by Killigrew of the Royal Navy (Killigrew RN) (retail) (epub)
‘We can’t leave them to die,’ he said. ‘It would be damned unchristian of us.’
Madison nodded reluctantly. ‘Mr Killigrew’s right, Eli. We can’t be like the priest and the Levite and pass on by. Matthew, chapter seven, verse twelve: “Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.”’
‘And what if they find out we’re blackbirders?’ demanded Coffin. ‘As soon as we put them ashore we’ll have every navy vessel on the coast searching for us.’
‘Then we’ll have to make sure they don’t find out, won’t we?’ Madison said crisply, and turned to the crewman he had appointed boatswain in Duarte’s place. ‘Lower the jolly boat, Mr Covilhã. We’ll have that mast, too, to replace the one we lost last night. We’ll drop them off a few miles down the coast from Freetown, within easy walking distance of one of the settlements but not close enough to excite the attention of any navy vessels in the harbour there.’
As the jolly boat picked up the castaways, Killigrew was aware that for them it was a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire. He was beginning to understand Madison’s warped idea of morality: while the slave captain would pick up castaways out of Christian charity, he would not hesitate to have them murdered later if that was the best way to protect his own interests. But with any luck it would not come to that.
As the Leopardo hove to alongside the floating mast, the jolly boat bumped against the brig’s side. There was a stir on deck as the hands gathered around the rail to help the three castaways over the bulwark, in particular the one that was female and pretty. They gathered around her, grinning inanely and knuckling their foreheads. But Killigrew was more concerned about the man who was barely conscious and had to be lifted over the rail. He seemed to be delirious, babbling away in a daze, quite oblivious to what was going on around him.
As the man was laid on the deck, Killigrew crouched over him. The man was in his late twenties, fair-haired, his smooth, pink face sunburned and now salt-blistered. He wore a dog collar.
The woman pushed her way through the crowd of sailors around her and Killigrew was aware of the hem of her dress at the edge of his vision, but he was too busy trying to ascertain what was wrong with the man to look up at her. ‘Oh, you will take care of my brother, won’t you, sir?’ she asked. Like her brother, she spoke with a distinct American accent. More damned Yankees, thought Killigrew.
‘We’ll do our best, ma’am,’ he said. ‘What happened to him?’
‘He got hit on the back of the head by a… by one of those things as our ship went down.’
Killigrew was finally forced to glance up at her. That she was the delirious man’s sister there could be no doubting, but the features looked better on her than they did on him, for all that her lips were blistered, her eyes gummed with sea salt, and her blonde hair straggled wetly across her shoulders.
She was pointing to a block and tackle in the ship’s rigging. Killigrew nodded. ‘That’s a block, ma’am.’
‘It’s “miss”, not “ma’am”,’ she told him.
‘Pleased to meet you, miss, though I wish it could be under more fortuitous circumstances. My name’s Killigrew, by the way. Kit Killigrew.’
‘We’re just glad that your ship came along when it did,’ said the woman. ‘This is my brother, the Reverend Chance.’
‘Which would make you…’
She nodded with a grimace. ‘Miss Chance. No jokes, please. Believe me, Captain Killigrew, I’ve heard them all.’ He found himself warming to her at once. ‘Then I’ll have to see if I can surprise you. And it’s just “mister”, I’m afraid, not “captain”. Captain Madison over there is the master of this vessel,’ he explained, pointing to where Madison stood on the quarter-deck with Coffin. Both of them were avoiding the castaways, perhaps fearing that their faces might be identified later.
He turned to the nearest sailor. ‘Carry the reverend down to the sick bay. Miss Chance, you and your friend here…’
The third castaway tugged his forelock. ‘Donohoe, sir, Able Seaman Clem Donohoe,’ he announced in an Irish brogue.
‘One-time navy?’ Killigrew asked him.
‘As is yourself, sir, unless I’m very much mistaken.’
