‘This is better than I had hoped,’ Carter said to Zuri who understood nothing. ‘We will wait until dark.’ Back with his men Carter gave his instructions. ‘If we are lucky we will be able to leave here without the French knowing we ever came. I want one man to swim off and learn that brig’s name whilst another steals the flag that hangs outside the biggest hut. Two of you go now with Zuri and watch where they put everything at night. There are women washing clothes. I want one or if possible two French officers’ uniforms. Just watch for now; nobody moves until I give the word.’
As dusk drew in the French seamen lit a fire on the beach and the smell of roasting meat made everybody’s mouths water. Nobody lowered the flag at sunset, which would make it easier to find later. The washing now hung from trees near the huts. Once the French had eaten and drunk their fill they retired to the huts or ships and silence fell over the bay. No guard was posted and no watch kept. The flag was easy; they pointed Zuri at it and he was up the pole and back with it in a matter of minutes. Then they simply pulled the washing down from the trees. Swimming out to the brig, however, was a different matter. The men feared the giant reptiles and snakes that lived in this water. Again it was Zuri who solved the problem. He led them to a native canoe pulled up into the trees. They launched it upstream of the ships and, with Carter and the boy laid in the bottom, let it drift down on the current. Bonne Entreprise was written on the brig’s stern. Zuri paddled them back to the beach.
As they put the canoe back where they had found it Carter snarled at his men, ‘I don’t know why I brought you bastards; all I needed was the native boy.’
The journey back to the longboat was much easier as they retraced the already cut route. Carter waited for daylight, however, before he began and took his time. They arrived back at the Provider as the sun approached the horizon and took the evening land breeze out of the river.
The clothing he had taken was not really naval uniform, apart from a hat that they had taken from a table in one of the huts, but Carter had a dark blue coat and this with the white shirts they had stolen would do.
For the first time Carter made himself an eye patch. He also had one of the men cut his long, black hair. Dressed in this way he thought he could pass as the captain of a French privateer. They now moved the brig out of the swamp, replacing her with the brigantine. The ship had been repainted black in Virginia and once they had washed off the muck from the swamp Carter had Bonne Entreprise painted across her stern in white letters. Nanji’s men brought a handful of slaves into the camp the next night, but Carter’s interest had moved on.
‘You’re captain of the Provider now,’ he told Owen. ‘Once she has a full cargo you can sail for the Indies and get the best price. If you cheat me, I’ll hunt you down,’ he added.
‘How many men can I have?’ Owen asked. This presented a problem; the brig’s crew numbered thirty-four, but as a pirate crew it was not too large.
‘Before you leave we will take a ship,’ Carter decided. ‘We can persuade some of her crew to join.’ With this in mind the crew set about hunting in earnest. Nanji’s tribeswomen would smoke and dry the meat to supplement the brig’s now dwindling stores. The thought of a profitable cruise put Carter in a good mood, much to his crew’s relief.
The skins of the various animals they killed would also go into the Provider’s hold. Once again it was the local women who cleaned and cured the hides. The rum was all but finished and large quantities of the local palm wine were loaded in its place. This liquor was powerful and had a bad effect on the men’s minds and stomachs, but none amongst Carter’s crew could live without alcohol.
Where Owen would take his ship was a point of some discussion. The Provider had traded to the American mainland, but her legitimate captain was well known there and Owen was known in most of the islands. It was decided he would go south to the Dutch colonies.
It was almost a month after taking the Provider when Carter decided he was ready for his first cruise as a privateer. As always he took the evening breeze out of the river and set the brig towards the islands offshore. His plan was to cruise between the river mouth and the islands, waiting for a northbound merchantman.
The first few days were much alike, a light breeze each evening and flat calm by day. A slow lazy swell kept everything moving and chafing above and below decks. The heat was oppressive. Drinking the palm wine played havoc with the men’s stomachs. Whatever else they could take from a merchant ship they all prayed for rum or gin. Twelve days into the voyage a sail was sighted on the horizon and with five knots of wind they slowly turned to intercept.
Three hours later Carter turned away for the islands; the rig of the ship looked very much like that of a frigate. Carter cursed aloud when the ship turned to pursue. The breeze increased as the day wore on and the ship was seen to be gaining on them; by evening she was in plain sight. She was a black-hulled, powerful French frigate of thirty-six guns. By the time they arrived at the islands it was pitch dark and at great risk Carter sailed amongst the unknown reefs, deep into the mass of islands and out the other side.
‘If he wants us,’ he spat, ‘he can search the islands at daybreak whilst we get well over the horizon.’
The frigate was a problem; why would the French send her to this out-of-the-way place? She was a powerful warship, eighteen-pounders at least. Carter sat in his cabin deep in thought. Perhaps she was on passage passing through on her way back to France. For the moment he would stand out into the Atlantic, give her a chance to go on her way.
The next day brought a breeze from the northeast sending them well on their way clear of the islands. Carter turned south; he would keep this course for twenty-four hours and then set back to the east. Once more to cross the homeward route of European merchant shipping.
