By the Knife

by Steve Partridge

  This time they had eighteen prisoners, five of which were wounded.

  ‘Once the breeze lifts we will move to where the hospital ship is hidden,’ David ordered, as he watched Nanji’s men carrying goods into the jungle.

  Just before noon both ships raised their anchors and moved away from the island. Jameel had explained to Zuri that there would be a big bang and told him to warn all the tribesmen to get well clear. When the powder exploded Zuri’s mouth fell open in amazement whilst the smoke from the burning huts blotted out the whole island. The breeze held long enough for the two ships to work their way across the delta to where the damaged French sloop was hidden.

  The first man through the entry port once the Challenger was anchored was Midshipman St. George. The crew cheered as he walked amongst them. David felt a great sense of relief.

  ‘I am pleased to see you looking so well, Mr. St. George,’ David told him, although, in fact, the boy looked terrible. His eyes were sunk into his head and he had lost weight. Never having been a large lad, he was now a walking skeleton. He was alive, however, and that was all that mattered. ‘How is your arm?’ David asked.

  ‘Still a little painful, sir,’ the boy told him. As David stepped away the other midshipmen gathered round the boy, scuffing his hair and calling him skinny.

  On board the French sloop, now called the hospital ship by everybody, Mr. Woods, the surgeon, told David he was very happy to see them return. ‘I have lost five of my patients,’ he said. ‘We buried them in the trees. The others are fast recovering and I’m worried that your six marines might not be enough to control them.’ Six guards were as many men as David had been prepared to spare from the attack.

  ‘I have seven more patients for you, surgeon,’ David told him. ‘Five French and two English.

  How is the French surgeon assisting you?’

  ‘He is lazy and incompetent,’ Woods replied. ‘He also suffers from a lack of alcohol and steals rum at every opportunity.’

  David smiled. ‘You seem, however, to be succeeding; Mr. St. George is on his feet.’

  Woods nodded. ‘Francis is determined to return to duty; he believes he is missing all the action. However, I would warn you, Captain, that he is still very ill; his shoulder wound continues to weep and he has lost a great deal of weight.

  He tries to hide his pain, but I’m not sure he will ever regain complete use of his arm.’

  David thanked the surgeon and returned to the Challenger. Once on board he sent for the first lieutenant. When Mr. Clark arrived David told him of the surgeon’s comments. ‘I have many reports to write and believe that Mr. St. George would be best employed helping me,’ he said. ‘If you agree we will make him captain’s clerk.’

  ‘I very much agree, sir. I’ll inform Mr. St. George.’

  As the lieutenant left, Jones placed a glass of wine on David’s desk. ‘Should I feed Midshipman St. George?’ he asked.

  ‘You know, Jones, we can have no favourites. Mr. St. George is coming here to do a job of work,’ David told him.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Jones grinned. ‘So I’ll feed him.’

  CHAPTER 16

  The explosion was heard all through the delta. To the north, Carter watched the smoke rise above the jungle and wondered what lay beneath it. To the southeast the French commander rushed from his cabin on board the Tonnante and cursed.

  ‘That is the position of the privateer base, is it not?’ he demanded.

  ‘It is, sir,’ a young officer confirmed. Captain Daumas looked at the ships anchored astern of his frigate: a large troop ship and beyond her his remaining sloop.

  The army had finished off loading both men and horses and was settling into the encampment on the river bank. Daumas thought of his orders. He was to protect the army until a fortified position was built. He would then do what he could to help pacify the region and establish a permanent French colony from which they could push further into this land. This Englishman was, however, proving to be more of a problem than he had foreseen. When Biondi had brought news of an English sloop lying to the north it had seemed a simple matter of sending a sloop to destroy it. He had at the same time ordered one of the local tribes they were working with to make sure no natives helped any but the French, on pain of extinction.

