“English?”
The result was more wailing, more supplication, and the shaking of his head. Argent pulled him out of the way and examined the bulkhead to each side, then the door. The bulkhead stretched across the full width of the hold and the door had a large keyhole above a large handle.
“I’d say this was it. But even if it isn’t, we go in here anyway. Bring him up.”
The Arab was pushed forward, more calm, now that it was clear to him that he was not going to be immediately and summarily done to death. Argent placed his hand at the keyhole and began to turn an imaginary key, whilst looking at the Arab. The result was an exhibition of deep distress at his only being able to disappoint his captors, so he was pulled back again and kicked to one side. Argent looked again at the door, it was very solid, too solid for musket butts.
“Find something to smash in this door. There must be something.”
The result was all lanterns being raised to examine the contents of the hold. Argent was relieved to hear what came soon.
“There’s some kind of spar here, Sir. It’s long but if we all get on it and it’s rigged, too, with plenty of rope.”
“Perfect, get it up here.”
Weapons and muskets were laid aside as the lateen spar, long and unwieldy, was lined up with the door, but, once in place, many hands were able to take hold of the attached rigging and every muscle was then applied to drive it forward. The door splintered at the lock after the third blow and swung back. A foul stench emerged, but what came next amazed them all.
“Who’s that, who’s there?”
This from a female voice with a profound Southern Irish accent, but Argent answered.
“We are the crew of His Majesty’s Ship Ariadne, ma’am, and I am Captain Argent. We have captured this ship and intend to take you off.”
There was no clear response, but, nevertheless, sounds of some kind were heard, seemingly gasps and sobs. Also some French reached him, “Nous sommes secourus par la Marine Anglaise.” Even Argent didn’t need that translated, but then came the very Irish reply.
“I’m sure we’re wholly grateful, Captain Argent, but if any one of youse comes in here, you’re surely going to get a fist in the mouth. There’s not one of us with a stitch on!”
Argent looked back at his men, all now grinning.
“Get some clothes down here. Strip the dead, but include none too bloody. And search down here as well, the clothes they were captured in must be somewhere aboard.”
Somehow Midshipman Bright had appeared.
“Bright, I’m leaving you in charge. You examine whatever is passed in and it must be at least vaguely wholesome.”
Argent returned to the gap of the open door.
“We hear you, ma’am, and we are going to find you some clothes, which we will pass in as soon as we find them, but they may be the clothing of dead sailors. I’m sorry.”
He reached back and took a lantern, then continued, speaking at the door edge.
“We’re passing in a lantern or two. Please be patient, we will do our best. You are safe now, under the protection of the Royal Navy.”
He slid the lantern around the door and the smell hit his nostrils as the lantern was seized by a female hand and taken away. He turned to those behind him.
“Two more.”
Carrying these he returned to the door edge and pushed them through. Then came the next thought.
“Ma’am, would you like some buckets of water? Perhaps you’d care to wash before you come out?”
A pause, then the same Irish voice, equally aggressive.
“I’ll take that as a concerned and helpful suggestion, Captain, rather than some sort of unkind and pointed comment. We would like a wash, yes, and I’ll say thank you.”
Argent nodded and looked again at Bright.
“See to it, and be patient. This will take some time, and, in any case, I do not want them to come out until we have cleared the decks above of bodies and parts of. So, await orders. Clear?”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
Argent raised his voice to the men waiting.
“Above. We’ve work to do.”
However, the female Irish voice had not finished.
“So, that’s you, Captain Argent.”
Argent returned to the door edge.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Captain Reuben Argent, of the frigate Ariadne, that’s fast and stiff and surrenders hardly any leeway. Named after a few stars!”
“Yes to both, ma’am.”
“Well, this is Sinaid Malley in here, and I’m pleased to renew your acquaintance, and we’re all surely grateful that you’ve arrived.”
The adrenalin of battle, still flowing within him, helped Argent recover from the shock.
“I’m very pleased to encounter you again, Miss Malley, but that light, shining from this hull, last night. Did you have anything to do with it?”
“Yes. It was me.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
oOo
Argent picked his way back to the top deck which the growing light was revealing as a charnel house, worse than that of the oar deck below. The grapeshot had ripped bodies to pieces and unidentifiable body parts were strewn around, but he need give no orders. His men knew what came next and all were being unceremoniously tipped over the side, save the bodies of their own shipmates, which were carefully laid out. Soon the bodies from below were brought up and followed over into the reddening sea. Argent took stock of what they had, she was wide, but lightly built with three stubby masts carrying the big lateen sails whose spars jutted far above the mast tops. Some Officer, probably Fraser, had rigged a gangplank between the two hulls, both now being well secured together and his own wounded were being helped back on board. He observed the care that the sailors afforded their own shipmates, watching for a while, then he began to walk around the slaver’s deck and at that point he felt a wound of his own, a cut on his arm, through his coat and he saw that blood had run out through the wrist. However, his mind was returning to calm after the heat of the battle, so the wound now hurt and it suddenly re-occurred to him that he was under orders not to have done this, but to get a despatch to Wellesley as soon as possible.
