Molineaux, Abena and the other captives were pushed into the stockade. The walls loomed over them menacingly, and Molineaux saw more guards armed with muskets patrolling the catwalk that ran around the top of the palisade. In the centre of the stockade there were a dozen sheds formed from wooden pillars lashed together with bamboo. The walls were about six feet high, and between the top of the walls and the roof thatched with palm leaves there was a gap of another four feet. The groans and rattling chains seemed to come from all around; Molineaux wanted to put his hands over his ears and scream until he had blocked out the sound of human suffering.
The captives were marched between these sheds to one towards the back of the stockade and ushered inside. As yet it was empty. A central row of wooden pillars supported the roof, and a chain ran the length of the row, with a large neck-link every two feet. The captives were each padlocked into a collar. ‘Shackle him between those two,’ ordered Khari, indicating Molineaux.
‘You think he’s dangerous?’ asked Tobias. ‘He don’t look much.’
‘No. But he is clever. Those can be the most dangerous ones of them all.’
You better believe it, thought Molineaux, as one of his wrists was shackled to the man on his right and the other to Abena on his left.
‘If he gives you any trouble, give him a good beating,’ said Khari. ‘But don’t kill him. He speaks English – he should fetch a good price.’
Khari, Tobias and the guards went out to fetch the next batch, bolting the bamboo gate to the shed and padlocking that too.
Now that Killigrew was dead it was all up to Molineaux. All he had to do was get out of his shackles, kill the guards, free the others and then use the resulting confusion to rescue Miss Chance from Salazar’s salacious clutches before they all made their escape through the maze of crocodile-infested waterways and into the jungle. Easy as caz, he thought wryly to himself. He glanced at the padlocks on his fetters and cursed himself for leaving his picklocks at the village, not that he had had much choice in the matter. He turned to Abena. ‘I don’t suppose you’d happen to have such a thing as a bent nail on you?’
She looked at him blankly.
He sighed. ‘Didn’t think so.’ He lay back on the planking which formed the floor of the shed, trying to feign calmness in the face of adversity, but his own frustration got the better of him and he pounded the planks with his fist.
Chapter 19
A Lamb to the Slaughter
‘I had a dream,’ said King Nldamak, and then grimaced. ‘Well, actually it was more of a nightmare.’ He glanced at the three white men in the cabin bashfully, as if worried they might be laughing at him for being superstitious, but all three met his gaze gravely. He continued. ‘I dreamed that one day the white man would rule all of Africa, from the Barbary Coast to the Cape of Good Hope.’
‘Great Britain has no territorial ambitions in Africa,’ Killigrew assured him, truthfully enough. ‘Colonies are expensive to run and more trouble than they’re worth.’
‘Expensive to run, Mr Killigrew?’ mocked Nldamak. ‘Has not your country plundered India for its riches? Is it not Indian wealth which has made Britain great, while enslaving the Indians?’
Killigrew flushed. ‘Britain only wants to trade. Fair trade is mutually beneficial to both parties. Sometimes it is necessary to protect trade with force of arms. Sometimes it is necessary to displace corrupt local rulers and set up an administration until such time as government can be handed back to the local people…’
‘And how long until you hand back local government to the Indians, Mr Killigrew? Ten years? Fifty years? A hundred years?’
Killigrew held up a hand. ‘I’m not saying that the East India Company hasn’t made mistakes by allowing itself to be drawn into a greater and greater role in the government of India, your majesty. But we British have learned from that experience. We won’t make the same mistake again.’
‘Won’t you? Perhaps you are wise enough to see that, but what about your government? Is that wise?’
Killigrew thought of men like Sir George Grafton, and decided it was probably best to say nothing.
‘Africa is a rich land, Mr Killigrew. One day your people, and the people of the other nations of Europe, will realise that. Some already do. The only thing which prevents the white man from penetrating further into this continent is the white man’s fever. But I hear now that Jesuit’s bark is being proved to be a cure for the fever. The bad airs which now prove so fatal to the white man’s constitution will not protect us for ever, and when the time comes the white man will come in force to plunder Africa’s riches. Africa must defend herself, Mr Killigrew. Not just the Vai, the Mende and the Temne, but all the peoples of Africa. We must stop allowing the white man to carry off the best and strongest of our people to slavery in the Americas.’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more, your majesty. That is why I must fight against your son.’
