down out of the sky in huge circles as they manoeuvred for position in the fading light. The first peregrine was anxious, and increased her great speed, flying homewards towards the Newhaven cliffs where her eyrie and eggs were guarded by her mate. Suddenly the Pevensey tiercel stooped, dashing downwards with the rushing sound of a rocket.

  She rolled sideways as he approached her, and down he went, spinning a good thousand feet before he could check.

  The Newhaven bird had scarcely recovered her balance when the tiercel’s mate attacked her from the side, striking heavily above the right wing. A cloud of feathers were scattered, but the falcon’s terrible claws failed to grip, and she broke away, wheeling high for another attack.

  The Newhaven falcon saw the tiercel coming up again, and with a harsh scream she dropped the water-ra
t, and circled rapidly higher, receiving the female’s second attack with a quick double roll which confused her enemy for the moment, and it gave the harassed bird time to mount higher.

  As the other peregrines sheered off, the tiercel dropped down after the water-rat, which he secured before it reached the ground. His mate flew off towards Pevensey, while he circled to gain height. The Newhaven bird did not want to lose the water-rat, and bore down on the tiercel, who fled away towards his mate. They both flew away towards Pevensey, the female circling and covering her mate’s retreat.

  The Newhaven falcon was feeling too hungry and tired to chase them, so she flew high over the downs to find a rabbit.

  She had no luck with the rabbits, however, as they had become extremely wary through years of attacks from owls, peregrines, kestrels, and sparrow-hawks, who were all very fond of rabbit meat.

  Sailing over Caburn the peregrine became aware of a pigeon about a quarter of a mile away flying rapidly towards London.

  Her hopes rose, and mounting rapidly to a great altitude she exerted every effort, and gradually overtook the pigeon.

  The pigeon flew quickly, cleaving the air with the inherent swiftness of generations of pigeons, but the falcon flew quicker, and stooped on the pigeon with enormous speed, coming down squarely on its shoulders, driving her great claws into the soft body.

  On returning to the eyrie, the falcon found her mate still on the eggs; she shuffled him off (he was a good three inches shorter) and inspected her eggs closely: they were all right, and she settled down on them for the night. On the next day the tiercel flew from the eyrie early in the morning and returned about noon with a small rabbit, which he gave to his wife. He brought in more food during the day. About four o’clock the tiercel relieved his mate at the eggs; and she stretched her cramped wings, flapping and screaming at the edge of the eyrie.

  Far below her on the beach, a man heard her, and looking up he saw the ledge on which the eyrie was built. Having preened herself in the sun the falcon glided off the ledge and flew away to the marshes.