Powder Monkey (22 page)

Underneath the after platform was a hatchway leading down to the fish room. The guard must have caught a whiff of fish as he stood there. He pulled the hatch up and peered down. ‘Ah ha!' we heard him say, and he gingerly lowered himself down into the store. Richard and I needed no second bidding. We crept as quickly as silence would allow down the stairway to the hold, and into the dark murky flood water.

The water was not as cold as I'd expected it to be. If it had been freezing, I doubt whether Richard and I could have slipped gently into it without shivering in great convulsions. We were up to our necks when we heard the guard clamber out of the fish-room hatchway. Once out of our depth we cast off into the gloom, silent as swans towards the dim light at the far end of the ship. Here would be the next sentry, and only God knew how we would get past him.

The water was quite the most disgusting thing I have
ever lowered my body into, and I was relieved it was so dark in the hold that I could not really see what was both floating and swimming past me. I knew there were rats down there, and I did see some dark shapes scurry along the upper storage tiers, and drop into the water. But before it had flooded, the hold was also full of rubbish. Part of its notorious smell came from the turds lone sailors working down there would leave to avoid a trip to the heads in foul weather. Still, at least the scurrying and splashing of the rats might allow us some leeway with the guards when we made the occasional sound.

Moving so slowly, it took us several minutes to reach the bow of the
Miranda
. We spotted the other sentry propping up a rail on the forward platform long before we reached it. He was an amiable-looking fellow. Young but quite stout, and he too carried a musket with a bayonet. On the far side, not more than five feet away from where he stood, was the gunners' storeroom. Richard and I reached the stairway to the platform, and stopped. We looked at each other and raised our eyebrows as if to say, ‘What the hell do we do now?'

Richard mouthed ‘Wait?' and I nodded assent. Wait we did, until the water began to chill the very marrow of our bones. I started to shiver so much I began to worry that the ripples I was making were bound to give us away.

Then after what seemed like an eternity, a voice called down. ‘Hola! Alejandro!' The man looked up. There followed a jovial and lively conversation. I guessed that his friends were tempting him to come up to the gun deck for a break and a drink. He shrugged and kept refusing. ‘Go on! Go on!' I willed him. Richard kept nodding his head, and it was all I could do not to burst out laughing. He wouldn't go, although we could hear the reluctance in his voice. The other man muttered what I took to be a good-natured curse and left him.

Our sentry sighed forlornly, then he yawned and farted noisily, shaking a trouser leg as if to let the smell out. Then he lit his pipe. It wouldn't take. He cursed, and mind finally made up, he turned to climb the stairs. This was too good to be true. As soon as his legs disappeared through the hatch we edged up on to the platform. Just at that moment, an awful thought hit me. We would be leaving a trail of stinking water which would be quickly spotted as soon as the sentry returned.

I whispered to Richard, ‘Lift me through the slats nearby the storeroom.' This he did. As I stood on the far side of the banister that separated the platform from the hold, I stripped off my shirt and trousers, leaving them in a soggy pile on a small ledge. I reached the storeroom door without having to walk over most of the forward platform. I quickly opened the storeroom, and collected a handful of cutlasses, knives and boarding axes. These I
passed back to Richard, who was still in the water. Then I locked the door behind me, slipped back on my slimy clothes, and fitted as many weapons as I could carry around my belt. I wondered whether or not to carry a knife clenched between my teeth – as pirates were supposed to do. But the thought of swimming through that repulsive water without my mouth sealed tight put me off the idea.

Then we were gone. We were halfway back towards the stern before we heard the sentry returning. He settled down with some fresh tobacco, and I prayed he would not notice any tell-tale puddles.

Going back quietly was more difficult. Both of us were weighed down with as many heavy weapons as we could carry. When we eventually reached the after platform the same sentry was still there. We could do nothing but wait. At last, an officer came and called him upstairs. We emerged from the water and darted as quickly as we could to the safety of the bread-room hatch.