Four days later, as they closed the coast, the wind fell light once again and a sail was sighted to the southeast of them.
From the masthead the ship stood clear in the eye glass; this time it was a fat merchantman. Slowly they closed with the ship. She was large, half as big again as the brig and they could see four gun ports down her starboard side. Carter decided to make no hostile move until he was close in. He had four ensigns brought on deck, Spanish, French, English and Dutch.
‘If she shows a flag we will try to match it,’ he ordered.
Gradually the two ships moved towards each other. Carter dressed in his new uniform and stood straight by the wheel. Only a few of his men stood with him; the rest lay on deck hidden by the rails.
They had loaded the starboard guns but not run out.
There was still no sign of a flag. The merchantman was slowly turning away as if trying to keep clear but not show it. At last Carter lost his temper.
‘Hoist the French flag,’ he ordered as he put up the helm. ‘Run out the guns.’ As soon as the ensign broke from the gaff the merchantman ran out her guns and fired. The two ships were so close that the shot flew over Carter’s head, sending the brigs’ courses into turmoil. The pirates fired a moment later, smashing the other ship’s rail at maximum elevation. Now they wanted to get alongside, but the wind had dropped to almost nothing and the cannon fired twice more before the hulls ground together. At last Carter and his men could fling themselves up the ship’s side.
Five men were lost before they gained the merchantman’s deck, but once there the battle was almost over. They outnumbered the ship’s crew almost three to one and the pirates were in no mood to be denied.
Carter stopped the slaughter and had the surviving merchant crew locked below. When he examined the cargo Carter could not hide his delight. Chests of spice, bails of silk and exotic woods made up the bulk of the cargo. There were also five chests of small silver bars. The ship was called Good Prospect and came from Bristol. They sent the two ships back towards the river and brought the merchant crew back on deck. The captain was a man in his fifties and travelled with his wife. Carter cut his throat and gave his woman to the men. He now had the prisoners lined up a
nd in a reasonable voice asked who would join his pirate crew. Knowing their fate a good number volunteered immediately; two stood and considered and Carter had them cut to pieces. His first voyage as a French privateer was a success. All they had to do now was return to the river without being seen by the French. The problem that occupied Carter’s thoughts now was what to do with this rich cargo. He needed a trader who was not bothered by the legalities of what he bought.
In the Caribbean there had been a man called Ben Tailor who traded up and down the islands in a small schooner. Carter needed a Ben Tailor but on a larger scale.
Two days later they approached the Comango estuary having seen no ships. The Good Prospect was deep in the water and twice they touched the mud as they hauled her into hiding in the swamp. Apart from her cargo the merchantman had yielded a good supply of spirits. Once all was secure, the men settled down to get drunk.
Tom Dicker was the man who had recognized Carter in the jungle. He now nervously knocked on the aft cabin door.
‘What do you want?’ Carter asked him.
Tom was not stupid; he knew his only chance of getting out of this business alive was to integrate himself with Carter. ‘When we sell slaves, Captain, we don’t always take them to the Americas, sometimes we sell them to an Arab trader who comes this way twice a year. He will not pay as much as the plantation owners, but we incur no loss on the voyage,’ he ended somewhat breathlessly.
‘When is he due?’ Carter asked.
‘He comes in spring and autumn.’ It was now May.
‘So where do we find this Arab?’
‘I can show you, Captain,’ Dicker assured him.
Two days later Carter sailed the brig north to find a bay that Dicker had described to him.
Kananga was a small settlement of native huts with a few ramshackle-looking wooden buildings. A short jetty stood out from the beach in what was a virtually landlocked bay entered by rounding an island that almost blocked the bay from seaward. There was a trading post run by a Portuguese man and his native wife and a little way along the beach a small mission. Almost eighty miles north of the Comango the settlement was hidden from any who had no local knowledge.
As Carter walked up the beach he reflected on the bay’s near perfect position; you could hide a squadron in this place. The brig, anchored in the centre of the bay, looked small. Behind the village the jungle seemed to press against the little buildings as if to push them into the bay.
Rodriguez was small and looked to be about fifty, but his appearance could have been deceptive. He was dirty and seemed to be drunk.
His black wife was twice his size and very much in charge; she spoke a kind of English and threw her huge arms about when speaking. The Arab would come when he came; what did they want with him? She could trade with them; what need of the Arab?
As they walked along the shoreline Carter asked what nature of ship the Arab had.
‘No ship,’ Tom told him. ‘He will come by land crossing the desert.’
Carter cursed. ‘I could wait here for weeks,’ he said, ‘whilst this man wanders in the wilderness.’
‘He will not be long,’ Tom assured him. ‘He always comes and always before the full heat of summer.’
‘His slaves have to walk back across the sand?’ Carter asked.
‘Yes.’
‘How many men does he bring with him?’
‘Twenty or thirty,’ was the reply.
Carter laughed. ‘Perhaps we could sell him a ship.’ Eight days later, however, Carter had stopped laughing. ‘If this is a fool’s errand, you will scream your life out,’ he threatened. To Tom’s great relief, the Arab’s caravan broke out of the jungle two days later.
