The World Duology (World Odyssey / Fiji: A Novel) (16 page)

26

Bata
, Equatorial Guinea, 1848

O
ne week after the pirate attack on
Minstrel
in the Bay of Guinea, the brigantine and her survivors finally reached the safety of the port city of Bata, in the African nation of Equatorial Guinea. There, Captain Mathers, who had mercifully remained sober since the violent incident, took stock of casualties.

Seven of Minstrel’s men had been killed, including three crew and four passengers, and a further
eight wounded. All those involved in the violence had cuts and bruises at the very least.

For
Captain Mathers, who had already lost a rigger overboard early in the voyage, the further loss of crew would require him to recruit replacement crewmembers from amongst the out-of-work seamen and various riffraff known to frequent Bata. Mathers was in no doubt he’d have his work cut out recruiting suitable replacements. The city had become a magnet for adventure-seekers, treasure and bounty hunters, former slave traders and other equally colorful individuals.

Among
Minstrel’s
wounded was Drake Senior who, at this moment, was fighting for his life in the stateroom he shared with Susannah. His chances of survival hadn’t been helped by the fact the brigantine had frustratingly remained becalmed for a further two days after the attack, thereby delaying her arrival at Bata.

None aboard
Minstrel
was more frustrated than Susannah. She had been toiling day and night, without rest, caring for her father. She’d been assisted, in her words,
by an angel
. That angel was one Nessie Finch, a middle-aged Englishwoman who was an experienced nurse. Miss Finch’s expert attention had kept Drake Senior alive over the long days and nights following the attack.

The clergyman’s injuries were severe. His attacker’s sword had left a diagonal wound across his abdomen so deep it had pierced his lower intestine. In addition to the trauma caused by the cut, he’d lost a lot of blood. Miss Finch had stemmed the blood loss and stitched the wound, but infection had set in.

As
Minstrel
berthed alongside the main wharf in Bata, Miss Finch turned to Susannah. “We must get him to the hospital immediately,” she urged. “I have done all I can for him.”

“Yes
, Mister Kemp has already sent word,” Susannah advised, “and a carriage is standing by to transport papa to the hospital.” The hospital she spoke of was a former British infirmary – a remnant of Britain’s official presence here up to five years earlier. For fifteen years, Britain had occupied bases in Bata and on an offshore island to combat the slave trade that had thrived in this region.

As soon as
Minstrel
berthed, crewmembers carried Drake Senior above deck and onto the wharf where the waiting carriage transported him the two miles to the hospital. Susannah, Miss Finch and Kemp accompanied the patient.

Susannah was desperately worried. Her father seemed to be in a coma and w
as burning up with a fever. Miss Finch didn’t like the clergyman’s chances of survival, but said nothing. Kemp didn’t like Drake Senior’s chances either. He’d seen similar battle wounds, and he knew the signs to look for when death was approaching, but he, too, said nothing.

The young Englishwoman was too preoccupied watching over her father to observe her new surroundings. She
left that to her companions who were intrigued by the colorful mix of nationalities on Bata’s streets. While Bantu was the predominant race, other native races were evident – some light-skinned, some dark. There was no sign of the original pygmies who had populated this region, but the results of European unions could be seen on every street corner. Many of these were of Spanish or Portuguese descent, and Spanish was the official language.

An unseasonal downpour drenched eve
ryone not beneath some form of shelter, but no-one seemed to notice it even if the official wet season had ended almost three months earlier. They’d long-since learned to live with the torrential tropical downpours that seemingly arrived out of the blue and went away just as quickly every year. The unseasonal rain added to the humidity, and left streets and buildings steaming in the relentless heat.

Susannah and Miss Kemp were unaware that, despite the country’s name, no part of Equatorial Guinea was located on the equator. In fact, it lay north of the equator. Not that they’d have noticed any difference: to these fair English damsels, the heat felt decidedly tropical.

On arrival at the hospital, the visitors were pleasantly surprised to find several English doctors and nurses on the hospital’s staff. Kemp was able to pull some strings and secure a private room for Drake Senior.

After the
wounded clergyman had been officially admitted, Miss Finch and Kemp bade Susannah farewell and returned to the brigantine. They’d tried to persuade her to return with them, but she’d insisted on remaining at her father’s bedside. Before leaving, Kemp assured Susannah that
Minstrel
wouldn’t depart Bata until her father was well enough to travel. Susannah was mightily relieved to hear that.

As soon as the pair had departed, Susannah settled into a bedside chair, pulled her trusty diary from her ove
rnight bag and prepared to start writing. She had a lot of writing to do as this was the first free time she’d had since the pirate attack.

May 27
th
, 1848

Our voyage aboard Minstrel
has gone from bad to worse. After being becalmed in the Gulf of Guinea for what seemed like a month, but was in fact one week, we were attacked by pirates. Our brave menfolk fought them off, but we lost seven good souls in the process. Some were married with children. I do feel so for their families.

Poor papa suffered
a grave sword wound to his abdomen. My dear friend Miss Finch has worked tirelessly day and night to keep him alive thus far. I call her my angel. Miss Finch has been a great comfort to all the wounded and her nursing experience has been well received by all who have needed care. Helping her has given me at least a basic understanding of nursing and taught me some rudimentary nursing skills, which no doubt will stand me in good stead.

Now that papa is in
hospital in Bata, there is nothing more we can do for him. His future is in the doctors’ hands, and in God’s.

After the
attack, there was much conjecture over where the ruffians came from. The first mate thought they may have come from the Barbary Coast, but the captain thought they were too far south to hail from that notorious coastline.

