William gently removed the glass cover and unscrewed the wick holder. He sprinkled oil around the cotton and motioned his men to move back. Sutton produced a flint, stacked a small pile of oil-soaked cotton near his hand and struck the flint. The spark jumped to the pile and caught alight. He blew gently on the infant flame until he was satisfied that it was large enough and quickly flicked the burning cotton onto the larger pile near the door. As the cotton burned it gave off heavy black smoke. Sutton used his shirt to fan the smoke and blow it under the doors of the warehouse. William climbed to the top of the stacked bales and watched.
The three Cubans looked tired. They were ready for sleep, but one of them had to stay awake, even if they didn’t expect any trouble. Two of the guards allowed their heads to fall forward as they dozed. Suddenly one moved his head and sniffed, closely followed by the second guard.
‘Humo,’ yelled one, as he sniffed the smoke. ‘En fuego,’ shouted his companion, and pointed to the bottom of the double-door, which was now ablaze.
All three jumped up and glanced around as they waited for someone to give them instructions. William could hear one of them speaking rapidly in Spanish, but his words were too fast for him to understand.
The three Cubans ran towards the double-doors. William dropped to the ground and drew his sword.
‘Not a word is to be spoken except by me. I do not want them to know we are English, understood?’
‘Aye, Sir,’ said all three, as they fingered their cutlasses.
‘No killing unless you have to. We are not murderers. I want them to be secured and blindfolded so they cannot see us. The smoke will help, as it will confuse them.’
The Englishmen hid among the bales of cotton. They could hear the bolts being drawn and the large doors dragged open.
First one and then another came out of the warehouse, rubbing their eyes. William stepped forward and with the hilt of his sword knocked the first Cuban to the ground. Sutton hit the next man in the abdomen, causing him to double over. The third Cuban, who was not as fast, carried a large, heavy wooden bucket, evidently to carry water from the canal to the fire. He saw what had happened to his comrades and stopped, dropped the bucket and grabbed the door in an attempt to close and bar it. Chapman charged the door, hitting it with his shoulder, which knocked the Cuban to the ground. The Cuban yelled at his attacker, grabbed the heavy bucket and swung it at Chapman’s legs. The solid wood hit him on the knees, throwing him off balance.
The Cuban ran back to the table and grabbed a sword hooked over the back of a chair. He flicked his wrist, which released the sword from its scabbard, and turned to attack Chapman.
Chapman tried to get up, but the Cuban kicked him and Chapman collapsed to the ground. The Cuban drew his arm back for a killing blow. Chapman tensed and tried to move sideways in an effort to save himself.
A clash of steel caused Chapman to twist around in time to see his captain block the downward thrust of the Cuban’s sword. The two swordsmen were now locked, face to face, in a struggle of strength. The Cuban grabbed William’s hair and pulled hard in an effort to unbalance him. William’s eyes watered and his vision blurred. His natural reaction was to pull back from the grip on his hair, but he knew that if he broke contact, he would be at a disadvantage and would not be able to focus if the Cuban made a thrust.
He remembered a trick he had learned in his Liverpool childhood and suddenly shot his head forward and hit the Cuban across the bridge of his nose with his forehead. William heard a sharp crack and a scream. The bridge of the Cuban’s nose had snapped and burst, causing blood to flow. The Cuban lost his grip on William’s hair and tried to step away. William thrust with his sword arm and forced the Cuban to retreat from Chapman. Jenkins ended the fight with a blow to the Cuban’s head. William rubbed his eyes free of tears.
‘Can you walk?’ he asked Chapman.
‘With a little help, Sir,’ Chapman groaned. William helped him to stagger from the burning building.
Meanwhile, Sutton, using rope from the cotton bales, had finished securing the Cuban he had captured. He used another piece of rope to secure wads of cotton over the prisoner’s eyes.
William saw that the Cuban he had struck was regaining consciousness. He indicated this to Sutton, who nodded and cut another length of rope from a bale and proceeded to tie the Cuban and bind cotton over his eyes.
