I spent a lot of the time during the journey aloft in the crow’s nest or, when I was supplanted by a watchman, in the very air itself high, high above the ship. Mr Wicker observed me from time to time and would ask what I had seen.
One day I was able to report on a coastline to the south, far too long and continuous to be an island.
‘It can only be the coast of New Granada,’ he said. ‘Cartagena must be nigh.’
He discussed the forthcoming arrival with Don Scapino, and once again they conferred at length, and again, in Spanish.
Finally, after a couple of days at sea, Mr Wicker was prepared to take me into his confidence and reveal some of his plans. It was well after sunset and he was standing at the rail on the quarterdeck. It was a calm still night and the great bowl of the sky above us was peppered with stars.
‘Do you know your stars, little Loblolly Boy?’
I told him that I could name some of them. My Uncle Jack had pointed out to me many of the stars familiar to sailors: Sirius, the Dog Star and the brightest; the North Star almost as bright and ever fixed; and a few others which were part of constellations such as the Big Dipper.
To prove my ability, I pointed to these and named them.
Mr Wicker seemed very pleased, especially that I could locate Sirius.
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘I have something to show you.’
He led me into the captain’s cabin, which he had appropriated. He opened a locker and took out a large flat wooden box. It was obviously heavy, and he placed it on his table before unclipping the lid and opening it.
Inside the box sat a flat brass instrument rather like a tiny cart-wheel. It was about the size of the dishes the women at the Cove sold their fruit from. It was really a heavy ring quartered with spokes, and the circumference of the ring was graduated in degrees. Its centrepiece was a slender brass wand, which looked as if it would rotate around the centre.
Even though I had never seen such a device before, I guessed exactly what it was.
‘It is an astrolabe?’
Mr Wicker nodded. ‘A mariner’s astrolabe.’
‘How does it work?’
‘I will show you.’
He lifted the astrolabe out of the box and then led me outside to the quarterdeck.
He held it up by the ring built into the outer circle.
‘Now little Loblolly Boy, find me Sirius once more.’
I obliged him by pointing at Sirius.
Mr Wicker steadied himself and the astrolabe and then aligned the brass wand, which I now saw was really a pointer, with the Dog Star.
‘Now,’ he explained, ‘in days long gone, seafarers could calculate the angle of the star and hence its height and thence work out their latitude at sea.’
I thought I understood.
‘Now you try.’
He handed me the astrolabe, which was surprisingly heavy, and showed me how to hold it up by the ring so that it hung down correctly. A little awkwardly I managed to do this. Mr Wicker had shifted the pointer in order for me to use it for myself. I lined up Sirius and tried to shift the pointer without moving the astrolabe from the vertical. It was difficult.
‘The pointer’s stiff,’ I muttered.
‘It’s called an alidade.’
‘What?’
‘The pointer’s called an alidade.’
I exerted a little more pressure and the alidade lined up neatly with Sirius. Mr Wicker expressed satisfaction.
‘I still can’t read it, though,’ I said.
‘That does not matter,’ said Mr Wicker easily. ‘It is only important that you can locate Sirius and line it up.’
I frowned in the darkness. Mr Wicker’s scheme was still equally dark.
‘I will explain,’ he said, sensing my confusion.
‘The astrolabe my dear friend Daniel has constructed was not designed to determine the altitude of stars nor locate latitude.’
This I knew from Captain Bass, but it was interesting to have Mr Wicker confirm it.
‘His astrolabe,’ continued Mr Wicker, ‘was designed to seek Sirius in sunlight.’
‘But you can’t see Sirius in sunlight,’ I said.
‘Precisely,’ said Mr Wicker. ‘But we do know where Sirius is even in the sunlight.’
‘How can we know that?’
‘Because,’ said Mr Wicker, ‘at this time of the year Sirius is directly behind the sun.’
‘Behind the sun?’
