By the Knife Page 9

  At Martinique a small French frigate passed close by. All three ships stood to, but the ships passed without incident, the officers raising their hats to each other.

  A week later they arrived at a small island with a farming community and both sloops anchored in the bay. David and his captain landed on the beach with a boat’s crew and ten of David’s boarders. Captain Peterson had told of the farming families living in this out of the way place growing sugar with the help of a few slaves.

  ‘Strange,’ he said as they walked up the beach. ‘They should have seen us arrive.’

  The houses were empty and a search of the outbuildings found nothing, no stores, animals or slaves.

  The houses were in good order but had not been lived in for some time.

  ‘Bring the rest of your men ashore,’ Peterson ordered. ‘I’ll have the Raven land her boarders at the south end of the island. I want this island searched from end to end.’

  After three days of searching they had found no sign of the island’s inhabitants. The Raven’s captain reported that works of some kind had been carried out in a small bay further south, perhaps a ship careening, otherwise nothing.

  With both sloops back in the bay the crews were allowed ashore, to swim or sit under the trees watch by watch, whilst the officers sat in one of the houses and discussed their findings.

  ‘Somebody came here and took the people off, that’s obvious,’ said Swan. ‘Perhaps a merchantman with problems that needed repair before he could proceed, but why did they go?’

  ‘Or they were taken,’ Lieutenant Charles put in. ‘Against their will, but why?’

  ‘If it’s our pirate, he’s said to kill all he meets,’ Swan added. ‘Why take the bodies away?’

  ‘This is a puzzle,’ said Peterson. ‘But now we must admit that our mission has failed; we have searched the islands from Jamaica to Grenada. Further south is all Spanish and the Spanish want him even more than we do. There are three more islands in this chain; we will search them and if he is not there we must return to Antigua.’

  With that the meeting broke up. As they walked back to the beach, Peterson told Swan that if they found nothing at the last three islands he would search a set of reefs to the east.

  ‘They are not big enough to be called islands. I’ll pass through them on the way back,’ he said. ‘Just to say we have looked everywhere. After that we will meet back at Antigua.’

  They shook hands and boarded the boats.

  Five days later the islands had proved deserted with no sign of ships or life and the Trojan sailed east for the reefs.

  In fact, there were three tiny islands, surrounded by reef. The only safe approach was from the west and this meant working through a narrow passage against the prevailing wind.

  On the quarter deck the captain turned to David. ‘I will anchor,’ he said. ‘Take the cutter round to the other side of the islands. It’s not worth wasting too much time here.’

  The three islands were, in fact, large rocks reaching high out of the water. From the west they folded together to look like one tall island.

  As David rounded the northern end he was surprised to see a ship anchored close into the rocks. She was a merchantman, English by her build and looked deserted.

  The cutter, which was crowded with its crew plus David’s twenty boarders, manoeuvred alongside. The midshipman who commanded the boat hailed the ship but received no reply.

  David drew his sword. ‘Follow me,’ he ordered and climbed into the main chains.

  He was quickly overtaken by his boarders and as they climbed over the rail there was a great shout and some thirty-odd men rushed at them. All was confusion as David’s men, still trying to board, were attacked by John Carter and his pirate crew

  David was halfway over the rail when a black man swinging a huge axe rushed at him.

  Throwing himself to one side David lunged at the man’s stomach with his sword, driving it in until it hit bone. The sword was snatched from his hand as the man sprang back, dropping the axe to the deck. David drew his pistol and fired at a pirate struggling with a seaman.

  Black man and sword had vanished into the melee so David grabbed the axe from the deck and swinging it from side to side ran at the men in front of him. It struck a man with a pigtail in the side and was snatched from his hands; he found himself once again unarmed.

  As he looked round for a weapon he was hit in the back and thrown to the deck, hitting his chin on the planking. A weight landed on his back and he was rolled over. He found himself looking into the face of a man about his own age with shoulder-length, blue-black hair. In an instant the man had passed a knife under his arm and cut him through his right breast and across his ribs to the breast bone.