The flames had now taken hold on the doors and threatened the stock of cotton stacked outside. It wouldn’t be long before the flames attracted the attention of others in the area.
‘Jenkins, secure the man inside and bring him out here,’ William said as he helped Chapman to sit on a bale well away from the flames.
Jenkins cut more rope and bound the Cuban with the broken nose, covered his eyes with wads of cotton and dragged the man outside into the fresh air.
By the light of the flames, William could see a door under a staircase that he presumed was a back way to Amancio Cardenas’ offices. It was locked. Jenkins scooped up a bunch of keys from the table and handed them to William. The first key did not fit. The smoke from the fire made breathing difficult. William wiped his streaming eyes and tried another key. The door swung open. He could see a flight of steps that lead down to a cellar.
‘Are all the Cubans outside and bound?’ William asked Jenkins.
‘Aye, Sir, they are,’ said Sutton, joining his captain and Jenkins. Suddenly they heard someone shout from the cellar.
‘Light,’ demanded William.
Sutton thrust the lamp he carried before him, and made his way down the short flight of steps.
‘Wait here, Jenkins,’ said William, and followed Sutton to the bottom.
‘Captain, Sir, we is here. We smell smoke!’
Sutton moved the light towards the voice and saw four black men cowering in the corner of the cellar.
‘Captain, Sir, we belong Mr Abraham’s people.’
‘Can you walk? We have come to take you back to Mr Abraham.’
‘Captain, to get out o’ here, we happy to run!’ smiled the man that William had recognised in the office of Cardenas.
‘Come up now. Sutton, help them, and meet me at the canal.’
William returned up the stairs and saw the flames were now near the roof. ‘Jenkins, help Chapman and try and make your way back to the boat. Use the canal side of the building. I expect company in a few minutes.’
‘Aye, Sir.’
William covered his face and ran through the flames that enveloped the doors. He wanted to see if they had company, and if the Cuban prisoners were far enough away from the fire to be safe. As he ran through the flames he crashed into a man organising a fire-bucket party in a vain attempt to control the fire. William grunted at the man in Spanish, which seemed to satisfy him that William was Spanish. William glanced around and watched a party of ten men attempt to drag the burning cotton from the doorway. He turned and saw Jenkins helping Chapman down the road towards the city gate. Sutton had moved the Cuban prisoners well away from the fire and hidden them among a pile of cotton bales.
Fortunately the night was dark, the only light being from the fire. He could no longer see Jenkins. The smoke from the burning cotton covered the whole area. He wrapped his jacket around his head and ran back through the flames. The men outside appeared to be concentrating on the bales rather than attempting to stop the fire spreading. As he entered the building again he felt the searing heat.
‘Sutton!’
‘Aye, Sir, here!’ The fire sounded a dull roar as it reached the roof of the warehouse.
‘This way!’ shouted William, and grabbed hold of Sutton. ‘Are they with you?’
‘Yes, Sir, I have one by the hand and I told the others to hold the hand of the man in front. If they break their grip, they will not find their way out.’
‘Keep me in sight and get ready to run.’
William could see the dull glow in the smoke of the fire around the door. He groped forward until he could run through the la
st flames to the outside.
‘They will have to run through the flames or else they will die here.’ He moved back past Sutton to the first black man and told him to run for the flames and keep going until he came outside to fresh air, and then to run to his right.
‘Sutton, you go and wait in the darkness further down the road until I can join you with the others. Give us a couple of minutes, and then make your way back to the boat. Do not wait more than fifteen minutes! That is an order. Now go!’
Sutton grabbed the hands of the first and second black men and pulled them with him as he ran for the wall of flames.
They passed through the flames, the heat causing them to scream in pain. They emerged with Sutton’s hair alight, causing the group outside to drop their buckets and run in fear. The sight of a white man on fire, accompanied by two wild-eyed screaming black men was too much for the superstitious locals, who evidently thought they had come from the bowels of hell. Sutton grabbed one of the abandoned buckets of water and poured the contents over his head. The two blacks glanced back at the building as the captain and their friends emerged from the wall of flames. Sutton picked up another bucket of water and threw it over his captain, whose clothing was smouldering.
