by Killigrew of the Royal Navy (Killigrew RN) (retail) (epub)
Chapter 11
Blackbirders
‘Hold him fast!’ snapped Coffin. ‘I’m a-coming down.’ He disappeared from sight, and Killigrew at once felt Duarte’s massive hands grip him by the arms. He made no attempt to resist; it would have been useless anyway.
It was not until Killigrew had seen Eli Coffin that he realised he had seen the Madge Howlett before, albeit with a different name and a different figurehead on her prow. Once he had been given the Coffin connection, he realised at once that she was merely the Leopardo under another name.
Coffin’s feet clumped down the companion ladder from the forward hatch and a moment later he appeared in the hold. He was not smiling.
‘You know this man, Senhor Coffin?’ Duarte asked ponderously.
Coffin hawked and spat on the deck. ‘Yeah, I know him. He’s a goddamned British Officer.’
‘An ex British Officer,’ corrected Madison, entering behind Coffin. ‘I take it you two are already acquainted, then?’
‘This bastard was on board that navy steamer we led on a wild-goose chase a couple of months ago,’ snarled Coffin, glaring at Killigrew with hate-filled eyes. ‘What was she called?’
‘The Tisiphone,’ Killigrew offered helpfully.
‘It’s all right, Manoel,’ said Madison. ‘You can release Mr Killigrew.’
‘You knew?’ Coffin asked Madison in disbelief.
Madison smiled. ‘Mr Killigrew is no longer in Her Majesty’s service, Eli. It seems he’s been… how can I put this? …guilty of an indiscretion.’
‘The hell he has. You’re not serious about having this whoreson on board, are you? He’ll betray us to his friends at the first opportunity! He’s probably here to spy for his navy!’
Madison shook his head. ‘Calm down, Eh. Mr Killigrew here’s seen the light. Acts, chapter nine, verse eighteen: “And immediately there fell from his eyes as it had been scales: and he received sight forthwith”. It’s oh-kay, I’ve made some enquiries and his story’s on the level. I had a difficult enough job persuading him to join us. Don’t mind Eli, Mr Killigrew. He hates the English, so don’t take it personal. Once you two have had a chance to get to know one another you’ll get along fine.’
‘I’m sure,’ Killigrew said drily.
‘Don’t count on it,’ snarled Coffin.
‘You’ll get along with him, Eli, or I’ll know the reason why. You’ve known me long enough to know that when I’ve made up my mind, it stays that way. Killigrew replaces that good-for-nothing Cutler until I say otherwise, you hear me?’
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ Coffin said surlily.
‘Oh-kay, let’s get to work. There’s plenty to be done before we set sail. You’ve seen the ship, Mr Killigrew? Good. Take him to the chart room, Manoel. Eli, you come with me.’ Madison headed out of the hold and Coffin made as if to follow him, but turned back to address Killigrew in a low, menacing voice.
‘Now you listen to me, you Limey sonuvabitch. I don’t know what your game is, but if you’re on the level then I’m a Dutchman’s uncle.’ He touched Killigrew under the jaw with the coils of his whip. The bull-hide felt cold, coarse and dry, like the scales of a snake. ‘Sooner or later you’re going to slip up, and when you do I’ll be waiting.’ He turned away and went out of the hold, chuckling to himself in anticipation.
Duarte took Killigrew to the chart room. It was well ordered, and the relevant charts for their forthcoming voyage were easy enough to find. The route was straightforward: out into the Irish Sea, through St George’s Channel, around Land’s End, across the mouth of the Bay of Biscay, past the coasts of Spain and Portugal and south-sou’-west to the coast of Africa. The course veered well away from the Guinea Coast, presumably to evade the Royal Navy vessels which patrolled off-shore, and terminated vaguely somewhere near Sierra Leone, as if Madison had not been bothered to think that far ahead; evidently he did not trust Killigrew enough to reveal the precise location of their destination before they had even left port.
He made his way up on deck to where Madison and Coffin stood on the quarter-deck close by the helm. ‘Ah, Mr Killigrew,’ said Madison. ‘You approve of the course I’ve plotted?’ he asked with a smile.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Killigrew. ‘Although it seems to be incomplete…?’
