CHAPTER FIVE

Bristol and His
Crew Use Strategy

FOUR days passed before the Dutchman slipped off the shoal and disappeared into the blue depths, and a week more had gone by before the blacks had sufficiently recovered to do hard work.

The following days were filled with a tense activity that brought spring into the Nubians’ walk and laughter to their lips. They were the offspring of a carefree, fighting people, and even though days spent in Spanish and Barbary galleys had sobered them, they still enjoyed their humor.

The contact with the Christian slaves who had served with them on the galleys had given most of them a smattering of English. Amara had said that his left benchmate was a former British officer. They had passed those long, tedious hours in the bagnios and in port by exchanging languages—a barter that had lasted until the Britisher had fallen under an onslaught of Spanish bullets.

They worked openly, disdaining to shield themselves from passing ships. In fact, it was Bristol’s hope that an attack would be launched against him. These blacks were all six feet tall or taller, and the cutlasses they had taken from the Dutchman were like playthings in their strong hands. They scorned pistols and muskets. Steel was their weapon.

The sails of the bark had been ripped up and resewn into very passable tents, and they were all provided with shelter of one kind or another.

Lady Jane, whose quarters had been constructed from the mainsail, retained her identity as Midshipman Jim Campbell. But for the first few days, she was reluctant to go far from her tent. There was something terrifying about these blacks, an undercurrent of bitterness which she felt rather than saw. But as she became used to seeing them and she saw that they had nothing but reverence for her, she grew bolder and went about with Bristol.

At night, when she lay alone in her tent listening to the incessant thunder of the surf, she was sometimes afraid of the power which had been thrown into Bristol’s hands. He was tempered steel, physically and mentally, like a long Toledo blade. Into his eyes had come a light which was exciting, but far from reassuring. It was the clear, heady look of one who sees far beyond the horizons.

But when daylight came, that was all forgotten. Bristol was getting them out of that which had promised to be disaster. He treated her with exactly the same deference a shipmaster accords his second mate, and she reveled in it.

Along the beach lay several big logs, and beyond those were clumsy-looking boats, which had been built from the Dutchman’s after castle. The logs were burning down the center. Blacks stood by with wet sacking and buckets of sea water to regulate the flames.

These were pirogues in the making. Native canoes which, when fitted with the outriggers Bristol had seen in the Pacific, would show surprising seaworthiness.

The sunlight of the late afternoon was kind and warm. One of the blacks was singing a wild song at the top of his vocal capacity while another kept time by pounding a plank with a piece of wood.

Amara smiled at Bristol. “He’s making it up as he goes along, Captain sir. He says that we will soon be at sea in a beautiful boat.”

“I hope he’s right,” replied Bristol. “Start some of them putting the outriggers on those finished pirogues. We may need them any time.”

Amara saluted, “Yes, Captain sir,” and went to do the bidding.

“He’s a good man,” commented Jane, at Bristol’s side. “He has taught them all how to handle ship-rigging with that dummy he carved.”

“Yes,” said Bristol. “He’s a good man. And in a fight, I think he’ll be even better.”

“I’d hate to be standing on a deck, watching those lads come at me.”

Up in the locust tree where they had constructed a lookout platform, the sentinel sang out, “Ho! Ship coming!”

Amara roared a question, and when the answer had been flung back, Amara turned to Bristol. “He says it’s a Spaniard beating up against the wind, still pretty low on the horizon.”

“Good enough,” said Bristol. He began to smile. “That ship will be passing the island within two hours—and by that time it will be dark.” He swung up into the tree to take a look for himself.

In a half-hour, the entire hull of the Spaniard was visible. The red and gold banner of Castile and León fluttered above a red and gold hull. The vessel was low in the water, outward bound for Spain. Bristol took her to be between six and seven hundred tons.

Coming down, he nodded to Jane. “I know some dons that are in for a very bad shock.”

“I hope you’ll be able to manage it.”

“We’ll do it right enough. She’s tacking within four points of the wind, making less than three knots at best. She’s going just slow enough. Amara! Finish off those outriggers, then arm the men!”

In the dusk they launched their boats. It was easily seen where the don would pass before she had to go on another tack. Bristol’s boats were fastened together in pairs, the line between them being some two hundred feet in length.

It was almost dark before they were in position. They hovered there, watching the running lights swing up on them, keeping the ropes taut. They were drawn up in two lines, one on either side of the Spaniard’s course, and the hempen strands barred the vessel’s progress.

Of course, the Spaniard would not be expecting attack from shore, and of course, he would not hear the gentle rasp of the lines as they were gathered up by his bows.

Bristol and Jane, in the longboat, watched the masts and sails grow large against the stars. The flutter of canvas, warped to catch the wind at the most extreme angle, the hiss of water spread aside by the plowing bows, and the clatter of a restless spar were all the sounds in the night.

The bow caught the first line, the second, the third. Bristol’s boats began to draw silently in, brought near by the ship itself. Black hands were on the hemp, pulling. The other boats were coming back.

Wood grated as bulwark struck bulwark. A head on the deck appeared.

“¿Quién es?”

Black hands clutched at the taffrail lines. Black bodies swarmed up. A pistol flamed from the deck.

A shout went up from the ship:

“¡Filibusteros!”

The cry was a knife through the night. Men whipped themselves over the rail and to the planking. A cutlass rang out as it struck wood. The helmsman shrieked and ran screaming from his post.

Sailors tumbled out of the hatches. An officer leaped from the rear cabin, pistols in hand. He stood there, paralyzed by the sight that met his gaze. A solid avalanche of black was sweeping down upon him. He fired. A sword hacked him down. The avalanche passed over his body and swept across the deck.

Spaniards cried out. Cutlasses rang as they dropped to the decks. Muskets began to hammer from the forecastle.

Bristol’s voice was loud above the tumult, his white shirt rippling in the wind. He dragged a terrified man out of the after cabins.

“Surrender!” cried Bristol.

The captain’s ashen face stared up in disbelief. His voice cracked as he cried, “¡No me mate! ¡El buque es el suyo!”

A serpentine roared. The shot slammed across the deck. Bristol jerked a whistle from around the captain’s throat and blew it three times.

The tumult died. Bristol found a lanthorn and, holding it over his head, walked down into the waist.

The Spanish seamen were crowded against the forecastle bulkhead, eyes wide and white with fear. The blacks stood about, grinning at one another. On the deck lay several bodies, three of them Sennarians.

Bristol located Amara. “See that the weapons are collected.”

The Spanish captain had followed Bristol forward. Bristol turned to him now. “There are several boats alongside, Capitan. It is an even trade. Ashore on that island you will find a camp of sorts, stocked with food and water. Take your men there and hail the next Spanish ship which passes by.”

The captain, who had evidently expected immediate extinction, blinked in the yellow light of the lanthorn. When the truth of the statement came over him, he bowed. “Gracias, señor. You are very gallant.”

The Spanish crew was herded into the boats, the lines were slashed, and the late captain and his men were lost in the night astern.

“Amara,” said Bristol, leaning against the rail, “that was an excellent job. Aboard this ship you’ll probably find plenty of clothing and a full larder, as the Spaniard must have restocked before putting to sea. Tell your men to find themselves what they want, and appoint me a watch to handle the sails until morning.”

Amara saluted. “Very good, Captain sir.”

Bristol turned to Lady Jane. “And I guess this makes full-fledged buccaneers out of us, my lady. That first shot nicked me, thanks to this white shirt. Let’s go aft and tie it up.”