It was an interesting argument, although not borne out by my experience. In the end Mr Eccles provided the answer by sending the mainmast lookouts up with a telescope, thus allowing them to confirm any fuzzy sighting made.
It was a scientific solution to the discussion, much approved of by myself.
I discussed the question with a London doctor a few years back – he thought the argument fallacious on the grounds that it was the pupil that did the seeing and that was always round. There was a flaw there as well, I suspected, but I had learned by then never to dispute with medical men. Wiser far to pay their bills and ignore their prescriptions; a man lives longer that way.
It was with a Chinaman at each masthead that we saw our first trade, a speedy brig making her way east from the Rio de la Plata towards the Congo, well laden, tacking offshore.
“An outward-bound slaver, at a guess, Mr Jackson. She should be full of trade goods – what those will be hereabouts, I do not know. Iron piece goods would be logical, but I am not aware of there being foundries in the Spanish colonies. It might be that the Spanish capture rather than purchase their cargoes. She is too low in the water simply to have soldiers aboard. Whatever, sir, we have the wind of her and can close her and board or stand off and batter, whichever seems the wiser course.”
“Close her, Mr Eccles, and if possible, take her. Being a slaver, I really do not care too much if you simply feel it wiser to sink her.”
Mr Eccles was appalled at that prospect – very unprofessional. He called Mr Perkins up from his lair in the magazine to command the chase gun.
“I have yet to see him lay a gun himself, Mr Jackson. I suspect he may prove adept at the task. He has still not vouchsafed any of his history to me, sir. I am inclined to suspect that he is no mere deserter but is a mutineer, will keep quiet for fear of having his neck stretched if the Navy hears a whisper of him. Only a few ships he can be from, if that be so. I much wonder which he is.”
“To be found in Eastern waters, Mr Eccles? Surely, that is to make the Bounty far the most likely?”
“It is, Mr Jackson, and Perkins not his true name. I am surprised he has taken passage on a ship bound eventually for England. Perhaps he feels that he may settle down ashore with his ten shares, well distant from any naval harbour.”
I was unconvinced. Ten shares would not be so great a fortune in the ordinary run of things. Lucky indeed if a single share amounted to fifty pounds sterling. Ten might possibly be sufficient to buy a small public house and stock it and run it for a year or two while building up trade and a profit… A general store in a small town, perhaps… The basis for a life, if that was all one wanted. It would not do for me; I had decided on a fortune. I was well on the way to earning one at that time.
It had not occurred to me that possession of a fortune was only part of the way to living a comfortable life. Keeping it would also be important, especially if government chose to object to the way in which one had made one’s riches.
I will deal with that when the occasion rises, not so many years later. For the while, we were watching Perkins the Gunner announce his mastery of his trade.
Mr Eccles filled his chest with air and let loose a mighty bellow.
“All hands! Cast off the guns, load ball, run out.”
He then announced a list of sails to be furled and of others to be set and called the boarders to muster in the waist, all in a single roar. Most impressive!
“Mr Perkins! At your discretion, a round across the Spaniard’s bows. Follow that with a pair into the mizzen – see if you can drop some cordage and blocks around her master’s ears.”
I thought Eccles was asking a lot of Perkins’ accuracy. He agreed.
“Give a man an impossible task and see how well he shapes up, Mr Jackson. Best way of getting a feel of an unknown sort of fellow.”
Nearly twenty minutes passed, Pearl River headreaching on the brig, having the wind of her and in any case obviously faster. I watched for the Spaniard’s reaction, wondering what her master would choose to do. I did not see how he could escape, wondered that he did not at least attempt to flee, to delay matters in the hope that something might turn up.
“He is tacking again, holding his original course, sir. I must imagine that he has a reason for so doing – an escort to meet, perhaps? I wonder if he is to join a convoy and hoped to gain protection there. Best to fetch him sooner rather than later.”
