On the third day, they had hit a rough patch of weather in The Channel just outside Portsmouth. Their hiding spot had been close to the front of the ship, and the violent movements had tossed them around while the thunderous noise of the water breaking against the bow had added to their suffering. It had not taken long for the boy to retch his lungs out but having done so over a bouncing bucket of foul-smelling faeces had not helped at all. That same night Tristan had lost his appetite and had pushed Jabari’s hand away each time he had tried to feed him. The boy had had a restless night, constantly scratching his legs and by morning, he had developed a fever, and what little water Jabari had gathered during the night he had used to sponge him down.
On the fourth day, Jabari realised that their situation had become undeniably dire and that an illness, more sinister than he had originally thought, had been going around in the poor boy’s body. The young lad had started to reek of illness and without further thought or delay, he had carried Tristan upstairs to the main deck to put fresh sea air into his lungs. Then they got caught.
Jabari had a content smile on his face as the four of them clambered down from one deck to another. They had a chance now, thanks to the audience they would have with the captain. He just wished his young friend was in better health, but somehow he was not overly concerned.
Captain Francis Cutcliffe, commander of the East Indiaman Raven, had had a restless night and early start to his day. His unexpected appearance on deck caught his men by surprise when they suddenly found the Old Man walking among them, much earlier than his routine inspection. Just as he had done every single morning as captain of the ship, he greeted the officers on watch, engaged in some frivolous banter with his men and also received news of the previous night’s events. When he looked up at the sky, it was dark but clear, with the faintest of light starting to show in the east as daybreak approached. The storm that had plagued them for two days had passed, and a steady northerly wind allowed the ship to make good headway.
Cutcliffe had recently become part-owner of the East India Company when he bought shares from a retiring captain who had not a soul to whom he could leave his inheritance. Before then, Cutcliffe had already been a wealthy merchant in his own right, who had been trading up and down the west coast of Africa for many a year. It was during that time that he had also done work on contract for the company with the occasional voyage to the East. With that in mind and the fact that he captained his own merchantman, the directors of the company had a fairly easy decision to make when the request for a change in ownership had come through.
The Raven, an 850-ton ship with its fifty-two guns, was a floating fortress. Constructed from the finest Indian teak, she was one of the largest vessels in the company’s fleet and though she was carrying 288 souls this time, sailing her was his main crew, a devoted bunch of 120 men, who, with the exception of a few, had sailed with him for most of his years as captain. They knew the elderly man as a smart and tough, yet fair captain, who always had the wellbeing of his crew in mind and for that, they would follow him to the ends of the earth.
Back in his cabin, the captain ran his fingers through his long grey hair and looked at the leather-bound ledger that lay on the large teak table in front of him. Countless maps and navigational instruments were neatly organised on the table, but the ledger was more important than all of them put together for it contained his orders, the reason for this ambitious voyage. Imprinted on the cover was the company’s motto: DEO DUCENTE NIL NOCET – When God Leads, Nothing Hurts. He ran his fingers over the imprinted letters, burnt into the soft leather skin. Like many of his fellow shipmen, the captain found anchorage in his religion, and for this voyage, he had made prayer a daily ritual for he needed all the help he could get.
Like every other morning since the start of the voyage, he closed his eyes. Help me. No. Help us, dear God. Guide this ship and her people. Provide safe passage to wherever we may land, and I shall forever be in your debt. Grant one and all a safe return. In your mighty name. Amen. He sat down, opened the ledger and started reading his papers from start to end, as he had done so many times already.
Cutcliffe was not heading to the Far East this time. Instead, he was to travel along the west coast of Africa to establish a new trading post where British ships could take on provisions and get their sick treated before they set off for their next stage. Should he find a suitable place, he was to lay the foundation for a new port and leave behind a quarter of his crew, and the extra soldiers and labourers they were carrying, to commence the building of the new port. Reinforcements would be sent as soon as word arrived in London of a successful landing. Company ships could then use the port as an alternative to the other ports scattered around the Atlantic, each one with its own challenges. He had four months in which to accomplish the task.
“Lunacy…only fit for a man mad enough” some of his peers had labelled the trip as they were getting liquored up at East India Company headquarters. Himself and one other owner levelled objection to the notion of sending one ship only, but the committee had felt it would draw too much attention by sending a larger fleet, and it was to be a speculative journey after all.
With only a vague location in mind, north of Loanda and south of Guinea, the odds had been stacked against him from the start, yet he had still taken on the challenge for it was something new and exciting. The company funded the voyage in full, which included cargo and wages. Profit from any trade that they might conduct would be for their own pockets. Even Cutcliffe knew there was no better man in the company for a mission of this particular nature for there was simply no other captain who knew the west coast of Africa like he did. But he also knew that the company would not have sent him if they did not expect some level of success. They were carrying the burden of the cost after all.
