by Sally Watson
As if to complete the picture, Rory MacDonald stalked past, his face uglier than ever with a savage scowl that matched her own. He didn’t recognize her at first, with her altered appearance under the shorn head; when he did, he just increased the scowl slightly.
“I see you’ve collected another fine slave,” he sneered. “Mate for the other? Fresh from Africa? You wait until you see our new lot stowed below!” And he was gone again before Jade could collect her wits and figure out what he was talking about. The words had been plain enough—but the meaning quite baffled her. She began to wonder if MacDonald was missing some of his wits in addition to having a witch for a grandmother.
There was the hatch in the middle of the deck just in front of the mizzenmast, suddenly grim and significant. From below Jade could feel hundreds of invisible eyes fixed on her in mute reproach. If she cared, why didn’t she do something?
And there was nothing she could do. It was true that the hatch was fastened only with ropes and a bolt, impossible to break through from beneath but easy to open from above. But— Her eyes fixed themselves smouldering on the bolt. What good would it do even if she opened the hatch? Out at sea there was no escape but the sea itself; in any port they would be quickly recaptured. It was hopeless.
Moreover— Down in Jade’s cabin lay Domino. Presently she would be over her seasickness and out on deck, and then she’d find out what kind of cargo they were carrying, and then— Jade couldn’t feel that Domino’s reaction would really improve matters. She went down to her cabin, peeped inside at the prostrate black head, and firmly locked the door. Then she went back up to the quarterdeck and stared out at the flying fish skimming away in panic, furrowing the silken surface of the sea, while a tuna hurled itself high out of the water. They had all lost some of their enchantment, and an ominous-looking shark fin was much more to her mood just now.
Joshua, one watchful brown eye always on her, kept his distance. She was in a vile temper, her chin out and her back stiff and her eyes stormily on the horizon. He sighed, not at all astonished. He knew what the cargo was, too.
“You’re going to have your wish, Landlubber.”
It was the familiar rough voice, getting to be almost a habit. Jade tilted her wind-tumbled head toward its owner with the air of an aristocrat being kindly but patronizing toward the lower classes.
“There’s a storm coming,” he informed her, his slanted eyes gleaming blue. “We’ll just be seeing how you like it.”
Jade regarded him with suspicion. She looked at the blue sky, the smooth swell of the sea, the bright sun. “Where’s the storm?”
He grinned with profound disrespect, showing sharp wolfish teeth in a pointed jaw, white against swarthy skin. He sniffed the air with his crooked nose, fixed those weird eyes on her again, and made it perfectly clear that he was picturing her in the complete indignity of terror and seasickness. “It’ll come; you’ll see.”
Jade, scowling ferociously, glared after his vanishing back—he never gave her a chance to think of a scathing retort—and sniffed the wind herself. She could imagine, now he’d put the idea in her head, that there was something heavy in the feel of it. And perhaps those swells were oddly smooth? She went and watched the helmsman, who had one eye on the wheel and the other on the captain; and he, in turn, had one eye on the sails and the other on a jut of land to the north.
“Cuba,” he said brusquely in answer to Jade’s question. His fiery temper seemed permanently on edge this trip. The wind was becoming erratic now. The sails flapped suddenly, and he swore. They could not, it seemed, weather Point Maysi on this tack, which meant that they must turn and make a long beat back toward Hispaniola before they could tack back again and be out of the Winward Passage.
“Prepare to come about, Helm!” Captain Narramore sounded as if it were all the helmsman’s fault. Jade pitied any sailor who fell afoul of his wrath. Even more, she pitied the poor slaves packed under the hatches in prolonged misery. She looked at the captain with loathing which he entirely failed to perceive, mistaking it for admiration or perhaps anxiety.
“Plagued with bad luck this trip,” he grumbled, to Mr. Plomley rather than Jade, young females not being worth talking to. “Looks as if weather’s brewing, and I’ve got perishable cargo below. A bad storm could wipe out half, or even three-fourths, and put me out of pocket at a dead loss. That’s the trouble with live cargo,” the captain added.