‘Which way, Sir?’ called Sutton.
‘Thank you, Sutton, along the road and keep in the shadows. Quickly! I can hear horses!’
‘Follow me,’ said Sutton to the Negroes, as he ran towards the dark area under the walls of the next warehouse.
‘Go, go, go. Run!’ William urged.
Lights appeared in the houses as the noise from the fire spread. The fugitives moved quickly between the deep shadows, avoiding lighted areas. More and more people were coming on to the streets as the townspeople realised the fire might spread.
Finally, William and his men reached the last building before the city gates. William peered into the gloom around the gate. He couldn’t see anything.
‘Wait here,’ he whispered to Jenkins, conscious of the deep breathing of his crew as they gasped for air. Taking a deep breath in an effort to stop his own heaving chest, William ran lightly across the road into the gloom around the gate. He expected to be challenged. He fingered his weapon and made sure it slid easily in its scabbard. The gate was still open a little. The guard had not been missed.
A sudden roar from the direction of the fire told him it must have touched off some barrels of oil. A large flame shot high in the air, shedding enough light for him to see that the gate guard was still on the ground. William turned and waved his arm to signal his party should follow him.
William stood back while Jenkins helped the limping Chapman through the gate. Sutton and the four blacks joined them.
‘Sutton, when we are through, close the gates and make it appear that it has always been locked, then climb over and join us.’
‘Aye, aye, Sir.’
‘You four follow me!’ said William to the Negroes, and made his way through the town gate.
On the outside of the town walls, the smell of the smoke was not as heavy. The air seemed cleaner and even the smell of rotting vegetation was a pleasant relief.
A figure moved from the blackness of the trees and made its way towards the small group. William drew his sword and waited. The figure stopped, crouched, listened and watched.
‘ICE,’ hissed William.
The figure moved towards them, but stayed low.
‘ICE, Captain. Austin here.’
‘Thank God, I thought you were a guard! Report.’
‘Chapman and Jenkins found their way back and I sent them to the boat. I think Chapman has a broken knee. How many with you, Sir?’
A figure dropped from the gate and landed softly.
‘All in order, Captain,’ said Sutton.
‘Sutton and four blacks, Mr Austin.’
‘Right, Sir, follow me.’
‘Sutton, follow behind Mr Austin, I’ll bring up the rear.’
William touched each of the Negroes and pointed to Sutton. ‘Follow him!’
The first mate ran towards the trees, keeping low, followed by Sutton and the black men. William waited until they had nearly reached the trees. Then he stepped away from the cover of the gate to follow his men.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Escape
‘Cargar!’ William heard, and saw four mounted men. The horsemen spurred their horses into a gallop.
Cargar was a word he had heard during his time in Spain. He racked his brain for the meaning. Cargar was the order to charge!
He watched the horsemen raise themselves a little from their saddles and then he heard the sound of swords being drawn. The horsemen were concentrating on the group of Negroes. He realised they had not seen him. He was behind them. William ran towards the point he estimated the horsemen would reach the Negroes. They were dark shapes of night, but the noise they created made them easy to follow.
Austin and Sutton gained the edge of the trees as the lead horseman reached the slowest Negro. The horseman passed the running man, and slashed with a backhand movement. The sword sliced through the facial bone of the Negro, who gave a high-pitched scream and fell backwards into the path of the second horseman. The galloping horse tried to avoid the man and shied away to cannon into the third rider. The third rider pulled his horse up sharply to avoid being dismounted.
The first horseman raised his sword again to attack the next black man. The Negro ran screaming before the drumming hooves of the horse.