The presence of an able seaman who had served on one of Her Majesty’s ships was a reassurance to Killigrew, a potential ally if things turned nasty. ‘Very well, Able Seaman Donohoe. You go below with Miss Chance here so the quack can make sure you’re both all right. I’ll have some hot food brought to you.’
As the three castaways were taken below, Killigrew turned to Doc. ‘Some hot broth, Mas’er Killigrew?’ suggested the cook.
‘Good idea, Doc.’
As the cook made his way to the galley, Killigrew crossed to where Madison and Coffin waited. ‘Well?’ demanded Madison.
‘Well what?’
‘What did you find out?’
‘The clergyman and the woman are brother and sister…’
‘We saw that much for ourselves,’ sneered Coffin.
‘The reverend received a blow to the head when their ship went down. He looks like he might be in a bad way. Their names are the Reverend and Miss Chance.’
‘Miss Chance!’ guffawed Coffin. ‘It was sure as hell a mischance that brought them on board this vessel.’
Killigrew smiled thinly. ‘Yes, well, if I were you I should avoid making that joke in her presence. I got the feeling she might not see the humorous side of it.’
‘What about the other one?’ Madison demanded impatiently.
‘His name’s Donohoe. An Irishman – from County Cork, unless I’m mistaken. He’s served in the navy.’
‘Another goddamn Limey tar,’ muttered Coffin.
Madison half-turned towards his chief mate. ‘Haven’t you got duties to be seeing to, Mr Coffin? Like getting that mast lashed up in place of the one we lost?’
‘Aye, aye, Cap’n.’ Coffin headed forward with a crooked grin.
‘You were saying about this Donohoe fellow?’ Madison asked Killigrew.
Killigrew shrugged. ‘I suppose he was a sailor on board their ship.’
‘Which was?’ asked Madison.
‘I didn’t enquire. They’ve all been through an unpleasant ordeal and I thought the first priority was to make them comfortable.’
‘Quite right, of course, Mr Killigrew. Ail the same, I’d feel a good deal happier if I knew a little bit more about them before I put them ashore.’
‘I’m sure they don’t represent any kind of threat—’
‘I’m sure they don’t intend to,’ Madison cut in firmly. ‘But of all the captains in the slave trade today, no one’s got a longer record of avoiding capture than me, and that’s because I take precautions. Find out more, Mr Killigrew.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
‘You seem to have a talent for… shall we say social chitchat? Putting on a polite face for the gentry?’
‘My grandfather made sure I was brought up correctly, if that’s what you mean.’
Madison gestured dismissively. ‘Whatever you want to call it. It was your suggestion that we pick them up instead of leaving them to their fate. I’m making you responsible for them. I’ll tell Mr Covilhã to have the men watch what they say when our “guests” are around. And I don’t want them sniffing around the hold, understood? They go in the sick bay, the officers’ accommodation or on deck, but nowhere else. If the reverend is indisposed he’d best stay in the sick bay, and I suppose Mr Donohoe had better sleep with the other lads. Miss Chance can have my cabin.’
‘And where will you sleep, sir?’
‘I’ll have your bunk, Mr Killigrew. You can bunk up with Pereira.’
‘What a delightful thought,’ Killigrew said drily.
‘And Killigrew?’
‘Sir?’
‘I guess Miss Chance might scrub-up real pretty. But I don’t want you trying to take advantage of her, you understand? Treat her with
respect.’
Killigrew bridled. ‘You forget. I used to be an officer and a gentleman.’
‘I forget nothing. “Used to be” is right.’
Killigrew made his way down below. Half a dozen sailors crowded around the entrance to the sick bay. It was the first time any of them had seen a woman since they had left Liverpool, Madison having made sure that few of them left the ship at São Tiago and none of them had left the dockside. ‘Haven’t you men got work to do?’ snapped Killigrew. ‘Mr Coffin could do with a hand lashing up the new mast.’
‘Sîm, Senhor Killigrew.’ The men scurried away and Killigrew slipped into the sick bay. Pereira was examining the back of Reverend Chance’s head while Miss Chance sat on the chair, a rough blanket thrown around her shoulders. Donohoe sat near her on the floor. If the Leopardo was poorly equipped with medical facilities, it was infinitely better than other slavers Killigrew had encountered, most of which did not even carry a surgeon on their books in order to save on expense.