Mr. Plomley nodded, rather indifferent, so long as he and his wife got safely back to Liverpool. But Jade looked the captain squarely in the eye.
“I hope pirates get you!” she told him earnestly, and left him staring at her with a puzzled face for just an instant before he decided he couldn’t have heard her right, and turned back to more important matters of wind and sail and profits.
They weathered Point Maysi on the next tack, in growing yellowish dusk, and left Cuba behind. The storm was visible now, with sulphurous clouds low in the sky and an ominous feel in wind and swell. The Pearl was lurching in a most peculiar way, irregular and exciting. Jade, loving it, stayed clinging to the taffrail (with an expostulating Joshua beside her) until MacDonald came by and ordered her to her cabin. Using most offensive language, he gave her to understand that her loss overboard would be a small loss, if any, but the captain might find it awkward and blame the crew.
“You’re just annoyed because I am liking the storm!” Jade accused him, jerking her arm away from his rude grasp, and clinging to the taffrail as the Pearl lurched again and showed every indication of burying her port side in the dark wetness swelling below.
“This isn’t even the storm yet, daft idiot!” he retorted, showing his teeth again. “It’s hardly a taste. You go below, and no nonsense. We’ll be shipping green any minute.” Infuriatingly, Joshua sided with him. Even more infuriating, Jade strongly suspected that they were right. With a great show of reluctance she staggered across the wildly tilting deck and down to her cabin, where Domino roused herself long enough to demand indignantly why she’d been locked in.
“Because if any idiot looks in and sees you in my bed there could be a lot of silly nonsense about it,” Jade retorted—truthfully, even if it wasn’t the main reason. “Do you want any dinner?”
Domino made a sound of utter revulsion and buried her head.
All night the wind increased, and by morning the storm was fully upon them. The Plomleys remained in their cabin, Domino remained in Jade’s bed (Jade had slept in her cubbyhole), and even the intrepid Joshua looked worried.
Jade was wild with excitement. She loved it! It was true she was scared. The Pearl might easily go down, and her heart thudded when she thought of it—but this only added to the thrill of howling wind and the extravagant leaping of the ship. Decks and bulkheads creaked and groaned, and there was a weird vibration from the taut standing rigging and masts, and it was quite impossible to stand up in any normal sense of the word on a deck that tipped insanely first in one direction and then in another. Her box went sliding across the cabin floor, came up with a bang against the wall, and at once zoomed off in another direction. Domino had braced herself in a corner of the bunk and was staring at Jade, who clung to the door handle, laughing. It was crazy to laugh, she knew. Quite possibly they were all about to drown. But the laughter bubbled out of her throat of its own accord, not caring about anything but the wild idiot joy of the storm.
“I have to go out on deck!” she shouted, and did so.
The wind seized her, shrieking, the instant she opened the door, and she had to clutch the handle while her full skirts tried to turn into sails. She considered going back and unearthing her breeches, but decided against it, and let the gale blow her forward to the main mast. There she wound her hands in the ropes and hung on with all her might, breathless, scared, and giggling. The wind now pinned her against the mast, wrapping her skirts around it. A huge wave appeared astern, hovered over the poop for a moment, plunged across the deck, nearly knee-deep. Jade’s fencing-hardened muscles gripp
ed fiercely against the tug, but she began to wonder how she would get back to her cabin.
Another larger wave loomed. She braced herself. And then a hard ungentle arm clamped itself painfully around her back pinning her to the mast more effectively than the wind, nearly squeezing out what little breath she had left. The wave raged over, deeper than before. And MacDonald’s harsh voice swore at her with perfectly awesome inventiveness. Still swearing, he whipped out a loose end of rope and tied Jade firmly to the mast.
“You like it so much, you can just bide here until we get into harbor,” he snarled, the wind whipping the words into her ear.
“Harbor?” she shouted back. “What harbor? Can we?”