His main crew already knew the orders with this being a one-way voyage for many of them, at least until relief arrived. When he had read and explained the orders to them, he had left nothing to the imagination and had given them a choice – stay in London or join him on this perilous journey. He had also insisted that any man who wanted to join signed his name afresh in the ledger, giving them a second chance to rethink their options. He had not been surprised when every single man’s signature had appeared in the ledger, and on the morning when they were due to depart, all but three had reported for duty.
If the men on board were plentiful, the Raven herself was loaded to the brim. She was running full armament with all her gun ports in use. Behind those ports stood forty-four menacing cannons, waiting to unleash hell on anything that crossed her path. In total, twenty-two cannons, eight 12-pounders, four 8-pounders, six 6-pounders and four 4-pounders made up the battery on each side. Four bow and stern chasers, and four swivel guns rounded off her artillery.
With so many sailors and passengers on board, their provisions, including water, were limited, allowing for a three-week voyage before they would replenish at Cape Coast. A limited number of livestock and bags of seed were also heading to the new port to feed the would-be inhabitants and establish some crops in the months to come. A small amount of gold and silver were on board, as well as rolls of cloth, trinkets and a large quantity of cowry and nzimbu shells to trade with the natives.
The extra labourers and soldiers that accompanied the usual crew meant no stewards or servants for officers, and no mates for the carpenter, caulker, cooper and sailmaker. The specialised labourers would assist where help was needed. Only the cook, who had to feed the lot, and the boatswain had extra help. The sailors and landlubbers slept tightly packed between decks wherever they could find a space, yet no one complained, for they expected the journey to be short and so too the duration of any hardship. Even officers on the quarterdeck shared their cabin space with cannons and crew.
The captain recounted everything in his head as he closed the ledger and prepared for the day’s proceedings, starting with the two intruders who had snuck onto his ship, one of which was a child. Damn it! Better to
get it over with, he thought.
‘Send ‘em in!’ he yelled.
Jabari had his arm around Tristan’s shoulder, keeping him upright, as they stood in front of the large table. On the other side sat a grey-haired man with a stern look on his face while he studied the two offenders. The foul odour emitted by the pair matched their appearance.
‘I am Captain Francis Cutcliffe, commander of this vessel.’ The authority in the captain’s stentorian voice was unmistaken. ‘What is your name, negro?’ he asked and looked back down at the map he had been studying.
‘G…Jabari, sir.’
‘And your English name?’ Using a ruler, the captain drew a line connecting two dots he had carefully mapped out. He leaned back to inspect his handiwork.
‘Jabari is my only name, sir.’
‘Mmm.’ The captain frowned when he looked up at the tall African. ‘Is it your intention to cause trouble on my ship, Mr Jabari?’
‘Definitely not, sir. Not me.’ Jabari shook his head profusely.
The captain stood up and paced around the room, deliberately taking his time to see if they would disclose any further information of their own accord. ‘Very well, then.’ He walked right up to the tall African and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Since you’re not here to cause trouble, what are you doing on my ship, Mr Jabari? Are you in trouble with the law?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What for?’ probed Cutcliffe.
‘A crime of thievery that I didn’t commit, sir. But unfortunately, also a crime for which I’m unable to prove my innocence, sir.’
The captain was surprised by the short yet seemingly honest answer for he was prepared for some prolific tale about suffering and injustice bestowed by society. And all the while, the black man’s eyes did not leave his own, a tell-tale sign in his judgement. There was no arrogance or hostility, only gratefulness with a hint of pride in those dark brown eyes.
‘I see.’ The captain started pacing again. He liked the African and he sure as hell could use him on the Raven, but the assignment had a lot at stake, and he could not risk any misfortune at this stage which would jeopardise his plans.
‘What sort of work do you do, Mr Jabari?’
‘I’m a coal backer, sir.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I can herd cattle, sir.’
The captain jerked his head around, watching the African’s face again, not sure if he was serious or joking. ‘You told one of my officers that you are looking for work. Is this correct?’
‘Yes, sir. That would be right. Anything, sir. I’m a hard worker, and so is the boy.’
‘What good are a coal backer and ailing boy to me, Mr Jabari? Have you ever worked on a ship before?’
‘For several years, before I arrived in London, I sailed with a British merchantman under Captain Harris, sir.’ Jabari purposefully did not go into any detail.
‘I knew Captain Harris very well and was deeply saddened by his death four years ago when the Helena ran aground off the coast of Madagascar. Many years ago, we sailed together to the East Indies in a fleet of five ships. We had a skirmish with some Portuguese vessels off Goa. He was a good and fearless captain. I understand he went down with his ship…refused to leave her.’
Jabari was slightly taken aback by the news. Captain Harris had rescued him from an inevitable life as a slave, quite possibly death, and had taken him under his wing. He had lost contact with the man when a fellow free slave had offered him a job unloading coal from the barges. The money was not great, but he had missed his own kind, and there were lots of them doing the strenuous work.
‘He had a young negro as a cabin boy.’ The captain interrupted his thoughts.
‘That was quite possibly me, sir.’
‘And with what rank did you leave his ship?’
‘Able seaman, sir.’
‘That will certainly help. Reckon you can remember most of it?’