  David had the fleeting impression of the man smiling as he cut him again.

  At that moment one of the Orion’s seamen kicked the pirate hard in the chest and swung a cutlass at his head. Carter rolled to one side and quick as a cat leapt to his feet. The seaman kept up his attack and the two disappeared from David’s view.

  It took David a second to fully understand what had happened. Blood began to pour down his chest and as the initial shock wore off, pain ran up and down his side. His head began to swim. He had tried to get up from the deck but now slumped back down in a swoon.

  Something was clawing at his chest. He tried to fight it off but was pinned down, unable to move arms or legs. As he opened his mouth to scream, something was forced between his teeth. Opening his eyes David became fully conscious to find the Trojan’s surgeon, Mr. Gordon, kneeling beside him.

  ‘Try to stay still, Lieutenant. This won’t take much longer,’ he said. The surgeon looked at the men holding David down. ‘Get some rum into him and stop him moving about.’

  Slowly Gordon worked his sail maker’s needle and cat gut across David’s chest, stitching the two long wounds together. David slid back into unconsciousness.

  *

  ‘But he will live?’ Captain Peterson demanded.

  ‘He will,’ Gordon replied. ‘If the wounds do not fester and if he takes no fever. He has forty inches of stitching.’

  Peterson walked over to his desk and sat down. ‘I blame myself,’ he said. ‘I had made up my mind that the damned pirate was not here.’

  ‘You sent the cutter after them,’ Gordon spoke softly, ‘and that saved the day.’

  ‘The day was not saved, Mr. Gordon; six men are dead, eight more under your care. A promising young officer is fighting for his life and the damned pirate escaped.’ Peterson banged his fist on the desk. ‘The damned brig was sitting outside the reef as large as life whilst I lay on the opposite side of the island like a fool.’

  *

  David’s head throbbed and there was a constant roaring in his ears. He seemed not to sleep but felt never to be fully awake. Sweat ran into his eyes. Midshipman Swale wiped his forehead with a damp rag.

  ‘They lay for us, David,’ he said. ‘They must have known we were searching for them so they set a trap. The merchantman lay inside the reef with most of the pirates hidden on board and the brig outside the reef waiting to take them off. If Captain Peterson had not sent the second boat after us we would all be dead, even then it was close. The captain is going back to Antigua,’ he continued. ‘You are to be put ashore in a hospital. I’m sure you will be fine.’

  When they arrived in Falmouth Harbour David’s fever was raging, but the surgeon decided that they had to move him.

  ‘Wrap him up warm,’ he said. ‘His best chance is ashore.’

  When David awoke he was in a small room with white plastered walls. He lay naked on a cot under a cotton sheet, all soaked in sweat. His sea chest and a foul-smelling pot were the only other things in the room. He sank once more into unconsciousness.

  When he next awoke the sun shone through the open door, making his eyes ache. His tongue seemed stuck to his upper mouth and he had a raging thirst.

  All was silent and he drifted back to sleep.

/>   The pirate leaned over him, black clothes, long black hair, smiling with white flashing teeth. He lifted the knife and started cutting. David could not move. At last he managed to scream and awoke to find a young black woman kneeling beside his cot. She held a beaker to his mouth and David gulped the water down, almost choking in his haste. He immediately fell back to sleep.

  The next time he regained his senses it was at the touch of a man probing his chest; his bandages had been removed. David recognized him as the Orion’s surgeon.

  ‘You are healing well and your fever has broken, Mr. Fletcher.’ The man’s tone was brisk. ‘You are a lucky man.’ He turned for the door. ‘I’ll remove the stitches in six or seven days.’

  Once he had gone, to David’s embarrassment, the black girl took away the sheet and started wiping his naked body with a wet rag. She spoke for the first time.

  ‘I’ll bring you broth.’