A great sensation of relief swept over me as we both huddled inside the dark storeroom. But as I leaned over to pull the door shut I saw at once that we had left a trail of dirty water in our wake. It was impossible to miss and led directly to the bread-room door. My stomach lurched at the thought of going out into the after platform again, but I knew it had to be done.

‘Hang on a second,' I whispered to Richard, and wriggled out of the door again. I could see his face peeping out from the dark. He looked completely baffled.

A broom had been left in the corridor and I seized it at once to sweep over the water, leaving dank patches in the wood, rather than pools that had obviously just been made. As I finished I heard footsteps and conversation on the stair. I barely had time to close off the bread-room door and wedge it shut when the guard returned. Peeking through a crack in the door, I could see it was a different man. Even if he did notice the water, he would probably just assume it had been like that before he came down.

Then, with infinite caution, we crept through the dark bread room towards the tiny outline of light that shone around the gunroom hatch. I reached up and knocked gently. A brighter light flooded in as Lieutenant Middlewych's face appeared at the open hatch. Richard and I grinned like madmen and gave him a thumbs-up signal. Back in the gunroom, danger over, I began to feel the cold. I shivered so much I feared my friends would think I was trembling with fear. But we were quickly handed a couple of towels and a spare set of clothes. Middlewych himself gave me one of his shirts. After the rags I was used to wearing, it felt strange to put on such fine cotton clothing.

Stage one of our escape had gone to plan. Now all we had to do was seize the ship from our captors.

With Mandeville gone, Middlewych came into his own, and I could see a future captain in the making. First of all, he ensured a good number of men were standing around in front of us. Then we retired to the rear of the gunroom cabins, to the open space for the sweep of the tiller at the very stern of the ship. Here we could be sure of being out of sight of the guards.

‘What have we got?' he asked himself aloud, carefully spreading the haul we had brought back from the storeroom. ‘Three cutlasses, two boarding axes and seven swords. Well done, well done indeed! Now . . . a cutlass for me, who else'll take one?'

Rather to my surprise, Silas volunteered at once. I caught his eye, and he winked. ‘It's a job that's got to be done, lad,' he said.

Robert Neville, who had been listening closely, stepped forward too. Middlewych was courteous and diplomatic.

‘Mr Neville, this is indeed a brave offer – but I need a real bruiser to take this weapon.' We could see his point. Robert was still a lad, like us. Anyone carrying one of our precious cutlasses had to be able to use it to maximum effect. I wondered how Robert must have felt having to hand over his splendid new dirk to his captors.

‘You will have a role in this enterprise, though,' Middlewych said to Neville. ‘As soon as we overpower the guards outside the door, you will lead a party to scour the ship for other weapons. The sooner we arm our lads here, the sooner we can seize the ship.'

Then Middlewych had word discreetly passed around the gunroom asking for men who were skilled at throwing knives and axes. He was spoiled for choice.

There were too many of us crowded into the gunroom, so a good few men were sitting just outside its open door, in the rear of the mess. They would have to remain as ignorant of our activity as the guards. A few yards further on from them, in a half circle, were a squad of ten Spanish marines sat on stools and barrels, keeping a bored eye on us. The bayonets on their muskets glimmered in the dim light of the lanterns, but they were drooping – much like the men's eyelids. No doubt the Spaniards were resentful that they had had to watch us while the rest of their comrades celebrated.

Middlewych whispered a few more orders, and then we waited. ‘When the noise upstairs dies down,' he said, ‘that'll be when they've drunk their fill. Then we'll wait another half hour for them to get to sleep. That'll be when the guards are at their lowest ebb, and that'll be when we'll strike. Until then, let's just have a little nap and wait. Put the word round. All of us to settle down and appear to be asleep.'

Nap? I was too anxious to nap. I hated this waiting before we fought. I longed to spring into action and get this bloody business over with. I leaned over the door to look at the guards. There they were, unaware of what we had in store. What were they thinking about, as they sat there, dull eyes peering at us through the gloom?

Bouncer came over to me, and curled up in my lap. He still had a faint whiff of the fish he had been given earlier. Now he wanted a warm place to rest and a kind hand to stroke him to sleep. As the cat purred, the whole weight of the day rolled over me like a gigantic wave. Despite my fear I felt exhausted. I lapsed into semi-sleep, although my thoughts drifted again and again to the face of the man I had killed.

