Brian Jacques - Flying Dutchman 02, page 9
Madrid’s hand slid to his sword hilt as he hissed a warning. “Shut your mouths, I know who he is. Listen, this Redjack has lost his foremast. Maybe he doesn’t want to fight. Boelee, easy now, take us a point to starboard.”
No sooner had the Diablo nosed a foot out of place than Teal’s cannon boomed a warning shot to starboard, accompanied by a crackle of musket fire peppering the Spaniard’s stern.
Boelee brought her back on course smartly. “Capitano, that bad man has many, many more guns than us. If we try to run, he will send the Diablo to the bottom.”
Portugee was in full agreement with the mate. “How can we run without any bowsails? He will murder us all!”
Madrid focussed his telescope on the privateer less than a quarter of a mile behind. He saw the cannon bristling from every port, the crew lining the rails with primed muskets, and the red-jacketed figure watching the for’ard culverins being loaded with grapeshot, a deadly combination of musket balls, scrap iron and broken chain. Grapeshot could sweep a deck with murderous effect. Two more culverins had been brought up from the stern. Four culverins loaded with grapeshot at short range!
Madrid felt icy sweat trickle down his brow. This Redjack was a cold-blooded assassin! The Spaniard’s mind was in a racing turmoil as he turned to his men. “Keep a straight course. I’ll talk to this Redjack in the morning. Mayhap he’ll listen to a proposition. I’m going to my cabin. Keep dead ahead. Don’t upset him.”
With the onset of dawn the rain ceased. Mist floated across the soft, lapping sea, the sun rising like a great blood orange in the east, setting a wondrous hue of pale cerise over the Caribbean waters. Captain Thuron joined Ben and Ned, who were breakfasting off fruit and coconut milk on the forecastle deck. He sat with them, watching a backing breeze dissolve the light fog.
“A pretty sight, eh, Ben? I will miss these waters. Do you know where we are?”
The boy nodded. “Almost into the Mona Passage. We should sight the Isle of Mona off the port bow before midday, sir.”
Thuron’s bushy eyebrows raised. “Very good, how did you know?”
Ned looked up from the coconut he was gnawing at. “Tell the good captain that it was your faithful hound who informed you of our position. Go on!”
Ben smiled at his friend’s message as he addressed the captain. “Ned told me that he heard Anaconda saying it to Pierre when he relieved him at the wheel.”
Thuron ruffled Ned’s ears. “Do you really talk with this dog?”
Ben kept a straight face as he answered. “Oh, all the time, sir!”
The Frenchman chuckled. “I believe you, how could I not? You have such honest faces, both of you.”
Ned passed his friend another thought. “I’m the one with the honest face, really. You’ve grown to look quite furtive over the last few decades. But I’ve grown more innocent. Look: truth and honesty are stamped all over my noble features!” Ned panted. Letting his tongue loll, he waggled his ears.
Ben could not help laughing aloud. Thuron laughed with him.
“Tell me, what is Ned saying to you now, lad?”
The boy stroked his dog’s back. “Ned says he wants you to teach him the Trinidad Shuffle so he can use it sometime.”
Ned left off chewing his coconut to reprimand Ben. “Ooh, you dreadful fibber. I said no such thing!”
Thuron interrupted the mental conversation. “Tell him I’ll teach you both to catch flying fishthey come through these waters on their way to the Gulf of Mexico. Flying fish taste good, grilled with butter and oatmeal.”
Ned went back to tackling his coconut. “Flying fish! Huh, who does he think he’s fooling?”
Thuron pointed a stubby finger at the bows. “Look!” A flying fish was clearly visible, soaring level with the ship.
Ben leapt up. “There’s another! Ned, did you see that?”
The black Labrador stood on his back legs, with his front paws on the rail. He pulled back sharply as another fish flew briefly by and skimmed over the bow wave. “Whoops! Seems a shame to catch them. Do they really taste good? Ask the cap’n to teach us to catch a few, Ben!”
Most of the morning was spent leaning over the prow, watching the flying fish trapping themselves in a net that Thuron had spread from the peak to the bowsprit. Anaconda sang cheerily in his rich deep bass as he supervised the cook in the galley. Ben listened as he pulled a fish from the net and marvelled at the huge spreading fins it used to soar over the waters.
“Come on, come on, you flyin’ fish,
Fly up here into my dish.
Birds is birds, that’s how they act,
Fish is fish, an that’s a fact.
