by Killigrew of the Royal Navy (Killigrew RN) (retail) (epub)
‘The economic demand for prisoners of war? Is there one?’
‘Slaves, miss.’
‘Oh, of course. You seem to think that all of Africa’s problems are caused by whites.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. But Africa has more problems caused by Europeans and Americans than Europe and America have problems caused by Africans.’
‘But surely you can’t approve of the Africans living in unenlightened ignorance?’
‘What you call ignorance is subjective, miss. Take the Chinese, for example. We call them heathens, but to them we’re the uncultured barbarians. Who’s to say we’re right and they’re wrong?’
‘Surely common sense dictates—’
‘European common sense, miss. The Chinese were living in ignorance of the teachings of Christ for hundreds of years before missionaries arrived in China to convert them. Were all those who lived before now to be condemned to an eternity in Hell simply because God himself made them Chinese?’
‘They are all God’s children, Mr Killigrew.’
‘True. But you cannot deny that God seems to have represented himself in different ways to the different races on his earth. Since they are God’s ways, can they be wrong?’
‘You’d have to ask my brother, Mr Killigrew. He’s the theologian, not me.’
‘I think of myself more as a philosopher than a theologian, miss.’
‘But you can’t deny that the heathens of this world live in a state of wretched poverty and constant warfare?’
‘There’s plenty of poverty in Europe and America. And as for war, is there really that much difference between the tribal wars in Africa and the wars between nations in Europe and the Americas? Except that more people are killed in our wars, because we are more civilised and therefore better organised and efficient at killing.’
‘But at least we know that to kill is a sin.’
‘And yet still we do it. Does that make us better or worse? When I was in the navy—’ He broke off and smiled. ‘But I’m lecturing you, miss, and that’s deuced tedious of me.’
‘Mr Donohoe said something about you having the carriage of a naval officer, Mr Killigrew. Why did you leave the navy for the merchant service?’
‘It’s a long story, and not one that I’d want to bore you with.’
‘Aren’t you going to tell her?’
Killigrew turned and saw Coffin standing there.
‘Tell me what, Mr Coffin?’ she asked.
‘Why, tell you about why he was kicked out of the Royal Navy, Miss Chance. About his drinking problem. About how he got drunk one day and decided to race his carriage down Pall Mall, and in so doing knocked down an innocent child and killed her.’
She stared at Killigrew with an expression of shock and horror.
Coffin grinned. ‘Not so much the gentleman he seems now, is he?’
She gave the chief mate an icy look, and then turned back to Killigrew with what might have been a hint of sympathy in her eyes. ‘That’s a terrible thing to have on your conscience, Mr Killigrew. I’ll pray for your eternal soul.’
‘Pray for us all, Miss Chance,’ Coffin called after her as she headed back below. ‘Did Mr Killigrew here neglect to mention this is a ship of the damned?’
* * *
Killigrew was woken by the sound of someone hammering on the door of the cabin he shared with Pereira. He rolled out of his hammock, landing lightly on the balls of his naked feet, and jerked the door open. ‘What?’ he snapped.
Miss Chance stood there. ‘Please come quickly, Mr Killigrew!’ she said in a rush. ‘It’s Mr Coffin! He’s beating one of the sailors and if someone doesn’t stop him I fear he may… oh! Mr Killigrew! Oh!’ She raised a hand before her eyes and averted her gaze, blushing crimson.
‘Oh! Sorry.’ Killigrew stepped behind the door to cover his nakedness, reflecting that Miss Chance was going to have to get used to the sight of the naked human form if she was going to do missionary work in Africa. ‘Go on.’
‘Mr Coffin is beating one of the sailors. I fear that if someone doesn’t stop him he’ll beat the poor man to death!’
‘All right, I’ll come right up.’ Killigrew quickly pulled on his pantaloons and shirt. The ship’s bell rang urgently as he laced his half-boots, summoning the hands to their quarters.
It was a week since they had rescued the three castaways from the sea. Dawn was lightening the sky, revealing the coast of Africa off to port. And there, off the port bow, a frigate less than three miles away was running to intercept them. Covilhã was ordering the men to cram on all canvas, even at the risk of breaking the jury-rigged foremast, while Madison ordered the helmsman to steer a course to the south-west to avoid the frigate. ‘Stand by to tack ship!’ called Covilhã.
