‘I could have you flogged,’ David informed him.
‘Yes, sir, you could,’ Chaney agreed, not looking at all concerned.
They had taken the Dancer out of the dockyard and set her bowsprit towards the west. They would pass south of Nevis and St. Kitts and then set a course for Jamaica.
The little schooner raced along enjoying the strong breeze over her starboard quarter.
David wrapped the sheet round his waist and sat on the rail, letting the wind dry him. He had been too embarrassed to use the bathhouse in the dockyard, not wanting the news of his scratches to get around.
When the admiral had sent for him, he had thought he knew of his wife’s latest indiscretion and had entered the office in trepidation.
The voyage continued for the following days in fine style; the sun shone, the breeze held steady and the schooner proved faster than any ship David had sailed in to date. Each evening the crew sat on deck and ate their supper under a million stars. As David looked at his crew, he thought of his mother and her question of so long ago: do you want to join the navy? At the time he had said yes but was not really sure; now he knew he wanted no other life.
Captain Fletcher and his whole crew enjoyed being free of supervision in a fine little ship in perfect weather.
They stood well clear of the Spanish islands, although David decided they would close with them and try to gather information on enemy movements on the way back.
The Dancer anchored in Port Royal, having completed a fast passage, one full day ahead of schedule.
As David was rowed ashore his feeling of wellbeing remained. The bay was flat calm, the breeze having fallen away as the Dancer had crept up to her anchorage.
All around the town the countryside was many colours of green, some almost looked blue. The huts and little stalls, selling strange-looking vegetables, huddled against the fortifications contrasting with the grey stone.
The gig pulled alongside a wooden jetty and as David climbed up, a small boy asked, ‘Is that your schooner, mister?’
Looking back at the Dancer standing above her reflection, Captain Fletcher gave a broad grin and replied, ‘Yes, it is.’
Two soldiers stood guard at the entrance to the fort, their red coats almost garish in the bright sunlight. As David approached, a third, wearing a corporal’s stripes, stepped out of what David assumed was the guard house.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked.
‘I seek Major Darcy,’ David told him.
‘Right you are, sir.’ The corporal smiled. ‘Through to the second courtyard and the door is straight ahead of you.’
David thanked the man and walked into the shade; after the sunlight it was almost dark. Finding the door standing open, David knocked and walked in.
Four army officers sat round a table; the oldest stood and came round to greet David.
‘You must be Lieutenant Fletcher,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘We saw you arrive. I’m Darcy.’
Sitting again Darcy introduced the other officers.
‘Lieutenant Bolton of the garrison, Lieutenant Thompson of the king’s engineers and Lieutenant Clark of the 43rd. The three of us are to improve the defences on St. Kitts,’ he explained. ‘Once you have got us there.
Would you like a glass of port?’
David declined. He thought nine in the morning a little early for port.
‘I must leave you, gentlemen,’ Bolton said, walking to the door. ‘Pleasant voyage, Lieutenant.’
As the men talked of the coming war and the likelihood of France attempting to invade England, David studied the army officers. Darcy was old for his rank; he looked all of fifty, the engineer perhaps thirty-five and Clark no more than twenty.
Darcy was heavyset and carried the authority of command.
Thompson said little and seemed bored by the conversation as if he had heard it all before. Clark, however, seemed excited and never took his eyes from David’s face. A tall, good-looking boy with striking black eyelashes, he seemed on the verge of saying something. At last, as if he could restrain himself no longer, he said, ‘I believe you are the officer who was attacked by the pirate Carter.’
All looked at David and waited for his reply. ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘That was me.’
The boy’s eyes shone. ‘Is the story of the gold also true?’ he asked.
‘I believe so,’ David said. ‘Although I have never seen it.’
