by Dudley Pope
“It will be light in half an hour,” she said. “I can just make out the false dawn. See how far west Orion’s Belt is now.”
“I wish we were married,” he said suddenly.
“What difference would it make? Could we be more together?”
A gold band on her finger and bearing his name. She was right, that was all it would mean. And being his heir, but all he owned was the Griffin. Not even the ship, because of course it, too, belonged to the family. Certainly he had nothing to offer her, and since her talk with Diana she seemed quite content with the present situation. As he thought about it, watching the black line of coast, the sky overhead a shimmering mass of stars outlining the lace-like tracery of the Griffin’s rigging, he had to admit that his feelings were proprietary; he wanted them to be married so she bore his name. No children yet; a pregnant wife at sea, and then a bawling baby… He could wait a few years for fatherhood!
Daylight showed that Whetstone had been precise: the Griffin was anchored a mile off the river mouth and the forest on the higher land on one side made a dark mat, while opposite a scattering of white buildings were gathered round the church.
“Puts you in mind of the east coast of England,” Saxby commented.
“Or the Kent coast from Folkestone round to Dungeness,” he said.
“Aye, but it shows how right the old rule of thumb is: low lands warns of shallow water; cliffs tell of deep water.”
“The boat is ready?”
“Six oarsmen, sir, and a boatkeeper in case you need one. And Mrs Wilson, sir.”
“Very well, let’s get started, before the wind gets up.”
“You saw the ship alongside the jetty, sir?”
“Yes. Laden, from the look of her. Doesn’t look Dutch to me.”
“Oh no, she’s Spanish – just look at that sheer. Quite graceful, for a merchant ship. Hasn’t that fat fishwife look of a Dutchman.”
“What do you reckon she’ll be carrying?”
Saxby shrugged and held out his hands, palms uppermost. “She may have come in just to pick up a small quantity, having worked her way along the coast from somewhere like Cumaná or La Guaira. Hides, tobacco…maybe even live cattle: shifting a herd up or down the coast to different pastures.”
“I’ll try and find out. In fact we’ll smell it as we get close.” With that Ned went down the ladder and gave the order to cast off. As the men began rowing and he pushed over the tiller to steer for the river entrance, he looked the length of the Griffin. She looked innocent enough; just the number of guns one would expect a merchantman to carry; just the worn paint; just the wear on the mast where the hoops of the mainsail chafed. Saxby would have men up there in a few minutes painting on linseed oil. More important, the wary watchers on the shore would recognize a peaceful scene: a merchant ship had anchored and her crew were going about their normal day’s work.
Ned was thankful it was still cool: the sun had not yet risen over the horizon so the light was not harsh to the eyes. The whitewashed houses seemed pink, but before the boat returned to the Griffin the sun would have risen and the white would be a glare.
He spotted several men at the seaward end of the little town, obviously watching both the ship and the boat. No one was rushing about; no horses galloped from one end of the town to the other raising the alarm or carrying self-important men. The church bell was not tolling a warning. Obviously no one regarded the ship as a threat; instead she was a welcome smuggler, with olive oil and wine, nails and household articles, material for clothing.
He steered the boat towards the jetty and saw that the ship secured alongside it, her hull green and with a small figurehead of some woman wearing a crown, was the Nuestra Señora del Carmen. The men in the Griffin’s boat could read the name painted across the transom. Although most of the other paint was peeling or worn, the name itself was picked out in gold leaf on a red scroll that ran almost the full width of the transom itself. “Cor, look at it,” one of the men muttered. “Fancy having to paint all those letters!”
“Fancy having to carve them in the first place,” said a man Yorke recognized as one of the carpenters. “An’ when you’ve finished it you step back to admire it and realize you’ve left a letter out.”
The jetty was substantial, built of stone, and halfway along it, on the opposite side to the ship, steps were cut in. Ned steered the boat and gave orders to the oarsmen so that they stopped beside the steps.
