by Killigrew of the Royal Navy (Killigrew RN) (retail) (epub)
‘He didn’t. I got those courtesy of the Andrew Miller.’
‘The Andrew Miller?’ asked Miss Chance, sitting in the gig with her back to the two naked men.
‘He means the navy, miss. What did you do to deserve those?’ he added to Molineaux.
‘Sassed the bosun on my first ship.’
‘Why am I not surprised? Why did you join the navy in the first place?’
‘Just between the three of us?’
‘Just between the three of us.’
‘I signed on one step ahead of the peelers. I used to be a cracksman. The rear-admiral found out, I don’t know how, but that’s how he picked me for this job. Careful with them lucifers,’ he growled, as Killigrew removed the leeches from his inner thighs.
‘All right, I’m done. You’re clear.’
‘Those things aren’t poisonous, are they?’ asked Molineaux, as they got dressed once more.
‘They’re not venomous, if that’s what you mean. They’re even used in medicine sometimes.’
‘Plummy,’ sneered Molineaux. ‘Maybe we should have left them on, if they’re good for us.’
‘All right, miss, you can open your eyes again,’ said Killigrew when they had finished dressing. He raided the gig’s emergency supplies to see if he could find anything else of use. The only things which might conceivably be worth taking were some hard tack and salt junk, a lead-line, and some rope. ‘Right, let’s get going.’
‘Which way?’ asked Molineaux.
‘We’ll follow the river until the sun comes up. Then we’ll head east for a day, towards the sunrise, and then turn south until we hit the coast again.’
They set off walking beneath the trees. Killigrew was in a hurry to make good time but he did not force a punishing pace, knowing that their European constitutions were not up to the task of over-exerting themselves in the tropical heat. The sun came up and the screeching of the monkeys died away to be replaced by a brooding and oppressive silence. The weather grew hotter and hotter, until the sweat dripped off them. A couple of hours after noon, they heard rushing water and followed the sound until they came to a pleasant glade where a cataract cascaded from a rocky precipice into a crystal-clear pool. Molineaux at once started to take off his coat as if to plunge into the refreshing water, but Killigrew laid a hand on his arm.
‘What’s the problem?’ demanded Molineaux. ‘No crocs, no leeches, no sharks, just lovely cool clear water…’
Killigrew pointed to where a leopard sat watching them from a rock overlooking the pool, its haunches tensed as if ready to spring. ‘I suggest we keep very, very still.’
‘I second the motion,’ muttered Molineaux.
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous!’ said Miss Chance, pushing between the two of them. ‘It’s just a big pussy cat.’
‘A big pussy cat that can rip a man’s throat out in the blink of an eye,’ Killigrew warned her.
She ignored him, gesticulating at the leopard. ‘Shoo! Scram! Go away!’
The leopard snarled at her, a cross between a roar and a miaow, showing sharp fangs. She bent down, picked up a stone, and lobbed it at the leopard.
‘No!’ yelled Killigrew.
The stone bounced off the rock near the leopard and it sprang to its feet, backing away a little before it held its ground and snarled again. Miss Chance picked up another stone and this time hit the leopard on the nose. It turned and sprinted off into the undergrowth with an amazing turn of speed.
‘Plummy,’ said Molineaux. ‘What if it comes back with its mates?’
‘Leopards hunt alone, Mr Molineaux,’ said Miss Chance, easing herself into the water, her gown billowing out around her. ‘And they almost never attack humans.’
‘You’re an expert on leopards, I suppose?’ asked Molineaux.
‘I’ve read about them,’ she returned, striking off across the pool with a sedate breast-stroke. ‘I may only be a woman, but I’m not addle-headed enough to decide to spend five years in Africa without reading a little about the country.’
‘It’ll be getting dark soon, and I don’t expect to find a better place to camp for the night than this,’ said Killigrew. ‘I’ll see if I can get us something to eat.’ He put down the bag he was carrying and took out the lead-line and some ship’s biscuits.
‘You want me to keep an eye on the lady?’ asked Molineaux.
