Corsair Read online

  As Ned and Thomas followed Heffer along the jetty after landing from their boats, Ned said: “None of our ships has left yet.”

  “No,” said Thomas. “They’ve got the women from the brothels on board, I’ll be bound. I never thought of that as a way round old Loosely closing the brothels. Keeps the ships here, and the men don’t have to row ashore!”

  “It won’t work for long, though,” Ned said. “The men will start quarrelling over the women.”

  “If the women have any sense, they’ll change ships every week or so. A new batch of customers!”

  “You’re right,” Ned agreed. “If they aren’t doing that, I’ll suggest it to the captains.”

  Luce was waiting in his office when Heffer, Ned and Thomas walked in, and while they were still standing demanded anxiously: “Well, what happened?”

  “I can never think on my feet,” Thomas growled. “Do you mind if we use these chairs?”

  “Please do, please do,” Luce said hastily. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

  When the three men sat down, Luce asked Heffer sharply: “Well, do we have a trade?”

  Heffer shook his head. “The Spanish governor didn’t say, but–”

  “Didn’t say?” repeated Luce, his voice rising excitedly. “What do you mean, ‘Didn’t say’? You went all that way and failed to ask him?”

  “No, well, he didn’t say in words, but it was what he did.”

  “You gave him my letter?”

  “Yes, and we wrote the translation on the back.”

  “And you told him that if he wouldn’t agree to a trade we’d force it? You told him that?”

  By now Luce’s voice was high-pitched, almost a yell.

  “I did exactly as you instructed,” Heffer said defensively, “but the Spaniard didn’t give a definite answer.”

  “But – but you should have forced him to make one,” Luce said, almost stuttering with rage.

  Heffer held up both hands helplessly, as though about to pray.

  “Don’t just sit there!” Luce screamed. “The damned man must have given some indication!”

  Ned judged that by now Luce had frightened Heffer into something approaching incoherence and said: “Yes, he gave some indication. In fact he gave an answer. He tried to kill us all and capture both ships.”

  Luce sat bolt upright in his chair as though someone had just stuck a pin in him. He thought a moment and then said crossly: “You must have provoked him.” He turned to Heffer: “What did you say, you oaf? I knew I should never have given you such a delicate task.”

  Before Heffer could attempt to answer, Ned said: “Instead of just nibbling away like this, why don’t you let one of us explain what happened?”

  “Very well, very well,” Luce said impatiently. “You tell me.”

  Making it clear that he had not gone to see the governor and was relying on what Heffer had told him, Ned described the ships arriving in Santo Domingo flying flags of truce, and how Heffer had been taken off to see the governor. Ned mentioned casually that a large number of fishing boats had been drawn up on the beach, but Luce was not interested, motioning for him to hurry.

  “So Heffer came back to say that the governor wanted to see him again next day at the same time, noon.”

  “Of course, of course,” Luce said. “He wanted time to think.”

  “To me,” Ned said, “it seemed that if he needed time it would be six months to send a despatch to Spain, not twenty-four hours. Anyway, during the night a score or more fishing boats were brought round to the beach–”

  “For God’s sake don’t go on about those fishing boats,” Luce exploded. “This was a diplomatic mission, not a fishing expedition.”

  Ned stared at Luce without speaking, and the governor calmed down. “Well, all right, I suppose you have a reason for mentioning the fishing boats.”

  “I have,” Ned said dryly, and told Luce about the night attack on the Griffin and Peleus by the Spanish soldiers.

  “They weren’t soldiers!” Luce snorted. “They were just fishermen wanting to rob you!”

  “We threw over the side twenty-two dead Spanish soldiers, most of them wearing helmets and breastplates. Spanish fishermen,” Ned added sarcastically, “do not wear armour. We also lost eleven of our own men, dead. Thirty-three dead men does not sound like fishermen on the loose.”

  Luce was perspiring heavily now, and his small eyes flickered from one to the other of the three men.

  “I still say you must have provoked the governor,” Luce said to Heffer. “It was your manner, or something you said.”

