By the Knife Page 6

  For almost two weeks they lay in this desolate place with the heat making the simplest task a nightmare. The midshipmen very quickly became bored and even the sword practice that both David and Phelps loved became too much trouble.

  At mealtimes they played with their salt pork and twice-baked biscuit; nobody had much appetite and endlessly discussed what they were waiting for.

  Then one morning they weighed anchor and with the mere hint of a breeze worked slowly clear of the bay. A course was set to the west and spirits rose as the wind picked up and the heat eased.

  Now all voiced the opinion that they would take a Spanish galleon, full of gold, returning from the new world. The ships they met two days later, however, were English and they saw none other as they slowly escorted them back to Plymouth.

  David’s first year in His Majesty’s navy had been somewhat uneventful. After the stories of battle and conquest, he loudly agreed with his mess mates when they expressed discontent that the war with Spain had not come to them.

  In private, however, David was relieved that he had had a year to at least begin to learn his trade. He had worked flags with Andrews, commanded his own section on the mizzen mast, assisted Mr. Green on the gun deck and was now in charge of the quarter boat crew. He felt confident that he was at last becoming a naval officer.

  For the next three years the Eagle worked as maid of all trades for the fleet. She sailed as far north as the ice and as far south as the equator.

  David felt a great sense of loss when his friend Phelps passed his lieutenants exam and left to join a second rate as fourth officer. On leaving, Phelps had given David the sword he had used in practice, telling him that when they next met they would both be captains.

  A new midshipman came on board and David, no longer the baby of the mess, was assigned to the gun deck.

  As the winter of 1741 came on, the Eagle was sent south once more; she was to gather information on the Spanish fleet in Cadis.

  The weather was against them from the outset, bringing a full gale in the Bay of Biscay and headwinds down the Portuguese coast.

  On arrival off Cadis, a southwesterly gale kept them fighting back and forth, with the coast covered in cloud to leeward. After five days of bad weather the sky began to clear and the wind veered to the northeast.

  As visibility improved the masthead lookout reported a sail to windward.

  Captain Saunders ordered the ship to quarters.

  As the drummer boys kept the beat, David watched the frigate prepare for battle; he had seen this many times during drills but the feeling this time was very different. Something in his stomach hardened up; he told himself it was not fear.

  The ship approached downwind; she had the weather gage and was soon seen to be a powerful Spanish frigate of thirty-two guns at least. All doubt was gone when she ran out both her batteries.

  Captain Saunders ordered the topgallants set and as the ship picked up speed it seemed they would run away, but then they put about and, close hauled on the opposite tack, sailed fast toward the Spaniard.

  The order came to run out the starboard battery, hard work against the list of the ship, and then the gunners were told that once they had finished firing they should arm and follow Mr. Green in boarding the enemy ship. Saunders intended to run hard at the other ship, pass down her starboard side and then tack across her stern.

  Lieutenant Green muttered something about the Spaniard following them round and then it would be gun to gun and her iron was heavier than theirs. Then he grinned and in a loud voice called, ‘When were we afraid of a little Spanish iron, lads? Remember your drills, keep your timing and when we board we’ll teach the dons the flamenco.’

  David looked up and saw the topgallants and then the courses disappear. He realized he could hear cannon fire and was knocked flat by a seaman struck by a ball that had smashed though the ship’s side. As he struggled out from under the body he saw the masts and rigging of the other ship close above him; the helm was eased downwind and the first lieutenant dropped his sword screaming, ‘Fire.’

  ‘Fire,’ screamed David and ‘Fire,’ screamed Mr. Green.

  As one gun, the Eagle hurled her broadside at the Spaniard’s bow. Even as the guns fired, the helm was put up and the two hulls rushed past each other with the gun crews loading and firing whilst screaming abuse at the foe. Then up went the helm and the Eagle tacked, but as Mr. Green had foreseen the Spanish ship followed them round. Shot was hitting the hull and screaming overhead and then there was the stern of the other ship.

