‘No,’ David said. ‘Go and fetch some wine for Jameel and me.’
Looking somewhat crestfallen, Jones said, ‘Jameel doesn’t drink, sir.’ Before David could answer there was a knock on the door.
‘This Frenchman would like to talk to you, sir,’ Chaney called. ‘He speaks very good English.’
‘How close did you get to drowning our prisoners?’ David asked him.
‘I got them all standing on the rail, sir. There was a lot of quite agitated talk between them and then this one speaks up; said if we let them down he would answer your questions.’
‘Well done, Chaney. Tell me, would you have pushed them?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Chaney grinned at him. ‘Your orders, sir, you would have been blamed and anyway, they’re only French.’
The young Frenchman sat across the desk from David; Jameel and Chaney stood to one side and once again Peterson took notes.
‘Your name please, monsieur,’ David began.
‘I am Lieutenant Jon Michel Biondi.’
‘How long have you been in these waters?’
‘Thirteen months.’
‘How many vessels have you attacked?’
‘Four.’
‘Were they merchantmen or warships?’
‘Merchantmen.’
‘Do you remember their names?’
‘No.’
‘What were their nationalities?’
‘British.’
‘Did you take prisoners?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are these prisoners?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Please explain.’
‘The prisoners were taken on board a French merchant ship.’
‘Would they be at your base?’
‘No.’
‘Where is your base?’ For the first time the Frenchman was slow to reply. ‘Biondi, you are alive because you agreed to answer my questions; if I am not totally happy with your answers you will return to the rail; you and all of your fellow Frenchmen.’
‘The base is inside the delta to the southeast, on the south side of a large island.’
‘Do you know the position of this island?’
‘No.’
‘Biondi, you are a seaman; how can you not know the position of this island?’
‘It was kept from us, a secret.’
‘How many ships operate from this base?’
‘From one to ten; it depends.’
‘What manner of ships?’
‘Privateers; there are sloops, brigs, brigantines and the Tonnante.’
‘What is the Tonnante?’
‘A frigate of thirty-six guns. When she finds you, Captain, she will smash your little sloop into match wood.’ The Frenchman leaned back in his chair, a smile on his face.
‘Thank you, Biondi,’ David said. ‘Now I will think on your fate.’
‘He was stupid to tell us about the frigate,’ Peterson said, after the Frenchman had been removed.
‘Pride,’ David told him. ‘That and a hatred for a foe that had him cornered. Well, now we are at least warned, thirty-six guns, eighteen-pounders, I would imagine. I am, however, going to find and destroy that base and any ships we find with a French flag.’
Peterson grinned. ‘Don’t forget the Spanish, sir,’ he said.
Twice more David talked to the French officer but learned very little more. Only the captains and sailing masters were allowed to know the position of the base, it seemed, and in the case of the Bonne Entreprise, both had died under the wreckage of her main mast. For one more day they sailed south and then judging themselves inshore of the distant islands they turned east.
‘We will find an island with fresh water,’ David told his officers, ‘and make it our base. Then we will begin a search of the delta. Of one thing we are sure: this enemy base will be in a deep-water river or channel; a thirty-six-gun frigate will not hide in a ditch.’
As the sun sank, like a giant red ball into the sea, the wind fell to nothing. The men sat on deck as they did every night, to watch the sunset and eat their stew. It was always stew, pork or beef, but always stew.
David sat in his cabin with Lieutenant Clark. The conversation had been about the prisoners, one of whom had died of his wounds and been dropped over the side after a short service.
‘If we put them ashore it must be somewhere they can return to their mates,’ David insisted, ‘otherwise they will die.’
‘If we do that, sir, the frigate will be after us in a matter of hours,’ Clark said.
‘Yes, I agree, but we are crowded enough without the French.’
‘Once we find this island and set up a base we could leave them there with a couple of marines to guard them,’ Clark suggested. ‘They could give us their parole not to escape.’
