Killigrew of the Royal Navy

by Jonathan Lunn

  ‘Good day to you, Mr Killigrew. And how is my good Samaritan?’

  ‘Very well, thank you. And you?’

  ‘The same. May I join you?’

  Killigrew gestured to the chair opposite him. ‘Pull up a berth. Tea?’

  ‘Thank you kindly.’

  Killigrew twisted in his seat to address the landlady, who waited attentively by the dresser. She had not heard of the disgraced Christopher Killigrew, but despite his clothes she could tell that her guest was a gentleman. ‘Could you fetch another cup for my friend, Mrs Hines?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ She took down a cup and saucer and laid them on the table before Madison. ‘Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Thank you.’ As soon as she had retreated to her earlier position, Madison turned back to Killigrew. ‘You seem to be dining well.’

  ‘Mm. As it happens, I’ve had a bit of good joss. A friend of mine is an acquaintance of Mr Brunel, the eminent engineer. It seems Mr Brunel will be looking for a new second officer for the Great Britain as soon as he can get her floated again.’ Brunel’s revolutionary transatlantic steamer the SS Great Britain had run aground in Dundrum Bay the previous year.

  ‘Assuming they can get her off,’ Madison pointed out. ‘They’ve been trying for months.’

  ‘This is Mr Brunel we’re talking about,’ said Killigrew.

  ‘That’s a good point.’

  ‘The pay is excellent, and… well, if one must serve in the merchant navy, then there can be few finer or more prestigious vessels to serve on than the Great Britain.’

  Madison’s face fell.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ asked Killigrew.

  Madison cleared his throat. ‘First of all I want to thank you again, Mr Killigrew. I took your advice and had a case of Madeira sent to the harbourmaster’s office first thing this morning. Now maybe it’s just coincidence, but come noon I get a message from one of his boys telling me that I’m cleared to leave harbour whenever I please.’

  Killigrew smiled. ‘The British way of doing things, Captain Madison. It’s a very genteel form of corruption. So, when do you sail?’

  Madison grimaced. ‘Well, that’s just the problem. You remember last night I told you I had a full complement?’ Killigrew nodded. ‘Well, this morning my second mate had disappeared.’

  ‘Does he drink? Take it from me, Captain, intoxicating liquor does terrible things to a man. Perhaps you should try having your men search all the waterfront taverns and gin palaces.’

  ‘I already tried that. I understand the crimps were busy last night shanghaiing hands for the Ophelia, and I fear Mr Cutler may have been caught in their net.’ Madison ran a finger through his thinning hair. ‘If it was just one of my hands it wouldn’t matter. But my second mate…? Men like that are difficult to replace.’

  ‘Oh, I say! What rotten bad timing. If you’d come to me a few hours earlier I could have volunteered my own services – if you’d’ve accepted them.’

  ‘Of course I would! That’s why I came here this afternoon. I’m in a pickle, Mr Killigrew. I’ve already been stuck in this port for four days; I can’t wait any longer.’ He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. ‘I’ll pay you twelve dollars a day.’

  ‘US dollars?’ asked Killigrew, and Madison nodded. Killigrew carefully put down his knife and fork and dabbed at his lips with his napkin. ‘Mrs Hines, it seems to me I’m being remiss. Unlike myself, Captain Madison here enjoys a glass of wine, in moderation. I wonder if you could fetch us a bottle? No, better still make it champagne, since I’m celebrating my new good fortune.’

  ‘I don’t think we have any champagne, Mr Killigrew.’

  ‘Couldn’t you send your son out to fetch some?’

  ‘I could if he were here, Mr Killigrew, but I’m afraid he’s run off for the day.’

  ‘Oh that is a shame…’

  ‘I could run out myself and get some, if you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the place while I’m gone. The wine merchant is just down the road, I wouldn’t be gone more than ten minutes.’

  ‘Not at all, Mrs Hines. That would be awfully decent of you.’

  She hurried out. Killigrew leaned back in his chair and looked Madison straight in the eye. ‘Where are you bound?’

  ‘Cuba, by way of Africa.’

  ‘The Guinea Coast?’ Madison nodded. ‘You’re a blackbirder, aren’t you?’