‘How is he?’ Killigrew asked Pereira in Portuguese.
‘Not good. He has a bad concussion, and fever too perhaps. I have given him a little laudanum to help him rest.’
‘Is he going to be all right?’ Miss Chance asked in English.
‘The surgeon’s doing his best for him,’ said Killigrew, and she nodded. ‘How about you two?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Well, still a little shaky maybe. I was ready to commend our souls unto God just before this ship turned up.’
‘Didn’t I tell you we’d be fine?’ said Donohoe.
‘How about you, Mr Donohoe?’ asked Killigrew.
‘Oh, I’ll be right as rain, Mr Killigrew sir. I’ve been shipwrecked before. It’ll take more than a few big waves to be putting an end to Clem Donohoe.’
‘Were there many others on board your ship?’
‘Seventeen of us in the crew, all told.’ Donohoe smiled wanly, although he was obviously upset at the thought he would never see his shipmates again. ‘The reverend father and Miss Chance here were our only passengers. I think maybe some of the others managed to get into one of the boats, but when she foundered she went down so fast…’ He let the sentence trail off and gestured helplessly, hopelessly.
‘Which ship was it?’
‘The Belinda Lovelace, out of New York. Bound for Sherbro Island with supplies and mail.’
‘My brother and I were on our way to join the American Mission there,’ explained Miss Chance.
Killigrew nodded. He knew Sherbro Island, or at least he had seen it a few times: a large island immediately off the Guinea Coast. It was there that the slaves who had revolted against their captors on board the La Amistad had settled after their trial in the United States had cleared them of the charges of mutiny and murder a few years earlier. Many of them had become Christians during their incarceration in the States, and they had helped the newly formed American Missionary Association set up the Mende Mission at Komende on the island.
‘I’ll see if I can persuade Captain Madison to drop you off there. It’s on our way.’ As a matter of fact the course Madison had plotted – which had yet to be completed – trailed off immediately to the west of Sherbro Island, and Killigrew knew that Madison would be far happier to drop off his passengers at a Christian mission than he would at a British Crown Colony and naval base.
Doc turned up with three bowls of steaming broth on a tray and handed two to Donohoe and Miss Chance. ‘What about him?’ he asked, nodding at the recumbent reverend.
‘He’ll be asleep for a few hours,’ said Pereira, taking the third bowl for himself. ‘A pity to let it go to waste. You can make him another bowl when he awakes.’
‘Doc, could you fetch our guests some dry clothes from the purser’s slops?’ suggested Killigrew, and the cook nodded and went out. ‘If you two are both comfortable, I’ll leave you to Senhor Pereira here.’
‘About accommodation…’ said Donohoe.
‘That’s been arranged,’ said Killigrew, and filled them in on the arrangements.
‘I’m sorry if we’re an imposition,’ said Miss Chance.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Killigrew told her with a smile.
He reported to Madison in his day cabin. The captain was already packing up his things to make room for Miss Chance. ‘Well?’ he grunted.
Killigrew related the gist of his conversation with Donohoe and Miss Chance, and Madison nodded. ‘We’ll make better time once Mr Coffin gets the new mast in place. We should be within sight of Sherbro Island in just over a week if all goes according to plan. You’d better get some rest now. I want you to take the middle watch tonight.’
* * *
‘Jesus!’ Killigrew gasped when he came up on deck to take over from Madison as officer of the watch.
Madison grinned, his face turned into a ghastly devil’s mask by the phosphorescence of the sea which cast its hideous glow over the ship. ‘You never seen this before, Mr Killigrew?’
‘After two years on the West Africa Station? But it still gives me the creeps.’
Above, the sky was as black as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat, without a star to be seen in the heavens. A few lanterns swung above deck, but their illumination was hardly needed: the whole sea was aglow with phosphorescence, from horizon to horizon, a bright, eye-searing pale green. It looked as if they were sailing through a sea of fire.