Eccles set more sail and the wail of the wind in the rigging took a higher pitch and she settled another strake deeper, the angle of her deck increasing. We gained at least a knot and closed the angle of approach to the brig.
A sudden bellow and six pounds of gunpowder exploded and sent the eighteen pound iron ball off on its trajectory.
“Nine shillings that cost, Mr Eccles. An expensive business, shooting at Spaniards.”
“Aye, sir. When you consider that a farm labourer in England may well be fortunate to pocket ten shillings in a week, gunpowder is expensive stuff. Best we should not be wasteful of it. Very close under her bows, sir.”
I had spotted the splash myself, perhaps thirty feet in front of the brig’s bows and the least fraction wide of her. Close enough to make a few men nervous, I did not doubt.
“Reloading quickly, sir – ninety seconds, thereabouts… Ready now and taking his aim…”
Another loud bang and cloud of thick grey powder smoke, dissipating quickly in our wind.
Sails crumpled and tattered on the mizzen and the brig’s pace fell off. The yard carrying the driver suddenly jerked up almost to the vertical and then slumped away, taking the big sail with it, draping it over the stern and the steersman. The brig fell off into the trough of the low waves, began to roll.
“That was surprising, Mr Eccles.”
“With respect, sir, that was bloody amazing!”
Pearl River was closing rapidly now, no more than a cable distant from the brig.
“Dropping her flag, sir. Hold fire, Mr Perkins. Gunners, remain ready.”
Mr Eccles shortened sail and brought Pearl River tidily alongside the smaller vessel.
“This is where we discover if the Spaniard is honest, sir. If he has soldiers aboard, hidden below the gunwales, this is where they make their appearance crying ‘surprise, surprise’.”
No soldiers appeared and the boarders poured over the side and down onto the brig, their officers yelling at them not to kill the Spaniards. To my surprise, they took surrenders – we must have had an influence on them.
“Well, let us find out what we have got, sir.”
Eccles ordered the prisoners to be sorted out, lower deck held on the forecastle, officers brought aboard Pearl River.
One of the Spaniards had some English, not uncommon on trading ships where they were often captured or indulged in a little smuggling on the side.
“What ship, senor?”
“Our Lady of Veracruz, sir. Bound for the Congo to take a cargo of servants for the Plate. Loaded with munitions for the factory and fort, sir. Six big guns and powder and ball and muskets, sir.”
I wondered what we were to do with fortress cannon, Spanish guns at that.
Mr Eccles was pleased with our capture.
“North to the Bight, sir. Take her into one of our factories and they will be happy to purchase the cargo, and probably the hull as well. Always a market for weaponry in the Trade, sir. The Kingdom of Asante will be pleased to buy in big guns, delighted, I doubt not. The government in England does not approve and will not allow fortress guns to leave the country for the Coast. They will be able to do nothing about these. I will lay you long odds we will receive a more than fair price for these.”
It was new to me, and it seemed that Eccles knew far too much about the slave trade, but privateers and slavers often shared their crews, or so I had heard.
“What of a convoy or escort, Mr Eccles?”
Short conversation established a Spanish frigate possibly due from the Congo, perhaps at about this time. T
he master had thought his sole hope of survival lay in her so had steered for where she might be.
“What do we do with the crew, Mr Eccles?”
“Leave them aboard, sir, assisting in sailing the brig. When we reach the Coast, then we sell them – light-skinned black men, a new tribe. They will be somewhat annoyed but there will be nothing for them to do about it. The officers will say nothing except to volunteer to sail the brig for the new owners.”
It seemed rather arbitrary, but it was no more than poetic justice for slavers to go the way of the many they had previously sold.
“Can we not put the officers into chains as well, Mr Eccles?”
“Why not, sir? If you have no tender feelings for the men of a higher station in life, then I am happy to share in their price as well.”
I laughed and went with him to inspect the cargo.
Iron fortress guns, in good condition, well looked after by skilled gunners was our first thought. We called Mr Perkins to them.
