Free The Only Victor by Alexander Kent Page A

strength. It was another nightmare. He saw a sudden picture of his mother when she had told them about their father’s death. How would she feel about him? Proud? Moist-eyed that her only son had died in battle? He stared wildly at the other vessel, stared until his eyes watered and smarted. Damn them all.
    Jay cupped his hands. “We’re comin’ aboard! In th’ King’s name!”
    Sperry bared his teeth and loosened the axe in his belt.
    â€œOh, that was prettily said, Bob!”
    They grinned fiercely at each other while Segrave could only stare at them. At any second they might be fired on; he had heard it said that slavers were often well armed.
    Jay was suddenly serious. “The usual, lads. Take over the helm, an’ disarm the crew.” He glanced at Segrave. “You stick with me, lad. Nowt to it!”
    A grapnel flew over the schooner’s bulwark and the next second they were clambering aboard, the sea-noises fading slightly as they found themselves on the deck. Segrave stayed close to the master’s mate. When he looked at his companions he was not surprised that this vessel had failed to stop. Miranda ’s White Ensign was genuine but the little boarding party looked more like ragged pirates than the King’s seamen.
    Jay beckoned to a man in dirty white breeches and a contrasting ruffled silk shirt.
    â€œYou th’ Master?”
    Segrave looked at the others. A mixture. The sweepings of the gutter.
    â€œAn’ wot do we ’ave ’ere? ” The boatswain’s thick arm shot out and dragged one of the crew away from the others. With surprising speed for such a squat man, Sperry ripped off the sailor’s shirt, then swung him round so that Jay could see the tattoos on his skin. Crossed flags and cannon, and a ship’s name: Donegal.
    Jay rasped, “A deserter, eh? Looks like the end o’ th’ roamin’ life for you!”
    The man cringed. “For Gawd’s sake ’ave some pity. I’m just a poor Jack like yerselves!”
    Sperry shook him gently. “An’ soon you’ll be a poor dead Jack, dancin’ at the yardarm, you bastard!”
    Segrave had never even tried to understand it. How men who had been taken by the press gangs as some of Miranda ’s had, were always outraged by those who had run.
    The one who was obviously the master shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
    Jay sighed. “Don’t speak no English.” His eyes gleamed and he pointed at the deserter with his hanger.
    â€œYou’ll do! You ’elp us an’ we’ll see you escapes the rope, eh?”
    The sailor’s gratitude was pathetic to see. He fell on his knees and sobbed, “I only done one passage in ’er, ’onest, sir!”
    â€œWot about the two ‘burials’?” The point of the hanger lifted suddenly until it rested on the man’s throat. “An’ don’t lie, or you’ll be joinin’ them!”
    â€œThe master put ’em over, sir!” He was babbling with fear and relief. “They’d been fighting, and one stabbed t’other.” He dropped his eyes. “The master was goin’ to get rid of ’em anyway. They weren’t strong enough for ’ard work.”
    Segrave watched the man in the frilled shirt. He seemed calm, indifferent even. They could not hold him, although he had murdered two slaves who were no longer of any use.
    Jay snapped, “Take charge of the deck, George.” He beckoned to a seaman. “We’ll go below.” He added, “You too, Mr Segrave!”
    It was even filthier between decks, the whole hull creaking and pitching while the sailors, holding lanterns like tin-miners, crept amongst the evidence of the schooner’s trade. Ranks of manacles and leg-irons lined and crisscrossed the main hold, with chains to keep each batch of slaves from moving more than a few feet. And this for a voyage across