Nldamak looked away. ‘Khari and I went our separate ways many years ago, Mr Killigrew. He believes the only way the African can defeat the white man is to accept the white man’s ways and learn to beat him at his own games. But the white man’s ways are not the ways of Africa.’
‘There was slavery in Africa long before the white man came, your majesty,’ said Masterson.
Nldamak looked up at him sharply. ‘If a wrong has been done for hundreds of years, Lieutenant, does that make it more or less of a wrong? Let Africa make her own mistakes. If she must suffer, let it be through her own fault rather than the fault of the white man. But my son – who is no longer my son – does not see these things the way I do. He has spent too much time in the company of white men, and it has corrupted him. Now his cause is the white man’s cause, and he would betray his own people if it were to his own advantage. I do not mean to insult you gentlemen. I know that your hearts are good. I thank you for working to stop the slave trade; you have seen for yourselves the suffering it causes. But there are others in your country who do not understand and do not care. They are the ones I fear. They are the ones who will one day decide that Africa must be plundered for her wealth, as she has already been plundered for her people.
‘And as for my son, who is no longer my son… he chose his path a long time ago. Let it lead him where it will. He must do what he must do, just as you must do what you must do. If you kill him, I shall grieve, as any father must. But I will not stand in your way. And now, gentlemen, you must excuse me.’
They ushered him out of the great cabin and stood and watched from the deck as Nldamak climbed down to the captain’s gig and was rowed back to the waterfront, his shoulders slumped dejectedly. Killigrew saw a man who predicted only pain and suffering as the future for his people, and his heart went out to him.
‘He speaks well enough, I’ll grant you,’ said Masterson. ‘But can we be sure he won’t send word to Khari and Salazar to warn them of our imminent attack?’
Captain Crichton nodded slowly. ‘Oh, I think we can trust him, Lieutenant.’
Killigrew nodded. Nose-Biter Crichton might have a reputation for being as mad as a hatter, but Killigrew knew the captain was a good deal wiser than he let on. ‘Besides, if we set sail at once we can attack the barracoon long before he can get word there,’ he said. He was concerned that every moment they delayed increased the chances of more slavers coming to take away the captives in the barracoon’s stockade.
‘Weigh anchor and set sail, Masterson,’ ordered Crichton. ‘Set a course for the Owodunni Barracoon. Mr Killigrew here will give you directions.’
Within an hour they gathered together in the day cabin for a council of war: Killigrew, Crichton, Masterson, Tip-Top, Dguma and the captain of the Thor’s marines, Captain Reynolds. Killigrew showed them the sketch map he had just finished.
‘This is the barracoon, or at least as much of it as I saw. Salazar gave me a pretty good guided tour. The sandbar here prevents any ships from approaching within half a mile of the coast. There are watchtowers here, here,
here and here. The men in them have telescopes, so it’s a fair bet they’ll see you coming the moment you round the headland two miles to the south. Salazar’s house is here, at the centre. Over here we have administration blocks, these are the barracks, and this is the harem.’
‘Sounds to me like this fellow Salazar knows how to live,’ remarked Masterson.
Killigrew nodded. ‘Let’s just hope he knows how to die. If he doesn’t, I know how to teach him.’ He was aware of Crichton and Masterson exchanging worried glances at his bloodthirsty talk, but pretended not to have seen and concentrated on the plan. ‘Over here is the stockade where the slaves are kept, at the eastern end of the delta, away from the shore. The barracoon’s well laid out and easily defensible – Salazar’s no fool – but he’s made one fatal flaw. Provided you don’t elevate your long guns above five degrees, if you anchor just outside the bar you can bombard the whole barracoon and hit everything but the stockade itself.’
‘What about the harem?’ asked Crichton. ‘Wouldn’t want to bombard innocent women.’
‘And Miss Chance,’ added Masterson. ‘Odds are she’ll either be in the harem or in Salazar’s house.’
