Nobody's Slave (7 page)

Tom thought about this. Certainly, he was no friend to Catholicism; in the years of his and Simon's early childhood, Protestant men and women had been burnt alive at the stake by the Catholic Queen Mary, who had married King Philip of Spain. There were daily services on board ship. But even so, few Englishmen were such fervent Lutherans as Simon and his family. Their cousin Francis, perhaps, and a dozen others scattered through the fleet. No more.

Most, like his own family, compromised; glad to have their church under the control of the Queen rather than the Pope, but keeping their services and beliefs much the same as before. As for worrying about the religion of heathen African people - that was absurd!

‘What does it matter, Si? 'Tis only selling one sort of heathen to another - that's commerce, trade. The Spaniards need slaves, we sell 'em, and get rich by it. What's wrong with that?’

Simon shook his head. ‘The trade helps the Spaniards, too, and they ought to be our enemies. I heard cousin Francis say that it would be more godly to attack the Spanish Indies, and set up our own empire in its place, instead of selling 'em slaves, which makes 'em stronger.’

‘Then perhaps he should go off and attack them, in that little caravel.’ Tom nodded towards the tiny, two-masted ship, hardly bigger than a pinnace, which they had captured from the Portuguese. ‘He'll be going ashore for the manhunt tomorrow with the rest of us, you know. Shall you come, or shall you stay on board and pray?’ he asked, irritated by the piety of his cousin’s tone.

‘Oh, I'll come, never fear,’ answered Simon scornfully, stung by Tom's contempt. 'But I'd rather trade with white ivory than black.’

Tom said nothing, uneasily aware that there might be something in what Simon said, after all. And yet it was so utterly impracticable, like Simon himself. What profit could there be in preaching to Africans, when the whole purpose of the voyage was to capture and sell them? For a moment he brooded; but he was not one to think or bear a grudge for long.

‘Well, you never know, Si. We might be lucky, and get ourselves some elephants's teeth, too. Even see one, perhaps ...’

And for a while, as the beautiful stately little ships dipped and nodded their way towards the thickening green line of coast ahead, the two boys swung idly in the forechains, forgetting the slaves, recalling what they had heard of previous voyages, and wondering what they would see on this one.

Behind them, as they looked aft, they could see Admiral Hawkins and Master Barrett in quiet conference on the stern gallery, the walkway that ran round the after end of the ship. George Fitzwilliam, one of the gentlemen partners, strolled with them. They seemed in good enough humour; yet there was an air of subdued tension about them too, a sort of deferred excitement that was creeping all over the ship, which Tom and Simon felt as well as the rest.

After the storm off Cape Finisterre, the ships had regrouped, and creaked quietly south. But now they were approaching their first landfall, where they must succeed if the voyage were to make a profit.

It was the first stage of a triangular trade, in which they took cloth and cheap goods to Africa, to sell in exchange for slaves. Then they sold the slaves across the Atlantic to Spanish colonists in New Spain, and returned with gold and silver to England. Twice before John Hawkins had made such a voyage, and it was always risky. The Spanish colonists were really forbidden to trade with the English at all, and would deceive them if they could. But England and Spain were still officially allies, and there was huge profit in the trade, if the Spaniards could be made to pay. That was why Hawkins had persuaded Queen Elizabeth to lend him the huge, impressive old
Jesus of Lubeck
- to show the Spaniards that he was the official partner of the Queen of England, and also to impress them with the power of his guns. As a trader, though, not a pirate.

But John Hawkins did not always buy his slaves. Sometimes, when he had the right information, he was prepared to go hunting, and capture them himself. And that was what he was planning to do today.

A
S THE little ships came nearer the land, a deep wooded bay, a river-mouth, stretched its long arms ever wider to welcome them in, until, as they anchored, the endless horizon of the ocean had shrunk to a line of oppressively close, dark and gloomy trees. Rich, strange scents came from them, and the wild unusual cries of birds. It was a well-timed landfall; between the time the anchor rattled in and the last sail was furled, the sun set, suddenly, like a ripe fruit falling from the sky. Instantly, millions of tropical stars appeared above their heads, while the river-water lapped at the hull of the ship, and the night-birds shrieked from the trees.

