The Scent of Betrayal (10 page)

‘Very well. Steer a course for the raft.’ Dreaver’s head disappeared and Harry turned back to James. ‘Do you wish to view this, brother?’

‘Thank you, no.’

As soon as Harry saw it through the telescope he sent for him. James came on deck to be greeted by a grim expression that was not confined to Harry. The whole crew looked troubled. James took the proffered telescope and trained at the spot to which Harry was pointing.

‘You will need to look closely, brother.’

James did as he was asked, his eyes screwed up in concentration.

‘Is that a body lashed to the timbers?’

‘It is,’ Harry replied sadly. ‘And if you look further afield, you will see some casks in the water.’

‘I’ve got them!’ James exclaimed. ‘Six of them, on edge. They seem to be tied to the raft.’

‘They are payed out to leeward. You are witnessing two of the worst punishments ever invented by a sick nautical mind. They combine hope with futility. Unless, in either case, a rescuer happens to come across the victim, it always ends in death, and with the right conditions that can take days.’

‘Are these such conditions?’

‘I doubt it, brother. If you look at the way those casks are rocking on the swell, the bodies that were attached have gone.’

‘Bodies!’ James replied, struggling to keep his tone and expression calm.

‘In the foreground you have the raft. Tie a man to that above salt water, especially in a warm climate, and you have a very refined form of hell. All he can see, if the sun isn’t burning his eyes, is the sky, and the birds circling that will, when he dies, take them out.’

‘What about the casks?’

‘With those you take the victim and lash him, seated, to a near-empty barrel. I say near empty because a certain amount of ballast is put in the bottom to act as a counterweight to his bulk and ensure that it doesn’t tip on its end.’ As Harry explained his men moved forward to listen. They’d all seen this particular form of pirate punishment done as a joke. But none, including their Captain, had ever seen it for real.

‘Some humorous souls even provide the victim with a piece of driftwood as an oar, to give him the illusion that survival is possible. They have not done so in this case, but that raft represented salvation, except that with the run of the tide there was probably no way that anyone, hands tied, could reach it.’

Bucephalas
was very near the raft now. Close to they could see the remains. The skin was blackened by the relentless sun, the eyes, as Harry had said, picked out by birds. The victim had no hands, and the blood that stained the planking was close in colour to the burgundy velvet of the garment he wore.

‘The coat, Harry?’ said James.

‘Captain Rodrigo, I think,’ Harry replied.

They lifted their gaze to the row of casks. All were empty, with ropes lashed to them that Harry informed him had once held feet.

‘Have you ever tried to sit on a greasy pole at the village fair, James? It is easy compared to a barrel in the sea. But because you’re tied to it, when you fall sideways you must try to get upright again, otherwise you will drown. That’s where the ballast comes in, to prolong the agony and add to the spectacle for those watching. That is, until the victim becomes too tired. Then the ballast works against him. And once he’s under water, it is designed to keep him there.’

‘There’s no way that the victim could have pulled his own legs out, is there, Capt’n?’ asked Pender, standing by with a boathook. ‘I was just wondering if’n there might some poor soul in the water.’

‘You’re a sailor. Called upon to tie a knot that would keep a man secure, could you do it?’

‘Then how come they ain’t there now?’ asked one of the crew.

‘They’ve been pulled out bodily by a shark, I should think.’ The crew shuddered at this information. ‘Let’s hope the poor sod had already drowned by the time it happened.’

The voice from the tops distracted them just at the point when Pender got his boathook under the rim of the cask.

‘I think we might be close to land, your honour, but I can’t be sure. There’s birds an’ the like, too many to be scudding round a ship, but nothing solid for ’em to set on.’

Harry cast his gaze over the side again, deliberately avoiding looking at the blood-stained platform as Pender hauled it close. The dark brown, impenetrable soup that ran down the ship’s side told him more than his lookout’s eye could observe.

‘As soon as you can, cut those casks loose,’ he said.

They got a line around one of the timbers and hauled the raft onto the deck, cutting the ropes that streamed out from one side as they did so. Harry, on his way to take over the wheel, ordered Pender to cover it over.

‘It’s that cove in the picture right enough, Capt’n,’ said Pender, on his knees beside the body. ‘His shirt’s torn and there are a rate of wounds on his chest. It’s as though he’s been tortured. Looks as though his tongue has been sliced out.’

