Just as he did so, Clarissa seized the opportunity to jerk her head free. Next moment her teeth bit viciously into the pirate’s wrist.
With an oath, he tore his hand away and lifted it to strike her, but help came to her from an unexpected quarter. At Clarissa’s cry Lucette swung round from the mirror. Quietly drawing her silver-mounted pistol from her sash, she pointed it at João and shouted at him:
‘Stop that! You know our customs, and I am here to see that all of you keep to them.’
With a shrug he let Clarissa go, and muttered surlily:
‘Don’t be a fool, Lucette. I meant only to buss the wench. There’s no harm in that.’
‘You’ll buss no one without my permission,’ she snapped back. ‘You’re mine as long as I have a use for you. Now get up on deck and relieve Pedro the Carib, so that he can have his victuals.’
‘Who’s Captain here?’ he blustered.
‘You are, by favour of my good standing with M. le Vicomte,’ she retorted. ‘But cross me and when we get ashore I’ll have him fling you to his pet crocodiles.’
João’s glance dropped before her angry stare. Sucking the blood from his bitten wrist he turned on Clarissa, and snarled: ‘You shall pay for this, my beauty. Ah, and before you’re a night older.’ Then he gave a jaunty flip to his old-fashioned tricorne hat, picked up his cutlass and swaggered out of the cabin.
As soon as he had disappeared, Lucette said to Amanda: ‘I’ve a mind to see on you some of the things I’ll be wearing. Go to your cabin and put on your best ball-dress.’
Amanda was crying from the brutal kick that João had given her, and replied tearfully: ‘I am in no state to dress up for you. I pray you excuse me.’
Lucette promptly pulled out her ivory-handled switch. Striking Amanda a vicious blow across the shoulders, she cried: ‘Do as I bid you, woman. The sooner you learn that you are now a slave the better.’
With a burst of sobs Amanda stood up and limped across the cabin. Roger attempted to follow her, but his legs doubled under him again, and he fell back with a groan. Lucette gave him a contemptuous look, and said:
‘They tell me you were on your way to become Governor of Martinique. A lovely island and I know it well, for I was born there. But you’ll never reach it; M. le Vicomte has no friendship for Englishmen, and I do not doubt he’ll send you to feed the fishes.’
At that moment Pedro the Carib came in. He was a swarthy half-caste with lank black hair. Perched at a jaunty angle on it was one of the broad-brimmed straw hats that many sailors favoured when in the tropics. His breeches were of leather and he was naked to the waist except for two heavy necklaces made of pieces of eight. They were not like ordinary coins, but simply an ounce weight of silver which had been poured molten on to an iron bench, then, when it had partially cooled, stamped with the arms of Spain, and an 8, signifying its value in pesetas. It was a common practice for seamen to bore holes in them and carry them in this manner round their necks, as it made their loss by robbery less likely, and it was easy to take off one or more in payment for liquor or a woman.
Pedro barely gave the captives a glance from the slits which half concealed his reddish evil eyes, but picked up a bottle, let a third of its contents gurgle down his throat, then grabbed the remains of the ham and began to knaw it like a dog.
While he ate, Lucette rifled the lockers round the cabin, showing a childish delight in anything she came upon that particularly interested her. Then Amanda rejoined them, now wearing a low-cut dress of peach-coloured brocade that had a drawn back overskirt of chiffon sprinkled with small gold stars. She had regained her composure and stood stony-faced in the middle of the cabin while Lucette sauntered lazily round her like a huge graceful coffee-coloured cat.
‘The mode will flatter me,’ was her comment. ‘But go take it off now. I do not wish that it is spoiled, and when we celebrate our victory this evening it is certain that you will be the subject of some rough games, for one cannot deny the men their pleasure.’
Amanda closed her eyes, and half-fainting at the thoughts the mulatto’s words had conjured up, staggered from the cabin.
When Pedro had finished his guzzling, Lucette said to him in a tone that brooked no reply: ‘Now I intend to sleep for a while in the cabin of the Countess. Go up to the poop and remain there. Keep an eye on João. Should he make one sign to come down here, you are to wake me up; for I’ll not have him cheat the rest of you in the matter of the women.’
