Sea Robber

EIGHTEEN

CLEANED AND POLISHED, the lantaka made a brave show lashed securely to the foredeck of the kora kora. The little cannon gleamed in the early morning sunshine as the expedition headed out from Pehko. The Sultan’s purple banner was once again hoisted from the vessel’s stubby flagstaff, and the crew seated on their outrigger benches had caught the optimistic mood of the departure. They roared their work chant as they chopped at the water with their paddle blades. Through the soles of his feet Hector could feel each sudden surge as the kora kora was thrust forward, and he couldn’t help glancing back towards the Kedatun sultan high on the hillside. Mansur had told him that the royal women were required to stay out of sight whenever there were strangers in the palace, but at other times they were free to go about the building as they pleased. He was wondering if Maria was standing on the portico and watching the kora kora head out to sea.

‘Good morning. How are you?’ The question startled him. Prince Jainalabidin had emerged from the little hut-like cabin behind him and was addressing him in halting Spanish.

Hector overcame his surprise. He guessed the boy had received lessons from Maria. Clearly the youngster had a good ear and a quick intelligence. Here, at last, was a chance to find out how she was.

‘Your Highness speaks Spanish well. His teacher will be pleased.’

The lad flashed him a smile. ‘You are her man, yes?’

Hector had not expected Maria to have talked about him with her pupil. He felt a thrill of pleasure that she had done so.

‘Is Maria well?’ he asked.

‘My sisters her friends.’

The boy reached into a fold of his robe. ‘She say me to give you this,’ he said and pressed a scrap of paper into Hector’s hand.

Hector felt the blood rush to his head as he scanned the few lines of writing:

Dearest Hector,

I hear that you are well and that Captain Vlucht and the Hollanders have gone, but Dan and our other friends remain. I long to see you. News comes to me at second hand, and I am told that you will soon be leaving on an expedition of war. The prince speaks much about all of you and has agreed to give you this note. He is a good boy. Make sure that you come back safe, and that he does also. Do not worry about me for I am in good health, my days are comfortable and I will be waiting for your return. You have my love.

Maria.

The prince was watching for his reaction. Hector gave him a grateful look. ‘Thank you for bringing me this note. It has made me very happy.’

‘We come back, we have a . . .’ The lad’s voice trailed away as he searched for the right word. He beckoned to Mansur and spoke to him in his own language.

‘His Highness says that his father the Sultan has promised him a great victory celebration on his return to Pehko,’ Mansur translated for him.

‘My companions and I will do everything we can to make sure of that victory,’ Hector replied. He was not at all sure the expedition would be a success, and it felt very strange to be under the command of a child. He wondered again what the penalty would be if the expedition turned out to be a disaster.

THE WRECK OF the Westflinge came in view shortly before midday. The ship still lay crumpled across the reef. Even at a distance, it was clear that her back was now broken. The tall, narrow stern of the vessel had become detached and drifted a short distance from the rest of the hull, which was still impaled on the coral where she’d been abandoned. At the waterline the midships section had bulged, bursting open like a rotten melon. There was no sign of any of the three masts. They must have toppled overboard and been carried away by the current. The gnawing of the tide and the action of waves had searched out the wreck’s weaknesses and were prising her apart. There were breaches in her sides through which daylight showed. In places the planks had cracked off short, leaving jagged ends. The remaining timbers were dappled with blotches of black fungus.

The kora kora approached cautiously, a lookout in the bows searching for a clear passage between the coral heads, the paddlers barely dipping their blades into the water. Eventually, a hundred paces from the remains of the Westflinge, the lookout called a halt. The kora kora could approach no closer without risking her own fragile hull.

‘Hector, let us see if we can get at those guns. Best keep your boots on, or the coral will cut your feet,’ Dan advised. He was already pulling off his shirt, and a moment later was clambering down the outrigger struts and lowering himself into the warm, pale-green water. Hector followed him, and together they half-waded, half-swam towards the wreck. As they floundered forward, they could hear the suck and gurgle of the tide washing through the gaping holes in the Westflinge’s side, and caught the flicker of small, brightly coloured fish that clustered near the hull, feeding on the growth of weed.

