PIRATE: Privateer (29 page)

Before first light he was already perched high on the topmost main spar, watching the dawn slowly seep up from the eastern horizon, the sea turning from black to darkest indigo. He faced aft,
straining his eyes for a glimpse of the
Sainte Rose
. To his disappointment it seemed that the frigate was no longer there. Then, as the light strengthened, he saw her hull down to the
south-west. He felt a surge of relief. De Graff must have suspected that the
Speedy Return
could change course in the night, or his lookouts had seen the pink alter direction. He had kept
his options open, shadowing the probable route of the pink, but keeping slightly to one side just in case he was in error, careful not to commit himself entirely.

For some time Hector continued to scrutinize the distant vessel. After a while he saw the
Sainte Rose
spread more sail and begin heading towards the pink, resuming the direct chase. It
was an unhurried, deliberate manoeuvre, and it reassured him. He climbed down the shrouds and regained the deck.

‘De Graff knows that the Vipers lie ahead,’ he told Bartaboa, who was waiting beside the helm.

‘What makes you say that?’ asked the sailing master.

‘Because he took his time in altering course to follow us. He thinks the
Speedy Return
is headed into a dead end and when we reach the Vipers we will either have to turn and fight
or we run our ship on the reef. He sees no need for haste.’

‘What are your orders?’ asked the sailing master.

‘The same as yesterday. Draw him on. I want him close, yet not so near that his cannon disable us before we run the Vipers.’

‘How soon will that be?’

It was a question that Hector could not answer with certainty. From the masthead there had been no sign of the reefs, and he had no way of establishing just how far eastward the pink had sailed
in the night. The angle of the sun would tell him how far north or south he might be, but there was no known means of measuring a position east or west. He could only make an educated guess by
calculating the course he had sailed since leaving Providencia and the pink’s speed through the water. But this took no account of the currents and the amount of sideways drift.

He answered with more confidence than he felt. ‘Within three hours we should be in sight of two small islands at the southern edge of the reefs. I will use them as my marker.’

Bartaboa nodded. ‘I know them. Waterless places, the haunts of seabirds. You can go ashore to gather their eggs when the tide is right.’

His mention of the tides reminded Hector how easily his plan could go wrong. If it was low water when the
Speedy Return
reached the Vipers the channels he hoped to use might be
impassable. At high tide there could be local eddies and currents so powerful that they would sweep his vessel on to the coral.

Hector put the worry out of his mind. ‘Hold this course while I go down and prepare a copy of the pilot chart for Dan.’

He was adding the final details to the sketch when the cry came that land lay ahead. He hurried up on deck to find Dan waiting for him.

‘It’s the same pair of islands where we anchored when we were fishing the wreck of the galleon. I’m sure of it!’ he said to Hector.

Hector handed the sketch map to his friend. ‘I’ve marked our channel, Dan. In places it’s not more than ten paces wide, and there’s an awkward dogleg halfway along. Get
us to the entrance. After that, use your eyes to con us through. We’ll watch for your signals.’

Without a word, the Miskito took the sheet of paper. Moments later he was climbing the shrouds.

At the helm Bartaboa was still uneasy. ‘Hector, de Graff’s been within cannon range for some time. Yet he’s not pressing the chase. He’s slowed his ship to match our
speed.’

Hector studied the pursuing frigate. The
Sainte Rose
appeared alarmingly close. But he could see that de Graff had reduced sail. ‘He hopes that we are ignorant enough to run
ourselves aground, do his work for him.’ He cupped his hands around his mouth and called up to Dan. ‘Can you see the reefs yet?’

‘White water, two miles ahead!’

Hector swung round to face Bartaboa. ‘Put her head to wind. Act as if we’ve been taken by surprise, and make a mess of it!’

The sailing master threw his weight on the tiller. The bow swung, the sails began to tremble and sag. Then the wind was from their wrong side and they flapped and clattered in noisy confusion.
Sheets and braces went slack, and then creaked and twanged in protest as they came taut at the wrong angle. The blocks slammed and rattled. The
Speedy Return
stopped head to the wind, like a
drunk stumbling into a door jamb. Bartaboa timed the recovery to perfection. He waited as the pink wallowed and lurched, then he heaved back on the tiller just in time for the pink to swing round
on her previous course and begin to move again.

