Chaney had spread the mattress from David’s cot on the deck, under an awning. The captain could lie on his stomach and still see the shoreline. Like this David spent the forenoon.
As time went on David began to sweat heavily; the pain in his leg had become a constant throbbing and he was twice sick on the deck.
‘You should go below, Captain,’ the marine said when he brought him some water.
‘It’s alright,’ David told him. ‘Sit down beside me,
Chaney,’ he said. ‘That’s at least twice you have saved my life. I’m very much in your debt.
Is there something I can do for you?’
The marine thought for a moment. ‘Well, sir,’ he said. ‘You could try to prevent me having to guard a gate again and perhaps let me have a go with the next dirty old lady you find.’
‘I’m serious, Chaney.’ David grinned. ‘What about your family, could we help them?’
‘I have no family, sir, unless you count the women in the workhouse and I didn’t much like them.’
‘Well, if you think of something, come and tell me.’
‘I will, sir,’ Chaney said, getting to his feet. ‘I can see Mr. Peterson coming back, sir.’
CHAPTER 13
The brig moved slowly through the islands; the wind that had aided their escape had now dropped to a gentle breeze. They had, however, come far enough, putting over sixty miles between them and the resting place of the Good Fortune. The pumps laboured constantly. A rock halfway through the west channel had split a garboard plank and almost ended any chance of freedom.
The Indian sailed south. Carter had talked of going east, but Teema knew nothing of that; he would go south down to the great jungle lands beyond the islands. There they would be safe. The crew were not happy. No gold, no provisions and the rum getting low. They were also afraid. If Carter died, they would rise up.
Teema walked aft to the cabin. John Carter lay in his cot. Since the Indian had brought him aboard, he had not regained his senses. Taking a knife, he cut away the pirate’s clothing; first, he would attend to the leg. Broken by the ketch’s boom, it had been released only when the boom had floated off. Blood and torn skin hid the real damage. Teema felt the broken bone. Putting his foot into Carter’s groin, he took hold of the foot and pulled. The bone ends came together but then slid apart. Taking a firmer grip he changed his angle on the foot and pulled the bones back into line as much as he could.
This time they stayed. Using strips torn from Carter’s britches, he bound the leg to an axe handle. With Carter’s shirt, he bound up the wounds.
Next he removed the remains of Carter’s right eye and plugged the socket with oakum.
The gashes to the right side of Carter’s head and face he pulled together and stitched with tarred twine. He didn’t bother washing the blood from his patient or changing the bedding, which was both wet and bloody.
Teema sat back and admired his work. He ran his hand over Carter’s stomach, the white skin where the sun never touched; it had always fascinated him.
If the pirate died, Teema would eat the important parts of his body and so, in the belief of his tribe, take the man’s strength. If he lived, the Indian would follow him to whatever came next. Better to live as a pirate than to sit in Jamaica or to go back to his tribe. He was not sure his tribe would have him back. The reason he had left in the first place was a blood feud with one of the tribe elders. When they had visited to attack the Spanish he had cut the man’s throat.
CHAPTER 14
The voyage back to Antigua was easy, with good weather and a fair breeze.
Peterson took the Dancer into the dockyard and anchored in the creek above the hard. In the time it had taken to arrive back, David’s condition had steadily worsened. He kept drifting in and out of delirium. Once they had anchored, however, he insisted that he was carried ashore by Chaney and one of his marines and propped up in front of the flag lieutenant’s desk. His face was pasty white, sweat flowed down his brow. Pierce looked at him in wonder.
‘Good god, David,’ he said. ‘Not again. Every time you come back you are cut up by this damned pirate.
Did you at least kill him this time?’
David looked at him. ‘I did, sir, he went down with his ketch.’
‘Good.’ Pierce smiled. ‘No sign of any gold I imagine.’
David grinned. ‘Just a little, sir.’ He placed a small gold bar on the desk.
Pierce leapt to his feet. ‘My god, Fletcher,’ he said. ‘How much of it?’
