Citadel of Death (A Captain Gringo Western Book 11)

by Lou Cameron

  Van Horn wet a finger to test the wind. Then he said, “Listen, the Ashanti drums are still beating.”

  Captain Gringo listened to the distant murmur of jungle drums for a moment before he shrugged and said, “So much for anthropology. They used to tell us Indians never attacked after dark, too. Maybe M’chuma doesn’t know he’s supposed to warn us all by letting his drums fall silent, huh?”

  “Well,” Van Horn said, “Chambrun was on M’Chuma’s home ground when they hit him. The Ashanti must have considered it a defensive move. Those drums right now are probably talking the ambush over. It’s going to make M’Chuma look good and strengthen his hand.”

  “Yeah, and meanwhile it’s put a crimp in your revolution. None of the other convicts will join you in the middle of a race war. When it comes time to choose sides in a race war everybody already has his uniform on and most of the French, convict or otherwise, are White. I wouldn’t be surprised if the government doesn’t bend the rules to arm some trustees, officially. The U.S. Army used Confederate P.O.W.s against the Sioux in a similar situation. Meanwhile, until you get that gun permit you’ve been after handed to you on a silver platter, we’d better hide everything but our personal side arms and get these guys out in the fields before some official drops by to warn us about the natives getting restless again.”

  Van Horn nodded and said, with a grin, “You’re right. I hadn’t considered how M’Chuma could be playing right into our hands. We may have lost him as an ally, but he makes a marvelous bogeyman!”

  “Yeah, by the time they put a lid on him, half the convicts in the colony will have guns to play with. Are you going to call yourself emperor or just president, like the modest guy we always knew you were?”

  ~*~

  It was just after sundown when Captain Gringo, Gaston, and Birdie Peepers shoved off from the rented steamboat in the ship’s launch. The skipper of the bigger craft was the only one who had the least notion what they were up to and he’d told Birdie he didn’t really want to know much about it. One got the impression he and his rag-tag crew were nervous about the French navy, even at the wages they were getting from her news syndicate.

  The ship’s launch lay low in the water, but was powered by its own oil fired and silent steam engine. So they didn’t have to row as they towed the raft he and Gaston had thrown together before shoving off. Captain Gringo rode in the bow with Birdie as Gaston manned the tiller on the far side of the upright boiler, so they didn’t have to listen to him bitching. The redhead sat on Captain Gringo’s left, with the breech of her bought-and-paid-for Lewis gun between them. The Lewis wasn’t as good a machine gun as the Maxim, but Birdie hadn’t known that when she’d armed herself to the teeth and the lighter Lewis had certain advantages in a hit-and-run situation. It fired it’s 30-30 rounds from a drum mounted atop the action. So changing an exhausted magazine was quick and simple. The Lewis patent had a bad habit of jamming. But he’d checked the rounds and rejected those that looked the least bit bent. The gun sat on a post screwed to the forward, thwart. If he had to, he could dismount it and use it as a weapon from the hip. He’d had no chance to zero in the sights, so accuracy was up for grabs. He sincerely hoped he wasn’t going to have to shoot anybody anyway.

  It was too dark to see the horizon. But you could sort of tell up from down as the little boat bobbed over the ground swells. The sky was full of stars and the Atlantic Ocean wasn’t. He craned out to one side for a look down their wake. He nodded in satisfaction and told Birdie, “We’re in luck with phosphorescent wakes tonight. The little critters who make the water glow are seasonal and it’s safe to splash this month.”

  She leaned over the side to splash her hand through the bow wave and he said, “Stop that. I didn’t say the sharks were seasonal and the barracuda come big down here, too!”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m so jumpy I could scream.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t. Hey, Gaston? Swing a point to starboard and let’s see if I can make a star wink out.”

  The boat’s bow swung as directed and he said, “Right. The island’s where it’s supposed to be. We’re going to pass it a cable length to the south.”

  She stared hard and said, “Dick, I can’t see a thing.” And he said, “I sure hope so. If we can see them in the dark, they can see us.”

  They steamed on a few more minutes. Then, off to their left, a search light winked on and began to sweep the sea slowly with its beam. Gaston swore and swung the tiller hard over, but Captain Gringo called back, softly, “Steady as she goes. We’re not going close enough for that beam to pick us up. Stick to the course I gave you, damn it!”