They came close enough to the wreck and circled round so that they could climb in through the open stern. Dan reached up and took hold of a plank’s end to pull himself inside. As he tugged, the plank broke off and he slipped back with a splash. He regained his feet and looked down at the fragment of wood still in his grasp. ‘Now we know why we couldn’t find any leak,’ he said. He held out the timber to show to his friend. The three-inch-thick piece of wood was riddled with passageways the thickness of a straw. Dotted amongst the passageways were small, pale shelly grubs smaller than a fingernail. Looking closer, Hector saw they were tiny, burrowing animals, each with a spiral-shaped head like a miniature drill.

‘Shipworm,’ declared Dan. ‘The hull is consumed with them. I am amazed she stayed afloat as long as she did. She must have been leaking in dozens of places.’

He reached out again and snapped off another chunk of wood. It came away in his hand like a section of honeycomb. Grimacing with disgust, he threw it into the sea. ‘In another couple of years there’ll be nothing left of her on this reef, except a few iron bolts and a pile of ballast stones.’

‘Not many of them, either. We dumped most of the ballast overboard,’ Hector reminded him.

Together they climbed through the opening and found themselves in the aft section of the hold. The water was up to their knees, and there was a reek of decay in the half-lit belly of the ship. Small, grey crabs scuttled up the curved frames of the hulk and fled into dark cracks in the timber as they waded carefully towards the companionway leading up to the deck. They trod gingerly. The footing was uneven where sections of plank had buckled inwards, and layers of seaweed and slime made the footing treacherous. They climbed the companionway – half the steps were missing – and emerged on the decaying deck. Skirting around the more obviously rotten patches, they made their way to the starboard gunwale. There, still lashed down to ring bolts, was one of the two cannon they’d kept back. Dan tapped the barrel. ‘That is lucky. Brass,’ he said. ‘Old-fashioned, but more durable. If it had been iron, we could have had a problem with the weight.’

Hector was looking at a coat of arms cast into the metal of the barrel. A large letter V impaled the letters O and C. ‘The crest of the Dutch East India Company,’ he said. ‘I wonder how Vlucht got his hands on it.’

‘Probably looted it from some luckless Company ship. I reckon he was as much a pirate as he was an interloper.’

The Miskito circled the gun muzzle with his hands, gauging the size. ‘Five-pounder, or thereabouts,’ he commented. He rubbed away the dirt from the touch-hole. ‘Nothing here that some careful attention cannot fix. We’ll need the right tools, and some round shot. Let’s see if we can find a wormer.’

They searched what remained of the vessel above water. In the forecastle Hector located the gunner’s stores. There was a wormer with a threaded head, which Dan would need in order to clean out the barrel after firing, a powder ladle, three heavy spikes to use as levers for moving the gun, and a rammer.

‘No sign of a sponge?’ asked Dan as Hector brought out these tools and set them down beside the cannon.

‘No, but there’s a box of wads that should fit.’

‘We will need those. We can always wrap some wet cloth around the butt end of the rammer to make a sponge.’

‘There was another tool – a rod with a set of springy claws at one end. But I left it behind.’

‘That will be a searcher for checking for cracks inside the barrel. No use to us, as we could not mend any flaws even if we found them. We’ll have to take a chance that the guns are sound. Did you manage to locate any round shot?’

‘No.’

Dan looked serious. ‘That’s odd. We can load the two little lantaka with musket balls and pebbles, but if we want to use the big cannon against a stockade, we need to have the right-sized shot.’

‘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.

THREE 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.’

LEAVING 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.

The bird catcher considered for a moment, then beckoned Hector to follow. He turned and made his way between the trees, angling across the slope of the hill. Keeping up was difficult. The little man slipped nimbly through the forest, casually dangling his parrot perch. From time to time he paused and waited for Hector and his Omoro escort to catch up. Eventually, after some fifteen minutes, he came to a stop and pointed uphill. They were on the edge of what must have been a landslip some years earlier. A substantial section of the hillside had collapsed from the rim above and slid downslope. The torrent of rock and earth had swept away the taller trees and left a deep scar down the flank of the hill. They were standing at the midway point of the landslide, and, looking downslope to his right, Hector could see where the narrow coastal plain began.

Hector hid his disappointment. The gash in the forest caused by the landslide might once have provided an open track up the steep hill, but the undergrowth had grown back with tropical vigour in the intervening years. The way to the summit was now completely choked with a tangled mass of bushes, shrubs, saplings and ground creepers. It was impossible as a roadway for a heavy cannon.