Madison’s smile did not alter. ‘Our destination is a month’s sailing away. We’ll concern ourselves with that nearer the time. All ready, Mr Duarte?’
‘Aye, aye, senhor capitão.’
‘Then we’ll waste no more time. Perhaps you’d care to take her out, Mr Killigrew?’
‘Very well, sir.’ Killigrew guessed that Madison was testing him: not to see if he was up to the task, if he had doubted that for a moment then he would never have taken him on as his second mate; more to assess his style of ship-handling – and crew-handling. ‘Let go the bow-fast!’ When the crew did not obey at once, he repeated his order in Portuguese, but still they exchanged glances of mocking bewilderment as if Killigrew’s command of the language was wanting, which he knew it was not. It was not just the master of the Madge Howlett who was testing the new second mate.
‘You are responsible for discipline on board this vessel, are you not, Bosun?’ Killigrew asked Duarte.
‘Yes.’
‘Then see to it that my orders are obeyed promptly,’ Killigrew said mildly.
Duarte glanced at Madison, who nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘You heard Senhor Killigrew!’ Duarte roared at the hands. ‘Let slip the bow-fast!’
‘Hoist the jib and let fall the foresail,’ ordered Killigrew, glancing sidelong at Madison. The master was smiling faintly, indicating approval of Killigrew’s handling of the reluctant seamen. The brig’s bows turned away from the pier. ‘Now let go the stern-fast. Fore braces, tacks and sheets. Meet her,’ he added to the helmsman, who nodded and span the helm to stop her head from coming around any further.
The mooring lines cast off, the Madge Howlett slowly gathered way, moving out from the dock into the Mersey. The tide was approaching the high-water mark so there was no appreciable current, and the wind coming in from the brig’s port quarter made her easy to handle.
‘Port the helm… Ease her… Helm amidships… Steady as she goes.’
‘Steady it is, sir.’
The actual task of conning the brig into the channel was child’s play for Killigrew, and with a fresh breeze blowing they had soon passed New Brighton, the North Fort and the South Fort, crossed the bar, and emerged into Liverpool Bay. They hoisted all canvas, sailing close-hauled towards the setting sun. At seven bells Madison ordered Coffin to take the watch and, after reminding Killigrew supper was at eight, went below.
Killigrew returned to his cabin for a quick shave, a change of shirt and a brush-up before dinner. The hair he had left on his sea-chest had been dislodged, but it had been unnecessary: the searcher, prevented from concealing his search by an impulsive rage, had screwed Killigrew’s mocking note into a tight ball. Somehow he knew it was Coffin who had done the searching. There was a feeling of violence about the chief mate, and not very deep below the surface, either. Of all the men on the Madge Howlett – including the chunky Duarte – Killigrew feared Coffin most of all.
Making his way to Madison’s cabin he encountered a small man, dressed as smartly as his obviously cheap clothes would allow, with a sallow complexion and a bulging, watery-looking pair of eyes. ‘You must be Senhor Killigrew,’ said the man. He had a nervousness about him, and a voice like egg-white poured over sandpaper.
‘If you insist,’ Killigrew responded lightly. ‘I fear you have the advantage over me, Mr…?’
‘Pereira. Cirurgião Antonio Pereira, at your service.’ He extended his hand, and Killigrew shook it. It was like touching the petals of an orchid, the feel of clammy, dead flesh. If Pereira was the ship’s surgeon, Killigrew was determined not to fall ill on this voyage.
He gestured at the door to Madison’s cabin. ‘Shall we go in?’
‘To be sure, to be sure.
’ Pereira raised a hand, hesitated, swallowed hard, and tapped gently.
‘Come in, Pereira,’ Madison called from inside. ‘I’d recognise your weak-livered scratching at my door any day. And Mr Killigrew,’ he added, seeing Killigrew enter behind the surgeon. ‘Come in, gentlemen. Take a seat.’
Coffin was already there, seated at the table. There were only four of them to dine that night, which was just as well for the table only seated four; there was not room for a bigger one in the cramped cabin. One wall was dominated by the window which gazed out from the stern, while the remaining three were decorated with samplers: ‘They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; These see the work of the LORD, and his wonders in the deep – Psalm 107, 23-24’; ‘It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth – Lamentations iii, 27’; ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged – Matthew vii, 1’.
