Voyage of Midnight (9 page)

Up went the canvas, down went the canvas.

I frowned. “You know how to talk, don’t you, Pea Soup? Come to think of it, I’ve never heard you speak at all. Perhaps you’re a mute. Are you a mute?”

I shaded my eyes and gazed at him, knowing he couldn’t understand a word of English. And, as usual, he didn’t say anything. I decided he really wasn’t disagreeable to look at. Fact was, I wished my own frail body would find a form of masculinity as had Pea Soup’s, though I wouldn’t care to be black as midnight,
nor have coarse, woolly hair. I’d never seen him smile, and wondered if he’d good teeth. As his owner and master, I was responsible for his teeth.

“Well,” I said, sighing and returning to my journal, “perhaps you just don’t know
that
word. Perhaps, as a savage, you’ve always eaten with your fingers. How about
ez
? It means ‘tooth.’ ” I tapped my front tooth. Still nothing. I pointed to myself. “Philip.” Then I pointed to him. “Pea Soup. Can you say ‘Pea Soup’? That’s your name. Probably not God-given, but it’s your name nonetheless. ‘Pea Soup,’ can you say it?” I said it again, slowly:
“Peea Soooup.”

I might’ve pursued this had I sensed any understanding from Pea Soup. Instead, his monotonous blankness left me yawning, and I wondered if it was even possible to guide him out of savagery. After trying a dozen words on him and receiving no response, I set down my journal and nodded off, thankful nonetheless for the breeze.

For the rest of the day, amid thunderous squalls, we made our way to the mouth of the river Bonny, where we anchored for the night. Then, in the pale light of dawn, we up-anchored and navigated between the numerous sandbanks with the high tide, carried over the final bar by the moist land breeze.

Once we’d left the river Bonny, a calm settled, along with a pouring rain. We anchored and waited for the sea breeze. This was the most dangerous leg of our journey, for, as Jonas told me, the patrol squadron liked to lie in wait for slavers leaving the mouths of rivers, when the ships were filled to the gunwales with slaves. Unable to get rid of their cargo, the traders would be caught red-handed with the illegal goods.

Keeping a sharp lookout during the lull, we ate our breakfast. Afterward I studied my journal of languages and my catechism
until Jonas called me to my medical station, for we’d several complaints of fever among the crew. Normally, we diagnosed and treated the crew where they lay in their hammocks, but today, because of the heat belowdecks, we’d set up a temporary infirmary for the crew on the deck, under an awning.

As I opened the medicine chest, the rain stopped. A minute later the cry “Sail ho!” resounded from the masthead.

Those of us gathered under the medical awning ducked our heads out and gazed upward. The lookout was peering through his spyglass directly out to sea.

“Where away?” came Uncle’s voice from aft.

“Four points off the port bow.”

“What flag?”

“Can’t tell. Wait … weather’s clearing off.” A minute later: “It’s the Union Jack. Britain.”

I heard Uncle say, “Run up the Stars and Stripes! What kind of vessel?”

“Uh—she appears to be a warship, Captain. She’s picked up the sea breeze and is headed straight for us.”

Uncle ran up the rigging, nimble as a lad. But before he could arrive at the masthead, the lookout cried again, his voice cracking with panic. “Sail ho!
Two
warships, Captain! One behind the other one! And this one appears to be American!”

“
A
ll hands! All hands!”

The entire crew of the
Formidable
, save for those who lay groaning in their hammocks with fever, erupted into pandemonium. Like bees in a hive.

A clot of men circled the capstan, raising the anchor inch by blasted inch, cursing and praying aloud. Men slammed gunports open. Rolled out the long guns. Dumped ammunition, muskets, daggers, and swords on deck. Loaded and primed small arms, and jammed them into belts. Sailors swarmed the rigging, waiting for the signal to set sail.

“Jonas, pray tell me, what’s going to happen?” I kept asking, hurrying to take down the awning covering our medical supplies. “Are they going to sink us? Are they going to kill us? Are we going to have to fight?”

Jonas paused and clutched the pinrail, panting. “Blood and thunder, don’t ask so many questions, boy,” he finally gasped. “Of course they’re not going to sink us if they think we’ve got slaves aboard. Just know that if we get
caught
with a boatload of slaves, we’ll lose everything and have to face trial. Or worse, your uncle could be hanged as a pirate. You too. United States law.”

I stared at Jonas as if this were a jolly joke and he was about to burst into his donkey laugh and slap me on the back. “Did you say
hanged?”

“Indeed I did.”

“But—but—can’t we just raise the Spanish flag?”

“Too late for that, boy. And besides, British ships have permission from the Spanish government to board Spanish vessels. Either way, they’ve got us pinched.” He shoved me aside and began tugging on one of the awning’s knots. “Now shut your trap and do your duty or it’ll be an early end to your fine career.”

“Pea Soup!” I screamed, seeing him lounging against the bulwarks, watching everything with a keen interest. “Help us! For the love of God, help us!”

By the time our anchor was raised and every canvas set and spread, the pursuing vessels were only a half mile distant. Their bows slicing through the water, spray flying over them in dashes of white, they looked like greyhounds in full sprint. The wind that blew them along finally, thankfully, caught up with us, and we turned and scurried back into the mouth of the Bonny, navigating the channels under a cloud of sail in water hardly deeper than we drew, dashing over the bar, spray flying over our low bulwarks as we hurried on through wind and surf into deeper water.

“Steady, men! Steady!” cried Uncle. “Ready the main topgallant stays’l!”

In a short time we came upon Bonny Town and ran between the merchant ships at anchor, meanwhile setting every stays’l we
owned as Uncle variously called “Haul taut!” “Sheet home!” “Hoist away!”