  Another light came on to sweep the white caps to the north. He told Birdie, “That’s just routine. They don’t want kiddies like us in their old swimming hole.”

  “It’s so much scarier now that we’re really out here, Dick.”

  “What did you expect? I told you it would be a boo. You can light the fuse now, Gaston. Make sure the bulk is between you and the island when you strike a light, right?”

  Gaston muttered, “Merde alors.” Neither of them saw any light from back there until he said, “It’s lit. One trusts it’s slow fuse as M’selle’s supply voucher said. Otherwise we are all trés dead.”

  They steamed on, bow pointed into the trade winds at a course that would pass the island to the south-east, just beyond searchlight range. On shore, they heard a door slam and someone was playing a mouth organ. Gaston whispered, “Dick, we are almost broadside to the island and I can’t see what that fuse has to say about the matter, hein?”

  “Steady as she goes,” Captain Gringo replied. “I want the raft off to seaward. Can you get more speed out of this tub?”

  Gaston answered, “Not dragging all that garbage through the water astern.” So Captain Gringo shrugged and hung tight. Beside him, Birdie was shivering. He put an arm around her and she started to resist, then snuggled closer and said, “Oh, it sure is cold out here on the water. But don’t get fresh.”

  “ ‘Fresh/ she says,” he muttered, adding, “Lady hires wanted men to smuggle her into Devil’s Island and she’s afraid they’ll get fresh!”

  “Well, I know how men are.”

  “I’ll bet you do. Honey, right now I’m too scared to get fresh with Lillian Russell.”

  “Oh? What’s she got that I haven’t got?”

  “Nothing, Dollface. You all come with the same basic equipment, Allah be praised. Do you want my arm around you or don’t you?”

  “Well, it does feel comfy, but don’t get ideas.”

  He swore softly under his breath and gauged the angle from the sweeping searchlight as he forced himself to slowly count to a hundred. Then he did it again and called back, “Okay, Gaston, cast off the decoy.”

  The boat leaped forward as the Frenchman in the stern released the painter towing the raft. Aside from that, nothing much happened. It wasn’t supposed to, if they’d timed things correctly. He let Gaston steer them further out to sea before he called back, “Okay, let’s swing hard port and get around to the far side.”

  So Gaston did and it only seemed like a million years until they were north of the island, still cruising beyond the searchlight beam. Captain Gringo muttered, “What time is it?” and then as he reached for his watch all hell broke loose.

  Far to the south-east, where they’d left it, a powder charge aboard the raft went off with a roar. And then, having gained the doubtless undivided attention of everyone on the island, the raft started sending up distress rockets as a can of oil-soaked waste burned red, like a ship on fire. He saw both the previous beams groping for the “wreck” as two more winked on to join in, sweeping closer in for possible survivors in the water. He chuckled and said, “Now, Gaston.”

  Gaston said, “I wish I was home in bed.” He then swung the bow toward the shore of Devil’s Island and opened the silent throttle. As they approached the black mass, outlined by the lights and red sky on the far side, they came in through the br
eakers and grounded the bow on a gritty little beach. Captain Gringo snapped, “Okay, Gaston, keep her in with the screw and be ready to back off on a moment’s notice, right?”

  “Mais non, I was planning to build a home here.”

  Captain Gringo grabbed the girl’s arm and said, “Now. Move it fast and keep it down to a roar. Come on, Doll! This is one hell of a time to powder your nose!”

  “Dick, I’m scared! I don’t think I can do it!”

  “Sure you can,” he said, and hauled her after him over the gunwale. They splashed ashore and made the cover of some brush. “Wait here,” he said, and moved inland up a steep slope, clinging to the shadows until he topped the rise and found himself on a flat open field of some sort. He saw men in both convict and guard uniforms standing about and craning their necks to see what the hell was happening at sea to the south-east. He walked casually over to a group of prisoners and one of them spotted him and asked, “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t know. Just came from the office myself. Can you tell me where I can find Captain Dreyfus?”

  The prisoner turned and shouted, “Hey, Dreyfus, somebody here wants to see you!”

