Tim Severin - Sea Robber

Looking across the assembled men, Hector saw a forest of hands. The men were animated, bright-eyed with enthusiasm, turning to one another in agreement.

‘It’s decided then,’ announced the quartermaster.

Hector glanced over to where the castaway sat slumped against the bulwark. Now the man’s eyes were open and he was watching the assembly. His expression was unreadable.

THE STRANGER knew his way across the ocean – that became increasingly clear as the days passed.

‘He pays no attention to the compass. Yet, according to my calculations, he’s maintained a steady course for the past week,’ Hector said to Dan, who was busy with paper and charcoal. It was soon after dawn on what was promising to be another warm, balmy day, and the two men were by the windward rail. Dan was sketching a portrait of the stranger, whose mattress had been shifted to the quarterdeck, so that he was close to the helm.

‘He probably does not know what a compass is,’ said Dan without looking up from his work. ‘Our Miskito fishermen sometimes get blown off-shore in a gale. They find their way back home by looking at the sea signs – the flow of the current, the direction of the wind, patches of weed and the flight of birds. That is enough.’

Hector glanced across at the castaway, who had made a remarkable recovery from his ordeal. He was still gaunt and hollow-cheeked, but now he was on his feet, quick and alert. Instead of his previous exhausted sleep, he took catnaps, no more than an hour at a time. For the rest of the day and night he directed the helmsmen of each watch. One thing, however, had not changed: the stranger’s attitude was aloof and guarded. He made no effort to communicate with the crew, refused their offers of clothing, and took his meals alone. Hector found this disquieting.

‘Well, there aren’t many birds around here for him to follow their pathways,’ said Jezreel, who had joined them. ‘I just hope he knows what he’s doing. I’d kill for a drink of fresh water that hasn’t got worms wriggling in it.’

‘Be grateful none of us are showing signs of scurvy,’ said Hector. It was true. With all the fresh food gone, the first signs of the sickness were appearing. Several men had begun to complain of pains in their joints, shortness of breath, sore gums and loose teeth. As yet, Hector and his friends were unaffected.

‘Jacques says it’s that quince marmalade he’s been feeding us,’ said Jezreel. ‘But that’ll soon run out.’ He dropped his voice. ‘I’m sorry our plan for the Thief Islands didn’t work, Hector. Maybe there’ll be a second chance if it turns out our castaway friend is leading us a dance.’

Hector shrugged. ‘At first I thought he was taking us to Japan. But that’s farther north. I’m sure of our longitude, though there’s nothing shown on the chart for this region.’

Jezreel leaned over to look at Dan’s drawing. ‘Not a bad likeness,’ he said.

‘It would help if he kept still until I have finished the drawing,’ muttered the Miskito.

Unusually, the stranger had left the quarterdeck and was making his way forward to the bows.

‘Perhaps he’s spotted something,’ said Jezreel. Just then the lookout at the masthead cried out, ‘Land ahead.’ Immediately there was a stampede of men to find a vantage point, some in the rigging, others scrambling up on the rails. ‘Not even eight days,’ someone shouted jubilantly.

The landfall was no more than a thin, dark line on the horizon. But the Nicholas was closing rapidly, and by noon it was clear the ship was approaching an island that had a distinctive cone-shaped hill at one end and was covered with dense vegetation. Beyond it, to the north and east, were at least two more islands in the far distance.

‘What do you make of it, Hector?’ Jacques asked his friend, who was puzzling over the chart.

‘Some sort of archipelago. Why it’s not marked I don’t know. Perhaps it lies too far off the usual shipping routes.’

‘Or someone does not want it known about, mon ami,’ said the Frenchman. ‘Maybe a secret worth keeping.’

‘Sounds like you’ve started to believe in Cipangu,’ said Hector with a wry smile.

‘I will be so glad to get ashore and stretch my legs. But our pilot friend does not seem very excited.’

It was true. Since sighting land, the stranger had taken up position permanently on the foredeck, close to the bows. He stood gazing forward, completely calm while the rest of the ship’s crew jabbered and chatted excitedly.

As usual, Eaton didn’t waste the chance to belittle Hector’s navigational skills. ‘Seems you could take lessons from our friend with the yellow skin. A perfect landfall,’ he called out from where he was standing close to the helm.

In the bows the stranger indicated to larboard. ‘He wants us to steer close around the island,’ said the helmsman tersely, as he looked to the west, worried. ‘It’ll be dark in another two hours. Could be dangerous to work our way into an unknown anchorage.’

‘If he’s brought us safely this far, we can trust him the last few miles,’ Eaton reassured him. ‘I doubt the crew will allow for any delay. Just follow his signals.’

The final approach proved even more perilous than the helmsman had feared. A broad ledge of coral encircled the island, and in the gathering twilight they skirted reefs that stretched for a mile or more out to sea. Here the swells broke in long, ugly-looking slicks of foam, and the helmsman voiced his dismay at the risk they were taking by sailing so close. But he was ignored. The shipmates lined the ship’s rail and strained to catch a glimpse of human occupation. But they saw no boats, no sign of settlement on the densely wooded shore, and as the light faded, the island became no more than a dark shape. So it was by moonlight that the stranger finally indicated they should turn in towards the land.

‘Hard to starboard. There’s a channel through the reef,’ came back an excited yelp. By now their enigmatic pilot was no more than an indistinct figure up in the bow, his signals relayed by voice along the deck. Almost immediately followed another cry of ‘Brail up. Brail up.’

The Nicholas turned sweetly, losing speed as her sails were doused, and she entered the concealed gap. Only the steady stream of muttered oaths from the frightened helmsman broke the tense silence. Moments later the sound of the swell breaking on the coral on both sides of the ship was very, very close. The vessel was lifted upwards on the back of a swell, was carried forward and in less than a cable’s length was gliding across a calm surface.

‘Anchor now. He’s making signs we must anchor,’ came the urgent cry.

‘As he says,’ Eaton shouted back.

A moment later there was the splash of the anchor hitting the water. The cable ran out for a few yards and the vessel slowed to a halt. All was calm. ‘Thank Christ that’s over,’ muttered Jezreel under his breath. ‘We could’ve ripped out her bottom on the coral. That was a mad thing to do.’

In the silence and darkness that followed, there came the sound of a second splash.

‘What’s that?’ called out Arianz in alarm.

‘The castaway dived overboard,’ came back a shout. ‘He’s swum away.’

EIGHT

A BRIGHT, WINDLESS DAWN revealed that the Nicholas lay safely moored in a shallow lagoon. The water was the colour of pale sapphire and so transparent that her anchor could clearly be seen dug into the sand less than a fathom beneath her keel. To seaward, the narrow entrance passage she had threaded in the darkness now showed as a gap among the breakers, which steadily flecked across the coral shelf. A cable’s length away on the landward side, a beach of white sand faintly tinged with pink sloped gently towards a line of small thatched huts, the outskirts of what appeared to be a village of fishermen. Their boats, some two dozen of them, lay drawn up on the strand. Most were dugout canoes, but the larger ones were identical in their crescent design to the waterlogged shallop from which the crew of the Nicholas had plucked the mysterious stranger. Of him there was no sign. Indeed, there was no movement whatsoever in the village itself. It appeared to be utterly deserted. Puzzled, the crew gaped at the empty beach and the silent houses. Other than the murmur of the distant surf, the only sounds they could hear were strange bird calls from the village’s shade trees covered with orange and white blossom, which echoed round the lagoon.