When the black man nodded, Cutcliffe pondered on the situation some more. It was not an ideal situation to have. As a cautious captain, he did not like surprises. It was one of the key reasons why he had been in this business for so long. Planning, planning and more planning and of course some luck. Perhaps this was part of the latter, for he was indeed short of hands. In the end, the decision was made for him. While still pacing the room, he said, ‘Alright, this is what we’ll do. As luck would have it, I am three men short. Probably lost, drunk in a bawdyhouse somewhere, or perhaps they didn’t feel up to the task. Frankly, I don’t care. Be it as it may, I need the extra help. So, you will have a week to prove your worth to stay on this ship.’ The captain stopped in front of Jabari. ‘You sure are a big fella, Mr Jabari. Reckon you can do the work of three men?’
‘I can certainly try, sir. I’m…we’ll be forever in your debt, sir.’
‘Well, Mr Jabari you can repay that debt starting today. You will find me a fair man but do not try my patience, and that goes for my officers as well. I run my ship with order because order breeds discipline and discipline breeds obedience and respect. Those sailors out there deserve to be on this ship for they have shown their mettle and have proven their worth to themselves and me over and over again. For not defiling my hold, I give you my gratitude, and I pray that you continue down that path.’
The captain looked over to Tristan. The boy was shivering, and sweat ran from his ashen forehead. ‘And what is this boy to you?’
‘My friend, sir. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.’
‘Mmm. So you say.’ The captain took a closer look at the boy who was staring at the floor in front of him, clearly lost to his surroundings while he muttered barely audible whimpers.
‘Does he have a name?’
‘Tresten, sir.’
‘Mmm. Mr Putt!’ The second mate, a fresh-faced and eager man with dark brown hair and bright eyes, burst through the cabin door, his hand on his sword. ‘Take Mr Jabari here to the purser and ask for his name to be put on the ledger as an able seaman. Tell him the negro is to be allocated his full wage by the end of the week, but only if he has proven himself, and you’ll be the judge of that.’
‘Me, sir?’
‘Yes, you, Mr Putt. You still know how to sail, do you not? Or have the easy-going days as officer made you feeble of mind?’ roared Cutcliffe.
‘No, sir. I will keep an eye on him, sir.’
‘Good. As for the rest of it, you know what to do. Make sure he’s allocated a berth, rations and such. And for heaven’s sake, can’t you see that the fever has already taken this boy’s mind halfway to Avalon? Take him down to the infirmary at once and make sure he stays there until he’s either fully recovered or sent to the depths.’ The captain sounded annoyed.
‘Aye, sir.’
‘One last word, Mr Jabari.’
‘Yes, sir?’ The African liked how the captain ran his ship. It reminded him very much of Captain Harris.
‘Please listen very carefully now. In case I have not made myself clear enough, if you do cause me any trouble, so help me God, I shall unload you onto the very next slave ship that we encounter and tell ‘em that you’re a runaway slave who likes to interfere with young white women. You will regret the day that you saw your very first sun rising in the east. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’ By the captain’s relentless glare, Jabari knew the man would follow through with his threat, not that he had any intention of stirring up trouble. He had already given the man his word.
‘Very well, then. Mr Putt?’
‘Sir?’
‘When you’re done, ask the first mate to bring me the ignorant imbeciles who supposedly guarded my ship the night before our departure.’
‘Errr, yes, sir.’
‘Is there a problem, Mr Putt?’
‘Well, sir, it’s the same two men who ended up catching them.’
‘That should make for an interesting discussion then, don’t you think, Mr Putt? Now hurry up!’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
<
br /> After they had all left his cabin, the captain sat down at his table and retrieved his journal. He grabbed the quilt and started writing, but he had difficulty putting his thoughts to paper for they were somewhere else. The black man’s presence would not stir up any trouble of that he was sure, but the boy…the boy reminded him of his own blood, and it pained him to see the youngling in such an ailing way. His only son was of similar age. Cutcliffe just wished the boy would pay more attention to his seafaring tales, but the young one seemed to have no interest in anything naval. Looking down at the piece of paper which had only the day’s date, he pushed it aside irritably and waited for the two culprits to arrive. They were not going to like what he had to say.
Chapter 12
‘Lay him down on the table. No, that one! Watch the head!’ the doctor directed the two seamen who carried Tristan. ‘Now, let me be.’ His educated eyes quickly examined the boy. ‘Wait!’ The two men stopped dead in their tracks. ‘Bring me the negro.’
‘Sir?’
‘The negro he was with, bring him to me!’
‘Yes, sir.’
The men left in a hurry while the surgeon prepared to inspect his patient. He started by taking off the buff coat and felt the heavy object on the inside pocket. After he had removed the stiletto and placed it on the nearby cabinet, he immediately attended to the dark stain on the boy’s shirt. Looking underneath the shirt, he sighed with relief when no wound was apparent. As he started pulling down the boy’s breeches, there was a knock on the door. ‘Enter!’
The Fire Within Page 17