‘When we visit the castle, I will ask to examine the astrolabe in the possession of the commandante. I will offer him a demonstration of how it works and this will mean taking it into the sunlight. In the old days these devices would usually use the sun not Sirius or another star.’
I began to understand how Mr Wicker hoped to steal the astrolabe.
‘In order to find Sirius, which is behind the sun remember, this astrolabe will bring about the darkness which will blot out the sun, daylight, and reveal Sirius winking in the sudden darkness.’
‘I see …’
‘Good. Then see this, this sudden darkness like a total eclipse will of course create all manner of confusion and dismay.’
I could see this as well.
‘In that confusion I will pass you, little Loblolly Boy, the astrolabe and you will fly it to some safe place. I suggest a nearby roof accessible only to gulls or creatures such as yourself.’
‘And then?’
‘And then you will locate Sirius once more, line up the astrolabe, and if it performs as I have been informed, daylight will all at once reappear!’
Mr Wicker clapped his hands in anticipation.
‘But …’
‘But, what?’
‘You will be left there without the astrolabe. You will be suspected.’
‘Suspected of what? Nobody could suspect me of suddenly bringing about total darkness. It must be some strange celestial phenomenon like falling fish or a great comet. And even so, one astrolabe will have gone, but don’t forget here is another.’
He reached for the astrolabe, smiling.
I looked at him in the darkness as I handed the astrolabe back. The plan was so bizarre it might even work.
My only problem, if it did work, would be finding the courage to steal the astrolabe myself.
By now most of the crew had learned that the ship was bound for Cartagena and many of them were becoming anxious, apprehensive. Mindful that this was no navy crew who would obey orders, but a crew of independent freebooters who sailed not for the king’s shilling but for a share of whatever loot and spoil could be obtained, Mr Wicker and Don Scapino had concocted a tale they hoped would appease them.
They told the men that Don Scapino and Mr Wicker both had business to conduct in Cartagena, business the Spanish authorities in the town were also anxious to conclude. They further told them that while the Firefly had been an English warship, since it had been captured by privateers the barque was now an independent vessel crewed by independent seamen and that the Spanish authorities would respect this and that they should not fear arrest.
This did seem to comfort the men somewhat, although I could feel that not all the tension on board had eased. The actual captain was a reckless Irishman, one O’Keefe, who had brought the Firefly safely to the Cove with the aid of some of Jenny Blade’s men and a number of mutineers. Of all the men he seemed least worried by fears of arrest by the Spaniards, although I was not sure whether this was because he had been persuaded by the silver tongue of Mr Wicker, or whether he was naturally fearless. Something of both, I thought.
Before too long, the watchman aloft had spotted land and the course was re-set for Cartagena. This time, Mr Wicker sent me aloft with instructions to seek the port.
‘You’re more reliable than a sextant and a compass,’ he said. ‘It will be amusing to second guess O’Keefe.’ He pointed starboard and said, ‘O’Keefe tells me Cartagena lies in that direction. See what you will see.’
I took to the air and flew high over the sea. The coastline was now much clearer and I could make out its bays and indentations and the fans of muddy water where rivers disgorged themselves in the blue of the Spanish Main. Nearer the coast there were many more islands dotted as well, green blotches on the blue and ringed with gold.
Before too long I discovered Mr Wicker’s goal. Cartagena was much bigger than I had expected after my experience of the Cove. Like the Cove, a harbour was obtained only by passing through a narrow channel guarded by two headlands. Unlike the Cove, these headlands were surmounted by stone forts, or at least by one stone fort. Clearly Admiral Vernon’s expedition had put paid to the fort nearest the town, for it was broken, pocked with cannon-fire and crumbling.
The harbour was huge and could have sheltered several battle fleets. On points jutting into its expanse the Spanish had constructed yet more forts. Crowning all was a castle built on an eminence adjacent to the town. It was built of the same characteristic golden-white stone as the walls of the town. As I flew towards Cartagena I could see at once how thick these walls were and how they sloped upwards gently to deflect any cannon.