Foolish thing, I bet you wish
You knew if you was bird or fish!
Fly fly o’er the sea,
Spread your fins an’ come to me.
You flyin’ fish, come on, come on,
I’m a sailor an’ a hungry one.
In the air you sure look great,
But you taste much nicer on a plate.
Cook in the galley, warm that dish,
Here comes another little flyin’ fish!
Fly fly o’er the sea, Spread those fins an’ come to me.”
They had passed the Isle of Mona and Mayagüez when the cook hammered his ladle against a stove lid and shouted to all hands. “Fish is done, all cooked to a turn. If ye don’t come quick, the Anaconda will eat ‘em all!”
Ned raced ahead of Ben, sending a thought back to him. “Move yourself, youth. I believe every word the good cook says. Hope Anaconda saves a few for me!”
Thuron and the boy raced side by side, following Ned to the galley. All hands were jostling one another in line. Still relieved to have escaped both their foes, the men laughed and joked with one another.
Ben exchanged a thought with Ned. “What a difference between this and our first trip together with Vanderdecken aboard the Flying Dutchman.”
The black Labrador bristled. “Don’t even mention that hell-ship or mad Cap’n Vanderdecken and his crew of bullies. I’d sooner be aboard a good honest pirate ship like the Marie any day!”
Bowing to the dog’s wisdom, Ben washed all thoughts of the accursed Dutchman from his mind. Instead, he concentrated on the bright sunlit Caribbean day, his friend Raphael Thuron, the merry bustle of crewmen and the anticipation of tasting his first cooked flying fish.
Rocco Madrid was in deep trouble. The privateer had chased the Diablo Del Mar straight into the shallows of Puerto Rico’s palm-fringed shores. The Spaniard paced his cabin, wondering what the Englishman’s next move would be. Cowering in a corner with a rope around his neck that was secured to a deck ring, Ludon, former mate of the Marie, watched him with wide, frightened eyes. Both men knew they were in a fearful situation.
Through his cabin window Madrid could see the Devon Belle, not three ship lengths away. She was broadside on to the Diablo, cannon bristling, almost daring the Spaniard to take the first shot. Rocco Madrid had more sense than to try. He felt like a rat in a trapit would be plain suicide to attempt any show of aggression. Redjack Teal had an awesome reputation for slaughter.
Portugee and Boelee came skulking into the cabin like a pair of naughty schoolboys about to be punished for some misdemeanour.
Boelee looked sheepishly from the privateer in the bay to his captain. “What are we going to do, Capitano?”
Madrid answered with a lot more confidence than he felt. “Do, amigos? We do nothing for the moment. The first hand is up to the Englishman to play.”
Portugee remarked with a scowl, “The only cards Redjack deals us will be wrapped around cannonballs. Unless you plan on makin’ a move, Capitano, we are all dead men!”
There was a rasp of steel leaving scabbard, and Portugee was suddenly backed against a bulkhead with the Spaniard’s sword at his throat. Madrid hissed venomously at him, “You’ll be a dead man sooner than you think if you let your tongue flap foolishly, amigo. I do the thinking aboard this ship without the advice of idiots. Leave this to me, I have a plan. Meanwhile, both of you get out on deck and close all the cannon ports. Boelee, run up a white flag of truce. Portugee, lock up all the muskets and swords. Keep all hands below deck, tell them to make no noise. Now go!”
The Spaniard aimed a kick at Ludon. “You! Keep your mouth shut until I tell you to talk. I have plans for you.”
Rocco Madrid came smartly out on deck the moment he saw a white flag fluttering from the Devon Belle’s masthead. Captain Redjack was standing amidships with a long, trumpet-ended megaphone to his lips. His voice carried clearly across the space between the vessels. Crewmen stood by with cocked muskets, ugly cannon snouts poked menacingly at the Diablo as Teal called out. “One false move an’ I open fire. Comprende?”
The Spaniard cupped both hands round his mouth and shouted back. “I understand English, seńor. What do you want?”
Teal’s reply was sharp and officious. “I am Captain Jonathan Ormsby Teal of His Majesty’s ship Devon Belle. I carry letters of marque an’ reprisal as a privateer. I require your complete an’ unconditional surrender. Immediately!”
Madrid kept his voice normal, though he was inwardly fuming at the foppish Englander’s high-handed manner. “Capitano, you have my word as a Spanish grandee that the first shot will not come from my vessel!”