The object of Coffin’s wrath lay at the foot of the mainmast in a pool of his own blood. He lay so motionless it was impossible to say whether he lived or died, but Coffin continued to kick him in the head regardless. ‘You want to sleep, you idle, good-for-nothing sonuvabitch? I’ll put you to sleep! I’ll send you to sleep with the fishes!’ He reached down to grab the man by the collar and dragged him across to the rail.
‘For the love of God, Mr Killigrew!’ pleaded Miss Chance. She stood by while Donohoe struggled to go to the aid of the unconscious man, held fast in the grip of a burly sailor. ‘Stop him! Don’t you see this is your chance to redeem yourself in the eyes of the Lord?’
But Killigrew was powerless to intervene.
‘Take our guests below, Mr Killigrew,’ Madison ordered gruffly.
‘Please,’ said Killigrew. ‘You’d better do as the captain says.’
‘Aren’t you going to stop him?’
‘Please, miss. For your own good.’
Coffin reached the side of the ship and lifted the man above his head with all the strength his insane rage gave him. The man went over the side without a scream and hit the water with a splash. Killigrew could not see the sharks from where he stood in the middle of the deck, but he knew they would be there.
‘Oh, God!’ sobbed Miss Chance. ‘Heaven help us! Did you see that? He murdered him! Mr Coffin murdered that poor sailor, for the love of God! Just because he fell asleep on watch!’
Donohoe stopped struggling. ‘Of course. Because that allowed the frigate to get so close without anyone on board this ship knowing about it.’
‘So? What does it matter?’ asked Miss Chance. ‘That’s not a reason to kill a man.’
‘It is if they’re slavers,’ spat Donohoe.
‘Sl-slavers?’ stammered Miss Chance, as if she had believed that the slave trade had ended forty years ago when Denmark, the United States and Great Britain had all declared the trade illegal.
‘Quite right, Mr Donohoe,’ said Madison. ‘I’m afraid this is a slave vessel you find yourself on, my dear,’ he explained to Miss Chance. ‘Take them below, Mr Killigrew.’
‘Please,’ insisted Killigrew, gesturing to the hatch. ‘For your own safety…’
‘Blackbirders!’ spat Donohoe. ‘I’d expect nothing less of these foreigners, but I’m surprised at ye, Mr Killigrew. I took ye for a Christian gentleman.’
Killigrew smiled wanly. ‘You wouldn’t be the first to make that mistake, believe me.’
Donohoe rammed an elbow into his captor’s chest and broke free. He snatched a belaying pin from the bulwark.
‘No!’ shouted Killigrew.
Coffin heard footsteps on the deck and turned in time to see Donohoe running towards him, brandishing the belaying pin above his head. The chief mate pulled his pistol from its holster and shot him in the chest. The Irishman fell back to the deck, dead.
Miss Chance groaned and her eyes rolled up in her head. Killigrew had to move fast to catch her before she fell. ‘Goddamn it!’ he muttered.
‘Take her below and put her somewhere out of harm’s way, Mr Killigrew,’ ordered Madison. ‘I strongly advise you put her in irons. Then come straight back on deck.’
Killigrew nodd
ed and carried her below decks. As he carried her to the orlop deck her eyes opened. Seeing Killigrew carrying her she began to pound at his face with her fists. He put her down, but with her feet on the deck it was only easier for her to beat him. He grabbed her by the wrists and tried to still her, but her face was twisted with hatred and loathing.
‘You rats! You evil, murdering rats.’
‘Listen to me! Stop it!’ he pleaded. ‘Listen to me, as you value your life!’ But she continued to struggle in his grip. Nothing he could say could get through to her, so he kissed her on the forehead.
She stopped struggling and stared at him in astonishment.
‘Listen to me,’ he said, more calmly. ‘You have to trust me. I can’t explain now, there isn’t time, but you must trust me. Do you understand?’
She nodded, wide-eyed. ‘You… you’re going to have to kill me, aren’t you?’
