The Mountain of Gold (37 page)

Kit spoke first. 'Sir, think what you might bring down upon yourself if you do this—'

'I have thought upon it,' I said emphatically. 'Are we agreed?'

Kit nodded. Negus shrugged and said, 'If you write the letters you talked of, then aye, agreed.' Yet there was still something in his eyes: an evasiveness that I had never witnessed in him before.

'Fucking mad,' said Musk, 'like all of the bloody Quintons.' I took that as agreement.

Finally I looked upon Tom Shish. 'Well, Mister Shish,' I said, 'you have your life, and your freedom. For the time being, at any rate. Perhaps you will yet have an opportunity to redeem yourself upon this voyage.'

The young man's gratitude took the form of another flood of the most pitiful tears.

Twenty-Two

Elephant Island and the incident with Shish were well behind us, both literally and metaphorically. The carpenter had retired to his cabin, pleading a touch of fever, and no man queried that. Valentine Negus was colder toward me; we both knew that he now held my life in his hands, for if he betrayed our agreement, he could make himself captain of the
Seraph
in the blink of an eye, condemning Matthew Quinton to the gallows (or, if the king was feeling particularly merciful, the block). Even Kit was more reserved than was his wont, but he had good cause to be. He had already perjured himself on my behalf at one court-martial, and I think both he and I knew instinctively that he would not be able to bring me off if I faced a second one. Kit Farrell, not a man to truant and ever the most faithful friend, had even excused himself from one of my regular lessons in navigation and two of his own in writing; a case of his spying the writing on my wall and fearing for himself if his patron fell, I concluded grimly. Thus it was a curiously subdued group of men who stood on the quarterdeck of the
Seraph
as we continued our course upstream.

The land was changing now. The mangroves were thinning, and in their stead came red cliffs, sometimes high enough to dwarf the
Seraph,
and rough scrubland on either side of the river. An entire army could hide in such terrain, and I had the discomforting feeling that many hidden pairs of eyes were watching our ship's passage. The water was green here, not the mud-brown of the estuary. The channel began to ravel into great loops and was often obstructed by low islands of silt; even Belem admitted that the navigation of these parts was little better than guesswork, for the channels shifted with each new season. We sounded constantly, Kit and his mates sometimes running anxiously to the forecastle rail to inspect a possible sandbank ahead. A few stretches of the river were still wide enough and deep enough for us to hoist courses, usually in the late afternoon, and to make a little progress under sail until darkness came; but for the most part, we rowed and towed. We were beyond the limited cooling effect of the sea winds, so I felt mounting pity for my men as I observed them, watch upon watch, straining their backs for this most futile and desperate of causes. But I knew even worse was to come. At Kasang, our next intended port-of-call, we would have to abandon the
Seraph
entirely, leaving her in the care of a skeleton party while the reminder of us proceeded ever further upstream in shallops or like craft, which we intended to build at that place. I dreaded the prospect: I was already enough of a man-of-war's captain to feel deeply uncomfortable at the thought of losing the firmness of her deck beneath my feet, the reassurance provided by her thirty-two pieces of ordnance, and the relative comfort of even a half-cabin. But there was one other cause for my reluctance to commit our mission to much smaller and flimsier craft. For we had new company upon this higher stretch of the river. There remained a steady traffic in canoes, albeit lighter than downstream. We still encountered
hippopotami;
there were elephants galore, parading like regiments along the bank or cooling themselves at the water's edge; and we had a legion of new friends in the air, among them delightful grey-orange-black birds that truly belonged in Egypt, or so Belem said. But increasingly, our most frequent companions were the mighty and malevolent beasts that slid silently in and out of the stream on all sides of us: crocodiles.

We were but a few miles from Kasang by Belem's reckoning when the disaster befell us. It was late in the evening, but still light, and we were about to change the boats' crews. The long boat had been pulled in to the larboard side, and her exhausted crew were starting to climb the ladder. I was watching from the quarterdeck with Kit, Negus, Belem and O'Dwyer. There was a jolt—
Seraph
must have glanced a shoal. But the longboat ran full onto it, and reared upward as it rode over the sandbank. The twin shocks of the boat and the ship striking did for the two men then on the ladder, a Londoner named Gibson and a Hayle man called Treharne. I can see their faces still, etched upon my ancient memory. They fell back, beyond the stern of the boat, into the dark waters of the Gambia.