‘One hundred and fifty-five sacks,’ David replied. ‘With about ten bars to a sack.’
‘Where is it?’ was the next question.
‘On board the Dancer, sir, anchored just above the dockyard,’ Fletcher told him.
The next few days were an anticlimax. The Dancer was taken alongside the Orion, Admiral Keyton’s flagship, and the gold transferred.
David was back in the same room he had been in with his last set of injuries and once again the Orion’s surgeon was poking him about.
‘Who did this stitching?’ he asked.
‘My marine sergeant,’ David told him.
‘Let’s hope his musket work is better than his needlework. If you stay still, I’ll take them out in a week or two.’
As the surgeon left, Chaney came in. ‘Mr. Phelps has just brought the Mercury into the harbour, sir,’ he said.
That’s strange, David thought. He was going on north.
It was Chaney, as always, who brought the news that the brig had escaped.
That evening Phelps came and sat with David and told him they had searched the sound to no avail. ‘There’s a shallow channel to the west,’ he said. ‘Not much water in it, but I guess they were desperate.’
‘Did you find Carter’s body?’ David asked.
‘No,’ Phelps told him. ‘But we couldn’t find any bodies that we could recognize. Don’t worry, he’s dead.’
To David’s surprise Admiral Keyton came to see him the next day. ‘I just wanted to congratulate you in person,’ he told David.
‘I’m taking the Orion north. We have big things in the works. I will send the gold to London in the Mercury; you will go with her and take both our reports to the admiralty.’
It took five days for all to be ready for the Mercury to sail and then a lookout on the heights spied a sail on the horizon.
‘Three masts, looks like a Spanish frigate,’ Phelps told David. ‘The admiral wants us to wait until it’s well clear.’
The next day, however, the ship was seen again.
‘The island’s alive with the story of the pirate and his gold,’ Peterson said as he sat by David’s bed. ‘You can bet the dons have heard of it. That ship could be waiting for you to leave.’
‘So we fight a frigate,’ David said. ‘What’s the problem?’
Peterson laughed. ‘With a hold full of gold, sir, the sea lords would have a heart attack.’
Not wishing to delay any longer, Admiral Keyton decided to send the Orion to chase the Spaniard away.
‘Once she is clear, you sail, Phelps,’ he ordered.
‘You have to go north to catch a breeze for England anyway, so make your best speed and stand well clear of the islands.’
David was carried on board the frigate by Chaney and his marines in a distinctly undignified manner and placed face down on a cot in the chart space. From there he could see nothing of what was happening. On hearing that the Orion was leaving, he struggled to the door and hopped to the companionway.
A marine guarding the captain’s cabin door tried to help and finally took David on his back and climbed to the deck with him. Phelps, seeing his arrival, told the man to put him on the raised poop.
‘You seem to have an effect on marines, David.’ He smiled. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t bring yours with you.’
‘They were sent into the Trojan,’ David told him, ‘with Captain Charles.’
The Orion had raised sail and cleared the headland.
‘I’ll wait for a signal from the heights,’ Phelps told him, ‘and then off to merry England.’
In fact, it was nightfall before the Mercury slipped out of the harbour and headed north. The breeze had dropped light, but she made good way during the night. With the daylight the trade wind returned and sent them fast on their way.
Keeping clear of the islands Phelps crammed on sail and the Mercury flew, sending spray halfway up her main course. The impression of power held David in awe as always. The sky was clear blue, except for a few scattered white clouds, and the sun shone. To Lieutenant Fletcher this was paradise.
As the Mercury swept north, the sky began to turn from blue to grey, the cloud became solid-looking and rain squalls could be seen in the distance. The wind veered to the north and then northwest. The swell that had been on the starboard bow followed the wind and was soon on the larboard beam.
‘Time to turn for home,’ Phelps called happily and set his course to the east-northeast.
For two days the weather sent them on in fine style.
On the third morning, however, a sail was sighted to the south.
