Sea Robber hl-3

by Tim Severin

  Out of the corner of his eye Hector could see Dan looking across at him in astonishment. The Miskito had been following what was being said and knew how unrealistic the new scheme was. Yet Hector could see no tactful way to dampen the prince’s enthusiasm or deflect his father’s decision. So he bowed. ‘With your permission, my colleagues and I will begin to prepare the lantaka without further delay.’

  The moment they were outside the portico, Dan hurried over to take a closer look at the lantaka. He stuck a finger into the muzzle of one of the guns. ‘Not even a one-inch bore,’ he commented wryly. He gave his friend a serious look. ‘The ball would bounce off the flimsiest palisade.’

  Hector agreed. The lantaka were just three feet long. Their bronze castings had acquired a rich dark-green patina and were embellished with swirling floral patterns and whorls. Each rested on its heavy wooden sledge, made of some dark tropical wood. These gun carriages were exquisitely carved with patterns to mimic the guns’ decoration. It was as he’d feared: they were elegant, showy and of little practical use beyond firing salutes or scatter-shot.

  Jezreel stooped over one of the lantaka and put his massive arms under the barrel and the knob of the cascabel. He gave a grunt and lifted the weapon clean out of its carriage. ‘Well, no difficulty in taking it with us,’ he said with a grin.

  Dan ignored him. He was looking thoughtful. ‘I suggest we clean up these pea-shooters and test-fire them to make sure the Malaccan gunpowder is of good quality.’

  Jezreel lowered the gun back into its carriage. ‘Even if it turns out that the Malaccan is trading in shoddy goods, I get the impression the Sultan will still indulge his son and send out another expedition under his command.’

  The Miskito did not appear to have heard him. He was looking out to sea, over the township and the harbour. ‘We could try using one of Captain Vlucht’s cannon to knock down the defences of the Sugala, provided they’re not stone-built. Let us hope that the Westflinge is still hung up on the reef.’

  EIGHTEEN

  CLEANED AND POLISHED, the lantaka made a brave show lashed securely to the foredeck of the kora kora. The little cannon gleamed in the early morning sunshine as the expedition headed out from Pehko. The Sultan’s purple banner was once again hoisted from the vessel’s stubby flagstaff, and the crew seated on their outrigger benches had caught the optimistic mood of the departure. They roared their work chant as they chopped at the water with their paddle blades. Through the soles of his feet Hector could feel each sudden surge as the kora kora was thrust forward, and he couldn’t help glancing back towards the Kedatun sultan high on the hillside. Mansur had told him that the royal women were required to stay out of sight whenever there were strangers in the palace, but at other times they were free to go about the building as they pleased. He was wondering if Maria was standing on the portico and watching the kora kora head out to sea.

  ‘Good morning. How are you?’ The question startled him. Prince Jainalabidin had emerged from the little hut-like cabin behind him and was addressing him in halting Spanish.

  Hector overcame his surprise. He guessed the boy had received lessons from Maria. Clearly the youngster had a good ear and a quick intelligence. Here, at last, was a chance to find out how she was.

  ‘Your Highness speaks Spanish well. His teacher will be pleased.’

  The lad flashed him a smile. ‘You are her man, yes?’

  Hector had not expected Maria to have talked about him with her pupil. He felt a thrill of pleasure that she had done so.

  ‘Is Maria well?’ he asked.

  ‘My sisters her friends.’

  The boy reached into a fold of his robe. ‘She say me to give you this,’ he said and pressed a scrap of paper into Hector’s hand.

  Hector felt the blood rush to his head as he scanned the few lines of writing:

  Dearest Hector,

  I hear that you are well and that Captain Vlucht and the Hollanders have gone, but Dan and our other friends remain. I long to see you. News comes to me at second hand, and I am told that you will soon be leaving on an expedition of war. The prince speaks much about all of you and has agreed to give you this note. He is a good boy. Make sure that you come back safe, and that he does also. Do not worry about me for I am in good health, my days are comfortable and I will be waiting for your return. You have my love.

  Maria.

  The prince was watching for his reaction. Hector gave him a grateful look. ‘Thank you for bringing me this note. It has made me very happy.’

  ‘We come back, we have a . . .’ The lad’s voice trailed away as he searched for the right word. He beckoned to Mansur and spoke to him in his own language.