Killigrew took them in as he seated himself opposite Pereira. The samplers reminded him of the sampler on the wall of Eulalia’s bedroom, which reminded him of Eulalia, and he felt a fleeting pang as he thought of how much he would have preferred to be with her than in the company of these murderous rogues. He forced himself to put all thoughts of Eulalia from his mind: he would need his wits about him if he was going to stay alive for the next few months.
A black steward – Killigrew wondered if he were a slave or a freeman – stood by with a bottle in one hand, and as soon as everyone was seated he began to pour out the wine: first Madison, then Pereira, then Coffin. When it came to Killigrew’s turn, he almost forgot to put his hand over his glass. He suddenly realised he had not had anything alcoholic for several hours, and regretted not being able to drink now. He wondered how long it would be before he could have another drink, and the thought made his mouth water.
‘What’s the matter, Killigrew?’ sneered Coffin. ‘Not drinking? You’re missing out. It’s a good year. What are you afraid of? There are no little girls for you to run down out here in the Irish Sea.’
‘All right, Eli,’ growled Madison, although secretly Killigrew welcomed Coffin’s taunting: it would make it easier for him to abstain, if by doing so he would be disappointing a heartfelt wish in Coffin that he should fall off the wagon.
But the chief mate would not be silenced so easily. ‘Or maybe he’s afraid that he’ll get drunk and let something slip. Like what he’s really doing on board this ship.’
‘I said that will do,’ Madison said firmly, and Coffin lapsed into a sullen silence. ‘Mr Killigrew will have a cup of coffee,’ Madison told the steward, who nodded and went out. When he returned with a pot and a china cup and placed them in front of Killigrew, the latter hesitated before drinking. If they wanted to poison him, he had given them a perfect opportunity: it could be doctored without the others having to drink it; and the bitter taste would mask any poison. But then, if they wanted him dead he had given them all the opportunity they would ever need simply by coming aboard.
Madison turned to Killigrew with an apologetic smile. ‘I noticed you admiring my wife’s handiwork when you came in, Mr Killigrew.’
‘The samplers?’
Madison nodded. ‘A woman’s touch. Are you a married man yourself?’
‘I do not have that pleasure,’ said Killigrew.
‘That’s a great pity,’ said Madison. ‘A man should be married. Proverbs, chapter five, verse eighteen: “Let thy fountain be blessed: and rejoice with the wife of thy youth.”’
‘Since we’re playing at Bible quotes, Cap’n, I have one for you,’ said Coffin. ‘From the Book of Jeremiah, I think: “Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?”’
That pointed barb effectively stifled any further attempts at polite small talk at the supper table, but service as an officer in the Royal Navy prepared a man for many things, and stilted table talk in an uncomfortable atmosphere was one of them. The steward served them a simple but hearty meal of beef, carrots and potatoes and Killigrew tucked in with vigour, apparently oblivious to Coffin’s hostility and the discomfort of Madison and Pereira, enthusiastically asking the steward to pass on his compliments to the cook. Finally Coffin muttered that he had had enough and went below.
‘You’ll have to forgive Mr Coffin, Mr Killigrew,’ said Madison. ‘As I said, he hates the English.’
‘Any particular reason?’
‘Just family tradition. His grandfather was killed at the battle of Trafalgar.’
‘On which side?’
‘The British side. Against his will.’ In those days it had been the habit of the Royal Navy, forgetful of the United States’ new-found independence, to stop American merchant ships and press their seamen into service aboard British men-o’-war; this had been the main cause of the War of 1812. ‘But he’s a good man.’
‘A good man? Or a good seaman? The two are not necessarily one and the same, in my experience.’
‘Aye, true enough. I’d say he’s both, when he doesn’t let his prejudice get the better of him. You’d be wise to try to win him over, Mr Killigrew. He’s not a good man to have for an enemy.’
‘You speak from personal experience?’
Madison chuckled. ‘There’s not a man who’s experienced Eli’s enmity who’s lived to tell the tale,’ he said. Killigrew, sensing the captain spoke the plain truth, felt a shudder run down his spine. ‘Fortunately for me, Eli and I have always been friends.’
‘Until now?’