The boatkeeper jumped up with the painter and Ned followed with the sternfast. By the time the two of them had secured the lines, three or four Spaniards, one carrying a musket over his shoulder and wearing what seemed to be a uniform, had reached the landward end of the jetty and were walking out towards them.
Aurelia, her hair hidden under a black, wide-brimmed hat pulled forward over her face, and wearing a loose-fitting grey dress, came up the steps and stood with Ned.
“We’ll wait for them here,” Ned said, “but while we’re waiting we’ll just walk along the jetty and see what the Carmen is carrying.”
“I can tell you. Maïs. Comment dit-on en anglais?”
“Maize – how do you know?”
“It’s scattered all over the jetty beside the ship – can’t you see it?”
Ned grinned and admitted: “I was watching the men coming along the jetty, but I think you’re right. They must have finished loading last night – as soon as the birds realize what’s waiting for them they’ll be along!”
“Some are here already – they drew my attention to the grain,” she admitted. “Do you still want to walk over?”
“No. The deputation is nearly here so we’ll go and meet them.”
Ned noted that there were three whose elaborate dress marked them as men of authority while the fourth, with the musket, was a guard who kept several paces behind and had a couple of feet of slowmatch looped over the fingers of his left hand, a small trail of smoke showing that he was ready to fire the gun.
The three men stopped five or six paces short of Ned, who bowed and introduced himself in English, motioning Aurelia to translate.
One man stepped forward and, removing his large hat with a flourish which sent the feathers waving, bowed to Ned and then to Aurelia. He gave his name but spoke too quickly for Ned to follow any further.
“This gentleman welcomes you and says he is Don Alvaro de Estaban, and he is the mayor of Riohacha. He congratulates me on my Spanish!”
Before Ned had time to reply, Don Alvaro had begun to introduce the other two men. “The first one is the Collector of Customs, the second is the town treasurer. All three are men of trade, Don Alvaro says.”
The hint was broad enough and Ned bowed to the other two. “Tell them they can see my ship is anchored off the river entrance, and that I have come here in the hope of doing business.”
Aurelia translated and Ned could see by their expressions that it was welcome news. “Tell them that I want maize – enough to fill my ship.”
He deliberately did not mention the second consignment he would need for Whetstone; at this stage it might cause suspicion. The town mayor greeted Aurelia’s words with a broad smile and gestured to the Carmen. Then Aurelia translated.
“This ship finished loading with maize last night. She belongs to the town treasurer – the gentleman on the left – and is due to sail with it to Cartagena where, Don Alvaro says, she will get a good price.”
“Of course,” Ned agreed, “because no doubt it is good quality maize.”
“Of the best, the treasurer says,” Aurelia reported.
“Ask him how much he would expect to receive for a quintal in Cartagena.”
“A quintal fetches at least two pieces of eight, and the ship is loaded with 7,800 quintals. He mentions a measure called a tonnelada, which is 26 quintals.”
Ned remembered a
Spanish quintal was about 101 pounds, less than a hundredweight, so the Carmen was carrying about 350 tons. He also knew that he had a very few good cards in his hand. He had not seen the grain loaded so he had to take the Spaniards’ word for the quantity. Because the Carmen was smaller than the Griffin, he still needed another fifty tons for himself and 200 tons for Whetstone and the Peleus, and he had no idea of the current price of the grain in Cartagena. Yet to his advantage was the fact that the owners (he assumed the town treasurer was simply the shipper) would leap at the chance of selling all the grain here in Riohacha at a higher price rather than risk shipping it round to Cartagena, knowing that pirates might capture the ship or a glut caused by a good harvest knock the bottom out of the market. Hurriedly he changed hundredweights into quintals. Six hundred tons was roughly 13,500 quintals.
“Would you or the owners sell me a total of 13,500 quintals?”
The treasurer moved into the familiar Latin pose: shoulders hunched forward, hands held out, palms upward. “Who knows? It would depend on the price.”
