Sea Robber Page 6

  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.

  FIFTEEN 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.’

  He nodded towards the north-east horizon. ‘Over there in Chile the colonists are paying exorbitant charges for goods brought out from Spain and trans-shipped across Panama. Aboard the Cygnet we have a cargo of iron goods and fine woollen cloth, which we should be able to sell to great advantage, having much less cost of freight.’

  Cook was almost lost for words.

  ‘But surely you are aware that the Peruvian Viceroy forbids all trade with foreigners?’

  ‘That is why I did not hoist any colours on your approach,’ answered Swan amiably. ‘I am aware of the antipathy between the two nations. I thought the English flag might attract an unprovoked attack. Equally, if I had hoisted a Spanish flag, I might later be accused of sailing under false pretences. No nation likes to see their emblem borrowed without a by-your-leave.’

  Cook shook his head in amazement. ‘I wish you and the Duke luck with your venture. But don’t be surprised if you meet with disappointment.’

  ‘What about you? What brings you here?’ asked Swan, though it must have been clear from the number of armed ruffians on deck that the Delight was not a peaceable merchantman.

  ‘We proceed to Juan Fernandez,’ said Cook. ‘We had a difficult passage around the Cape.’

  ‘I preferred Magellan’s Strait. The transit took more than

  two weeks and was challenging – frequent gales, no depth for anchoring, fog and mist – but we got through,’ answered Swan. He sounded a little smug.

  ‘And now where are you headed?’ asked Cook as he deliberately changed the subject.

  ‘I thought to try Valdivia first. It is the closest town on the coast. I wish to begin my trading there.’

  Hector, who had been listening to the conversation, saw his chance.

  ‘Excuse me, Captain Swan,’ he interrupted. ‘Would you need an interpreter for your commercial negotiations?’

  Swan’s eyes lit up as he recognized the young man. ‘You are the person who called out to us in Spanish. Indeed, I took you to be a Spaniard. I fear my own efforts at the language were all too clumsy. Unfortunately my factor – a most excellent speaker of Castilian – died at sea some weeks ago. So yes, I do require a trustworthy interpreter.’

  ‘Then I am willing to act for you.’

  Swan’s watery blue eyes looked enquiringly at Cook. ‘Are you able to let this young man go?’

  ‘He has not signed
articles, so he can do what he wants,’ Cook answered curtly.

  Hector decided to press home his advantage. ‘I am travelling with three friends. Perhaps they also could join me on your ship? One of them is a fine cook.’

  Swan beamed with pleasure. ‘It sounds as if I am getting a real bargain.’

  ‘Not entirely,’ Cook responded sourly. ‘You’ll be taking on a blind man.’ He nodded towards Dan, still standing nearby with a bandage across his eyes.

  Swan was about to speak when Hector intervened. ‘My friend’s eyesight may soon return. He was partly blinded during a lightning storm last night, but he can still see a little.’

  Swan held up a hand and stopped him. ‘He too may join the Cygnet.’ Then, unexpectedly he added, ‘I too have been similarly afflicted.’

  And without further explanation he began to take his leave of Cook.

  THE RIDDLE OF Captain Charles Swan’s last remark was solved on the way back to his ship with Hector and his friends in the Cygnet’s launch. The captain groped in his pocket and pulled out a pair of spectacles. Each lens was the colour of freshly cut slate. Swan placed them on his face, carefully hooked the wire loops around his ears, then tied a leather thong behind his head to hold them securely. For a moment Hector was reminded of a blind beggar, his sightless eyes hidden behind black glass. But on looking more closely, he realized that he could still discern the captain’s eyes, though dimly.

  Swan anticipated his reaction. ‘Vanity precludes me from wearing them on meeting strangers. All too often they think they are dealing with an unfortunate.’

  ‘Maybe there are times when it is useful to conceal your eyes,’ Hector ventured.

  ‘A shrewd observation. It’s said that in China the judges wear such spectacles in court so that their thoughts are hidden until they deliver judgement.’

  ‘But that’s not why you wear them?’

  ‘Bright light, especially when reflected off the sea, hurts my eyes. Like your friend here, it sometimes damages my vision, leaving me half-blind for hours at a time.’

  ‘You were never struck by a fireball, nor stared at the corposant?’

  ‘Indeed not. The doctors tell me that my condition is often found among those whose hair has little colour. Wearing these spectacles reduces the risk and discomfort.’

  Hector twisted in his seat and took a last look at the Bachelor’s Delight. He would miss a few of her crew, in particular the navigator William Dampier, who was a thoughtful and intelligent man. But John Cook was not to be trusted. He was an outright bandit of the sea, and his men were no better. Hector was not sorry to be leaving them.

  FIVE

  AFTER THREE WEEKS in Swan’s company Hector had grown accustomed to seeing two smoky dark lenses fastened to his captain’s face whenever the sunshine was bright. Now Swan was squinting through them into the early-morning glare as he looked forward over the Cygnet’s bow. It was a clear, bright day and they had arrived on the coast of Chile with the first hint of an onshore breeze filling the ship’s sails as she glided gently into the entrance of a deep gulf. The low headlands on either side were shrouded with a dark mantle of scrub and native forest, and the hills behind them appeared wild and desolate. If the chart had not shown that the town and port of Valdivia lay within the gulf, Hector would have thought the land was uninhabited.

  ‘Unless I’m mistaken, there’s some sort of building by that white mark where the trees have been cut back,’ said Swan.

  The identity of the building became obvious some minutes later when a cloud of grey smoke burst from it, quickly followed by the sound of a cannon shot.

  ‘Surely they can see our flag?’ exclaimed Swan, disappointment in his voice. Hoisted at the Cygnet’s main topmast was an enormous white sheet, which the captain had hoped would be accepted as a token that his ship came in peace.