‘These are not naval officers,’ David told him. ‘They’re privateers, legalized pirates. I would not trust them to tell me the time. Anyway,’ David said, standing up, ‘I’ll take a walk on deck before turning in. Tomorrow we will think of something.’
As he stood looking over the rail, a slight breeze brought the smell of vegetation. In the morning, he thought, we will sight land. Back in his cabin, Jones was making up his cot.
‘Fresh linen, sir,’ he said with pride.
David smiled at the lad. ‘Thank you, Jones. That is good work.’
‘If you want me to kill those French for you, I’ll do it, sir,’ Jones whispered.
‘Thank you, Jones. That will not be necessary,’ David told him. ‘And, Jones, you must stop listening to the conversations in this cabin.’
‘Or we could take that frigate, sir, go in at night and kill all the French.’
‘Go to bed, Jones, no more talk of killing today.’ David watched the lad close the pantry door and thought, but you might have an idea.
The coast, as they approached it, was shrouded in mist. Birds of some kind made a harsh screeching sound as the sun gained strength. The leadsman found bottom at eight fathoms and David had the ship heave to.
‘Put down the cutter,’ he ordered, ‘armed as before.’ As the mist burned off, a vast panorama of islands and streams came into view; the jungle was thick down to the water’s edge. ‘The base we are told is to the south,’ he said. ‘So, Mr. Peterson, take the cutter and find us clear water to the south if you please. Take notes as you go and ask Mr. Samuel for one of his mates to accompany you.’
David turned to the first lieutenant. ‘Send a midshipman to the masthead with a glass, Mr. Clark. Have him watch for any sign of shipping.’ One hour later, however, the wind had dropped to nothing and David was forced to anchor.
For the rest of the day the ship lay under the full force of the sun with not a breath of wind to relieve the heat. Peterson took the cutter, under oars, around the nearest islands and returned to report nothing of interest. There was clear water to the south, he reported, but with so little breeze it would be difficult to navigate between the shoals. Fresh water was now beginning to be a problem. In the heat the men were drinking far more water than normal. There were still plenty of untapped casks, but David would prefer to keep his water topped up. The heat was also making some people bad tempered; there had been two fights amongst the crew. David, who hated flogging, had ordered the men involved brought aft and lectured them on their conduct.
‘If it happens again,’ he said, ‘you will be flogged for both crimes.’
One of the men, a surly-looking Cornish man with long, tangled, black hair, looked at his captain with open defiance.
‘He deserved what he got.’ He smirked. David walked round the desk and stood face to face with the man.
‘You are not being flogged because I believe it is inhumane,’ David told him, ‘but if that’s what you prefer I’m happy to oblige.’
The man, whose name was Porter, grinned at him. ‘Whatever makes you happy, Captain,’ he sneered.
After the men had been marched out, Clark said, ‘Animals like that need flogging, sir.
It’s the only thing they understand.’
‘I sailed under a captain who was of that opinion,’ David told him, ‘and I swore only to use flogging as a last resort.’
That evening David sat in his cabin writing up the log; it became more difficult to find things to enter as day after day passed with no action. He had just finished writing about the heat when there was a knock at the door. A marine poked his head in.
‘The surgeon asked me to tell you that he has your cabin servant in the orlop. He seems to have had an accident.’
One deck down, in the gloom of the lower deck, David found Jones lying on a blanket against the ship’s side.
The doctor held up a lamp and David saw that the boy’s face was a mass of blood.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ Woods told him. ‘He’s lost a tooth and I’ve put his nose back roughly straight; other than that it’s just cuts and bruises.’
‘What happened?’
‘He had a run-in with Porter.’
David turned to the marine who stood beside him. ‘Find Porter,’ he said. ‘This time I’ll have him flogged raw.’
‘Can’t let you do that, sir,’ the doctor said. ‘He’s not fit for punishment.’
‘He’s what?’ David turned towards him.
‘It’s true, sir, he lies over there.’
