Sea Robber (8 page)

Gradually the sky lightened and the tracery of the rigging of the ship took shape. ‘Dan, what can you see now?’ he asked.

The Miskito, his head still leaning back, might have been asleep. He opened his eyes and gazed up. There was a long silence. Then he said quietly, ‘Everything is still blurred.’

Hector’s spirits sank. Crouching down beside his friend, he said, ‘Dan, look straight at me.’

The Miskito, his face expressionless, opened his eyes so that Hector could stare into them. The black pupils and the dark-brown irises appeared normal. ‘I can see nothing wrong. But you have to rest your eyes. I’ll fetch a bandage.’

As Hector went below to bring a strip of cloth from his seaman’s chest, he noticed a new atmosphere among the men. They were more cheerful, exchanging jokes and banter. Even the fever invalids were more animated than before.

‘You’d have thought they might feel some sympathy for your misfortune,’ he commented to Dan as he returned and prepared to wind the bandage around his friend’s head.

As usual, the Miskito took the situation calmly. ‘Why should they have much care for us? We are still outsiders. Latecomers who joined in Guinea. They’ll be more pleased that the appearance of St Elmo’s fire is a sign of good luck.’

‘It didn’t bring you much good luck . . .’ Hector broke off. Dampier had appeared on deck and was walking across to join them.

‘What’s the trouble?’ the navigator asked. There was concern in his voice.

‘Dan was laid low by one of those fireballs last night. It seems to have damaged his sight,’ Hector explained.

‘In both eyes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then there’s a good chance he’ll recover. I’ve known men who received a sudden blow on the head, and went blind. They got their eyesight back in a short while. Not like those blockhead sea captains who go blind in one eye from staring at the sun too long whenever they take a sight.’

A hail from the masthead interrupted him. The lookout was shouting down excitedly that there was a sail in the distance, off the port bow. There was a rush to the rail as the crew tried to get a glimpse of the stranger. Those invalids who could manage to stand upright staggered to where they could hang on to the lower shrouds and look towards the distant speck of sail. One hopeful blackguard gave a great whoop. ‘Let’s catch that ship and see what she’s worth,’ he roared.

‘Now they’re sure that St Elmo’s fire brings good fortune,’ said Dan wryly.

Above them, Cook was at the quarterdeck rail, calmly directing the deck watch to trim the sails.

‘What about our cannon? Do we bring them up from the hold?’ called a voice.

‘There’s not enough time and we are short-handed as it is,’ Cook snapped. ‘We leave the cannon where they are, and make out that we are a peaceful merchant ship seeking to exchange news. No one yet knows we are in the Pacific.’

‘The prospect of plunder is even better than burned rum for inspiring a crew,’ muttered Dan. ‘Hector, if I’m to wear this bandage, you’ll have to tell me what is going on.’

Men were scurrying down to their berths and bringing up their weapons, hastily unwrapping pistols and cutlasses from the oiled cloths in which they had been stored for the passage round the Cape. There was much clicking and snapping as the buccaneers checked their musket flints were throwing off sparks.

‘Vessel’s turning towards us. Seems to want a meeting,’ shouted down the lookout.

‘Sailing right into our jaws,’ exulted a buccaneer as he scrabbled among the contents of his cartridge box.

‘Tell me what the newcomer is like?’ Dan asked Hector quietly.

‘Looks to be some sort of merchant ship. Maybe a trifle smaller than us. I think I see some deck armament. At a guess, sixteen guns . . .’

‘What’s his flag?’

‘Can’t see. He’s sailing straight towards us,’ Hector answered. He glanced aft. From the
Delight
’s mizzen now flew a huge yellow and red flag. ‘We’ve hoisted Spanish colours,’ he told Dan.

The quartermaster was cursing and chivvying a number of the invalids, telling them they were too sick for action and he wanted as few people as possible to be visible on deck so as not to arouse the stranger’s suspicions.

‘You there,’ he said to Dan. ‘Get below. A blind man is no use to us.’

‘If Dan goes below, so do I,’ Jezreel growled. ‘There’s more risk in that stinking space than out here on deck.’

The quartermaster glared angrily at the big man, then turned away. Jezreel was known to be good in a fight.

Some time later Dan asked, ‘How close is the stranger now?’

‘About half a mile,’ Hector answered. ‘And eager to speak with us. He hasn’t run out his guns.’

There was an air of suppressed excitement as men from the
Delight
’s crew crept to their positions. They crouched behind the bulwarks with their muskets, grapnels and boarding axes. Hector was reminded of the day Cook’s buccaneers had taken the
Carlsborg
by surprise.

Cook called out his final instructions. ‘We’ll get only one chance. The moment we are alongside, you board and take that ship before they realize we are sickly and short-handed.’ He looked down at where Hector was standing.

‘Lynch, come up here,’ he called.

‘I would prefer to stay beside my friend if there’s to be any fighting,’ said Hector.

‘Then bring him up with you.’

Hector took Dan by the arm and led him up the companion ladder to the quarterdeck, where they joined Dampier and Cook. The captain was rubbing his hands together in anticipation and looking pleased with himself. ‘I doubt the stranger suspects anything. He takes us for a Spaniard. He’s due for a surprise.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I believe you speak fluent Spanish.’

‘My mother was from Galicia.’ Hector wondered how much Cook remembered from the last South Sea raid, when the young man had often acted as interpreter.

‘I want you to play the captain for a few minutes. When we get within speaking range, tell the stranger we’re newly arrived from Spain and looking for a pilot.’