The forts, the castle and the walls gleamed in the sun as if they were made of the gold that had built the town, the gold that the Spaniards had plundered and stolen from this el dorado of a continent and shipped back to Old Granada and other places in Spain. The continent itself stretched behind the town to be lost beyond in mountains and jungle all the way to the Argentine, the land of silver Sophie had spoken of.
Towards the walled town of Cartagena there was an inner harbour with an anchorage and this too was guarded by two more forts and ultimately by the castle Don Scapino had told Mr Wicker of: the Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas, the military stronghold of the town.
He had told Mr Wicker that the commandante would have almost certainly housed the astrolabe in this impregnable place of safekeeping.
From on high, I could see at once how this solidly walled town and its vast harbour could have withstood Admiral Vernon and his fleet. It was studded with forts and batteries and bristling with cannon. It could have kept twenty fleets at bay.
Mr Wicker’s attempt to subdue the town with one small barque, one duplicitous Spaniard and one invisible flying boy seemed suddenly laughable.
I flew back to the Firefly somewhat pessimistically and reported to Wicker what I had seen. Far from being dejected, he rubbed his hands together in pleasurable anticipation.
‘It cannot be long now,’ he said.
‘We are quite close,’ I said.
We were, too. The coastline of New Granada was just visible from the deck now and the Firefly was following the shore in a westerly direction and would very shortly reach the narrow entrance to the great harbour. In the distance the castle on the mount was clearly visible. Already Captain O’Keefe had ordered the flag messages to be hoisted aloft, telling the guardians in the forts that we were coming in peace and neutrality.
Having seen the cannon-power surrounding the harbour I hoped that we would be believed. There was a good sea with a following wind and some hours later, late in the afternoon, the Firefly cleared the heads and sailed into the great harbour.
Captain O’Keefe brought the Firefly into the inner anchorage. I could see that the arrival of the vessel had aroused a lot of attention on shore, particularly in the forts and watch-towers, but it had not provoked any cannon-fire of either a warning or deadly nature.
The ship was anchored and the jolly-boat prepared to take Mr Wicker, in his guise as Captain Lightower, ashore. He would be accompanied only by Don Scapino, the four sailors who were to row the boat and, of course, me. It was strange to be once more in the jolly-boat. This time, the two passengers lolled in the stern seat, much as the doctor and Captain Lightower had after we had been first let loose upon the sea. I wondered whether Mr Wicker had thought it amusing to sit exactly where Captain Lightower, the man he was now impersonating, had sat.
The anchorage was surrounded by a sea wall and I could see that we were headed for a flight of stone steps that led from the water to the top of the wall. Long before we reached these steps, we saw that a small contingent of soldiers had gathered on the quay to await our arrival.
They must have been hot in their uniforms: white trousers, sash and hose and blue jackets trimmed with scarlet. Mr Wicker could almost have been one of them except his jacket was a darker blue and more narrowly trimmed with gold. As the boat approached, though, it would have been perfectly clear to the soldiers that an English naval officer was on board.
To one side their own commanding officer stood patiently waiting. Each of the soldiers was in possession of a long rifle, but the officer had not ordered his men to take aim and the rifles remained standing loosely by the soldiers’ sides.
Soon we were close enough for Don Scapino to raise his long arm and flutter a handkerchief. It looked almost as though he were signalling surrender, but I think he was really just hoping to preface his shouted greetings.
There was no reply, nor was there any comment when the jolly-boat was manoeuvred right alongside the steps, and the sailors shipped their oars, one of them awkwardly clutching at a rusty ring attached to the sea wall to steady the boat enough to allow his passengers to land.
Don Scapino led the way, and Mr Wicker followed. I found the silent reception a little unnerving but Don Scapino was quite unfazed. He climbed the steps agilely, and at once engaged the officer, explaining I guessed with much gesticulation who he was and, more significantly, who Mr Wicker was.
