Killigrew of the Royal Navy

by Jonathan Lunn

  Ndawa held up a hand, and the lead canoe slowed to a halt, the others doing likewise. Then he signalled one of the canoes forward to where a watchtower loomed over them about a hundred yards away. It tied up directly beneath the tower, and two of the marines got out. Killigrew took out his pocket telescope and was able to follow their progress as they ascended the ladder stealthily, silhouetted against the purple night sky. They were at their most vulnerable now, and Killigrew expected someone to see them and raise the alarm at any moment. His heart pounded in his chest, but his earlier fear had melted away and now only excitement filled him. He had been waiting for this night for a long, long time.

  This was the night of the reckoning.

  The first marine reached the top of the ladder, bayonet in hand. If either of the two guards made any sound as they died, Killigrew did not hear them. Their silhouettes disappeared and were quickly replaced by the marines, who put on the guards’ broad-brimmed straw hats and assumed their positions.

  Ndawa signalled again and the remaining canoes glided forwards. One moved on to deal with the second watchtower, the other three passed the stockade. Killigrew could smell the stench of excrement and hear the groans of the slaves and the occasional clank of their chains. Just a few more minutes, he thought, and then you’ll be free. Just hang on until then.

  The three canoes tied up at the next island, at the far end from the long, low building which formed the harem. Two guards stood on duty with muskets over their shoulders at either end of the building, but they looked relaxed. Ndawa was about to ease himself out of the canoe when Killigrew put a hand on his arm to stop him.

  ‘Tell him to kill the guards, but not to enter the building,’ he asked Tip-Top in a low voice. ‘The women may all be there against their will, but we don’t know that for sure, and it will only take one of them to raise the alarm.’

  Tip-Top passed this on, and Ndawa nodded before climbing out of the canoe with Dguma, Italo and another man. They split into two pairs, tackling each end of the building silently. The guards never knew what hit them, and Killigrew could barely hear the soft thud of the bodies as they hit the ground with arrows through their throats.

  Killigrew, Tip-Top and the marines climbed out of the canoe and hurried through the moonlight to join the others outside the building. Killigrew tried the front door. It was unlocked. He eased it open a crack and peered through. A long corridor ran the length of the building, illuminated by an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, and a guard dozed in a chair towards the middle with his straw hat tipped forward over his eyes, snoring loudly. A door led off the corridor every six feet on either side, and Killigrew could hear sobbing coming from more than one of them. He eased the door shut once more.

  ‘Two minutes,’ he whispered to Reynolds. Tip-Top passed the word on to Ndawa.

  Killigrew made his way around the outside of the building. Each room had a small barred window set in it. Most of the rooms were dark, but even without light he could see that none of them contained Miss Chance: all the captives of the harem were black. A light showed in one window, and as Killigrew peered through he could see a fat white man he did not recognise – his bronzed face and hands in obscene contrast to the white rolls of flab of the rest of his body – holding down a slender young black woman, bending her over the grim cot which served as a bed as he thrust himself into her from behind.

  Filled with revulsion, Killigrew felt himself trembling with rage, but held himself in check. Being raped was probably traumatic enough without having someone kick down the door to witness your humiliation before brutally and bloodily murdering the man who was raping you.

  He finally returned to where Ndawa waited with the others. ‘No sign of Miss Chance,’ he whispered to Reynolds. ‘Salazar must have her at the house.’

  ‘And you’re going after her, I suppose?’

  Killigrew nodded. ‘Besides, I’ve got a score to settle with Salazar.’

  ‘Want me to send some men with you?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ll manage. Give me ten minutes, and then start getting the women out of here.’ No matter how stealthy they were, Killigrew could not imagine that releasing the women from the harem and getting them through the delta was a task which could be performed without the alarm being raised.

  Ndawa nodded as Tip-Top explained, and then asked a question. ‘He wants to know what he should do if you’re not back by the time we’re ready to get back in the canoes,’ said the Kruman.