Almost twenty men in flowing robes, riding camels, moved into sight from one end of the beach and then settled into camp in the shade of the trees. When he was first introduced Carter saw that the Arab was a powerfully built man with a large nose and short beard. He wore a long, white, flowing robe and was treated with great respect by his men.
‘I am told you have been waiting for me,’ the man said in near perfect English. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I have goods to trade,’ Carter began.
‘I buy only goods that can walk,’ the Arab replied.
‘I can sell you slaves,’ Carter told him, ‘but you should look at this.’ He placed three small wooden boxes on the sand between them.
The Arab looked at him. ‘Come to my tent,’ he said and walked away. The tent was large and shaded by the trees, a rich carpet covered the ground and cushions were placed in a circle as seating. ‘Please be seated,’ the man said. ‘My name is Aasim; now show me your boxes.’
Once again Carter placed the boxes between them and opened the first.
Aasim looked at the nutmeg. ‘What’s in the others?’ he asked.
‘Spices,’ Carter told him. ‘I know not the names.’
‘How much of these spices do you have?’
CHAPTER 7
‘Thirty-five large chests and you should look at this.’ Carter called to Tom who brought in a length of sandalwood and a bulk of silk.
‘I will not ask where you came by this bounty,’ Aasim told him. ‘But we have a problem of transportation, do we not?’
Carter grinned at him. ‘I have a full cargo and a ship to transport it in,’ he said.
‘Your English navy has formed a base at the entrance to the middle sea. Can you sail your ship past that?’
‘I can sail my ship anywhere,’ Carter boasted.
‘Then I will give you the location of a port on the north coast of this land. If you bring your cargo there we will market it and share in the profit.’
The negotiations went on into the night, but at last both were satisfied. The price that Aasim offered for the slaves was far too low, however.
‘I have the problem of transportation,’ he explained. ‘Yes, you would save me time in gathering my own slaves, but I can buy from the local chiefs for a handful of iron nails or a nice colourful carpet.’
As the brig rounded the island and set out to sea Carter smiled to himself. That was a true business man, he thought. One day I will probably have to kill him.
When they arrived back at the river Carter was faced with a dilemma. If Owen took the slaves, which now numbered almost a hundred, to the Americas in the Provider, he would be gone for several months. All Carter wanted to do was to go pirating and take another ship, but if anyone else took the Good Prospect to trade with Aasim the Arab would rob them blind. If Owen left now, however, he might be back before they left to travel north. The Arab would not be back at his port in the north for at least three months. With his full crew Carter could take the brig and the Good Prospect to meet Aasim. Before Owen returned they would have a second merchantman to take north.
Why not trade two ships’ cargos instead of one?
‘You sail for the Indies,’ he ordered Owen. ‘Start loading your cargo. You can be back here in three months. On your return we sail north; by then I will have taken a second merchantman and that will make the voyage truly worthwhile.’
The following morning they began their preparations. The Provider had a large number of water barrels that had to be filled.
‘You have to wash them down every week or so,’ Tom explained, ‘otherwise they die all the quicker. Also you need water to make up the millet mash that we feed them on. This millet was a kind of coarse flour that had to be stowed and kept dry. Once all was ready the slaves were taken on board and chained in the hold a few at a time. This was dangerous work. Some of them were big, powerful men who would tear you to pieces given half a chance. The slaves screamed with rage or wailed with tears streaming down their faces. None in Carter’s crew felt pity, but the newly recruited merchantmen were white of face and one man, younger than the rest, asked if this was right.
‘Should they do this to these people?’ he cried.
Carter had been watching the boy for some time. He was not bad-looking and
had light brown hair. The rage had been churning in Carter’s chest for weeks and now it burst forth. Striding across the deck he struck the boy with a belaying pin and then taking a knife from the Indian cut the young man’s face three times and took his right eye. The crew stood round in shocked silence as he repeatedly cut into the man’s body. At last he stood, with blood up to his elbows.
‘You all obey,’ he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. ‘Obey or die.’ Nobody moved as Carter climbed down into the brig’s boat and was rowed away.
Owen sailed that night as the sun went down. His crew was not sorry to leave and Owen wondered how many would be returning.
Dawn saw them well away from the land, the horizon empty. As the sun rose into the sky the breeze first hardened and then dropped away to almost nothing. The reflection from the sea was almost blinding. With bare steerage way the Provider slowly sailed west.
Owen sat beside the wheel and looked at his crew. Of the fifteen, only seven were from Carter’s original pirate crew, the rest slavers or until recently merchant seamen. A low moaning came from the hold. It was time to give the slaves water. One of the older men started mixing the mash or porridge for the cargo’s one meal of the day. He looked at Owen.
‘How much do you think we will get for these people?’ he asked.
‘Between fifty and a hundred gold pieces each, I’m told,’ Owen told him.
‘So after sailing to the Indies and selling them for all this money you will sail back and give it all to him?’ Owen said nothing. ‘One day he’ll have one of his fits and cut you up like he did that boy, just for his pleasure. He loves the blood not the gold.’
By the Knife Page 23