  Ned tapped the tabletop. “Your Excellency,” he said, “I told you before we sailed that the Spaniards would never agree to trade. I have more experience than you of the way they do business. I don’t find it at all surprising that they attacked our ships. But,” he said, with a sudden angry outburst, “I find it surprising that you attack us. We carried out your instructions to the letter. It was because I did not trust the Spaniards that we kept watch that night and saved our throats from being cut and your own envoy taken or killed. Listening to you talking, I can only say that your ignorance of the Spanish mind frightens me: I’m appalled that you should be the governor of this island.”

  By now Luce was white-faced; his yellowed moustache and the way his face had shrunk before Ned’s anger made him look even more like a ferret, but one that had been out in the rain.

  “Don’t you dare talk to me like that, you damned pirate,” Luce spluttered.

  “Pirate?” Ned repeated quietly.

  “Yes, pirate. While you’ve been away some of your men have been making piratical attacks on ships off the Caymans.”

  “None of my ships sailed.”

  “They must have done. A coasting vessel came in from the Caymans yesterday evening complaining that she had been attacked by pirates as she was going to Grand Cayman for turtle.”

  “If some of our ships had attacked her,” Ned said grimly, “she wouldn’t have escaped.”

  “Your men were responsible,” Luce declared. “Four of them. The master of the ship that was attacked is absolutely certain.”

  “Attacked by four ships?” Ned repeated.

  “Yes, four.”

  “And he escaped from them and came to report it all to you?”

  “Yes, he signed a regular protest. I have it here.”

  “Did he name the ships?”

  “No, of course he didn’t: nor did he name the captains – I hardly expected him to go on board and ask them.”

  “You surprise me,” Ned murmured. “Anyway, have you any more questions about the Santo Domingo affair?”

  Luce shook his head. “No, though I can hardly say the affair was handled in a judicial manner.”

  Ned stared at him and the small eyes dropped. “You all did your best, I am sure,” he added patronizingly.

  “You are too kind,” Ned said standing up. “If you’ll excuse me I’ll go and investigate the piracy which you allege.”

  As they walked along the jetty on the way back to their boats, Thomas said crossly: “If any ship gets attacked within a couple of hundred miles of here, our people are going to be blamed.”

  “Of course. I expect old Loosely is waiting for them all to leave, now that he’s closed the brothels.”

  Thomas laughed to himself. “He’d have a fit if he knew how many of his former soldiers have joined us, now the Army is disbanded.”

  He stopped for a moment and asked: “What do you make of this piracy business?”

  Ned shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll check with Leclerc or Saxby, but I’m sure none of our ships sailed while we were away at Santo Domingo. That means there are four ships out there acting as pirates and getting us blamed. We’d better find them and teach ’e
m a lesson. I wonder where they’ve come from?”

  “The nearest of the three Cayman islands is only just over a hundred miles from Cuba,” Thomas said. “The biggest is under two hundred miles away.”

  “And that one is about the same distance from Port Royal,” Ned said. “It’s impossible for any of our ships to have left after we sailed to Santo Domingo and have got back before us.”

  “Yes, old Loosely could never have worked that out for himself.”

  “He doesn’t want to believe it,” Ned said. “Blaming us is the easy way out.”

  “What do you intend doing?”

  “Let’s go and talk to Leclerc first.”

  The voluble Frenchman was emphatic: no ship at all had sailed from Port Royal while they were away, except the Convertine frigate. Three coasting vessels had come in and anchored, and of course the fishing boats had come and gone as usual.

  Leclerc had then asked Ned about the hostages. “Are they being well guarded on board the Dolphyn and Argonauta, and Secco’s ship?”

  “I presume so,” Ned said. “I can’t see any of Gottlieb’s or Coles’ men being slack – not after what they went through at Riohacha.”

  After leaving Leclerc, Ned and Thomas went over to the Phoenix, where they were met by Saxby and Mrs Judd.