His absent minded tour of the slaver brought him to the quarterdeck where were grouped a mass of prisoners, 80 or more, many wounded, but all guarded by a strong line of Marines, with a pile of weapons heaped behind them. Argent thought that the slaver’s crew must have been almost the equal of their own and was grateful for the work of the carronades, even though the result was too stomach churning to look upon for too long. Many of the prisoners were wounded and no one was doing much for them, but Argent felt little disturbance to his own conscience. His own wounded came first and he knew that he was now stood at the very rail where the child had been murdered, pushed off to perish in the wide, cold sea. Nevertheless, someone, perhaps more Christian than he, was bringing buckets of water for the prisoners at least to wash their wounds and then make some repair. He came up to a Marine Sergeant, and found him to be Ackroyd.
“Do we know which is the Captain?”
The Sergeant saluted.
“No Sir. We’ve no idea, Sir. He may not even be alive.”
Argent nodded, but Ackroyd continued.
“There’s one problem, Sir. We found eight chained to their oars, Sir. Two of them claim to be English, taken off a merchantman. Another says he’s a Yankee!”
Argent nodded again.
“Which?”
The Sergeant pointed and Argent was able to quickly identify the eight, still with manacles around their wrists. Two noticed Argent and stood.
“Sir, sir, your honour, Sir, we’re English, Sir. Captured by these Heathen Devils off the William Johns, Sir, an Indiaman. We’ll sign on, Sir. We’re English.”
Argent fixed them with a look of scorn.
“Sit down and wait. We’ll discover soon enough your role aboard this ship. Now hold your peace.”
; The two sat down on the deck, glum and miserable, then Argent continued around the deck, pleased that his men had set to cleaning and swabbing away the worst of the blood. He took himself down below again, back to where Bright still stood at the shattered door, now joined by Trenchard. Piles of arab seaman’s clothes were arriving and being passed in by Trenchard, who had given himself the duty. Everything that was being offered was being taken back behind the door. He walked up to it and knocked.
“Miss Malley. Anyone.”
A voice answered that was not Irish, but Cornish.
“Yes.”
“This is Captain Argent. How long do you think you will be? We must be quickly on our way.”
“Not long, Captain. We’re all washed and soon all will be dressed.”
A pause.
“Captain.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m from Ruanporth. I’m Jane Worleggen. My two children were taken with me. Are you an Argent from Lanbe Barton?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My brother married one of your sisters. He’s called Beryan Trethewey. If you are Reuben, I can remember you both playing together.”
Emotion welled up inside Argent almost to the point where he could not speak. He choked out the words as best he could.
“I left Beryan very well and, ………. he was worried for you. But you should worry no longer, we are going to get you home.”
“Thank you, Captain, and we’ll all be out soon.”
Argent was grateful for the dark as he wiped away a tear and swallowed hard. He turned to the dim shapes of Bright and Trenchard.
“When they come out, bring them straight up.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
“And well done, well done to all three of you. I’m proud of you. Pass that on, will you, to Berry?”
Trenchard answered.
“We will, Sir, and thank you, Sir.”
They both saluted in the dark.
Argent regained the top deck, now washed to a faint pink. He looked over the side. The wind was moving both ships across the sea together and a trail of reddened water stretched out behind them. Some kind of sea creatures were active there, disturbing the surface.
Ideas were forming in his head, not least the wish to be on his way again well before Noon. He looked for an Officer and found two, Fentiman and Wentworth, talking together.
“Where’s Sanders?”
Fentiman answered.
“Back aboard, Sir. He was wounded; a cut to his head and another to his arm. Neither is severe, but they need stitching.”
Argent nodded, then began on his own business.
“Get every spare man from Ariadne over and onto this; I want his sails off him and back with us. Then search everywhere, anything of any value take back on board, including the weapons back there. We’ll let the prisoners take their pick of it all, which is small recompense for what they’ve been through, but something better than nothing. I want to be shot of this and away.”
Fentiman was surprised.
“You’ll not send this back as a prize, Sir?”
“No. She’s no kind of ship that’s of any use back home, Navy or Merchant, and we cannot spare a prize crew. A fast passage to where we should be now, gets priority. What’s our butcher’s bill, by the way?”
“As a know of at this moment, eight dead and ten wounded, two seriously.”
Argent nodded and looked at the shrouded shapes, eight, as Fentiman had said, waiting to be carried back to their ship. But Fentiman could not contain his own concern and he pointed aft.
“But what of those, Sir? We have over eighty prisoners.”
Argent began walking away, but replied over his shoulder.
“Did I not say, “shot of and away”.
Wentworth and Fentiman exchanged horrified looks, but took themselves back to their ship to find seamen to carry out their Captain’s orders.
The women and children did not arrive up on deck as promised and so, in the interim, the Ariadnies searched the galley from top to bottom, taking back to their ship any item that could possibly have any value, where it was then stored between the masts on the gundeck. By Fentiman’s orders, Gabriel Whiting and his fellow topmen found themselves over on board the slaver when the women and children did finally emerge up onto the oar deck. All eyes turned to them, all wearing outsize Arab seaman’s clothing, but Whiting’s blood turned cold when he looked at the children, one especially that was running towards him. He fell to his knees and caught the child, she was the girl that he had fed back at Kilannan and he wept himself as she clung to his neck. Through the tears he could see other children that he recognised and his voice quivered with emotion.