He gave her a crooked grin, nodded and slouched away; then, after a final glance at the captives, she too left them.
Roger looked across at Georgina. For some time past she had been sobbing as though her heart would break; but he was glad of it, for it seemed a certain indication that Lucette’s brutal treatment of her had brought her back to normal, and he had feared that her mind might have become deranged. The faithful Jenny, pale-faced but tight-lipped, was still beside her. Clarissa sat hunched in an elbow chair, her golden hair tumbled from her struggle with João, but dry-eyed and staring without expression through one of the cabin windows.
When Amanda came back she gave Roger a faint smile, and brought him some wine to drink before sitting down beside him. As he thanked her he thought that she looked ten years older than she had that morning, but there was nothing he could do and nothing that he could say to comfort her. His head still felt as though it were splitting, his eye had swollen up and was rapidly becoming black and blue, the place where the pike had laid open his right forearm now felt as though it were on fire, and the whole of his right side, with which he had hit the deck on being struck down, ached dully. He could only take one of her hands in his and put his other arm round her shoulders. Never before had he felt so utterly helpless and hopeless.
Gradually Georgina’s weeping eased to a low sobbing and for a timeless interval they all sat silent in the depths of dejection. At length, as twilight began to fall, Amanda gently released herself from Roger’s arms, stood up, and said:
‘Come! Even if there is no longer anyone to summon us to supper we ought to eat something. In God is now our only hope; but I hold that He helps those who help themselves, and it would be flying in His face not to try to keep up our strength.’
‘Well said, my sweet,’ Roger murmured, and although he still felt groggy, he found that he could now walk to the table without assistance. Georgina stubbornly refused to join them, protesting that even a morsel of food would choke her; but she made Jenny take a place after helping Clarissa to fetch some plates, cutlery and glasses. In a grim, brooding silence they forced themselves to swallow some of the remains left by their captors and to drink a few mouthfuls of wine. Most of the fruits brought abroad by the pirates were strange to them, and in other circumstances they would have sampled them all with interest, but, robbed of appetite by their fearful apprehensions, they hardly noticed what they ate; and they were still seated round the table in the semi-darkness when the door was thrust open and the hunch-back came in.
He spoke in some uncouth jargon of mingled Spanish and Carib, but the significance of his gesture was plain. He had been sent to order them out on deck.
For a moment Roger contemplated rebellion, but he was still so feverish and weak that a child could have knocked him down. He had no doubts whatever that if he told the women to refuse to go they would be fetched, and it seemed better to go with them on the remote chance that by giving his life he might be able to save one of them in a crisis, rather than to remain behind and face the ghastly torture of not knowing what was happening to them. Rallying all his strength, he began to offer up frantic prayers for help, then led them from the cabin.
Out on the deck the scene was reminiscent of that—now seeming to the prisoners a whole lifetime away—which had taken place barely ten days earlier when Circe had crossed the Tropic of Cancer. There was no canvas bath and the dais was lower, but on it was the same pair of big chairs which had been used as thrones, and to either side of an open space before them the whole shi
p’s company was congregated.
The thrones were occupied by João de Mondego and Lucette. In front of them was an upended cask of rum, the top of which had been stove in. Everyone present held a pannikin and most of the men were still avidly lapping down their first tot. As the captives appeared they were greeted with cheers, boos and cat-calls. The hunch-back led them up to the cask, pannikins were produced from somewhere and Pedro the Carib, who was doing the honours behind it, ladled out a portion equivalent to a fifth of a bottle for each of them; then ordered them to drink it.
Amanda and Jenny only sipped theirs; Clarissa took a mouthful, then choked and spluttered; Georgina flung hers at Pedro’s feet.
Instantly Lucette’s voice rang out: ‘Fill for her again Pedro. If the noble Countess abuses more of our good liquor we will make her lick it up off the deck.’
