By the Knife

by Steve Partridge

  As the crew cheered and waved at the marines on the beach, Zuri, who had remained on board with his two bodyguards, was seen to be jumping up and down in wild excitement. He cheered with the rest and shouted at the French in his own language. When the marines were ferried to the enemy sloop, Zuri went with them, walking amongst the dead and dying with a look of pleasure on his face.

  ‘That one’s a savage little bastard,’ Chaney remarked.

  David accepted the French captain’s sword and complimented him on the conduct of his crew. In reply the Frenchman asked how old David was and, on being told twenty-three years, turned and walked back to his remaining officers without further comment. Now came the heartbreak.

  The wounded and dying on both sides – the Challenger had also taken punishment – had to be tended and cared for as much as was possible. They used the huts ashore as a hospital. Laying English and French side by side, the war for the moment forgotten. There were many more French; almost half her company was down.

  The enemy sloop was in a bad state, beyond their limited resources to repair. As a ten-gun sloop she had been outgunned from the beginning, her company of eighty outnumbered. For David, the problem, once again, was what to do with fifty-two prisoners, twenty-two of which were wounded. At the action’s end he had ordered the Challenger’s guns replaced and repairs put in hand.

  He had no doubt that the French would move on him as soon as news of this defeat reached them.

  ‘Have the French officers brought on board the Challenger,’ he instructed Mr. Clark, ‘and bring the captain to my cabin.’

  Jones was full of the excitement of the action. ‘That was easy, Captain,’ he enthused. ‘They had no chance.’

  ‘You must learn to be magnanimous in victory, Jones,’ David told him. ‘Now find some wine; the French captain is on his way.’ When a knock on the door came, however, it was Jameel with Zuri.

  ‘Will we visit Zuri’s father, Captain?’ Jameel asked. ‘The boy is leaving.’

  ‘I will,’ David told him, ‘but I’m not sure when. Ask him to mark on the chart the position of his father’s village and thank him for his help.’ Chaney next arrived with the French captain whose name was Michel Cruz. (See global note 4.)

  ‘Please be seated, Captain,’ David told him as Jones poured wine. ‘I am taking your ship as a prize, Captain, but have no interest in feeding your crew. Therefore I would like to arrange a trade: your crew for the English seaman your privateers have captured.’

  Cruz sipped his wine. ‘An empty gesture, Captain. Soon you will all be prisoners of France or dead.’

  ‘In that case we have nothing more to talk about,’ David said, rising from his chair. ‘You and your officers will be locked in my brig until I reach England and if my ship is lost, be assured you will go down with her.’

  Cruz looked startled. ‘We are officers, Captain, and should be treated as such,’ he said. ‘I will give our parole.’

  ‘I have seen the value of a French parole, Captain, from Mr. Biondi,’ David told him. ‘No, you will rest in the brig.’

  As the door closed behind the French captain there was a knock and Peterson came in. ‘The guns are back in position, Captain,’ he reported, ‘and Mr. Clark has repairs well in hand. Unfortunately, Mr. Peacock, the bosun, has died of his wounds. Would you have any preference for a replacement, sir?’

  ‘No, Stephen, I’ll leave that to Mr. Clark,’ David told him.

  ‘You worked well at your guns; please give my congratulations to your crew.’

  ‘You have a great success, Captain. Two enemy ships taken with only superficial damage to us,’ Peterson enthused.

  ‘We have been fortunate, Stephen, but remember both ships were smaller and less powerful than the Challenger. This is what Admiral Keyton intended. Unfortunately, he did not know of this frigate; we must be careful.’ David smiled. ‘However, we can be somewhat pleased with ourselves. As soon as the ship is in order we will find another anchorage, one that is not known to the French.’