Major Darcy leaned forward. ‘Now that is interesting,’ he said. ‘As I’m sure you realize, I’m a guard’s officer and some years ago I was called to two murders whilst serving at the Tower of London. Both were savage, the victims cut to pieces. The first was a bargeman; the second a magistrate. The murderer, I believed, was a street boy by the name of John Carter. He would be about your age or a little older. We never found him. Tell me, what does this pirate look like?’
David stared at him. ‘Where was this bargeman murdered?’ he asked.
‘Dutchman’s Wharf. Back of a pub called the General’s Arms.’
‘One of my uncle’s barge captains was murdered in the yard of the General’s Arms. I went with him to bring back the barge. Could it be that this pirate has been that close to me all my life?’ David asked.
‘Well, at least for the past seven or eight years,’ Darcy replied. ‘Now tell us, what does he look like?’
‘Handsome, tall, with very black hair and very white teeth,’ David told him. The picture from his nightmares was strong in his mind’s eye.
‘How old?’ Darcy demanded.
David looked at him. ‘He would be about my age.’
Darcy showed strong teeth in a crooked smile. ‘It’s the same bastard.’
Somehow the sun was not so bright, the world not such a wonderful place as David walked back to his gig. He felt he was back in the real world, a world where evil people lived and prospered.
On board the Dancer David looked again at his crew: fourteen seamen, six marines, Peterson, himself, a master’s mate and now three soldiers. Twenty-six men in all. The pirate could have two or three times that many. Would he be able to draw the pirates into the Trojan’s trap or would they all die because of his arrogance?
The following morning Darcy and his two fellow officers were brought onto the Dancer. David Fletcher sailed as soon as they were settled on board. The breeze now held from the north, not quite a beam reach but free enough to make for easy sailing. The first night at sea as they sat at the evening meal, Lieutenant Clark spoke quietly to David.
‘Captain,’ he began. ‘This Farmer’s Island is on our route, is it not?’
‘Not exactly,’ David replied.
‘But not too far off,’ the boy persisted.
‘Not too far,’ David agreed.
‘The gold must still be there,’ Clark enthused. ‘Why not stop and search once more? Are we not ahead of schedule?’
‘What if the pirate is there?’ David asked. ‘What then?’
‘You have a fast ship,’ Clark argued. ‘If he is there then we take him or run back to the navy.’
The next night Clark again argued for searching for the gold; this time Darcy and Thompson agreed with him.
‘This is not some common pirate,’ David told them. ‘He is a madman who takes pleasure in inflicting pain. He loves the sight of blood.’ Finally, he stood and opened his shirt showing his scars. ‘This is what he does for pleasure,’ he told them.
‘Look,’ said Darcy. ‘I can understand your reluctance, but you can stay on board the ship; we will search the island.’
David was stunned by the suggestion that he was a coward. ‘Very well,’ he shouted. ‘We will go to Farmer’s Island and on your heads be it.’
Thirty-six hours later the island hove over the horizon. David, who was still smarting from the insult he felt he had been given, took charge of the three soldiers.
‘I know your rank,’ he told them, ‘but you will do this my way. You will form with Sergeant Chaney’s marines and you wi
ll all carry muskets at all times. You will command nine men, Major Darcy, and you will keep your men together whilst you are on the island.
‘I will take an equal number of seamen, which will leave eight men to guard the ship. They will load the cannon with grape and rig boarding nets.
Any boat that approaches the ship without good warning will be fired on.’
The bay at Farmer’s Island looked unchanged, the houses just a little more overgrown. As the boats were pulled back to the ship, David led the way inland.
They intended to begin their search from the first hiding place where the three bodies had been found. The marines would then move directly south whilst David and his seamen would move to the shore and then also move south. All this ground had been covered before, but this time they intended to move slowly, determined to miss nothing.
By the time dusk began to fall, about a mile and a half had been covered. As the men sat on the beach, waiting for the boats, Darcy and David made plans for the next day.
‘Perhaps we should send the boats to the south bay,’ Darcy suggested. ‘Half the men could carry on south whilst the rest move back towards them.’