There was a moment of silence and stillness.

Then the two men broke surface, calling out for help, in the name of God, all help! Kit ran to the upper deck rail and barked orders to the men still in the boat to push off and rescue their colleagues...

Too late. I saw the two great scaly shapes upon the water, swimming toward the men with terrifying speed. Belem and O'Dwyer crossed themselves.

Treharne was taken first. The crocodile must have bitten him in the middle, for as the man screamed and the blood gushed, I saw his legs and groin float free for a moment before they, too, were consumed. Gibson, who could swim, tried to put up a fight, but in a sense, that made it worse for him. He struck out with his right hand, and the beast took it off with one snap. Gibson howled in agony, but in the next instant, the crocodile took off the rest of his arm.

Facey had some of his men in position now, and their muskets cracked as they opened fire on the beasts. It was a futile gesture. I saw the second beast rear up, its deadly jaws opened wide. It took Gibson's head in its mouth and snapped the jaws shut.

I strode to the starboard rail and leaned hard upon it, desperately gulping air into my lungs and trying to keep the vomit down. Even now, far beyond sixty years afterwards, I shudder when I recall that incident. I pull my blanket tighter around me, and take a sip of port wine to steady myself. For I have witnessed death in many forms—indeed, have caused it in many forms—but I have surely never seen anything to equal the raw and savage devouring of Gibson and Treharne, God rest their souls.

The ship's company was still subdued when, next morning, we finally came to an anchor off Kasang, another base native town of whitewashed round houses, surrounded by a ditch and a timber stockade. This port sheltered below a red hill, fifty yards or so in height, with small trees on its slopes. Two small Portugee vessels and a Dutchman lay at anchor before it. The two former seemed deserted, their crews either ashore or dead of the last season's fevers, but the Dutchman was making ready for a voyage with some urgency, no doubt prompted in part by the unexpected appearance of an English, and thus potentially hostile, warship; her skipper seemed unconscionably grateful that my only demand upon him was to carry our outgoing mails to sea with him. Unlike most of the so-called 'ports' that we had passed, where men had to wade ashore through swamps or mud flats, this Kasang at least had a decent sand beach, on which canoes were being built or caulked. Women came down to the water's edge in numbers, ready to trade with us: they offered rice, eggs, fruit,
cuscus
(a kind of gruel of those parts), hens, and in several cases, themselves, a fact that did not go unremarked by my increasingly excited crewmen.

I granted leave readily enough. The men deserved some respite after all their exertions, and it would take their minds off the horror that had befallen their shipmates. Moreover, the next weeks would be harder still: my crew would have to turn shipwrights to fashion the new craft that we needed to carry all our company further up river, and moving most of our supplies out of
Seraph
into our new flotilla would be back-breaking work in this climate. Tom Shish would need to repay my pardoning of him many times over, for overseeing the construction of the boats would be his task. Then, if Belem was correct, the voyage itself would be harder than anything we had encountered thus far, struggling against rapids, whirlpools and God knows what else as we ventured further and further into the land of unicorns.

I was preparing to go ashore myself when O'Dwyer addressed me. He had been more subdued than usual during the latter stages of our voyage; as well he might, I reckoned, for if his story was truly false then every mile brought him nearer to exposure and retribution. O'Dwyer must have had much to contemplate, and now he stared at me with a curious expression.

'Well, Captain,' he said, 'did you give any more thought to the proposition I broached to you?'

'Proposition, Colonel?' I asked innocently. 'I recall no proposition, sir.'

His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head a little, as though searching for something within the recesses of my skull. 'Ah. No. I conceive myself in error, Captain Quinton. My apologies.'

With that, he and I went ashore. We parted without a word, I to go my way in company with Belem and Francis Gale, O'Dwyer to go his; only his would be attended, discreetly as ever, by relays of my most trusted men.