“The price,” Ned said as soon as Aurelia had translated, “would allow for your saving in shipping charges, insurance, risk of the ship’s capture, or the price in Cartagena dropping.”
“What have you heard about the Cartagena price dropping?”
The treasurer’s alarm was obvious but the mayor muttered something, obviously warning him not to give himself away.
“Oh, it is common knowledge along the coast that there has been a very good harvest and the Cartagena market has too much,” Ned said airily, “but I am prepared to pay a fair price.”
“In gold?”
“In Spanish dollars.”
“And what price had you in mind?”
“I might go as high as a dollar for four quintals.”
Ned had been forced to guess and from the sudden glint in three pairs of eyes he knew he had pitched the price too high. Still, the governor of Jamaica would pay more, and it gave a good profit.
The treasurer was shaking his head and Ned found himself bored with the haggling that must follow: it was like two cockerels fluffing their feathers and shaking their wattles yet knowing they would not fight.
“That is my price,” Ned said. “I cannot improve it. I know –” this was a random shot, but it might succeed “–that there is plenty in Santa Marta. I called in Riohacha to save myself the extra distance, but it is only a hundred miles. I can be there tomorrow.”
The treasurer held up a hand to detain Ned, who was pretending to get ready to return to the boat.
“Señor, give me a moment to think. Supposing (I am not, of course, agreeing to your price, but supposing) you bought the maize, how do you propose to arrange it?”
The idea came to Ned so easily he was momentarily frightened: buccaneering presented no moral problems. “I suggest I bring my ship in to the jetty and first you load the extra, and I pay for it. I can then deliver that to my principals,” (how easily this jargon comes to the tongue, he thought) “and then I will return and we will transfer the Carmen’s cargo to my ship.”
The treasurer nodded but the mayor said: “You did not mention the name of your ship, señor.”
“The Griffin.”
The three of them repeated the name but obviously they had never heard of it.
The treasurer suddenly made up his mind. “Very well, you bring your ship in, and by the time you are at the jetty my donkeys will have started to bring the grain. Now, about the payment…”
“I will show you the gold and we put the bag at the end of the jetty.” Ned pointed to the landward end. “You provide some guards and I provide the same number. When the cargo is loaded, I will withdraw my guards.”
“Ah, it is a pleasure to deal with a straightforward man,” the treasurer said, and obviously meant it. “Let us say three guards each?”
“Agreed,” Ned said. “So if you will excuse me I will bring the ship in. I suggest when I return here from unloading, we use the same procedure while transferring the Carmen’s cargo?”
“Without doubt,” agreed the treasurer.
An hour later the Griffin was secured on the opposite side of the jetty to the Carmen. Saxby had used the boats to warp the ship round so that her bow headed towards the middle of the river, and the Carmen and the English ship were lying side by side, bow to bow and separated only by the width of the jetty.
The first of the donkeys arrived with sacks of grain lodged on the wooden frames looking like sawing horses and used as saddles. A dozen extra Spaniards, obviously labourers, arrived to help unload the donkeys and carry the sacks of grain on board, where the Griffin’s men slid them down inclined planks into the hold and stowed them.
A Spaniard, obviously an overseer, stood by counting the sacks and marking down the numbers on his slate, and one of Saxby’s men stood beside him with a similar slate.
Simpson, the mate, stood at the top of the hatch, clear of the dust being raised by the bags, shouting down orders to ensure the grain was stowed evenly so that the ship remained trimmed. At the end of the jetty Burton and two other men with muskets stood with three Spanish soldiers guarding a canvas bag filled with dollars, payment for the 250 tons. Saxby and the treasurer had earlier counted it and then secured the drawstrings on the bag. Saxby then produced a flat piece of sheet lead about two inches square, put the two ends of the drawstrings in the middle and folded over the lead as though closing a book. He hammered the lead until it formed a lump, an effective seal that prevented the drawstrings being slackened without breaking it. Saxby scratched three parallel lines on one side of the lump and the treasurer marked his initials on the other, and departed happily once he saw the money under guard.
