The Monsoon (120 page)

He seized a moment to visit the cabin where Sarah had taken Dorian and Yasmini. With relief he found his brother resting easily in the little bunk. Sarah had changed the dressing on his wound, and she nodded at Tom to let him know all was well. Yasmini had recovered enough to help her, and she was feeding Dorian from a pewter bowl of soup. Tom spent only a minute with them before he hurried on deck again.

The first thing he saw as he stepped over the coaming was the long column of Omani cavalry streaming down the north bank after them.

“Five hundred or more,” he estimated, and All Wilson agreed.

“Enough to do us some mischief in a straight fight, Captain.”

“We best not let it come to that.” Tom smiled with more confidence than he felt.

“How long before we reach the shallows?”

“Two hours at this speed.”

“Right, then. We’re going to lighten the ship. Throw everything overboard that is not essential to our voyage,” he ordered.

Then he lowered his voice so that it would not carry to Sarah in the cabin below: “You can start with that harpsichord.” With splash after high splash they jettisoned the cargo.

After the harpsichord they sent over the bales of trade goods, left them bobbing in the wake as they bore down swiftly on the sand bars. Most of the powder-kegs went over the side and all the iron round shot Tom kept just enough powder and grape to fight during an hour of heavy engagement.

“Drain half the water from the barrels. Leave just enough to allow us to reach Good Hope on short rations,” Tom cried. That would be a terrible hardship for the women and children, but capture by the Omani would be a lot worse, he consoled himself.

“WVhile the crew worked, Tom kept an eye on the following cavalry. Where the current sped through the narrows the Centaurus pulled ahead of the Omani column, but when it slowed up and the wind became fluky in the middle of the day, the sails flapped lazily, and the Arabs regained all the ground they had lost.

Tom loaded one of the stern cannon with a double charge of powder and a hatful of grapeshot. When the head of the column came within extreme range he fired at it. He did little damage but the horses bucked and danced, and the Arabs fell back respectfully.

Aboli and the two boys leading the horses on the south bank were keeping up well. Their herd was rested and strong, while the Arab mounts had been worn down by the long pursuit, and could not match them.

They came down a last chute of racing water, steering the wooden hull between outcrops of ugly black rock, then all the speed and power went out of the current and they idled down to where the sandbanks almost choked off the river with their yellow humps of gravel.

“Get the women and children into the longboats,” Tom ordered.

“Every pound of weight will make a difference to our draught.”

Dorian was too weak to be sent ashore, and Yasmini stayed to take care of him.

Sarah took the helm to free a man for the heavy work of warping.

All the other passengers were taken across to the south bank and placed in Aboli’s care. Then the longboat came back and stood by ready to take the ship in tow if she went aground.

Tom stood by the helm, and an anxious silence fell over the little Centaurus as she ran down on the first meandering bend where they could see the shape of the bottom through the clear green water. The Arab cavalry column seemed to sense their opportunity, and closed up eagerly. Tom cast a glance at them, but although they were now within easy shot, he was too busy to serve the little cannon and he had to let them come on.

The Centaurus swept easily into the bend, and Tom let out his breath with relief. But it was premature. Suddenly she jarred and lurched under their feet as she touched the bottom, then shook herself free and slid on down the green river.

“Close call,” Tom breathed, and then to Sarah at the helm, “Hold her fair in the green channel.” The next turn came up and the ship was moving slowly now. The Arabs were half a musket shot back, cantering in formation down the flat, sandy north bank, lances glittering and head cloths blowing in the wind of their ride.

The Centaurus hit the sand with her keel and slid to a halt so suddenly that they were almost thrown to the deck.

Tom grabbed at the binnacle to steady himself. The Centaurus was grounded solidly.

I “Boats away!” Tom yelled, and every man aboard scrambled down into the longboats. Tom shouted to Sarah, “Keep the helm centred!”

Then he left her to it, and dropped down into the longboat.

The coxswains in the stern of each longboat picked up the ends of the tow lines, which were lying ready, and made them fast. Then, the rowers hauling with all their strength, the two boats raced out ahead of the Centaurus until the lines came up hard. They strained at the long sweeps and tried to drag her off the clinging sand.

From the south bank, Aboli charged his horse into the water and picked up the end of the long line Sarah tossed to him. He swam his horse back with it and as his mount lunged out of the river onto the bank, he hitched the end of the line to the team of waiting horses.

“Yal Ya! Haul away!” He cracked his whip over their backs and they took up the strain, then threw their full weight against the traces.

The Centaurus grated forward over the gravel, then stuck fast again. On the bank the Arab horsemen broke into a gallop and swept forward, deploying as they came on. As they drew level with the stranded ship, the first rank wheeled and couched their lances. They struck the river in a wall of white spray and came straight at the men in the longboats.

The water reached the bellies of the horses then rose up to their shoulders. Now the leading horses were swimming, but their riders had the lances poised as they reached the leading longboat, and swarmed around it like a pack of sharks around a dead whale.

