The Smuggler's Curse (14 page)

The gap between us is closing quickly and before too long, I can see the crew on deck. There are about twenty of them. Most wear colourful clothes, and bandanas wrapped around their heads, and they all have daggers and cutlasses in their belts. Several have shaved heads with long ponytails down their backs. Like our crew, they are all barefooted, hard-looking men.

‘I knows this lot,' says Mr Smith, talking to himself.

‘Mr Smith?' asks the Captain.

‘Cap'n. See that ugly brute in the yellow vest at the rail? 'e's the master. Know'd by everyone as Genghis 'e is. As nasty a piece of work as ever lived. 'e worked for Chang Pao for a while, back in the old days, but even Pao couldn't handle Genghis's savagery. Up to 'is neck in blood, 'e was. The man's a single 'anded abattoir.'

The Captain sighs slightly and shields his eyes with his hand. ‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once
more,' he murmurs.

‘Sir?' asks Mr Smith.

‘But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger. Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.' He smiles as if he knows something no one else does. ‘Just a little of my good friend Mr Shakespeare before battle.'

The Captain turns. ‘Briggs, can we have the dinghy over the side, if you please. And Mr Smith,' the Captain continues, quietly. ‘The one with the dirty white headband? The helmsman? He's your first mark. That Genghis character will be your second. Send him back to the Devil where he belongs. With my compliments. Take a couple of those new rifles, and a helper. Someone who can reload for you.' He looks about and sees me standing close by. ‘You up for it, Red?'

‘Sir!' I agree instantly, before realising I will be loading the guns from inside the dinghy, being towed behind our ship in a massive swell, while being fired on by murderous pirates intent on killing us all. Me and my big mouth.

‘They'll take their chances, I'm guessing,' the Captain says. ‘And come straight for us. We don't look that powerful or as slippery as we really are from a distance, so we'll let them get a bit too close. I'll make sure they
are in range of the dinghy on the first pass. We need a sacrificial goat to draw them in.'

A few minutes later, the Captain calls, ‘Over the rail with the both of you. We don't have much time.'

It slowly dawns on me that the Captain actually means Mr Smith and me are the sacrificial goats. I can feel my heart thumping. I do not like that word ‘sacrificial' one little bit. But is it fear or excitement that increases my heartbeat? As I climb down the ladder and hang there waiting for the dinghy to pull close enough for me to jump in, I feel strangely calm. I remember the Captain telling me that only fools are not frightened, but it is the brave who overcome their fear and fight on regardless. What am I, brave or just plain foolish? Everything around me seems crystal clear and more pronounced. The colours are brighter, the sea wider and the wind keener on my face. It is as if all my senses have burst into life at the same time.

‘Keep your 'ead down, Red,' commands Mr Smith. We lie on the floor of the dinghy, him nearer the bow, our heads below the gunwale and half-covered with a canvas sail. The Captain does not want us seen until it is too late for the helmsman. The rope holding the dinghy's bow plays out and jerks to a stop, leaving us bobbing about violently in the Dragon's wake. I have to hang on tight to
stop from being flung overboard.

Soon, the pirate ship and the Captain's port tack are once more heading to cross. Mr Smith lifts his head slightly, slides the barrel of his rifle up and rests it on the gunwale. He slips a cartridge into the chamber on top of the gun and works the lever, cocking the mechanism.

On board the Dragon, I can see the Captain spinning the ship's wheel. The pirate Genghis begins shifting tack as well, but then the Captain stops and lets the breeze carry the Dragon back to its original tack, leaving the pirate heading the wrong way for a full-on broadside. It has been a worthy trick.

Fooled, Genghis shouts out in rage, bellowing an order through his speaking trumpet. His forward gun, the only one in range, fires. Instantly, the stern of our ship explodes. A large corner of the Captain's cabin is blown away. A shower of splintered timber and flying glass rockets towards our dinghy. Somehow, I duck my head quickly enough, but Mr Smith falls backwards, clutching his face with both hands, his head a mass of blood.

‘Mr Smith!' I cry, scrambling to reach for him. A large gash on his forehead bleeds into his eyes and his right ear has been almost torn completely off. It hangs by a few shreds of skin and blood runs from the gaping wound down his neck and onto his shirt.

