Birds of Prey - Smith Wilbur (версия книг TXT) 📗
They brought the chains to the beach where the survivors of the Resolution's crew, both Awounded and unharmed, were squatting under guard in the blazing sun.
They carried the first set to Sir Francis. "It's good to see you again, Captain." The sailor with the irons in his hands stood over him. "I have thought of you every day since last we met." on the other hand, I have never given you another thought, Sam Bowles." Sir Francis barely glanced at him, but scorn was in his voice.
"It's Boatswain Sam Bowles, now. His lordship has promoted me, "said Sam, with an insolent grin.
"Then I wish the Buzzard joy of his new boatswain. "Tis a marriage made in heaven."
"Hold out your hands, Captain. Let's see how high and mighty you are with bracelets of iron on you, Sam Bowles gloated. "By Christ, you'll never know how much pleasure this gives me." He snapped the shackles onto Sir Francis's wrists and ankles, and with the key screwed them so tight that they bit into his flesh. "I hope that fits you as well as your fancy cloak ever did." He stepped back and spat suddenly into Sir Francis's face, then burst out laughing. "I give you my solemn promise that, the day they reef your top sails for you, I will be at the Parade at Good Hope to wish you Godspeed. I wonder what way they will send you. Do you think it will be the fire, or will they hang and draw you?" Sam chuckled again and went on to Hal. "Good day to you, young Master Henry. It's your humble servant Boatswain Sam Bowles come to tend to your needs."
"I did not get a glimpse of your yellow hide during the fighting," Hal said quietly. "Where were you hiding this time?" Sam flushed and swung the handful of heavy chains against Hal's head. Hal recovered and stared coldly into his eyes. Sam would have struck again, but a huge black hand reached up and seized his wrist. He looked down into the smoky eyes of Aboli, who crouched beside Hal. Aboli said not a word but Sam Bowles stayed the blow. He could not hold that murderous stare, and dropped his eyes, keeping them averted as he knelt hurriedly to clamp the chains on Hal's limbs.
He stood up and came to Aboli, who watched him with the same expressionless gaze as he hurriedly screwed the shackles onto him, then passed on to where Big Daniel lay. Daniel winced but uttered no sound as Sam Bowles tugged brutally at his arms. The bullet wound had stopped bleeding, but with this rough treatment it opened again and began to weep watery blood from under the red head cloth that Aboli had used to bandage it. The blood trickled over his chest and dripped into the sand.
When they were all shackled together they were ordered to their feet. Supporting him between them, Hal and Aboli half carried Daniel as they were led in a file to one of the larger trees. Again they were forced to sit while the end of the chain was passed around the trunk and made fast with two heavy iron padlocks.
There were only twenty-six survivors from the Resolution's complement. Among these were four ex slaves, of which Aboli was one. Nearly all were at least lightly wounded, but four, including Daniel, were gravely injured and must be in danger of their lives.
Ned Tyler had received a deep cutlass slash in his thigh. Hampered by their manacles, Hal and Aboli bound it up with another strip of cloth salvaged from the shirt of one of the dead men who littered the battlefield like flotsam on the windswept beach. Parties of green-jacketed musketeers were working under their Dutch sergeants to gather up the corpses. Dragging them by the heels to a clearing among the trees, they stripped the bodies and searched them for the silver coins and other items of value that had been their share of the booty from the Standvastigheid.
A pair of petty-officers painstakingly searched through the discarded clothing, ripping out seams and tearing the soles off boots. Another team of three men, their sleeves rolled high and their fingers dipped in a pot of grease, probed the body orifices of the corpses, searching for any valuables that might be tucked away in these traditional hiding places.
The recovered booty was thrown into an empty water cask, over which a white sergeant stood with a loaded pistol as the keg filled slowly with a rich booty. When the ghoulish trio had finished with the naked corpses another gang dragged them away and threw them onto tall funeral pyres. Fuelled by dry logs the flames reached so high that they shrivelled the green leaves on the tall trees that surrounded the clearing. The smoke of charring flesh was sweet and nauseating, like burnt pork fat.
In the meantime, Schreuder and Cumbrae, assisted by Limberger, the captain of the galleon, were taking stock of the spice barrels. They were as officious as tax collectors, with their lists and books, checking the contents and weights of the recovered goods against the original ship's manifest, and marking the staves of the kegs with white chalk.
When they had made their tallies other gangs of seamen rolled the great barrels down to the beach and loaded them into the largest pinnace to be taken out to the galleon, which lay anchored out in the channel, under her new mainmast and rigging. The work went on all that night by the light of lantern and bonfire and the yellow flames of the cremation pyres.
As the hours passed Big Daniel became feverish. His skin was hot, and at times he raved. The bandage had at last staunched his wound, and under it a soft crusty scab had begun to form over the ugly puncture. But the skin around it was swollen and turning livid.
"The ball is still in there, Hal whispered to Aboli. "There is no wound in his back for it to have left his body." Aboli grunted, "If we try to cut it out, we will kill him.
From the angle which it entered, it must lie close to his heart and lungs."
"I fear it will mortify." Hal shook his head.
"He is strong as a bull." Aboli shrugged. "Perhaps strong enough to defeat the demons." Aboli believed that all sickness was caused by demons that had invaded the blood.
It was a groundless superstition, but Hal humoured him in his belief. "We should cauterize the wounds of all the men with hot tar." This was the sailor's cure-all and Hal pleaded in Dutch with the Hottentot guards to bring one of the pitch pots from the carpenter's shop in the stockade, but they ignored him.