  ‘I kind of gathered last night that you had no principled objections to the trade.’

  ‘In principle no. But in practice…? I’ve been humiliated by the Royal Navy enough as it is, Captain Madison. What if I should be on board your ship when it was stopped by a Royal Navy vessel? As a British citizen they could take me and put me on trial. We have the death penalty for slaving in this country now, you know.’

  ‘But it’s never been enforced. Besides, my ship’s clerk is a very skilled individual, Mr Killigrew. He can… shall we say “arrange” some US papers for you. Not that you’ll need them. The Madge Howlett is the fastest ship in the Atlantic. There’s not a vessel in the Royal Navy that can catch her, not even a steamer. And I’ll wager twelve dollars a day is a good deal more than you’re being offered for this job on the Great Britain.’

  ‘I couldn’t tell you until I’d checked the current exchange rate. But there’s also the prestige of working for such a well-respected company.’

  Madison nodded sadly and for a moment Killigrew feared he might have overplayed it, but then the American looked up with determination in his eye.

  ‘Prestige? Tcha! I know your sort, Mr Killigrew. You’re a sailor. One of a long line of sailors, I’ll be bound. Which would you prefer? The stuffy, formal atmosphere of a transatlantic steamer with its starched collars, grubby engines, tedious, middle-class passengers with their foolish questions, and a life that’s regulated by a strict timetable, repeated again and again, voyage after voyage? Or the life of a fast merchant brig, with a free and easy attitude, no dress code, and the possibility of some excitement?’

  ‘It’s a tempting offer, Captain Madison. I can’t deny I’ve a hankering to put the stuffy world of civilised society behind me. But what about you? Are you sure you want an ex-naval officer on board? One who spent two years serving on the West Africa Squadron?’

  ‘That’s why I’m so keen to have you in my crew, Mr Killigrew. We’ve been blackbirding for many years now and we know most of the tricks. But you understand the naval mind. You know the navy’s tactics and her ships. You know who the captains are of each ship, and which ones will pursue a slaver to the ends of the earth and which ones will give up after the first couple of hours. And from talking to you last night I got the impression that you’d jump at the chance to use that kind of knowledge against them.

  ‘I’ll lay it on the square and on the level for you, Mr Killigrew, because I like to think of myself as a straight-dealing man and if we’re going to be working together – which I hope we are – I wouldn’t want us to get off on the wrong foot. I’ve been checking up on you. You had a promising career in the navy until you made one little, tragic mistake, and then they took it all away from you. Well, here’s your chance to pay them back. By proving that no matter how many steamers they put in their West Africa Squadron, they’ll never end the slave trade. What do you say?’

  Killigrew sat back and lit a cheroot, shaking out his match and tossing it into the fireplace. He blew out a long stream of blue-tinged smoke and watched it curl lazily towards the oak beams overhead as if deep in contemplation. ‘Twelve dollars a day?’

  Madison nodded. ‘Half in advance, the rest when we reach Havana. And if it works out oh-kay then you can stay in my crew for as long as I’m captain of the Madge Howlett.'

  ‘Are you sure you trust me that much?’

  ‘I’ll be honest with you, Mr Killigrew: no, I’m not. This is only the second time I’ve spoken to you; and while my instincts tell me I can trust you, I know a man’s a fool if he relies on his instincts alone. So I’ll tell you straight: you
cross me once, boy, and I’ll kill you. It’s as simple as that.’ Madison’s eyes glittered as he leaned across the table once more. ‘You breathe so much as a single word of our activities to the authorities, then no matter where you run, where you hide, I’ll find you. No matter what it takes, I’ll track you down and kill you, and as God is my witness you’ll be a long time a-dying.’

  Killigrew was in no doubt that Madison meant every word of it and was perfectly capable of carrying out his threat, but he managed a smile nonetheless. ‘Well! You’re certainly candid, I’ll say that much for you.’

  Madison smiled. ‘I don’t mean to scare you… aw, heck, yes, I do mean to scare you. Because if I’m wrong about you, then that’s the only guarantee I’ve got that you’ll keep your mouth shut. But something tells me I can trust you.’