‘What is she?’ Phelps called to the masthead.
‘A frigate,’ came the reply. As the day wore on a second sail was seen astern of the first. ‘The first one flies Spanish colours,’ the lookout reported.
‘As does the second, I’ll wager,’ Phelps muttered.
In the cabin Phelps checked his charts. ‘The Spanish want their gold back,’ he told David. ‘
I’ll turn due east; sailing free, we’ll get more speed out of her.’
That night they once again turned north, but in the morning the Spaniards were still there, just closer.
Once again, when night fell, the Mercury changed course. This time they steered southeast. ‘If we can get back past them, they won’t see us again,’ Phelps told his officers.
For some time it seemed to have worked, but mid-morning on the following day a frigate was sighted to the west. Again they turned east and just before nightfall the second frigate was seen to the north.
‘If this breeze drops, we could be in trouble,’ David spoke his thoughts aloud, ‘and the further we go south the more likely that is.’
‘True,’ said Phelps. ‘We need to get back north past the second frigate. When it’s good and dark we could judge it well and tack under his stern, gain the weather gage and perhaps even hit him with a broadside or two in passing.’
‘That would mean sailing almost northwest. How’s the wind?’ David asked.
‘Just west of north.’ Phelps grinned. ‘We could just do it.’
As soon as it was dark Phelps sent his men to quarters; he had taken careful bearings on the Spanish ship in the fading light. She was some four miles distant. ‘If the don keeps his course and we sail as close hauled as she will stand, this might just work.’ Phelps grinned. ‘
Now run out your starboard battery and no noise.’
Once all was ready the Mercury bore up and tacked and with her yards almost fore and aft she drove towards the Spanish ship, or where it should be if all went well.
David was wedged against the larboard poop ladder. He could hang on to the railing and keep his right foot up off the deck. The list of the ship kept him pressed against the woodwork. He was, however, on the leeward side of the ship and so his view was somewhat restricted. Time seemed to pass slowly and he was about to struggle up the steps to see what was happening when he heard Phelps order the helm put down and there was the Spanish frigate rushing past the starboard side.
‘Wait,’ Phelps shouted. ‘Wait,’ and then he screamed, ‘Fire,’ and the starboard battery fired a solid broadside into the unprepared Spanish ship. ‘Reload.’ The gun crews worked franticly, but the ships were passed before they could fire again. ‘Tack ship,’ the order came and up went the helm.
David remembered his last frigate action; on that occasion the Spaniard had followed them round. This time, however, the enemy held his course and
Mercury forged across his wake as gun after gun fired its iron into his stern.
‘Damn this gold,’ Phelps laughed. ‘We could have had that ship as a prize.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t,’ David told him.
‘I’m under orders not to engage any enemy shipping whilst the gold is on board. Still we gave him some food for thought.’
‘How much damage do you think we did him?’ David asked.
‘Not enough,’ Phelps told him.
The Mercury now sailed almost northeast.
‘We will hold this course for the next few days; that should get us back where we belong.’ Phelps passed the order to his sailing master.
The next morning, however, both Spanish frigates were seen in the distance astern.
David was surprised. ‘The dons don’t usually ignore our iron like that,’ he told the Mercury’s first lieutenant, a young man from Cornwall called Randall.
‘It’s the gold.’ The man grinned. ‘They will follow us to the gates of hell for that damned gold.’
Once again Phelps changed course after dark and once again the Spanish were still there the following morning.
For a further seven days the stern chase continued; no matter what they did the dons remained with them.
On the nineteenth day at sea Phelps had to admit that the Spanish were gaining, both ships were hull up, with the leading frigate almost within range.
A council of war was held in the aft cabin with all the principal officers in attendance.
‘Gentlemen,’ Phelps began, ‘give me your ideas.’
For some time nobody spoke and then the sailing master, a large man with a broken nose, cleared his throat and began a long explanation of why he could not out-sail the Spanish ships. Phelps stopped him saying that he fully understood the problem and that he was satisfied with the efforts of the crew.