David refused. ‘The men stick together,’ he said. ‘For all I know, Carter is watching us at this very moment.’
‘No one has been seen,’ Clark exclaimed. ‘Where would he be?’
David pointed to the hills to the south. ‘Up there,’ he said. ‘Carter could know this island like the back of his hand.’
‘He can’t fly,’ Clark muttered. ‘He still needs a ship.’
The next day was much the same and by the time evening came the men had lost a lot of their enthusiasm.
‘Let’s sleep ashore,’ Darcy suggested. ‘That way we can get a better start in the morning.’
‘My men sleep on the ship,’ David replied. ‘You can do as you wish.’
The following morning as David stepped onto the beach, he was met by an alarmed-looking Darcy.
‘Clark is gone,’ he cried. ‘He was here last night, but at first light this morning he was gone.’
‘Where would the fool go?’ David demanded.
‘He was sure the gold was near the south bay; he might have gone there. We must go and find him.’ Darcy pointed towards the hills.
David turned to his men. ‘Sergeant Chaney, take your men and accompany Major Darcy to the south. Keep together and walk, give me time.
‘I will take the Dancer to the south bay and work back up towards you.’
Once back on board the schooner, they quickly got underway.
‘Should I draw the charges from the guns?’ Peterson asked.
‘No, leave them loaded with grape and refit the boarding nets as soon as we enter the bay,’ David replied.
As the Dancer gathered way, David called a young seaman to him. A lad of eighteen years, James Pitt came from a farming community in Kent and was said to have the best eyes on the ship.
‘Pitt, you will go to the main hounds,’ David ordered. ‘Watch for any sign of a ship on the horizon or a longboat inshore and when we arrive in the bay stay aloft. Watch the tree line. Take a pistol with you and if you see anything at all, fire your pistol.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ the boy replied and ran off down the deck.
Before entering through the reef, David took the Dancer past the bay, in order to see under both headlands; seeing nothing untoward he then gibed ship and entered the bay.
Once anchored, they launched a boat and then rigged the boarding nets.
As they pulled for the beach the bow man in David’s boat called out, ‘Marks in the sand, sir.’
‘Pull towards them,’ David ordered.
Mr. Tailor knelt in the sand. ‘It’s a longboat’s keel mark for sure,’ he said. ‘The edges are still sharp, not more than a few hours old and boot marks leading into the tree line and coming back.’
‘We will follow them,’ David decided. He turned to Peterson. ‘Go back to the ship and keep your men on deck. I want all hands on lookout.’
As they set off inland, David had them all check their priming and form an arrow formation.
After they had been walking for an hour he called a halt. Tailor gave the opinion that they should spread out. ‘We could walk straight past him like this,’ he said. Reluctantly David agreed but before they could start again a gunshot was heard ahead of them. Breaking into a run they were almost immediately challenged by one of Chaney’s marines.
‘In the clearing, sir,’ he called. ‘It’s terrible.’
They came out of the woodland into a grassy hollow, the edges of which were guarded by the marines. Chaney and Darcy knelt beside the remains of Lieutenant Clark.
The naked young man was spread out, his hands and feet tied to stakes driven into the ground. His face, unmarked, was frozen into a mask of agony. The bones of his chest were white against the flesh and blood, his entrails were spread across his legs.
Darcy stared at David in shock. ‘I owe you an apology,’ he said. ‘This is the work of a mad animal.’
David swallowed the bile in his throat. ‘Bury him quickly,’ he said. ‘We must get out of here.’
As they stood in silence on the beach, waiting for the boats, it was hard to believe that all was calm and peaceful. The quiet bay seemed unreal after the sight they had just witnessed.
On arriving back on board, David ordered the ship got underway. ‘Enough of this stupidity,’ he said. ‘We sail for St. Kitts and then back to Antigua. I have to explain all this to the admiral.’
‘I will write a report stating that this was all done against your wishes,’ Darcy promised.
