What do they do here? He asked himself. Do they just hunt the French? His heart gave a lurch as he saw a blond-headed officer walk down the deck; it was too far to see clearly, but for a moment it could have been Fletcher.
No, he told himself. Not likely. As he walked back to the camp the old rage was churning in his chest.
‘No,’ he muttered. ‘Not likely.’
CHAPTER 9
Each evening at sunset the cutter returned to the Challenger and was hauled on board. Peterson would then sit with the sailing master and, reading from his notes, add the information that he had gained during the day to the chart. They had entered bays and rivers, discovered reefs and small islands and on two occasions attempted to talk to natives they had seen on the shore. The charts, previously empty of detail, were becoming filled with information. Chaney and his marines, along with the boat’s crew, would sit on the deck and eat the food that had been kept for them and then sleep the night away having been relieved of watch-keeping duties. The master, Mr. Samuel, was delighted with the work and believed the charts would be of great value in the future. They had, however, seen no sign of privateers or French bases and the three weeks they had spent on this coast had not moved their mission forward at all.
On several occasions Jameel had accompanied the boat in the hope that he could gain something from the locals, without success.
Captain David Fletcher began to believe he was wasting his time. They had found no large river that could be the Comango.
Sitting at his desk he looked at his assembled officers. ‘I appreciate your efforts, gentlemen,’ he began. ‘But we must move on. My approach to our problem was incorrect. I underestimated the size of this coastline. I will make sail to these islands offshore when the breeze comes tomorrow and then turn east to begin our search once more. This is possibly what I should have done from the beginning.’ He noticed what might have been a look of relief on the face of Jameel who sat just inside the door. ‘Can you offer anything that might aid us, Jameel?’ he asked.
‘I am sorry, Captain,’ the man replied. ‘I cannot.’
‘Very well, you may be about your duties, gentlemen,’ David said. As the door closed behind his officers David turned and looked out of the stern windows. It was another beautiful night; the moonlight reflecting on the slowly rolling sea sparkled like a million diamonds. There was hardly a breath of wind to disturb his hair through the open windows.
The smell from the land spoke of damp vegetation.
‘Would you like another drink, sir?’ Jones asked. He was gathering up the empty glasses left by the officers.
‘No, Jones,’ David told him. ‘I’ve drunk enough.’
He waited. ‘So come on, Jones,’ he said. ‘You always have something to say.’
Jones grinned at him. ‘I think that Jameel was very pleased when you said we would stop searching the coast, sir.’
‘Yes,’ David said. ‘I also noticed that.’
Alone in his cabin David thought about Jameel. The man had been put on board as a guide, but to date had added nothing to the business at hand. Had there been some other purpose in sending him on the voyage? Perhaps he was to report to some other interest or was along just to keep a record of anything they might find. But who would he report to at the voyage’s end?
The following morning a course was set for the offshore islands and once he had finished breakfast David sent for lieutenants Martin, Clark and Peterson. He gave his instructions and Sergeant Chaney, with the bosun, was sent to fetch Jameel.
Once all were present David addressed the Arab. ‘Jameel,’ he began. ‘You were sent on board my ship to assist my efforts on this coast, were you not?’
The man looked worried. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.
‘In fact, to date you have provided no information whatsoever, is that not true?’ Jameel said nothing. ‘I have questioned you repeatedly and always you have avoided answering me. We will try once more: where do you come from Jameel and who do you work for?’
The Arab said nothing. ‘Very well, Chaney remove Jameel’s robe.’
Assisted by the bo’sun Chaney pulled the robe over Jameel’s head. Standing naked the Arab looked far younger; fear momentarily showed in his eyes but then his expression hardened. He was well formed with broad shoulders, a slim waist and powerful, muscular legs.
‘I ask you once again, Jameel, where do you come from and who do you work for?’ When no reply was forthcoming David nodded to the bosun who pushed the boy over the desk where Chaney held him down. Stepping back the bosun took up his rattan, a long thin cane, and, using the full power of his arm plus the weight of his body, lashed the boy across the buttocks.
As the breath rushed out of Jameel’s mouth with a sharp hiss, the bosun struck again; after a third stroke David ordered him to stop. Chaney pushed the boy upright, facing David across the desk.
‘Jameel, if you do not answer my questions I will call the crew aft and have you taken naked amongst them and flogged until you answer or die. The beating you have just experienced is the punishment we reserve for young midshipmen. On the deck the cat will tear the flesh from your bones.
‘Now once again, where do you come from and who do you work for?’
Tears filled the boy’s eyes and his hands shook slightly, but his jaw was firm as he answered.
‘I come from the town of Melilla on the north coast of Africa and I work for my father.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Trading.’
‘Trading in what?’
‘Many things, but mainly we trade in slaves.’
‘Why were you put on board my ship?’
‘Mr. Baker has an interest in my father’s business and he heard you had instructions to disrupt the trade. I was to try to lead you away from our area of business.’