  CHAPTER 12

  The English sloop was a complication Carter had not foreseen; she changed everything. As they rowed away into the setting sun he determined that they would not stop until they arrived back at Nanji’s village. He calculated that it could not be more than ten or twelve miles away. The breeze was stronger this evening and they made good time. As they entered the river that ran up to the swamp where the Good Prospect was hidden, two canoes came out to meet them. Zuri, Nanji’s son, sat in one of them; he seemed very excited and kept trying to tell Carter something. Ignoring the boy they pulled on up to the swamp and boarded the Good Prospect. The Indian sat on the rail looking at them.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘We lost all,’ Carter spat at him. ‘The brig and the crew, everything to a bastard French frigate. We’ve been rowing for six days. I also saw an English sloop anchored not ten miles from here.’

  The Indian nodded. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Zuri met them in the middle of the delta. There was a battle, which the French lost. The boy was on board. He thinks the captain is coming to meet his father.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’ Carter hissed at him.

  Teema shrugged. ‘Perhaps five or ten days ago,’ he said.

  ‘Get the ship ready,’ Carter ordered. ‘We must leave.’

  ‘The ship’s ready; we just have to kedge out,’ Teema told him.

  ‘So kedge out,’ Carter shouted. ‘We leave with tonight’s land breeze.’

  The fourteen men left in the crew – Teema had lost one to a huge snake that had crushed his neck – were hard put to man the windlass. Half of them were exhausted from rowing. Zuri, who was now enthusiastic about all things related to sailing ships, brought some of his father’s men to help and by noon the ship lay anchored in the current. Nanji came on board to ask if they would be taking slaves with them and why Carter did not stay and meet this blond-haired captain who spoke his language.

  ‘He’s blond, you say. How old is he?’ Carter asked.

  Nanji spoke to his son and having listened to his reply said, ‘Younger than you.’

  ‘Did the boy hear his name?’

  ‘No, they called him captain or sir.’

  Teema looked at Carter. ‘It is not him, Captain,’ he said. ‘It cannot be.’

  ‘I must know.’

  Carter was starting to drool down the damaged side of his face, his one eye flashed and he started striding up and down the deck.

  ‘He is dead, Captain,’ the Indian suddenly said. ‘I saw him drown.’

  Carter stopped and turned towards him. ‘You saw him drown?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘You never told me.’

  ‘I thought you knew.’

  The rage roared in his head, his fingers twitched and his eye seemed to blur. It took some moments for his breathing to return to normal. ‘Be ready to sail as soon as the breeze comes,’ Carter ordered as he walked to the aft cabin.

  Compared to the brig, the Good Prospect was a large ship, deep in the water and slow. Built to carry large cargos around the world, she made poor work of the light evening breeze and first light saw them only fifteen miles from the delta. Carter had slept for a few hours and his head was now clear enough for him to start to plan the voyage ahead. He had set his course northwest to get clear of the coast. He also intended to keep well west of the Spanish islands. Gibraltar was a major concern but not for some time ahead.

  He decided he should rename the ship in case she was known to the garrison on the rock. They would also pass through the straits at night and keep tight to the African coast.

  Looking through the dead captain’s clothes he found shirts and britches as well as a blue coat and black shoes; once again he made an eye patch.

  Dressed in this way he was confident he could pass as a merchant captain in the south sea trade.

  Carter needed another ship, one small and fast enough to let him get back to being a privateer. She would need mo
re guns this time and he would have to pick up more crew. If Owen came back, the brigantine would do well. They could take extra cannon and men from a merchant prize. The rage stirred in his chest. If Owen did not come back he would hunt for him until world’s end.

  For three days the sea was quiet and the breeze light. The crew hung over the stern and painted the name Lady May on the transom. They cleaned the eight guns she was armed with and remixed the powder in the barrels stored below.

  Shot stood ready by each gun. Still Carter stood to the northwest and on the fourth day the wind hardened and then began to blow strong from the northeast; now he turned just west of north and started to make good progress.

  Twenty days into the voyage they saw land cloud on the horizon, which Carter believed marked the Spanish islands and he turned further to the west to give them a good offing. His luck held good when a squall backed the wind to the southwest and let him set for the straits of Gibraltar sailing free.

