Birds of Prey - Smith Wilbur (версия книг TXT) 📗

"I will have to give the Governor and his executioner the same answer I gave you, Colonel."

Schreuder squatted on his heels and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial, almost friendly, tone. "Sir Francis, in our short acquaintance I have formed a high regard for you as a warrior, a sailor and a gentleman. If I were to give evidence before the tribunal that your Letter of Marque existed, and that you were a legitimate privateer, the outcome of your trial might go differently."

"You must have faith in Governor van de Velde that I lack," Sir Francis replied. "I wish I could further your career for you by producing the missing bullion, but I cannot help you, sir. I know nothing of its whereabouts."

Schreuder's face stiffened as he stood up. "I have tried to help you. I regret that you reject my offer. However, you are correct, sir. I do not have the stomach to have you put to the question under torture. What is more, I will prevent Lord Cumbrae from taking that task upon himself. I will simply do my duty and deliver you to the mercy of the tribunal at Good Hope. I beg you, siR, will you not reconsider?"

Sir Francis shook his head. "I regret I cannot help you, sir.

Schreuder sighed. "Very well. You and your men will be taken aboard the Gull of Moray as soon as she is ready to sail tomorrow morning. The frigate Sonnevogel has other duties in the Indies and she will sail at the same time to go her separate way. The Standvastigheid will remain here under her true commander, Captain Limberger, to take on her cargo of spice and timber before she resumes her interrupted voyage to Amsterdam."

He turned on his heel and disappeared back into the shadows, in the direction of the spice go down

When they were aroused by their captors the following morning, four of the wounded, including Daniel and Ned Tyler, were unable to walk and their comrades were forced to carry them. The slave chains allowed little freedom of movement, and it was a clumsy line of men that shambled down to the beach. Each step was hampered by the clanking shackles, so that they could not lift their feet high enough to step over the gunwale of the pinnace, and had to be shoved in by their guards.

When the pinnace tied onto the foot of the rope ladder down the side of the Gull, the climb that faced the chained men to the deck was daunting and dangerous. Sam Bowles stood at the entry port above them. One of the guards in the pinnace shouted up to him, "Can we loose the prisoners" chains, Boatswain?"

"Why do you want to do that?" Sam called down.

"The wounded can't help themselves. The others will not be able to hoist them. They'll not be able to make it up the ladder otherwise." "if they don't make it they're the ones that will be the poorer for it," Sam answered. "His lordship's orders. The manacles must stay on."

Sir Francis led the climb, his every movement hampered by the string of men linked behind him. The four wounded men, moaning in their delirium, were dead weights that had to be dragged up by force. Big Daniel, in particular, tested all their strength. If they had allowed him to slip from their grasp, he would have plummeted into the pinnace and pulled the whole string of twenty-six men with him, almost certainly capsizing the small boat. Once in the lagoon, the weight of their heavy iron chains would have plucked them all to the bottom, four fathoms down.

If it had not been for the bull strength of Aboli, they would never have reached the deck of the Gull. Yet even he was completely played out when, at last, he heaved Daniel's inert form over the gunwale and collapsed beside him on the scrubbed white deck. They all lay there gasping and panting, to be roused at last by a tingling peal of laughter.

With an effort Hal raised his head. On the Gull's quarterdeck, under a canvas awning, a breakfast table was laid. The glass was crystal and the silverware sparkled in the early sunlight. He smelt the heady aroma of bacon, fresh eggs and hot biscuit rising from the silver chafing dish.

At the head of the table sat the Buzzard. He raised his glass towards that sprawling heap of human bodies in the waist of his ship.

"Welcome aboard, gentlemen, and your astounding good health!" He drank the toast in whisky, then wiped his ginger whiskers with a damask napkin. "The finest quarters on board have been prepared for you. I wish you a pleasant voyage."

Katinka van de Velde laughed again, a musical sound. She sat at the Buzzard's left hand. Her head was bare, her golden curls piled high, her violet eyes wide and innocent in the flawless oval of her powdered face, and a beauty spot drawn carefully at the corner of her pretty, painted mouth.

The Governor sat opposite his wife. He stopped in the act of lifting a silver fork loaded with crisped bacon and cheese to his mouth, but continued to chew. A yellow drop of egg yolk escaped from between his pendulous lips and ran down his chin as he guffawed. "Do not despair, Sir Francis. Remember your family motto. I am sure you will endure." He stuffed the forkful into his mouth, and spoke through it. "This is really excellent fare, fresh from Good Hope. What a pity you cannot join us."

"How thoughtful of your lordship to provide us with entertainment.

Will these troubadours sing for us, or will they amuse us with more acrobatics?" Katinka asked in Dutch, then made a pretty little moue and tapped Cumbrae's arm with her painted Chinese fan.

At that moment Big Daniel rolled his head from side to side, thumping it on the planks, and cried out in delirium. The Buzzard howled with laughter. "As you see, they try their best, madam, but their repertoire does not suit every taste." He nodded at Sam Bowles. "Pray show them to their quarters, Master Samuel, and make sure they are well cared for."

With a knotted rope end, Sam Bowles whipped the prisoners to their feet. They lifted their wounded and shambled down the companion ladder. In the depths of the hull, below the main hold, stretched the low slave deck. When Sam Bowles lifted the hatch that opened into it, the stench that rose to greet them made even him recoil. It was the essence of the suffering of hundreds of doomed souls who had languished here.