  ‘You go without me,’ Killigrew said simply. He checked his watch. It was a quarter past midnight. ‘You’ve got three-quarters of an hour before the bombardment starts.’ If it starts, he added to himself: there was no sign of the breeze picking up again, and the night was deadly still. ‘Don’t be here when it does.’ He hurried off into the darkness before Reynolds, Ndawa or Tip-Top could protest.

  A water channel separated the island with the harem from the main island at the centre of the barracoon where Salazar’s house and the administrative blocks stood. A narrow wooden bridge arched over the water, and another guard stood on duty there with a musket over his shoulder, smoking a clay pipe. Killigrew decided to adopt the bold approach and strode up the bridge as if he had every right to be going where he was. The man looked up as his footsteps sounded on the planks of the bridge.

  ‘Boa noite,' said Killigrew.

  ‘Boa noite, senhor.'

  Killigrew produced a cheroot Crichton had given him earlier. ‘Tem lume, por favor?'

  ‘Sîm, senhor.' The guard produced a box of lucifers, struck one on the wooden handrail of the bridge and lit Killigrew’s cheroot for him.

  ‘Obrigado.' Killigrew surreptitiously took out his knife and held it behind his back.

  ‘De nada.'

  ‘Onde está a casa de Senhor Salazar?'

  As the guard turned away to point out Salazar’s house, Killigrew clamped a hand over his mouth and slit his throat. ‘Obrigado,’ he murmured, propping the man’s body against the handrail so it looked as though he was staring into the water below the bridge. He kicked the man’s pipe, which had fallen to the planks of the bridge, into the water, and wiped the blade of his knife clean before replacing it in the sheath at his side.

  He crossed to where the palazzo stood, keeping to the shadows. There were no guards here. All the downstairs rooms were dark, although lights showed in some of the upstairs windows. He crept around the back and tried the kitchen door. Locked. Kicking it open would raise the alarm. He looked around for another way in, and saw a drainpipe leading up to the roof. He looked around again to make sure no one was watching, but a hush lay over the barracoon. Everything was preternaturally quiet. Killigrew prayed he was not about to walk into a trap.

  Or rather, climb into a trap, to be precise. Ignoring his throbbing ankle, he shinned up the drainpipe to the ornate stone balustrade that ran around the top of the palazzo and scrambled over it. There were perhaps a dozen skylights set at various places across the roof, but they were all locked and barred. Making his way around the edge of the roof, he came to where a balcony jutted out in front of some French windows that were dark. He lowered himself over the balustrade and dropped. He landed lightly on the balls of his feet but pain shot through his ankle nonetheless. He crouched there for a moment and peered through the glass. The room beyond was unoccupied. He tried the handle. The door was unlocked but the catch was on. He slid his knife into the gap and jiggled it until he was able to raise the catch, slipping inside and closing the door behind him.

  He crossed to the far door and pressed his ear to it. No sound came from the other side. He opened it a crack and peered out. A single oil lamp illuminated the landing. There was no one in sight. He slipped out of the room and crept cat-footed across the carpet to the door opposite. Light shone underneath the door. He crouched down to peer through the keyhole and saw Captain Madison sitting up in bed, reading the Bible. I’ll deal with you later, Killigrew thought to himself.

  Voices came from a door further d
own. He peered through that keyhole. The occupants of the room were out of sight this time, but he could hear them talking. He recognised Salazar’s voice: ‘You should be grateful to me, Miss Chance. If it had not been for the Jesuit’s powder I gave you, you would be dead by now.’

  ‘If you think I’m going to surrender to your disgusting embraces just because you saved my life – after first endangering it, of course – you’ve got another think coming, Mr Salazar.’

  So at least one of the captives had not been violated; that was some small relief at any rate.

  ‘You should be good to me, Miss Chance… May I call you Suzannah?’

  ‘You may not. Don’t touch me! Get your filthy hands off me!’

  Killigrew straightened and was about to burst through the door when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He straightened, turned and found himself staring at Prince Khari’s chest.

  ‘I never took you for a peeping Tom, Mr Killigrew.’