  A man in the near distance turned like a puppet on a stick and marched gravely over as Captain Gringo wondered who the hell they thought he was. Up close, Alfred Dreyfus was a stiff, slender man with a moustache and pince-nez glasses. He looked more like a Prussian officer in his shabby convict whites than a lot of Prussian officers could manage in full dress uniform. He saluted Captain Gringo gravely and said, “M’sieur?”

  “Come with me,” snapped Captain Gringo, knowing how to act chicken shit if it was required. Nobody said a word as he marched Dreyfus away from the others. It was easier than stealing chickens, for God’s sake!

  As they reached the drop off, Captain Gringo took Dreyfus by the arm to steady him. But the officer pulled away and asked, “What is going on? Why are we going down there? There is nothing there, M’sieur!”

  “You’re wrong, Captain Dreyfus. Have I got a girl for you.”

  He took Dreyfus down to the redhead and Birdie gushed, “Oh, Dick, you did it! Let’s all get out of here!”

  It sounded reasonable enough to Captain Gringo, but Captain Dreyfus said, “Out of here, M’selle? Are you suggesting I attempt to escape?”

  “Don’t you want to escape, Captain Dreyfus?”

  “Are you mad? Why would I wish to do such a crazy thing?”

  Birdie stared at him in astonishment. Captain Gringo said, “Speaking of crazy, correct me if I’m wrong, but this is Devil’s Island and you are serving a life term here, right?”

  “But of course. I understand this is in all the newspapers, M’sieur.”

  “Look, Dreyfus, this is interesting as hell, but let’s talk about it in the boat, huh?”

  A siren started wailing and Dreyfus said, “Ah, that is the signal for all prisoners to return to quarters. Someone seems to be having second thoughts about that ship in distress and a bed check seems in order. Forgive me, I must leave you now.”

  Birdie sobbed, “Hit him, Dick. Hit him and put him in the boat! They’ve driven the poor man out of his head!”

  Captain Gringo shook his own head and said, “He might know what’s he doing. Right, Captain Dreyfus?”

  The downed but not defeated officer nodded gravely and said, “I am grateful for what you odd people seem to be trying to do, and I thank you for calling me by my rank. But they stripped me of my commission, M’sieur. They stood me at attention and ripped off my decorations. Then they broke my sword. Can you understand how a man feels at such a time?”

  “Yeah, but let’s stick to your court martial. A lot of people seem to feel you’re innocent, Captain.”

  “I am innocent—that’s why I can’t go with you. Don’t you see what the men who ruined me could make out of my escape? ‘Ahah, we knew it! Now the dirty Jew has proven he’s a traitor to France!’ “

  “That’s what they’d say, alright. But, since you brought it up, what do you know about a Jewish organization who’s also supposed to be working to free you, Captain Dreyfus?”

  The French officer looked sincerely puzzled as he said, “A Jewish group? But why, M’sieur?”

  Hey, you’re the one who just said you were Jewish, remember?”

  “Mais non, I did not call myself a dirty Jew. The people who falsely imprisoned me called me that. I do not consider myself a Jew. I am a Frenchman whose family happens to be Jewish. I, myself, am an agnostic. I did not know how some of my fellow officers felt about my background until I was accused of treason.”

  “Doesn’t that make you want to get in the boat, Captain? It sounds like your loyalty’s a bit misplaced!”

  “Mais non, M’sieur. My loyalty is to France and the French army. Despite my misfortune, I have never lost faith in the country I love or the many decent men in her army. I shall never betray my country or the army because of a few, how you say, bad apples?”

  “Close enough. Let’s go, Birdie. You got your story and the captain has to make bed check.”

  “Dick,” she gasped, “we can’t leave him here!” But Dreyfus had thrown them a salute and was moving away. Captain Gringo called, “Hey, Frenchy?” and when Dreyfus turned with a puzzled smile, he threw him the best West Point salute he could manage. It seemed to cheer Dreyfus up as he scrambled up the slope to rejoin his fellow prisoners.

  Captain Gringo got Birdie back in the launch and called back, “Throw her in reverse and let’s beat it!”

  Gaston tried, but they were only out a hundred yards or so when a light suddenly went on and started sweeping it’s beam to intercept them!