‘Not if I can help it,’ he told her. ‘That’s a promise.’ He steered her down to the orlop deck and gestured to a set of irons. ‘Sit down.’
‘You’re going to shackle me here?’
He nodded. ‘Please believe me, I beg you. It’s for your own safety.’
As he clipped the fetters over her ankles the reality of her predicament hit her with its full force. ‘What if the ship sinks? I’ll drown!’
‘The ship won’t sink. That frigate won’t fire at the hull. They probably don’t think we have slaves on board but they’ll want to find proof that we’re slavers before they condemn us. So they’ll aim at the spars and rigging. Believe me, this is the safest place to be. If they catch us, Madison won’t want a dead American citizen on board, so you’ll be safe enough.’
‘And if they don’t catch us? What then?’
Killigrew had no idea. ‘I’ll protect you. I promise. You’ve got to trust me, that’s all.’ He headed back towards the companion ladder.
‘Mr Killigrew?’ she called after him. He turned back. ‘I… I don’t know why… I’ve no reason to… but… I do trust you.’
He grinned ruefully. ‘Yes, well, don’t tell any of those scum up there you said that, or we’ll both be as good as dead.’
Chapter 14
Barracoon
Killigrew returned on deck and studied the frigate through Madison’s telescope. ‘Do you know her?’ asked Madison.
Killigrew nodded. ‘She’s the USS Narwhal.’ He did not add that less than four months ago he had been drinking on board her with Lieutenant Lanier and his friends.
‘Can she catch us?’
‘I don’t know. Before we lost our foremast she wouldn’t have stood a chance, but now with this jury-rigging…’
It was strange to find himself being on the other side in the war against the slavers, running with the hare after spending so many years riding with the hounds. It would be embarrassing for him if the frigate caught them. He was not confident he could convince Lanier that he was working as a secret agent for Rear-Admiral Napier; also if there was nothing in Madison’s safe to identify the man behind the slavers then this whole enterprise would have been for nothing, and he would never be able to redeem himself and be reinstated as an officer of the Royal Navy. Worse than that, if the Americans saw fit to hand him over to the authorities in Freetown as a British citizen caught on board a slave vessel, there was a good chance he would be hanged for it. So from Killigrew’s point of view there was nothing to be gained from trying to sabotage the Leopardo’s efforts to escape the Narwhal.
But now he had Miss Chance’s safety to think of. Madison would not let her and her brother go now that they knew they were on board a slaver. Was there any way he could keep them alive and help them get to safety? It seemed impossible. But was his mission more important than their lives? If he succeeded he would be saving thousands of Africans from being condemned to a life of slavery; but only if he succeeded. How could he balance that against the life of one man and one woman? And was it the Africans he was concerned about, or his own skin?
He wondered if Miss Chance could swim, at least long enough to stay afloat until she could be picked up by the crew of the Narwhal. Perhaps he could put her and her brother into a boat while everyone else was busy? But they would see what he had done sooner or later, and know he was up to no good. Unless…
‘Perhaps we can buy ourselves some time by putting the Reverend Chance and his sister in the jolly boat and leaving them for the Narwhal to pick up?’ he suggested to Madison. ‘That way we get them out of our hair and force our pursuers to slow down at the same time.’
‘Aye, and hand over a woman who can easily identify every man-jack of us to the authorities, Mr Killigrew. You’ll have to do better than that.’
A cannon boomed distantly and Killigrew saw a plume of pale grey smoke rise from the Narwhal’s side. There was no answering splash of shot landing in the water closer to the Leopardo – it had been a blank.
‘They’re asking us to show our colours,’ grunted Coffin.
Madison nodded. ‘Hoist the Union Jack, Mr Covilhã. If they get within hailing distance you can do the honours with the speaking trumpet, Mr Killigrew. Maybe that Limey accent of yours will throw them off the scent.’
Close-hauled, the two ships raced to windward. Each time the Leopardo changed tack the Narwhal mirrored the manoeuvre barely seconds later. There was no doubting the American sailors knew their business, but it was impossible to say which of the two vessels was the faster.