Teal snorted contemptuously as he raised the hailer to his mouth. “Fire at your peril, sirrah! I’ll blast your lungs’n’lights to perdition an’ dye this bay red with your foul blood! Answer me! Do ye surrender now … eh?”
The Spaniard spread his arms placatingly. “I surrender, Capitanoonly a fool would refuse your offer. But first I would talk with you. I have a proposition, amigo. One that could make you a very rich manwill you listen, seńor?”
Teal took a moment, whispering orders to his bosun, mate and master gunner, before making a reply. “A rich man, y’say? Stand fast, I’m comin’ over. Blink an eye an’ a dozen musketeers’ll blow it out!”
Rocco Madrid bowed elaborately. “No tricks, I promise! Let us talk like civilised men. I will await your arrival in my cabin with some fine wine for both of us. With your permission, Capitano, I will retire now.”
Twenty crew, armed with muskets and rifles, packed into the Devon Belle’s jolly boat. Teal sat in the stern, behind them. In his cabin, Madrid held tight to the scruff of Ludon’s neck as he loosed the rope. Thrusting Ludon to the window, the Spaniard pointed to Teal as he instructed his captive. “Hearken to me carefully. See the red-jacketed one? He can save both our lives. When I tell you to speak, you will lie to him, lie as you’ve never lied before, amigo. Tell the Englishman that La Petite Marie is carrying a vast fortune in gold. Ten, twenty times more than he took from me at Cartagena. You saw it yourself, with your own two eyes. Do this and you may live to be a rich fellow. Understand?”
Sighing with relief, Ludon nodded furiously. “Aye aye, Cap’n, ye can rely on me. I swear it on my mother’s grave!”
The Diablo’s decks were empty as Redjack Teal and his men came aboard. Teal murmured to his bosun, “Perfect! Take y’men an’ batten down the hatches, seal all doors except the Cap’n’s cabin. Kill any pirate that shows his face on deck. Send two fellows back to the Devon Belle with our jolly boat an’ the Spaniard’s. Bring back every available hand who ain’t mannin’ a cannon. Cut along now, quick an’ quiet as y’like!”
Teal strutted into the Spaniard’s cabin, hand on sword hilt. Rocco Madrid bowed courteously. “Welcome to my humble accommodation, Capitano. Some wine?”
Ignoring the decanter of port and goblets, the privateer drew a fancy silver-chased pistol and pointed it. “I’ll take your surrender first!”
Madrid drew his sword carefully and offered it over his forearm, hilt first. The privateer tested the blade’s balance nonchalantly and thrust it into his own belt. Still aiming the pistol, he sat at the cabin table, his eyes never leaving the Spaniard.
Ludon crept forward and filled the goblets. Crossing his legs and leaning back, Redjack took a sip and nodded toward Ludon. “An’ who, pray, is this fellow, eh?”
The Spaniard smiled slyly as he played his ace card. “This is the man who can make us our fortunes, seńor. He was first mate aboard the French buccaneer. Tell the English capitano what you saw, amigo.”
By evening the deal had been hammered out, more to Teal’s satisfaction than to the Spaniard’s. But Rocco Madrid accepted all terms, telling himself that he could always alter the balance at a later date. Unarmed, the entire crew of the Diablo Del Mar were marched up on deck in fours and made to wade ashore in the ebbing tide. Surrounded as they were by a fully armed and very hostile English crew, they were forced to comply sullenly.
Boelee and Portugee led the first lot. Chest high they waded toward the sandy beach. Portugee looked warily about. “I don’t like this, there’s sharks in these waters!”
Boelee gritted his teeth. “The real sharks are aboard our ship, but we don’t get any say in the matter. If Madrid’s playin’ us false, I’ll track him to the ends of the earth!”
Just then, Rocco Madrid appeared on deck alongside Teal. The Spaniard exchanged words with his lookout, Pepe. Before he went over the side, Pepe nodded and shook hands with both Madrid and Teal.
Boelee and Portugee were waiting as Pepe splashed ashore. They ran to meet him.
“What did the capitano have to say to you?” “Redjack, did he have anything to say? Tell us, Pepe!” The Diablo crewmen gathered around as the lookout explained. “Redjack, he said nothing, but the capitano told me to tell you all: We are joining forces with the privateer and sailing out into the ocean to capture Thuron’s ship!”
