Alexander Kent - The Only Victor

Tyacke crossed the deck. "Help Mr Jay all you can. Arm yourself-they're as treacherous as snakes."

Small though she was, Miranda appeared to tower over them as they tumbled into the longboat and cast off.

"Give way all! " Jay grasped the tiller bar and watched narrowly as the men pulled strongly towards the other schooner.

Sperry was in the boat too, a boarding axe and a heavy cutlass in his belt.

"No slaves," he said.

Jay asked, "How so, George?"

"No bloody stench, is there? An' us downwind of 'em an' all! "

Segrave gritted his teeth and gripped the bulwark with all his strength. It was another nightmare. He saw a sudden picture of his mother when she had told them about their father's death. How would she feel about him? Proud? Moist-eyed that her only son had died in battle? He stared wildly at the other vessel, stared until his eyes watered and smarted. Damn them all.

Jay cupped his hands. "We're comin' aboard! In th' King's name! "

Sperry bared his teeth and loosened the axe in his belt.

"Oh, that was prettily said, Bob! "

They grinned fiercely at each other while Segrave could only stare at them. At any second they might be fired on; he had heard it said that slavers were often well armed.

Jay was suddenly serious. "The usual, lads. Take over the helm, an' disarm the crew." He glanced at Segrave. "You stick with me, lad. Nowt to it! "

A grapnel flew over the schooner's bulwark and the next second they were clambering aboard, the sea-noises fading slightly as they found themselves on the deck. Segrave stayed close to the master's mate. When he looked at his companions he was not surprised that this vessel had failed to stop. Miranda's White Ensign was genuine but the little boarding party looked more like ragged pirates than the King's seamen.

Jay beckoned to a man in dirty white breeches and a contrasting ruffled silk shirt.

"You th' Master?"

Segrave looked at the others. A mixture. The sweepings of the gutter.

"An' wot do we 'ave 'ere? " The boatswain's thick arm shot out and dragged one of the crew away from the others. With surprising speed for such a squat man, Sperry ripped off the sailor's shirt, then swung him round so that Jay could see the tattoos on his skin. Crossed flags and cannon, and a ship's name: Donegal.

Jay rasped, "A deserter, eh? Looks like the end o' th' roamin' life for you! "

The man cringed. "For Gawd's sake 'ave some pity. I'm just a poor Jack like yerselves! "

Sperry shook him gently. "An' soon you'll be a poor dead Jack, dancin' at the yardarm, you bastard! "

Segrave had never even tried to understand it. How men who had been taken by the press gangs as some of Miranda's had, were always outraged by those who had run.

The one who was obviously the master shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

Jay sighed. "Don't speak no English." His eyes gleamed and he pointed at the deserter with his hanger.

"You'll do! You 'elp us an' we'll see you escapes the rope, eh?"

The sailor's gratitude was pathetic to see. He fell on his knees and sobbed, "I only done one passage in 'er, 'onest, sir! "

"Wot about the two 'burials'?" The point of the hanger lifted suddenly until it rested on the man's throat. "An' don't lie, or you'll be joinin' them! "

"The master put 'em over, sir! " He was babbling with fear and relief. "They'd been fighting, and one stabbed t'other." He dropped his eyes. "The master was goin' to get rid of ' em anyway. They weren't strong enough for 'ard work."

Segrave watched the man in the frilled shirt. He seemed calm, indifferent even. They could not hold him, although he had murdered two slaves who were no longer of any use.

Jay snapped, "Take charge of the deck, George." He beckoned to a seaman. "We'll go below." He added, "You too, Mr Segrave! "

It was even filthier between decks, the whole hull creaking and pitching while the sailors, holding lanterns like tin-miners, crept amongst the evidence of the schooner's trade. Ranks of manacles and leg-irons lined and crisscrossed the main hold, with chains to keep each batch of slaves from moving more than a few feet. And this for a voyage across an ocean, to the Indies or the Spanish Main.

Jay muttered, "That's why they only takes the fit ones. T'others would never last the passage." He spat. "Lyin' in their own filth for weeks on end. Don't bear thinkin' about." He shrugged. "Still, I suppose it's a livin', like everythin' else."

Segrave wanted to be sick, but he controlled it and asked timidly, "That deserter-will he really be pardoned?"

Jay paused and glanced at him. "Yes, if he's any use to us. Pardoned the rope anyway. He'll likely get two hundred strokes of the cat, just to remind him of 'is loyalties in the future! "

The young seaman named Dwyer said softly, "What's abaft this lot, Mr Jay?"

Jay forgot Segrave and turned swiftly. "Th' cabins. Why?"

"I heard something, or someone more like."

"God's teeth! " Jay drew his pistol and cocked it. "Might be some bastard with a slow-match ready to blow us all to hell! Use yer shoulder, Dwyer! "

The young seaman hurled himself against one of the doors and it burst open, smashed from its hinges by the blow.

The hutchlike cabin was in darkness but for a patch of sunshine which could barely penetrate the filthy glass of a skylight.

On a littered and stained bunk was a young black woman. She was sitting half-upright, propped on her elbows, her lower limbs covered by a soiled sheet. She was otherwise quite naked. There was no fear, not even surprise, but when she tried to move a chain around her ankle restricted her.

Jay said quietly, "Well, well. Does himself very nicely, does the master! "

He led the way on deck again and shaded his eyes in the glare as Miranda changed tack and drew closer to the drifting vessel, which was apparently named Albacora.

Tyacke's voice, unreal in a speaking-trumpet, reached them easily. "What is she?"

Jay cupped his hands, "Slaver, sir. No cargo but for one. We've a deserter on board as well."

Segrave saw the man bobbing and smiling wretchedly in the background as if Tyacke could see him. But he kept thinking of the black girl. Chained there like a wild animal for the slaver's pleasure. She had a lovely body, despite. Tyacke called over, "Where bound?"

Jay held up the chart. " Madagascar, sir."

A seaman near Segrave murmured, "We'll have to let 'er go." He glared around the filthy deck. "She hain't much but she'd fetch a few shillin's in the prize court! " His mate nodded in agreement.

Tyacke's voice betrayed no emotion. "Very well, Mr Jay. Return on board and bring the deserter with you."

The man in question shouted, "No! No! " The boatswain cuffed him around the ear and sent him sprawling, but he crawled across the deck and clawed at Jay's shoes like a crippled beggar.

He shouted again, "He took the chart below when you was sighted, sir! I seen him do it afore. He puts a different one for all to see."

Jay kicked his hands away. "Now, why didn't I think of that?" He touched Segrave's arm. "Come with me."

They returned to the cabin where the girl still lay propped on her elbows, as if she had not moved.

They searched through the litter of books and charts, discarded clothing and weapons, Jay becoming clumsier by the moment, well aware of Tyacke's impatience to get under way again.

Jay said desperately, "'S no use. I can't find it, an' that bugger don't speak English." He sounded angry. "I'll lay odds that the deserter is lyin' to save 'is own skin. He'll 'ave no skin left when I've done with 'im! "

There was a looking-glass leaning against a case of paired pistols. Jay picked it up and searched behind it as a last hope.

"Not a god-damned thing! " He tossed the glass on the table and Segrave snatched it as it slithered towards the deck. As he did so he caught the merest glimpse of the girl behind him, now turned slightly to watch, her breasts shining in the filtered sunlight.