  Wind over tide in the straits made for a wild passage, but once clear the breeze came from the desert, almost due south. Now they sailed one hundred and forty miles along the North African coast and rounded a headland to anchor off of the town of Melilla.

  The town, with its high towers and dusty fortifications, simmered in the morning sunlight and the wind, now dropped to a light breeze, felt hot against the skin.

  Dressed in a white shirt and blue coat Carter had himself rowed ashore.

  The waterfront was bustling with people and several lateen-rigged ships lay at the dock. He walked the narrow streets between buildings of almost yellow sandstone, through lines of stalls selling all manner of goods. Men called to him in a strange language as he passed, holding up their wares for him to see.

  The address Aasim had written down for him was two streets back from the harbour, a large building entered through an archway. Heavy wooden doors studded with iron blocked his path. In answer to his knock a small panel slid back and he was questioned in this unknown language.

  Carter passed the paper, written for him by Aasim, through the hatch and after a few moments the doors opened, closing again once he had passed through. An old man wearing a white robe led him through a neatly kept garden and knocked on a door at the far end. A few words were spoken and then the man stood to one side and waved him in.

  ‘You timed it well, Captain,’ Aasim told him. ‘I arrived only yesterday.’

  Without preamble Carter told him, ‘I would sell all, including the ship. Can you find me one of those local boats? It would suit me for the moment.’

  Aasim smiled. ‘Sit down, Captain,’ he said. ‘Business is best conducted in a proper manner.’ He clapped his hands. ‘First, we will drink tea and then decide how to best proceed.’ The old man returned with a strange-looking tray, the handles of which rose up and met above the service it carried. Aasim noticed Carter’s interested glance. ‘Beautiful, is it not?’ he asked. ‘It’s left over from the Turkish occupation.’ The green tea was bitter to Carter’s taste. He was impatient to get to business but judged it best to play this game.

  After some moments of silence Aasim said, ‘I will invite some local merchants to my house tomorrow; you should bring samples of your cargo. As to the ship I do not know who would want such a vessel. In this part of the world she would stand out, would she not?’

  ‘If we cannot sell it, I will take it out and sink it,’ Carter told him. ‘In the meantime let’s look for that local boat.’

  The following morning Carter had six boxes of spice, four bails of silk and ten pieces of different coloured wood carried to the house of Aasim.

  As they sat waiting for the merchants to arrive Carter told the Arab about the English sloop.

  ‘Yes,’ Aasim said. ‘I know of this; her name is the Challenger. She is sent to attack French privateers. She has, however, a second mission: to gain information on the African slave trade. There are certain people in England who would have the trade made illegal.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ Carter asked.

  ‘One of my sons is on board looking after our interests. I have heard nothing from him, but he is an intelligent boy; we will soon know what they have discovered.’

  ‘There was a battle with the French and it seems the English won the day,’ Carter said.

  ‘Really.’ Aasim smiled. ‘I had not heard that. I was told this Captain Fletcher was a force to be reckoned with.’

  Carter sat up as if struck by a blow; the rage screamed in his head. ‘Fletcher,’ he gasped.

  ‘What is it?’ Aasim asked, looking alarmed.

  Carter sat grinding his teeth. ‘Fletcher,’ he said again.

  The old man appeared and spoke quietly to Aasim who told Carter that the merchants had arrived. ‘Are you alright?’ the Arab asked. As the men, all dressed in flowing robes, filed into the room, Carter fought to remain calm. Tea had to be drunk and a conversation conducted before they could get down to business.

  At last the samples were examined and the bargaining began. Carter took no part in the negotiations, speaking only when asked to confirm amounts or quality. All the time his brain seethed; in his head he heard Teema saying Fletcher was dead over and over again. Finally, agreement was reached and lengthy vows of friendship expressed.

  Once the merchants had gone Aasim asked Carter to stay for dinner, but he refused and set out for the harbour. Once on the dock he flung himself into a local boat and was rowed out to the ship. As he burst onto the deck he snatched an adze from a seaman working on the main mast and rushed at the Indian.

  ‘You told me you saw Fletcher drown,’ he screamed. ‘You told me he was dead.’