  ‘His Highness says that his father the Sultan has promised him a great victory celebration on his return to Pehko,’ Mansur translated for him.

  ‘My companions and I will do everything we can to make sure of that victory,’ Hector replied. He was not at all sure the expedition would be a success, and it felt very strange to be under the command of a child. He wondered again what the penalty would be if the expedition turned out to be a disaster.

  THE WRECK OF the Westflinge came in view shortly before midday. The ship still lay crumpled across the reef. Even at a distance, it was clear that her back was now broken. The tall, narrow stern of the vessel had become detached and drifted a short distance from the rest of the hull, which was still impaled on the coral where she’d been abandoned. At the waterline the midships section had bulged, bursting open like a rotten melon. There was no sign of any of the three masts. They must have toppled overboard and been carried away by the current. The gnawing of the tide and the action of waves had searched out the wreck’s weaknesses and were prising her apart. There were breaches in her sides through which daylight showed. In places the planks had cracked off short, leaving jagged ends. The remaining timbers were dappled with blotches of black fungus.

  The kora kora approached cautiously, a lookout in the bows searching for a clear passage between the coral heads, the paddlers barely dipping their blades into the water. Eventually, a hundred paces from the remains of the Westflinge, the lookout called a halt. The kora kora could approach no closer without risking her own fragile hull.

  ‘Hector, let us see if we can get at those guns. Best keep your boots on, or the coral will cut your feet,’ Dan advised. He was already pulling off his shirt, and a moment later was clambering down the outrigger struts and lowering himself into the warm, pale-green water. Hector followed him, and together they half-waded, half-swam towards the wreck. As they floundered forward, they could hear the suck and gurgle of the tide washing through the gaping holes in the Westflinge’s side, and caught the flicker of small, brightly coloured fish that clustered near the hull, feeding on the growth of weed.

  They came close enough to the wreck and circled round so that they could climb in through the open stern. Dan reached up and took hold of a plank’s end to pull himself inside. As he tugged, the plank broke off and he slipped back with a splash. He regained his feet and looked down at the fragment of wood still in his grasp. ‘Now we know why we couldn’t find any leak,’ he said. He held out the timber to show to his friend. The three-inch-thick piece of wood was riddled with passageways the thickness of a straw. Dotted amongst the passageways were small, pale shelly grubs smaller than a fingernail. Looking closer, Hector saw they were tiny, burrowing animals, each with a spiral-shaped head like a miniature drill.

  ‘Shipworm,’ declared Dan. ‘The hull is consumed with them. I am amazed she stayed afloat as long as she did. She must have been leaking in dozens of places.’

  He reached out again and snapped off another chunk of wood. It came away in his hand like a section of honeycomb. Grimacing with disgust, he threw it into the sea. ‘In another couple of years there’ll be nothing left of her on this reef, except a few iron bolts and a pile of ballast stones.’

  ‘Not many of them, either. We dumped most of the ballast overboard,’ Hector reminded him.

/>   Together they climbed through the opening and found themselves in the aft section of the hold. The water was up to their knees, and there was a reek of decay in the half-lit belly of the ship. Small, grey crabs scuttled up the curved frames of the hulk and fled into dark cracks in the timber as they waded carefully towards the companionway leading up to the deck. They trod gingerly. The footing was uneven where sections of plank had buckled inwards, and layers of seaweed and slime made the footing treacherous. They climbed the companionway – half the steps were missing – and emerged on the decaying deck. Skirting around the more obviously rotten patches, they made their way to the starboard gunwale. There, still lashed down to ring bolts, was one of the two cannon they’d kept back. Dan tapped the barrel. ‘That is lucky. Brass,’ he said. ‘Old-fashioned, but more durable. If it had been iron, we could have had a problem with the weight.’

  Hector was looking at a coat of arms cast into the metal of the barrel. A large letter V impaled the letters O and C. ‘The crest of the Dutch East India Company,’ he said. ‘I wonder how Vlucht got his hands on it.’

  ‘Probably looted it from some luckless Company ship. I reckon he was as much a pirate as he was an interloper.’

