Tim Severin - Buccaneer

'Some say it tastes like young cow. Others that it is like the finest pork.' Dan was lashing the carcass alongside the canoe. 'It'll be a slow journey back to camp. One of us can sleep while the other steers.'

Hector was still conscious that not everything had gone to plan. The hunt had taken far longer than it should. 'I'm sorry that I spoiled your aim, Dan.'

His friend gave a dismissive shrug. 'You did well. It takes years to learn how to strike palpa properly. If my striking iron had been better placed, the palpa would have died more quickly. What matters is that the creature did not escape, and we have the meat we promised.'

It took the entire night, and more, to sail back to where they had started. The drag of the dead sea cow slowed the canoe to less than walking pace, and the sun was well above the horizon by the time they approached the river mouth. It was promising to be another very humid and hazy day. They were keeping close to the green wall of mangroves along the shoreline to escape the worst effect of the ebbing tide when they heard the distant thud of an explosion.

'What's that!' Hector blurted, sitting up in alarm. He and Dan had changed positions in the canoe, and he had been dozing in the bow as his friend steered the craft.

'It sounded like a cannon shot,' said Dan.

'But the Bay Men have only got muskets.'

Again there came the thump of a distant explosion, followed by another. This time there was no doubt. It was cannon fire.

'Dan, I think we had better leave the sea cow where we can collect it later, and go ahead to see what's happening.'

Dan brought the canoe to the edge of the mangroves. He untied the carcass of the sea cow and fastened it securely to a lattice of roots. 'It should be safe here if the tide does not wash it away,' he said.

Warily the two men edged their little vessel forward until they reached the point where they had a clear view of the river mouth.

A two-masted brigantine was sailing slowly across the estuary, but making no attempt to enter the river. The large ensign flying from her stern was clearly visible, three bands of red, white and gold and in the centre some sort of crest. As they watched, the vessel came within a pistol shot of the far bank and began to turn. A few minutes later she had taken up her new course and was retracing her path across the mouth of the river. Hector was reminded of a terrier that has cornered a rat in a hole and is pacing up and down excitedly, waiting to finish off the prey.

'It's the Spanish patrol ship you were warned about,' he said.

There was a cloud of black smoke and the sound of a single cannon. He could not see where the shot landed, but clearly it was aimed towards the three pirogues still lying beached on the river bank.

'That's to make it clear who has the upper hand,' commented Dan. "With six cannon a side and maybe forty men aboard, the Spaniards have got it all worked out.' He was backing water, forcing the canoe into the fringe of mangroves.

'What are they waiting for?' Hector asked.

'For the tide to turn. See that line of broken water on the bar at the river entrance. The river current and ebbing tide are too strong for the brigantine to make any headway upriver. Besides, the pilot will be cautious. He's waiting for the flood tide, and when he's sure there's enough water to carry him in over the bar, he'll take the ship upriver and blast the pirogues to pieces.'

Hector examined the Spanish guardship now heading directly towards where he and Dan lay hidden. Doubtless every pair of eyes on board the patrol vessel was looking towards the pirogues in the river. Still, he felt vulnerable and exposed.

He was about to say that a single hit from a cannonball would shatter a pirogue when he felt the canoe tilt underneath him. He grabbed for the rim of the little craft, but it was too late. Water was pouring in over the gunwale. Looking back over his shoulder he saw Dan was leaning sideways, pressing down at an angle, deliberately flooding the canoe. As the water rose within the hull, the canoe began to sink, settling on an even keel until it was awash and almost nothing showed above the surface. Hector slid out into the water. He found that he could stand, though his feet were sinking several inches into silt. By bending his knees slightly, only his head remained above water. 'No point in making ourselves obvious,' explained Dan calmly. 'Miskito fishermen do likewise whenever they see a strange ship approaching.'

Now the brigantine was nearing the limit of her present course. Hector could see the sailors preparing to haul in on the sheets and braces. Men armed with muskets were clustered along the rail, looking into the river mouth and pointing at the beached pirogues. He heard a shouted command from the sailing master, and again the brigantine began to turn, this time presenting stern and rudder towards him. The guardship was close enough now for him to see that the crest on her ensign was a black eagle, wings spread under a royal crown.

'Is there anything we can do?' he asked Dan.

There was a long silence, and then the Miskito said, 'Hector, do you think you can reach the Bay Men's camp without being seen from that ship? It'll be hard going.'

Hector looked at the distance he would have to cover. It was almost a mile.

'You won't be able to push through the mangroves. They grow together too thickly,' Dan warned. 'You'll have to work your way along the edge of the mangroves, staying in the shallows.'

'I believe I can manage,' Hector answered him.

'Tell the Bay Men to be ready to break out an hour after low water. At that time their pirogues will be able to get over the bar, but the Spaniards will not yet have enough depth to enter the river.'

'And what are you going to do?'

'I'll stay here with the canoe and deal with the guard ship.'

Hector tried to read his friend's expression. 'Is this another of those Miskito skills, like killing sea cows and sinking canoes?'

'Sort of. . . but the Bay Men can make it easier for me. Tell them to gather up all the dead branches and fallen tree trunks and other lumber they can find, and launch them into the river while the tide is still on the ebb. They might even cut down a few trees and float them too.' He gave a thin smile. 'But make sure they are floaters, not sinkers like their logwood.' 'Anything else?'

'You'll have to hurry. There's not more than three hours of ebb left. When I see trees and other trash floating downriver, I'll know that you've managed to reach the camp. As soon as I make my move, you must get the Bay Men to start downriver in the pirogues.'

'How will I know when that is?'

'Find a place from where you can keep an eye on me here. My plan, if it is going to work, will be obvious. Now go.'

Hector turned to leave. The water was pleasantly warm, but rotting vegetation had coloured it a deep brown so it was impossible to see where he was putting his feet. Within a few paces he understood Dan's warning that progress would be difficult. The mangroves spread their roots sideways underwater, and he found himself tripping and stumbling over their new shoots as he half-swam, half waded towards his destination. Soft slime underfoot made it difficult to take a firm step, and often he sank ankle deep into the mud. When he tried to withdraw his foot, the ooze clung to him, holding him back. To keep his balance, he grasped at the mangroves and found that their bark was scaly and ridged. Soon his palms were raw and painful. He tried to stay hidden within the overhang of the mangroves, but there were sections where their matted roots made an impenetrable barrier and he was forced to swim along their outer edge, holding his breath and ducking down to avoid being seen from the Spanish patrol ship. As he floundered on, his breaths came in gasps and he had an unwelcome memory of the final moments of the hunted sea cow.