I presumed these explanations were sufficiently convincing, for neither he nor Mr Wicker was seized. Instead, with great courtesy, the officer gestured them towards the street which led to a great gate in the town’s wall. I suppose you could say there was an armed escort but, despite the rifles and the soldiers, it did not seem to be, so relaxed was the guard. It was rather more like a gentle stroll on a sunny morning. Even at the gatehouse where papers were checked and where there was a slightly longer explanation offered, all seemed friendly and uncomplicated. I did note that at no stage did Mr Wicker say anything, although I knew he was perfectly capable of understanding what was going on. He and Don Scapino must have agreed that ‘Captain Lightower’ could not speak Spanish or was not especially adept at it. From time to time, Don Scapino would turn to Mr Wicker and explain to him things in English and Mr Wicker would nod and reply in English as well.
And then the two men stood beside the main thoroughfare of Cartagena, their presence accepted and free to move about.
It soon became apparent that Don Scapino knew his way around the town. He led Mr Wicker through streets, narrow lanes and small plazas until he eventually stopped before a two-storeyed plastered dwelling with shuttered upstairs windows and a large double door heavily studded with iron knobs, apparently his destination.
He rang a bell and sometime later the doors were opened by a manservant who, recognising the don, ushered the two men in. I followed in on their coat-tails and was surprised to find myself in such a house as I had never seen before. The rooms and chambers were all built around and opened onto a large cloistered space which opened in turn to the sky. The entrance hall we were standing in also led directly to this space, which was planted lushly in tropical plants and vines with blooms of many colours. There was surely nothing like this in Portsmouth Town.
We were led along a cloistered section and then into a long gallery which appeared to be a sitting room although it was sparsely furnished. A table at each end, chairs mainly against the walls which were decorated with dark oil paintings of Spanish gentlemen of times gone by, long olive faces with aquiline noses, trimmed mustachios and pointed beards. There were small tapestries, too, and crossed swords mounted on the walls at intervals. The floor was wooden and dark but brightened by thin colourful mats. There were two or three suits of armour from the days of the great galleons standing in corners as if still occupied.
The light was restfully subdued, and came mainly from the tall windows which opened onto the cloistered walk.
Shortly after we had entered this room an elderly gentleman opened a door at the other end and came in. He might have stepped from one of the portraits, he looked so elegant and aristocratic.
At the sight of his visitors he stopped, then started forward when he recognised Don Scapino.
He greeted him and was introduced to Mr Wicker, who bowed with military courtesy.
The old Spaniard, picking up from Don Scapino’s translating, slipped immediately and easily into English.
‘You are very welcome to Cartagena, Captain, although your naval compañeros were not so welcome a few short months ago.’
‘I do take your point, Don Esquivar. Had I brought the Firefly to Cartagena with the admiral my welcome would have been a hail of cannon balls, I dare say.’
The old Spaniard smiled. ‘But, now,’ he said, ‘I can offer you hospitality.’
‘The captain,’ said Don Scapino, ‘has long been hospitable to Spain, señor. We owe him much.’
Don Esquivar raised a cultivated eyebrow and said dryly, ‘And perhaps he has been rewarded?’
‘Service is my only reward,’ said Mr Wicker, and this response drew appreciative but knowing laughter from both Spaniards.
‘You will of course dine with us this evening, gentlemen, and, of course, you will allow me to be your host during your visit to Cartagena.’
Both proposals Don Scapino and Mr Wicker accepted readily, and then Don Scapino said, ‘We do have some business to conclude with the commandante at some point, señor. He may know of this visit already, but not its purpose. Could I crave the use of one of your men to convey to the commandante our compliments and to let him know we would call upon him at his convenience?’
‘Of course you may, Don Scapino,’ said the old man, ‘and while he is about it, I will arrange for some refreshments and you must give me news of your father, for it is long since I have had word of him.’
I glanced at Mr Wicker, surprised at how perfectly at ease he looked and every bit the English captain. He caught my glance and gave me a faint smile. I mimed leaving the room for I wished to explore and he nodded his permission.