“Over yon.” He jerked his black head toward a bright green shape glimpsed between waves and flying spray. “One of the Bahamas. Captain knows a good cove on the sheltered side, and we’ll heave to until it’s over.” He gave her his irreverent, wolfish grin. “This isn’t a bad storm, you understand. We’d be riding it out but for the cargo. You stay there, daft female; if you go over, no one will even try to get you back.” And he fought his way aft again in the teeth of the gale.
It took a masterly bit of seamanship to work the ship into the lee of the little island and then beat her upwind into the small cove. Inexperienced as she was in seamanship, Jade could have only the dimmest notion of how masterly it was, quite impossible had there been any reefs here.
The air was quieter now, almost silent by comparison, while the storm went roaring past above. Half sorry and half relieved, Jade took a deep breath and twisted around to untie her bonds and go find out how Joshua and Domino had fared. The after-hatch was being opened as she went past, and someone starting down to inspect the cargo.
And it was then that the idea came. A small uninhabited island—and the ship hove to until the storm abated, which would be at least until morning—and a dark noisy night—and a tired crew. . . .
She opened her cabin door very thoughtfully indeed.
CHAPTER TEN
Escaped Cargo
Domino was very much affronted when Jade bundled her ruthlessly out of bed that evening and into the tiny dark cubbyhole that was hers. “I want to sleep in my own bed for a change,” Jade said cold-heartedly, and closing the door, locked it.
There was a moment of astounded silence, a rattle of the latch, and a flood of what must have been simply dire cursing in several African dialects. Jade set her chin and turned away. She couldn’t explain anything to Domino, or Joshua either. They must be completely innocent, whatever happened.
Joshua was trickier because he knew her better. When she finally turned the key on his cubbyhole door, it was in breathless silence, to snores within, long after he believed her to be safely in bed and asleep, herself.
Then she tiptoed back to her own cabin and set about removing the false bottom from her box by the pale light of a slush lamp (bare candles being too dangerous aboard ship). The black breeches slipped on easily, free and comfortable. The dull blue shirt—unworn even in her practice sessions in Jamaica—was wrinkled and damp, but a good color for blending into darkness. Then she frowned at her rapier. A good sharp knife would have been better, in case she needed to cut any of the ropes, but as she hadn’t a knife, the rapier must do. She buckled the scabbard to her belt and felt very bold and adventurous. Sharp excitement hammered her heart pleasantly, and she found herself grinning. Clearly she was becoming positively addicted to danger.
And there was danger: Jade didn’t deceive herself about that. The captain had absolute power aboard his ship, and he was merciless. And a law that hanged children of eight or nine for the theft of a shilling was not likely to intervene on behalf of a great girl of sixteen who, in effect, stole a whole cargo of slaves. The knowledge distinctly added spice to the adventure.
She blew out the lamp, slipped out of her cabin, and crept up the narrow passage to the deck, where she stood getting the feel of the night. The storm was abating overhead, but there was still a fair amount of noise in the air. Somewhere behind the driven mass of cloud was a half moon, so that things were slightly less than pitch black. After a moment Jade could see a jagged line between jungle and sky, and then the line between ship and water. There was no binnacle light tonight, there being no need for compass or helmsman. Nor was there any sign of a watch.
The after-hatch slowly became visible as a square of a different shade of dark on the deck. Jade stared at it, suddenly assaulted with misgivings. She hadn’t planned well enough! What if the padlock were fastened? What if she couldn’t move the cover at all? What if the slaves were chained? How was she to make them understand, and
what if they understood too quickly and all swarmed out in a riotous mass?
But it never occurred to her to go back to bed and forget the whole thing. She had to try. Taking a deep breath, she moved forward over the black deck, stumbled slightly when her foot hit the corner of the hatch, and crouched in tense silence as the slight sound almost seemed to be echoed. But nothing stirred, and after a moment her fingers began moving slowly around the edge of the cover, If the bolt was locked. . .
But it wasn’t. Someone had obligingly left it secured with only a pin through the staple, and with the wedges already loosened. All she need do was open the bolt, shove back the cover, and—And what? Call down for them to come out now? She smiled rather grimly, facing the fact that she would have to go down there herself. Another imagined movement made her freeze again; then she put her strong young shoulder to the cover.