  ‘I’m a man of many parts,’ Killigrew told him with a shrug, and tried to stab him in the stomach with his knife.

  But Khari’s hand swept down as fast as a striking mamba and gripped him by the wrist, halting the knife’s point an inch from his skin. He span Killigrew around, slammed him against the wall and twisted his arm up into the small of his back until Killigrew gasped and dropped the knife.

  Two of the bedroom doors opened and Salazar and Madison emerged, the former in white pantaloons and shirt, the latter in a blue-and-white striped nightshirt and tasselled nightcap. ‘What’s going on?’ demanded Salazar.

  ‘I found an intruder,’ said Khari.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Killigrew, speaking with difficulty because of the way Khari was pressing his cheek against the wall.

  Recognising him, Salazar relaxed and smiled, leaning negligently against the wall. ‘Mr Killigrew. I’ve been expecting you…’

  Killigrew groaned. ‘Somehow I had a feeling you were going to say that.’

  ‘…in spite of what his highness here told me about having killed you.’

  ‘You don’t have to call him “your highness”, you know,’ said Killigrew. ‘His father’s disinherited him. He won’t even inherit a cracked chamber-pot when King Nldamak dies, never mind a throne.’

  Khari punched him in the back and Killigrew gasped as pain exploded through his kidneys. ‘Do not worry, Salazar. I’ll finish the job.’

  ‘No. I’ll deal with Killigrew. You go down to the pens and make sure the slaves are all safely locked up for the night. Even Killigrew here isn’t foolish enough to come back alone.’ Salazar relieved Killigrew of his cutlass and revolver, keeping him covered so that Khari could release him and disappear downstairs.

  ‘I’ll get dressed,’ muttered Madison, going back inside his room.

  Salazar motioned for Killigrew to enter Miss Chance’s room. She was sitting up in bed, her face drawn and pale with heavy bags under her eyes, but it was clear she was on the mend following her illness. ‘Kit!’ she exclaimed, spreading her arms wide.

  Killigrew saw no reason not to go to her and hug her reassuringly. ‘It’s all right. Everything’s going to be just fine.’

  Salazar tutted, seating himself in a chair by the door while keeping Killigrew covered with the revolving pistol. ‘You should not lie to the lady, Mr Killigrew. Or could it be you know something which yet escapes me?’

  Killigrew glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. It said twenty-two minutes to one.

  Salazar examined the revolving pistol, and started to knock the bullets out of their chambers, one after another, as if daring Killigrew to come around the bed at him; but the cutlass was propped against the wall close by Salazar’s hand. ‘I admire your spirit, Mr Killigrew. I would like to say you have been a worthy adversary, but I fear your puny efforts to put me out of business have hardly taxed me. I noticed you glanced at the clock just now. Am I keeping you from an urgent appointment?’

  ‘You know how it is. Things to do, people to see.’ Killigrew tried to sound nonchalant, but his bravado sounded hollow even to his own ears.

  ‘I wonder. Could it be that you managed to arrange for a naval vessel to come and bombard my little business concern? The suggestion that any man, disgraced and stripped of his naval rank, could pull off such a feat would normally make me laugh. But then, you are not just any man, are you?’ Salazar gestured with the revolver. Killigrew had counted the number of bullets he had knocked out and knew there was still one in there. ‘An ingenious little toy,’ said Salazar, and span the cylinder, before aiming the pistol between Miss Chance’s eyes. He pulled the trigger, and she flinched with a gasp as the pistol banged, flames shooting from the muzzle, but the hammer had fallen on a chamber without a bullet in it. ‘So tell me, Mr Killigrew, did you arrange for a naval bombardment, or not?’

  Miss Chance clung to him. ‘Don’t tell him anything, Kit.’

  ‘Perhaps Miss Chance thinks I am in jest,’ said Salazar, aiming and squeezing the trigger again. The pistol banged again, but again there was no bullet in the chamber. ‘Let me assure you, I’m not.’ He aimed again, and smiled. ‘Miss Chance has four chances left. Should I make arrangements for the reception of unwelcome guests, or not?’

