Sea Robber (44 page)

‘Maybe these guns were just for show,’ said Hector.

Dan thrust an arm down the barrel. ‘I can feel the wad, though it’s soggy and damp. Behind it there’s the ball. I’d say he was a captain who preferred to leave the guns charged and shotted in case they were needed in a hurry.’

He withdrew his arm and together they crossed the sloping deck and investigated the second cannon. It, too, was ready-loaded. ‘Are you sure you’ve looked everywhere for a shot locker?’ Dan asked.

‘There’s nothing. I guess Vlucht was too mean to keep proper artillery stores,’ said Hector.

‘No point in salvaging two cannon when we have only two rounds of shot to fire from them. One cannon will have to do,’ said Dan.

Hector looked across at the kora kora, still hove-to fifty paces away on the fringe of the reef, unable to come closer. ‘How do you propose to do that?’ he enquired doubtfully.

‘Ask the Omoro to build a raft on-shore, and then come out at high tide and take this gun off.’

They waded their way back to the war canoe where Prince Jainalabidin’s face lit up with excitement when Hector explained how Dan wanted to proceed. The boy spoke rapidly to the chamberlain.

‘The prince says that we Omoro know all about building rafts,’ translated Mansur. ‘We use them for fishing in the river. His Highness says that he can order his men to have a raft ready in less than three hours, and they will remove the cannon from the wreck by nightfall.’

Hector hid his doubts that the work could be done so quickly. ‘Then, with His Highness’ permission, I suggest that Jezreel and Dan go back to the
Westflinge
and get the cannon ready. Jacques and I will stay in case we can be of assistance.’

The kora kora shifted to the same creek where the
Westflinge
’s castaways had earlier set up their camp, and soon Hector had to admit that he’d underestimated the Omoro. Her crew divided into teams and disappeared into the jungle. Within half an hour one squad returned carrying stalks of giant bamboo, six inches in diameter and thirty feet long. They stripped off the leaves, and then used their heavy knives to shave away the hard, shiny outer skin. This, according to Mansur, meant that the lashings of the raft would grip. Meanwhile another team had reappeared with lengths of rattan and split the vines lengthwise. When all the materials were ready, the entire workforce set about fastening the bamboos side by side with the rattan strips, then attaching cross-braces to give the raft its shape. By mid-afternoon they had pushed the raft into the water and, with Hector and Mansur aboard, were propelling it towards the wreck of the
Westflinge.

They found that Dan and Jezreel had used the hand-spikes to manoeuvre the brass gun to the edge of the deck and had unbolted the trunnion caps that held the weapon to its carriage. Jainalabidin’s men looped a length of rattan around the gun while their colleagues on the raft rigged spare bamboos to make a simple crane. Taking advantage of a slight uprise on the swell, the cannon was lifted from its carriage, swung across the gap and lowered safely on to the raft. Minutes later, the gun’s wooden carriage followed.

‘Neatly done,’ said Jezreel approvingly. With a round shot in each hand, he stepped across to the raft. Dan and Hector gathered up the rammer and hand-spikes and the box of wads and followed him.

T
HREE DAYS LATER
Hector found himself gazing up at Haar, the chief town of the Sugala and the residence of their Rajah. He could see why the Omoro had failed to subdue their rivals. Haar was perched on a headland jutting from the coast. Cliffs, 200 feet high, protected it on three sides, and the only approach from the sea was by a footpath cut into the steep bluff, which faced over the stony landing beach. The fishermen there had taken to their heels and scampered up the path to the town the moment they’d seen the war canoe approaching.

Hector flinched as a musket bullet splashed into the water close by. The Sugala were firing off occasional warning shots at the kora kora as it cruised slowly past the deserted landing place. But the range was too far for any accuracy.

‘Boom, boom!’ Prince Jainalabidin made enthusiastic artillery noises and pointed excitedly, first at the lantaka and then at the brass cannon, still on its raft being towed behind the kora kora.

Hector shook his head. With just two rounds of shot in their armoury, it would achieve nothing to lob a cannonball at the town on the crest of the headland. ‘We must get closer for our guns to be effective. We have to attack the town from the land,’ he explained to the chamberlain.

‘That will be dangerous,’ Mansur cautioned. ‘On the landward side Haar is protected by a stout palisade of tree trunks, and the Rajah’s people keep the jungle cut back so that their musketeers have a clear shot at any attackers. The ground there is flat and level, with nowhere to hide. Last time we had two men wounded when they got too close.’

‘We don’t have any choice, if we want to use our cannon,’ Hector answered.

The older man looked unconvinced. ‘There’s no way to get the large gun up there. The hillsides are very steep and covered with thick forest, and the only track to the summit follows the bed of a stream. In many places you are obliged to scramble knee-deep in the water.’

Hector forced himself to sound cheerful. ‘Then we must turn that into an advantage. The Sugala will never expect us to bring cannon up that route. So they won’t try to intercept us. They’ll stay behind their palisade and wait for us to go away. We’ll give them an unpleasant surprise.’ He turned to Prince Jainalabidin and said in slow, careful Spanish, ‘Your Highness, can your men bring the big gun through the jungle and up behind the town?’

The boy bit his lip, and cast an anxious look towards the chamberlain. It was clear that, for the first time, he was being asked to overrule his father’s minister in a major decision. Mansur translated Hector’s words so that there should be no misunderstanding. After a brief silence the prince said proudly, ‘Of course. My men will do what I ask them.’