  ‘Thank you,’ David croaked, ‘but first some more water.’

  The next day two seamen arrived with another cot and straw mattress; they lifted David onto his new bed and then left with the old one.

  When David had to urinate he found he was too weak to get up and to his horror the young girl took his penis in her hand and held it over the pot. She fed him, cleaned him and held his hand when the surgeon pulled out the stitches.

  As the days went on David’s appetite returned and the pain in his chest became an itching.

  He began to get up and take a few steps around the room, although he still had dizzy spells. At last the girl gave him some britches and he regained some of his dignity and only just in time. As his health recovered, his lower body began to show its interest in his young nurse.

  David’s walks became longer. He toured the dockyard and sat in the sun. The muscles in his chest were tight and stiff, moving his right arm was difficult and he had a fear of working his arm as if the scars would fly open under too much pressure.

  One morning an aide from the port admiral’s office took him to see Mr. Pierce, the flag lieutenant, who asked after his progress and hinted that it was time for him to return to duty.

  Perhaps he could work in the dockyard office until his ship returned. David agreed and would come the next day.

  ‘Do you swim, Mr. Fletcher?’ Pierce asked as he turned to go.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ David replied.

  ‘Then swim; it will help your recovery.’

  So that evening David stripped to his britches and swam from the little beach by the dockyard wall. At first, it was awkward, but slowly his muscles began to loosen up. Whilst resting in the shallows, David looked up to see his nurse watching him.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

  She smiled and a little shyly answered, ‘Elle.’

  As David looked up at her standing in the evening sunlight she seemed almost radiant, her skin shone with health and her body looked firm and rounded.

  ‘I want to thank you for your help whilst I was ill,’ he said. Her smile broadened and modestly looking down at the beach she turned and walked away without another word.

  That night as David lay naked in his hot, dark room, the door silently opened and Elle slowly lowered her body onto his, sending shockwaves through him. They made love quickly and then slowly until she slipped away as silently as she had come.

  From then on David’s life became routine: he swam morning and evening, worked each day at the dockyard office, copying orders and accounts, and each night Elle came to his room. They could not seem to get enough of each other’s body. She knew how to send him into ecstasy and when she left he was exhausted and bathed in sweat.

  After three weeks of constant exercise David once again began practising with the sword. A master’s mate from a frigate in the dockyard was happy to work with him and two months after getting up from his sick bed David felt back on form, with only the occasional twinge from his chest muscles to remind him of his injuries.

  His fellow workers now only rarely asked to see his scars.

  The nightly dreams of a black-dressed pirate continued, however; the knife was always cutting and David unable to move. He told nobody of these dreams.

  Two and a half months after starting work in the dockyard David looked up from his desk to see Captain Peterson standing in the doorway.

  ‘Time to come back to work, Mr. Fletcher,’ he said.

  CHAPTER 7

  John Carter stood over Ben’s body and looked round at his crew. All the boyish charm he had used to great effect throughout his young life had gone, his handsome face now twisted with the madness within. Of the men who had sailed with him from Jamaica only thirty-four remained and with the five surviving slaves he had thirty-nine men at his disposal.

  ‘Set sail,’ he ordered. ‘We go down the island; the brig will follow.’ He kicked Ben’s body. ‘Throw that over the side.’

  They kept well to seaward, out of sight of the tallest islands, until they were on the latitude of what they called the Delft Island; they then turned west.

  As they approached the island the masthead lookout sighted a sail to leeward. John immediately tacked away from the land and climbed aloft with a spy glass.

  He watched the distant sail outlined against the land; again it was a sloop of war.

  In his mind John reasoned that if this sloop was looking for him it would slowly search each island but only from seaward; they would not climb the hills inland of the islands.

  I’ll land some men, he decided. They can watch and report what’s happening from a hilltop.