The Narwhal came within a mile of the Leopardo as the latter ship tried to slip past her and at once one of her pivot guns boomed and raised a huge plume of water from the waves barely a cable’s length to port of the brig. The Americans had used round shot and for a moment Killigrew panicked, thinking the Narwhal meant to sink them after all. He thought of Miss Chance, whom he himself had chained on the orlop deck. Then he realised that the Americans would know the range of their guns to within a few yards, even taking the wind into account. It had just been a warning shot.
Then the two ships were level, only three-quarters of a mile of ocean separating them. The frigate veered towards the brig, but for every yard towards the slaver she gained sideways, she fell a yard astern. When she was almost directly abaft the brig her bow-chaser boomed, sending up a fountain of water which showered the men on the quarter-deck.
‘We’ll use the sweeps,’ decided Madison.
There were six sweeps on board the Leopardo, three for a side. There were not enough men on board to have more than three men to each sweep. Even Killigrew had to help, leaving Coffin to take the helm while Madison had the con. The sailors stripped down to their waists and hauled away to the strokes called out by Covilhã like the galley slaves of old, praying that the sweeps would give them that extra burst of speed they needed to elude the Narwhal.
It was hot and sultry, and the sweat soon poured from the backs of Killigrew and the others as they rowed under the blazing tropical sun. Working with his back to the bows, Killigrew could just see the sails of the Narwhal beyond the Leopardo’s stern. If the frigate were falling behind, it was doing so so slowly it was impossible to discern. His back and arms soon ached from the exertion.
‘We’re losing her,’ opined Madison, staring aft through his telescope.
Coffin glanced over his shoulder. ‘Aye, but they ain’t giving up yet. They know we can’t keep this up for ever.’
‘Pace the men, Mr Covilhã,’ ordered Madison. ‘We may have a way to go yet.’
The sun climbed towards its zenith until it beat down mercilessly on the men labouring on deck. Madison disappeared below. Killigrew wondered if he had given up hope of outrunning the frigate and was going to burn the papers in the safe; if he did, then the chances were that Killigrew’s mission was doomed to failure and he would have to live the rest of his life in disgrace. He was toying with the idea of leaving his place at the sweeps and going below to stop Madison when the slave captain reappeared a few moments later carrying a pail in one hand and dragging Miss Chance by the arm wit
h the other.
‘Fill the pail at the water butt and give the men some water,’ ordered Madison.
‘Do it yourself,’ she snapped back. ‘You think I want to help scum like you escape from justice?’
He thrust the pail into her hands, making her stagger. ‘You’ll do it, missy, or I’ll have you pulling on one of those sweeps yourself!’
She glared fiercely at him for a moment as if defying him to do it, and Killigrew suppressed a smile, torn between admiration for her spirit and a throat-burning thirst. Then she glanced at the men at the sweeps and saw Killigrew amongst them. Her shoulders slumped and she crossed to the water butt. He was glad she had sense enough not to make straight for him, instead serving the men on the port-side sweeps first.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ she murmured as she lifted the ladle to Killigrew’s parched lips. He swallowed the water – it probably had not even been that fresh when they had taken it on board at São Tiago eight days earlier, but it was still the sweetest liquid he had ever tasted – and then just shook his head, conserving his breath.
Madison suddenly peered forward, and raised his telescope to his eye, staring ahead. Then a grin spread across his face, and he lowered the telescope. ‘Three points to starboard, Mr Coffin, if you please. Keep pulling, boys! There’s a smoke a couple of miles ahead. If we can make it there’s a chance we’ll be safe.’
The men at the sweeps pulled even harder, knowing that the end was in sight. It occurred to Killigrew that Madison might have lied to the men in order to get them to pull faster, but he could not twist his head around far enough to check. Covilhã and five others shipped their sweeps briefly to trim the sails to their new heading, and then resumed rowing.
They had put another half-mile between themselves and the Narwhal, but still the frigate did not give up. It was rare for a frigate to fall in with a slaver it had a chance of catching – such ships usually only ended up on the West Africa Station because their navies had no other use for them – and, having smelled blood, her crew was reluctant to give up the chase.