  News of his sloop’s destruction had been slow in coming. Once he had heard of the disaster he had sent troops in the ship’s longboats to bring back any survivors. The boats had returned to tell of a beach covered in the mutilated corpses of his friendly tribesmen. As the boats had approached the terrible scene, the air had filled with spears thrown from the trees.

  Orders or no orders, he had to regain control of the area.

  Turning to his first lieutenant he gave instructions for the ship to be prepared. ‘We sail with the land breeze this evening,’ he said. ‘The sloop will remain in support of the army. Once clear of the delta we will await first light and then destroy this Englishman and any who side with him.’

  CHAPTER 17

  In the Challenger’s aft cabin David addressed his officers. ‘Our seriously wounded will be placed on board the Eastern Trader,’ he informed them. ‘She will then carry my dispatches back to England. Admiral Keyton must be informed of our progress. I have decided to leave the French prisoners on board their sloop; we will make sure they have enough supplies. The officers, however, will remain with us. The French surgeon can take care of his wounded until they can make contact with their people.

  ‘The Challenger will escort the merchantman until she is clear of the Spanish islands; we will then continue to patrol the coast in search of privateers. If the admiral believes as I do that the French intend to colonize this land he may well send reinforcements; we will sail as soon as my arrangements have been made.’

  The French stood on the deck of their wrecked sloop and watched the two English ships leave. David had left behind a longboat and they made haste to send word to the French army’s encampment.

  CHAPTER 18

  The xebec rolled slowly on the lazy swell as the breeze fell away towards sundown. Carter sat moodily in his cabin. Through the aft windows he could see the brigantine following in his wake. For three days they had sailed a northerly course; his plan was to get well away from both the French and English navies. As much as he wanted to hunt down Fletcher, he was forced to acknowledge that he would stand no chance if he met a warship in open conflict. For the moment he would find a fat merchantman and hope that by the time he returned, the two navies would have destroyed each other. Carter silently prayed that Fletcher would survive.

  Two days later a sail was sighted to the southwest and for once the breeze held firm. The two ships rushed down onto their prey like hounds sensing a fox. The Provider attacked the ship’s starboard side whilst Carter, ignoring the battle plan, threw the Assad alongside to larboard. The pirate crews hurled themselves at the merchant seamen, who desperately tried to defend their ship.

  Carter hacked his way towards the captain and found himself fighting a well-dressed man with a jewelled sword.

  As they clashed blades, Carter lunged forward, attempting to throw the man off balance. His adversary stepped smoothly to one side, turning Carter’s cutlass away and thrusting at the pirate’s throat. Carter leapt back and stumbled over a coil of rope. The man stepped forward and struck again. Carter would have died at that moment had not one of his Arabs swung his scimitar in an arc, cutting the man’s head from his body; almost at the same time he stabbed behind him with his dagger driving it deep into the stomach of a second man attacking from behind. Without any change of expression on his face the Arab leapt away to the left and vanished into the fight.

  Now the way to the captain was clear. Carter rushed forward and drove his blade into the man’s chest. Looking round he saw that his men were winning and that the merchant crew were being driven to the starboard rail. He stood and watched the Arab who had now joined his brother. The two of them were cutting a path of death through any who opposed them.<
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  Their blade work was superb and could only be the product of long training. Carter made a note to find out more about these two; they were unlike any slaves he had heard of.

  The number of defenders had been far more than usual and looking at the clothing of both dead and prisoners, Carter realized this ship was carrying passengers. Kicking open the deckhouse door he found a crowd of women and children huddled in the cabin. His crew whooped with delight and began dragging the women out, tearing at their clothing and flinging them down onto the deck. Carter snatched up a pistol and fired it into the air.

  ‘Later,’ he screamed. ‘First, we get the ships underway. You can have your fun once we are safe back in the bay. Lock all the prisoners below.’

  For a moment it looked as if the men would argue, but then Lucas shouted, ‘You heard the captain, lock all away,’ and the crew grudgingly obeyed. The merchantman was named the Indian Queen and was loaded with exotic goods from the orient.