  Killigrew knew when he was beaten. He only hoped that Reynolds’s marines had been able to get the women out of the harem in time. ‘Give it up, Salazar. A Royal Navy frigate should be anchoring off the shore in the next fifteen minutes: the bombardment commences at one o’clock. You can kill me if you like, but either way you’re finished.’

  Salazar glanced down the barrel of the pistol. ‘A wise decision, Mr Killigrew. The next shot would have blown her pretty little brains out.’ He picked up the cutlass in his left hand and gestured with the revolver. ‘Now let us leave Miss Chance to get her rest, which she is much in need of following her recent illness.’

  As they emerged from the bedchamber they found Madison waiting for them outside. ‘Well?’

  ‘There’s a British frigate coming to bombard us in a quarter of an hour.’

  Madison laughed. ‘One frigate? Was that the best he could do?’

  Killigrew frowned. For two men who were about to be subjected to a bombardment of shells, they were both in remarkably high spirits. ‘It should be enough to turn this barracoon into so much ploughed earth,’ he told them confidently.

  Salazar smiled. ‘I think not.’

  They went downstairs and Salazar pulled on a bell rope. Henriques appeared a moment later. ‘Mr Sampson and his crew are to report to their action stations at once, Henriques.’

  The footman nodded and hurried outside. Salazar and Madison followed him, taking Killigrew with them. The three of them went out of the palazzo and approached another bridge which led on to the next island, the one which bordered the shore. ‘Before I kill you, Mr Killigrew, I want you to see why your pathetic attempts to destroy me have failed, so that you may die knowing that at the end you have lost, and I have won,’ said Salazar. ‘When you first came here I gave you a little guided tour, and I dare say you made good use of the knowledge you thus gained instructing the gentlemen of the Royal Navy in how to bombard this barracoon. But there is one small but important detail I was careful not to show you.’

  Several dozen men emerged from the barracks at the trot, and Salazar motioned Killigrew to stand back and let them pass over the bridge first. When the last of the men had crossed over, Salazar, Killigrew and Madison followed.

  They passed through an archway in a hedge and came to where an escarpment sloped up slightly. A creeper-covered wall ran along the top of the escarpment, and at each of the twelve embrasures in the wall a ninety-eight pounder pointed out to sea. Killigrew’s heart sank. If the gunnery of Salazar’s men was up to anything, then the shore battery would blast the unsuspecting HMS Thor out of the water.

  Salazar saw the despondency on his face, and laughed. ‘Surely you did not think I would invest so much of my hard-earned money in an operation of this scale without spend
ing something on the means to protect it?’

  Some of the men took down the creeper-covered boards which shielded the embrasures from the sea while others crossed to a bunker about fifty feet behind the battery. One of them unlocked the door and carried an oil lamp inside. The others followed him, and had soon formed a human chain, passing out round shot and cartridge bags. As one group of men piled the shot and cartridges outside the bunker, others from the gun crews came down and fetched the first load for their cannons. They worked with startling efficiency and were clearly well drilled.

  ‘I told you before,’ said Salazar. ‘I like the best of everything in life. That extends to my gunners. Mr Sampson was trained in gunnery by the best teachers in the world, Mr Killigrew: your own Royal Navy. I don’t think my men will have any difficulty reducing one frigate to so much matchwood,’ he added with evident relish at the forthcoming slaughter.

  Salazar stepped up to the wall and motioned for Killigrew and Madison to join him. Below the wall Killigrew could see the steep slope of the escarpment stretching down to the beach, thick with foliage. Out to sea, HMS Thor was getting into position, towed by the ship’s boats in the absence of any wind.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Salazar. ‘With so many men in their boats, it will take several minutes to get them back on board and ready to fire their long guns. She’s a sitting duck. Fire your first broadside as soon as you’re ready, Mr Sampson!’

  ‘Aye, aye, Mr Salazar!’

  Killigrew had only one last card to play. ‘If you sink a British frigate, the Royal Navy is going to come looking for you. And we’ve already left word with the authorities in Monrovia as to exactly where they can find you.’