By the Knife

by Steve Partridge

  ‘So what would you do? Keep the money and spend the rest of your life waiting for Carter to come round the corner? I tell you, once he gets a hate in his head, he never stops; he would search for us all over the world.’

  The seaman shrugged. ‘He’s just a man; he can be killed like any other.’

  ‘In the four years I’ve known him many have tried and all have failed, failed and died.’

  ‘I’m just talking,’ the man said, picking up his bucket. ‘Just talking.’

  As the days passed Owen noticed him talking to the crew who seemed to be taking notice. Fearing a mutiny he called together the seven original crew members and was not really surprised when they told him they had no intention of returning to Carter.

  ‘You know what he will do to us if he catches us,’ Owen told them.

  ‘Yes,’ one replied. ‘The same as he will probably do to us anyway.’ Twenty days out, as the ship stormed along with a good strong breeze over her starboard quarter, the first slave died. To his surprise Owen felt a wave of pity for the woman as they dropped her over the side. Killing with a sword in your hand or when drunk and in a crowd of hardened pirates was one thing, but watching people die, chained in the hold, was another. Owen suddenly realized he was sick of this life and that he was not going back. He called the men together.

  ‘I mean to sell the slaves and then the ship,’ he told them. ‘After that we go our separate ways.’ All instantly agreed and began discussing what they would do next.

  ‘Be warned,’ Owen told them. ‘This will drive Carter into a rage the like of which you have never seen; hide well.’

  Almost one thousand five hundred miles away Carter sat watching the empty horizon. For eighteen days they had lain in wait as the crew became more bored and Carter more impatient. Not one sail had been sighted; each day the same endless sea was their only view. They had first sailed west, almost to the islands, and then south until having turned east again; they would soon sight the coast once more. Nothing was seen, not even the French. They were well south of the French base, but Carter kept a sharp lookout for French-flagged ships, or any ships for that matter.

  The crew was quiet, sullen in fact. Since the boy’s death all had kept well clear of Carter, but this was good; he wanted them to fear him. The Indian sat not far away. He alone seemed unmoved by Carter’s actions.

  ‘Teema,’ Carter called. ‘We stand this course for one more day and then turn west once more.’

  The Indian stood and walked over to him. ‘This crew,’ he said, ‘not like other crew.’

  ‘They will obey,’ Carter told him. ‘When Owen comes back we will get rid of the weak.’

  Teema looked at him. ‘Owen not come back,’ he said.

  Carter stared at him. ‘What do you know?’ he demanded.

  Teema tapped his forehead. ‘Know in here,’ he said.

  ‘He would not dare,’ Carter shouted. Teema went back to his place by the main mast.

  Towards noon the following day land was sighted. Slowly they closed with the African coast until, as evening came on, Carter ordered the ship put about. Once again they turned the bowsprit towards the islands. That night the moon was full, the sea calm and the wind light. As the brig rode the slow swell, with the sails barely filling, the lookout saw a darker mass on the horizon.

  ‘A ship,’ he called. ‘Off the larboard bow.’ Through the glass Carter could see that it was indeed a ship and a large one, but as to its nature he could not say. In the white moonlight she might be a merchantman, a frigate or anything in between.

  After almost twenty days of waiting Carter was in no mood to be cautious. ‘Load and run out,’ he ordered. ‘Get the men ready to board.’ The helm was put down and they began a slow approach to the other ship. It seemed that the ship got no closer as the night wore on. The moon was almost on the horizon. Two more hours would bring the dawn and as the night darkened, the ship, although bigger, was more indistinct in the glass.

  In the pitch black of pre-dawn they could suddenly hear the sounds of the other ship and Carter went amongst the men telling them what he wanted. He had just turned to walk back to the wheel when the night erupted in a great blast of cannon fire. Round shot screamed across the deck and the sails jerked and danced under the onslaught. Running to the helm, Carter span the wheel to larboard.