  As the three ships headed north Carter gazed in the direction of the delta. Where was Fletcher? How could he lure him ashore?

  The rage pounded in his chest; he had to find the blond-haired bastard and soon. Walking to the deck grating, Carter studied the prisoners below. There were one or two young men amongst them. If he could find one with light-coloured hair he could vent his rage for the moment. Gustavo watched from the quarterdeck and smiled.

  As Carter’s small fleet entered the bay and anchored, the excitement rippled through his crews. All sail was stowed in great haste and the boats lowered. It had been decided that the fun would take place on the beach. The women and girls were dragged on deck and flung into the boats. Carter watched the longboats race each other to the shore as the screams echoed round the bay. Soon the water’s edge was littered with torn clothing, his men jumping from body to body, rutting like dogs in an alley. As the evening came on the men became crueller, punching and kicking, some dragging women along the beach by the hair. A fire was lit and the first bloody body thrown into the surf. By now the men were totally drunk and gradually, one by one, they fell into the sand.

  Carter stood and walked to the hatch that led to the hold. He climbed down and, pushing his way through the bound male prisoners, took hold of the boy he had selected. Cutting the lashing on the boy’s legs he forced him to climb up to the deck. Carter had ordered the gig to be tied at the ship’s stern; now he pushed the boy down into it and rowed ashore.

  On the beach Gustavo nudged Lucas. The two brothers had enjoyed their share of the women but had drunk only sparingly of the rum, waiting for Carter to come ashore. Moving quietly they followed the captain into the trees, being careful to stay out of sight. Reaching a more open area of trees Carter laid his prisoner out, tying his hands to a small tree and his feet to bushes well apart. Taking his knife Carter cut off the boy’s garments and then took the gag from his mouth. As he took off his clothes Carter breathed in the boy’s pleading for his life. The two brothers crept closer until they had a good view, grinning at each other in anticipation. For a few moments Carter knelt beside his prey and stared at his body.

  He then slowly began to cut across the boy’s chest exposing each rib, then down to his stomach, taking his time. He stopped when the boy fainted and slapping his face, waited until he revived before beginning again. Finally, he sliced three cuts on the right-hand side of the boy’s face and took his eye.

  Abruptly Carter stood and, turning away from the body, used the boy’s clothes to wipe the blood from his hands and body.

  He then carefully dressed and without a backward glance walked off in the direction of the beach. Once they were sure he had gone, the two brothers came out from hiding and approached the remains. Kneeling beside the body, Lucas ran his finger along an exposed rib bone.

  Looking at his brother with a sparkling grin, he said, ‘Did you hear him scream?’

  Gustavo nodded. ‘I could have kept him alive longer; smaller cuts would have been better. I thought Carter would have had sex with him before cutting him.’

  Lucas shook his head. ‘No, Carter is interested in blood and pain, not sex. Speaking of which I wonder if any of the women are still alive, I’m as hard as hell.’

  As they walked back towards the ships Lucas licked the blood from his fingers. ‘Later, brother,’ he said. ‘First, we will dig up the boxes Carter hid.’

  CHAPTER 19

  David Fletcher watched the merchant ship slowly disappear over the horizon. She carried his dispatches as well as a report on the slave trade as David saw it. They had escorted her until she was clear of the Spanish islands and then sent her on her way to England. A wounded officer from her original company had instructions to deliver the dispatches to Admiral Keyton and none other. On the voyage north they had met an English merchant ship heading south; David had ordered her to heave to and boarded the ship with his marines. A glance into her empty hold had shown she traded in slaves. David had demanded the name of her owner and her captain had, after a long argument, given up the names of the three owners of a company in Bristol. This information was included in his report. As they rowed back to the Challenger her captain had screamed abuse at them.

  ‘You are supposed to protect us,’ he ranted, ‘not harass us.’