Hector felt ashamed that he’d taken advantage of the prince’s youthful bravado.

‘Then I suggest we land the cannon out of sight of the Sugala, so they have no idea what we’re doing,’ he said.

Mansur seemed to have accepted his prince’s decision. ‘There’s a small bay just around that spit of land over there. We’ve used it before as a campsite.’

He shouted an order and the paddlers began to turn the kora kora, heading away from Haar. As they retreated, they heard a final flurry of musket shots and a faint jeering from the defenders.

‘They’ve plenty of gunpowder to waste,’ commented Jezreel drily.

‘Probably got it from that same trader who sold it to the Sultan,’ said Hector. He was watching the coast ahead. He could already see the spit of land behind which the kora kora could shelter. ‘Jezreel, I think I should go ahead, while you and the others supervise the landing of the cannon. I want to scout that footpath we’ll be using. See if it’s as bad as Mansur claims, or if there’s some way we can get the five-pounder along it.’

L
EAVING THE OTHERS
on the beach, Hector headed inland. He had gone barely twenty yards when he began to appreciate just how difficult it would be to haul the cannon uphill. Had it not been for his guide, an Omoro warrior who had taken part in the previous expedition against Haar, he would never have guessed there was any sort of footpath through the jungle. He lost all sense of direction as he shouldered his way through thickets where the plants grew head-high, and his guide led him around the tangled roots of fallen trees piled awkwardly across one another. When that was impossible, he had to scramble over their massive rotting trunks, his hands sliding on the greasy coating of damp moss. Everywhere the ground was soggy, each footfall squelching into the thick layer of leaf mould. It was obvious the thick, eight-inch solid wooden wheels of the brass cannon’s carriage, designed to roll on a ship’s deck, would bog down and be useless in the jungle.

When at last they reached the stream whose course they had to follow, the conditions became even more awkward. It was impossible to stay on the bank. Shrubs and bushes forced Hector to step down into the water. The rocks in the stream bed shifted treacherously when he put his weight on them. Once or twice he tripped and fell forward, saving himself by throwing out his arms and plunging elbow-deep into the water. After twenty minutes of slow, bruising progress he reached the conclusion that Mansur was right. A short distance ahead of him the stream cascaded down a set of rapids, which an agile man might pass by clambering from one rocky shelf to the next, but it would be impossible to haul a heavy cannon up the cataract.

Disheartened, he paused to catch his breath. He felt insignificant within the immensity of the forest. Overhead the canopy of enormous trees blocked out the sunlight and any view of the sky. He was aware only of the constant sound of the rapids, the swirl of water rippling past his ankles, the musty smell of the damp earth, and the myriad itching insect pinpricks on his neck and arms.

The sudden loud, metallic cry of a large bird made him jump. It was a double squawk, very noisy and close at hand. The cry was repeated after a few seconds, then again, echoing through the jungle. From somewhere in the far distance, he heard an answering call. His Omoro guide had stopped abruptly a few yards ahead and held up a warning hand. Hector cautiously peered upwards, trying to see the bird. The nearest trees had straight trunks that soared upwards for at least eighty feet before spreading their mass of branches. They reminded him of the tall columns within a cathedral.

The metallic call came again, even closer. He looked towards his guide, who was making a dancing motion with both hands. ‘Manuk dewata,’ the man mouthed softly.

God’s Birds, Hector thought to himself. This was why he was here: to decide the rights of ownership over this green wilderness and the brilliant coloured plumage of the birds that lived within it. He scanned the jungle canopy, but could see nothing.

The next call was shockingly close by, no more than ten yards away. It came not from the branches high above him, but from the lip of the stream bank just to his right. He looked in that direction and, as he did so, a man stepped into view. He was, at most, five feet tall. Small-boned, with a thick bush of wiry black hair surrounding a head far too large for his body, he was completely naked except for a loincloth. He had a gourd hanging on a cord around his neck, and in his hand was a bamboo hoop to which clung three small, bright red and green parrots.

The extraordinary apparition looked at Hector and his companion for a long, slow interval. Then the grave face broke into a shy smile. Turning away from Hector, he faced into the jungle, lifted his free hand and pinched his nose. He took in a breath through his mouth and let loose a loud, metallic squawk through one nostril.

Somewhere in the distance the call was answered. The forest man was a bird hunter, tracking down his prey.

Cautiously Hector clambered up the bank and approached the stranger, careful not to frighten him. The little man had the manner of a timid forest creature who might suddenly take flight. ‘Salaam aleikum,’ Hector said gently. The man bobbed his head in a friendly way and stood his ground, but made no reply. The three gaily coloured parrots twittered and scrabbled on their perch, using beaks and claws to maintain their grip. Hector looked back enquiringly at his Omoro guide, who shrugged helplessly. It seemed the Omoro did not speak the newcomer’s language. Hector turned back to the bird catcher. ‘Is there a way to Haar from here?’ he asked in English. Large brown eyes regarded him wonderingly, and Hector thought to himself it was probably the first time the little man had seen someone with a pale skin and grey eyes. Hector raised his left hand, palm upwards, and made a walking motion across it with the fingers of his right hand. Then he pointed uphill and spread his arms wide, indicating a broader track.