Sea Robber

by Tim Severin

  SEVEN

  NEXT MORNING Hector was awakened by a foot nudging him in the ribs. He was lying face down on sand, head cradled in the crook of his elbow, and a voice above him said insistently, ‘I wish to speak with you, mynheer.’ He turned his head sideways and blearily opened his eyes. In the half-darkness he could make out the glow of a camp fire and thought briefly it was the same fire that he and Dan had found when they returned to the beach the previous evening. Jacques and the other cooks had served up a feast, and the men from the Cygnet and the Delight had gathered round, eating and drinking. Hector had joined them and, after filling his belly, had stretched out on the sand, still mystified by Dan’s intentions.

  The foot nudged his ribs again, more firmly this time. ‘Wake up, Gods vloek,’ the voice said with some sort of foreign accent. Hector realized the fire couldn’t be the one Jacques had used to grill strips of tortoise meat last night. It was too close to where the Nicholas was careened. He rolled over and looked up at the man who had roused him. He couldn’t distinguish his features against the sky, for the sun had not yet risen. But in the half-light Hector could see he was barrel-chested and powerful. He wore no hat and had shaved his head. Hector had also identified the accent. The man spoke with the unmistakable guttural vowels of a Hollander.

  ‘What do you want?’ Hector asked peevishly. It was his first night ashore, and he did not appreciate being woken so early.

  ‘They say you can navigate,’ said the Hollander.

  ‘Maybe I can, but what’s that to you?’

  ‘Come. Your friends say you might help us,’ responded the Dutchman. Thankfully, he had stopped prodding with his foot.

  Carefully Hector stood upright. He had drunk only a single glass of wine the previous night. It had been poor-quality vinegary stuff looted from some Peruvian ship. Several empty jars lay nearby, as well as at least a dozen sailors sprawled motionless on the ground. They looked little better than discarded bundles of rags. Clearly not everyone had been abstemious.

  ‘My name is Piet Arianz. I’m quartermaster of the Nicholas. We have something to discuss with you.’

  ‘So early?’ asked Hector.

  ‘We must tar and tallow before high water.’

  Hector accompanied the Hollander along the beach to a score of men gathered around a fire of blazing driftwood. They watched over a large iron cauldron in which lumps of pitch were melting. Looking at the men, Hector guessed they formed the majority of the crew of the Nicholas. He recognized none of them individually, but they seemed to be of several different nationalities. A half-dozen olive-skinned men with thin faces and dark hair looked to be either Corsicans or Greeks, while a big blond-headed ruffian with pale china-blue eyes was probably a countryman of Piet’s. That was not unusual. The men from the Low Countries were often exceptionally competent seamen and could be found on many buccaneer ships. To Hector’s surprise, Jezreel also stood at the fire, and Dan.

  There was an air of guarded curiosity among the waiting group. At once the quartermaster made it clear that he acted as spokesman for the rest. ‘Would you be able to bring the Nicholas safely across the ocean to Manila or the Spice Islands?’ he asked loudly enough to be heard by the entire group.

  From the other side of the fire, Jezreel quickly added, ‘Hector, I told them you’ve been the navigator on several longdistance voyages.’

  The crew of the Nicholas looked at Hector, awaiting his answer. He realized from Jezreel’s remark what might be expected of him, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to go along with whatever scheme might next be proposed. So he replied cautiously, ‘I can navigate. But I have no charts or instruments or almanacs, and have never sailed in those waters.’

  ‘Instruments can be found,’ said Arianz in his throaty accent. It sounded like a statement of fact.

  ‘How many weeks to reach Manila?’ demanded an older man. The daylight was getting stronger and Hector could see that his questioner had a fringe of grey hair around a bald pate tanned the colour of toffee.

  ‘Without a chart to calculate, I can’t say. But given fair conditions, I would guess it would take at least fifty days.’

  ‘And is this the right season to make such a long crossing?’ The older man sounded dubious.

  Again Jezreel intervened. ‘The ocean is called what it is because the weather is so calm.’

  ‘Maybe too calm,’ the old man whined. ‘We could have no wind, and drift until we ran out of water, or the scurvy took us down. Calling it “the Pacific” means nothing.’ He had the querulous tone of someone who always found fault.

