By the Knife Read online

  John had his hand on his knife when a ship was sighted.

  She was a Spanish brig and they had the weather gage. The crew put up a surprisingly good fight, killing two of the pirates and wounding three more. John was at the head of four men who burst into the aft cabin and discovered a Spanish family: a man, his wife, a young girl of around twelve and a lad who looked sixteen.

  The man attempted to defend his family and died on John’s cutlass. The boy rushed forward with a knife and cut one of the pirates. John hit him with the butt of his pistol, knocking him unconscious; this one he would keep.

  That night as the crew enjoyed the women and drink on the beach by the light of the usual large fire, Carter carried the boy down into one of the ship’s boats. He pulled slowly across the lagoon reaching a small mangrove swamp well away from his shipmates. Once ashore he threw the lad over his shoulder and set off across the island. When he judged he was far enough away for no sound to be heard, he dropped his burden onto the ground. He now removed his clothes and carefully hung them up on a bush. Kneeling down beside his captive, he smiled as he watched the fear in the boy’s eyes. He removed the gag from the lad’s mouth and listened with satisfaction to the boy pleading for his life.

  He understood no Spanish, but it mattered not. He pulled the boy’s bound hands above his head and tied them to the base of a tree. Cutting the lashing on his ankles, he spread his legs and tied each one to a separate bush.

  Now taking the knife he cut away the boy’s clothes, pulling them out from under his body. For some moments he knelt beside his victim breathing in the crying and pleading. He then placed the blade of his knife flat on the boy’s stomach; the lad went rigid and John slowly began to cut.

  It was some time later when he used the boy’s clothes to wipe the blood from his hands, chest and knife. He dressed carefully and without a backward glance walked back across the island.

  The pirate crew lay as if dead on the sand when John pulled the boat up at the water’s edge. Snoring and drunken snorting were the only sounds to break the silence. He stood and considered his options.

  His mind made up, he began quietly walking amongst his shipmates removing any pistols they had with them. Most had not bothered to bring arms to the deserted beach. John stacked the guns beside the sack he had with him.

  Before coming to the beach he had boarded the ship and broken open the strong box in the cabin.

  Now he checked the loads in each pistol and tipped out the gold in the sack. With his own pistols thrust through his belt, he picked up two others and, stepping over to the sleeping pirate captain, shot him in the stomach. As the man howled and struggled into wakefulness, John emptied a second pistol into his face. Dropping the two spent pistols he picked up two more. The captain’s friend was looking at him in horror. Taking careful aim, John shot him in the eye.

  Turning to the shocked pirates, he kicked at the pile of gold. ‘This is yours,’ he called, and waving a pistol towards the dead captain, ‘He hid it from you.’ John stepped back to the small pile of pistols. ‘I came for gold,’ he said, ‘not rum. If you want gold, sail with me. I take the brig. If you are happy to live like beggars, take the ketch.’

  The pirates stared at the gold. ‘Go on, take it,’ he urged. ‘Share it out.’

  Keeping well clear of John Carter, the men gathered round the money. As one of them began counting he turned to look at John. ‘You want none?’ he asked.

  John laughed. ‘Any who sail with me will have more gold than you can count.

  The lure of gold proved decisive and all the crew joined John Carter who decided they would take both ships. He turned south, back to where he hoped the Delft still lay.

  As they rounded the headland he was relieved to see his old ship still anchored where they had left her six weeks before. Once alongside he had the men begin transferring any goods he thought could be sold.

  The brig mounted eight four-pound cannon, four on each side. They now cut ports for the four six-pounders from the Delft, two forward, one each side of the bowsprit, and two aft in the cabin as stern chasers.

  They changed the brig’s name to the Gaviota, Spanish for seagull, and then taking the Delft’s name boards painted the name Texel on them. They had Spanish and Dutch flags. John spoke Dutch and one of the crew, called Carlo, spoke Spanish.

  They could now pose as honest traders from both countries.

  Later John would find an English flag and give the ship a third nationality.

  Once all was prepared they sailed north once more. Now he needed men. Carlo assured him Port Royal, Jamaica, was the place.

