by Wilbur Smith
"I did not get a glimpse of your yellow hide during the fighting," Hal said quietly. "Where were you hiding this time?" Sam flushed and swung the handful of heavy chains against Hal's head. Hal recovered and stared coldly into his eyes. Sam would have struck again, but a huge black hand reached up and seized his wrist. He looked down into the smoky eyes of Aboli, who crouched beside Hal. Aboli said not a word but Sam Bowles stayed the blow. He could not hold that murderous stare, and dropped his eyes, keeping them averted as he knelt hurriedly to clamp the chains on Hal's limbs.
He stood up and came to Aboli, who watched him with the same expressionless gaze as he hurriedly screwed the shackles onto him, then passed on to where Big Daniel lay. Daniel winced but uttered no sound as Sam Bowles tugged brutally at his arms. The bullet wound had stopped bleeding, but with this rough treatment it opened again and began to weep watery blood from under the red head cloth that Aboli had used to bandage it. The blood trickled over his chest and dripped into the sand.
When they were all shackled together they were ordered to their feet. Supporting him between them, Hal and Aboli half carried Daniel as they were led in a file to one of the larger trees. Again they were forced to sit while the end of the chain was passed around the trunk and made fast with two heavy iron padlocks.
There were only twenty-six survivors from the Resolution's complement. Among these were four ex slaves, of which Aboli was one. Nearly all were at least lightly wounded, but four, including Daniel, were gravely injured and must be in danger of their lives.
Ned Tyler had received a deep cutlass slash in his thigh. Hampered by their manacles, Hal and Aboli bound it up with another strip of cloth salvaged from the shirt of one of the dead men who littered the battlefield like flotsam on the windswept beach. Parties of green-jacketed musketeers were working under their Dutch sergeants to gather up the corpses. Dragging them by the heels to a clearing among the trees, they stripped the bodies and searched them for the silver coins and other items of value that had been their share of the booty from the Standvastigheid.
A pair of petty-officers painstakingly searched through the discarded clothing, ripping out seams and tearing the soles off boots. Another team of three men, their sleeves rolled high and their fingers dipped in a pot of grease, probed the body orifices of the corpses, searching for any valuables that might be tucked away in these traditional hiding places.
The recovered booty was thrown into an empty water cask, over which a white sergeant stood with a loaded pistol as the keg filled slowly with a rich booty. When the ghoulish trio had finished with the naked corpses another gang dragged them away and threw them onto tall funeral pyres. Fuelled by dry logs the flames reached so high that they shrivelled the green leaves on the tall trees that surrounded the clearing. The smoke of charring flesh was sweet and nauseating, like burnt pork fat.
In the meantime, Schreuder and Cumbrae, assisted by Limberger, the captain of the galleon, were taking stock of the spice barrels. They were as officious as tax collectors, with their lists and books, checking the contents and weights of the recovered goods against the original ship's manifest, and marking the staves of the kegs with white chalk.
When they had made their tallies other gangs of seamen rolled the great barrels down to the beach and loaded them into the largest pinnace to be taken out to the galleon, which lay anchored out in the channel, under her new mainmast and rigging. The work went on all that night by the light of lantern and bonfire and the yellow flames of the cremation pyres.
As the hours passed Big Daniel became feverish. His skin was hot, and at times he raved. The bandage had at last staunched his wound, and under it a soft crusty scab had begun to form over the ugly puncture. But the skin around it was swollen and turning livid.
"The ball is still in there, Hal whispered to Aboli. "There is no wound in his back for it to have left his body." Aboli grunted, "If we try to cut it out, we will kill him.
From the angle which it entered, it must lie close to his heart and lungs."
"I fear it will mortify." Hal shook his head.
"He is strong as a bull." Aboli shrugged. "Perhaps strong enough to defeat the demons." Aboli believed that all sickness was caused by demons that had invaded the blood.
It was a groundless superstition, but Hal humoured him in his belief. "We should cauterize the wounds of all the men with hot tar." This was the sailor's cure-all and Hal pleaded in Dutch with the Hottentot guards to bring one of the pitch pots from the carpenter's shop in the stockade, but they ignored him.
It was after midnight before they saw Schreuder again. He strode out of the darkness and went directly to where Sir Francis lay chained to the others at the foot of the tree. Like the rest of his men, he was exhausted but able to snatch only brief moments of broken sleep, disturbed by the restless din and movements of the work gangs and the weak cries and groans of the wounded.
"Sir Francis." Schreuder stooped and shook him fully awake. "May I trouble you for a few minutes of your time?" From the tone of his voice, it seemed that his temper was on an even keel.
Sir Francis sat up. "First, Colonel, may I trouble you for a little compassion? None of my men has had a drop of water since yesterday afternoon. As you can see, four are grievously wounded."