  The Miskito circled the gun muzzle with his hands, gauging the size. ‘Five-pounder, or thereabouts,’ he commented. He rubbed away the dirt from the touch-hole. ‘Nothing here that some careful attention cannot fix. We’ll need the right tools, and some round shot. Let’s see if we can find a wormer.’

  They searched what remained of the vessel above water. In the forecastle Hector located the gunner’s stores. There was a wormer with a threaded head, which Dan would need in order to clean out the barrel after firing, a powder ladle, three heavy spikes to use as levers for moving the gun, and a rammer.

  ‘No sign of a sponge?’ asked Dan as Hector brought out these tools and set them down beside the cannon.

  ‘No, but there’s a box of wads that should fit.’

  ‘We will need those. We can always wrap some wet cloth around the butt end of the rammer to make a sponge.’

  ‘There was another tool – a rod with a set of springy claws at one end. But I left it behind.’

  ‘That will be a searcher for checking for cracks inside the barrel. No use to us, as we could not mend any flaws even if we found them. We’ll have to take a chance that the guns are sound. Did you manage to locate any round shot?’

  ‘No.’

  Dan looked serious. ‘That’s odd. We can load the two little lantaka with musket balls and pebbles, but if we want to use the big cannon against a stockade, we need to have the right-sized shot.’

  ‘Maybe these guns were just for show,’ said Hector.

  Dan thrust an arm down the barrel. ‘I can feel the wad, though it’s soggy and damp. Behind it there’s the ball. I’d say he was a captain who preferred to leave the guns charged and shotted in case they were needed in a hurry.’

  He withdrew his arm and together they crossed the sloping deck and investigated the second cannon. It, too, was ready-loaded. ‘Are you sure you’ve looked everywhere for a shot locker?’ Dan asked.

  ‘There’s nothing. I guess Vlucht was too mean to keep proper artillery stores,’ said Hector.

  ‘No point in salvaging two cannon when we have only two rounds of shot to fire from them. One cannon will have to do,’ said Dan.

  Hector looked across at the kora kora, still hove-to fifty paces away on the fringe of the reef, unable to come closer. ‘How do you propose to do that?’ he enquired doubtfully.

  ‘Ask the Omoro to build a raft on-shore, and then come out at high tide and take this gun off.’

  They waded their way back to the war canoe where Prince Jainalabidin’s face lit up with excitement when Hector explained how Dan wanted to proceed. The boy spoke rapidly to the chamberlain.

  ‘The prince says that we Omoro know all about building rafts,’ translated Mansur. ‘We use them for fishing in the river. His Highness says that he can order his men to have a raft ready in less than three hours, and they will remove the cannon from the wreck by nightfall.’

  Hector hid his doubts that the work could be done so quickly. ‘Then, with His Highness’ permission, I suggest that Jezreel and Dan go back to the Westflinge and get the cannon ready. Jacques and I will stay in case we can be of assistance.’

  The kora kora shifted to the same creek where the Westflinge’s castaways had earlier set up their camp, and soon Hector had to admit that he’d underestimated the Omoro. Her crew divided into teams and disappeared into the jungle. Within half an hour one squad returned carrying stalks of giant bamboo, six inches in diameter and thirty feet long. They stripped off the leaves, and then used their heavy knives to shave away the hard, shiny outer skin. This, according to Mansur, meant that the lashings of the raft would grip. Meanwhile another team had reappeared with lengths of rattan and split the vines lengthwise. When all the materials were ready, the entire workforce set about fastening the bamboos side by side with the rattan strips, then attaching cross-braces to give the raft its shape. By mid-afternoon they had pushed the raft into the water and, with Hector and Mansur aboard, were propelling it towards the wreck of the Westflinge.

  They found that Dan and Jezreel had used the hand-spikes to manoeuvre the brass gun to the edge of the deck and had unbolted the trunnion caps that held the weapon to its carriage. Jainalabidin’s men looped a length of rattan around the gun while their colleagues on the raft rigged spare bamboos to make a simple crane. Taking advantage of a slight uprise on the swell, the cannon was lifted from its carriage, swung across the gap and lowered safely on to the raft. Minutes later, the gun’s wooden carriage followed.

  ‘Neatly done,’ said Jezreel approvingly. With a round shot in each hand, he stepped across to the raft. Dan and Hector gathered up the rammer and hand-spikes and the box of wads and followed him.

