‘Now,’ he cried, ‘bring us alongside.’ As the two ships ground together the Challenger’s crew, led by Lieutenant Martin and the marines, swarmed over the rail. David for the first time realized he was not wearing his sword. Looking round he saw Jones holding a cutlass.
Snatching it from him he shouted, ‘Get back to the cabin,’ and turned to climb over the rail. When David gained the enemy deck he saw that the fight was almost over, with the brig’s crew being driven forward to the bow. Turning to the quarterdeck he climbed through the wreckage of the top mast and saw three men lying dead around the shattered ship’s wheel.
‘Is that the captain, sir?’ Jones asked from beside him. Turning David looked at the boy, who now held a belaying pin.
‘I told you to get back to the cabin, Jones,’ David shouted at him. ‘You’re not big enough to swing a sword or a belaying pin.’
‘I’m as big as Midshipman St. George, sir,’ Jones answered with a defiant look on his face.
‘Jones, I have no time for this now; obey my orders and get back to the Challenger.’ David walked to the brig’s cabin as the cheers of his crew rang out from forward.
The cabin had surprisingly escaped major damage and David found paperwork and account books that might provide valuable information once they were translated. As he looked through the desk drawers, Lieutenant Clark came in to inform him that all the prisoners were locked below and that the captain of the merchantman had come on board.
‘Have all these papers taken to the Challenger,’ David told him, ‘and assume command of this ship. Take a master’s mate and six hands. Once you are prepared, follow us back to the coast.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ Clark replied. ‘Where will we make for?’
‘Jameel told us of a landlocked bay to the north of the delta.
I’ll ask him for its position; we need a base well away from the French,’ David said as he walked out of the cabin door.
Captain George Miller was a short, dapper little man with almost no hair. His handshake was firm, however.
‘I’m very grateful for your timely arrival, Captain,’ he laughed. ‘I thought my goose was cooked.’
‘How long had the stern chase been going on?’ David asked.
‘All the damned night,’ Miller said. ‘I thought I’d lost him twice, but the bastard turned up again.’ He looked down at the body of the French captain where he lay on the deck. ‘Still he’s gone to his maker now.’
‘Did you see any other enemy shipping?’ David asked.
‘No, nor any other shipping between here and the Comango.’
David turned and looked at him, the smile gone from his face. ‘What is your cargo, Captain?’ he asked.
‘Two hundred prime slaves,’ Miller answered happily, ‘bound for the Americas.’
David struggled to keep a reasonable expression on his face. ‘I see. Would you be kind enough to give me your ownership details for my log, Captain?’
‘Certainly, Captain, no problem at all,’ Miller assured him as they climbed onto the Challenger’s deck. In David’s cabin, Jones poured wine whilst the merchant captain wrote his ship’s details in the back of the log.
‘How many voyages do you make each year?’ David asked.
Miller took a sip of his wine before saying, ‘Four, sometimes five; it depends on the weather.’
‘So on a good year you ship a thousand souls?’
‘Yes, but it’s not as good as it sounds; we lose thirty or forty each voyage.’ Miller shrugged his shoulders. ‘It cuts into the profit.’
David stood and put out his hand. ‘I wish you a pleasant voyage, Captain,’ he said.
Miller gulped the last of his wine and stood up. ‘Thank you, Captain. I wish you the same,’ he replied as he went on deck, ‘and thank you again for your help.’
As he watched the man row back to his ship, David muttered, ‘If it wasn’t for the slaves in his ship I could wish him to the bottom of the sea. Get under way,’ he ordered. ‘Back to the coast.’
Jameel considered David’s request with a troubled look on his face. ‘I know I promised to keep clear of your bay, Jameel,’ David told him, ‘but we need a safe haven to carry out repairs and replenish our stores.
You have my word that its location will remain our secret. Also if your father should arrive I will do nothing to hinder his activities.’
‘My father will not come for at least four months, Captain,’ Jameel told him. ‘I don’t know the bay’s position, Captain, but I can take you there.’