  Arianz brushed aside the objection. ‘The French cook says there will be no problem taking aboard enough supplies to last the journey.’

  It was becoming increasingly clear to Hector what sort of scheme Dan had hatched with Jacques and Jezreel. His three friends intended to take him to the Ladrones and Maria. They must have talked with the crew of the Nicholas during the previous evening’s feasting, and planted in their minds the idea of a surprise raid on the Spanish colony in Manila on the far side of the Pacific. He had to admit that adding the lure of the Spice Islands was a nice touch. That would particularly appeal to Piet Arianz and his straw-haired countryman. The Dutch East India Company jealously guarded their lucrative trade with the Spice Islands and shut out all outsiders, including their own countrymen. Hector wondered if Arianz and his colleague had some reason to settle old scores with the Verenigde Oostindische Compagnie.

  ‘It’s another way for us to get home,’ the quartermaster was saying to his shipmates. ‘The Pacific crossing will be easier than sailing around the Cape and risking the storms, and less dangerous than going overland at Panama. None of us want to stay here any longer. We’ve made too little reward in Peru.’

  There was a low mutter of assent from the gathering.

  The Hollander turned to Hector. ‘Supposing you had the right charts, would you agree to navigate such a voyage for us? You would have a full share, plus a quarter, in any plunder it brings us.’

  Hector hesitated. He didn’t want to disappoint Jacques, Dan and Jezreel. But they hadn’t consulted him, and he was loath to go back to the life of a sea robber. There was no guarantee the Nicholas would touch at the Ladrones, though he remembered from the map he had seen in Valdivia that the islands lay on the direct route towards Manila.

  ‘Surely your captain could take care of the navigation,’ he answered lamely.

  Arianz was blunt. ‘Captain Eaton has no part in this. What we do and where we go is our vote. That is the custom. If he does not wish to accompany us, he can stay behind and rot here.’ From his tone it seemed he had little affection for his captain.

  The quartermaster looked around the circle of his colleagues. ‘We put it to the vote. How many of you say that we try for Manila?’

  There was a general murmur of agreement.

  ‘And what about you two? You’re his friends.’ Arianz was staring boldly at Dan and Jezreel. Both men nodded.

  Hector made one last attempt to delay what he feared was an ill-considered scheme. ‘If Jezreel and Dan are keen to join you, then of course I will come with them. So too will Jacques, I expect. But without charts there can be no voyage.’

  ‘Then we look into that straight away,’ grunted the quartermaster. ‘The rest of you get on with the job. I’ll go and speak with the captain.’

  The sailors turned back to the cauldron. The pitch had fully melted, giving off an acrid, tangy smell. The cauldron was lifted off the fire, and a man whom Hector guessed was the Nicholas’ boatswain began pouring dollops of the black liquid into small turtle shells that served as pails. His assistant handed out crude brushes made from coconut husks.

  ‘Come with me,’ growled Arianz. He led Hector up the slope of the beach to where a threadbare sail had been suspended between two posts stuck in the sand and made a simple tent. Standing in front of the tent and deep in conversation were two men. One was Captain Swan. The other reminded Hector of a bare-knuckle fighter. H
e was leaning slightly forward, balancing on the balls of his feet, and his shoulders were hunched as if he was ready either to dodge a punch or launch a counter-blow. He looked like someone who had difficulty in controlling his natural impatience.

  ‘Ah, Lynch. My friend here claims that these islands are sometimes known as the Galápagos. Have you seen that name on maps?’ Swan asked.

  ‘Galápagos in Spanish means “turtles”, so that makes sense, though the animals we ate last night were large tortoises, according to William Dampier,’ Hector replied. His attention was fixed on the man he presumed was Captain Eaton. The commander of the Nicholas had turned to look at him, and Hector was taken aback by the intensity of the scrutiny. John Eaton was muscular and fit-looking, a man in his early forties. Of average height, he was clean-shaven and tied his dark hair back club-fashion. He was wearing a freshly washed white cotton shirt and pantaloons, with a dark-red sash around his waist. His most striking feature was the colour of his eyes. They were a pale green, and slanted upwards at the outer corners. The effect was to make him look uncommonly like a wolf.