‘I think it would be better to ask her to keep an eye on you,’ Killigrew returned with a smile.
‘Hey, you were just as scared of that leopard as I was!’ Molineaux called after him as he headed off into the trees.
Killigrew had learned how to snare birds from the natives in the jungles of Borneo. Although most of the forest’s inhabitants had avoided the three intruders, he had glimpsed several birds during the day, either fluttering through the tree canopy or running along the ground. Finding a likely-looking spot, he broke up a ship’s biscuit and scattered the crumbs on the forest floor. Next he made a noose from the lead-line and laid it on the ground, running the line up to the hiding place he had chosen behind a tree. Then he settled down to wait.
He did not have to wait for long. A plump-breasted bird with brightly coloured plumage and a glowering expression which reminded him of Standish strutted along the ground, bobbing its head like a pigeon. It saw the crumbs, studied them with its head cocked on one side, and then edged cautiously closer to investigate. It stepped on the noose, and Killigrew was tempted to pull on the snare there and then, but forced himself to be patient and waited until it took another step, putting a claw fully within the circle of twine.
He pulled. The bird squawked and fluttered into the air, but the noose was fast around its leg and Killigrew had a firm grip on the line. He pulled it in and wrung its neck.
‘What’ve you got there?’ Molineaux asked when he returned to the side of the pool.
‘Supper,’ said Killigrew. ‘I’ll pluck it. You see if you can find some firewood and get a fire going. Don’t go too far, though: I reckon you could only be a hundred yards off through the trees and still get lost in this jungle.’
‘I ain’t going to get lost,’ Molineaux muttered under his breath, heading off into the trees.
Killigrew sat down on the pebbly beach at the side of the pool and began to pluck the bird, uncertainly at first but with growing confidence as he discovered there was a technique to it. Miss Chance climbed out of the water and shook herself off. The wet cloth of her gown clung to her body, outlining her figure alarmingly. Killigrew looked away, but she lay down beside him. ‘Do you want a hand with that?’
‘Have you ever plucked a bird before?’
‘Have you?’
‘No, but I seem to be managing.’
‘Good heavens, look at your hands! Did you do that rowing?’ she asked. He nodded. ‘Here. Let me bandage them for you.’
‘Have you got any bandages?’
‘I’ll use my petticoats. Avert your eyes.’ He glanced away and heard the sound of material tearing. ‘All right, now give me your hands. Here, wash them in the water first.’
He was overwhelmingly aware of her proximity as she bathed his hands in the cool water. ‘You should have said something earlier,’ she said. ‘How typical of a man to suffer in silence, to no good purpose other than the protection of his pride. I don’t suppose poor Mr Molineaux’s palms will be in any better case than this. Really, the two of you are as bad as each other! There,’ she concluded, tying off the makeshift bandage. ‘You’d better let me pluck that bird after all. I don’t know where you men would be without a woman to look after you.’
‘In the navy we usually make do with a jolly.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘A Royal Marine. Every vessel has a squad of marines on board, usually with nothing better to do than to stand around getting in the way. We keep the private soldiers employed by using them as servants for the ship’s officers. Most of ’em retire and become gentlemen’s gentlemen.’
‘And that makes u
p for the lack of feminine company, does it?’
‘Oh, there are plenty of opportunities for that, if you know where to look for it.’
‘A wife in every port, is that it?’
He grinned. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve never been to New York.’
She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. ‘Not when you’re at sea, though.’
‘You’d be surprised. I’ve known ships where the captain took his wife to sea. It’s not allowed, of course, but they do it anyway and everyone turns a blind eye. Sometimes they take their whole families.’
‘But you’re not a captain.’
He smiled. ‘Not yet. Give me a few years. I’ve only just made lieutenant.’
‘So what do you do for feminine company?’
‘Sometimes the captain’s daughter can be a comely lass,’ he told her, with wistful remembrance.
‘And when the captain doesn’t have a daughter?’
‘A cold shower-bath every morning. Um… that bird’s not getting plucked, you know.’
