James Nelson - The Blackbirder

The lantern that always burned in the great cabin was out, but the light from the stern lanterns on the taffrail above the windows threw a diffused glow out into the night, enough to silhouette the figure stepping in through the window, moving carefully, stepping down onto the locker. Marlowe had no notion of who it might be and he did not care. Anyone making such an entrance was someone he was quite happy to shoot.

Marlowe took a step back, held the gun up, sword down, drew breath, and then lashed out with his foot, smashed the door open with a splintering sound, stepped forward, the gun coming down level as he did.

He could see the figure react, see him move, and he pointed the barrel of the gun at the center of his body and pulled the trigger. In the flash of priming and muzzle he had just a glimpse of white slop trousers, leather jerkin, loose shirt, leaping sideways, diving for the deck. He heard the sound of shattering glass as the bullet passed its target and smashed through the quarter gallery windows on its way to plunging into the Bight of Benin.

“All right, Captain Marlowe, it’s just me. James.”

Marlowe stood and stared into the dark. The smell of burnt powder was strong in his nose, his night vision quite ruined by the gunshot. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

Then the door to the adjoining cabin burst open and there was Francis Bickerstaff, sword in one hand, lantern in the other, and though the one candle gave out just the merest flicker it seemed to illuminate the space like noontime sun.

“What the devil…,” Bickerstaff said, his eyes flicking down to Marlowe’s spent pistol. He followed Marlowe’s gaze. Crouched on the aft locker, right by the open window, King James. Slop trousers, linen shirt with sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful forearms. Heavily armed, but his weapons hanging at his side, none drawn. Eyes alert.

Then there were hurried footsteps beyond the great cabin, pounding on the door. “Captain? Captain? Are you all right?” It was Fleming, and there were others with him.

Marlowe paused, held James’s eyes. If I had any brains at all, he thought, I would have Fleming in here and have him take this son of a bitch away in chains.

“Fine, Mr. Fleming. Sorry for that gunshot. I thought I heard some damned thief coming up the rudder and took a shot, but it was nothing.” His eyes remained locked with James’s.

A pause, and then, “Very well, sir. You are sure you are all right?”

“Yes, fine, thank you. But pray tell the anchor watch to keep a bright lookout. You know these Africans will steal the shoes from your feet, give them half a chance.”

“Aye, sir. It’s a fact, sir.” Then with some muttered order to the others, Fleming shuffled away.

Marlowe turned to his visitor. “So, James. Sneaking in here like the damned criminal you are?”

“I didn’t know how me old shipmates felt. Thought it safer not coming up the side in the daylight, you know?”

“Safer? I damned near shot you, you stupid bastard!”

“No, not close. I know you sleep with the one gun only. I was ready for it. What happened to your arm?”

“Round shot. Attacking some bastard I took to be you.”

“If I known about the arm I not have been so careful.”

James was his same old arrogant, cocksure self. Marlowe felt the anger mounting, and not for the first time, but it was worse now. He tossed the spent gun aside, snatched a cutlass from the rack on the bulkhead. “Not so careful, eh? Well you black whore’s son, are you ready to take a sword through the throat, for all the damned trouble you’ve caused me? For sneaking in here like this? I can run you through with my left arm as well as my right.”

James remained motionless, his face set, frowning. “You think you can get across this cabin before I go out the window? You that fast? You make that move and you never see me again, and then you can go back and tell the governor how you let me go.”

“Enough! Enough.” Bickerstaff stepped forward, set the lantern on the table. “Thomas, if James has gone to the risk of coming aboard thus, I think we can listen to him. James, you have put us all through a world of trouble and Thomas is quite justified in wanting to cut your throat. So since you are, both of you, the two great villains of the Western world, let us all at least don the mantle of civilized men.”

Marlowe looked at James, saw him visibly relax, felt himself do the same. He set his sword down, propped up in a corner. James stepped down from the locker, away from the window.

“I knew you’d come for me. Minute we cleared the capes, I knew you’d come,” James said. “Knew you’d have no choice, and I never blamed you. I stuck a knife in my own heart the same moment I stuck it in that blackbirder captain, and I’d goddamn well do it again. But I am truly sorry for the hurt I must have done you.”

Marlowe took a breath. Nodded. Felt ashamed of all the anger and loathing he had directed at James. Reminded himself of a fact he knew well: in James’s place he would have put a knife in the man’s chest as well.

“I know you come for me, and here I am. Delivering myself to you. But I wants to make a deal. I got the boys with me, Quash and Cato and Joshua and Good Boy, and it ain’t right that they should die just because they was with me.”

“If you are asking for me to leave them,” Marlowe said, “I can. It is you alone that the governor demands.”

James nodded. “I reckoned as much. But see here, you can’t leave them. They strangers here, they don’t belong to Africa, any more than you or Mr. Bickerstaff. You got to take them back to Virginia, let them blend in with your people. Ain’t nobody going to recognize them, or know they was with the sloop. Sam and William’ll keep shut. You do that and I’ll come back with you, let them hang me.”

The words were startling in their frankness, in their unambiguous assessment of the situation, and they made Marlowe that much more aware of what James was sacrificing. He sighed. “Francis?”

“James, I have always thought you a man of courage, but this is the most noble act I have ever witnessed. It would have been nothing for you to disappear forever in this country but you did not. And as to your plan, I think it could be done. I agree that the crew of the Northumberland was not well known, save for you yourself. Perhaps we could have the boys change their names. They should be safe enough. Though the Lord only knows what has been happening back at Marlowe House in our absence.”

“Good. Good,” said James, and he looked relieved. “I thank you. I have peace with this. But there is one more thing I must demand.”

“Demand!” said Marlowe, but Bickerstaff silenced him with a raised hand.

“The people I saved from the blackbirder, they caught again, held in a factory a few miles from here. Again they will be sold. They… I…was played for a fool by one of them, a Kru named Madshaka.”

Madshaka. That was the name he had heard aboard the Frenchman. A person, then.

“Those people must be freed from the factory and taken to Kalabari. I told them they would be safe. They have suffered, more than anyone should. It is not right they should suffer more.”

“Now see here, you ask too much, too much by half!” Marlowe said. “Are you suggesting we march on a legal, authorized factory and set the slaves there free?”

“I not suggesting, I demanding.”

“Demanding! You impertinent little-”

“Thomas, please.” Bickerstaff raised a hand. “James, while I feel that a plan to liberate a factory full of people about to be sold into bondage has much to recommend it, let me suggest you are not in a position to demand.”

“No? I still one jump away from that window. I go out and you never see me again, got nothing to bring back to the governor. I’s willing to trade my life, Marlowe, but I ain’t gonna trade it cheap. You can have the French merchantman, all the booty in her hold.”