  ‘She’s in irons,’ Mr. Green shouted. ‘Now, lads, as you bear, make it count.’

  Gun after gun threw its iron through the Spaniard’s stern windows and then spinning hard to starboard the Eagle crashed alongside her larboard side.

  ‘Now, men, board her,’ came the shout.

  The men were snatching weapons from the barrels standing ready and running up to the catwalks. David grabbed a cutlass and followed.

  As he reached the rail the Spanish ships fore mast crashed over her bow. Men were throwing grapples and David found himself carried over the rail on the tide of men onto the enemy deck.

  All was confusion. The two crews were screaming and hacking at each other in a mist like cloud of black powder smoke. A huge man struck at a seaman on David’s left. David attempted to stab him with his cutlass, but the man drove his fist into David’s chest, throwing him to the deck and then turned as a young marine attacked him from his right. David climbed onto his knees and, swinging his cutlass level with the deck, hacked into the back of one of the man’s ankles with all his strength. With a bellow the man fell onto his back and David, still on his knees, raised his cutlass above his head and brought it down onto the man’s neck like an axe. As he drew the blade back, blood sprayed into the air and over David’s face and chest.

  ‘Back, Mr. Fletcher, back.’ The marine was dragging him back to the rail. Understanding nothing, David followed the rush of men back onto the Eagle’s deck.

  Grapples were cut loose and the two ships began to move apart.

  ‘Back to the guns,’ came the order. ‘Let’s hit her again.’ The gun crews sprang to their task, but only one or two guns could fire before the Spanish ship disappeared from their gun ports.

  The new midshipman, Mr. Woods, grabbed his arm.

  ‘From Mr. Hargreaves: secure the guns, close ports.’ He turned and fled back to the quarter deck. David turned and shouted the order. Where was Mr. Green?

  As David’s heart rate began to return to normal his head began to feel heavy; he seemed to be thinking through a blanket. He turned at a touch on his arm. Woods was back again.

  ‘Report to the captain,’ he said and fled once more.

  As he walked aft David tripped over an eye bolt and would have fallen had not a seaman caught him. He looked up into the man’s smiling face.

  ‘Careful, sir,’ the seaman said. ‘Here, let me take that.’ David realized he was still holding the bloody cutlass.

  ‘Thank you,’ he muttered, relinquishing the weapon.

  Watching from the quarter deck, Saunders saw the boy stumble. He also saw an ordinary seaman jump to help him. The men liked the boy that was obvious. This would be his moment; they all arrived at a moment after the first battle, the first killing, and it would make or break him.

  David knuckled his forehead. ‘You wanted me, sir.’

  ‘Are you injured, Mr. Fletcher?’ the captain asked.

  ‘No, sir,’ the boy replied, his mouth trembling slightly.

  ‘Did you see Mr. Green fall?’

  David glanced round the deck as if expecting the officer to be standing beside him. ‘No, sir.’

  Saunders studied the lad for some moments before continuing. ‘Very well. Mr. Pitt will take the gun deck as second lieutenant. Mr. Andrews will go as acting lieutenant and you will take flags. Can you do that?’

  The boy straightened his back. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Look yonder.’ The c
aptain pointed over the stern. In the distance the Spanish frigate lay in the wreckage of her fore mast and beyond her, four powerful ships of the line slowly approached. ‘That is why we broke off the action. Now go below and wash the blood from your face, change your shirt and be about your duty.’

  The voyage back to England was as easy as the outward had been hard; fair winds sent them into Plymouth in record time. The midshipmen were all sure that once their news was heard they would set out with a powerful force to destroy the Spanish. After lying at anchor for two weeks, however, they were ordered to Deptford to refit. Once there the crew was scattered to the fleet and David sat his lieutenants exam.

  As the coach approached the Mistley crossroads, Lieutenant David Fletcher wondered for the hundredth time whether his letter would have arrived before him. He had thought to surprise the family by turning up unannounced but then decided to write. It would be sad to arrive and find no one at home.