‘Oh!’ Miss Chance at once set to work, which was just as well because a couple of minutes later Molineaux returned, backing slowly out of the trees.
‘Did you get some firewood?’ Killigrew asked him.
‘Uh-hunh.’
‘“Un-hunh”? What does “uh-hunh” mean? Did you or didn’t you, man?’
‘I got some firewood, but I had to drop it when I put my fams up.’
Killigrew glanced up and saw that Molineaux had his hands raised over his head. The reason for this was the tall African, naked but for a breech-clout and a necklace of cowrie shells, who followed him into the clearing with a spear levelled unwaveringly at the seaman’s chest.
Killigrew and Miss Chance leaped to their feet. Another spear buried its head in the ground at Killigrew’s feet, and he twisted to see a dozen more native warriors standing on the rocks overlooking the pool.
Chapter 17
The Leopard People
Killigrew thought about plucking the spear from the ground but decided against it in case the natives interpreted that as a hostile act. Instead he raised his hands above his head.
‘Speakee Krio?’ he hazarded, without much hope, a lack of hope which proved to be justified when one of the warriors jumped down from the rocks and moved across to face him, brandishing his spear and shouting angrily in a language which Killigrew could not understand. All of the warriors looked extremely hostile.
‘Say something to them, Molineaux,’ he hissed. ‘These are your people.’
‘My people?’ spluttered the seaman. ‘My people were prigging culls in St Giles. I don’t understand these people’s mumbo-jumbo anymore’n they’d voker the flash patter.’ The warrior shouted at Killigrew again and waved his spear in his face. Killigrew found his eyes transfixed by the spear’s point. ‘I don’t suppose you caught any of that?’
‘I think it was an invitation to dinner,’ said Molineaux. ‘With us as the main course.’
One of the warriors tried to grab hold of Miss Chance. She pushed him away. Killigrew moved to defend her, but before he had taken a couple of steps she had started shouting back at the men – in the same language. Their expressions showed as much astonishment as Killigrew felt. One of them responded, glowering, but she kept up the tirade. At length the natives began to look sheepish and lowered their weapons.
‘You can speak their language?’ asked Killigrew.
Miss Chance nodded. ‘Fortunately they’re Mende. I learned some of their language from an ex-slave I met in New York who was born in these parts.’
‘You seem to be rather fluent.’
‘Well, I only learned the basics, but I seem to be making myself understood. They thought we were slavers; that’s why they were so hostile at first.’
‘You put them straight, I take it?’ asked Killigrew, and she nodded.
The man who appeared to be in command of the natives spoke to her again, more politely now. ‘I think he’s saying we’re free to go, but they’d be honoured if we’d be guests at their village for dinner tonight.’
‘I knew it!’ groaned Molineaux. ‘No prizes for guessing who’ll be on the menu.’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ said Killigrew. ‘There aren’t any cannibals on the Guinea Coast.’
More words were exchanged between Miss Chance and the leader, and suddenly all the warriors burst out laughing at something she said. ‘What’s so amusing?’ asked Killigrew.
‘I told them Mr Molineaux was afraid they wanted to eat him.’
Grinning, the leader said something. ‘He says his village would soon starve if they had to live off something as scrawny as Mr Molineaux,’ explained Miss Chance.
‘Scrawny?’ spluttered Molineaux. ‘Who’s he calling scrawny?’
Killigrew smiled. ‘Tell them we accept their invitation.’
Miss Chance made the introductions, but the only name Killigrew caught was that of the leader, Ndawa. In turn, the two Englishmen were asked for their names. The Africans laughed heartily on hearing them.
‘What do they find so amusing?’ asked Killigrew, not a little put out, as they set off through the jungle once more.
‘They say we have strange names.’
‘Tell them theirs sound peculiar to our ears.’
‘They want to know what our names mean. Especially Mr Molineaux’s. They say an African should not have a white man’s name.’
‘You can tell them I’m proud of my name,’ Molineaux protested indignantly. ‘It was given to my father by my grandmother, who was a close personal friend of Tom Molineaux.’
