Mean Sun (The Diaries of Daniel Wren, Privateer Book 1)

by Gerry Garibaldi

  “Yes, sir,” replied Grimmel. “It is a risk, but we have no choice.”

  Hearne shook his head: “I do wish you fine fellows had a braver captain.”

  “We have you, sir,” remarked Grimmel with a grin.

  There was a smattering of good-natured laughter.

  “The crew performed well today,” said Hearne. “Tell them so…Well, to Amoy, then, you all say?”

  “Aye, sir” sounded the chorus.

  “It is resolved, “declared Hearne. “To Amoy.”

  An ague spread across our ship in which one man in three, crew and officers alike, suffered tormenting fevers, a wheezing cough, and chills. In my hammock at night the sound of coughing could be heard throughout the darkened hull on every deck. Two of the older sailors, Jack Thorp and Thomas Caine, were taken to surgery for care but died after two days. A dozen others were confined there and died. The youngest was William Beal, the spy who had made my first weeks a misery. Captain ordered lighter duties for those who were ill, but even those duties depleted any reserve of strength. Sick men trudged across the decks hollow-eyed, with faces dull as pewter plates.

  The sickness began with a languor and a weak head fever, which soon was marked by a painful, dry cough and a mulberry rash that quickly bloomed across the torso. Backaches drained the ability of a man to move. It was not long before that languor hit me and I was trembling with chills and fever.

  The cause of the sickness, according to Mr. Stempel, was laid to the moral judgment of God for the wicked in our crew. A panic set in. The captain staunched it by declaring that the illness was instigated by the foul air aboard the ship. For days we burnt sulfur in the hull of the ship and on every deck to kill the rankness in the air.

  Despite the dangers that lie ahead in Amoy, the hope of dropping anchor was met with a mix of fear and relief, for then we might escape the fetid condition of the ship with a day or two of shore leave and rest our weary bones.

  The Sovereign’s courses were furled and all but the topsails reefed as we moved timidly and cautiously toward our destination. On the third day Amoy came into view. Beneath the beating sun two narrow islands shone like slivers of jade obscured by the humid air and thinned at their edges by the blue sea. Its appearance was received with great agitation by the crew and officers. Dreadful silence pervaded the ship, above deck and below.

  Captain Hearne stood at the bow scrutinizing the landfall through his glass, along with Mr. Brawley, Mr. Hazleton and Mr. Jameson. From where I stood, near Grimmel at the binnacle, I could see the islands were frantic with ships coming and going, virtually all colorful junks, and each one, including the soggy fishing boats, were improvised into armed vessels. Together they comprised a formidable brown water fleet, recalling a hive of wasps. Though smaller than even our lowest ranking ship of the line, they were far more nimble. Their square sails were constructed of battens, horizontal members, each individually rigged to lines that could be reefed in short order and comply with even the most awkward breeze. Most remarkably, the sails could be moved inward along the axis of the ship allowing the vessel to sail directly into the wind. They were guided by a large, stout rudder—which frequently took two men to maneuver—that kept their light hulls from slipping sideways. Dainty, slender, incomprehensible signal flags hung from every mast and from the stern.

  “They may seem queer,” remarked Grimmel of the boats, “but those birds can peck your eyes out and it takes a wide net to catch one.”

  Their urgent business, however, kept them too absorbed to take notice of us. When they did there was a sudden commotion in the eyes of the sailors on their decks, a labored reading of our flags, which offered peaceable intentions. And then they were gone.

  “Not a trading ship among them,” remarked Jonathan Gray, one of Mr. Grimmel’s mates.

  “Aye, a starving port,” answered Grimmel. “We’ll require arms when we go ashore and guards on duty around the clock.”

  The order came for the cannon crews to their stations and to make ready. I hurried to cannon number six to find Mr. Stempel, Mr. Hines and the others waiting. Stempel’s cough and his wheezing were most violent and unrelenting. He could not answer a question or venture a remark without a fit of coughing seizing him. His eyes burned like bright candles in their reddened sockets. He was resting his cheek against the cool iron of the cannon.