‘Thank you, Jameel.’ David turned to Chaney. ‘Help Jameel on with his robe,’ he said. ‘Mr. Peterson, you will remain and take notes, the rest of you can go. Sit down, Jameel.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Jameel replied, ‘but I would rather stand; your bosun has a strong arm.’
‘So tell me what kind of interest does Baker have in your father’s business?’
‘He represents people in England who send ships to the west coast of Africa. My father has been able to put them in touch with local leaders who can provide slaves.’
‘Your father does not sell to them himself?’
‘No, my father runs caravans across the desert; we buy from these same chiefs and sell in the north. Our trade is legal, Captain.’
‘I do not dispute that, Jameel. For the moment I simply seek information.
I think you can now tell me about the Comango River, Jameel.’ David looked the boy in the eye. ‘I will find it with or without your help.’ With what might have been a small smile the boy began.
‘The Comango is a huge river that runs many hundreds of miles inland. In places it is ten miles wide and where it arrives at the sea it spreads into a vast delta, a maze of islands and sandbanks. The French base you seek is somewhere in this delta. Also many tribal chiefs and kings, who supply slaves, live on this river. Some are even in the delta itself.’
‘Can you give me the position of this delta?’
‘No, Captain, I am no seaman. I am the son of a camel driver.’
‘But you have been there, you would recognize it?’
‘Yes, Captain, but as I said it is a maze; only the locals could truly guide you.’
‘Will your father be there?’
‘No, Captain, twice a year he makes the trip across the desert, but he uses a landlocked bay to the north of the delta as a gathering place. He then walks the slaves back.’
‘He walks from one side of the desert to the other and back twice a year?’
‘He rides, Captain; the slaves walk.’
‘Thank you, Jameel, there will be more questions. I’m sorry we had to beat you. I’ll avoid your father’s landlocked bay.’
After Jame
el had left, David called for Jones to bring a bottle of wine and two glasses. Jones came through the pantry door.
‘He didn’t scream when you flogged him, sir,’ he said. ‘Perhaps he likes it.’
Looking at him David said, ‘You should keep in mind, Jones, that the same punishment can be used for cabin servants who forget their place.’ Passing a glass to Peterson, David asked, ‘Did you make some notes, Stephen?’
‘I did, sir, but I wondered why you did not ask him where this landlocked bay was?’
‘I think it might be more profitable to try to get back on a friendly basis for the moment.’
‘Do you think that’s possible, sir, after beating him?’
‘I don’t know, but we can try; after all, many a lad has had a smacked arse.’
‘What will you do now, sir?’
‘I will continue to the islands and then turn east. If this delta is as big as they say it is we should be able to find it. Then we find this base and destroy it and any French shipping in the area.’
Peterson nodded. ‘What will you do about this slavery business?’
‘For the moment there is not much I can do; it’s a legal trade as much as we find it disgusting. If I attack slave ships that are not French or Spanish I’ll be branded as a pirate.
All we can do is gather as much information as possible and hope that one day the world comes to its senses.
‘I remember the slaves working in the fields in the Indies. At the time I thought nothing of it, but now, since talking to Admiral Keyton and his friends, I find it repulsive. Let’s hope that by spreading the word they can change the world.’
‘These people who Baker works for will be powerful, sir, probably sitting in parliament.’
David lifted his glass. ‘That, Stephen, is why we must be careful.’
Towards noon the following day a sail was sighted to the west, David ordered the course changed to intercept. As always on this coast the wind had fallen light and it looked as if the night would close in before they could get up to the other vessel.
‘She’s a brig, sir,’ the masthead called down, ‘and turning away from us.’
‘Mr. Peterson,’ David ordered. ‘Go aloft with a glass and mark her bearing and course. The off-watch crowded the starboard rail to see this strange ship, the first they had sighted in many a day. All took turns at cursing the lack of wind on this coast as the brig seemed to come no closer.
Peterson called down, ‘She steers due west, sir, the bearing is constant.’
‘What is to the west of us?’ David asked the sailing master.
Smiling, Samuel said, ‘As I’m sure you are aware, sir, only the Americas are to the west of us.’
‘So either he has suddenly remembered an appointment in Brazil or he runs away. Is that correct, Mr. Samuel?’
‘Aye, sir that it is.’
‘Then he is most likely French and we will hunt him down. Set stun sails and anything else you can think of. Mr. Clark, think what you would do in his position and what action you would take after dark.’ David looked up and raising his voice called, ‘Stay at the masthead, Mr. Peterson, and note his every move; take particular note of his course as it becomes dark.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ came down the hail.
Clark pointed at the chart. ‘If he’s French and his base is in this delta Jameel tells us of, I believe he will turn south and then try to get past us and return east.’
David thought for a moment. ‘Yes, Mr. Clark, I think you are correct. Let’s encourage him a little more. Set the ensign and set another on the fore masthead; make sure he knows we are English and chasing him.
Once it is completely dark we will turn south and reduce sail, giving him time to come back. If the lord is with us we should meet this Frenchman some time during the night. Set the hands to quarters, Mr. Clark.’
The men first ate and then slept beside their guns. After a while David dozed as he sat in one corner of the quarterdeck. When the ship was at action stations his cabin became part of the main deck and rather than sit watching the men, he stayed in this corner. The night passed slowly.