  The Indian tried to run for the rail, but Carter was faster. He struck Teema with the adze many times and each time he struck he screamed the name Fletcher.

  The following day Carter appeared on deck as if nothing had happened and was rowed ashore. At the Arab’s house he was all business.

  ‘I want no delay,’ he said. ‘We buy a ship today; you can sell the Lady May after I’m gone.’

  ‘The merchants will take time to pay for your cargo,’ Aasim told him.

  ‘Then tell them to hurry, but we find a ship now; I must get back to the delta.’

  ‘There is a xebec that I know of,’ the Arab said.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Not far, I’ll arrange for us to go there. Wait here.’

  ‘How do we travel?’

  ‘By boat.’ Aasim smiled at him.

  ‘Then pick me up at my ship,’ Carter snapped.

  Back on board he loaded his pistols and clipped on his sword. When a local boat came alongside Carter boarded with six of his men, all fully armed. The Arab looked concerned.

  ‘Are you going to war, Captain?’ he asked.

  The little open boat sailed well, skimming along with a light easterly breeze.

  They rounded a rocky headland and entered a bay that offered good protection from the prevailing wind. A village nestled under a cliff, served by a stone jetty. Three ships were anchored in the bay: two single-masted dhows and a three-masted xebec. They sailed alongside the larger ship. Her hull was long and low rising to a cabin aft. With long overhangs she was as sleek as any ship Carter had seen. The fore mast was raked forward, main and mizzen raked aft; a strange rig to European eyes. Four cannon gave her teeth.

  The ship was dirty, the bilge water stank, but she would be fast and her lateen rig would make her very close winded. Aasim talked with a grey-haired man in blue robes.

  ‘He assures me the ship is in very good order, only ten years old and very strong,’ the Arab told Carter.

  ‘Why does he sell it?’

  ‘He is old now and would stay at home with his family.’

  ‘I hold you responsible, Aasim,’ Carter said. ‘Make the deal.’ As was normal in these parts, the process of buying the ship was long and slow.

  Tea had to be drunk and the negotiations dragged on until the sun approached the horizon. No money changed hands; no contr
act was written.

  ‘What do you wish to do now?’ Aasim asked Carter.

  ‘I would take the ship alongside the Lady May and begin my preparations,’ Carter told him.

  ‘Very well, you may take the ship now. The documents will be prepared.’

  Carter grinned at him. ‘This old man trusts me not to sail away with his ship?’

  ‘No, Captain, he trusts me and I will have your money, at least until you sail.’

  The xebec lived up to expectations as they made the short voyage back to the harbour. Moving quickly up the coast she manoeuvred easily alongside the Lady May. As Aasim left the ship he promised he would send carpenters the following day.

  At first light Carter had the men working. They pumped the water out of the xebec’s bilge and then cleaned up the filth. Moving round the lower hull, Carter was pleased with what he found; the ship was strong and in sound condition.

  Ten carpenters had arrived during the morning and were set to work cutting extra gun ports and strengthening the deck for the eight guns Carter would take from the Lady May.

  Aasim sat on the balcony of a house overlooking the harbour and watched the activity on the two ships. Unbeknown to Carter the bargaining for both ship and cargo were far from finished. He had made good profit on the xebec, which he had taken as a bad debt some months before and now he would make a fortune from the spice and silk in the hold of the Lady May. The price he had given Carter was one tenth of the cargo’s true value. Now he wanted Carter to go. Aasim had no doubt as to the kind of man Carter was. He would be happy never to see him again. He regretted that he could not get word to his son.

  Of one thing he was sure: Carter was instantly sent mad by the mention of Fletcher’s name. It was Fletcher he was rushing off to find.

  The money from the sale of the cargo in the Lady May was to be in gold or silver. Carter would have none other.

  Four days after he took over the xebec a small chest was carried on board; lifting the lid Carter gazed at the jewelled trinkets within. He gazed at gold figurines, necklaces, broaches encrusted in gems and many other rich articles.