  “I pray Gabriel Hines is not made to fight in his sorry state,” said Mr. Hines, coughing himself. “His water kept him running throughout the night. He was either on his way to the rail or coming back from it.”

  “Do you believe they’ll fire on us?” I asked.

  “Our poor captain has a hard decision to make,” answered Hines. “If he suspects a snare, we’ll fire iron. If not, we’ll fire powder all around to show the Chinaman we come unarmed. It’s either salute or destruction.”

  At that moment the order to open portholes came down from Mr. Brooks.

  “Prepare to fire on my order, gentlemen!” he called.

  The latches were slipped and our lid was drawn. The first of the harbor fortresses was now in plain view. It was a large stone monstrosity, with a peculiar raised red rooftop running along it, pointed at the corners, with a ridge along the pinnacle. I could make out the bobbing heads of men racing across the parapet.

  “They’re awake now,” said Hines.

  The black mouths of their guns were pointed directly at us. At this moment, I thought my illness was a blessing, for I was drained of strength and my vision was swirling. It was a simple choice to hand myself to my fate. Sleep of any sort was my only desire. The figures in the fortress seemed a marvel of energy. All of us watched those guns, for the smoke that would tell us a great boom would follow and then a ball would come crashing into our thin lumber. Stempel fell again into a sudden, loud fit of coughing, setting my teeth on edge. He looked around apologetically.

  “I cannot keep it down,” he whispered. “Sorry, lads.”

  “Don’t give it a thought, Mr. Stempel,” replied Mr. Hines. “They cannot hear you on shore.”

  Mr. Brooks appeared out of the companionway and said in clear voice:

  “We will be firing a salute, gentlemen! Upon my order.”

  Mr. Hines had been sitting atop our thirty-two pound cannonball. He now rolled it back over to the garland.

  “Fire!” commanded Brooks.

  One cannon after another sounded. Perfect grey circles flew in procession toward the fortress. What great relief when the Chinese fortresses remained silent! Onward we drifted into the mouth of the harbor. The jagged hills above were arrayed like shark’s teeth. Men were scrambling along the wharf in small groups. The Sovereign came about languidly, carefully positioning her stern to the harbor. Minutes later the order to drop anchor was given.

  From this fresh advantage I could see the western edge of the harbor and the battery closest to the city of Amoy. Hearne had placed our guns opposite these two batteries, while our prow pointed directly at the fortress farthest out. Through a second cannonade of coughs, Stempel urgently pointed at something in the harbor.

  “Well, look at that!” he declared in astonishment. He was pointing to a small but testy-looking frigate moored a few hundred yards away. “I do believe, gentleman, that ship is the Seahorse and that we’ve found our old, dear Captain Belfry.”

  “It is indeed!” said Hines, grinning with delight. “By the Devil, who would’ve thought that knave would have found a roost here.”

  “Do you know him?” I asked.

  “Indeed we do!” replied Hines. “Stempel here, Gabriel Hines, and Mr. Grimmel served with ‘im. He has larceny in his heart and sport in his eye.”

  “And a fine seaman, too,” said Stempel. “Well, we have one friend in port.”

  Word that Captain Belfry was in port rippled through the crew. At our arrival the crew aboard the Seahorse waved at our crew and our men happily returned their greeting.

  Once the Sovereign was secured, we were given shipboard liberty.
The sick wanted nothing more than to stretch their cold frames out on the deck beneath the warming sun. I bundled up my jacket, which was now quite louse-ridden, and slept atop the quarterdeck, barely moving a muscle for several hours. I may have dreamed, but of what I do not know. I didn’t attend mess and had little appetite. The burning in my throat and pitching stomach roused me at one point and I stumbled to the scuttlebutt for water, to find that fresh cold water had replenished our supply. After a cupful, which caused excruciating pain to swallow, back I stumbled to my pillow.

  I slept through the night utterly unaware of the activity on board ship. In the morning, ten barrels of fresh water were ferried aboard and arrayed along the main deck, all tartly laced with a healthy measure of vinegar, so that we might wash our clothes. Two hundred naked men scrubbing out their togs was a sight to behold for those who could witness it from the wharf. We lathered our bodies as well and many shaved their heads and beards to help remove the vermin. This improved the humor of the crew, but not our health.