‘Not Tom Molineaux the celebrated pugilist?’ exclaimed Killigrew.
Molineaux grinned. ‘Well, I hear Mr Molineaux was what you might call something of a ladies’ man, and my grandma wasn’t exactly what you’d call a lady…’
‘A pity you didn’t inherit his physique as well as his name,’ Killigrew remarked drily.
Miss Chance explained to the natives that Molineaux had been named after his grandfather, a great warrior, and Ndawa nodded approvingly. ‘He says he shall call you “Sekou”, which means “fighter”.’
‘“Sekou”,’ mused Molineaux, and nodded. ‘I like that.’
Ndawa asked Miss Chance a question, and Killigrew recognised his own name. ‘He wants to know what it means,’ she said.
‘It’s the name of a place in Cornwall. I suppose one of my ancestors must’ve come from there.’
This provoked further howls of laughter from the natives. Another exchange passed between Ndawa and Miss Chance. ‘He says that life must have been very confusing in your ancestor’s village, if everyone was named after the place they lived in,’ she explained.
The undergrowth became thicker, and a few moments later they emerged from the trees to find themselves at the edge of a broad savannah through which a wide stream meandered sluggishly. A village of clay huts with conical thatched roofs stood on the bank of the stream about half a mile away. There were fields around the village where men and women worked, and they all stood up as the party of hunters returned with two whites and a black man in white man’s clothing.
By the time they entered the village itself there was quite a crowd of people gathered to stare at them. Like Ndawa, men and women alike were naked from the waist up but for bracelets, necklaces and head-dresses of cowrie shells. Chickens roamed freely within the confines of the village, marked out by a seven-foot high fence, and there were goats everywhere. The place was dusty, but a lot cleaner than most parts of London. And the air was a damned sight fresher, too, reflected Killigrew.
He felt something touch the back of his hand and glanced down to see a small boy, completely naked, rubbing his hand to see if the white would come off. Ndawa chased the boy away with a cuff around the back of the head, shouting at him angrily.
‘Tell him I don’t mind,’ said Killigrew.
‘Actually, from what Ndawa said, I think he was afraid that the boy might get
the idea that white men weren’t dangerous after all,’ said Miss Chance.
Killigrew nodded. Ndawa did not want the boy to go near white men because in this part of the world most white men were slavers.
Killigrew, Molineaux and Miss Chance were ushered into the largest hut, towards the centre of the village. This, they learned through Miss Chance, was the home of Ndawa’s father, Momolu, the head man of the village. Momolu himself was there, a tall, plump, grey-haired man with a cherubic face. He rose to his feet to greet the guests, speaking the language with a deep, rich and melodious bass.
‘He says we are welcome under his roof, and we are to stay as long as we wish,’ translated Miss Chance.
‘Will he be offended if we say we only want to stay for one night, but must be on our way tomorrow? Every day we delay increases the chances of another ship reaching Salazar’s barracoon to carry off the slaves there.’
‘That depends how I put it, I suppose.’
‘Tell him we’re extremely grateful for his hospitality, but I’m worried that if we stay too long we’ll be in danger of outstaying our welcome.’ Killigrew shot a hard glance at Molineaux, who was exchanging smiles with one of Momolu’s daughters, a pretty young girl somewhere in her late teens. She smiled back at him shyly.
‘He says we can stay for as short or long a time as we desire, and if we let him know when we want to leave, he will send guides with us to help us get to where we want to go.’
‘Ask him how far it is to Monrovia.’
Momolu did not understand the question at first, so Killigrew drew a sketch map of the Guinea Coast in the dust with a stars and stripes where Monrovia was. Momolu chuckled and nodded, marking the location of his own village on it, and said something to Miss Chance.
‘He says it is three days’ journey from here, and if we wish to leave tomorrow he will arrange for a guide to take us there. And he likes your drawing of a canoe-house. I think he means a ship.’
‘That’s not a ship, that’s a whale,’ protested Killigrew, who had gone to some trouble to make it quite clear where the land ended and the sea began on his map.