‘Thank you, thank you very much,’ he said, nodding and smiling.

The bird catcher gave another of his shy smiles and gestured that he was willing to lead them towards the crest in the direction of Haar. But Hector had seen enough. He was despondent and tired, and it was time to return to the beach to report his findings. He shook his head and retraced his steps to where he had left the stream. The bird catcher darted ahead. Within moments he had outdistanced them and disappeared altogether. Hector slipped and slithered for another few paces until he again heard the metallic bird call. This time it definitely came from the treetops. Looking over to his right, he was astonished to see the bird catcher gazing down at him. The little man was perched forty feet off the ground on the branch of a huge tree, and was tying his parrots to the branches.

Raising a hand, he waved them goodbye.

‘ONE OF THE forest people,’ said Mansur, when Hector got back to camp and reported what he’d seen. ‘They bring their catch, alive or skinned, to the town, sell them and then vanish back into the jungle. They are subject to no one, nor do they believe in Allah.’

They were standing beside the brass cannon, now back on its wooden gun carriage.

‘How much do you think the gun weighs?’ asked Mansur.

‘About half a ton,’ said Dan.

‘Let me talk to the kora-kora men to see if they can bring it to Haar by the route he showed you,’ said the chamberlain. He went to confer with several of the older men from the crew of the big war canoe, and returned to say that they were confident they could haul the gun up the steep incline.

‘Did you warn them the slope is overgrown with bushes and small trees?’ Hector asked.

‘I did, but they aren’t worried,’ said Mansur soothingly. ‘They say they will make a start tomorrow at dawn. All you need to do is bring them to the base of the landslide.’

Hector kept his doubts to himself next morning as he watched the Omoro dismantle the bamboo raft and use the materials to build a sturdy sledge. Within half an hour the cannon was balanced on its new platform and on the move. Thirty men tugged it along by the long rattans they used for ropes. Another team went ahead with heavy knives and slashed a path through the bush. Others placed skids under the runners of the sledge whenever it was checked. At the rear walked those with the jars of gunpowder, bullets and stores. Four men carried each lantaka slung on loops between them. Jezreel insisted on carrying the two precious round shots, one in each hand. When they arrived at the place where the ground began to rise steeply, the column came to a halt. Here, at the base of the landslip, the porters set down their loads and the hauling team paused to rest. With a clatter Jacques dropped the gunner’s tools he had been carrying and sat down on the ground beside Hector.

‘I wonder what those lads are up to?’ said the Frenchman. They watched a group of the younger men clambering up the landslip until they vanished over the crest of the slope.

A few minutes later Mansur came walking towards them. ‘The kora-kora men say where you are sitting is dangerous.’

Puzzled, Hector got to his feet, and he and Jacques moved aside. Soon afterwards there was a shrill whistle from above, immediately followed by a crashing noise, which grew in volume and suddenly came closer. A moment later a large tree trunk came slithering and bouncing wildly down the hill, and came to rest at the bottom of the landslide. Almost immediately a second massive log came careering down, following in the track of the previous one. As Hector looked on, a dozen more logs hurtled past, one after another, throwing up sprays of dirt as they ploughed through the ground.

There was another whistle from above, and the bombardment of timber stopped. The hauling team got to their feet. Hector hurried to help them tip the gun from its carriage, then attach their hauling cables to the trunnions. He had seen how the slithering logs had carved out the track up which the men now intended to pull their burden. Two teams of forty men began to heave in unison, gradually sliding the gun up the groove that the logs had gouged in the earth. Every few minutes they stopped to rest. Then the heaving began again. An hour later the cannon was over the lip of the plateau and on level ground. The gun carriage and the sledge followed.

‘The Omoro say that Haar is less than half a mile ahead,’ said Dan. ‘We need to take a look at the town’s defences before we go any farther.’

Hector and Jezreel accompanied him through the undergrowth until they came to the edge of the jungle where the undergrowth had been cut back in a straight line. ‘No farther,’ said the Miskito crouching down. ‘We’re just within range of their muskets.’

It was as Mansur had warned. The ground between the town and the forest had been cleared of all cover for a distance of a hundred paces. At the far side of this killing ground stood the ten-foot palisade that guarded the landward side of the town. It was made of tree trunks planted vertically in the soil. In the centre was a heavy double gate, also made of timber and now firmly shut. The turbaned heads of the defenders could be seen above the stockade. As Hector watched, there was a puff of smoke as a musket was fired towards them.