‘Thank you, Jameel, we will first go back to Nanji’s village. I need more information on the French in this area.’
For the next two days the ships moved slowly towards the coast until finally David anchored off of the river mouth where Nanji’s village had been. A rain squall blotted out the jungle and David gave instructions that as soon as the weather cleared he would be rowed ashore. Before the rain had completely stopped, however, Zuri climbed up the ship’s side. Still wearing his britches and hat, complete with cutlass and pistol the boy strutted down the deck grinning at David.
‘Hallo, Captain,’ he said. ‘I wait you come back.’
David smiled back at him. ‘It’s good to see you too, Zuri. How is your father?’
‘Good, Captain, he move village to other river. France man came; we frighten away.’
David turned to Jameel. ‘Talk to the boy, find out about this French attack and ask where the French are now.’
Turning to the sailing master he pointed to the brig. ‘I will send our prize back to England, Mr. Samuel; please choose a prize master and crew for her. I have more information for Admiral Keyton.’
Jameel turned to David. ‘The French came in longboats after the native battle on the beach. Zuri’s tribe threw spears at them and saw them off. Since then a warship has twice been seen cruising offshore. From Zuri’s description it sounds like a frigate.’ Jameel and Zuri sat on the rail and waited for David to comment.
After a few moments’ thought, David said, ‘We will move to your bay, Jameel, but I would like to set up an information system with Zuri. Some means by which he can keep us informed of enemy movements.’ The two talked together until, looking at David, Zuri pounded his hands on the rail as if playing a drum. That evening David watched the brig sail towards the horizon, bound for Portsmouth.
She carried the information gained from the English slaver. He wondered how long it would be before they all followed her.
Nanji had agreed to let Zuri and his bodyguards sail with the Challenger. They would be the far end of a system of drums able to pass information from the delta to Jameel’s bay. A price for this service had been arranged to Nanji’s satisfaction.
Entering his cabin David watched Jones setting the table for his dinner. The boy had not spoken two words to him since the action with the brig.
‘Alright, Jones,’ David said in a resigned tone of voice. ‘Get it off your chest.’
‘I can fight just as well as any fucking midshipman,’ the boy blurted out.
‘Jones, firstly, I am your captain and you will not speak to me like that; secondly, you will clean up your language. Have you not noticed that you are the only one who uses bad language in this cabin?’ David walked over to the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Nobody doubts your courage, but you are of great value to me and I will not have you killed unnecessarily.’
Jones looked at his feet; tears ran down his cheeks.
David walked round his desk and sat down. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will instruct Chaney to begin training you with a musket, but, Jones, you will do what you are told and you will remember your place.’
The boy grinned at him and walked to the pantry door. ‘I’ll bring your dinner, sir,’ he said.
David reflected on the fact that Jones always seemed to get what he wanted; perhaps I’m too soft to be a naval captain, he thought.
The next day they made sail and headed north.
For the first t
ime since they had been on this coast the breeze strengthened to a near gale, turning the usual deep swell into large breaking seas. Coming from the northwest the weather forced David to steer almost due west in order to gain an offing. Under topsails and jibs the Challenger crashed her way seaward. Not knowing the exact location of their destination David would keep offshore until the weather eased. For twenty-four hours the wind held strong; it then slowly dropped away to a steady breeze from the west. The swell, however, remained and the Challenger rolled her gunnels wash as she turned north.
As the noon sight was being taken the masthead lookout saw a sail on the horizon to the west. A few moments later as the Challenger rose up on the top of a large swell, the lookout hailed down again.
‘It’s a frigate and approaching fast.’
Mr. Clark turned to David. ‘She has the weather gauge, sir. What should we do?’
David looked him in the eye and in a calm voice said, ‘Take the ship to quarters if you please, Lieutenant.’ Once the hands were at their stations David called his officers to him. ‘Our only chance is to get alongside the Frenchman,’ he told them. ‘We will load with chain and try to do as much damage to his rig as possible as we approach. The weight of his iron is such that we cannot stand to exchange broadsides with him for too long. Lieutenant Clark, you will take the larboard gunners and board from forward supported by Lieutenant Martin and his marines. I will take the starboard gunners and the remaining crew and board from aft. Lieutenant Peterson, you will take charge of the ship with the sail handlers. Lieutenant Michael, you will support me.