  ‘Bare away,’ he shouted. ‘Get us clear.’ The brig swung her stern back towards the land as the other ship fired again; this time shot smashed through the aft windows. By a miracle the rudder still remained.

  ‘A warship,’ Carter snarled. ‘No armed merchant ship could fire that fast.’ Of which navy he did not know or care; the bastard was only half a mile away and dawn was upon them. The enemy fired one more broadside before turning in pursuit; now at least she could only bring her chasers to bear. Carter set every stitch of sail and the brig was fast. The light wind was affecting both ships equally, but the cold light of day revealed a powerful French frigate in easy cannon range astern. The only chance seemed to be that the wind would drop away, as it had on previous days; in light airs the smaller ship might creep away.

  The swell keeping the ship in constant motion was the only thing that delayed the brig’s destruction, as the frigate maintained a steady rate of fire with her bow chasers. The shot was falling around the brig’s stern or screaming through the rigging; it became obvious that it was only a matter of time before a mast was hit and that would be the end of the chase. Carter cursed and spat in his rage and frustration. His crew was keeping as far away from him as possible.

  Suddenly, he stopped and looked at the two ships’ boats. ‘Bring rags and lamp oil,’ he ordered. ‘Also wood to fill the gig. Lay wet hammocks in the boat’s bottom and once the boat’s in the water, set fire to the rags then lay more wet hammocks on the fire. I want lots of smoke from a slow smouldering fire.’ Towed astern, the smoke might hinder the Frenchman’s aim.

  As on previous days the sun burned off the breeze and by mid-morning the brig was moving very slowly in a light wind. The frigate was making less use of the breeze and even with her great spread of canvas was slowly dropping astern.

  With the range at two and a half miles her captain decided on a last throw of the dice and put down his helm.

  Watching through the fading smoke from the now sinking gig Carter shouted to all, ‘Lie down, get down on the deck.’ Slowly the frigate turned, her speed almost nil, until stopped in the water she presented her starboard battery. The first broadside fell short, creating a great turmoil in the water; the second struck the brig in a hail of iron.

  The ship jumped and bucked, topmasts and t’gallant yards crashed to the deck as helmsman and helm were blasted over the side. The aft rails were smashed into splinters that fanned down the length of the deck, maiming any who stood in the way. At three miles the third broadside once again fell short and the Frenchman ceased his fire.

  Ignoring the dead and dying, Carter ordered relief tackles rove and headsails dragged aft to hang from the main yard, which was by a miracle still in place. The courses were tattered rags and he needed to hang anything aloft to continue his slow progress away from the frigate, which now sat above her reflection stationary in the water.

  The brig was finished as a fighting machine and two hours later, with the bilge water high above the hold lining, it was obvious she was finished as a ship. The necessary repairs were well beyond Carter’s capability. Towards evening, with the French frigate a smudge on the horizon, he abandoned ship.

  The cutter had escaped major damage, although she had several holes, which they plugged with wooden spikes wrapped in scraps of rag.

  They rowed steadily to the east until the evening land breeze allowed them to set sail. When the wind found the frigate she would come looking for them, but Carter calculated that they were within ten miles of the coast and with any luck dawn would see them hidden in some creek or other. He sat silent and brooding in the stern of the boat; none dared break his silence. The success of
the first cruise was wiped out by the total loss of the second. He had by good chance left all the silver on board the merchantman and that, along with her cargo, meant he was still a rich man, but the loss of the brig was a hard knock.

  If Owen did not return he was left with a large armed merchantman, which was of no use as a pirate ship. Being big and slow she would be matched by every ship they met. He also puzzled over why his plan to pretend to be a French privateer had not worked.

  The ship’s name written in French and his French flag had not given the frigate any pause at all. Once dawn had revealed both he would have thought the French captain would at least have stopped his attack until he was sure who he was fighting.

  In the pitch dark of pre-dawn they grounded the boat on a long sand spit and hauled her into the stunted trees. Once the boat was hidden all lay in the scrub grass and slept.