I look about desperately for some cloth to staunch the blood flow, then I pull my shirt off, bunch it up and push it against Mr Smith's mangled ear. He pulls away in pain.

‘Red? Where are youse, boy?' yells Mr Smith. He seems to recover his wits quicker that I can imagine. Quicker than I could have. If my ear had been hanging off as his is, I would be squealing like a stuck pig, or worse, crying like a wet baby.

‘I can't see, boy. I can't see nothin'. Youse'll have to shoot for me!' he yells. ‘We don't have too long. In a few minutes, the pirate'll change tack again. To the port. When 'e does, in the luff when the boom swings across, ya shoot the helmsman. Not too soon and before the ship swings. Not too late when the sails refill. Got it? Miss and we'll all be done for. Hit 'im and their boat stalls dead.'

I nod and crawl back towards the bow of the dinghy, but it is difficult. With the waves throwing the dinghy about like a cork, it takes longer than I want as I have to hang on with one hand. Water sloshes at my knees and I have to hold the gun clear with my other hand to keep the rifle dry.

‘Remember Red, as she stalls 'eadin' about. You got only a few seconds. Aim only at the 'elmsman, the one with the white 'eadband. If youse misses the first shot, then goes for a second and third, but youse 'as to 'it
'im. They won't even 'ear the noise over the wind. Just remember what I taught ya.'

I am surprised Mr Smith can even think straight.

With a slap of the mainsail and banging of the rigging, the pirate ship begins swinging to starboard, away from us. The stern looms large and as the vessel starts to swing smoothly across, the helmsman's back comes squarely on to me. He spins the ship's wheel quickly. I sight down the barrel of the rifle trying to keep it level, but every time I get close, the dinghy lurches.

‘Now boy, now,' says Mr Smith, quietly. ‘Breathe in, then out, then in and then 'olds ya breath, and squeeze. Don't jerk the trigger, like I learnt you. Remember.'

Suddenly, the grubby white shirt fills my eye. It is all I can see down the end of the barrel. I squeeze the trigger back just as Mr Smith commanded. The hammer slams home, the gun roars and instantly fires, the black smoke immediately whipped away in the wind. I wipe the salt spray from my eyes and peer back to the stern.

The helmsman jerks and falls forward, letting go of the helm, just as the Captain wanted. He staggers backwards and, clutching vainly at the rail, topples overboard.

The pirate ship, now facing directly into the wind, its sails flapping uselessly, sits stalled, its stern and aft quarter facing the Dragon's lined up guns. Over the roar of the wind and flapping of the sails, no one has heard the shot or looked back to see the helmsman missing.

From across the gap between us, I hear the Captain yell, ‘Gun crew, now! If you please.'

The Captain has the pirate ship right where he wants it, dead in the water and at such an angle its guns point away from the Dragon, useless. Ours are pointed at the stern of the vessel ready to blow the piratical scum all the way to kingdom come.

The gunners fire in a relay from Long Tom to the small swivelling stern-chasers mounted on the stern rail then back to number one again. Cannonballs, chain-shot
and canister-shot thunder across the deck much like the sweep of a gigantic, white-hot scythe, only a thousand times louder and more deadly, chopping the crew down like bloodied wheat stalks. The noise and total devastation are unlike anything I have ever experienced.

Then, suddenly, silence falls. Even from down at sea level I can make out the gruesome scene up on the pirate deck. It reminds me of the slaughter yard at the back of Mr Tosser's butcher shop in Broome on market day.

Not a single pirate is left. The pirate ship wallows, the shredded sails no longer any use, the masts leaning precariously. A minute or so later a wave washes over the deck, but the spray that runs down the sides looks pink, not white.

‘M-M-Mr Smith,' I stammer, helplessly.

He has wiped the blood from his eyes and holds my bunched shirt against his head. He too stares towards the carnage, squinting through the dribbles of blood on his face and wincing in pain. ‘Sweet Jesus! It's no wonder 'e's called Black Bowen, but I'm a-thinkin'
Bloody
Bowen might be more fittin'.'

‘I dunno, Mr Smith, looking at you.' His shirt is splattered scarlet. ‘Bloody Smith more like at the moment.'

‘Aye, right enough.'

A few minutes later, the crew haul the dinghy back in alongside the Dragon. Rowdy climbs half down the ladder to help Mr Smith up and on board. ‘Good shot, Mr Smith,' he says as they reach the deck.