Harry deliberately didn’t look. He walked back to the wheel and then informed James that they were, if his reckoning was correct, approaching the south-eastern passage into the Mississippi, guarded by the island of Balize.

‘That is if it is still there,’ he added.

‘Is this island another mystery, brother?’

‘No. But I heard that the whole thing was washed away by a hurricane in ’68, including the lighthouse the French built to indicate the river mouth. But the silt, plus the detritus from the Mississippi, recreated the island. I suspect they’ve rebuilt the fort, since it provides the best protection for the whole delta, but we’re obviously still without the lighthouse.’

‘Shall we land there?’

‘No. There is little that will be of any use to us. It will suffice to offload our passengers at Fort Balize. They can hitch a ride in the next merchantman going upriver. Break out a British flag to let them know that we are neutrals. I’ll shorten sail so that they can send out a boat if they feel the need to question us.’

THEY SAILED
on in a light breeze that hardly ruffled the canvas on the yards, eyes straining forward to catch the first glimpse of the low-lying banks that lay at the eastern side of the delta. Waves were breaking over the confused mass of sand bars and islands to larboard. It was the wide gap, the exit channel, intermittently marked with buoys, that first alerted them to its presence. But there was no sign of any building, and little of the vegetation that had come into view earlier, lining the shore of the archipelago of islands to the west. Harry guessed that any buildings would be to the north of the island, at the very mouth of the Mississippi. He spent his time studying the chart he had, constantly looking over the side for some evidence that the channel he was following was the correct one.

‘It is at times like these, brother, that you pray for up-to-date soundings. The sands shift alarmingly round here. This chart was printed by Jefferson in ’94 and could well be useless.’

‘Sail ho, Captain Ludlow, directly to larboard. Two, three, five.’

Harry swung his telescope round swiftly, his eye immediately catching sight of the row of single square sails, set nearly fore and aft, high on the mast of a line of ships. The vessels, close to the low, heavily overgrown, western shore appeared to be making good speed through the water, even if they had neither the wind nor enough aloft to justify it. Without any certain knowledge of their numbers, there had to be pirates operating in this part of the Gulf. Unsure if they represented any danger, he was just about to order the ship to go about and clear for action when the flag at
the mainmast on the leading vessel, hitherto an indistinct blue, swam into focus as it turned into the wind. He couldn’t see the coat of arms on the pale cream background. But the two blue bars, top and bottom, readily identified the whole.

‘Spanish!’ he said, dropping the telescope to take in the faint outline of the leader’s hull. With it now out in a patch of open water, he was momentarily perplexed by the series of white flashes along its side. Then, when two others had pulled out from behind the sandbars, he recognised them for what they were, the spume from oars being dipped rhythmically in and out of the blue water.

‘Good God, James, it appears we are in the presence of a fleet of galleys.’

‘Galleys? Have we found Atlantis?’

‘These are close to the kind of ship a Barbary pirate would use, small, manoeuvrable, and exceedingly handy in a close encounter, with guns set to fire fore and aft. They’re the very devil to handle in any kind of sea. The Americans manned something similar during the war against us. They used them in the inshore waters.’

Harry watched as the line of ships edged its way through the sandbanks that lined the Louisiana shore. The topsails weren’t so much drawing as acting like a lateen staysail, set to keep each vessel’s head steady. For the area in which they were operating, they were perfect. With all those oars and a shallow draught they were capable of working inshore without the need for a breeze. Even a lee shore presented no problem in light airs. Likewise, given the strong currents of the Mississippi in spate, they were ideally suited for making their way up such a formidable river.

‘I’ve got sight of what I reckon to be the fort now, Capt’n,’ said Pender, who had another telescope aimed over the bowsprit. ‘If’n it can be called that. My cousin’s cowshed stands higher. There’s a boat puttin’ off, armed cutter, and the cove climbing into the thwarts has a bit of braid on his shoulder.’

With the galleys a long way off, Harry turned his attention to the approaching cutter and the island behind. From the deck of
Bucephalas
they could barely see the rampart that formed the walls
of the fort, it being nothing more than a low wooden palisade. This seemed to be the only part of the island that could truly be said to exist above sea level. Indeed, to call Balize an island at all was a serious misnomer. Harry had the distinct impression that if any kind of swell got up, those inside the fort would soon see it lashing against the walls, threatening by its action to sweep the sand from beneath their feeble human construction.