‘Whatever,’ David replied. ‘I am the captain; the responsibility is mine.’ He walked to his cabin.
*
‘Where did the damned pirate go?’ Peterson asked. ‘If he was there, why not attack us? Every time anybody has met him before, he has come at them like a man possessed.’
‘I don’t know, sir.’ Chaney ran his fingers through his hair. ‘But he must have left the bay only two or so hours before we arrived. The boy’s flesh was hardly dry.’
The discussion was one they had had many times before and now as they watched the headland of Falmouth Harbour slide past the larboard beam, they could still find no answer.
The Dancer rounded up and dropped anchor half a cable east of the frigate Mercury.
‘Well, she’s arrived,’ Chaney said. ‘Now we can get on with catching the bastard.’
As David watched the gig being lowered, Seaman Pitt came up to him. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said. ‘Can I have a word?’
David smiled at him. ‘Yes, Pitt, what is it?’
‘Well, sir.’ Pitt looked embarrassed. ‘I think I might know where the gold is.’
CHAPTER 11
The voyage back to Farmer’s Island seemed to take forever. John cursed at his crew and strode about the deck like a man possessed. Every foul breeze made his mood worse. At last the island hove up over the horizon and John took the ketch straight into the south bay. Storming on board the brig, he took Owen and the Indian into the aft cabin.
‘I want men in the hills above the dockyard in Antigua,’ he said. ‘Four men taking turns to watch. If they see that damned schooner or this frigate Mercury, I want to know.’ He turned to the Indian. ‘Seven men to come with me on board the ketch. The brig goes north; hide her in the islands east of Tortola, you know the place. Once this stupid game is played out, I’ll let the little prick chase me to your position. Then we will see the colour of his blood.’
‘Should we not come with you?’ Owen asked.
‘No.’ Carter looked at him. ‘You will keep this scum in check and make sure my orders are obeyed.’
‘The men are not happy; they fear we will be found. Also the stores are going down.’
‘Tell them anything you like, just keep them in line. Once we take the schooner, we will start again in a different place.’
Owen looked at him. ‘Can we not go now, fo
rget this schooner?’
‘No.’ John’s eyes flashed. Owen said no more.
As soon as his arrangements were made, Carter took the ketch back towards Antigua. Under cover of darkness he slipped inside the reef, west of the dockyard, and landed with four men. He sent the ketch out to sea with orders to stand well clear.
It took most of the night to get into position on the hillside overlooking Falmouth Harbour.
‘You stay below the skyline and light no fires on the east-facing slope of the hill. If the schooner or the frigate arrives you show two lanterns to seaward each night, for one hour at midnight. When they leave, you show three, same time as before, and then I’ll pick you up.
Do you understand?’ he demanded.
‘Yes,’ his men replied in unison.
After putting on his priest’s robe, Carter set off down the hill. The morning was warm and he was soon sweating freely. He had to reach the road leading inland before he was seen.
His luck once again held fair when a cart loaded with hay stopped beside him.
‘Would you like a ride, Father?’ the elderly driver asked.
‘Thank you, my son,’ said Carter as he climbed on board.
‘You’re a long way from anywhere, Father,’ the man commented.
‘I am,’ said John. ‘A poor soul departed last night. I sat with her until the end and when I came out my mule had wandered off. I’ve spent the morning looking for her.’
‘I’ve to deliver this load of hay to the dockyard, Father; you’re welcome to ride back with me when it’s offloaded.’
‘God will bless you.’ John smiled.
The harbour, when it came into sight, was empty except for a sixty-four anchored close to the north headland.
‘Will that be the frigate I was told was expected?’ John asked.
‘Bless you, no, Father,’ the man replied. ‘That’s a sixty-four, the Mercury is not due for another two weeks at least.’
‘Really,’ said John. ‘I know nothing of military matters. When I was last here there was a pretty little ship sailing around with two masts but none of those big square sails.’
By the Knife Page 14