Free Buccaneer by Tim Severin Page A

was reassuring. Sometimes a ship captain would choose to spend his nights ashore rather than on his vessel, but Hector had an idea that Captain Gutteridge, if he did not pay his bills, was not welcome in the local boarding houses. The young man squeezed himself more tightly into a corner behind a pile of sacks, hoping that he was not discovered by a sailor before he had a chance to speak with the captain.
    The sky began to lighten, and he heard the sounds of the port awakening. There was the cry of gulls, the hawking and spitting of a longshoreman arriving for work, the mutter of voices as dockers began to assemble. He felt, rather than saw, Coxon’s watcher still on the quay, not ten yards away, still scanning the length of the wharves, waiting for him.
    The snores behind the cabin door changed in pitch. They stopped, then started again, and Hector heard the sleeper turn over in his bunk. He was nearly awake. Softly Hector tapped on the door. The snores continued. The young man tapped again, and this time the snoring ceased altogether. A short while later he heard the sound of bare feet as someone came to the door, paused, and opened it cautiously. In the half light Hector was relieved to see that it was indeed Captain Gutteridge. He held a cudgel in his hand.
    ‘May I come in? I have your chart,’ Hector said, speaking in scarcely above a whisper.
    Gutteridge looked down at him, and there was a flash of recognition in his eyes. He drew back the door, and Hector slipped inside. The captain closed the door behind him.
    Inside the small cabin it was stuffy and airless. It smelled of unwashed clothes, and Gutteridge himself was dishevelled.
    ‘Here, I have your chart for you,’ Hector repeated, bringing out the charts from his shirt. ‘But Mr Snead will not be pleased.’
    Gutteridge reached for the folded sheets, opened them, and gave the maps a quick glance. He looked up, a look of satisfaction on his face. ‘Serve the greedy sot right,’ he said. ‘What do you want in return? We never agreed a price.’
    ‘Mr Snead has men searching for me.’
    Gutteridge gave him a penetrating look. ‘Mr Snead . . . or Mr Snead’s friends?’ he said grimly. ‘The word’s out that there’s an assembly off Negril. Several hard cases are recruiting for some sort of mischief. One of my own men ran off yesterday to volunteer.’
    ‘So you’ll be needing a replacement,’ said Hector.
    ‘Yes, but I wouldn’t want to make enemies of that lot.’
    ‘No one need know. You could conceal me aboard until your ship sails. Then I can make myself useful until we reach Petit Guave. That would be a fair price for the map.’
    Gutteridge nodded. ‘All right. We have a bargain.’ He reached down and pulled at a trap door in the cabin floor. ‘This leads down to the aft hold. You can stay down there.’ He reached for an earthenware jug standing on the floor beside his bunk. ‘Take this water with you. It’ll be enough until I can get you some food later in the day.’
    Hector sat down on the edge of the open hatch, his legs dangling into the dark space below. He looked up at Gutteridge. ‘And when do you expect to reach Petit Guave?’ he asked.
    Gutteridge avoided his eyes and did not answer.
    ‘You said you were stopping there, to take on brandy,’ Hector reminded him.
    Gutteridge was shamefaced. ‘No, I did not say that. I said only that I was thinking of stopping there on the way to Campeachy.’
    ‘But I have friends in Petit Guave . . . a Miskito and a Frenchman. This is why I want to join you.’
    Gutteridge continued to look evasive. ‘Maybe on the return trip . . .’ he said lamely. ‘And if we bring back a good load of logwood, I’ll cut you in for five per cent of the profit.’
    He gave Hector a gentle push with his foot, and the young man dropped down into the darkness, suddenly aware that he was unlikely to see either Susanna or Dan and his friends until his voyage to Campeachy was over.

FIVE

    ‘C HRISTMAS