Inside the palisade, its roof just showing above the spikes, stood a single long building which obviously provided the entire accommodation for the garrison, little enough shelter from the near-Tropical heat and the ferocious storms that blew up frequently in this part of the world. He dropped his telescope and the face of the braided officer swam into Harry’s focus. Dark-skinned and moustached, he had a doleful countenance which befitted his surroundings. Harry took in the oarsmen, noting that they too were of a dark complexion, before raising his glass to re-examine the fort. As a posting it stood close to being a nightmare, especially with the knowledge that it had already, in recent times, been swept away. With no way of foreseeing what the weather would produce, the garrison would have little time to evacuate the island and find a safer shore. His mind turned to the tempest they’d so recently survived. They must dread such an event, since in a hurricane they’d have nowhere to run to. The whole delta was low lying and prone to flooding. Harry could only surmise that any officer assigned to such a duty was, along with his men, serving out some kind of punishment.

‘Head for the channel marked ahead. If we don’t make it, we’ll heave to when he comes close.’

The boom of the gun made everyone on deck spin round towards the Spanish warships. The leading galley had fired off a signal gun, judging by the puff of black smoke which wafted away to leeward. A set of flags broke out at the masthead and the cutter, which had been heading for
Bucephalas
, immediately swung round on to a new course, its bows now aimed for the shallows.

‘He seems to have lost interest in us,’ said James.

Just then they heard a grinding sound. The bows lifted slightly
and the masts swayed as the ship lost all forward motion. That sound of sand on wood told Harry all he needed to know and he ran forward. It was impossible to see anything in the muddy waters, but they’d run aground. Not badly, since they’d hardly had steerage-way, but enough to bring forth a stream of curses from the Captain. It was, to his mind, typically Spanish, to maintain a marked channel that was no longer clear. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have been too troubled by such an event, knowing that the boats, given such a soft sandy bottom, could tow him off. But this particular incident immobilised him at what might prove to be an inconvenient moment.

‘Get a party over the side with the kedge anchor,’ he shouted, ‘and a cable to the capstan. Pender, drop the best bower to make it look as though we’ve hove to, at that distance the Dons won’t know if we still have way on the ship.’

He made his way back to the quarterdeck, observing that the cutter had closed a great deal of the distance. The lead galley hove to as it came alongside and the officer climbed aboard. Behind him the men were already rowing away from the ship to drop an anchor that he could use to haul himself clear. It was in place before the galleys got under way again. The leader, towing the Fort Balize cutter, was heading straight for him. The others were taking a more southerly course which would bring them across his stern. Still stuck fast, there was nothing he could do about it. As the range between the Spanish ship and
Bucephalas
shortened, Harry examined the galley’s lines. Over-elaborate in the Spanish manner, she was nevertheless a formidable instrument in any situation which suited her build. He calculated that she carried four heavy-calibre guns, two in the bows and two in the stern. Long habit made him wonder about her Captain and her crew. He was aware, more than most, that even the finest, best-armed sailing ship was only a fraction of the equation. Success depended on a decisive and competent officer on the quarterdeck, in command of a well worked-up crew that acted as one unit. The French Navy built better ships than the British, the Spanish generally carried a superior number of guns on their line-of-battle ships. But both
nations lacked the uninterrupted sea service that, forming everyone aboard into a single entity, made the Royal Navy so formidable an instrument.

‘Galley’s putting a boat over the side, Capt’n,’ cried the lookout, unnecessarily, since they could now see the other deck quite clearly. ‘And there’s a well-dressed party that’s about to get aboard.’

‘Well, let us break out some decent wine,’ said Harry. ‘And Pender, raid our stores for the very finest cold collation.’

‘Are we seeking to impress him, brother?’ asked James.

‘Not really. But if he’s anything like the Spaniards I’ve come across, he’ll be as proud as the proverbial peacock. Anything less than our best will offend him. In fact, given the number of galleys in this little fleet, let’s give the fellow a commodore’s salute.’

The first of the guns boomed out before he was halfway across the gap between the ships, the white smoke drifting away in the soft breeze. Gun followed gun until the full entitlement of thirteen was complete.

‘
Navarro
,’ called the Spanish coxswain from the bows of his Captain’s barge, boathook extended to hook on just aft of the gangway. The name of the ship was followed by the name of her commander, just in case these Englishmen needed to be over-awed. ‘El Señor Felipe San Lucar de Barrameda.’