  The sun burned into Carter’s one eye as he struggled into wakefulness. As he looked at the empty horizon the reflection from the water almost blinded him. His men slept some distance away. The jungle was silent; not a breath of wind stirred the air.

  He stood and walked across the beach to where the lazy swell foamed onto the sand. Judging by the sun it was well past noon. There was no sign of the French frigate; at least that was good news.

  He spat into the surf and turning looked at his crew. Ten men had survived and one of them had a gash to the side of his head. They had left the wounded to go down with the ship.

  Once the evening breeze came in they would launch the boat and try to get back to the Good Prospect. They were south of the Comango and south of the French base. When he had abandoned the brig Carter had thrown a cask of water and some dried meat into the boat; these would not last long. If, as he surmised, he was some sixty to seventy miles from his destination, they would be short on provisions. As he thought on his problems the rage suddenly roared into his head. He screamed and ran along the beach, cursing and shouting, and finally flung himself into the surf. The cold water brought him to his senses and he limped back to where his men watched him, with fear in their eyes.

  At dusk they slid the boat into the water and set off to the north. The land breeze blew quite strongly and for the first part of the night they made good time.

  CHAPTER 8

  Towards morning the wind fell light and to make up time Carter continued until almost noon before hiding once again. As they pulled the boat into a shallow stream a sail was sighted to the north. They lay in the long grass and watched the ship’s slow approach.

  She was a full rigged ship, a sloop by the navy’s reckoning, and flew the French flag. It was one of the ships they had seen at the French base. As the afternoon wore on the ship moved further offshore, to pass beyond the horizon before dusk. The moment the land breeze began Carter had the men climb aboard the boat and pressed on to the north. As the sun rose on the third day since the brig’s loss, a row of small islands and sandbanks announced that they had arrived at the south side of the Comango delta. Carter revised his estimate of the distance they had to travel. More than fifty miles were still left to cover and the water had run out.

  They had tasted the water in the stream where they had spent the previous day, but it had proved bitter and salty.

  Now Carter had to find clean water. He remembered the stream at the French base; perhaps it was possible to sneak in, as they had done before, and fill the cask. They might find food as well. The problem was that he was not sure where the base lay in relation to his position. A low moan came from the pirate with the cut head; the man was failing fast. Carter fingered his pistol but then turned away.

  ‘Keep him quiet,’ he ordered.

  Picking an island at random they ran the boat up onto a small beach.

  Having hidden the boat Carter took four men and started cutting his way through the undergrowth; once they got under the larger trees the going was a lot easier. Walking steadily away from the sea they looked for any fruit or rainwater pool that might slake their thirst. The men kept their pistols ready in case an animal might provide meat. After an hour of walking they broke through some large-leafed bushes, with mauve flowers, to see a small lake. Long-legged birds waded through banks of dark green weed.

  The water had a strange taste but was sweet enough. Having filled the water cask they shot several of the birds and set off back to the longboat. Halfway back a tiny deer broke cover just ahead of them and was added to the bag. Once back at the boat Carter decided to risk lighting a fire and they ate cooked meat before sleeping until dark. This night the wind did not come and although they pulled at the oars for almost eight hours, daylight found them in the middle of the river mouth having travelled only nineteen miles. Totally exposed to any ship that might enter the delta, they had no choice but to row on.

  The sun bore down on the little boat, making rowing totally exhausting. They took turns at the oars with Carter, knowing their lives depended on it, taking his turn with the rest. The wounded man now lay in the boat’s bottom, one side of his face a swollen mask. He drifted in and out of delirium. Carter would have shot him or thrown him over the side to save water, but he sensed that the other men would not stand it. He watched as one of the men, a vicious killer in battle, bathed the man’s face with saltwater, almost gentle in his touch.

  At the height of the sun’s power, just after noon, they stopped rowing and dragged the sail over their heads. The men slept like the dead and only awoke when Carter shook them to set sail when the evening breeze ghosted into the boat.