  Without waiting for an order, the steersman put the helm hard over and the vessel sheered away from the gunfire. Even as he did so, there was another cannon shot, this time from a concealed battery on the opposite shore. The splashes from the cannonball were clearly seen as it skipped across the surface of the sea a hundred paces ahead of the ship.

  ‘We must make our intentions even plainer,’ said Swan. ‘Let fly the fore-topsail as a signal that we wish to parley. Then brail up the courses.’

  The Cygnet crept along, barely a ripple under her forefoot, while her crew watched and waited. After a while a guard boat could be seen putting out from the beach in front of the nearest fort and heading towards the waiting ship.

  ‘Lynch, this is when your knowledge of Spanish can be put to good use,’ said Swan. ‘I will write a letter for you to carry to the Governor of Valdivia explaining that we come to trade, and providing a list of our merchandise. If he lacks a competent translator, you can make our intentions plain.’

  ‘Should I mention that you have a licence from the Duke of Grafton?’

  Swan shook his head. ‘No. The Governor may never have heard of the Duke. Say instead that we intended to make for the East Indies by way of the Cape of Good Hope, but met with such heavy weather that we were obliged to turn around and go westabout. Our stopover here is a chance matter.’

  Hector thought such a far-fetched tale was unlikely to be believed, but he made no comment. All that mattered to him was to get ashore and begin in earnest his search for Maria. The smuggled note she’d written to him on the day she’d saved his life told him of her expected return to Peru and her employment with Doña Juana, whose husband Don Fernando de Costana had been promoted to the Audiencia, the ruling council. The Governor of Valdivia should surely know the whereabouts of such a prominent colonial official.

  Within moments of Swan disappearing into his cabin to write his letter, word of his plan had spread throughout the ship, and a worried-looking Jacques emerged from his galley and came to speak with Hector. ‘Mon ami, you should not go on your own,’ said the Frenchman.

  ‘I’ll be all right. You stay behind with Dan and Jezreel,’ Hector assured him. Day by day Dan’s damaged eyesight had improved, though the Miskito still found it difficult to see clearly objects at a distance.

  ‘Jezreel can look after Dan,’ said Jacques stubbornly. He wiped his hands on a rag to get rid of a smear of soot.

  ‘Lynch will manage very well on his own,’ insisted Swan, overhearing their conversation. He had reappeared with a folded and sealed paper in his hand.

  By now the guard boat was within hailing distance. Hector climbed up on the rail and waved the note in the air. ‘A letter for the Governor,’ he called in Spanish. The guard boat was a small piragua rowed by what looked like half a dozen fishermen. In the stern sat two uniformed soldiers and a young man of about Hector’s own age, wearing an officer’s red and white sash, who appeared to be in charge.

  ‘I wish to speak with the Governor of Valdivia. I have a letter to him from our captain,’ repeated Hector, shouting at the top of his lungs.

  After a short hesitation the boat crew bent to their oars, and Hector was climbing down into the piragua, which shoved off as quickly as if the Cygnet’s hull was hot to the touch.

  ‘My captain wishes to open commerce. We were on our way to the East Indies by way of the Cape of Good Hope, but bad weather forced us to turn back and take the westward route,’ said Hector after he’d introduced himself. The explanation sounded even lamer than before.

  ‘I am Ensign Luis Carvalho,’ said the young man. His mournful dark eyes set in a long, narrow face regarded Hector with open disbelief. ‘My uncle—’ He corrected himself, ‘the Governor wishes to know by what authority you bring your vessel to Valdivia.’

  ‘If you will take me to the Governor, this letter will explain everything,’ Hector answered.

  The ensign glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Your ship may anchor where she is. There is good holding ground. Valdivia is some distance from here and it will be at least two hours before we get there, even with the flood tide under us.’

  For the first
part of the journey Carvalho sat stiff and silent, leaving Hector to watch the passing scenery. His initial impression of a land barely touched by humans was confirmed. Beyond a shoreline of granite rocks began virgin forest, and after so many weeks at sea he could smell the resin of pine trees. The nearer hillsides were the first in a series of dark, sombre ridges, which extended to a far cordillera, its crest marked by a thin band of snow. Everything was on a vast scale, empty and brooding.

  Closer to hand, the waters of the gulf teemed with wildlife. A flock of squabbling seabirds chased a shoal of anchovies directly into the path of the piragua. The gulls dived repeatedly as fish rose to the surface, and once or twice Hector had a quick sighting of a sleek, black fin when a dolphin came up from below, feeding on the same shoal, driving them back towards the birds’ greedy beaks.

  After about a mile, where the channel skirted around a low green island, he noted a third defensive fort being built on a bluff. There was a web of scaffolding and the ant-like figures of workmen toiling on the battlements, which were already formidable. Hector wondered if this was something it was intended that he should see.

  Ensign Carvalho leaned forward. ‘The Viceroy sends us the best military engineers, who have had their training in Spain. He is determined Valdivia is secure from attack, whether by land or from the sea. His Majesty in Madrid takes a close interest. He has declared that he intends to protect the southern flank of his possessions here in Chile, as he has done in Barbary.’

  The mention of Barbary gave Hector the opening he needed. ‘I spent some time at the court of the Moroccan Emperor.’

  Carvalho’s eyes lit up with interest. ‘Is it true that he employs Spanish officers?’

  ‘I made several good friends among his Spanish cavalrymen. Thanks to one of them, I managed to escape from the imperial household.’

  ‘It’s strange that some of my countrymen are willing to serve a foreign potentate, a man whom my King regards with such suspicion that he builds castles to protect his realm from him.’