I slipped back through the door we had entered and onto the cloistered path and its worn flagstones. I pushed into the bright inner courtyard and gazed up at the pocket of sky. I thought I could safely leave the gentlemen to their sweetmeats and wine for a time and so leapt into the air and rose above the town. The red tiles of the roofs gleamed in the sun and I saw how many of the larger houses were built around open courtyards like those of the house of Don Esquivar. The whole town crouched inside the vast protecting walls, although the only possible invader at this moment was the great Caribbean Sea to the north.
Beside the town, and claiming my interest, squatted the great Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas. Even as I flew towards the castle, a manservant of Don Esquivar’s was hurrying towards it as well, bearing the compliments of Don Scapino and Captain Lightower, the English agent.
Like the outer walls of the city, the castle walls were sloped to deflect cannon-fire, but these walls were dotted with slits and battlements to return any cannon attack with interest. There were a number of turrets and watch-towers and I visited some of these, perching on high to watch the soldiers on duty parading about the many courtyards and platforms. It was a truly huge place, and so heavily guarded I was once again at a loss to see how Mr Wicker’s mad enterprise could possibly succeed.
Mr Wicker’s plan required one more detail, as I was soon to find out.
After dinner, as the light was fading, Mr Wicker indicated that I should meet him in the cloister surrounding the courtyard. While Don Scapino and his host enjoyed a glass of wine, I followed Mr Wicker outside.
‘You have visited the castle?’
‘This afternoon, sir.’
‘You remember our discussion on the Firefly pertaining to the darkness?’
I nodded, repeating what he had told me. ‘You will summon the darkness with the astrolabe and at that point you will give the astrolabe to me. I will fly away with it, point it to Sirius, and return the sunlight.’
‘You are correct as far as it goes, but you are forgetting one crucial element of my scheme.’
I stared at him, trying to remember.
‘You pointed it out yourself, little Loblolly Boy. Unless in the darkness we exchange the astrolabes, I would be left empty-handed like a thief in the night.’
I remembered now how he had reached for the astrolabe after he had shown me how to line up Sirius. He had told me then there would be two of the instruments.
‘This means,’ said Mr Wicker, ‘you must fly presently to the Firefly and retrieve the other astrolabe and hide it in a safe and handy place on the castle roof. Then when darkness comes, tomorrow, you will bring it to me quickly and I will give you the commandante’s astrolabe. Did you find a place where it would be possible to hide it?’
I thought about the various places where I had perched earlier. Any one of them would do.
‘I have, sir, several, and quite inaccessible except, as you say, to gulls.’
His plan was a little more careful than I had imagined. Mad still, yes, but a little less mad. I began to see that it could work.
Mr Wicker smiled. If he had been a cat, I suspect he might have purred.
Shortly thereafter, I took to the sky and flew directly to the Firefly. The astrolabe was housed in its wooden box where Mr Wicker had stowed it away. I unclipped the box and lifted it out, sagging a little under its weight.
I was about to leave the captain’s cabin when I remembered Sophie’s final plea to me to provide the proof that Captain Lightower was a traitor. Such proof, she implied, could redeem her mother, perhaps save her from the rope. I realised, all at once, that there was a good chance that the letter Don Scapino had given Mr Wicker would be somewhere in the cabin.
Quickly, I laid the astrolabe down on the table and opened the desk drawers. Nothing. I opened the wardrobe and saw Mr Wicker’s civilian clothes. I tried to remember what he had done with the letter when the don had handed it to him. He had tucked it into his shirt. That was right. I considered then that he may have transferred the letter to his coat.
Hoping against hope, I felt in the pockets of his coat and to my delight found what I was looking for: the paper folded and sealed with red wax and addressed to Captain Edward Lightower, Royal Navy.
How cynical that appellation Royal Navy was!
Feeling like purring myself, I tucked the letter into my shirt, picked up the astrolabe, and after departing the cabin, flew off now in darkness for the roofs of the Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas.