Tim Severin - Sea Robber

There was the shortest pause, a moment’s calm and, as he straightened up and looked forward again, a dozen or so large globes of light came hurtling silently through the air. Each light ball was about the size of a man’s head. This time their colour was a peculiar deep blue, which changed to violet as the globes came closer. They were moving at an unnatural speed and yet Hector had time to track their progress. Most passed harmlessly on either side of the ship, safely out over the water. But four or five of them came aboard. The first skimmed along the windward rail, then vanished over the stern. Another blinked out the moment it collided with the foremast. But two of the blazing fireballs appeared to drop downwards, land on the deck and roll along its length.

Hector and his friends stood rooted to the spot as the apparitions skittered towards them. Hector felt a tingling sensation all over his body, a massive jolt, and then the fireballs were gone. Once again the air smelled of sulphur and this time there was a sharp taste on his tongue. It was as though he had licked a tarnished spoon.

‘God’s cannon fire,’ said a deep voice. It was Jezreel. He had described it very well. A battery of heavy artillery fired at close range and directly at them could not have equalled the assault of sound. The blazing sparks were like fragments of burning wads shot from the muzzles of huge cannon. Hector realized that he was shaking.

‘Is everyone all right?’ he asked into the darkness.

‘I think so,’ said Jacques. ‘I’ve heard of corposants and St Elmo’s fire. But no one warned me about balls of lightning.’

Hector’s sight had yet to recover from the dazzling flashes. He squeezed his eyelids tight shut, then opened them, hoping to clear his vision. Something dark, little more than a shadow, was rising from the deck. He recognized Dan getting back on his feet.

‘Are you hurt, Dan?’ he asked.

There was a short pause before the Miskito replied. ‘One of those fireballs knocked me down.’ There was a moment’s silence, and then he added, ‘I don’t seem to be seeing so well.’

‘That blaze was enough to blind anyone . . .’ began Hector before he realized that in all the time Dan had been his friend, he had never known the Miskito striker voice any sort of complaint. He stepped across to where his companion was standing. In the dim light he could just make out that Dan was gently rubbing both his eyes. ‘What do you think is the trouble?’

‘Everything is dark and blurred.’

Hector reached out and gently pulled his friend’s hands away. ‘Let me check. Maybe you need time to recover from the glare of the lightning.’

It was too dark to discern very much. Hector could only distinguish the contours of the Miskito’s face, the shadowed hollows of his eye sockets. ‘Better wait until dawn. Then we’ll be able to judge.’

IT WAS AN ANXIOUS few hours. Dan sat quietly on the deck, his head leaning back against the rail and his eyes closed. He said not a word, and it was left to Hector to worry what might have happened to his friend. The Miskito possessed the keenest eyesight of anyone he had ever known. At sea he was always the first to pick out the tiniest speck on the horizon, whether it proved to be a sail or a landfall. On land he noticed tiny changes in detail and identified objects that others failed to see. It was a gift that made his friend such an acute observer and was the foundation of his skill in painting and drawing. The thought that Dan had now lost his sight, and would no longer be able to hunt with gun or harpoon, was too gloomy to contemplate.

Gradually the sky lightened and the tracery of the rigging of the ship took shape. ‘Dan, what can you see now?’ he asked.

The Miskito, his head still leaning back, might have been asleep. He opened his eyes and gazed up. There was a long silence. Then he said quietly, ‘Everything is still blurred.’

Hector’s spirits sank. Crouching down beside his friend, he said, ‘Dan, look straight at me.’

The Miskito, his face expressionless, opened his eyes so that Hector could stare into them. The black pupils and the dark-brown irises appeared normal. ‘I can see nothing wrong. But you have to rest your eyes. I’ll fetch a bandage.’

As Hector went below to bring a strip of cloth from his seaman’s chest, he noticed a new atmosphere among the men. They were more cheerful, exchanging jokes and banter. Even the fever invalids were more animated than before.

‘You’d have thought they might feel some sympathy for your misfortune,’ he commented to Dan as he returned and prepared to wind the bandage around his friend’s head.

As usual, the Miskito took the situation calmly. ‘Why should they have much care for us? We are still outsiders. Latecomers who joined in Guinea. They’ll be more pleased that the appearance of St Elmo’s fire is a sign of good luck.’

‘It didn’t bring you much good luck . . .’ Hector broke off. Dampier had appeared on deck and was walking across to join them.

‘What’s the trouble?’ the navigator asked. There was concern in his voice.

‘Dan was laid low by one of those fireballs last night. It seems to have damaged his sight,’ Hector explained.

‘In both eyes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then there’s a good chance he’ll recover. I’ve known men who received a sudden blow on the head, and went blind. They got their eyesight back in a short while. Not like those blockhead sea captains who go blind in one eye from staring at the sun too long whenever they take a sight.’

A hail from the masthead interrupted him. The lookout was shouting down excitedly that there was a sail in the distance, off the port bow. There was a rush to the rail as the crew tried to get a glimpse of the stranger. Those invalids who could manage to stand upright staggered to where they could hang on to the lower shrouds and look towards the distant speck of sail. One hopeful blackguard gave a great whoop. ‘Let’s catch that ship and see what she’s worth,’ he roared.

‘Now they’re sure that St Elmo’s fire brings good fortune,’ said Dan wryly.

Above them, Cook was at the quarterdeck rail, calmly directing the deck watch to trim the sails.

‘What about our cannon? Do we bring them up from the hold?’ called a voice.

‘There’s not enough time and we are short-handed as it is,’ Cook snapped. ‘We leave the cannon where they are, and make out that we are a peaceful merchant ship seeking to exchange news. No one yet knows we are in the Pacific.’

‘The prospect of plunder is even better than burned rum for inspiring a crew,’ muttered Dan. ‘Hector, if I’m to wear this bandage, you’ll have to tell me what is going on.’

Men were scurrying down to their berths and bringing up their weapons, hastily unwrapping pistols and cutlasses from the oiled cloths in which they had been stored for the passage round the Cape. There was much clicking and snapping as the buccaneers checked their musket flints were throwing off sparks.

‘Vessel’s turning towards us. Seems to want a meeting,’ shouted down the lookout.

‘Sailing right into our jaws,’ exulted a buccaneer as he scrabbled among the contents of his cartridge box.

‘Tell me what the newcomer is like?’ Dan asked Hector quietly.

‘Looks to be some sort of merchant ship. Maybe a trifle smaller than us. I think I see some deck armament. At a guess, sixteen guns . . .’

‘What’s his flag?’

‘Can’t see. He’s sailing straight towards us,’ Hector answered. He glanced aft. From the Delight ’s mizzen now flew a huge yellow and red flag. ‘We’ve hoisted Spanish colours,’ he told Dan.