‘This is a difficult task we have before us, but I am sure we can prevail. Now go and talk to your men, give them confidence.’ As the officers returned to their stations, David turned to his sailing master. ‘Bring us hard on the wind, Mr. Samuel,’ he ordered. ‘We will sail out onto his larboard side and then tack. I want to keep clear of his broadsides for as long as possible. If he should let us cross his bow it would be an advantage. Whatever happens, you must get us alongside him as soon as possible.’
David turned to find Jones standing beside him, holding his sword. ‘You forgot this last time, sir,’ the boy told him.
As he buckled on his sword belt David said, ‘Jones, I want you to assist the surgeon; he will be very busy today.’
‘I’m better on deck, sir, helping you,’ Jones replied.
‘Nonetheless you will obey my orders. Now find Jameel for me.’ When the Arab arrived David instructed him to take Zuri below and to make sure he stayed there. ‘This is not his fight any more than it is yours.’ Jameel was turning to go when the masthead announced a second ship to the east. The lookout called down that it was some kind of local craft.
David passed a glass to Jameel who after a few moments said, ‘It’s a xebec, sir, and its turning away.’
The swell was now on the starboard bow. The Challenger would rise up on a crest only to swoop down into the trough beyond; she would then stagger and hurl great sheets of spray into the air before rising again. As he watched through a spy glass David saw the French frigate turn to meet them, cramming on more sail. She came on at ever increasing speed, a huge white bow wave foaming at her stern, a picture of beauty and power.
At a range of two miles the French captain opened fire with his bow chasers, the shot ploughing through the wave tops to splash down close to the Challenger’s bow.
‘If he holds this course we will get as close as possible and then turn across his bow,’ David shouted to Lieutenant Clark. ‘Be ready to fire on the up roll.’
‘He’s turning to starboard, sir,’ Samuel called.
‘Then tack,’ David told him, ‘before his broadside comes to bear.’
CHAPTER 20
The sloop swung to larboard, into and through the wind, as she rose up onto the top of a crest, presenting her starboard broadside; Peterson fired. The mass of chain shot howled into the French frigate’s rigging and the gunners cheered as her foremast began to topple over the side. At that moment as the Challenger rolled heavily to larboard, the frigate fired a long controlled broadside. The eighteen-pound shot smashed into the sloop’s bilge and topsides. The whole ship seemed to buck like a live thing and a section of rail flew across the deck, striking David in the back. A ball came in through a gun port, stuck the gun and span into Lieutenant Clark and two marines, turning them into a bloody heap. Peterson stood for a moment in shock and then ran aft to take command.
‘Fetch the surgeon,’ he shouted. ‘Mr. Samuel, bear away, get us out of here.’ As the Challenger turned downwind the French frigate fired again, sending shot screaming into the sloop’s stern and down the ship’s length. Several seamen were flung to the deck.
As the frigate crew struggled with the wreckage of her foremast the Challenger quickly increased the range, heading due east towards the coast.
Lieutenant Peterson knelt beside his unconscious captain. There was blood on the back of his head running down his neck. Mr. Woods, the surgeon, pushed him to one side.
‘See to the ship, Stephen,’ he said. ‘This is my work.’
Woods gently ran his fingers round David’s skull and neck, and then down his back. Feeling no broken bones he carefully rolled him onto his back. Lifting each eyelid he peered into his eyes and then demanded help to get him to his cabin. As David was carried aft, Jones ran ahead to open the door. The cabin, when he entered, was a mess. Glass and broken timber was everywhere. There was a large hole in the ship’s side. Brushing the debris off of the cot, they laid David face down.
‘Help me remove the captain’s clothes,’ Woods ordered.