With only the slightest of breeze the Challenger slid quietly along, rolling gently. The moon was full and the white light gave the lookouts a good view of an empty sea. At first, there had been excitement at the idea that the French brig might suddenly come out of the night, but with the rising of the moon it was clear that she was not anywhere close. As dawn approached David admitted that the plan had not worked and he ordered a course set for the coast. In broad daylight he had the men stand down. What wind there was now came from the east and they put the Challenger onto the starboard tack, sending them nor’-nor’-east.
Sitting in his cabin David was eating breakfast when a marine opened his door to tell him of a sail to windward. On deck Clark said, ‘It’s her, sir, we just overran her and sailed too far south.’
‘Set every stitch of sail and then beat to quarters,’ David told him. ‘At last we can do what we came to do.’
The Challenger reacted well; leaning her shoulder into the sparkling sea, she gathered up the steadily increasing breeze and surged forward, gaining rapidly on the brig.
‘She hasn’t seen us,’ Peterson called. ‘We’ve got her.’ As if the brig had heard him she suddenly steered further to the north and set more canvas. Sailing freer she picked up speed, but still the Challenger closed the gap.
‘Run out your starboard battery,’ David ordered. As the guns were hauled up to the ports, against the list of the ship, the brig tacked. Ahead of her, several small islands had appeared on the horizon; she seemed to be making for the largest one. It was a mistake. As she lost way, the Challenger swept down on her and before she could get underway again she came within range.
‘Full broadside on my command,’ David shouted, ‘and then tack.’ He waited until he judged every gun could bear and then screamed fire. The first broadside fired in earnest of the cruise was a great success. The iron smashed into the brig, ripping the rail from her deck and spreading death amongst the crew who stood at her guns. Holes appeared in her hull and sails, but her masts still stood and as the Challenger tacked she started to draw away. David read the name Bonne Entreprise on her stern.
The stern chase would not last long. Once the Challenger settled onto her new tack she again started to close the range. David had the bow chasers keep up a steady rate of fire. For the first time in days the wind held strong and slowly backed as the morning progressed. Both ships were showing a good turn of speed, but it was just a matter of time. As the islands got closer the masthead reported what looked like shoals ahead of the brig. This coast was totally unknown to David and his sailing master. Fearing they were being drawn into foul ground David stowed the topgallants and put a man in the chains with a lead.
CHAPTER 10
Still the brig sailed towards the shore. Now they could clearly see a mass of what looked like sandbanks from the Challenger’s foredeck. David stowed the courses and gave the order to heave to; as the ship came round they fired the larboard battery and at last the brig’s main mast fell to her deck in an avalanche of spars and canvas. The men cheered and then fell silent as the brig struck the ground. Her remaining mast fell over her bow and the ship was a total wreck.
‘Did her master think he knew a way through?’ Clark asked.
‘I’ve no idea,’ David replied. ‘Lower the boats and pick up survivors.’
What do we do with twenty-five French prisoners? That was the question on David’s mind. They had rowed round the wreck, pulling people from the water until the sailing master became agitated. The breeze continued to rise and back. The Challenger had twice had to tack round to avoid joining her enemy on the sand. David had no wish to anchor on a lee shore and so the search was given up and they turned away to deeper water. Two junior officers, three injured men and nineteen others made up the survivors.
David had Chaney bring the officers to his cabin. Both refused to or could not sp
eak English. They seemed to be getting nowhere when Jones announced that Jameel could speak French.
‘Could we trust his translation, sir?’ Chaney asked.
‘I imagine his arse still hurts. Have him brought to the pantry,’ David told the marine. ‘I’ll talk to him.’ Crowded into the small pantry David, Jameel, Chaney and Jones could hardly move. ‘Go back to guarding the prisoners in the cabin,’ David told Chaney, ‘and take Jones with you.’ (See global note 2.)
Once they were alone David spoke quietly to the Arab. ‘Look, Jameel, I’m sorry about what has happened. I am not your enemy; those Frenchmen, however, might well be. I would ask you to help us in this small way. I need information, as always.’
Jameel looked at him for a moment and then said, ‘I have no love of the French, Captain. I will translate for you and, Captain, I have taken worse beatings from my father.’ David put out his hand and the boy took it and then gave a slight smile.
Back in the cabin David spoke to the first Frenchman. ‘I want to know your mission in these waters and the position of your base.’
Jameel translated. The young Frenchman said nothing in reply.
‘I am the captain of a small sloop,’ David continued. ‘I have no room for prisoners. I can put you and your men ashore or throw you all over the side; which it is to be will depend on your answers to these questions.’ The man stood silent. ‘Very well, we will waste no more time.’ David turned to the marine. ‘Chaney, throw the French back into the sea.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ Chaney said and started pushing the two men away. As they reached the deck outside both Frenchmen looked back in disbelief. David closed the cabin door.
Jones looked at his captain with a big grin on his face. ‘Can I go and watch, sir?’ he asked.
By the Knife Page 25