Looking to where the doctor pointed, David saw another shape huddled under a blanket.
‘What ails him?’
‘Broken leg, ribs and jaw.’ Woods smiled. ‘Apparently he fell down a companion way. Your sergeant of marines found him.’
‘Have Jones brought aft to the cabin,’ David ordered.
‘I’ll take him, sir,’ the marine chirped up.
‘Thank you and when you’ve done that have your sergeant come aft.’
Once Jones was settled in his hammock, David sat behind his desk. When Chaney walked in he asked, ‘What happened?’
‘About what, sir?’ Chaney replied, wearing his most innocent expression.
‘You know damn well what,’ David shouted at him. ‘Porter laid below with a mass of broken bones.’
‘Oh that, sir,’ Chaney said. ‘He fell down the companion way.’
‘Why did he hit Jones?’
‘Something the boy said, sir.’
David stood and walked to the open pantry door. ‘Jones,’ he called. ‘What did you say to Porter?’
The boy’s injuries made him splutter a little when he said, ‘I told him he was a prick and that if I was older I’d smash his fucking head in.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of what he said to you.’
‘Hell’s teeth,’ David muttered. He couldn’t believe his ears. He looked back at Chaney. ‘So then he hit Jones and fell down the stairs?’
‘Something like that, sir,’ Chaney agreed. David closed the pantry door.
‘What happened to your knuckles, Chaney?’
The marine glanced at the backs of his hands, which were bloody. ‘I scraped them in the longboat yesterday, sir.’
‘This has got to stop, Sergeant. I’m not going to have people in my crew fighting. Do you understand that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I thought I could at least trust you.’
Chaney stood to attention. ‘Jones is a good kid, sir. He thinks the world of you and Porter is a piece of shit.’
‘That’s enough, Chaney. Get about your duty.’ David turned away and looked out of the stern windows until the door closed behind the marine.
The next morning they had just enough angle on the sea breeze to claw away from the island. David gained an offing and then turned south; he intended to re-enter the delta when they found a larger channel or main river. Jameel assured him there was such a channel that the ship he had traded on had used. Towards noon a sail was sighted to windward and they set the Challenger onto the wind to intercept her.
As always on this coast the light breeze meant it was once again almost evening before they came up on her. David put the men to quarters and sent the colours to the mizzen gaff. Immediately the other ship showed the Portuguese flag.
‘Signal her to heave to,’ David ordered, ‘and if she is slow to comply put a shot across her bows.’ The other ship rounded up immediately, however, and David was rowed across to her in the Challenger’s gig, accompanied by Lieutenant Martin and fifteen marines.
‘By what right do you stop my ship?’ her captain demanded, in passable English, as they climbed on board.
‘Just a courtesy visit,’ David told him, ‘and to make sure you are who you claim to be. Now please inform me of your destination and last port of call.’
‘I go to trade in the Comango delta, having sailed from Trinidad forty-two days since. Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘From the stench of your ship, Captain, I presume your trade is in slaves.’
The man looked furious. ‘My trade is legal,’ he spluttered, ‘and none of your concern.’
‘I will look through your hold,’ David announced. ‘Afterwards we will discuss what is legal.’
As he looked at the racks and chains David’s stomach turned; the hold had been scrubbed out with lime, some of which still remained, but the smell of human despair lingered. David was suddenly totally disgusted with this man who traded in human misery, with himself for never having given a thought to the plight of these people and finally with his country because he knew Englishmen carried on this trade as much as, and possibly more than, anybody else.
‘Now we will look at your charts,’ he told the ship’s captain. ‘You will show me your exact destination.’
As they walked aft the Portuguese captain cursed and swore. ‘You have no right to do this,’ he said. ‘You English would control the world.’
‘Be happy that our countries are on friendly terms,’ David told him. ‘Otherwise I would fire on your ship just for the pleasure of watching it sink.’ In the chart room David found a chart of the delta, beautifully drawn and painted. ‘This I will take to my ship,’ he told the red-faced captain. ‘My sailing master will copy it and then it will be returned to you.’