Crowds of sailors lined the rails of the merchant ships. Colorful pennants flew from halyards. And when one of the pursuing vessels fired a warning shot from its bow gun, though it fell far short, the merchant sailors cheered and waved their caps at the naval ships. At the same time, screams echoed and thuds pounded from the hold beneath us.

“Prepare to receive the wounded.” Jonas flung open the medical chest. His hands shook as he handed me a leg saw, a tourniquet, the surgeon’s kit, bandages.

“But, Jonas, are we truly going to go into action? Because I’ve—I’ve never yet cut off a leg. What if some poor fellow’s hit with a cannonball? Jonas, what about the slaves? Who’ll know if they’re in need of assistance? Jonas, should I have a weapon to defend myself? Jonas—”

“For pity’s sake, pipe down and hand me a drink, will you? Brandy.”

At half past four, miles past Bonny Town, just as the vessels were almost upon us, sharpshooters firing their muskets from the shrouds, the wind fell light and Uncle hauled out into a branch of the Bonny running eastward.

Immediately it split into two tributaries, with a narrow spit of brush-covered sand, a quarter mile broad, running between. For a heart-stopping moment we scraped sand with our bottom, but were soon into the northernmost fork, still flying with every scrap of sail. The Royal Navy vessel veered into the south fork and was now almost abreast of us, mastheads towering over the jungled sandspit between. To our dismay, the American warship, a two-masted schooner, followed us into the north fork, scraping bottom as well. We held our collective breath, desperately hoping she’d founder, but on she came, tenacious as a bulldog.

“I’ll go to the devil, I will, rather than let them have us or our cargo!” roared Uncle. “Ready the carronades for firing! We’ll sink these self-righteous upstarts.”

Soon the gaping mouths of two carronades, shiny black, short-barreled, and wicked-looking, poked through our stern gunports. The gun crews clustered about the carronades like moths about a lantern.

“Three fathoms, Captain!” cried the second mate, who sounded the depths. “And getting shallower!”

“Keep a foot of water under her keel,” was Uncle’s response. “And fire as you bear.”

No sooner had he said so than both carronades blasted with a will. A wave of air concussed the ship like a giant hammer, shaking timbers and rattling teeth. Jonas slopped his brandy. Pea Soup screamed, sank to the deck, and covered his ears. My own ears rang as I fetched a pistol from the pile of small arms. The acrid stink of gunpowder swirled through the air.

“You stupid fool,” Jonas slurred, slouched against the medicine chest. “You don’t know how to use that. Put it away.”

I looked at it, realizing that he was right, that I didn’t even know how to fire it, much less load it properly. Tossing it away, I picked up a cutlass instead.

Right, then. Should be easy enough. Aim and stab
.

“What are you going to do?” Jonas was saying. “Hack off someone’s leg instead of sawing it off? You’re half anyone’s size, plus you’re a surgeon’s mate, boy, not a soldier. Besides, we’re doomed. We’re
all
doomed. They’ll either catch us or kill us, and either way we’re doomed.”

I sank down beside Jonas, feeling as dour and helpless as he looked, hearing Pea Soup scream and scream as the carronades blasted their 32-pound shot over and over again and the
Formidable
shuddered with the strain. Just how did I get into this
predicament? Me, Philip Arthur Higgins, a hardworking, law-abiding lad who some said had the makings of a good scholar. Me, Philip Arthur Higgins, master, speculator, and entrepreneur, whose short career was about to end in bleak failure, perhaps even at the end of a rope.

“Two and a half fathoms, Captain! We’re going to ground!”

“Prepare to jettison the cargo!”

I blinked, wondering what Uncle meant.

But before I could figure it out, a cheer began with the sailors at the stern and spread throughout the ship. All about me, sailors tossed their caps in the air or waved them to and fro. Everyone was grinning. “They’ve grounded! Captain, they’ve grounded! And we shot a hole right through her bows!”

I jumped to my feet and stared aft at the American warship. Indeed, she’d settled on a sandbar. She was listing to the side, yardarms reaching toward the muddy bank, sails bulging with the strain. And as I watched, sheets snapped. A sail ripped asunder with a sound like a cannon blast. Men darted about like ants on an anthill.

“She’s stuck hard,” said Jonas with a yellow grin.

Onward we sailed, up the creek, reducing and trimming sail, the jeers and taunts from our crew fading into silence once the American vessel was lost from view. The masts of the British ship were gone as well. Again we were surrounded by nothing but chattering birds, mangrove swamps, and clouds of mosquitoes.

We cast anchor, watching and listening as the sun sank—a blood-red fireball beneath the mangroves—and darkness fell.

We had a plan.

In the wee morning hours, when the tide was favorable, the
Formidable
would slip past the American vessel.

All light would be extinguished.

Men would be posted throughout the hold to keep the slaves quiet.

Fourteen men in our longboat would tow our ship.

All sails would be furled, for sails blocked out the night sky, and a lookout on the American vessel—supposing he could see the sky at all—might wonder why it’d suddenly disappeared as we floated silently past.

Gunners would be ready to open fire, if necessary.

If we slipped by successfully, then we’d sail like the dickens toward the mouth of the Bonny, leaving the American cruiser stranded miles back in the creek, wondering and wondering where the devil we’d gone.

As surgeon’s mate, I was beginning to realize that the only action in which I’d ever be likely to participate would be the aftereffects of action. The bloody effects. In other words, I was to wait. To stand in readiness and wait. This satisfied me, for as I was small for my age and well suited for scholarly pursuits, I decided I’d take Jonas’ advice and leave the combat to others.