Once David was naked welts and bruises could be seen stretching from his buttocks to the back of his head. Again the surgeon felt for broken bones.
‘Our captain is lucky,’ Woods told Jones. ‘The timber hit him flat on; if it had been end on he would be dead. I’ll stitch up the gash in his scalp and then you can wrap him up warm and stay with him until he wakes up.’
On deck a carpenter’s mate ran up to Lieutenant Peterson. ‘We are holed below the waterline, sir,’ he said. ‘The pumps can’t keep up.’
‘Tell Mr. Michael to organize bucket chains,’ Peterson shouted to Midshipman Smyth. ‘I’m going below.’ In the semi-darkness of the hold, men worked in five feet of bilge water, which surged from one side of the ship to the other as she rolled. Peterson saw the carpenter surface, spitting out water. ‘How bad is it?’ he demanded.
‘It’s bad, sir,’ the man told him. ‘I’ve plugged two holes, but there’s worse damage down low under the stores and water casks. I need to move everything; we need to beach her, sir, otherwise I’m afraid we might lose her.’
‘Do what you can, I’ll send more men.’ Back on deck with Mr. Samuel, Peterson asked, ‘How far are we from the coast?’
The sailing master looked at him. ‘About ten to fifteen miles, I think.’
‘Get more sail on her; we need to reach a flat beach in a hurry,’ Peterson told him.
Samuel looked surprised. ‘In this swell she’ll break up in a minute.’
‘It’s that or we swim back to England,’ Peterson said.
In the aft cabin Jones threw debris out of the stern windows, he swept up glass and plugged the hole in the ship’s side with bedding. The windows themselves he could do nothing with. Looking down at his captain, Jones thought about the surgeon’s instructions to keep him warm; the heat in the cabin was stifling even with the windows blown in. He pulled the linen up to David’s neck and sat down to wait for him to wake up.
The islands slowly came closer; from the top of each swell the waves could be seen breaking on the beach of the largest one.
‘This is where the French brig ran aground,’ Peterson told the sailing master. ‘When we rowed round the wreck looking for survivors I noticed that the water was deeper close to the larger island.
I think there is a passage through to the calm water on the other side of the island and that is what the French captain w
as trying for, but he missed it.’
Mr. Samuel looked at him in horror. ‘How much more water? By god, Peterson, with this sea running if we touch the ground we will all die here.’
Peterson pulled him out of the helmsman’s hearing. ‘The ship is already two feet lower in the water, Mr. Samuel. Do you have an alternative?’ The sailing master said nothing. ‘As we approach the island we will sway up a boat, as soon as we are out of the swell the boat can lead us round the back of the island and find a flat beach.’ Peterson called to Lieutenant Michael. ‘You will command the boat, get ready.’
The decision to keep the boats on board during the attack had been taken because of the sea conditions. They had pulled a spare sail over them as some protection against splinters. With two leadsmen in the chains Peterson had all sail stowed, leaving only the main topsail, spanker and staysails as they closed with the islands. To larboard the wreck of the French brig was covered in foam. The motion became more violent as they entered the shallow ground.
The Challenger seemed bent on rushing forward to her destruction, whilst trying to swing broadside on with every wave.
The men taking soundings had problems making sense of the wildly varying depths. On hearing three and a half fathoms called, Samuel turned to Peterson and said, ‘There’s not the length of your dick beneath the keel.’
‘In that case, Mr. Samuel, it’s a good thing you don’t know the length of my dick,’ Peterson replied.
In the bottom of a swell the Challenger touched the ground. She shuddered and seemed to pause before surging forward again. They were within one ship’s length of the beach to starboard but were beginning to enter quieter water.
‘Follow the island round to starboard, but maintain your distance from the beach,’ Peterson ordered. As the island blocked the swell, the ship slowed to a gentle motion and they lowered the gig.
Ahead was the maze of islands and shoals that made up this side of the delta. The gig set off with a bowman swinging a boat lead; the Challenger followed. The breeze broken by the land sent her gently through the smooth water.
By the Knife Page 32