There was conjecture also over the whereabouts of the escaped felon – for I am sure that is what he is – John Donovan
during the attack. One of the crew accused him of hiding below deck. The crewman suffered a black eye as a result of that accusation and Mr Donovan was incarcerated in the hold for the second time on this voyage. We shall never know if he did hide, but it is interesting that he is the only man on board who did not suffer so much as a single scratch.

I hope never to witness as much sorrow as I ha
ve in the past week. The burial of so many at sea was a mournful thing indeed. It fell upon Harold Simpson, who acquitted himself so well by all accounts during the violence, to officiate at the burials. He did us a great service, bless him. These last few days, Minstrel has been as quiet and as gloomy as a morgue – for that is what she was for a while.

Suddenly
the relentless heat and the stench of bilgewater seem such trifling matters when compared to the losses suffered by others. I pray for papa’s speedy recovery.

#

One week later, Drake Senior made a recovery the doctors described as nothing short of a miracle. His fever had abated within two days of his being admi
tted to hospital. The infection had disappeared from his system three days later and, though still very weak, his wound was healing nicely. His dramatic recovery meant the brigantine could depart Bata not too far behind schedule. The short delay was actually welcomed by Kemp as it enabled him to comfortably attend to all official business engagements the British Army had arranged for him in the city.

Susannah was delighted and relieved at her father’s speedy recovery. Despite what Kemp had promised, she’d had visions of
Minstrel
departing Bata while Drake Senior rotted away in hospital.

Captain Mathers had made good use of the enforced layover in port by recruiting replacements for the four crewmembers he’d lost. More correctly, his first mate Fred Paxton recruited the replacements. Mathers had quickly fallen back into his familiar ways and ensconced himself in his cabin with several bottles of his favourite whisky. He’d rarely been seen outside his cabin in the past four days, and then it was only to grab a breath of fresh air before disappearing inside again.

It was late afternoon when Drake Senior and Susannah arrived by carriage at the wharf. Susannah helped her father gingerly disembark from the carriage then assisted him onto
Minstrel’s
deck. Their arrival coincided with the first mate briefing the newly recruited crewmembers on their duties.

Of the four crewmembers Paxton had hired, only three had shown up. One of them, a young, golden-haired English lad who had been taken on as a rigger, caught Susannah’s eye. The two exchanged a glance as Susannah escorted Drake Senior slowly along the deck. Susannah couldn’t resist a glance back at him as she led her father below deck. The rigger flashed a smile her way and she felt her heart skip a beat.

As father and daughter shuffled slowly toward their stateroom, Susannah lectured him on what he could and could not do. “Now papa, Miss Finch said you must remain in bed, or you could have a relapse.”

“Y
es, dear,” Drake Senior said patiently.

“And Miss Finch said you must keep your fluid intake up. Furthermore, you really must try to eat.”

“Let me guess who said that,” Drake Senior chuckled. “Miss Finch?”

Susannah smiled despite herself. Though her father made jokes about Miss Finch, she knew he held her in the highest regard – as he should. After all, she’d saved his life. “Yes, it was Miss Finch as a matter of fact. And she speaks a lot of sense does Miss Finch.”

“Yes dear.”

#

The shadows were lengthening when
Minstrel
sailed out of the port. Ahead of her, all going well, was a three-week journey to the next port of call, Cape Town, in Cape Colony. There,
Minstrel’s
passengers and crew would enjoy a ten-day stopover in preparation for the dangerous leg that would see them sail through the Roaring Forties to Van Diemen’s Land, south of New South Wales, before crossing the Tasman Sea to New Zealand.

#

After dinner that evening, Susannah ventured out on deck alone. She stood at the port-side rail watching Africa’s west coast pass by as
Minstrel
sailed ever south. The rugged coastline slowly became indistinguishable from the sky as darkness fell.

A noise behind her alerted Susannah that she wasn’t alone. She turned to see the Irish troublemaker John Donovan leering at her.

“Ah, so you got me message,” Donovan said mischievously.

“What message?” Susannah hadn’t a clue what he was talking about.

Donovan suddenly grabbed her. “That we meet here in private.” Laughing, he tried to kiss her.

Susannah slapped his face. This only served to galvanize the Irishman who forcibly kissed her.

Before Donovan could have his way with Susannah, the golden-haired rigger she’d seen earlier appeared from nowhere. He pulled Donovan off her. “Leave the lady alone!” he said threateningly.

Donovan threw a punch, which the rigger easily avoided.

The rigger flashed a disarming smile at Donovan. “Are you sure you want to be doing that now?”

The Irishman hesitated, momentarily confused by the handsome young man who had pushed in where he wasn’t wanted
and had interposed himself between him and the young woman he lusted after.

Susannah could see Donovan desperately wanted to maintain his macho reputation, but he also valued his physical wellbeing. There was something about the rigger that Susannah sensed
was dangerous, and her antagonist sensed it too.

“I’ll see you later,” Donovan promised the pair before slinking off into the night.

Susannah watched him go. She turned back to thank her rescuer, but he’d returned to work and was already half way up the near mast. He stopped climbing when he reached the first cross-spar, and looked down at Susannah.

“Thank you, kind sir!” she called out to him.

The rigger waved at her then resumed climbing. Susannah watched him for as long as she thought proper then retired below deck for the night.

Try as she may, she couldn’t get the rigger out of her mind. He was the first man she’d really been attracted to since she’d lost her first love, chimneysweep Blake Dugan, back in Kensington.