  Captain Gringo shouted, “Down, Birdie!” as he dropped behind the Lewis gun and threw the arming lever. The beam was almost on them when he opened up and fired a full drum into the swinging light and anybody dumb enough to be anywhere near it!

  The light went out with a satisfactory tinkle of glass and screams. And then as they got really moving, another switched on, groping blindly in the area they’d just left, so he shot that one out, too, and for some reason everyone on shore started making a lot of noise. Sirens and police whistles sounded off and somebody started firing blind out across the water. But since they didn’t have the range, he didn’t return the fire. He figured it was up to them to figure out where he was, right? As the racket faded astern, Birdie was crying. He put a hand on her heaving shoulders and asked, “What’s the matter, did you get hit?”

  “No,” she sobbed, “and I didn’t get my story! All that work and risk for nothing! How was I to know he was some kind of Don Quixote?”

  He pulled her up, sat her in his lap, and said, “You dumb little dame, you just got your story and it’s a good one! Dreyfus was right. He would be just another guy on the dodge if he came with us. He’s better news as a Don Quixote. There aren’t as many of them around. Jesus, I’m not a writer and I know what I could do with that scene on the beach back there!”

  She brightened and said, “Oh, you may be right! He’s still loyal to his colors, after all France did to him! I guess that does make him a real hero, and he was sort of nice-looking, too!”

  Then she kissed him, soundly, and sighed, “Thank you, Dick. I think I have my scoop after all!”

  He was about to return the kiss when Gaston called out, “Excuse me, my love birds, but we seem to have another launch pursing us!”

  “Jesus, are they gaining?”

  “No. We seem to have the swifter craft. But I thought you ought to know.”

  ~*~

  Devil’s Island must have a cable running to the mainland. The shoreline of Sinnamary was lit up like a Mexican street carnival and white clad troops were running up and down it like chickens with their head cut off as the launch approached. But the chartered steamship was blacked out and for a girl who didn’t think ahead, Birdie couldn’t have planned it better. Gaston simply steered them up the shadow lane of the ship and they tied up to the ladder on the offshore dark s
ide while the police and troops guarded the waterfront with their lives and considerable shouting.

  The skipper and mate were waiting for them at the top of the ladder. The skipper gasped, “Jesus, Miss Birdie, we’ve got to cast off and get out of here. The Frogs are acting crazy.”

  But she said, “Pooh, how can you tell? My, uh, criminal associates here tell me we’re home free. Isn’t that right, Dick?”

  “I think so,” Captain Gringo said. “They didn’t spot us, so they have no description out on us or the launch. Nobody escaped from Devil’s Island after all. So after they figure that out, they ought to simmer down and just wonder what the hell we were about.”

  The skipper sighed and said, “I hope so. From all the yelling on the quay it seems they think wild niggers just raided the place. The Frogs have soldiers watching the bush inland and now they have to worry about sea raiders, so they’re pretty frantic. They should welcome a break.”

  “Look,” Captain Gringo warned, “we’re not dealing with a bunch of banana banditos. Right now they’re rattled and have every right to be because not a thing that’s happened makes military sense as they learned it at Saint Cyr. But they’re forming defense lines and once they finish they’ll make the usual moves to police up their interior. They’ll be boarding this vessel to ask questions in a little while, so we’d better have our stories straight.”

  Birdie said, “Pooh, I got what I came for, sort of, and there’s nothing to keep you and Gaston here. Why don’t we just weigh anchor and steam out of here right now?”

  Captain Gringo shot the skipper a disgusted look. The old tramp steamer mate nodded and told Birdie, “We’d wind up in bigger trouble with the French Navy, Miss Birdie. A vessel’s not supposed to leave a port without clearance from the harbor master. If we were to light out in the middle of all this excitement a lot of Frogs would wonder why!”

  He turned to Captain Gringo and said, “My crew has no idea what’s been going on and Mr. Slade and I can hide the machine gun if you still need it.”

  “Don’t hide it,” Captain Gringo said. “Clean it and put it back in its case. It’s reasonable for a vessel in these waters to pack emergency gear. Nobody on the island got a good look at us, but they might get it out of Dreyfus that there was a woman with us. Gaston, here, can blend into the French crowd with no trouble. I’ll take Miss Birdie to her room ashore and when and if they board, you don’t have any idea what’s happened and they can look around all they want, right?”