Killigrew nodded. ‘That’s where your marines come in, Captain Reynolds. I’ll go with you to guide you. Ndawa – Chief Momolu’s son – promised to meet me there with some of his men and enough canoes to get us through the creeks. We’ll hit the barracoon at midnight. We use stealth. With any luck we’ll be able to get the women out of there before Salazar even knows we’ve been and gone. The other slaves will be safe in the stockade. At two bells in the middle watch you can start the bombardment.’
‘Then you’d better make sure you’re out of there by then,’ said Crichton. ‘Because I’m going to throw every shell I’ve got on board at that barracoon, and when I’m done there won’t be so much as a termite left alive in that delta.’
Captain Reynolds nodded. ‘If there are any survivors amongst Salazar’s men, we’ll pick them up. I’ve done this kind of thing enough times before.’
Killigrew shook his head. ‘Make no mistake, gentlemen. This is far and away the biggest barracoon I’ve ever seen. Salazar himself told me he employs over three hundred men.’
‘That’s a lot of people,’ said Crichton. ‘What arrangements are we going to make for prisoners?’
Killigrew looked up at him, his dark eyes glittering coldly in the light of the oil lamp. ‘Who said anything about taking prisoners?’
* * *
HMS Thor hove to a few miles to the south of the Owodunni delta at sunset the following evening and the anchor was dropped into the sea with a splash. The crew prepared to lower the launch.
‘Remember, you’ve got to be out of there by two bells in the middle watch,’ Masterson told Killigrew. ‘Do you have a watch?’
‘Yes, but it’s broken. I think some water must have spoiled the workings. Damn it, you’d think someone would come up with a way to make these things impervious to water.’
‘You’d better take mine. Shall we synchronise watches, sir?’
Crichton checked his own watch. ‘I make it six thirty-seven, on the dot.’ Six hours and twenty-three minutes to one o’clock, or two bells in the middle watch.
‘Same here,’ said Masterson, and handed his watch to Killigrew, who tucked it into the fob pocket of the borrowed waistcoat he was wearing along with a borrowed dirk and a borrowed cutlass. ‘You’d better take this as well,’ he added, handing Killigrew some kind of pistol.
Killigrew studied the weapon curiously. It was like a pepperbox, but whereas the pepperbox had six distinct barrels for each shot, this weapon had only one barrel, with a cylinder in the middle containing several chambers, each of which was brought into line with the barrel as the cylinder turned.
‘Colonel Colt’s invention,’ explained Masterson.
Killigrew cocked the hammer experimentally, saw that it worked, and then lowered the hammer back into place. ‘Ingenious.’
‘Each chamber’s already primed and loaded. All you have to do is cock, aim and fire. Effective range is about fifty yards.’
‘Thanks, but if I have to use it I’ll have failed. Stealth is the order of the evening, gentlemen.’
‘Take it anyway,’ said Masterson. ‘Just in case.’ Killigrew nodded and buckled on the gun belt Masterson handed him before climbing into the launch. ‘Good luck,’ Masterson called down to them as the boat was lowered to the water.
‘I’ll see you in seven hours,’ Killigrew told him.
Masterson grinned. ‘I’ll have a bottle of whisky standing by.’
‘I’ll probably need it by then.’ In fact Killigrew would have liked to have a drink or two there and then, to stiffen resolve, but he knew he needed to keep a clear head.
It was a tight squeeze in the launch with Tip-Top, Dguma and Reynolds and his squad of twenty marines. The jollies looked smart in their red coats and white crossbelts. They rowed proficiently across the bar and through the breakers, jumping out to drag the boat a few feet up on to dry sand so that the officers would not have to get their feet wet. The squad moved quickly across the beach with Tip-Top and Dguma while Killigrew gave one last glance to where the Thor rode at anchor, silhouetted by the last rays of the sunset.
‘No turning back now,’ said Reynolds. ‘We’re going to have to move fast now to get to the barracoon in time. My men are in first-rate condition, Killigrew. You’d better not slow us down.’
‘I’ll certainly try to keep up,’ Killigrew promised him gravely. ‘Let’s just hope this breeze keeps up, otherwise we’ll be left without naval support at the eleventh hour.’ Without the bombardment from the Thor, even if the marines did succeed in rescuing the slaves from the barracoon, there was nothing to stop Prince Khari’s leopard men from pursuing them as they escaped.