  He felt that after almost five years away he should present the picture of the perfect naval officer: upright, proud and reserved. His new hat was set squarely on his head, his sword held close at his side. As he climbed down, he felt he was acting with great dignity. All of which was lost as his mother and aunt launched themselves at him, smothering him in hugs and kisses and sending his hat into the road. Once again his mother was in tears, telling him his father would have been so proud, that he was so handsome and much too thin.

  As they pushed a hand cart containing his sea chest back to the cottage, his mother insisted on holding his hand, which he snatched away when they arrived to see Beatrice standing in the doorway.

  David’s eyes opened wide as he looked at the woman Beatrice had become, the swell of her breasts and her long brown hair.

  The knowing smile, however, was the same.

  Inside the cottage Tom stood beside his chair. David was pleased to note that he could now look the old man in the eye. The two men looked at each other for a moment and then David put out his hand. Tom took it with a look that might have been relief and both men smiled.

  An hour later David had hoped he had finished telling of his adventures but then his cousins came in and he had to start all over again. All through supper he entertained the family with tales of naval life, whilst the women forced more and more food onto his plate.

  It seemed that every time Beatrice moved round the table her breasts touched him in some accidental way and once when picking something from the floor her hand slid down his leg.

  By the time the family went to bed David was having trouble hiding his arousal from the household and that night’s sleep was a long time in coming.

  The next day David went with his cousins to Harwich quay. Daniel now captained the Ruby Ann with a young boy called Toby and a small dog called Yapp. Daniel laughingly said that Yapp was the better cook.

  Tom still took the Ethel Ada away with Joseph. Both barges were alongside the town quay.

  ‘We get almost all our work from the navy now,’ Joseph told David. ‘That and Squire Morton. You will have to go and see him, you know.’ David nodded.

  In the tavern all the talk was of the war, or the lack of it.

  ‘Damn government’s afraid of the bloody Spanish,’ one old fisherman offered.

  ‘They just don’t want to pay,’ another said.

  For the next three weeks, time seemed to stand still. Once again they went wild fowling. David helped with the barges and twice visited the squire. The old man thirsted for news of his old way of life. On the second occasion he even gave David a glass of port and all the time Beatrice drove David wild.

  She touched him when no one was looking, stared at him all the time and licked her lips whilst lifting her breasts.

  Sometimes she would blow in his ear as she walked past, but when David reached for her she would slap his hands away saying, ‘Now, David, we are cousins.’

  It was almost a relief when a letter came instructing David to report to Portsmouth and there to join the third rate Orion as fourth lieutenant.

  Once again the house became a fever of activity. The women seemed to forget he had done all this before. He was bundled off like a baby with all the usual tears and a long lingering kiss from Beatrice, whilst she ran her hand over the front of his britches.

  In London David stayed at a small inn, in Whitechapel, whilst waiting for the South Coast coach. Once he had moved into his room, he decided to take a walk to stretch his legs after the journey. It was evening time and the streets were beginning to empty. On a corner he was accosted by a young woman who asked if he was looking for company. Her hair was dirty and tangled, the dress she wore was thin and torn, and her face once pretty was white and thin. A scab encrusted her bottom lip but her age was no more than David’s.

  Flustered he said no and hurried on but then stopped and thought about it. Inside his britches his body was screaming yes whilst his lust roared in his ears. He turned back and his hand was immediately taken by the young woman.

  ‘Don’t be nervous, ducky,’ she said and led him into an alleyway and from there into a small room off a refuse-strewn courtyard.

  Going down onto her knees, her hands busy with his clothes, she found his manhood with first hand and then mouth. Pulling him down onto a pile of rags she mounted him sending his mind spinning. His release was like nothing he had ever experienced, the sweat beading his body.

  ‘Was that your first time, lovely?’ she asked. When he nodded she said, ‘I don’t get many pretty young boys like you. Let’s see what else we can do.’

  It was daylight when he collapsed onto his bed at the inn. The landlord was banging on his door almost immediately, saying, ‘If you would eat breakfast before the coach, you must come down now, sir.’