The man was shocked. ‘I have friends in your stinking parliament,’ he screamed. ‘You will hear more of this.’
‘In that case, Captain, perhaps you will give me your friends’ names and I’ll take it up with them.’ The man’s face suddenly closed and he said no more.
On board the Challenger the sailing master was delighted. ‘This chart is just what we need,’ he said. ‘The delta is all laid out for us.’
‘Copy it so that we can return the original,’ David told him, ‘and then we will find this base.’ When the gig returned from the slave ship Peterson informed David that her captain was ranting like a madman, saying he would report them as pirates. David just smiled and walked away.
Finding the French base was not as easy as it sounded; the chart showed many channels and islands along with sandbanks and shoals. ‘I’ll stick to my original plan and establish a base where there’s fresh water,’ David told Mr. Samuel. ‘Once established we will begin a systematic search.’
What information they had put the French base to the south of the delta so David went in search of a large island, high enough to hide his masts, to the north. Using the cutter and gig they explored the channels between the shoals until a way in was found.
The Challenger was then anchored whilst Mr. Clark was rowed from island to island in search of water. It took two days, but at last a suitable base was found: a shallow bay to the north side of a high, wooded island that would hide the ship from the rest of the delta. To the eastern end the island closed with the mainland forming a narrow channel. Whilst ten minutes in a longboat took them to a sweet, clear stream, David now had lines taken ashore to the largest trees and having laid the spare bower on his way in to act as a mooring, buoyed with an empty cask, the ship was safely moored fore and aft.
If he had to leave in a hurry they could drop all lines and go.<
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Work parties were organized. The empty casks were cleaned and filled with stream water by one section whilst a second began building huts in amongst the trees. The men would take turns to live ashore when the Challenger was in her nest. Lieutenants Clark, Peterson and Michael would each take a longboat and, in accordance with a plan drawn up by David and the sailing master, begin a search of the delta. Each boat would have, in addition to its crew, ten marines commanded by Lieutenant Martin, Sergeant Chaney and a marine corporal.
Against David’s better judgement the French prisoners were allowed ashore, having given their word not to try to escape. Given tools, they were to begin building a hut for their accommodation. The wounded seamen amongst them were carried into the shade and made comfortable. Mr. Woods believed they would fare better in the fresh air. As the days wore on the camp began to look lived in with the crew adding refinements to their new lodgings.
CHAPTER 11
Each longboat would set off in a predetermined direction, equipped with a copy of the Portuguese chart, which would be added to and corrected as they went along. The voyages each one took became longer as time progressed until by the third week the boats were gone for four days at a time.
It was the cutter, commanded by Mr. Michael that first discovered the French. Not a base but a brigantine slowly moving out of the delta. Hastily hiding in a patch of reeds Michael watched as the ship moved down a narrow channel not one ship’s length from where he stood. She looked well used with the paint peeling in places, her sails were patched and rough repairs could be seen to her topsides.
Once the ship had passed Michael ordered his marines to take off their red coats and then, with great caution, he set off in the direction from which the Frenchman had come. After perhaps two miles the channel entered a larger channel or river; it was difficult to tell which in the maze of islands. There, anchored close in to one of the larger islands, was a sloop of war flying a large French flag.
Quickly turning the boat back in the direction from which they had come Michael tried to re-enter the smaller channel before he was seen, but as they turned away they heard a hail in French and then the sound of a trumpet.
‘Pull, boys,’ Michael urged his men. ‘The bastards have seen us.’ The sloop’s captain had men filling water casks on the beach. These men leaped into a boat and set off in pursuit, quickly entering the channel behind the Englishmen. Lieutenant Michael’s crew had been rowing all day whereas the Frenchmen were fresh. It soon became obvious who would win this race. In the English boat the midshipman at the tiller stood and shouted encouragement to his men, urging them on to greater efforts.
By the Knife Page 26