‘And what if I’m asked about our intended destination?’

‘Say that we’re on our way to join the Armada del Sur, the South Sea Fleet. That will account for the fact that we look more like a warship than a merchantman.’

By now the other ship was barely a hundred paces away, and had still not shown a flag. A man whom Hector took to be her captain was standing at the rail with a speaking trumpet in his hand.

Moments later the stranger came up into the wind and backed her topsails. Slowing to a halt, she waited for the
Delight
to approach within hailing distance.

‘Could be a trap. Maybe she has guns in a lower tier and is keeping the gun ports closed,’ said Dampier nervously. ‘She could be ready to serve us out.’

‘Quiet,’ growled Cook in a low voice. ‘Hold her there,’ he said to the helmsman, who spat over the lee rail, then pushed the tiller over.

The
Delight
also lost way and came to a stop. The two ships lay quietly, barely a pistol shot apart, their crews eyeing one another.

Hector took a deep breath. Putting a hand on Dan’s shoulder and pressing downwards, he murmured, ‘Dan, sit down out of the line of fire, just in case there’s trouble.’

‘Let them speak first,’ cautioned Cook in a whisper.

The captain of the other vessel raised the speaking trumpet to his lips. ‘Saludos!’

Hector cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘Saludos,’ he replied.

‘Qué nave es usted?’

‘He wants to know the name of our ship,’ Hector relayed to Cook in an undertone.

‘Tell him we are the
Santa Rosa
from Seville, and ask him who he is.’

‘
Santa Rosa
de Sevilla. Y usted?’

There was a noticeable delay before the captain of the other vessel replied. But already Hector knew something was wrong. In a low, urgent voice he told Cook, ‘That’s no Spaniard.’

‘What do you mean?’ There was a sudden note of alarm in Cook’s voice.

‘His accent’s wrong.’

Cook gave an angry snarl. ‘We’ve been fooled.’ He spun on his heel and snapped at the steersman, ‘Bear away.’ Raising his voice so that his men waiting on the main deck could hear him, he shouted at them to make all sail.

It was several moments before his order took effect and the sails filled and the gap between the two ships began to grow wider. In that interval there was confusion aboard the
Bachelor’s Delight
– shouted commands for the yards to be braced round, the noise of running feet, grunts of effort from men hauling on the sheets, the clatter of canvas bellying out, and all the time the buccaneers waited for the first salvo from the stranger to come crashing aboard. The men who had been hidden behind the bulwarks stood up, levelled their muskets and loosed off wild shots at the other vessel. From across the water came similar uproar as the strangers’ vessel also got under way in a hurry.

‘Stop firing. Tell the men not to shoot,’ someone was shouting. Seated on deck and with the bandage over his eyes, Dan was trying to make himself heard above the commotion. ‘Stop firing,’ he repeated. ‘The other ship is English.’

Cook’s head snapped round. ‘What do you mean, English?’ he demanded.

‘They’re English, I tell you. They are speaking English.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I may not be able to see so well, but my hearing’s fine. I can hear them giving commands in English.’

For a moment Cook looked disbelieving. Then he said, ‘There’s one way of finding out.’ Turning to the quartermaster, he said, ‘Pull down the Spanish colours and hoist an English flag.’

The quartermaster ran to follow his instructions. He fumbled at the halyard, and soon the English colours floated at the mizzen peak.

By now the
Delight
had begun to move, slanting away from the danger and showing her starboard quarter towards the strangers. They could clearly see her new ensign.

Moments passed, and then a matching flag was run up at the stern of the other vessel.

‘What’s she doing in these waters?’ Cook exclaimed. ‘Wear ship and pass close. But reload and be ready to fire.’

The
Bachelor’s Delight
checked her flight, reversed course and once again the two ships approached one another, but this time like two wary mastiffs poised for a fight. Cook stood on the rail, holding on to a shroud, and bellowed in English, ‘What ship are you?’

‘Cygnet
out of Bristol.’

‘And a right stupid lot of bird-brained buggers too,’ called someone from the waist of the
Delight.

A wave of relieved laughter washed over both ships.

F
IFTEEN MINUTES LATER
the
Cygnet’s
commander was climbing up the
Delight’s
side while his grinning boat crew exchanged banter with Cook’s buccaneers leaning over the rail.

‘I am Charles Swan,’ said the new arrival, stepping across to shake Cook by the hand. The
Cygnet’s
captain was an affable man of middle age, dressed in a faded blue coat and grubby buckskin breeches. His face would have been unremarkable – watery blue eyes and regular, slightly chubby features – but for the fact that his eyebrows and the stubble of close-cropped hair were so pale as to be almost invisible. By contrast, his skin was sunburned a harsh and painful shade of pink.

‘Swan, did you say? Then I take it that you had a hand in the naming of your vessel,’ said Cook with a half-smile. He was regarding the other man with baffled caution.

‘That’s correct. I own a tenth share. Calling her the
Cygnet
was an act of self-indulgence,’ conceded Swan. He seemed naively unaware of how close he and his ship had come to being attacked and looted.

‘It is unusual to meet an English ship in this region.’

‘I’m here with a licence to trade with the Spanish in Peru, a licence granted to me by the Duke of Grafton.’

‘You’ve come here to buy and sell,’ exclaimed Cook. His eyebrows shot up, he was so astonished.

Swan appeared not to notice. ‘Exactly. Our two countries are at peace, and His Grace the Duke saw an opportunity for mutual commerce.’