  “I hope you’ve come to tell us we’re getting under way again,” Mrs Judd declared. “I can’t do with this man,” she pointed an accusing finger at Saxby. “He just fidgeted the whole time you were away. ‘I wonder how Mr Yorke is… I wonder what Sir Thomas is doing… They ought to be back by now.’ I tell you, it was like having a small boy on my hands.”

  Mrs Judd never spoke in a normal manner; she usually declaimed. She was used to getting her own way where Saxby and the crew of the Phoenix were concerned, and she usually forgot to adjust her voice and manner when talking to anyone else.

  “Well, Martha, a short voyage out to the Caymans.”

  “The Caymans? What, are we going after turtle?”

  The question was relevant because the three islands were famous for their turtles and very little else: there were no safe anchorages at any of the three islands. All of them, but particularly the largest, Grand Cayman, were infamous for the great swarms of mosquitoes that came out at dawn and dusk, and against which the smoke of tobacco leaves seemed powerless.

  “Not turtles,” Ned said, “but there are some pirates round there, apparently.”

  “Oh, pirates,” Martha said, and apparently lost interest in the subject. “We’ll have time to catch a few turtles?”

  Ned grinned as Saxby looked apologetic. “Yes, Martha, we’ll probably have time for that. It depends on what pirates we find.”

  The three ships sailed from Port Royal before nightfall, the Griffin leading, followed by the Peleus and the Phoenix. A brisk east wind scattered white crests across the sea; very soon after dusk a new moon showed up almost shyly on the western horizon, the whole of its orb faintly visible.

  Aurelia was cheerful and as they finished their supper commented to Ned: “So thanks to Sir Harold we are at sea again!”

  “Thanks to four ships acting as pirates,” Ned corrected her.

  “Pouf, pirates! Last week we were pirates when we went to Riohacha. It’s an easy word to use.”

  Ned agreed, but added: “When Jamaica’s ships are attacked, though, we have to do something about it.”

  “Oh, yes, of course, but I rather like being called a ‘corsair’: it is a nice word. Even better than buccaneer.”

  “I think I’d sooner be a buccaneer,” Ned said. “There’s something rather comforting about having a sheet of paper signed by the governor. I miss not having a commission in my drawer.”

  The ship was pitching as the following wind filled her sails and sent her surging ahead of the waves, and the mainyard creaked and squeaked. The big mainsail occasionally lost the wind and filled again with a bang which shook the ship.

  “When do we reach the Caymans?” Aurelia asked.

  “They’re very scattered. The biggest is Grand Cayman, but Little Cayman and Cayman Brac are seventy-five miles or so away to the north-east of it.”

  “So you may have trouble finding your ‘corsairs’?”

  “Yes, unless they are anchored at one or other of the islands.”

  “Where was our ship attacked?”

  “Off Grand Cayman.”

  “What was she doing there?”

  “Going in for turtles, I think. No other reason for visiting the Caymans. Just a few people live there – fisherfolk and turtlers.”

  “What would corsairs go there for?”

  “They can get fresh water from a natural cistern at Gun Bluff, on Grand Cayman. Fresh water is hard to find on the other two islands. Turtles – the Dons like to get them for their shells.”

  “Apart from fresh water, there doesn’t seem much to attract corsairs there!”

  “If they’re desperate, they might seize a few local turtle boats. Or capture something like the one that got away and started all this fuss.”

  “These corsairs must be buffoons if they let a coasting vessel escape them,” Aurelia said. “If it was going to the Caymans for turtles, it can’t be very big.”

  “That’s what puzzles me. Firstly, why pirates bother with such a ship, and secondly, having bothered, failed to capture it.”

  Chapter Ten

  For all the next day the big black frigate birds dived and curved over the three ships, swooping on swarms of flying fish that suddenly appeared, skimmed the tops of the waves for a few hundred yards and then vanished into the water with as little fuss as they made when they took off.

  Aurelia stood on deck with Ned, looking aft at the Griffin’s wake. “Although they never attack anything but fish, I think those frigate birds look evil. Much worse than sea eagles.”