  Then he was in his seat on the coach, with the smell of the woman all over him, sore in all the private parts of his body and fast asleep before the coach turned a wheel.

  CHAPTER 5

  The man was dirty, his smell wafted around the hut almost making John gag; there were holes in his nose and ear lobes and his black hair was greased with animal fat.

  Wearing a loin cloth and ragged blue coat, this man claimed to come from the neck of land John was interested in.

  ‘Tell him about the Spaniards,’ Ben instructed.

  The man smiled showing broken black teeth. ‘Dogs,’ he said in a strange accent. ‘Stinking dogs.’

  ‘He knows that,’ Ben snarled. ‘Tell him about the gold.’

  ‘Loaded on mules. Twenty or thirty mules every six moons, fifty men come with fifty more meeting in jungle.’

  ‘You know this meeting place?’ John asked.

  ‘It’s always the same: where two rivers come as one.’

  ‘What about the natives?’

  ‘My people hate Spanish.’

  ‘So why do they work for them?’ The man said nothing. ‘Is it your people who work for the Spanish?’

  ‘No, my people to north.’

  ‘The people who work for them, do they like the Spanish?’

  ‘No, for money, for drink.’

  ‘Do you like the people who work for them?’

  The man shook his head. ‘Dogs, all dogs.’

  ‘Will you take me to this meeting place for money?’

  The man looked into his eyes. ‘Much money?’ he asked.

  John nodded and said, ‘Much money.’

  Outside Ben said, ‘One hundred men plus the mule drivers and native guides; you would need an army.’

  John turned to him. ‘Do you know of a small Spanish garrison somewhere?’

  ‘Down south,’ Ben replied. ‘Some small islands with a few colonists, ten or fifteen troops. Why?’

  John smiled a cold smile. ‘You fancy going sailing again, old man?’

  Ben nodded. ‘I thought you would never ask.’

  For the next four nights they brought men on board, a few at a time, along with provisions and water barrels. The native, who called himself Teema, built a tent of sorts on t
he fore deck and moved on board with his wife.

  On the fifth day they sailed to find the ketch and once in company moved twenty-five men across to her. John now had forty-five men in the brig and thirty in the ketch; both ships were crowded. He sailed southwest.

  ‘If the weather holds, we should sight the islands in about six days,’ Ben told him. ‘But what do you want with a Spanish island?’

  ‘Not the island,’ John said. ‘The Spaniards.’

  True to Ben’s word they raised an island on the morning of the sixth day but it was uninhabited and it was not until the seventh day that they found what they wanted: a small island with cultivated fields around a village of about twelve houses. They lay off until dark and then quietly closed the coast.

  To the left of the bay was a wooden fort, its gates left open as the unsuspecting population turned in for the night. John’s instructions to his men had been simple.

  ‘You can have the women, do what you want with the men, but I want at least four Spanish soldiers taken alive.’

  Using the four boats, both crews slipped ashore. The sudden rush of savage men took all by surprise and within minutes it was all over and the sports began.

  The women were passed around until all were satisfied and then killed; the men were tortured and then butchered. All except for four soldiers who were carried back to the brig and locked away. The pirates then drank themselves into oblivion.

  The following day the crews searched for valuables and killed any livestock they found, some for food and the rest for fun. They then fired the buildings and returning on board sailed on to the southwest.

  In the fort John had found some coin and a fine Spanish sword, also a sword belt and black shoes that he liked. These he took to his cabin, although he still found it hard to wear shoes.

  The voyage across the Caribbean was uneventful, the wind light at first and then stronger from the northeast as they approached the coast. John stayed well off, keeping clear of any habitation. The Indian had good knowledge of the area. The ships finally anchored in a cove, approximately two miles north of a native village, or so John was informed. They had seen no sign of life as they approached. The cove was surrounded by heavily wooded hills with trees coming down to the water’s edge on two sides. On the third a stream arrived at the sea with small beaches on either side. A headland to the south rose to a high cliff that dominated the bay. All was silent; not even a bird chirped.