  ‘Have you charts for the Pacific?’ Arianz interrupted. He addressed the question directly at Eaton, ignoring Swan.

  The Nicholas’ captain scowled. Hector could feel the animosity simmering between the two men. ‘What need have I of such charts?’ Eaton replied sharply. ‘Panama is where we cruise next.’

  ‘The men don’t think so.’

  ‘What?’ asked Swan, surprised. ‘We are agreed that our two ships, together with the Delight, will sail in company as soon as we have rested and repaired.’

  Arianz turned to face Swan. ‘Mynheer, the company of the Nicholas have voted to sail for Manila. We have had enough of the South Sea.’

  ‘But …’ began Swan.

  Eaton cut across him. ‘Tell the men I have no charts of the Pacific,’ he snapped. ‘And even if I did, I wouldn’t use them. If you want to go on a madcap voyage, you’d better find yourselves another navigator.’

  ‘We have,’ said the quartermaster, jerking his head towards Hector.

  Eaton turned his wolf’s eyes on Hector. ‘Then good luck to him. Let his guesswork steer you to your deaths.’

  ‘Just one moment,’ said Swan soothingly. Hector sensed the captain of the Cygnet had rapidly reassessed the situation. ‘Tell me more of this scheme.’

  ‘The crew of the Nicholas have voted to return home by way of Manila, where they have a chance of plunder,’ said Arianz.

  ‘There’s no chance they’ll change their minds?’

  ‘None.’

  Swan thought for a moment. ‘Captain Eaton, naturally I’d prefer if the Nicholas stayed in company with the Cygnet and Delight. We’d be a more powerful force. But if your crew can’t be relied on …’ His voice tailed off and he gave a shrug.

  Eaton looked furious. ‘I’ll deal with my crew in my own way,’ he snapped.

  Swan held up his hand in a calming gesture. ‘I don’t doubt it. But there are other concerns.’

  ‘So what do you propose?’ Eaton almost bit off the words.

  When Swan next spoke, it was almost apologetically. ‘Your crew have placed me in a difficult position, Captain Eaton. I worry that their ambitions for a trip to Manila will infect my crew and those who serve on the Delight. You know how easily such people are swayed.’

  Eaton gave a snort. ‘Every last one is a simpleton.’

  Swan sighed. ‘To be honest, I’d prefer to be rid of any discontents.’

  ‘So would I.’

  ‘As it happens,’ continued Swan smoothly, ‘I am able to supply charts of the Pacific.’

  He addressed his next remark to Hector. ‘Lynch, you’ll recall I informed the Governor of Valdivia I was en route to the Indies and had diverted my ship to his port in hopes of trade.’

  Hector remembered the episode clearly. Swan’s claim that the vessel was bound for the Indies had seemed so flimsy. He waited to hear what his former captain would say next. He was all too aware of how devious and self-serving the Cygnet’s captain could be, and at this moment the man wore a sly expression.

  ‘Naturally,’ Swan continued, ‘I carried Pacific charts and was ready to produce them as proof of my intentions. I still have those charts and will be pleased to lend them to Mr Lynch if he wants to make copies.’

  As he spoke these words, Swan avoided looking directly at Hector. But the young man had already understood the real reason why the captain of the Cygnet was so ready to assist the crew of the Nicholas to sail off on their Pacific venture. It meant he would be rid of Hector and his dangerous knowledge that the gallant Captain Swan had once attempted to betray the crew of the Bachelor’s Delight to the Spaniards.

  Arianz brought the discussion to an abrupt end with a satisfied grunt. ‘Good, let us go straight to your ship, Captain Swan, and collect the charts. As soon as the Nicholas is ready for sea, we depart.’