  Leaving the ketch out of sight, the Texel, flying her Dutch colours, anchored off the island of Tortola. John had himself rowed ashore and showing Van Hesston’s credentials told the story of being blown off course on his way to the Dutch colonies in the south. Now, he said, he was sick of sailing and wanted only to sell his goods and return to Holland.

  The local people, always short of supplies, quickly emptied his hold and paid a good price.

  Whilst they were ashore Carlo met a large black man hiding in the scrub who asked if they needed crew. That night they picked up four runaway slaves from the beach.

  John Carter set course for Jamaica.

  The two ships cruised in company. As the ketch was well known to both the pirate and colonist communities, the ship was under instruction to seem to be pursuing the brig if a strange ship was sighted.

  None were seen, however, and on arrival in Jamaica the ketch was once again left hidden over the horizon.

  John Carter was rowed ashore by Carlo and a sombre man called Owen; they both claimed to know people in the town.

  ‘Meet your friends, but tell no one what we are about,’ he ordered. ‘Meet me at the longboat at midnight.’

  Finding a small tavern on the edge of town, John sat in a quiet corner. When the landlord approached, he ordered a chicken, cheese, some bread and a flagon of ale.

  ‘You want a whole chicken?’ the man asked.

  John nodded. When the food arrived Carter carefully pulled off a leg and ate it slowly, then the second leg; now he ate some cheese and bread. He sat looking at the food. Never again, he swore, would he be hungry. His mind drifted back to life in London and as always to the men who had abused him. The old, drunken, dirty men, and then the fire began to burn up from his chest, his vision blurred and he saw once again the two young ones.

  They had come to the hovel many times, dressed in fine clothes with their light-coloured hair and handsome faces.

  When they threw money to his mother she had disappeared, leaving him. Carter’s face burned and a howling seemed to fill his head as he remembered the things they had done to him and the terrible pain for hour after hour. In his mind he saw their laughing faces surrounded by a red blur and the rage filled him. The blond one, the one who had hurt him the most, always the first to beat him, always the first to cut him. He pushed the rage back, back to where it lived, somewhere deep inside him.

  His vision cleared and he noticed the people near him were looking at him with frightened looks. Well, let them be afraid, all of them. He ate some more chicken.

  At midnight the two men returned to the longboat, both in drink. ‘They’re here, Captain, there’s men here in plenty and all keen to ship.’

  ‘What nature of men?’ John asked.

  ‘Hard men, Captain, on hard times since the brotherhood was broken up.’

  ‘I want fifty; can you find that many?’

  ‘And fifty more if you want,’ Carlo hissed.

  ‘Start bringing them tomorrow night just a few at a time and not a word to a soul.’

  The next day Carter found a woman who sold and made clothes.

  He bought a black coat and ordered four pairs of black britches and six black shirts to be made. As the woman took his measurements she let her hands slide over his inner leg but getting no response went back to her work.

  Once she was finished John set off to f
ind the most important thing: information.

  In the town square a ragged market of sorts had people moving about. To one side a small tavern had two tables outside. At one sat an old man, with an empty glass; he had the look of a seaman.

  ‘Will you drink with me, friend?’ John asked. ‘I hate to drink alone.’

  ‘I’ll take your drink,’ the man said, ‘and your money if you have to spare.’

  John sat down. ‘What will you drink?’

  The man smiled. ‘I’ll take rum and what would you want, my fine young fellow?’

  ‘Just pleasant company,’ John replied.

  ‘Pleasant company,’ the man mused. ‘Now there’s a thing.’

  ‘You look like a man who knows a thing or two,’ said John.

  ‘I could say you look like a man who’s taking more men than his ship can carry,’ the man replied.

  John tried to show no expression.

  ‘This is a small place and I’ve been here too long,’ the man said. ‘Now order that rum and I’ll help you all I can.’

  John ordered a bottle.

  ‘My name is Ben Williams,’ the man began. ‘I was a gunner in His Majesty’s navy.

