Tim Severin - Sea Robber

They were the real guardians of the settlement, and as yet Dan hadn’t seen any. A single cur, awoken during the night and barking loudly, would wreck the entire plan.

Dan resumed breathing. At the back of his throat was the faint taste of wood smoke from the cooking fires in the houses below. He eased himself down into the grass, and crawled to where Hector and the others were waiting.

As he slithered through the long grass, Dan thought of Ma’pang and his clan. He feared they would suffer the same fate as the native peoples of Peru and New Spain, when the confident pale-skinned strangers had insisted they worship a different god and adopt new and alien ways. Unless the Chamorro followed the example of his own people, the Miskito, they would lose both their lands and their identity. They needed to arm themselves with the white man’s weapons, and draw so much blood they would always be left alone.

Once the Chamorro had their hands on enough firearms, Dan knew they’d quickly learn to look after them, as well as use them. For the raid, Jacques had drawn sketches of a set of pick-locks that he required if he was to open the door to the prison where the hostages were kept. Within half a day the Chamorro fishermen had fashioned a dozen hooked and curved tools of different thicknesses, lengths and shapes. They had made them from bone and shell and sticks of close-grained hardwood. When Jacques had decided the tools were strong enough for the prison doors, but might snap in the heavy fetter padlocks, Ma’pang had produced the bronze cross he’d been given by the missionaries. A Chamorro craftsman had reshaped it into exactly the stout pick-lock the Frenchman specified.

Dan smiled to himself, amused at the thought that the symbol of the foreigners would be used to free their captives.

He reached the clearing where Hector and the others waited. There were just five of them altogether: Jacques, Jezreel, Ma’pang, Hector and himself. Stolck had stayed aboard the galaide layak that had delivered them under cover of darkness to a sheltered bay on the northern side of the island, and would return the following evening to collect them.

‘The north wall of the fort is the best place to climb in,’ Dan said. ‘It is farthest from the watchtower where the night sentry might be. There are also huts on that side of the town, which seem to be storehouses rather than homes. They should give us some cover.’

‘What about the wall? How high is it?’ asked Jezreel.

‘Maybe twenty feet. Easy to scale,’ Dan answered.

Jacques had earlier explained the layout of the fort’s interior. Now he looked at Hector with a worried expression. ‘If we climb over the north wall, we will have to divide. I believe the Chamorro hostages are kept in the long, low building that looks like stables. The windows there have bars. Maria is in the Governor’s quarters, and they are in the opposite direction.’

‘We stick to the plan we discussed,’ Hector insisted. ‘You, Dan and Ma’pang go in search of the hostages. Jezreel stays with the ladder to secure our line of retreat. I’ll go on my own to find Maria.’

To Hector’s surprise, Dan shook his head. ‘No, I will go with you. Jacques and Ma’pang are enough to free the hostages.’

Hector saw the stubborn expression on Dan’s face. He looked at the others to see if anyone objected.

‘If that’s the way you want it, we’d better get going.’

THREE HOURS LATER Hector stood with his back pressed against the inner face of the Presidio wall. He could feel the rough coral blocks through his thin cotton shirt. Everything had gone exactly to plan. Dan’s assessment had been faultless. An hour before midnight, when the town’s folk were asleep, the intruders had stealthily made their way through a skein of back alleys without being noticed. They had then scuttled across the open ground around the fort that provided the Spaniards’ field of fire. Ma’pang had carried a makeshift scaling ladder made by driving cross-bars through a length of stout bamboo. He had set it against the wall, scrambled up and waited on the wooden walkway that ran along the inside of the top of the wall. Here the others had joined him. Then the ladder had been used again to descend into the fort itself. Now it was time for the group to split up.

There was sufficient starlight for Hector to get his bearings. He could make out the shape of the little chapel, the darker shadows of the barracks, even the patch of the garrison’s vegetable garden. Everything was as Jacques had described. To his left Ma’pang and Jacques were already creeping away. They would follow the line of the wall until it brought them to the outbuilding with the barred windows. Jezreel was to wait at the spot where they had entered the fort, staying well within the shadow of the overhang of the walkway in case a sentry should chance to make his rounds. His task was to guard the ladder until the others returned.

Hector felt a touch on his shoulder. Dan pointed in the direction of a large square building, pale white in the starlight, which faced the central parade ground. It had to be the Governor’s quarters. Quietly the two men began to move to their right, circling to position themselves where the bulk of the building would shield them from the watchtower.

Hector noticed how easily and confidently Dan covered the ground. The Miskito seemed to glide along. Now and then he paused to listen and check the shadows, alert to every noise or movement. Hector felt clumsy and awkward by comparison. Anxiously he tried to follow directly in Dan’s path, stopping whenever he stopped, placing his feet gently. Yet he feared he might blunder and make a noise at any moment.

Several minutes of this furtive progress brought them to the rear of the Governor’s quarters. Hector relaxed a little. They were no longer in the sentry’s line of sight, and even if he left his watchtower, Dan and he could hide in a lean-to shed built against the back wall of the Governor’s quarters. From the smell, it was obviously used by the kitchen staff as a place to pluck chickens, gut fish and put out the slops.

Treading lightly, Hector approached the back door to the house. Gently he lifted the latch. It was as he’d feared: the door was locked and barred from the inside.

He stepped back and looked up at the rear face of the building.

Above and a little to one side of the lean-to shed, a window was ajar. Hector thought back to Jacques’ description of his brief visit to the Governor’s residence. The front door opened into an entrance hall. From there a stairway led to the upper floor, and it was safe to assume that the best rooms – those that overlooked the parade ground – were used by the Governor and his lady, probably as their bedroom and a drawing room. Maria and any other members of staff who slept in the house would have rooms at the rear of the building.

Hector counted the number of upper windows. There were five. He guessed that the central one gave on to the stairwell and those on each side were for bedrooms. The half-open window was one of them.

He slipped off his shoes and gestured to Dan to hoist him on to the roof of the shed. The tiles of the lean-to shifted and grated alarmingly as he scrambled for purchase. Despite his care, there was a slight clatter as a section of broken tile slid away and fell to the ground. He froze and flattened himself to the roof. With no reaction from the house, and after a few moments, he rose on all fours and slowly began to crawl forward. At the rear wall, he gingerly stood upright and stretched for the open window. But he’d misjudged. The window ledge was too far away for him to reach. He cursed under his breath and shuffled backwards, afraid to turn round for fear of dislodging another tile. As he reached the edge of the roof, where Dan should have been ready to help him back to the ground, he looked down and saw that the Miskito had gone.