Schreuder frowned, and Sir Francis guessed that he had not given orders for the prisoners to be deliberately mistreated. He himself had never thought that Schreuder was a brutal or sadistic man. His savage behaviour earlier had almost certainly been caused by his excitable nature, and by the strain and exigencies of battle. Now Schreuder turned to the guards and gave orders for water and food to be brought to the prisoners, and sent a sergeant to find the chest of medical supplies in Sir Francis's shattered hut.
While they waited for his orders to be carried out, Schreuder paced back and forth in the sand, his chin on his breast and his hands clasped behind his back. Hal suddenly sat up straighter.
"Aboli," he whispered. "The sword."
Aboli grunted as he realized that on Schreuder's sword belt hung the inlaid and embossed Neptune sword of Hal's knighthood, that had once belonged to his grandfather. Aboli laid a calming hand on the young man's shoulder to prevent him accosting Schreuder, and said softly, "The spoils of war, Gundwane. It is lost to you, but at least a real warrior still wears it." Hal subsided, realizing the cruel logic of the other man's advice.
At last Schreuder turned back to Sir Francis. "Captain Limberger and I have tallied the spice and timber cargo that you have stored in the go downs and we find that most of it is accounted for and still intact. The shortfall would probably be due to seawater damage sustained during the taking of the galleon. I have been told that one of your culverin balls pierced the main hold and part of the cargo was flooded."
"I am pleased," Sir Francis nodded with weary irony, "that you have been able to recover all of your Company's property.-" "Alas, that is not the case, Sir Francis, as you are well aware. There is still a large part of the galleon's cargo missing." He paused as the sergeant returned, and gave him an order. "Take the chains off the black and the boy. Let them water the others." Some men were following with a water cask, which they placed at the foot of the tree. Hal and Aboli immediately began to pour fresh water for their wounded, and all of them drank, gulping down the precious stuff with closed eyes and bobbing throats.
The sergeant reported to Colonel Schreuder, "I have found the surgeon's instruments." He displayed the canvas roll. "But, Mijnheer, it contains sharp knives, which could be used as weapons, and the contents of the pitch pots could be used against my men."
Schreuder looked down at Sir Francis where he squatted, haggard and dishevelled, beside the tree-trunk. "Do I have your word as a gentleman not to use these medical supplies to harm my men?"
"You have my solemn word," Sir Francis agreed. Schreuder nodded at the sergeant. "Give all of it into Sir Francis's charge," he ordered, and the sergeant handed over the small chest of medical supplies, the tar pot and a bolt of clean
cloth that could be used as bandages.
"Now, Captain," Schreuder picked up the conversation where he had left off, "we have retrieved the plundered spice and timber, but more than half the coin and all of the gold bullion that was in the hold of the Standvastigheid is still missing."
"The spoils were distributed to my crew." Sir Francis smiled humourlessly. "I do not know what they have done with their share, and most are too dead to be able to enlighten us."
"We have recovered what I calculate must be the greater part of your crew's share." Schreuder gestured at the barrel containing the valuables collected in such macabre fashion from the battlefield casualties. It was being carried by a party of seamen down -to a waiting pinnace and guarded by Dutch officers with drawn swords. "My officers have searched the huts of your men in the stockade, but there is still no sign of the other half."
"Much as I would like to be of service to you, I am unable to account to you for the missing portion," Sir Francis told him quietly. At this denial, Hal looked up from ministering to the wounded men, but his father never glanced in his direction.
"Lord Cumbrae believes that you have cached the missing treasure," Schreuder remarked. "And I agree with him."
"Lord Cumbrae is a famous liar and cheat," Sir Francis said. "And you, sir, are mistaken in your belief."
"Lord Cumbrae is of the opinion that were he given the opportunity to question you in person he would be able to extract from you the whereabouts of the missing treasure. He is anxious to try to persuade you to reveal what you know. It is only with the greatest difficulty that I have been able to prevent him doing so."
Sir Francis shrugged. "You must do as you feel fit, Colonel, but unless I am a poor judge, the torture of captives is not something that a soldier like you would condone. I am grateful for the compassion that you have shown my wounded."
Schreuder's reply was interrupted by an agonized scream from Ned Tyler as Aboli poured a ladleful of steaming tar into the sword gash in his thigh. As the scream subsided into sobbing, Schreuder went on smoothly. "The tribunal that tries you for piracy at the fort at Good Hope will be headed by our new governor. I have serious doubts that Governor Petrus Jacobus van de Velde will feel himself so constrained to mercy as I am." Schreuder paused and then went on, "By the way, Sir Francis, I am reliably informed that the executioner employed by the Company at Good Hope prides himself on his skills."
"I will have to give the Governor and his executioner the same answer I gave you, Colonel."
Schreuder squatted on his heels and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial, almost friendly, tone. "Sir Francis, in our short acquaintance I have formed a high regard for you as a warrior, a sailor and a gentleman. If I were to give evidence before the tribunal that your Letter of Marque existed, and that you were a legitimate privateer, the outcome of your trial might go differently."