“Oh lads, what’s to do?”
As he stroked the girl’s head, he saw Sinaid Malley. He looked at her.
“Ma’am. The child they murdered?”
“Her brother.”
“What about her Mother, ma’am?”
“They didn’t take her. I think she’s still alive, back in the village.”
He muttered a curse under his breath then raised himself up with the child still in his arms. Other crewmen were stood near and he gave an order.
“Get these off, off this. Too soon’ll not be soon enough.”
Each small child was picked up by a seaman and carried to the top deck and then to the gangway. All was well until the girl that Able Jones was carrying was brought up into the sunlight, when at that moment she started screaming. Jones could do nothing to comfort her and she struggled even when Sinaid Malley took her from him and whispered soothingly in words of Gaelic. Her struggles were so violent they had no choice but to tie her arms to her side and also her legs before she could be carried over the perilous gangplank. Jones, now with no child and Whiting still carrying his, looked at Sinaid, their lack of understanding clear on their faces. Then she spoke.
“She was one of those they took and bound. They took away five and brought back four and she hasn’t said a word since they brought her back. She’s been wholly silent until now, I’d guess it was when she saw the sea again.”
Jones had no jacket, but Sam Morris took off his and wrapped it around the girl’s head so that she would not know when she was going. This calmed her and perhaps, also, did their soothing words. Wentworth had seen all and he was as moved by it as anyone.
“Take her st-straight t-t-to the si-sickbay. To Mr. Smallpiece.”
Able Jones again raised up the child and stepped onto the gangplank, all the while talking soothingly, but he was thinking, “not Smallpiece, Mrs. McArdle.”
Silas Beddows had no burden, but his anger was in full spate. He looked at the prisoners still squatting at the stern and raised his fist and screamed obscenities at them. He made to run back to them, violence in his eyes, but the giants King and Fenwick stopped him and their own pats on his shoulders and soothing words calmed him. However, this did nothing for the tension now growing amongst the slaver prisoners, who had seen everything, which had added hugely to their own fears.
Argent was examining the Captain’s cabin, when he heard the commotion above, but he relaxed as the noise subsided. From the cabin everything moveable had been cleared, but all the papers were in Arabic script and so they remained, scattered about. He decided that all aboard the slaver was done, bar one thing; the Captain and the eight chained oarsmen. He took himself onto the top deck and saw, for the first time, Sinaid Malley. She was pale, her face still dirt streaked and her lustrous hair hung in rats’ tails, but this did nothing to diminish her self-assurance. On seeing Argent, she stood straight and tall, with her arms on her hips and her bare feet comfortably apart, the voluminous Arabian clothes seemed to suit her. Her knowing smile had not changed, nor the coquettish angle of her head.
“Captain Argent.”
Argent came to the attention and bowed. As usual he fell back onto the comfort of formality.
“Miss Malley. I did not expect that we would meet again, certainly not in such ci
rcumstances.”
“No indeed, Captain, but it pleases me, all the same, for all kinds of reasons. As you can imagine.”
Her eyes flashed straight into his. Argent cleared his throat.
“Can you identify the Captain for us? Is he one of the prisoners? If not, then, obviously, he must be dead.”
“I can’t, but there’s one who can. She and her child were taken to spend many hours with him and they came back sobbing, every time.”
Argent gave no reaction and held his silence at the implication. He knew exactly what she was conveying.
“Is she still here, or on board Ariadne, do you know?”
Sinaid looked around at the line of captives filing up and onto the gangplank and by good chance, a pale, dishevelled, woman, with light brown hair, came up the companionway and Sinaid pointed.
“This one. Her name’s Bridie Mather. She’s Irish and speaks no English.”
Argent took a deep breath.
“Please ask Mrs. Mather if she can come with us to identify the Captain, back there.”
He inclined his head to the group of prisoners. Sinaid gently placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder and her and her two children stopped. Sinaid spoke the Gaelic and the woman nodded, but her face grew fearful. Argent saw this and he looked at King and Fenwick.
“Come with me. Keep close to Mrs. Mather, as if a guard.”
He turned back to Sinaid.
“Miss Malley. If you would care for the children a while.”
Sinaid bent down and put an arm around both, as the four left her and walked back along the galley’s topdeck to the prisoners. Argent looked at Mrs. Mather and smiled encouragingly as did the two huge seamen beside her. She seemed comforted and walked back to the first line of prisoners, stopping there to examine all in front and then those beyond. Many dropped their heads as she looked across them all, then her face changed to one of rage and fury and, before anyone could stop her, she had leapt amidst the prisoners to tear at the head and face of one sat close to the back and near the siderail. She had been too quick for King and Fenwick, but they recovered and pulled her off. They released her, and then seized the man she had attacked, but she, now free, renewed her assault. Fenwick hauled the man to his feet, whilst King restrained the berserk Mrs. Mather. Argent had seen enough.
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