‘Telling us to keep our distance,’ said Dan. ‘Jezreel, what next?’

‘We bring up the two lantaka. Fire scatter-shot at intervals. That should keep the defence occupied while we organize something more damaging.’

Hector scanned the palisade. ‘Where’s the weakest point, do you think?’

‘The gate. It looks stout enough to stop a musket ball, but not a five-pound shot.’

‘Good, let’s put the Sultan’s lantaka to use,’ said Hector and they crawled away.

Ten minutes later he was explaining to Mansur that a dozen Omoro should be assigned to each of the little cannon. They were to bring the guns to the edge of the forest.

‘Jacques will go with them,’ he said. ‘He will show them how to load and aim and fire.’

‘It’s much like using a musket, but on a larger scale?’ asked the chamberlain.

‘Yes, but they must be sure to swab the barrels and clean out any embers that might ignite the next charge too early. Warn them that if they cram in too many bullets and stones, the barrel might burst or the range will be too short.’

‘What about the big gun?’ asked the chamberlain. ‘His Highness is most eager to see it in action.’ Hector could see the boy’s eyes were shining with excitement as he tried to follow their conversation.

‘Inform His Highness that Jezreel intends to bring the big gun up to the edge of the forest, directly in front of the town gate. From there he will fire at the palisade.’

Mansur translated Hector’s statement, but was met with a sharp retort from the prince. The chamberlain had a worried expression as he turned back to speak to Hector.

‘His Highness insists that he will fire the gun himself.’

Hector opened his mouth to say that the old brass gun had never been tested and might have flaws. If the barrel burst, it would kill anyone standing close by.

The prince cut him short with a single brief sentence.

Mansur flinched. ‘The prince says that is not a request. It is his command.’

‘Very well. We will bring the gun forward on the sledge. But it will be safer if we load it now, where we cannot be seen by the Sugala and we can take our time.’

Jezreel had already taken off his shirt and wrapped it around the head of the reamer. He was using it as a swab to clean out the barrel.

‘How much powder do you think she’ll need?’ he asked Dan.

The Miskito shrugged. ‘Half a ladle should be enough.’

Jezreel used his thumb to rub away at the bowl of the powder ladle brought from the wreck of the Westflinge. He eyed the faint lines marked on the scoop. ‘Let’s hope this is the correct ladle for this gun, and not for larger cannon,’ he said. He took the stopper out of a powder jar and tipped out a trickle of greyish-black gunpowder until the scoop was filled halfway.

‘Wait,’ said Dan. He was holding a thin strip of bamboo. He poked it into the cannon’s touch-hole and pushed it down as far as it would go. Marking the point where the bamboo strip emerged from the gun, he withdrew it and then held it vertically across the muzzle of the gun.

Behind him, the prince spoke to Mansur. ‘His Highness wishes to know what you are doing,’ said the chamberlain.

‘I’m checking to see if the cannon shoots high or low as you take aim, by looking along the barrel,’ Dan answered. He tossed aside the bamboo strip. ‘A little high. Hector, can you cut me a wedge of hardwood, say eight inches long and three inches thick across the base?’

Carefully Jezreel inserted the half-full ladle down the barrel, turned his wrist and dumped the gunpowder deep in the chamber. He withdrew the empty ladle, took the rammer and packed tight the charge. Hector handed him a wad, and that too was thrust home.

‘You carried it all the way, so you do the honours,’ said Dan, handing Jezreel the five-pound round shot. Jezreel placed the iron ball into the muzzle of the gun and pushed it down as far as it would go. Dan rammed it hard against the wad, then added a second wad on top so that the shot stayed in place.

‘We’ll prime it once we have the gun in position,’ said Dan. To their right they heard the sudden report of a lantaka firing its scatter-shot towards the Sugala defenders’ palisade. ‘Let’s hope that makes them keep their heads down,’ grunted Jezreel. He threw his weight on a hand-spike and levered the sledge forward.

Slowly the gun crept through the undergrowth.

DAN CALLED a halt when the sledge was still within cover, ten yards short of the open ground. ‘No point exposing ourselves to enemy fire,’ he said. The scrub and bush were sparse enough for them to see the town gate set in the line of the palisade. He crouched behind the gun and squinted down the length of the barrel. ‘A little to my left,’ he said. Jezreel and Hector used their hand-spikes to line up the gun until the Miskito was satisfied. Next he asked Jezreel to place the tip of his hand-spike beneath the cannon’s breech and to lever upwards.