Richard shook me roughly awake, and Bouncer trotted off with an irritated meow, tail in the air. ‘Are you coming with me and Neville?' he said.

I nodded. If this was going to work, we all had to act together as quickly as possible.

The ship had now settled into a still silence. Not for long. As quietly as we could we stirred any sleeping comrades and prepared to leap into action.

Beyond the open door were the ten marines. Not all of them appeared to be awake. Gingerly Middlewych distributed the daggers and axes, and gave each man a target. Nine men, four one side of the open gunroom
door, five the other. There were not enough weapons to tackle each Spaniard but, with luck, we would not need them all.

If they had rehearsed their moves, Middlewych's assassins could not have done a better job. On his signal they moved stealthily out of the door, throwing knives or axes into the guards. Only the first four were needed. As each guard started and fell to the floor, our own men near to him rose from the deck and dragged him down. Other guards, who were half asleep, were quietly overpowered. The sailors at the door stopped throwing their weapons for fear of hitting their own. The guards were quickly dragged into the gunroom. A couple were dead, and two others were badly wounded and had to be tightly gagged to stop them crying out. The rest of them had simply been seized and were all too eager to surrender.

The whole exercise had been carried through with barely a sound. We listened for any sign that our rebellion had been overheard, but none was evident.

‘Let's see what's happening on deck,' said Middlewych.

Our cache of weapons was growing by the minute. Ten muskets and bayonets, and several more knives and pistols carried by the guards, were swiftly distributed. Robert, with admirable aplomb, pulled a knife from the body of one of the dead guards.

Then he, Richard and I crept over to the ladder leading directly to the storeroom. We peered down. A guard was still there, but he had propped his musket against the hatch rail and was sitting on his haunches, smoking his pipe. We did not even have to kill him. Quick as a flash Robert leaped down the ladder, snatched his musket and pointed the bayonet at his stomach. The man stared, mouth wide open, too shocked to speak. Robert put his finger to his mouth and whispered a stern ‘Shhhh', and Richard and I hurried to the storeroom. Sweating copiously, and with our hearts in our mouths, we hurriedly gathered another armful of cutlasses and daggers. Then we went back up to the mess deck. It was still quiet. Middlewych and the rest of the men were poised ready to take this endeavour to its final stage.

Robert turned to Richard. ‘Buckley, take this fellow back to the gunroom and have him wait with the rest of his friends. I'm sure the Lieutenant has arranged a guard, so perhaps you'll join us upstairs?'

I was struck by Robert's manner. I could scarcely believe he was the same fearful boy I had seen crying on the orlop deck a few weeks previously.

We returned to the mess-deck ladder. Middlewych nodded abruptly, and beckoned me over.

‘Witchall – nip up there and see what's going on,' he whispered.

I crept up one step at a time and peered through the rail. All around the gun deck were the huddled, sleeping forms of Spanish sailors – the men who had been left to repair the
Miranda
and sail us back to port. There was a guard there too, with his back to the hatchway, overlooking his comrades.

Middlewych ordered one of our marines to seize the sentry, then he turned again to us. ‘Let's pay a visit to the Captain's cabin. Buckley, Warandel, Witchall, come with me. Neville, when we've dealt with the guard, set the rest of our men up to surround this lot on the gun deck. Unless there's any trouble, wait for my orders. Let's try to do this with as little bloodshed as possible.'

Our marine glided up the stairs, dagger in hand, and silently despatched the unwary guard. As our men crept among the Spanish crew, the four of us tiptoed on to the cabin. The door, already half ajar, creaked as Middlewych opened it further. A sleepy voice called out in Spanish, and Silas immediately leaped over to the source of the sound. In the dim moonlight, I could see a young man in officer's uniform stretched out on Mandeville's cot, which he had placed on the floor. Before he could say any more, Silas had a knife at his throat, and Middlewych was talking to him in Spanish.