It held firm—gave a little—moved back with an atrocious grating noise which she could only hope was drowned out by the surrounding storm noises. One more heave, and a foul-smelling oblong of black space spread itself uninvitingly beneath her, filled with small moaning. Jade’s stomach lurched. If only they’d come up themselves! But it was no use hoping for anything so unlikely; she had to go in.
The ladder stretched down and down, darker than imagination could realize, so that colors invented themselves within Jade’s eyes. Down and down, following the stench and the moaning that seemed to fill the hatchway, to the wide ’tween-decks just below the waterline. And there it was, the presence of many people, breathing in heavy fear of whatever it was creeping down upon them in the dark. Then new sounds, scuffling sounds; coming from above? She looked upward in alarm for the comforting pale strip of open hatch, and for an awful moment she couldn’t find it. Then it was there again, and the scuffling was probably rats or the slaves. She must not give way to fear!
With a mental nudge, she applied herself to the problem of communication with the invisible and doubtless terrified cargo. “Go!” she whispered uselessly. “I mean, come!”
Silence. Despairingly she left the ladder and began to grope her way along the deck—felt a bony arm that at once jerked in fear. She patted it comfortingly, then gave a gentle tug. “Come!”
A new shuffling sound very near. A sense of motion unseen. A small muted babble of other tongues, and a whimper picked up by a score of voices.
“Shhh!” Jade hissed urgently, and found that this seemed to be the same in Africa, for the whimpering died away, and one voice whispered, and the arm she held suddenly consented to her tugging.
The smell was perfectly horrible. Gagging, Jade pulled the arm and its owner toward the ladder, hoping that the idea was getting across and others would follow. She couldn’t just send the poor creature on ahead: she had to take him, possibly even push him overboard. At least he was docile enough, as a whipped dog is docile, submitting to whatever might happen next. Or perhaps the obvious secrecy of her visit had given them some inkling of what was afoot? Other whispers and scuffles echoed themselves up the shaft, and surely there were other captives coming behind?
The slit of sky loomed larger; now she was through it and on deck again, glancing around quickly in what seemed almost bright daylight by contrast. She could see the masts and rigging, the line of the bulwarks on the port side—the shore side—and not the sign of a
human being.
Silently she urged the slave up from the hatch, silently led him across the deck and pointed at the black mass of jungly land. She found the mizzen chains—and the African finally realized what she intended. No need to explain further. He made one small odd sound, grasped the mizzen chains, and was gone over the side. Jade, hoping profoundly that he could swim, turned back to guide the next emerging dark shape.
The second—a woman—was over, and the third, and then the news spread back down the hatch and there was no need for urging or explaining, but a rush that grew less and less silent. Everything was falling apart. Someone was apparently trying to bring order— And then everything went to pieces at once. Splashes. A warning shout from alerted crew, somewhere forward a panicky scramble for the bulwarks nearly sweeping Jade off her feet. Then she was in a complete chaos of milling humans, some shouting “Slaves loose!” and others just trying to win their way overboard. A gun went off. A hand grabbed at her, found and lost her ear, slithered off, feeling for her shoulder.
Jade whipped out her rapier as she leaped backward, crashed against someone else, twisted away in the dark, and faced another dark shape—not so dark now that a lantern was waving its orange way toward the melee. She had to get back to her cabin before that light arrived! The man was barring her way with a cutlass.
Jade’s rapier felt its swift way under the blade and jabbed into the arm holding it just as a sharp stab of pain knifed through her own left arm just below the shoulder.
“Got one!” yelled a jubilant voice. “Bring the glim!”
But Jade wasn’t waiting for it. She was already eeling a silent path back across the deck, groping down the stairs and along the narrow corridor and finally inside her door with a gasp of relief. Bolting the door, she sank down panting in the dark. Her mind was spinning, her arm hurting abominably—but triumph held her. How many had got away? She had no idea, but some! It was worth it, then! She found herself grinning widely. There was no question about it: she liked this sort of thing! She was only sorry they hadn’t all got free—and also that she had got wounded, she added to herself, wincing.