“The Spanish thirty-six pounder, sir. A modern gun, less than ten years old. The Spanish pound is greater than ours and we would call them a forty, sir. I can only imagine that these guns graced a battery in one of the ports of the Rio de la Plata, sir, maintained by the Spanish army. How they come to be here, I cannot imagine.”
Mr Eccles could.
“A lesser fort and one that has been decided to be unimportant to the defence of Montevideo or Buenos Aires, sir. The Governor in person aware of the actions of the General Commanding and taking a share in the price of the guns he has sold to the slavers. Very corrupt, colonial governors as a breed, sir!”
I was almost shocked, yet I could imagine the same happening at Canton if the Hoppo there was given a similar opportunity.
“What course, Mr Eccles?”
“North east, sir, to the shores of Africa and then use the coastal currents to make our way to the Bight of Benin – a nasty passage through the Doldrums, yet we might pick up a fair wind, with a little of luck, at this time of year. We shall join the track the Indiamen take on their homeward voyage.”
It made good sense – John Company had sailed these seas for more than a century and knew the best course to follow.
We set a guard aboard the brig and devoted a day to making good the damage we had done. Mr Hales examined the ship’s manifest and inspected the rest of her cargo and professed himself satisfied that there was a little more of value there.
“Slave food and cottons, sir, and a small amount of trade goods – mostly a very coarse rum in the barrel. Always a sale for spirits on the Coast, sir.”
We made Cape Coast Castle in a month and took a mooring far out in the harbour, as distant from land as could be, the brig well inshore of us.
“Safer at far from the land airs, sir. I am salted for the cholera and have survived spotted fever, as has Mr Hales. What of you, sir?”
I confessed to the recurrent fever, the mal-aria only. It was agreed that I must remain aboard while the two went ashore to find a purchaser for the brig.
It took three days, merchants coming offshore in small boats to inspect the brig rather than unloading its cargo under the eyes of the King’s officers in the garrison. Hales told me there was some lively bargaining, two separate factors wanting the guns, one to fortify his own factory up the coast, the other to sell to the King of Bonny, a rich native of the Coast who much desired his own cannon and had a standing and unfulfilled order for them.
I gathered that Bonny won out, for having a supply of elephant’s teeth and gold dust, a surprisingly large amount of which was brought out to Pearl River.
Our final act was to sell the brig itself, and its crew, to their loud dismay when they were cast into chains and led off to the barracoons.
“You are right, Mr Jackson. Slaving is a damnably low business and it is only just that its practitioners should suffer appropriately. Trouble is, though, it is remarkable profitable. Where else could we have sold those guns for what will amount to a thousand pounds sterling apiece?”
“Six pounds a share for the guns alone, Mr Eccles? That should be a source of some delight to the men.”
I spoke loud enough for the word to be passed along; there were any number of cheerful faces among the men when they ate their dinner. They were even happier that night as we had kept back one of the barrels of rum and dished it out after the meal.
There were some terrible headaches as we sailed next sunrise, but it was a cheerful ship nonetheless.
Chapter Eight
We sailed from Cape Coast Castle with a small amount of gold dust and several carefully wrapped sheets of paper, Bills of Exchange to be drawn on merchant houses in Liverpool, and Bristol to a lesser extent, and upon London banks.
Captain Eccles was not at all convinced that paper was a substitute for gold bullion. I assured him that it worked very well.
“There are copies going to London on the Guineamen and our money is safe. If worst comes to worst and we are sunk, we will still be able to show our faces in England and demand that they pay up. Gold would be at the bottom of the ocean.”
He reluctantly agreed.
“Gold is proper money, sir. It sits heavy in the purse and you know what you have got, sir. Paper don’t look like riches, sir.”