  The night was only half run when they struggled ashore onto a small island in the middle of the delta. Looking at his few remaining men Carter judged they would not survive many more days in the boat without rest and fresh water. He decided they would stay on this island until their strength returned. They drank the rest of the water in the cask and with the arrival of daylight he had two of his crew build a shelter of branches covered with the boat’s sail. He set off once more to find food and water.

  The island was populated with small rat-like animals, which he set the men to trapping and once again fortune smiled when he found a freshwater stream only a mile from the landing place. They slept in the shade of the rough shelter for almost twenty-four hours and awoke with a raging thirst; for once there was plenty of water, but the lack of rum was hitting the men hard.

  The rat-trapping now started in earnest. A pirate nicknamed Salter cooked seven rats, in the metal pan used to bail out the boat, with some fungus he had found growing on the trees. The taste was bitter, but they ate every drop and then slept again.

  Something woke Carter. It was just after dawn and the delta was beginning to come alive. He looked towards the water’s edge and into the eyes of a huge, armoured monster. He had seen crocodiles in the swamp near Nanji’s village, but this one was twice as big as any in his experience. It stood almost two feet at the shoulder and stared at the wounded pirate without moving. Suddenly, it rushed forward and taking the man’s leg in its mouth began dragging him towards the water. His screams woke the other men who leapt up, snatching at their weapons.

  Three of the pirates fired their pistols into the reptile, with little result. It swung its huge tail and would have knocked them all down had not a tree got in the way.

  Letting go of its prey it swung its head towards its attackers and away from Carter who leapt forward and drove the spike of his boarding axe into the back of its head, where its neck would have been if it had had one. The monster seemed to explode into motion, writhing to left and right. The pirates ran clear as its tail thrashed in every direction. As it convulsed it exposed its white underside and those who had charges in their pistols emptied them into its stomach. Now it slowed and losing interest in its attackers began to drag itself slowly back towards the water, the axe still embedded in its neck.

  ‘Don’t let it escape,’ Carter screamed, and snatching a cutlass from one of the men he leapt after the crocodile, hacking at one of its front legs. The tail flicked round knoc
king him down but with very little strength. Now the other men attacked the dying monster, slashing and cutting with their blades until all movement stopped. It took two men to remove the boarding axe; its five-inch spike was buried to its full length in the monster.

  ‘That’s what killed it,’ one of the men said. ‘It just didn’t know it.’

  Food was now not a problem. They cut up the crocodile with the axe and then moved their camp. Carter believed the blood and offal would bring more monsters. The wounded pirate now had a torn leg, which bled profusely. Carter made no attempt to stop the bleeding and in spite of Salter’s efforts they left the man’s body with the remains of the crocodile. The meat they cut into large and small pieces, boiling some into stew and roasting the rest. They ate their fill and then wrapped the rest in the large green leaves that they cut from the bushes around them. That evening they once more set off towards the north. This time the land breeze held true and by the time the new dawn streaked the sky they were almost across the delta. As the wind dropped Carter put into another island and once more they concealed themselves, for what they hoped might be the last day before arriving back at the Good Prospect.

  One of the men had made a fishing line by unravelling the dead man’s coat and knotting the pieces of thread together. Once he awoke in the afternoon he walked to the water’s edge to try his hand at fishing.

  As he walked clear of the foliage he stopped short in surprise. Anchored not two cables from the beach was a naval sloop with a large English ensign flying from her stern.

  Carter lay on his stomach, in the coarse grass, and watched the warship. She was powerful; he counted nine cannon in her larboard battery. With her chasers that would make her a twenty-gun sloop. His mouth watered; to have a ship like that was a pirate’s dream. He laughed at the thought; she would have over a hundred men in her crew and he had only nine. With this sloop and the French frigate, the war had truly come to the delta. This was a good time for him to be elsewhere. They would slip out after dark and once on board the Good Prospect waste no time in travelling north. Watching the sloop’s crew in the distance it seemed to Carter that they were relaxed, even cheerful. She was a happy ship then.