‘I just hope that these natives are there with the canoes,’ grunted Reynolds.
Dguma and Tip-Top exchanged a few words. ‘What did he say?’ asked Killigrew.
Tip-Top grinned, his pointed teeth showing white in the bosky gloom. ‘He says the word of a Mende is as good as the word of an Englishman. They’ll be there.’
As the light faded they headed inland through the jungle. Dguma led the way, used to moving stealthily through the forest at night. It was a clear night and a half-moon rose shortly after sunset, but beneath the trees it was pitch black. The marines were well disciplined and they marched silently, without talking. However irritating the jollies might be on board ship, there were no soldiers in the world Killigrew would have preferred to have around him in a scrap.
Nevertheless it took them nearly five hours to cover the few miles to the edge of the delta. They paused by a thick band of undergrowth beyond which Killigrew could hear the gentle trickle of water.
‘Well, we’re here. Where are they?’ His ankle was throbbing again after the trek and he unlaced his half-boot to massage it.
Reynolds looked at him. ‘Are you sure you’re up to this, Killigrew?’
‘Never felt better.’ Killigrew laced his boot up tightly.
Tip-Top translated his question into Mande for Dguma.
Before Dguma could reply, a voice hissed at them in some African tongue, suspicious and full of menace. The marines quickly unslung their muskets, but Dguma answered the voice, and a moment later a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. ‘One of their watchers,’ explained Tip-Top, after a brief exchange with Dguma and the stranger. ‘Ndawa and the others are about five hundred yards off that way.’
They followed the man through the trees. Killigrew kept one hand on the butt of the revolving pistol holstered at his side in case the stranger should turn out to be one of Salazar’s men, but before long they were surrounded by about a dozen Mende armed with spears, bows and war-clubs. Ndawa clapped Killigrew on the shoulders, and even Italo seemed pleased to see him. One of the Mende cupped his hands to his mouth and made some kind of bird-call, doubtless the signal to summon back the other men who had been
watching for Killigrew and his companions.
Tip-Top asked Ndawa a question, to which the Mende replied evenly.
‘What did you ask him?’
‘I wanted to know if this was all the men he had with him,’ said Tip-Top. ‘He says more wanted to come, but twenty was enough.’
‘He’s right,’ said Killigrew. ‘Salazar’s men might have noticed a larger force of Mende approaching and hiding here in the woods. Tell him that the naval bombardment has been arranged.’ He hoped it was true. His worst fear – that the breeze might die and leave the Thor becalmed – had come true. But he sensed that Crichton and Masterson would not let him down and would get the frigate into position, even if that meant putting all their boats into the water to tow it.
Led by Ndawa, the Mende picked up the five bark canoes they had brought with them and moved off through the trees until they came to a spot Ndawa had reconnoitred earlier, where the bushes at the side of the channel thinned out enough for them to reach the water’s edge. With Tip-Top’s help, Reynolds and Ndawa organised their men, dividing them between the canoes. One canoe would head downstream and the men inside would silence the guards in the two watchtowers to the west, which would be the first to spy the approach of the HMS Thor as it rounded the headland to the south; another would take care of the guards in the easternmost watchtowers, which dominated the harem and the stockade. The remaining three would attack the barracoon and rescue the women in the harem.
‘Fix bayonets, men,’ ordered Reynolds. ‘No shooting unless you have to. We don’t want to raise the alarm.’
The Mende got into the canoes first and held them steady for the marines, but the marines were used to working with small boats and climbed in without fuss, four marines and four Mende to each canoe. Killigrew climbed into the largest canoe with Tip-Top, Ndawa, Dguma, Italo and Reynolds with three marines.
The canoes slipped silently through the water, the paddles making barely a sound. The jungle on either side of them was alive with the croaking of frogs and the chirruping of insects, while the sound of distant laughter floated through the night from the direction of the barracks. One of the canoes headed off down one of the main channels towards the coast, bearing the men who would kill the guards in the westernmost watchtowers; the rest headed inland, towards the harem.
Killigrew of the Royal Navy Page 36