  “That’s because they’re black and so big. But what flyers! They have more grace than any other sea bird.”

  “Look at them diving after those flying fish!” Aurelia exclaimed.

  “Yes, they must have phenomenal eyesight. And they can turn so fast.”

  At noon Ned took a sight and worked out the ship’s latitude and sighed contentedly: the Griffin was exactly in the latitude of Grand Cayman, and from his estimate of the distance they had run since leaving Jamaica they should just sight the island at dusk. So they would have to lie-to for the night: none of the coasts of Grand Cayman were clear of reefs, which seemed to stretch across every bay, like coral nets to catch the unwary seaman.

  Ned looked again at the chart of Grand Cayman. It did not give much detail, but the first part they would sight, at the eastern end of the island, would be the cliffs at Gorling Bluff. There were trees drawn round the Bluff, and whoever drew the chart had sketched in a reef surrounding the whole eastern end of the island like a barrier. There were three breaks in the barrier, one of which went through to Gun Bluff, and its natural cistern of spring water.

  The biggest village was at the other end of the island, and had about the only sheltered anchorage – sheltered, that is, from the prevailing east wind: it was open to the northers of the winter. So, Ned considered, the four pirates would be at Gun Bluff watering, or at the other end of the island at anchor, or they would have quit the island altogether, in which case the chances of them being at Little Cayman or Cayman Brac were slight: they were tiny islands, uninhabited except for turtles and goats, and wild birds. Unless someone had been marooned there, or a ship wrecked…

  How long would it take four ships to get fresh water from the cistern? A couple of days, he estimated. So they would no longer be at Gun Bluff. He rolled up the chart: this was a hopeless business; the ships could be anywhere.

  For hour after hour the Griffin, followed by the other two ships, plunged westwards into the sun, which gradual
ly drew lower and lower in the sky. Finally, at six o’clock when Ned was searching the horizon just below the sunset, he grunted and said to Aurelia: “There we are – the island is dead ahead.”

  “How far?”

  “Ten or fifteen miles: just a smudge on the horizon.”

  “So we’ll get there just as the moon appears.”

  “Yes, and as the moon gets up we heave-to for the night.”

  At dusk, the Griffin was about eight miles from the eastern end of the island and Ned turned her into the wind and dropped the sails. There was no point in heaving-to, he decided; easier to furl the sails and, with the sea not vicious, lie a’hull until daylight. The rolling would be uncomfortable, but they had pitched all the way from Jamaica, and the change of motion was not unpleasant.

  It seemed everything in the ship creaked. The deck beams creaked, and in turn the deck planking creaked, and the cupboards and lockers creaked in sympathy. The great thick mast groaned aloft but creaked where it came through the deck. The rattle of blocks hitting the mast aloft was echoed by the mast and Ned cursed it.

  The noises did not seem to bother Aurelia, but Ned had never been able to stand repetitive noises unless they were regular. The constant hiss of the ship running before the wind and surging forward over a wave did not bother him; but the occasional clatter of a block or the irregular banging of an unfastened door always roused him.

  He had stood on deck and watched first the Peleus and then the Phoenix round up, drop their sails and lie a’hull. The dusk was reducing everything to a uniform greyness; it was the time of day he hated because quite innocent clouds turned dark and menacing; the seas seemed to grow bigger; it was easy, he admitted to himself, to imagine a storm was coming, or even a hurricane, although experience insisted that there was no swell, which was always the outrider of bad weather. No, it was just dusk; he hated it, and that was that.

  Mind you, dawn could be just as bad: cold and hungry and sleepy, one could see dawn approach when the waves started taking shape: instead of a black mass surrounding the ship, one could begin to distinguish crests, and they soon became grey and menacing, and the clouds when they made an appearance were nearly always hard grey and menacing. Proper daylight took an age, and in the meantime the ship, as it became possible to see her, was not friendly: the line of bulwarks, seams of the deck planking, coamings – all seemed harsh and remote. But there was no colour: dawn was varying shades of grey.