"You must have faith in Governor van de Velde that I lack," Sir Francis replied. "I wish I could further your career for you by producing the missing bullion, but I cannot help you, sir. I know nothing of its whereabouts."
Schreuder's face stiffened as he stood up. "I have tried to help you. I regret that you reject my offer. However, you are correct, sir. I do not have the stomach to have you put to the question under torture. What is more, I will prevent Lord Cumbrae from taking that task upon himself. I will simply do my duty and deliver you to the mercy of the tribunal at Good Hope. I beg you, siR, will you not reconsider?"
Sir Francis shook his head. "I regret I cannot help you, sir.
Schreuder sighed. "Very well. You and your men will be taken aboard the Gull of Moray as soon as she is ready to sail tomorrow morning. The frigate Sonnevogel has other duties in the Indies and she will sail at the same time to go her separate way. The Standvastigheid will remain here under her true commander, Captain Limberger, to take on her cargo of spice and timber before she resumes her interrupted voyage to Amsterdam."
He turned on his heel and disappeared back into the shadows, in the direction of the spice go down
When they were aroused by their captors the following morning, four of the wounded, including Daniel and Ned Tyler, were unable to walk and their comrades were forced to carry them. The slave chains allowed little freedom of movement, and it was a clumsy line of men that shambled down to the beach. Each step was hampered by the clanking shackles, so that they could not lift their feet high enough to step over the gunwale of the pinnace, and had to be shoved in by their guards.
When the pinnace tied onto the foot of the rope ladder down the side of the Gull, the climb that faced the chained men to the deck was daunting and dangerous. Sam Bowles stood at the entry port above them. One of the guards in the pinnace shouted up to him, "Can we loose the prisoners" chains, Boatswain?"
"Why do you want to do that?" Sam called down.
"The wounded can't help themselves. The others will not be able to hoist them. They'll not be able to make it up the ladder otherwise." "if they don't make it they're the ones that will be the poorer for it," Sam answered. "His lordship's orders. The manacles must stay on."
Sir Francis led the climb, his every movement hampered by the string of men linked behind him. The four wounded men, moaning in their delirium, were dead weights that had to be dragged up by force. Big Daniel, in particular, tested all their strength. If they had allowed him to slip from their grasp, he would have plummeted into the pinnace and pulled the whole string of twenty-six men with him, almost certainly capsizing the small boat. Once in the lagoon, the weight of their heavy iron chains would have plucked them all to the bottom, four fathoms down.
If it had not been for the bull strength of Aboli, they would never have reached the deck of the Gull. Yet even he was completely played out when, at last, he heaved Daniel's inert form over the gunwale and collapsed beside him on the scrubbed white deck. They all lay there gasping and panting, to be roused at last by a tingling peal of laughter.
With an effort Hal raised his head. On the Gull's quarterdeck, under a canvas awning, a breakfast table was laid. The glass was crystal and the silverware sparkled in the early sunlight. He smelt the heady aroma of bacon, fresh eggs and hot biscuit rising from the silver chafing dish.
At the head of the table sat the Buzzard. He raised his glass towards that sprawling heap of human bodies in the waist of his ship.
"Welcome aboard, gentlemen, and your astounding good health!" He drank the toast in whisky, then wiped his ginger whiskers with a damask napkin. "The finest quarters on board have been prepared for you. I wish you a pleasant voyage."
Katinka van de Velde laughed again, a musical sound. She sat at the Buzzard's left hand. Her head was bare, her golden curls piled high, her violet eyes wide and innocent in the flawless oval of her powdered face, and a beauty spot drawn carefully at the corner of her pretty, painted mouth.
The Governor sat opposite his wife. He stopped in the act of lifting a silver fork loaded with crisped bacon and cheese to his mouth, but continued to chew. A yellow drop of egg yolk escaped from between his pendulous lips and ran down his chin as he guffawed. "Do not despair, Sir Francis. Remember your family motto. I am sure you will endure." He stuffed the forkful into his mouth, and spoke through it. "This is really excellent fare, fresh from Good Hope. What a pity you cannot join us."
"How thoughtful of your lordship to provide us with entertainment.
Will these troubadours sing for us, or will they amuse us with more acrobatics?" Katinka asked in Dutch, then made a pretty little moue and tapped Cumbrae's arm with her painted Chinese fan.
At that moment Big Daniel rolled his head from side to side, thumping it on the planks, and cried out in delirium. The Buzzard howled with laughter. "As you see, they try their best, madam, but their repertoire does not suit every taste." He nodded at Sam Bowles. "Pray show them to their quarters, Master Samuel, and make sure they are well cared for."
With a knotted rope end, Sam Bowles whipped the prisoners to their feet. They lifted their wounded and sh
ambled down the companion ladder. In the depths of the hull, below the main hold, stretched the low slave deck. When Sam Bowles lifted the hatch that opened into it, the stench that rose to greet them made even him recoil. It was the essence of the suffering of hundreds of doomed souls who had languished here.