  I went into business on my own and escaped the noose by the skin of me teeth. What can I do for you?’

  John thought for a moment. ‘Spanish gold,’ he said.

  Ben nodded. ‘Comes across a neck of land way down south, gets loaded onto galleons of fifty guns or more, crewed by up to four hundred Spanish bastards. That’s a bit of a handful for your ships, unless the other one’s a ship of the line.’

  ‘What other one?’ John asked.

  Ben emptied his glass. ‘You have about twenty in crew. That’s a lot of men for a small brig and now you want fifty more; if you’re not going to pack them in barrels, you have a second ship.’

  John refilled his glass. ‘You have good ears.’

  ‘Don’t get upset,’ Ben said quickly. ‘There’s none here will talk.’

  ‘So tell me about this neck of land,’ John demanded.

  ‘Southwest from here,’ Ben said. ‘Gold comes on mules with plenty of Spanish troops to guard it. They used to have trouble with the natives, but they bought them off; they act as guides now.’

  ‘Is that bad country?’ John asked.

  ‘There’s swamp, jungle, serpents; it’s as bad as it gets.’

  ‘So, Ben.’ John smiled. ‘Will two gold pieces buy me the position of that neck of land?’

  Ben returned the grin. ‘For two gold pieces I’ll draw you a chart and introduce you to a man who’s been there.’

  CHAPTER 4

  The boat thumped alongside.

  ‘Careful, you oaf,’ Phelps exclaimed. ‘You almost had us in the river.’ He climbed up the ship’s side closely followed by David. As they came through the entry port, Phelps called to a seaman to take their chests below. The man knuckled his forehead. ‘That’s Mr. Hargreaves, the first lieutenant.’ Phelps pointed to an officer by the ship’s wheel. ‘You must report to him, say your name and “come to join” then touch your hat. Oh, you don’t have a hat; just touch your forehead.’

  Somewhat timidly David approached the great man. ‘Come to join,’ he said and touched his forehead.

  ‘Oh, David Fletcher.’ Hargreaves looked at him for a few moments and then said, ‘Very well, Mr. Fletcher. The captain will want to see you at some time; look after him, Mr. Phelps.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Phelps. ‘Is the captain come aboard, sir?’

  ‘He is, Mr. Phelps, and in answer to your next question, we sail with the ebb in the morning.’

  The day passed in a blur. All the knowledge David thought he had amassed with his cousins now proved to be worthless; this world was totally confusing. He hung on to Phelps as if hanging on to a lifeline.

  First, they had descended to the orlop and the midshipman’s berth; this small space was home to four midshipmen. There was a table in the centre; they had to sit on their sea chests. Phelps pointed out a hammock that was David’s and introduced him to his mess mates. Mr. Andrews was signals. Mr. Cousins was gun deck, assistant to Mr. Green, the second lieutenant. Phelps was senior mid. He and the third lieutenant, Mr. Pitt, had main and fore mast respectively. David was, of course, junior mid.

  Andrews smiled. ‘Well met, my friend,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you will be working with me.’

  There then followed a tour of the ship. They examined the hold, powder room and gun deck with Phelps explaining everything as they went.

  That night all the officers were called to the captain’s cabin; the gathering included the sailing master and his two mates. The midshipmen were pushed to the back. David could see nothing but was relieved that the captain could not see him either.

  Captain Saunders spoke in a clear, strong, aristocratic voice. ‘As I’m sure you have all heard,’ he said, ‘we sail with the morning ebb.

  ‘We will join Commodore Wolf’s squadron at Spithead and from there proceed to the Mediterranean. As you know, we have for some time been sorely treated by the Spanish fleet’s policy of stop and search to our merchantmen. I believe we are at last to put a stop to such atrocities. We all remember Jenkins’ ear.’

  He went on to discuss various matters of the ship’s organization and detailed the arrangements for leaving the following morning.

  As the meeting broke up he said, ‘Mr. Fletcher to remain.’

  As the cabin emptied David stood in front of the captain’s desk, feeling very small and alone once the door closed on the almost empty cabin. Captain Saunders gathered the papers on his desk before looking down at David.