Boelee shook his head in disbelief. “Are you sure?” Pepe sat down on the warm sands. “Sí, amigos! Here is what will happen. We will crew the privateer ship; Capitano Redjack will take us in tow. He will command the Diablo after he has moved his own cannon aboard her and repaired the bowsprit. After we have taken Thuron’s vessel, Redjack will cut the Diablo loose to sail back to the Caribbean.”
Portugee gnawed thoughtfully at his lip. “But why do both ships need to sail about chasin’ Thuron, did he say?”
Pepe grinned as he related what his captain had told him. “That prisoner from the Marie, you know what he said? I will tell you. Thuron is quitting these waters, going back to his home in France. That is why he put in to Guayama. For years he has been burying all his booty there, and he went to dig it up before he crosses the ocean. The man saw it, a real treasure, chests an’ barrels of plunder. Our capitano made him talknow he has made a bargain with Redjack. Good, no?”
All eyes were on Boelee. He was the most astute member of the Diablo’s crew, having served longest with Madrid. Sitting down, he pursed his lips and squinted one eye. Then he laughed. “Good, yes! Two ships can find Thuron out there a lot easier’n one could. Ho ho, that Rocco, he’s craftier than a sack o’ monkeys. I’ll wager he’s got a plan formed already. You mark my words, mates, Rocco Madrid’ll end up with all that booty, or my name ain’t Boelee!”
The crew set about building a driftwood fire on the shore as night set in. The Devon Belle’s crew towed the Diablo out and secured her alongside the privateer. Teal commanded the entire operation, striding about and giving orders as blocks and tackles hauled cannon between the two ships. Rocco Madrid sat in Teal’s cabin aboard the Devon Belle, sampling the Madeira while he formed bloodthirsty schemes for future days. Joby, who had now been promoted to carpenter, had a party at work replacing the bowsprit with timbers from the Devon Belle’s broken foremast as others laboured at rigging new foresails and bowlines.
One of the men nodded toward the pirates onshore. ” ‘Tain’t fair! Lookit that lot, layin’ about on the sand while we’re sloggin’ our guts out aboard this tub!”
“You were sayin’ ?”
The man turned to see Teal standing there. He bent his back to the task, apologising humbly. “Nothin’, Cap’n, never said a word, sir!”
* * *
9
LA PETITE MARIE had now passed through the Mona Passage, the channel between Hispaniola and Puerto Rico. Ben and Ned were in the captain’s cabin, getting a lesson in navigation from the Frenchman. A large, untidy chart was spread out on the bed, with books and a sextant holding down its scrolled corners.
Thuron indicated a spot on the map. “This is a simple old chart, rough but reliable. We are about here by my reckoning, see, Ben?”
The boy studied where Thuron was pointing. “We’re actually out in the Atlantic Ocean. Where do we go from here, Cap’n?”
Thuron stroked his beard. “Right across this chart and on to a second one which I have. This ocean is a strange place, boy, not much is known about it. Many ships have been lost and never heard from again. No one knows how deep the seas and oceans of this world are. When you sail the high seas on a vessel, I wager that you don’t think of what lies beneath its keel. Have you ever thought of that, Ben?”
Ned interjected his opinion into Ben’s thoughts. “Personaay!”
Ben stroked the black Labrador’s ears to silence him. “Hush, Ned, don’t interrupt. Listen to the cap’n!”
Thuron tapped at the deck with his foot. “Underneath our pitiful little ship lies a whole world. Valleys, hills, deserts and huge mountains!” He smiled into Ben’s startled blue eyes. “Never thought of that, have you, lad? But ‘tis a fact. One day men may go there to explore it. Hundreds of thousands of leagues, clear and visible near the surface, where daylight and the sun can penetrate, descending to shaded blues and greens, then on to where it is dark as a moonless night with no stars. But down, ever down to complete blackness, fathomless and silent as the grave, a realm of fish that are all sizes. Some no bigger than a babe’s fingernail, others massive, monsters of the deep who have lurked there since the earth was young!”
Ned lay on the bed, covering both ears with his paws and whining as he transmitted his thoughts to Ben. “Wait’ll I get my paws on land again. I’ll never go near any water, not even a duck pond!”
Ben stroked his dog soothingly as the captain continued. “Aye, and here are we, no more than a tiny splinter in the scale of things, bobbing up and down over the great deeps where the Bible says leviathans and behemoths dwell. We’re a tiny, bold species, Ben, no doubt about it!”