  In his cabin David took off his coat and sat at his desk. Midshipman St. George sat opposite him whilst Jones gathered up the coat.

  ‘I wonder, sir, if I could return to my normal duties now that the dispatches are sent?’ Midshipman St. George asked.

  David looked at him.

  The boy did look much better; apart from the food he ate with his mess mates, David knew that Jones had been feeding him. He had put back some of the lost weight and the day previously the surgeon had examined his wound and found it almost healed. The boy still could not lift his arm above his shoulder, however, and possibly never would.

  David thought for some moments and then said, ‘Very well, Mr. St. George, but you will assist Mr. Peterson at the guns. You will not go to the masts. Do you understand?’

  ‘Aye aye, sir, thank you, sir,’ the boy said, standing up.

  As the door closed behind the midshipman, Jones said, ‘He fears his mother will take him from the navy when we return to England, sir. He says you are a friend of his mother and hopes you will persuade her to let him stay.’

  David felt a twinge of guilt at the picture of the boy’s mother naked in his arms that flashed into his mind. ‘Be about your duties, Jones,’ he said.

  David woke with a start; somebody was shaking his shoulder. A voice from the dark said, ‘Captain, you should come on deck.’

  Rising from his cot David reached for his britches as Jones lit a candle. Midshipman Smyth stood before him.

  ‘Mr. Clark’s compliments, sir,’ he said. ‘He reports cannon fire off the starboard bow.’

  When David reached the quarterdeck he was met by the first lieutenant and the sailing master. Clark pointed forward.

  ‘There, sir,’ he said. ‘Just to larboard of the moon’s reflection. David looked where he was directed and after a few moments saw flashes of light and heard a low rumbling sound.

  ‘Raise all hands and take the ship to quarters, Mr. Clark,’ David ordered. ‘Mr. Samuel, set the t’gallants. How long till dawn?’

  ‘About three hours, sir,’ Smyth replied.

  Jones passed David his shirt and held out his shoes. ‘Will you need your coat, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘No, Jones, it’s warm enough, but if you could find some tea I would be grateful,’ David told him. The breeze was light from the east, but the Challenger used it well and as the first streaks of light foretold the dawn, dim shapes could be made out ahead of them.

  ‘It’s a stern chase, sir,’ Peterson called from the bow, ‘and coming our way.’ A few minutes later he added that the ships would pass down their starboard side at a distance of about one mile.

  ‘Load and run out your starboard battery,’ David ordered. ‘Mr. Smyth, take a glass to the masthe
ad; we need to know which ship we should be fighting.’

  By the time Smyth was in position the first of the dawn was spreading grey light over the scene and Smyth called, ‘The first looks to be a merchantman, sir. I can’t make out a flag.’

  David turned to his sailing master. ‘Close with the first ship, Mr. Samuel. Get as close as you can; we will run down his starboard side and engage the second ship as we come clear. With any luck he will not know we are there until we open fire.’

  ‘What if the second ship is English, sir?’ Lieutenant Clark asked.

  ‘Then I will be living in one of His Majesty’s prisons.’ David grinned. As the light strengthened the large merchant ship rushed to meet them. The Challenger passed down her starboard side with only ten yards between the two ships. Men on the other ship cheered and waved at the ensign that flew from the gaff as they passed. David called to Peterson.

  ‘It seems we chose the right side, Stephen. Have your gunners ready to fire as soon as you bear. Mr. Clark, have the larboard gunners ready to board.’

  He turned to Mr. Samuel. ‘Brail up your courses and take us alongside her as soon as the guns have fired.’

  The captain of the second ship, a large brig, turned downwind as soon as he saw the Challenger appear round the merchantman’s stern, which presented his starboard quarter to David’s gunners. Peterson dropped his sword and screamed fire. The broadside smashed into the enemy ship bringing down her main top mast. David crossed the brig’s stern with the gun crews loading and firing and then gibed.