‘'fraid not. T'is young Red 'ere what saved the day this time. 'e took the shot. I couldn't see me 'ands in front of me.' Even with all the spray and water in the dinghy, his face and clothes are still scarlet and splattered and he looks like one of Jack the Ripper's particularly gruesome murder victims.

‘Well, Red, you surprise me, yet again,' declares the Captain. He reaches down to help me with the last step on the ladder, almost pulling me up and onto the deck.

‘Captain,' interrupts Sam Chi. ‘You'd better look there. She's on fire, I'm thinking.' A thin cloud of black smoke rises steadily from a hatchway in the centre of the pirate ship.

‘Damn,' exclaims the Captain. ‘I'd love to see what's in her strong box. Still, fire's not a sailor's friend.' He shrugs as we all turned to look.

‘Let's get us away from that damn scow. She'll have a magazine jam-packed with gunpowder. Make all haste now.'

The Captain nods towards Briggs, who begins spinning the ship's wheel as the men rush to adjust the sails.

The pirate ship explodes not ten minutes later, with the boom of a thunder clap that astounds me. She blows completely apart, shattering from end to end, sending debris hurtling through the air. The shock on the wind reaches us a brief second later, like a sudden kick to the chest.

‘Well, I'll be stonkered! Look at that!' yells Teuku standing up on the rail holding a shroud. He nearly topples overboard.

We all stand at the side rail watching as timber and a whole shipload of wreckage cascades back to the surface and scatters over a vast area, sending up white splashes like an enormous school of flying fish.

‘Double, double toil and trouble,' says the Captain, staring at the flaming hull. ‘Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, Witches' mummy, maw and gulf.' He smiles slowly, a quiet look of satisfaction in his eyes.

‘The Navy as like would be paying a goodly reward for the head of that Genghis brigand,' says Rowdy, breaking the silence.

‘Probably Rowdy, but finding his head may be a tad difficult now,' replies the Captain. ‘Still, men,' he says, grabbing me by the shoulder. ‘We live to fight another day. No small thanks to our Red here.' He smiles widely
and slaps me on the back. ‘Now clean yourself up.'

I smile and turn to go below and clean myself up. Mr Smith's blood is all over me.

‘I think I might have been perfectly wrong about that little milksop,' I hear him murmur to Mr Smith a few minutes later when he thinks I am out of earshot.

I feel a surge of pride at the Captain's compliments, but the thought that I have actually shot someone, even if he was a murderous pirate, unsettles me. I know perfectly well that had I not done so, they would have murdered all of us, probably horribly and painfully, but it still doesn't sit comfortably in my stomach. Most of the crew do not seem to care less that they have just wiped out twenty men in a hail of iron and blood and guts.

Back on deck, I go over to the hatch cover where Mr Smith sits on an upturned firkin as Sam Chi treats his wounds. I grimace nearly as much as Mr Smith does as the cook pulls out a kitchen knife from his belt and casually slices off the flap of skin holding Mr Smith's ear to the side of his head. Without a word, Sam Chi flings the ear overboard and sets to stitching up the gash with a needle and tarred cotton.

Mr Smith's face screws up in agony for a few moments as the broad sail needle pierces his skin and then again as the cook pulls each knot tight, closing the deep red
gash on his head. He sways slightly like a drunkard. ‘A pox on them bandits, but this 'urts like the blazes,' he exclaims, screwing his face up. ‘This'll learn me to keep me 'ead down, eh boy? Still, the women goes for a man with scars. Ain't that so Sam Chi? Youse knows all about women.'

‘In my experience it's the women what give you the most scars,' laughs Sam Chi. ‘I've stitched you up with good thread in fresh blood, so the chances of putrification are slight. You'll live. At least, until the missus sees you again. Then I don't like your chances.'

Mr Smith nods, then he reaches out and grabs my forearms. ‘Don't youse worry, boy. It'll pass soon enough,' he says. ‘The sickness. Don't worry overmuch about it. Them bandits wouldn't have worried about sticking youse full of steel or roasting youse alive, just for the pure fun of it.' He smiles sympathetically and then lets out a sharp, painful cry as the cook pulls the final stitch tight. ‘They got what they deserved. Ain't that so Sam Chi?'