I saw no gain in arguing. I have learned over the years that people believe that money is something real and valuable – it’s very strange. I never yet managed to eat a gold coin. Same with paper. I think it might be the first step to growing rich – to realise that money is just another piece of merchandise to be traded in, that it is not real wealth. I don’t know what wealth is, in fact, but I do know that money is just a way of counting it. I met Ricardo, the great economist, in passing once and had time to ask him what money was; he answered ‘nothing’. I have thought about that off and on these twenty years and am increasingly sure he was right. It may be a first step to wisdom, which I have always tried to avoid – insufferable bloody people, the wise!
Back to the quarterdeck, a down to earth place, despite being on the sea.
“Course for where, in your opinion, Captain Eccles?”
“Sugar Islands, sir. The Trinidad and then Martinique in the first instance and finally for the coast of Cuba. We should reach them in the season, sir, and if we find nothing else, we may well be in place to intercept slavers as they come in; failing that, we can raid plantations. We can then run them to Antigua or Jamaica depending on the wind. Good money in slaves, sir.”
I had rather have called it dirty money, myself. I could not refuse – we were sailing to make a profit in an inherently nasty fashion with a crew of killers to assist.
“Let it be so, sir. Make your course.”
We celebrated over our dinner, toasting Mr Perkins for his fine gunnery.
“Learned well in the navy, sir. Fighting them Jonathans. Rich days as well for the frigate taking prizes by the score, or so it seemed. Then it was peace and hard times for honest sailormen and ending up with that bad-tempered, ill-mannered, cruel-mouthed bastard Bligh! A good seaman and not a harsh man for the lashes but the mouth on him could make a grown man weep with humiliation and anger, sir. Always one to know, to feel you might say, just what would hurt a man in his pride. I was one of those wanted to see him dangling from the yardarm, I will admit, rather than put over the side in the longboat. Never have I hated a man so much as him, that I will tell you, sir – and yet for no more than the cruel words he said so deliberately. Best I should not be taken by the Navy, sir; they would hang me for calling for his death, though I have no actual blood on my hands.”
Fascinating, that. I still remember the utter detestation disfiguring Perkins’ face. Bligh had the talent for making himself hated, that cannot be denied. He drove the officers in New South Wales to mutiny as well when he was governor there, years later. An unpleasant man, I must imagine. A fine seaman, no question of that, and fought his ship well in battle at Camperdown – no doubting his courage – but vicious in the mouth.
We talked much that evening and Perkins and Eccles agreed our best course was to the Sugar Islands and ignore the possibility of slave ships, simply to land on the Spanish and French colonies, far from the larger ports that might harbour their navies, and rob the plantations of their blacks and sell them in Jamaica and Antigua, or north in the Virginias if the price there was better.
“That is where the money is, no question, Mr Jackson. A better and more reliable income than from taking ships, sir. Add to that, the plantation masters themselves often have wealth in their houses.”
I realised then that it would not do for me. I was not a mere burglar and I could not stomach a trade in misery. Hypocrisy, ain’t it, when you think how much money I had already made from opium, and how much more I would lay my hands on.
Opium’s different though. The smoker chooses to light his pipe of poison; no whips and chains there. They may say that the addict has no choice, is locked into degradation, and that is true enough – only half the truth, though. No man is forced to become an addict – it is his own weakness that leads him to the opium pipe. I am not my brother’s keeper – if he wishes to pay me good money so that he can make a fool of himself, I shall not argue. In any case, opium is illegal in China and the coolies fight to obtain it; it is perfectly legal in England, sold over the counter by every apothecary, and there is not the thousandth part of addicts in England as there are in China. I am not to be guilty for the moral weakness of the Chinese!
Enough of this self-justification – I have a story to tell and I am growing no younger.
I waited till Perkins had rolled off to his hammock, three sheets in the wind, and then sat down with Eccles.
“Your course is not for me, Mr Eccles. I cannot drive slaves. Best thing is to recast our agreement, sir. You to take one hundred additional shares from the ship’s part and me to stay in England, out of it. What say you?”
Foreign Mud Page 12