Saxby went back on board the Griffin and joined Ned and Aurelia in the cabin. He reported what he had done and that the mules and donkeys were arriving regularly.
“You were right, sir,” he said, “there’s not a soul on board the Carmen. Her hatches are battened down and she’s ready for sea. Perhaps the crew are having some leave. Or just being Spanish and not hurrying.”
“I wonder if they’re due back in a day or two,” Ned mused.
Aurelia shook her head. “Surely, now that the treasurer man knows you are buying the grain, he’ll tell the crew he does not want them. He does not seem the kind of man to pay wages unnecessarily.”
“You’re right, ma’am,” Saxby said. “When we’re back here and ready to transfer the cargo he’ll send along these donkey drivers and slaves to help us carry the bags across.”
Aurelia smiled at Ned. “It seems a lot of trouble, doesn’t it? We sail with 250 tons of grain and find Thomas and transfer 200 tons of it to the Peleus, so that she is fully loaded, and then we have to sail all the way back here to fill up this ship from the Carmen…”
“Yes,” Ned said, amused by the glint in her eyes, “it is a lot of trouble. It embarrasses me to bother the treasurer in this way. Now, listen, this is what we are going to do. First, send for Simpson and Burton.”
As soon as the mate and the gunner had arrived, Ned spent ten minutes explaining his plan, another ten minutes listening to Saxby, Simpson and Burton choosing men, and then outlining his timetable.
“How many donkeys are they using?” he asked.
“Twenty, and each carries four bags.”
“Our cargo will comprise 5,544 quintal bags, so that means about seventy loads for each donkey.”
Burton said: “Each donkey is away about five minutes. I timed a few because I wondered where the grain was stored.”
“Let’s say ten minutes a load, so each donkey brings twenty-four sacks in an hour. Thus all the donkeys together are delivering 480 bags an hour. Our 5,544 bags will take nearly twelve hours. They’ll stop work soon after nightfall.”
Ned, whose mathematics were always weak, recalled that th
e first bags had thumped down on the jetty beside the Griffin at half past seven that morning.
“Yes, perhaps even earlier, because that treasurer will want his bag of dollars under guard in his own house tonight, and he knows the only way that will happen is to keep those donkeys trotting. So we will be sailing tonight, as soon as the moon has risen. That will be about half past nine.” He looked at the three men. “You’ll have the hatches battened down and your men ready by then?”
They all nodded cheerfully.
“The dust from the grain is making ’em all very dry,” Saxby commented, “so I’m going to double the issue of water.”
“No rumbullion, though,” Ned said. “Steady hands and no Dutch courage, that’s what we need.”
“The rumbullion is locked up, sir, and the key’s here,” Saxby said, slapping his breeches pocket.
“Right, then I think you and I will take some exercise by walking up and down the jetty a few times, and perhaps we might stroll down towards the river mouth and see something of the town. It’ll make Mrs Judd jealous if she thinks you’ll be seeing a few beautiful señoritas.”
“Some hope… They’ll all be fat and they’re kept indoors. You might see an eye round the side of a curtain, but that’ll be all. Valencia – I was there once. The only women I saw were ’ores.”
“Well, Riohacha is not quite Valencia, but put your hat on and let’s inspect it.”
Chapter Sixteen
At exactly six o’clock, with the sun beginning to drop below the horizon, Saxby came to report that the last donkey had unloaded the last bags. “Both slates agree, sir, so we have 5,544 bags on board.”
“We can start battening down now. Are there many Spaniards out there?”
“No, sir: the tallyman is waiting for us to agree on his figures – perhaps ma’am could tell him in Spanish. The donkey drivers have gone, so there are just the dozen labourers getting their last few bags on board. The Spanish guards will leave with the money when we give the word. Now and then a few people walk past the end of the jetty and look at the Griffin but none comes close.”