‘A fraction more,’ the Miskito called as the muzzle of the gun dipped slightly. ‘Hold it.’ He thrust home the wooden wedge.

Mansur was standing with Prince Jainalabidin several paces to one side and both were watching keenly. ‘His Highness wishes to know whether you are aiming at the top or bottom of the gate,’ said the chamberlain.

‘Neither,’ said Dan. ‘I’m aiming at the ground twenty paces in front of the gate, in case the gun shoots even higher than I calculate. It won’t matter if the shot bounces on the ground before it strikes the target. Might even make the impact more destructive.’ He busied himself with a powder flask, pouring a trail of gunpowder into the touch-hole.

From the palisade came a spatter of musketry, almost immediately followed by the angry snap of a lantaka in retaliation.

‘All ready,’ said Dan calmly, putting back the stopper in the powder flask.

Stepping to the nearest bush, he broke off a straight, slender branch about two feet long. He stripped off the leaves and prised open a split at one end. He turned to one of the Omoro musketeers and took from him a length of burning match-cord. He wound it around the stick and jammed the lit end into the cleft.

‘If Your Highness would like to fire the cannon, but please stay well back,’ he said, handing the match-stick to the boy.

Hector had to admire Prince Jainalabidin’s composure. Without further prompting, the boy approached the cannon and lowered the glowing end of the cord to the touch-hole.

There was a tremendous explosion and the gun reared back. The force of the recoil lifted the front of the sledge several inches off the ground, and the discharge seemed to jolt the youngster off his feet. Mansur darted forward just in time to catch the boy as he stumbled. Angrily the prince waved him away. The lad’s face was streaked with burned gunpowder, his clothes speckled with black marks, but the smile he turned towards his companions was radiant.

Standing clear of the cloud of black smoke that billowed from the muzzle of the gun, Hector watched the flight of the shot. A black dot hurtled across the killing ground. There was a spurt of dust as it hit the ground and bounced. Even as the dust was still rising, a section of the palisade immediately to the left of the gate whirled away in a cloud of splinters.

For several moments Hector was deafened. His ears were ringing with the explosion. When he regained his hearing, he was aware of a shocked silence. There were no musket shots from the palisade ahead of him. Even the two lantaka on either side had ceased firing.

‘A little to the right, I think,’ Dan announced.

Jezreel had the reamer in his hand and was already at the muzzle of the gun, hooking out the fragments of burned wadding. After several passes with the reamer, he peered into the barrel.

‘I’ll need my shirt again,’ he said. He wrapped the grubby garment once more around the head of the reamer, then rudely turned his back on the prince and his entourage. Their puzzled looks turned to understanding as they realized that the big man was relieving himself copiously on to the cloth.

There was a slight hiss and an acrid smell of scorched urine as he swabbed out the barrel.

It took another ten minutes to reload the cannon to Dan’s satisfaction. Then he had Jezreel shift the rear of the sledge a few inches to the left. At last he was ready and held out the match-stick once again to the prince. ‘Let’s hope this one finishes the task for us, Your Highness.’

The boy’s arm was fully extended and his hand trembled slightly as he applied the lighted match to the touch-hole a second time. Again the brass gun leaped on its sledge as the charge exploded and sent the shot hurtling towards Haar.

This time the entire left-hand section of the town gate was demolished. It collapsed backwards, and its partner on the right side sagged on its hinges.

‘A perfect shot,’ exclaimed Hector, and the boy grinned with delight.

There was a fraught silence as they peered towards the palisade. ‘Well, what next?’ asked Jezreel. ‘That was our last shot, though they don’t know it.’

For a long interval nothing happened. Then out from the wreckage of the town gate emerged five men. They were unarmed and one of them was holding up a staff from which hung a red and blue flag. The little group was walking towards the spot from where the brass cannon had fired.

‘They must have seen our gun smoke,’ said Jacques.

Mansur allowed himself a smile of grim satisfaction. ‘That tall man in the black gown beside the flag. He’s the Rajah’s chief minister. I’ve negotiated with him a dozen times in the past. This time there’ll be no haggling and humbug, for I will dictate the terms.’