  THREE DAYS LATER Hector found himself gazing up at Haar, the chief town of the Sugala and the residence of their Rajah. He could see why the Omoro had failed to subdue their rivals. Haar was perched on a headland jutting from the coast. Cliffs, 200 feet high, protected it on three sides, and the only approach from the sea was by a footpath cut into the steep bluff, which faced over the stony landing beach. The fishermen there had taken to their heels and scampered up the path to the town the moment they’d seen the war canoe approaching.

  Hector flinched as a musket bullet splashed into the water close by. The Sugala were firing off occasional warning shots at the kora kora as it cruised slowly past the deserted landing place. But the range was too far for any accuracy.

  ‘Boom, boom!’ Prince Jainalabidin made enthusiastic artillery noises and pointed excitedly, first at the lantaka and then at the brass cannon, still on its raft being towed behind the kora kora.

  Hector shook his head. With just two rounds of shot in their armoury, it would achieve nothing to lob a cannonball at the town on the crest of the headland. ‘We must get closer for our guns to be effective. We have to attack the town from the land,’ he explained to the chamberlain.

  ‘That will be dangerous,’ Mansur cautioned. ‘On the landward side Haar is protected by a stout palisade of tree trunks, and the Rajah’s people keep the jungle cut back so that their musketeers have a clear shot at any attackers. The ground there is flat and level, with nowhere to hide. Last time we had two men wounded when they got too close.’

  ‘We don’t have any choice, if we want to use our cannon,’ Hector answered.

  The older man looked unconvinced. ‘There’s no way to get the large gun up there. The hillsides are very steep and covered with thick forest, and the only track to the summit follows the bed of a stream. In many places you are obliged to scramble knee-deep in the water.’

  Hector forced himself to sound cheerful. ‘Then we must turn that into an advantage. The Sugala will never expect us to bring cannon up that route. So they won’t try to intercept us. They’ll stay behind their palisade and wait for us to go away.
We’ll give them an unpleasant surprise.’ He turned to Prince Jainalabidin and said in slow, careful Spanish, ‘Your Highness, can your men bring the big gun through the jungle and up behind the town?’

  The boy bit his lip, and cast an anxious look towards the chamberlain. It was clear that, for the first time, he was being asked to overrule his father’s minister in a major decision. Mansur translated Hector’s words so that there should be no misunderstanding. After a brief silence the prince said proudly, ‘Of course. My men will do what I ask them.’

  Hector felt ashamed that he’d taken advantage of the prince’s youthful bravado.

  ‘Then I suggest we land the cannon out of sight of the Sugala, so they have no idea what we’re doing,’ he said.

  Mansur seemed to have accepted his prince’s decision. ‘There’s a small bay just around that spit of land over there. We’ve used it before as a campsite.’

  He shouted an order and the paddlers began to turn the kora kora, heading away from Haar. As they retreated, they heard a final flurry of musket shots and a faint jeering from the defenders.

  ‘They’ve plenty of gunpowder to waste,’ commented Jezreel drily.

  ‘Probably got it from that same trader who sold it to the Sultan,’ said Hector. He was watching the coast ahead. He could already see the spit of land behind which the kora kora could shelter. ‘Jezreel, I think I should go ahead, while you and the others supervise the landing of the cannon. I want to scout that footpath we’ll be using. See if it’s as bad as Mansur claims, or if there’s some way we can get the five-pounder along it.’

  LEAVING THE OTHERS on the beach, Hector headed inland. He had gone barely twenty yards when he began to appreciate just how difficult it would be to haul the cannon uphill. Had it not been for his guide, an Omoro warrior who had taken part in the previous expedition against Haar, he would never have guessed there was any sort of footpath through the jungle. He lost all sense of direction as he shouldered his way through thickets where the plants grew head-high, and his guide led him around the tangled roots of fallen trees piled awkwardly across one another. When that was impossible, he had to scramble over their massive rotting trunks, his hands sliding on the greasy coating of damp moss. Everywhere the ground was soggy, each footfall squelching into the thick layer of leaf mould. It was obvious the thick, eight-inch solid wooden wheels of the brass cannon’s carriage, designed to roll on a ship’s deck, would bog down and be useless in the jungle.