‘The length of his name is certainly impressive,’ said James. ‘Almost as gorgeous as his attire.’

His clothing was more than that, a fact very evident when he came aboard to the sound of the boatswain’s whistle. El Señor Felipe San Lucar de Barrameda was a very tall man, unusual in a sailor of any race, though his build was of sufficient girth to avoid any hint of lankiness. The coat he wore was of mid-blue watered silk, set off by an equally fine cream waistcoat in the same material. His linen was as white as the wig on his head and the dark eyes flashed with a hauteur that made his gold-fringed tricorne hat, swept elegantly to one side as he bowed, seem appropriate rather than theatrical. His skin was of a sallow hue, carefully kept from any exposure to the sun; the moustache and beard a thin
black carefully barbered line around the full red lips of his mouth.

The man behind him was very different, more suited to their location off Fort Balize. A doleful Captain of infantry, he was as sad as the place itself. The dark skin that Harry had noticed while he was still in the cutter was even more marked when set in contrast to that of his superior officer. His heavy black moustache trailed at either side of thick purple lips and the braid, like the buttons on his uniform, was tarnished and green. The cloth of his linen coat, which had once been a beige colour, was now so stained that it resembled the muddy Mississippi water that slid by the ship’s hull. There was a mildewed air about him, as though while not in any way wet he was never actually completely dry. Harry stepped forward to introduce himself, speaking French and making as formal a bow as the Spaniard.

‘I’ve prepared some refreshments in my cabin, Don Felipe San Lucar de Barrameda. A humble repast, not fit for a man of your illustrious station, but the best that a poor ship like mine can do.’

The Spaniard took this rubbish at face value, which was more than James could manage. Unaware of Harry’s motives for such grovelling, and lacking his experience with the notoriously stiff-backed Dons, he quite failed to see his brother’s words for what they were: outrageous flattery to a man who looked as though he would settle for no less. His subsequent remark, delivered in English, might have gone unnoticed, but James, likewise, had decided to speak French.

‘Nonsense, brother. I dare say our guest has been on short commons the whole commission and will welcome a square meal.’

The Spaniard’s eyes only opened a fraction. But on such a haughty countenance it was enough to convey a measure of the shock James had achieved.

‘Allow me, Señor, to name my brother, James,’ said Harry, giving the younger Ludlow a glare of such intensity as to melt ice. ‘A man renowned, I might add, for his wit.’

‘Delighted,’ the Spaniard replied in English, with just the right intonation to let James know he was anything but.

‘You speak English, sir?’

‘I was a prisoner for three years, Captain Ludlow, during the last war.’

‘My condolences, Señor. That is rarely a pleasant experience for any man, let alone a man bred to fight. I can only hope that those who had charge of your confinement left you with a good impression of my country.’

San Lucar de Barrameda didn’t answer that, which left Harry looking both concerned and rather foolish. James grinned as the Spaniard stepped to one side, exposing the officer who’d come out from Fort Balize.

‘Captain Pasquale Fernandez, a native of Havana. Commander of the Cuban regiment which provides the garrison at Fort Balize.’

Fernandez did his best to appear elegant. But the condescending way in which San Lucar de Barrameda had referred to his Cuban origins, plus his own complete lack of natural grace, undermined him. And in the presence of his immaculate superior the attempt at a deep bow looked comical.

‘Please follow me, gentlemen,’ said Harry, leading the way towards his cabin. ‘Pender, something to drink for the barge crew and Captain Fernandez’s men in the cutter.’

The party walked just far enough away from Harry to allow him to whisper more orders. ‘Get Dreaver to man the capstan and see if he can ease us clear. One pawl at a time. I don’t want our guests to know.’

Progress to the cabin was agonisingly slow, as San Lucar de Barrameda examined each one of Harry’s guns. He was particularly taken by the squat carronades, and spent an inordinate amount of time studying their outline. Clearly he longed to ask about them in detail, these being a type of cannon he could only have heard of and never seen, but good manners forbade him to do so. And just so that he would get Harry’s previous flattery in context, the Captain of the
Bucephalas
didn’t oblige him. Finally he dragged himself away and followed Harry into the day cabin.
This boasted a table laid out with everything of quality, in silver and plate, that the Ludlow brothers owned. If the food, the best that Tortola could offer, wasn’t perfect, the wines were exceptional, a fact that actually registered on the masklike face of their guest.