‘Oh, we don’t always see eye to eye, but we can usually agree to differ.’ Madison snipped the ends off a couple of Havana cigars and handed one to Killigrew. ‘I don’t know. Maybe he is right about you. What do you say?’
‘I say you should trust your own judgement first.’
‘Aye, well, I’ve not yet made up my mind on that score. You’ve still got to prove yourself to me, Mr Killigrew. But help us pick up our cargo from the Guinea Coast and get it across the Atlantic to the slave markets of Havana, and perhaps then you’ll have my trust.’
‘I hope I can win it. I’m not so sure about Mr Coffin’s. I never was one for visiting the sins of the fathers upon the sons myself. My own father was killed in a fight with the Ottoman fleet, but that didn’t stop me from fighting with the Turks in Syria.’
‘I understand you distinguished yourself considerably in that campaign?’
‘I only did my duty.’
‘In support of a crumbling Empire which your father once fought against?’
‘You should judge each nation by the cause it is fighting for at any one moment in history, Captain Madison. My father fought for Greek independence. I fought for the freedom of the Lebanon from the Egyptians. The Lebanese may have had no great love for their Ottoman overlords but, believe me, they preferred being ruled from Constantinople to the rule of the viceroy in Alexandria.’
‘Your father fought as a mercenary?’
‘As a sailor of fortune. He served Admiral Cochrane against Napoleon’s navies, and when Napoleon was beaten they went wherever there was a just cause to be fought for: Chilean and Brazilian independence, then for the Greeks.’
‘And you wanted to follow in his footsteps? Is that why you went to sea?’
‘Yes. What about you? What made you go to sea?’
‘The same thing as you, the same thing as Mr Coffin. We followed in our father’s footsteps. Mr Coffin and I served together aboard a whaler until we realised the advantages of blackbirding.’
‘And they are?’
‘Money, Mr Killigrew,’ said Madison. ‘I know the Good Lord taught us that love of money is the root of all evil, but a man must make a living. Besides, it’s charitable work, too. As you said yourself, we’re rescuing the niggers from a life of ignorance and Godlessness and taking them to a new life in the New World.’
Killigrew forced a smile on to his lips to conceal his revulsion. ‘Of course,’ he said. Madison could be dangerously likeable at times, and Killigrew was glad when he expressed such opinions. It would make it easier for him when t
he time came for him to bring Madison down.
* * *
‘I say, Sir George!’
Emerging from the portals of the Reform Club with one of his parliamentary colleagues, Sir George Grafton heard his name called out and glanced down Pall Mall to see Rear-Admiral Sir Charles Napier limping towards him. ‘Oh, Christ,’ he muttered. ‘Look out, William, it’s that lunatic Napier. I thought we’d seen the last of him.’
Unsmiling as ever, his companion merely inclined his head with a dour expression.
Sir George pasted a broad smile on to his face. ‘Why, Sir Charles! Good morning to you, sir. May I be one of the first to congratulate you on your recent appointment to the command of the Channel Fleet?’ God knows, I worked hard enough to get you sent back to sea so you’d keep your interfering nose out of parliamentary business.
‘Why, thank you, Sir George, thank you. Although I must say, it did come rather unexpectedly. And just when I was starting to find my feet in the House of Commons, too.’ He chuckled. ‘You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say one of my political enemies was trying to get me out of the way.’
‘Nonsense, Sir Charles. There are no enemies in the House of Commons. Only adversaries.’
‘I fear my command of the finer intricacies of Shakespeare’s tongue is not up to the task of discerning the difference. But then as you know, I’m just a simple, bluff old sailor at heart.’
In a pig’s ear, thought Sir George, and indicated his companion. ‘You’ve met Mr Gladstone, I take it?’
‘I know of his father,’ said Napier. Mr Gladstone senior owned a plantation in the West Indies and profited from the trade in apprenticed labour, shipping coolies from India in conditions little better than slave ships.
‘Mr Gladstone is one of the rising stars of our party,’ said Grafton.
‘Our paths have crossed,’ said Napier. ‘Although not yet our swords.’
‘And nor will they ever,’ sniffed Mr Gladstone junior. ‘I have always felt that duelling is the kind of childish behaviour that gentlemen should avoid. And, I might furthermore add, it is contrary to the laws of our nation.’