They got into the boats an hour before dawn. A white mist hung above the river, hiding the lower parts of the trees, so that their tops floated strangely, disembodied, beneath the stars. Tom and Simon were in the leading pinnace, from the
Jesus
, with the Admiral and thirty men. Each man was armed with a cutlass and two pistols, and in the bottom of the boat were a dozen weighted fishing nets, to throw over men's heads and entangle them, and ropes to tie their hands.

They waited, backing water under the
Jesus'
stern, until the boats from the other ships arrived. Then, each boat close behind the other, they rowed upriver into the mist; nearly two hundred men, all told, heading for a beach the Admiral remembered from some years before.

Tom and Simon were at an oar together, pulling steadily. The thole-pins on which the oars pivoted had been greased to muffle them, but even so, after a while some of them began their normal inevitable squeak, which no-one could prevent. Suddenly the boat stopped with a horrible, lurching jolt, throwing the rowers onto their backs. They had run into a tangle of roots somewhere near the shore. The bosun poled them off, and they rowed further out into the stream; but Tom could see the Admiral's face, frowning as he peered ahead; and shortly after that the drums began.

The drums were very close; an urgent rumble of rhythms, repeated again and again. Then silence; and the same rhythms were taken up by another drum, quieter, further upriver. As though the drums were talking.

‘They've spotted us, sir,’ said John Sanders, the bosun, quietly. ‘They know we're coming.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Hawkins. ‘But it's not certain. Some of them make that racket every dawn. We'll go straight on.’

Tom realised he could see John Hawkins’ face. The sun rose, quite suddenly - as fast as it had dropped last night. With it came a cacaphony of birds, screeching from the trees on either side; and the mist began to melt. One moment it was thick, clammy, chilling, like a pale disease sliding out of the water into their eyes and mouths; then it was a soft haze through which the boats advanced; and then it was gone - just a few faint fingers curling delicately upwards into the blue sky, to vanish in the sudden heat of the sun.

The heat.
Almost immediately the rowers were bathed in streams of sweat, and opening their mouths to suck strength from air that seemed composed of warm, damp wool. Simon was tiring already, breathing in long, laboured gasps. So Tom took most of the weight of the oar himself, straining to keep time with oars that were manned by two grown men.

Despite the sweat that poured out of him, Tom felt a surge of excitement as they moved upriver. The moored ships had long fallen out of sight, and the thick wooded banks were beginning to close in. He began to look about him. There were great trees whose roots rose out of the water like giant spider's legs, as though the tree itself could walk; sudden flashes of brilliantly coloured birds; a long swimming snake that slithered under the oars of the pinnace behind them, causing the rowers to break time for a moment in panic; and once, most terrifying of all, something he’d thought was a large floating log seemed to watch their progress with two malevolent yellow eyes just above the surface.

They landed at a wide, sandy beach on a bend of the river. As the pinnace nosed ashore, six soldiers armed with arquebuses leapt out to guard against a surprise attack. But none came. Tom and Simon helped to haul the boat ashore, and the other boats came in, spilling their men all round them, until the little beach was swarming with men like a marketplace.

There was a brief pause, while guards were detailed to stay with the boats. As Tom checked the priming of his pistols, he saw Simon sitting, exhausted on the sand, and stumbled towards him. Everyone was stumbling; after being so long afloat all the sailors swayed as they walked, used to the normal motion of the sea. He sat down thankfully beside his cousin.

‘How is it, Si?’

‘Well .. well enough.’ Simon flicked his fair hair out of his eyes, and looked up anxiously. ‘If only it wasn't so ... so devilish hot. Do you think it's far to walk?’

‘Maybe. I'll ask for you to stay with the boats if you like. If you can't make it.’

‘I'll make it.’ Simon grimaced, and heaved himself unsteadily to his feet. ‘I want to see it all, whatever happens. Look! Did you see the parrot?’

‘What?’

‘The parrot. There!’ He pointed, and Tom caught sight of a quick flash of red, blue, and gold, like a huge kingfisher; but then it was gone. ‘I'm sure it was a parrot,’ Simon went on. ‘Francis told me the name, and it had the same colours. He knew a sailor who had taught one to speak!’

‘Never! A bird can't speak!’

‘He can. Cousin Francis, parrots can learn to speak, can't they? You said ...’