Aboard the pursuing frigate it must have appeared as if the helmsman on the
Speedy Return
had suddenly seen the reefs, and clumsily tried to turn away from them before his captain had
countermanded the manoeuvre.

De Graff pounced. Hector saw extra sails break out on the frigate and she gathered speed, racing down on her victim. He looked ahead over the bows of the pink. As if on cue, the Vipers were
showing. Waves burst in a broken arc ahead of the little vessel. Here and there patches of white foam swirled over coral outcrops. In the gaps the sea was lifting in a succession of low, powerful
swells as it forced its way across submerged dangers. To the north, as far as the eye could see, an expanse of broken water gave warning that an underwater barrier of rock and sand and boulders
extended across the vessel’s track. It was a sight to appal any mariner.

He heard a shout from Dan. The Miskito was pointing urgently, his arm rigid, the hand still holding the scrap of paper that was his chart. He must have seen the entrance to the channel.

‘Not too fast!’ Hector hissed at Bartaboa. ‘We must keep de Graff on tenterhooks.’ Bartaboa called something to his Coromantee sailors. One of them grinned with pleasure
as he and a companion eased out a sheet. Its sail spilled a little wind, barely enough to be noticed. But the
Speedy Return
slowed fractionally.

Another quick look aft, and Hector saw that the
Sainte Rose
was directly behind them now, less than a musket shot away, closing in for the kill. The frigate’s entire crew were on
deck, gazing at their victim, waiting for the
Speedy Return
either to turn and be boarded, or to smash on to the reefs. De Graff himself was instantly recognizable, a tall figure in blue and
white, standing by himself at the windward rail.

‘Another two cables!’ Dan shouted down. ‘Then hard to starboard.’

Hector felt the swooping change as the
Speedy Return
passed over the hidden outer fringe of the reef. The hull rose and then dropped swiftly as a gathering swell passed beneath her keel.
Now there was no time to look back at the frigate. He concentrated on what lay ahead. The colour of the sea had changed. Once a pure bright blue, it had turned insipid beige. They were running over
sandy shallows. All of a sudden a darker patch flashed by to starboard, clearly visible – a large coral head, its jagged crest inches below the surface of the sea. It would punch a hole into
the hull of any ship that ran on to it at speed. In the next few moments more coral heads appeared on either hand. The
Speedy Return
was thrusting headlong into the coral maze, seeking her
hidden, crooked path.

He heard Bartaboa let out an oath, and one of the Coromantees ran past him and flung his weight on the tiller to assist. The pink heeled and shot off on a new course. Looking up at Dan, Hector
saw that the Miskito was beckoning, indicating a change of direction. Out of the corner of his eye Hector noticed a dark patch in the water beside the ship. At first he thought it was more coral,
but the black shape was keeping pace with the ship, racing alongside her. It was her shadow on the sea floor. The water was less than a fathom deep.

The pink dashed onward, deep among the breakers. White water tossed and tumbled on either side. Both helmsmen kept their eyes fixed on Dan at the masthead.

The Miskito pointed another change of direction, and the pink heeled as the rudder came over again. Bartaboa was swearing steadily in a low voice. Hector found himself gripping the rail
fiercely, his knuckles white. One of the Coromantee sailors, standing by the starboard main brace, flashed him a grin of pure delight as he enjoyed the madcap ride.

‘De Graff’s decided to follow you,’ said a calm voice. Hector had forgotten all about Anne-Marie Kergonan. She was standing close to the stern, dressed in a white shirt and a
dark brown dress, her hair held back by a crimson and white scarf. She seemed utterly composed, staring aft. Hector swung round to follow her gaze.

It was true. The
Sainte Rose
was also entering the area of white water. De Graff must have grasped that the
Speedy Return
knew of a channel through the Vipers and was using it to
slip through his fingers. He was relying on staying directly in his quarry’s wake. But he was taking a terrible risk.

‘He’s more of a fool than I thought,’ murmured Anne-Marie to herself, just loud enough for Hector to overhear.

Next came an awful thump followed by a grinding sound as the hull of the pink scraped against coral. Hector’s heart leapt into his mouth. He waited for the sickening crash as the vessel
came to a halt, gashed open by the reef. But there was only a brief tremor through the hull, the speed scarcely dropped, and then she had slithered past the obstacle and was moving freely
again.