The seamen fired their pistols into the Arabs at close range then stood up to beat them off with the long sweeps.

But the boat was rocking wildly, and must soon capsize under the sheer weight of the enemy.

On the north bank the next rank of cavalry wheeled into position for the charge, lining the edge of the sand bar in a solid mass.

Abubaker was in the centre of the line, his cuirass and spiked helmet shining. He brandished his scimitar, and led his horsemen forward, at a trot that broke into a canter then into a wild gallop.

Sarah could not leave the wheel. Over the bows she saw the longboats surrounded by struggling masses of horses and men. Tom was standing in the stern with the blue sword in his hand, hacking at the heads of the Arabs in the water. Some of the Arabs were trying to cut the tow rope at the stern, sawing at it with their scimitars. Other were throwing their full weight and that of their steeds on to the gunwale. The boat was canting over until the water poured in over the side. It would soon swamp.

Abubaker’s squadron charged into the river, and even Sarah could see that it would soon be over. She was helpless to intervene. Until now she had not seen Dorian come up from the cabin, Yasmini’s shoulder under his armpit to support him. Using her as a crutch, he hobbled painfully to the nearest cannon. He seized the marlin spike to traverse the stubby black barrel. Then he grabbed the A smoking slow-match out of the sand tub and pressed the end to the touchhole.

The weapon crashed back on its tackle, and a storm of grapeshot hit the front rank of the charging Arab horsemen just as they reached the water’s edge. Clinging to the wooden ship’s rail, Yasmini stared across the channel. She saw a two-ounce ball of lead strike Abubaker full in the mouth. His teeth exploded out from between his lips in sparkling chips, then the ball burst through his jawbone and out through the back of his skull. His spiked helmet was lifted from his head and spun high in the air.

The men around him were torn from the saddle, and the ranks buckled and turned back from the water’s edge.

Dorian stumbled to the next cannon and laid the aim. The horsemen saw the muzzle of the cannon turning towards them and spurred away in panic. The buzzing cloud of grapeshot caught them in enfilade and a dozen horses went down. In seconds the ranks were reduced to chaos.

They had all seen General Abubaker’s head shot away, and now Bashir al-Sind was down too, his horse killed under him.

The fight went out of them. They broke and galloped away to avoid the next devastating blast of grapeshot.

Yasmini grabbed Dorian’s arm as he tottered and almost fell, then led him to the next cannon. As it fired the Centaurus heeled slightly to the recoil and slid reluctantly over the sand. The Arabs around the longboats saw their comrades on the bank riding away, leaving them unsupported. They turned their horses back towards the shore.

“Pull! Pull to burst your guts!” Tom shouted at his crew, and they fell to the oars again. The Centaurus crept forward and touched again. Dorian fired another cannon shot, and as the ship rocked Aboli lashed the horse team in the traces. Slowly and reluctantly, the Centaurus slid over the sand and floated free in the deep channel beyond.

“Back on board!” Tom roared triumphantly.

“Get the women and children back on board.” Aboli piled his wives and all their offspring into the longboat as its keel touched the beach. Then he cut the traces of the horses and slapped their rumps to send them galloping into the forest. He ran back and jumped over the gunwale of the boat as the rowers pulled after the Centaurus.

The ship was floating away swiftly downstream, and they had to pull hard to catch her.

“It’s a clear run down to the mouth from here,” Aboli told Tom, as he came to where he stood beside the helm.

They both looked back at the shattered Arab force on the north bank. They were making no effort to regroup and continue the pursuit.

“Stand the men down, Mr. Wilson,” said Tom.

“And give them all a double tot of rum for their trouble.” All Wilson touched his cap.

“Begging your pardon, Captain, but you threw the rum barrel overboard.

Do you want to put the ship about and go back to fetch it?” His tone was serious but his lips twitched.

“I think the men will have to wait for it until we reach Good Hope,” Tom replied, as solemnly.

Tom stood at the stern rail as the Centaurs made her offing and the dark mass of the African mainland slowly merged with the gathering night far behind. There was a light step on the deck beside him, and he reached out to pull Sarah in front of him so that her back was pressed against his chest. He hugged her hard to him, and reached over her shoulder to kiss her ear. She shuddered deliciously as his beard tickled the back of her neck.

“Dorry is asking for you,” she said.

“I will go to him presently,” he answered, but made no move to leave her.

After a long silence she asked, “What happens now, Tom?”

“I know not, lass. Good Hope first, and after that, let come as will.”

“Well, one thing only is certain. I shall have a little surprise for you once we reach Good Hope.”

“Ah!” He sounded interested.

“What is it?”

“If I tell you it will be no surprise.” She reached behind her, took both his hands and placed them firmly on her stomach. It took him a moment to understand. Then he let out a roar of delighted laughter.

“Jesus love you, Sarah Courtney. I know not what to say.” She knew that that was his most extravagant expression of joy.

“Then hold your peace, you great booby, and give me a kiss instead.”