‘Aye, so I did, young Simon. But now's not the time to teach 'em.’ Their fierce, stocky cousin scowled at them, his red-bearded face streaked with sweat. ‘Get yourselves in line, we'll be off any moment.’

He moved on, checking the weapons of his own crew; and then they were off, a file of men following the Admiral into the forest, on the narrow path that led from the beach.

It was hot and close in the forest, but they moved quietly, intent on maintaining their surprise. As they went they peered about them into the deep green mystery of the undergrowth, sometimes starting nervously at the raucous cry of a strange bird, or the sudden rustling flight of an animal.

Once Tom thought he heard the drumming again, brief but urgent, away to the left; but it stopped almost as soon as it had begun, and the Admiral never faltered in his pace. Tom's loose shirt and canvas trousers were drenched with sweat, and he was glad he had come barefoot; those, like the Admiral and George Fitzwilliam, wearing stout sea boots, trunk hose and chest armour, must be even hotter than he was.

Suddenly, they came to the top of a small rise, and the forest opened: below them were what looked like fields, with rows of tall plants obviously cultivated by men; and straight ahead, behind a thin thorn hedge, the thatched roofs of a cluster of huts, with the plumes of woodsmoke rising from cooking fires. It was a pleasant, peaceful scene, Tom thought - like a village at home in Devon, in the very early morning before everyone has begun to move about.

John Hawkins issued his orders. ‘There's two gates. Francis - take your men to the left, past those trees. When you're ready to rush the gate, fire a shot. We should have 'em all penned neatly, like sheep in a fold.’

Hawkins caught Tom's eye and smiled as Francis led his men away to the left. It was a fierce, conspiratorial smile, full of the joy of the chase; and also relief, that their surprise had not been betrayed. He found himself grinning proudly back.

‘You ready, then, lad? Remember, hurt no-one more'n you can help. They're all worth something - even the mothers and babies.’

‘Aye, sir.’ Tom grinned, noticing the coat of arms on Admiral Hawkins’ armour, a demi-Moor proper – a black African slave - bound by a rope.

The musket-shot came, and Tom and Simon ran down through the fields with the others, yelling for all they were worth. He saw the bosun, running at an amazing speed for such a big man, with his net at the ready. Tom had his cutlass in one hand, and a pistol in the other, but he didn’t need them - their surprise was complete. The primitive thorn fence was unguarded, and the gateway into the centre of the village stood invitingly open.

He and Simon rushed in with the others, looking for prisoners. Still there was no-one. He saw an abandoned fire next to a hut, and rushed in through the door, yelling ferociously; then stopped. No-one. Nothing. Only a rough bed on the hard-packed floor, some cooking pots, and a carved doll, that looked like a child's toy. He stepped outside, bewildered. There was the Admiral, looking around as he was. No-one? Surely the village could not be empty?

A band of yelling figures rushed towards them from the left. A sailor raised his pistol to fire, and then stopped. The men were English, like themselves - Francis's men, who had attacked from the other side.

The two groups stood in the centre of the deserted village, staring foolishly at each other. All the huts in the village were searched; all were empty.

‘What - no-one at home? All called away?’ Tom saw a scowl spread furiously across Francis Drake's face, replaced almost immediately by a grin. Then he threw back his head and laughed aloud. ‘All for nothing, then! It seems our fame has gone before us, John! We're not as welcome as we were!’

Tom saw Simon grinning from ear to ear, as though in some huge secret relief. But John Hawkins frowned, unamused.

‘’Tis no laughing matter, Francis. There must be some of the beggars here somewhere, hiding. Find one who can show us where they've gone. Have all the huts been searched?’

They were searched, but nothing was found, not even any animals. Just the quiet, deceitful plumes of smoke, rising from the cooking fires. A group of sailors set light to the thatch of one of the huts out of revenge. Hawkins snapped at them angrily, but they had no water to put it out. For a moment they stood around it, transfixed by the speed with which it burnt, the roof falling in with a great crackling roar, the flames almost invisible in the bright light of day.

It was then, when they were least prepared for it, that the attack came. Tom saw a seaman beside the bosun gasp, and stagger forward a few paces, his mouth open in shock; then he fell to his knees, as though praying. The bosun spun round, amazed.