This Kasang was but a small place, but it was evidently a hive of trade. Great stocks of cotton, wax, ivory and hides lay under awnings, awaiting a ship to come up the river or an Arab caravan to come down from the north or east. Indeed, I spied two or three Arab factors, unmistakeable in their robes and headdress, but they steered well clear of this young infidel sea-captain. In turn, I trusted that O'Dwyer would steer well clear of them, a trust born of the orders I had issued to my men to ensure he did precisely that. Craftsmen vied with each other to offer us the prized possessions of those parts: scabbards for swords or daggers and round shields, all covered with leather and painted in any design that we chose. I took a conceit to have one with the armorial crest of Ravensden, and Belem's translation of my description enabled a cheerful near-naked savage to produce one in less than an hour. He seemed delighted with his payment—a flask of brandywine—and I was equally delighted with my acquisition, which adorns my wall to this day.

My perambulation was intended to have a purpose. I needed to ensure that we could build our craft without interference, and for that, it would be important to establish good relations with the natives of this place. I planned to visit the local king either that same evening or early on the following day; his 'palace' was some two leagues inland, Belem said. I prayed that this petty potentate would be more immediately tractable than the King of Kombo, and that I would not be surprised again by the unexpected arrival of the Seigneur de Montnoir. In the meantime, I complied with the orders that I had issued to my men: smile, be polite, distribute largesse (such additional commandments as 'thou shalt not get fighting drunk' and 'thou shalt not rape' had been spoken discreetly by my officers to those thought most inclined to break them). Yet as I looked upon the seemingly friendly bare-breasted girls and women of the place, the smile upon my face was akin to that of the local terror, the crocodile. Behind it, I feared how exhausted seamen and soldiers, cooped up for too long aboard ship in this sickly and ferocious country, might behave in such a haven of earthly temptation.

With the sun approaching its zenith, we sought a place that could provide us with two or three hours' of shelter. Belem led us to the hut of a half-breed of his acquaintance, a river trader named Moreno, and there we partook of palm wine and a little rice. That consumed, we settled ourselves upon the mats and let the heat and the wine take their course. A persistent fly annoyed me, but seemed of no concern to Belem or Moreno, who were already asleep. The hubbub of the town beyond the hut gradually subsided as its inhabitants sought their own shelter. I slipped into that curious place where one is half asleep, and aware of it, and half awake, and aware of it...

The hubbub was increasing. Francis Gale shook my arm.

'Those are English voices, Matt,' he said. 'Raised English voices.'

We got to our feet and ran in the direction of the beach. Despite the searing heat, a large circle had formed upon it: sailors, soldiers, natives alike. Men were screaming derision or encouragement. I pushed my way through the throng, into the heart of the circle...

John Treninnick was wrestling with the hugest of the soldiers, one Hallett. My men were urging on Treninnick, who in truth needed little encouragement for such combat. He was in a rage, screaming the foulest Cornish oaths, and trying at every thrust to gouge the eyes out of the much taller redcoat. But Hallett was nothing loth. He was using his greater height to advantage, howling defiance at his opponent and trying for a grip on Treninnick's unnaturally short neck, hoping no doubt to throttle the life out of him.

The audience seemed crazed with bloodlust, like spectators at a bear-biting. In truth, I had feared something of the sort—if not soldier against sailor, then mess against mess or watch against watch. Petty resentments can fester for weeks in the confined space of a ship, where they are restrained by the Articles of War and the boatswain's cane, but putting a crew down upon a welcoming shore can be akin to opening a Pandora's box of violence. Already a few complementary scuffles were breaking out in the crowd.

'Stop this!' I cried. 'I will not have this brawling and rioting! You represent the honour of England—'

In truth, I was effective as old Canute; I was unarmed, the crowd's blood was up, Treninnick did not understand English, and as a soldier, Hallett was unlikely to obey a mere sea-captain. I could hardly demean myself by physically pulling them apart, and my boatswain was aboard the
Seraph
—I could see Lanherne looking on in horror from the quarterdeck .