A shout of laughter greeted her threat. Pedro refilled the pannikin and again handed it to Georgina. Roger said in English loud enough for those with him to hear. ‘For God’s sake drink the stuff, and more if you can get it. Twill deaden your sensibilities.’
Obediently, between chokes and gasps, they swallowed the fiery liquor. Then the hunch-back led them to a wooden bench, placed opposite the dais but some distance from it, and signed to them to sit down. A moment later he seized Roger’s arms from behind, thrust a cord between them and his back, then drew it tight and knotted it firmly. Instinctively Roger strove to free himself, but his struggles only provoked more raucous laughter from the spectators; and, having secured his arms, the hunch-back next firmly lashed his ankles, so that should he stand up with the intention of moving forward he would fall flat on his face.
His last hope was gone of grabbing a knife from someone and, perhaps, bringing this ghastly party to a premature end by stabbing João or Lucette; his left eye was now completely closed, but with the other he took stock of the assembly. Including João, Lucette, Pedro, and the hunchback, the prize crew numbered only a dozen, with probably a man at the wheel and another on look-out duty. Bloggs was present with nine of his cronies, and all eight of the Porto Ricans.
The ship’s fiddler had been one of Bloggs’s following from the start; and now, seated on a chair in front of the rum barrel, he struck up a merry tune. Darkness had come with the swiftness usual in the tropics, but the bizarre scene was lighted by lanterns hung in the rigging. Some of the men began a rhythmic clapping, then four of them came out on to the circle of deck amidships that had been kept clear and danced a hornpipe.
After it the revellers lined up for another tot of rum. Then one of the pirates sang a soulful ballad in a deep baritone. The ship was moving almost silently over the deep waters, and in any other circumstances the captives would have been enraptured by his untutored talent; but, as things were, they could only listen with an awful apprehension of what might yet befall them as the night advanced.
Thunderous applause led to an encore, but after it the less musical among the men had had enough and called loudly for a country dance. Marshalled by Pedro the Carib, they formed two lines, and to the scraping of the fiddle began to tap their feet, bob awkwardly to one another, then utter loud shouts and leap about in a travesty of a gavotte.
The country dance was followed by more rum, then a succession of rollicking choruses in which the French-speaking pirates, the English mutineers and the Spanish-reared Porto Ricans at first were given a hearing in turn, but later endeavoured to out-shout one another; so that their combined voices merged into an ear-splitting babel of sound.
At length, when the din subsided, someone called for a pavan.
Most of them had asked others to be their partners, when one of the Circe’s men came up to Jenny and said: ‘Please Missy, will ’e dance wi’ me?’
Jenny cast an anxious glance round, but there seemed nothing for it but to accept. Reluctantly she stood up. The sailor put his arm round her and whirled her away. Others nearby saw them move off and swiftly followed his example. Half a dozen claimants squabbled over which of them should lead out Clarissa, Georgina and Amanda. Two free fights ensued, but those not involved seized upon the three girls and pulled them willy-nilly into the dance.
Roger now sat on the bench alone, suffering the worst torments that hell has to offer. He had fooled Catherine the Great of Russia, defied a Spanish Prime Minister, beaten the unscrupulous Fouché at his own game, tricked France’s Minister of War, the shrewd Carnot, stood up to Robespierre, Danton, Hébert, and a legion of other evil, ruthless men. He had caused a Spanish hidalgo to be hung from a lamp-post, and had slain the finest swordsman in all France in single combat; but now, against this filthy, villainous, verminous, brainless, besotted crew he was utterly helpless.
Staring with his single good eye at his wife in the close embrace of a bearded, broken-nosed ruffian, he cursed the day when he had opposed his old master’s wish that he should return to France, and instead lightly declared his intention of going off to the West Indies. Better a thousand times Paris in the throes of Revolution, with all its horrors, squalor and dangers, for they were things with which, given courage and wits, one stood a fair chance of coping.
Yet, when the dance ended, to his unutterable relief, the partners of the four women brought them back to the bench. The night was hot and they were panting from the exertions to which they had been forced, but other wise showed no ill effects from their unwelcome experience.