‘Good Dutch shipbuilding,’ joked Bartaboa, in an attempt to relieve the tension. But his face remained taut with apprehension.

‘How much farther to go?’ Hector yelled up to Dan.

‘Less than two cables. Then we’re through the worst.’

Hector allowed himself a brief moment of hope. Perhaps the
Speedy Return
would wriggle through the reefs with only a few feet of planking scratched and gouged by the coral. But then what?
If de Graff managed to follow the same channel, the pursuit would resume. This time there would be no escape. As soon as they were back on the open sea, the frigate was sure to overtake the smaller
vessel. He could picture the outcome: half a dozen round shot to disable the pink, then de Graff’s ship alongside and grappled fast, his men, vastly superior in numbers, dropping on to the
deck of their quarry to take possession. Any resistance would be futile. Hector decided that when that moment came, he would order Dan, Jezreel and the others to surrender. He would accept sole
responsibility for enraging de Graff, and hope the filibustier would deal leniently with the rest of them.

A full-throated howl interrupted his thoughts. One of the Coromantees, the same man who had grinned at him when easing out the main sheet, was bellowing with glee. Head thrown back, he was doing
a shuffling dance on deck, clicking his fingers and crowing with delight.

Hector looked to see the reason. The
Sainte Rose
was at a dead stop, her bow at a strange upward angle, her hull canted over to one side. Her foremast had carried away and toppled
forward. Rigging and sails lay jumbled across the foredeck. A snapped main topmast hung suspended like a broken wing. Her deck was alive with men trying to bring the damage under control.

‘She’s run on the reef!’ Bartaboa burst out, his voice exultant. ‘They’ll not get her off in a hurry.’ He gesticulated excitedly to his crew. ‘Throw off
the sheets! No hurry now.’ Then he remembered where he was, and relayed his orders in their language.

The crew of the
Speedy Return
scrambled to obey their instructions as Hector took in the scope of the disaster that had overtaken de Graff. The
Sainte Rose
was solidly aground. The
force of the impact had carried her forward for half her length, the hull sliding up on the coral outcrop. De Graff was helpless.

Hector thought quickly. ‘The tide? How’s it making?’ he demanded of Bartaboa.

The sailing master was still shouting orders. He broke off long enough to take a look at the two small islands before answering, ‘Two hours past high water is my guess.’

Hector stepped across to where the Reverend Watson had been observing events. ‘Can your sakers reach that far?’ he asked.

Watson nodded. ‘Easily.’

Hector turned back to Bartaboa. ‘Bring her head to wind. We anchor here.’

The sailing master stared back at him in surprise. ‘Why don’t we sail on for Port Royal and leave de Graff and his men to their fate?’

‘I have a debt to collect,’ Hector told him.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Bartaboa ordered his men to brail up the sails and drop anchor. The
Speedy Return
drifted to a halt little more than a hundred paces from the spot where the
Morvaut
had fished for the Spanish wreck.

Dan came sliding down the backstay and dropped on deck. ‘Be careful, Hector. De Graff’s more dangerous than a wounded jaguar. He’s got at least a hundred men on that frigate.
That’s more than we could handle if they get too close.’

‘I don’t plan on allowing that to happen,’ said Hector. He turned to the Reverend Watson. ‘If I can bring one of your guns to bear, can you put a round shot into the
frigate for me?’

‘With pleasure and as often as you like!’ the parson answered, his eyes sparkling.

It took half an hour to attach a spring to the anchor cable and haul in so that the pink swung broadside on to the frigate. Meanwhile from the
Sainte Rose
there was the distant thump of
axes followed by a number of heavy splashes as de Graff’s men cut away the fallen spars and rigging, then heaved some of their guns overboard, trying to lighten the ship. Then they lowered
their longboat, and a double team of oarsmen attempted to haul the ship off the coral. But the frigate stayed, stuck fast.

‘Time to attract their attention,’ observed the parson. With Jezreel’s help he had loaded one of the pink’s sakers and spent several minutes aiming the gun, making minute
adjustments until he was satisfied. ‘Here you are, captain,’ he said to Hector, handing him a length of lit matchcord. ‘You brought us through the Vipers, so you should do the
honours.’