  ‘Well then, I hope I can prove myself worthy of your trust,’ said Killigrew as the front door opened and the landlady returned with the champagne. ‘And here’s Mrs Hines, right on cue. Let’s drink to our first voyage together, if you don’t mind raising your glass with a man drinking coffee.’

  Madison only stayed for one small glass of champagne – Killigrew guessed the American was not much of a champagne drinker, but ordering the bottle had been a suitable ruse to get Mrs Hines out of the house so they could talk in private – before he left, promising to send one of his men to help Killigrew with his things. As soon as he had gone, Killigrew settled his account with Mrs Hines and went upstairs to pack his sea-chest. It was a small chest for an officer, being only large enough to contain his sextant, writing equipment, clothes, washing things, and a couple of novels by Dumas, and Virgil’s Aeneid.

  Oh, yes. And his pepperbox, of course.

  Finally he sat down, wrote a brief note, and laid it carefully on top of everything else in the chest. It was addressed ‘To whom it may concern’, inviting the finder to feel free to rifle the chest’s contents while assuring him he would not find anything of interest unless he was a fan of Mr Dumas. Then he locked it with the key he wore on a chain around his neck, although he did not doubt there would be someone on board skilled enough to pick the lock so they could examine its contents at the earliest opportunity. He did not expect the presence of the pepperbox to raise too many eyebrows amongst such men.

  He was carrying the heavy chest downstairs in both hands when Mrs Hines appeared at the foot of the steps. ‘That gentleman’s come to help you with your things, Mr Killigrew.’

  ‘That gentleman’ was the same squat, muscular man Killigrew had seen Madison talk to in the waterfront tavern the previous night. ‘Meester Killigrew?’ he rumbled.

  ‘Yes.’ Killigrew held out his hand and almost had his fingers crushed to a pulp when the man shook it.

  ‘I am Manoel Duarte, the bosun of the Madge Howlett.’ He spoke with a thick accent that Killigrew guessed was Portuguese. ‘Capitão Madison send me to take you to the ship. You have you things?’

  Killigrew indicated the chest he had put down to greet him. Duarte bent over, grasped one of the handles, and hefted it on to his shoulder as effortlessly as if it had been empty and made of paper. ‘We go.’

  Killigrew tipped his hat to Mrs Hines. ‘Thank you for a thoroughly pleasant stay, Mrs Hines. I shall be sure to stay here next time I’m in Liverpool.’

  She blushed and curtseyed. ‘If you don’t like us, tell us. If you do, tell your friends. That’s our motto, Mr Killigrew.’

  ‘And a fine one it is too. I shall be sure to recommend you.’

  ‘We go,’ insisted Duarte.

  ‘Uh… we go,’ Killigrew echoed to Mrs Hines, who giggled.

  The waterfront was crowded at that time of day, but Killigrew had no difficulty following Duarte through the crush; he carved a path through the sea of bobbing heads like Moses parting the Red Sea.

  Killigrew had not recognised the Madge Howlett when he had first laid eyes on her a couple of days earlier, which was unfortunate because that was the kind of mistake which might have cost him his life. But although he had a good eye for ships, one Baltimore brig looked pretty much the same as another built to the same specifications, while a simple readjustment of the sails and rigging could change the appearance of a ship entirely, unless one was looking for one ship in particular. Killigrew had been looking for the Madge Howlett, so when he had seen that name painted on the stern he’d assumed that was what he had found.

  The Madge Howlett was a two-masted brig, about a hundred feet from stem to stern, the deck looking uncluttered without as many men or guns as a man-o’-war would have had. Killigrew had already studied her through his telescope, although this was the first time he had seen her close to and he noted with approval that she was in good condition, the brass fittings well polished, the decks holystoned until they shone palest yellow in the spring sunshine, the sails furled neatly under the yards, and the rigging neat and well maintained without any ‘dead men’ – untidy rope’s ends – dangling loose over the sides. It was clear that Madison ran a tight ship; not as tight as a navy vessel, perhaps, but tight nonetheless.

  There were perhaps a dozen men at work on deck, preparing to set sail. All had dark, Latinate looks and Killigrew guessed that if there were any genuine ship’s papers on board they would prove that the Madge Howlett – if that were her real name, which he very much doubted – was in actuality a Cuban or Brazilian vessel.