Soon, the fiddler struck up again, and this time there was a wild scramble to secure the women as partners. Bloggs was in the forefront of the rush and buffeting two other applicants aside with his huge fists seized upon Jenny. Lucette had taken the deck with João. Pedro grabbed Georgina, a British seaman Amanda and one of the Porto Ricans Clarissa.
The moon had risen silvering the sea. Again Roger crouched on the bench, straining against his bonds in agony of mind while the nightmare dance went on; but once more all the women were brought decorously back when from temporary exhaustion the fiddler ceased his scraping.
Now that Pedro had abandoned his post at the rum barrel the men were helping themselves, and some were already reeling about the decks so drunk that they were barging into their fellows. It was then that one of the Circe’s men shouted: ‘The Mermaid! Come Mermaid, show us your pretty tail!’
The cry was taken up by the rest of the mutineers, and some of them volubly explained to the pirates about the fancy-dress that Clarissa had worn at the crossing of the Tropic of Cancer. Soon a deputation was crowding round her, urging her to don her Mermaid’s costume. Her face paper-white, she stubbornly refused, but one of Bloggs’s friends, known as Marlinspike Joe, shouted at her:
‘Go put it on wench, or we’ll strip you and put it on for you.’
Stark fear in her blue eyes, Clarissa looked at Amanda. Feeling that worse might befall unless the raucous crew were humoured, Amanda nodded, and beckoned to Jenny. Together the three women stood up and walked towards the cabins beneath the poop, followed by Marlinspike Joe and a few of his companions.
While they were away the bulk of the crew began to sing again. They had reached the stage when bawdy songs claimed priority over all else, and for the next quarter of an hour obscenities in French, English and Spanish echoed out over the tranquil moonlit waters.
They died away in a triumphant shout from the starboard entrance to the after cabins. Marlinspike Joe and his friends emerged bearing shoulder high on a scantling Clarissa in her Mermaid’s costume.
At the sight of her the men broke into a ragged drunken cheer, interspersed with shouted comments of indescribable indecency. Her bearers set her down in front of the two thrones and for a few minutes she was subjected to a hail of ribald comment. With a view to moderating her previous appearance in the role, she had not brushed out her hair, and wore a cloak draped over the upper part of her body, but when her bearers had lowered the scantling to the dais, Marlinspike Joe pulled the cloak from her, so that her naked shoulders gleamed white in the moonlight. There fell a sudden hush and one could almos
t hear the intake as breath of scores of eyes fastened upon her.
Lucette leant forward and shouted at the fiddler: ‘Play man; play a dance.’
Bloggs was standing near her and asked her to partner him. She hesitated only a moment then agreed. The fiddler struck up and once again the deck was filled with a mass of lurching couples. But João did not rise from his chair and Marlinspike Joe remained standing just below him, his lecherous gaze riveted on Clarissa. Suddenly he leant forward, grasped Clarissa’s tail and dragged it from her. Beneath it she had on only her shift and now her bare legs were displayed up to the knees for all to see.
With a drunken laugh João bent down, caught her in his arms and lifted her on to his knees. Her scream rang out above the fiddler’s music. Everyone stopped dancing. Lucette thrust Bloggs from her and marched up to the dais.
‘Enough!’ she cried. ‘Put down that wench, or it will be the worse for you when we reach our lair.’
‘To hell with that!’ he shouted back. ‘I claim a Captain’s privilege. Tonight this pretty baggage sleeps with me.’
7
Ordeal by Moonlight
The moon was now high in a cloudless sky. Its brilliant light eclipsed the stars and dimmed that of the lanterns hanging in the rigging. Flooding the scene it splashed the deck with jagged patches of silver between the stark black shadows of the groups of revellers, and threw their features into sharp relief.
But Clarissa’s scream had brought an abrupt pause in their revelry. The fiddler stopped his scraping, feet no longer stamped and shuffled on the deck, all movement ceased; the whole company had become as rigid as though suddenly turned to stone by the baleful glare from a Medusa’s head.
The Dark Secret of Josephine Page 11