‘Revelation, chapter fifteen, verse two: “And I saw as it were a sea of glass mingled with fire”.’
Killigrew nodded. ‘No wonder the ancients believed that a belt of flame circumscribed their world.’
‘I’ll bid you goodnight, Mr Killigrew. See you in the forenoon.’ Madison went below.
Killigrew was left alone on deck with the helmsman and the lookouts. Apart from the hideous glow of the sea, all was well: a strong breeze blew from the south-west, carrying the Leopardo towards her destination on a starboard tack. Despite the jury-rigged foremast, the vessel rode easily on the broad swell of the ocean.
Miss Chance emerged from the aft hatch. When she saw Killigrew she smiled at him, but knitted her brow at the peculiar quality of the light. As soon as she was fully out of the hatch she saw the sea and her expression changed to one of wonderment.
She crossed to where he stood, treading carefully on the deck as if she feared that the ship might vanish from beneath her and plunge her into the glowing sea. She was dressed in clothes from the purser’s slops, outsized and baggy on her slight figure, making her look even smaller and more vulnerable. She had somehow managed to wash her hair, and while she had been unable to have it properly coiffed, it spilled across her shoulders in a way which was natural and attractive.
‘Am I dreaming?’ she asked him.
He shook his head. ‘Phosphorescence, miss. It looks eerie, I’ll grant you, but it’s common enough and quite harmless.’
They leaned against the rail, side by side, and stared down to where the ship seemed to strike veins of glowing gold from the green-tinged light. ‘What causes it?’ she asked.
‘I’ve no idea. To tell you the truth, I don’t want to.’
‘Because you might fear the explanation?’
Smiling, he shook his head. ‘The only thing I fear about the explanation is that it will prove to be perfectly banal and ruin the magic of it. How is your brother?’
Her face fell. ‘Feverish. I’m afraid the blow to the head he received may have permanently addled his brains. Is… what kind of surgeon is Mr Pereira? I mean, is he a good one?’
‘He’s no better nor worse than any surgeon you’ll find on a ship like this,’ said Killigrew, meaning he was neither better nor worse than having no surgeon at all.
‘What kind of a ship is this, exactly?’
‘A merchantman. Trading manufactured goods to the Guinea Coast in return for palm oil.’ He felt more uncomfortable lying to her about the purpose of their voyage than he did lying to Madison about his motives, but it was for her own safety.
&
nbsp; ‘An American master and chief mate, an English second mate, and the rest of the crew Spanish or Portuguese,’ she mused. ‘Are all merchantmen as cosmopolitan as this, Mr Killigrew?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s not uncommon amongst merchantmen, or even navy vessels. A ship may be registered in one country and owned by a merchant in another, but the men aboard her don’t much trouble themselves what flag they serve under. If they loved their countries so much, they’d’ve stayed in them instead of running away to sea. Unless they’ve been shanghaied, of course, but all the hands aboard this vessel are willing enough.’
‘Why did you run away to sea, Mr Killigrew?’
He chuckled. ‘With my family background, running away would have meant staying on shore. The Killigrews have been making a living from the sea since the fifteenth century. What about you, miss? What brings you so far from home?’
‘I just want to help our black brethren, that’s all. William – my brother – was the first to get involved in the Missionary Association, but I’ve always supported him in everything he’s done.’
‘Wouldn’t you rather have a life of your own? Or is that an impertinent question?’
She shook her head. ‘This is the only way I can have a life of my own. If I stayed in America my folks would press me to marry, and then I’d have to subsume my life into that of my husband. At least this way I get some choice of my own. And the condition of the Africans is something I care about passionately.’
‘Ah, yes. Converting our heathen brethren to the path of righteousness.’
‘From your tone I take it you do not approve?’
‘I’ve not had much experience of the effects of missionary activity in Africa. In Guinea there’s so much tribal warfare it’s impossible to tell how much is caused by missionaries and how much is caused by the economic demand for prisoners of war.’