  ‘Well now, Mr. Fletcher,’ he began. ‘Squire Morton speaks very highly of you. He writes that you are a mathematical genius. Is that true?’

  David looked up into his captain’s eyes, trying to decide if this was a joke. ‘I don’t think so, sir,’ he answered.

  ‘You are good at mathematics though?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ David admitted.

  ‘This will be a great strength to you in your studies,’ the captain continued. ‘You must work hard and listen to everything your officers tell you.

  ‘You are a king’s officer and the men will look to you for support and guidance. You must learn these skills as soon as possible. Mr. Harper is a very experienced sailing master; he will be your instructor. Follow his example in all things and you will soon find your feet. I have great confidence in you.

  ‘You will be working with Mr. Andrews at signals. This is a very important position. Flags are paramount in the Royal Navy. Very well, go to your meal.’

  ‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir,’ David spluttered and fled from the cabin. As the door closed, Saunders smiled and reached for a decanter.

  The next morning the ship’s crew were fed and at work long before dawn and with the first of the ebb HMS Eagle set her topsails and slid downriver. From his position on the poop deck David watched his betters at work. The crew had been with the Eagle since her launch and made all look routine. Andrews tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘First lesson, David,’ he whispered. ‘If you have nothing to do, take out the flags and refold them; that way if the officer of the watch looks at you, you are always busy.’

  As the ship piled on canvas she seemed to fly across the water. The impression of power was frightening. David wondered if he would ever have confidence enough to command such a ship.

  The run to Spithead was uneventful; they found a squall on the second day, but the frigate gathered up the power of the storm and charged on to her rendezvous.

  Commodore Wolf’s squadron, which consisted of two ships of the line and a sloop, was already gathered when they dropped anchor in the lee of the flagship. Captain Saunders was signalled to board the flagship – David thought it was the signal for enemy in sight – and as soon as he returned the squadron sailed south.

  As they moved towards the Spanish coast the Eagle swept ahead of the squadron, her masthead lookout searching t
he horizon ahead and keeping an eye on the flagship behind them.

  The days were filled with sail drill, gun drill and small arms drill. David spent his free time with Phelps, who true to his promise began teaching him the sword.

  Not long after they left Spithead he asked his friend who Jenkins was and what was wrong with his ear.

  ‘A British sea captain in the merchant service,’ Phelps replied. ‘Illegally boarded by the Spanish who cut off his ear.’

  ‘Will we fight a war over this Jenkins?’ David asked.

  ‘I hope so,’ returned Phelps.

  Each noon the midshipmen gathered for instruction in navigation. Mr. Harper, the sailing master, took them through the noon sight and kept them at their slates until the midday meal. David found the calculations easy and spent time helping the others. They in turn helped him with the hundred and one things on board that totally confused him. To David’s great relief he found he had a good head for heights and even enjoyed racing his fellow midshipmen to the masthead. During gun drills they would sometimes man a gun, but they lacked the brute strength to show well against the other crews.

  Day after day the frigate sailed ahead of the squadron. Because of her greater speed the Eagle would travel out to the east and then turn and race across the face of the other ships out to the west.

  In this way she maintained her distance and could watch a much larger area of the horizon. For David this was a fantastic sensation; he would sit on deck during the off watch and enjoy the exhilaration of fast sailing with the spray flying over his head.

  In spite of all the brave talk, Wolf’s squadron did little but patrol for almost nine months before anchoring off Gibraltar. From there the Eagle was sent back to England with dispatches.

  Her stay in England was short; only four days before being sent back to the squadron with a new flag officer. Commodore Hardy was a stern-looking man who stayed in his cabin for the voyage south. Once he was in place on board the flagship, the squadron sailed for the West African coast. Not having been told their destination, the midshipmen speculated that they would be attacking one of the nests of pirates that were known to be in this part of the world, but then after only three days of sailing they anchored in a shallow bay. Ashore was only desert, a flat featureless coast; the wind, which had been light, dropped to nothing and the heat became oppressive.