  Once well out of the sloop’s sight John turned south once more, cramming on sail to get ahead of the warship. At Farmer’s Island Carter landed four men with instructions to climb the highest hill and watch what happened when the sloop arrived. John then sailed out of sight of land.

  Whilst they waited, the pirates looked through the ship’s cargo; it was mainly cotton in bales, barrels of malaises and cane sugar. Not much to excite a pirate. They found, however, salted meats in plenty. She also had a good store of powder and other useful equipment, which they transferred to the brig.

  At midnight ten days later Carter approached the land once more; the four men waited on the beach. Once they were on board, the ship was again put over the horizon.

  ‘Two sloops, Captain,’ one man reported. ‘They come from both sides of the island and meet on the east coast.’

  ‘They are crammed with men,’ another said. ‘More than a normal sloop’s crew. They searched most of the island.’

  ‘Where did they go?’ John asked.

  ‘South, Captain, to the next island.’

  So, John mused. They look for something special; no, they look for a special ship that they mean to catch between the two sloops. The extra crews are for boarding. He grinned. They look for us. Or for our gold, he thought.

  He looked at the Indian. ‘The Spanish control the islands to the far south, don’t they?’ The man nodded. ‘So when they run out of friendly islands, what will they do? They could research the islands on the way back or go straight back to Antigua.’ The Indian said nothing. ‘Their captains will be sure they know we are not here,’ John continued. ‘So if we are hidden, they will pass by.’

  ‘What if they want water or just a second look?’ the Indian asked.

  ‘Then we go to where there is no water. Make sail.’

  The mass of reef around the three small islands, which were in truth large rocks, was a natural death trap for ships. A fourth island lay further to the east in clear water and looked, for all the world, like a ship on the horizon.

  An idea had formed in John Carter’s mind.

  They transferred any remaining provisions to the brig and then worked the merchantman in behind the islands, no easy task against the prevailing wind. No navy captain will waste time bringing his ship in here, John reasoned. At most he will send a longboat with some of his boarders. He ensured that the ship’s boats could pass the reef and then sent the brig to hide behind the
eastern island.

  ‘If he sails past to the east,’ the Indian said, ‘he will see us.’

  ‘That will take him out of his way,’ John snapped.

  ‘He already has travelled east of his course to Antigua. No, he will lie in the lee of the reef and send in a boat.’

  ‘If he comes here,’ John snarled, ‘we will see some English blood.’

  For six days nothing happened and all began to think perhaps the English ships had gone past, but on the seventh day the lookout on the tallest island sighted a sail to the west.

  By prearranged signal the brig was warned to be ready as they watched the ship’s slow approach.

  By midday the worst was known: she was an English sloop of war.

  From the lookout John watched her heave to in the lee of the reef and lower a boat.

  ‘Back to the ship,’ he ordered and they scrambled down to the beach. Once on board he had all his men lie down on the deck. ‘No one moves until I do,’ he hissed. They listened to the boat’s approach and then a young voice hailed the ship. All held their breaths as the boat bumped alongside. Moments later a row of heads appeared at the ship’s rail and John leapt up screaming, ‘Now take them.’

  The pirate crew fell upon the unsuspecting boarders, cutting and stabbing with their blades, bent on total massacre. The English seamen were hard men, but half their numbers were down before they fought their way onto the deck.

  As John dispatched one seaman, the pirate next to him was struck in the side with an axe. Turning, John saw a young officer with golden hair, momentarily unarmed, looking round for a weapon.

  He kicked the boy with all his weight and then leapt onto his back as he fell. Rolling the boy over he cut a long gash across his chest with his knife and then, with a look of wild excitement on his face, he cut him again. As he drew back for a third cut, a seaman kicked him hard in the chest and swung a cutlass at his head. Rolling clear of the boy, John sprang to his feet and jumped back to avoid the cutlass. The seaman pressed forward, forcing John to retreat. He drove his cutlass at the pirate’s stomach, but John fended it to one side with his sword and stabbed the man in the throat with his knife.