  That afternoon a boat arrived from shore with a group of military dignitaries from the city. My presence was ordered so that I might record their exchange. There were four men in all. Three had a distinctly military aspect. As they boarded, their hard Asian faces took in our activities on deck with scrupulous attention, and they muttered to each other in Chinese. The captain of this little assembly was a wee fellow, slender as straw, with a pattern of scars on the left side of his head, which I could only surmise was the result of wood splinters from a cannon shot. He wore a thick knit tunic, which bore the depiction of a bear. His two fellows wore similar tunics with what appeared to be leopards or tigers, as near as I could tell, embroidered on badges. The fourth man, and the roundest of the bunch, wore a blue silk robe that fell to his knees and pantaloons peeping out beneath. Two cranes adorned his robe. Atop his head he wore a tall, black cap with flaps extending out on either side. His name was Mr. Wong and he held the official capacity of interpreter.

  With many bows and scrapings, Mr. Wong, in terribly faulty English that banished the accustomed conjugations, introduced his companions as “honorable” men of military rank.

  The party was escorted to Captain Hearne’s cabin, where Hearne, Whitehead (clad only in his skivvies), Brooks, Lord Douglas and Mr. Grimmel were waiting. At their entrance, this fellow Wong bowed again and again, with more murky salutations. Hearne said not a word, but with a pleasant countenance observed the military men, while Greyson advanced on Mr. Wong with a short speech praising the great General Jheng Jiing, and offering high hopes of happiness at their upcoming marriage. Lord Douglas then displayed one of the roses, which had recently brought forth lovely bloom, as a gift to Wen Xi that he wished to deliver personally as a symbol of our two countries’ budding friendship.

  The fat little man listened to the speech as if it was all coming up from a well, then after a moment’s recalibration in his own mind, turned to the soldiers and repeated it in Chinese. The three men remained impassive, then their leader spoke something; there were more whispered exchanges, quick as a lizard’s wink, between our visitors, and Mr. Wong turned with a blandishing grin.

  “They, honorable persons,” said he gesturing to his friends, “give many thanks grateful to your words. You may give gift to Wen Xi personally. Honorable gentlemens wish you to know that General Jheng Jiing is away and not to return for three days.”

  “I understand,” Greyson replied, nodding ‘thanks’ to their leader.

  “Until that time,” continued Mr. Wong, “we welcome visits ashore for yourselves and crew members. The people of Amoy are your friends.”

  Captain Hearne grunted his thanks.

  “The honorable gentlemens,” said Wong, “wish that your men not bring weapons on shore.”

  “My men carry weapons only for protection,” said Hearne.

  After a short conference, Mr. Wong addressed Hearne again.

  “The people of Amoy will be informed you are guests of the Honorable General Jheng Jiing. No harm will come to any of you.”

  “We shall take that officer at this word,” replied Hearne cordially, which set Mr. Wong to bowing and scraping again.

  When Wong had departed, Captain Hearne gestured me to his side.

  “You will escort Lord Greyson on his little pilgrimage,” he said. “Report back all that you have seen and observed.

  Chapter 10

  Captain Belfry

  That following afternoon Captain Hearne issued a roster of sailors who would take the first shore leave. Mr. Grimmel had been in high spirits and soaring anticipation for his chance to set foot in Amoy. One of the few untouched by sickness, Grimmel whistled tunelessly all the morning and clapped every fellow’s shoulder. When the roster appeared and his name—as well as my own—was on it, Grimmel eschewed the whistling and took up a mumbling medley of songs, cycling them over and over with painful regularity. Mr. Stempel was still too ill for shore leave, but Mr. Hines was delighted he would be joining us. Grimmel came mumbling past as we stood at the rail. Hines nodded toward him.

  “He’s a fine drinker,” said Hines under his breath. “Drains it like a scupper, but stay an arm’s length from him at all times, Mr. Wren.”

  Grimmel pivoted merrily on his heels as if he’d been called and, chortling at some private fancy, returned to share it with us.

  “Oh, will he be a hot one,” declared Grimmel, gripping the rail to keep from laughing himself overboard.