  IT HAD BEEN altogether too easy, Hector thought. He had chosen a shady spot on the Nicholas’ quarterdeck, out of the glare of the equatorial sun so that he did not have to squint. He marked the vessel’s estimated position on the draft with a tiny cross. Picking up a pair of dividers, he paused for a moment to admire his own and Dan’s handiwork. The chart was even better than the original. Among his artist’s materials, the Miskito had all the inks and pens needed for making fair copies. Also Dan had produced sheets of first-quality paper that he had looted from a Spanish ship whose cargo included stationer’s supplies for the bureaucrats in Lima. Together, he and Dan had copied the necessary maps in less time than it had taken Arianz and his shipmates to finish careening their ship, float her off and set up her rigging. Meanwhile Jacques had seen to the loading of food stores, including several jars of quince marmalade, which he claimed as his share of the prize from the aviso. Even Eaton, initially disgruntled with the project for Manila, had participated energetically in the preparations for the Pacific crossing. Now, after four weeks at sea, Hector was still undecided whether the captain was genuine in his support for the voyage or had assisted because he was fearful of being left behind on the Encantadas. In return, the crew had agreed to keep Eaton on as captain, though they obliged him to hand over all his navigational instruments and almanacs to Hector.

  Spreading the points of the dividers, the young man measured the remaining distance to Manila. If his calculations were correct, there were less than 200 leagues to run. He readjusted the dividers and checked the distance to the Ladrones, where Maria would have moved to live with her employer. The islands lay perhaps two or three days ahead, almost on the direct route. Hector had begun to allow himself a faint hope. Despite his earlier misgivings, maybe his friends had been right all along. If he brought the Nicholas within sight of the Ladrones, the crew would insist on stopping there. They would be keen to get ashore, to find fresh water and replenish their supplies.

  The last of the Encantada tortoises had been eaten more than a fortnight ago. It was the largest, weighing nearly a quarter-ton, and had needed four men to hoist it aboard. Hector had been sorry to see it slaughtered. The ungainly, slow-paced creatures were not as dull and insensitive as they first appeared. If you put down a handful of green stuff at a distance, the beasts would detect the meal and lumber across the deck towards it. Inevitably the men had taken to organizing tortoise races and laid bets on the results. At first the animals had nudged and collided with one another as they crawled towards their prize. Then, with the ingenuity born of men with too much time on their hands, the sailors had discovered that each animal could be trained to move in a straight line. If the tortoises were prodded and whipped, they soon learned to crawl forward, each on its own separate track.

  Now there were no more tortoises left to race, and the men were slack and apathetic. The Nicholas was fast and well found, and she covered the sea miles with little incident. Since leaving the Encantadas, the Pacific had lived up to its benign reputation. Apart from one brief squall, which hit them in the dark, the wind had been s
teady. The sun had shone day after day from a gloriously blue sky. Puffy white clouds sped along in the same direction as the Nicholas forged ahead, a fair breeze on her quarter and a clear wake behind. Apart from basic maintenance to the ship, there was nothing for the crew to do except idle away the hours. The ocean offered them no distraction. There were no birds, no whales, and the only fish were the occasional clusters of flying fish. They burst out from the waves, skimmed ahead of the vessel and then, with a barely discernible splash, vanished as suddenly as they appeared.

  ‘Wasting your time again?’ Eaton had strolled up behind Hector and, as usual, was mocking his chartwork. ‘No one knows the true size of this ocean. And you only guess where we are.’

  It was true. With cross-staff and almanac, Hector was able to establish the Nicholas’ position north or south to less than half a degree. But he had no accurate way of measuring how far west the ship had come. He was relying on nothing more than the total of each day’s progress, as recorded by the men on watch. The numbers they provided him with were often suspect, and took no account of ocean currents. Even if he had the Nicholas’ position right, there was every chance the map itself was distorted. The Ladrones, the China coast, Japan – everything he and Dan had copied down so carefully – might be drawn wrongly on the original map.

  Eaton smirked. He had voiced his criticism loudly and clearly so that anyone on the quarterdeck could hear what he said. Hector knew why. The captain resented the fact that Hector was in charge of navigation, and looked for every chance to undermine the crew’s confidence in his ability. But that was typical of the Nicholas’ captain. Eaton was one of those manipulative commanders who maintained his authority by sowing doubt and discord in the minds of his crew. He was at pains to discredit anyone who became too popular or respected. This did not make for a cheerful or steady crew, and Hector often wondered why they suffered such a fault-finding commander.