‘No, we need fresh ideas,’ he said. ‘Normally I would turn and fight and if the dons keep gaining, that is what we will do, but we have a king’s ransom in the hold and it is my first duty to deliver it to England.’
‘There are some Portuguese islands ahead of us,’ David offered. ‘Could we not find help there?’
‘The Azores are Portuguese, Mr. Fletcher, and we have good relations with Portugal, but I don’t think they have the will or strength to go to war with Spain on our behalf.
‘No, gentlemen,’ Phelps concluded. ‘If nothing changes, I believe we will have to turn and fight.’
During the afternoon the wind began to back as the sky cleared; the cloud was now high and light. The Mercury sailed almost east, with the swell becoming longer.
‘Could we hold for Gibraltar?’ David asked.
‘I don’t think the dons will let us.’ Phelps pointed astern to where the nearest Spanish frigate was now within long cannon range. ‘
Tonight we will tack and if nothing changes we will turn and fight at first light.’
Before dawn the crew were fed and at their stations. ‘Load with bar and chain,’ came the order, ‘and run out.’
Phelps stood beside the sailing master.
‘Once we have run out we will bear away,’ he told him. ‘As soon as we pass the first Spaniard I want her back on the wind. If we can bring down his spars and rigging, I’ll be content enough.’ He then crossed to Mr. Randall. ‘Fire on the up roll and keep firing whilst you’re in range.
‘I intend to inflict as much damage as possible and then get clear before the second ship comes up to us. If he keeps with us, we must take him and his consort.’ Phelps moved back to the centre of the quarter deck. ‘Very well,’ he called. ‘Let’s be about it.’
The helmsman put down the helm as the men leapt to tacks and braces. Round the ship came until with the breeze over her larboard quarter she rushed back the way she had come.
Dawn was a streak in the sky, the sea a black mass when suddenly out of the dark the Spanish frigate appeared ahead of them. Not bow on as they had expected but show
ing her larboard side with all her guns run out. As Phelps shouted hard to larboard, the Spaniard fired. Shot screamed across the deck, running from bow to stern, the sails leapt and bucked as the Mercury came round to keep pace with the enemy. As the yards were braced round she lay over to larboard and Randall slashed down with his sword and screamed fire.
The air was full of the howl of bar and chain, but it was too dark to see how much damage was done. The Spanish frigate fired again and David felt the ship buck as shot hit her hull. The gun crews worked like mad men, loading and firing, and the marines, who were on board to guard the gold, fired volley after volley of musket fire at the Spaniard’s deck.
A master’s mate, standing by the wheel, was plucked away by a round shot to vanish over the side. The two ships, side by side, kept up a steady rate of fire until the Spaniard started to drop astern. Afraid of having the enemy cross his stern, Phelps turned the Mercury to starboard and crossed the Spaniard’s bow. Then in the growing light of day they saw that her mizzen mast was laid over her stern.
‘Enough,’ Phelps called. ‘Let’s get clear.’
As they sailed to the north once more the Mercury’s crew set about repairing the damage.
‘Damn, we were lucky,’ David said. ‘The bastard was waiting for us; that first broadside should have taken the masts out of us.’
‘The good lord is looking out for us, but it’s not finished yet,’ Phelps told him. ‘The second frigate is still coming for us.’
Looking back, David saw that it was true. The second Spaniard had ignored his damaged consort and was continuing the chase.
‘Twice we have been lucky,’ Phelps told his assembled officers. ‘If we keep running away, our luck will run out. I intend to draw this frigate away from his damaged countryman and then destroy him, no more half measures.
Prepare the ship as best you can; we must stop this frigate once and for all.’
In the distance the outline of a volcano could be seen on the horizon, the breeze had dropped light and the sun was shining. The Mercury’s sails bore witness to the Spaniard’s broadsides. Her courses in particular had many holes.
By the Knife Page 17