  “Who, Mr. Hines wishes to know, would that be, Grimmel?” inquired Hines, observing him through dull, feverish eyes.

  “’Who would that be?!’” bellowed Grimmel, now sniggering with malicious exaltation. “Old Belfry, man!” he roared. He then caught hold of himself with a clever glint in his eye. “Now, Hines, don’t you tell him a word of it, you hear? Not a hint. I’ll do that when he’s well into his cups. Aye!” The thought brought more mean laughter bubbling up with a spray of spittle. “What a pretty face he’ll make when he learns he’s be declared a culprit.”

  Grimmel impulsively gave Hines a hug that lifted the man high off his feet.

  “The first cup is mine, Hines!” said Grimmel. “But say nothing to Belfry, man. I’ll be the one to do that.”

  Our boats deposited the first of us on leave upon the dock at dusk. The first sight that met my horrified eyes as we stepped out was a string of severed heads arrayed on pikes for perhaps a hundred yards leading into town. The heads were all shaven clean from the forehead to the crown and each had a long braid of hair that made a pigtail. The flies had made a meal of them, so their drawn faces looked more like diseased buds. None of the passersby took note of them. One fellow was smoking a pipe beside one of the pikes and leaning against it as if it were a street lamp, at intervals idly brushing the flies away from him.

  A rattling collection of carts pulled by men came charging up to our party, eagerly gesturing for us to climb on board. Mr. Hines, Mr. Grimmel, Liam Smith and I squeezed into one of the carts and the little driver sped off, with such a dash that my head jerked back from the motion.

  Soldiers were loitering in clusters along the wharves and roads, a scraggily, pathetic band who watched our arrival with hard, sullen faces. Their uniforms were soiled, poxed with holes and threadbare. Some sported exotic caps, colorful scraps of cloth about their necks, gold trinkets, and an assortment of baubles, all which I took to be booty. They were less an army than a tribe of yellow savages.

  My own unease I saw reflected in the solemn expressions of Hines and Liam Smith. Apart from a few owlish utterances, not a one of us could render a proper display of excitement. Mr. Smith, perhaps inspired by the fellow beside the head, took out his own unlit pipe and began chewing on the stem and making sucking noises until that object became the warm focus of all our attention.

  From time to time the tension among us would be shattered by a giddy burst of laughter from Grimmel, which seemed unconnected to any event and would spread in turn from one another, until we were all cl
ucking like hens on the way to market.

  These remote, dreadful forebodings rode with us all the way into the old Dutch section of the town. A procession of grim-faced little shops ran down the length of the narrow street on both sides. The patrons of these establishments were yet more beggarly soldiers, by and large, who with fractured faces stared at our passing with ravenous speculation. The mud, the filth and the unwholesome stench of the place enflamed all of my most fearful apprehensions, and swept over them as a storm sweeps over a barren field. I felt as if I had stepped into hell.

  This street angled to form an elbow at its end. In the crook of this elbow was a small public house like the up-ended prow of a ship. Its thatched roof came down like a mop of hair to meet two glowing eyes, which were its windows. Our cart halted before it and we hopped down and made for the door with some haste.

  To my relief, we entered a warmly lit parlor that was chock-a-block with mostly European faces, sailors all. The room was thick with smoke, and loud with conversation. Tables ran the length and breadth of the walls. Grimmel scanned the sea of faces and then declared,

  “That’s him there! Captain Belfry and no other.”

  The fellow he pointed to was near Grimmel in age and decline. He was dressed in a handsome brocaded jacket, and wore a ring on every finger. He had a thinning stand of red hair on his head, smooth sunbaked cheeks, and a wide, cocked smile. It was an extraordinary face, knavish like a boy’s, and one that our entire party instantly warmed to.

  With his thumbs brazenly hooked in his pockets, as if he were the only bird on the mud bank, Grimmel swaggered over to him.

  “Captain Belfry!” said Grimmel. “I had expected next to meet you down in the murky blue.”

  “Arthur Grimmel!” shouted Belfry. “A face no mother could forget!”

  The two men roared with laughter and many hail and hearty exclamations. When this row subsided, Grimmel gestured to us.