  Madison emerged on to the deck. ‘Ah, there you are, Mr Killigrew. Welcome aboard. Now that we have permission to sail we’ll be leaving just as soon as the chief mate returns.’

  ‘He’s not on board?’

  Madison shook his head. ‘I sent him down to London on an errand for me. He was due to catch the three o’clock train back, so he should be here within the hour. As soon as we’re safely under way I’ll have him fill you in on the details of your duties, but basically I’ll expect you to take charge of navigation. The rules on board are fairly simple. There’s a strict hierarchy on board. It runs from God to me to the chief mate to you to Senhor Duarte here. I expect orders to be carried out promptly and efficiently, and so should you. Do you speak Portuguese?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Good. Most of the men speak some English, but they can be a little slow to understand in that language. They’re a good bunch on the whole. As far as punishment goes, I don’t want to have to undermine you by overruling any of your orders, so if you’re not sure of anything I suggest you clear it with me first. If that isn’t convenient, you could do a lot worse than allow yourself to be guided by Duarte here. We’ve been sailing together for over ten years and he has my complete confidence; I suggest you give him yours. You’ll get the hang of how I like things run soon enough.’ He turned to the boatswain. ‘Manoel, perhaps you’d like to show Mr Killigrew to his cabin and then give him a quick guided tour of the ship before we set sail?’

  ‘Sîm, senhor capitão,’ growled Duarte.

  ‘Thanks.’ Madison clapped Duarte on the shoulder and turned back to Killigrew. ‘Manoel here may not have much in the way of social graces, but I assure you he’s loyal and reliable, and that’s all I ask of my men. Supper will be in my stateroom at eight; I’ll introduce you to the other ship’s officers then. Dress is informal at all times, although I expect certain standards of hygiene from my men which I doubt you’ll have difficulty abiding by. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. As for the rest of the men, I dare say you’ll get to know them soon enough. Manoel, when you’ve shown Mr Killigrew around the ship take him to the chart room so he can familiarise himself with the course I’ve plotted.’

  ‘Sîm, senhor capitão.’

  Killigrew followed Duarte below deck to his cabin. It was the first time he had ever had a cabin on board ship. He indicated the second cot. ‘I’m to share this cabin with the chief mate?’ he guessed.

  ‘Sîm, senhor.’

  ‘All right. Just put my dunnage down over there, I’ll unpack later. Shall we take a look-see at the rest of the ship?’

  Killigrew f
ollowed Duarte out of the boatswain. ‘I might as well leave my hat in the cabin,’ he said. ‘Wait here, I shan’t be a moment.’

  Killigrew went back inside the cabin, took off his top hat and placed it on top of his chest. Then he plucked a single hair from his head and stuck it over the catch of the chest so that any attempt to open it would dislodge the hair. Then he went outside and followed Duarte on a guided tour of the ship.

  The Madge Howlett was little different from any slaver Killigrew had been aboard in terms of layout – officers’ quarters below the quarter-deck, stores in the bows, and a large hold running the whole length of the ship – but a good deal cleaner and less noisome. Killigrew doubted its current state would last long once they had slaves on board. The hold was piled high with bales of cotton cloth, rolls of copper wire, the long low shapes of crates of rifles, barrels with the word ‘GUNPOWDER’ stencilled on their sides, and various other boxes and crates. Killigrew wondered which boxes contained the shackles, handcuffs and padlocks. He also noted about three hundred empty barrels, enough to carry water for all the slaves for the duration of the middle passage, as well as a large stack of timber which could easily be used to make a slave deck.

  There was an open hatch with a grating in the deck head, and Killigrew glanced up as a shadow from a man fell through.

  ‘Everything stowed securely?’ the man asked, another American. ‘Good. That you, Manoel? The cap’n tells me you’ve got our new second mate with you. Well, stand forward out of the shadows, mister. Let’s have a look at you.’

  Killigrew took a pace forward and gazed up through the grating at the chief mate. Their eyes locked, and the man’s eyes widened as he recognised Killigrew.

  ‘You!’ exclaimed Eli Coffin.

  Chapter 11

  Blackbirders