James Austin drew his sword and turned to face the horsemen. Holt stepped forward and used both hands to steady a pistol aimed at the charging cavalryman. The horseman raised himself to slash at the running man and became a clear target for Holt. A sudden flash and the ball from the pistol hit the horseman in the chest, driving him back. The sword flew from his hand as he rolled from his horse to the ground. The horse galloped away into the darkness.
In the flash of the pistol shot, William saw the black men in the trees: James Austin standing with sword drawn and Holt with his arms outstretched, holding a smoking pistol.
William thrust his sword on the blind side of the second rider. He felt the blade scrape along the man’s chest. The rider dropped his reins, twisted in his saddle to find his adversary, and raised his sword as William pulled his sword back to defend his head. The rider slashed down. Sparks flew as the two swords met. The rider raised his sword again. William thrust his sword into the rump of the horse. The animal screamed and attempted to turn away from the pain of the stab. The rider lost control and was thrown. William kept running towards his men.
‘Captain, this way!’
William recognised James Austin’s voice and swerved towards the sound.
‘Well done, Holt,’ gasped William as he reached the safety of the trees. ‘Retreat to the boat, Mr Austin, and take command. Make ready for a fast exit.’
‘Aye, aye, Sir.’
‘Holt, Sutton, with me as a rearguard.’
William and his two crewmen walked steadily along the path, making sure nobody followed. After a few minutes William could see the white cloth that indicated the position of the boat. He could make out the shapes of James Austin and Sang.
‘All’s well, Mr Austin?’ asked William as he slid his sword back into its scabbard and prepared to climb in the boat.
‘Aye, Captain.’
William felt a slight vibration of the ground and turned to peer back down the path. The vibration was followed by the sound of galloping hooves. The two horsemen he hoped had foregone the fight were returning, and it sounded like they had company. Before he could draw his sword, he was knocked to the ground as four of them thundered past.
James Austin ran forward and drew his pistol.
‘Jenkins, to me, to me,’ yelled Austin. Holt and Sutton turned to meet the riders’ charge.
Sparks flashed from the clash of Sutton’s cutlass and the sabre of the first horseman. Sutton’s weapon fell to the ground, his arm numb from the shock of attack. The fir
st horseman passed Sutton and the next was upon him.
Holt fired his now reloaded pistol into the back of the second horseman, who was attempting to bring his sword down on to Sutton’s undefended head. The horseman’s scream matched a scream from James Austin. Austin had aimed at the third rider, but before he could fire, the horseman slashed. The sword cut deeply into the first mate’s arm. Without feeling in his fingers, his hand opened and the pistol fell to the ground. Slowly he fell to his knees, holding his wounded arm.
William, still on the ground, rolled away from the charging horses. As the last of the horsemen passed, he rose and drew his sword. He ran the few yards to the ship’s boat. He saw Jenkins smash a boat oar across the face of the third horse. The animal reared in pain and threw the rider. Jenkins drove the handle of the oar into the rider’s face.
Sutton recovered his cutlass and raised it to challenge the fourth horseman. The rider pulled hard on the horse’s reins with his left hand in an effort to aim his sabre and to crash through Sutton’s defence. Sutton dropped to his knees and lunged at the leg of the horse with the flat surface of his cutlass. Its damaged leg collapsed, throwing the rider off balance. He tumbled from the horse and William buried his weapon deep in the man’s chest.
The first horseman, realising he was the only survivor, pulled his horse’s head around and galloped off away from the city walls.
William looked back down the path, turned to Sutton and said, ‘Guard the path.’
‘Aye, Sir,’ the man replied.
William then turned to Sang. ‘Sang, help me with Mr Austin.’
‘Give way together,’ said William, as Holt and Sutton dragged the overloaded boat into deeper water. The stink of disturbed mud assailed their nostrils. An agitated David Fuller greeted the rescuers and freed black men as they climbed wearily over the side. Fuller counted the Negroes, his eyes questioning.
‘We left one behind, killed by their cavalry,’ William commented. ‘Mr Austin has been wounded. Rig a line to swing him aboard. He is unconscious and has lost a lot of blood.’
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