By now the Delight had begun to move, slanting away from the danger and showing her starboard quarter towards the strangers. They could clearly see her new ensign.
Moments passed, and then a matching flag was run up at the stern of the other vessel.
‘What’s she doing in these waters?’ Cook exclaimed. ‘Wear ship and pass close. But reload and be ready to fire.’
The Bachelor’s Delight checked her flight, reversed course and once again the two ships approached one another, but this time like two wary mastiffs poised for a fight. Cook stood on the rail, holding on to a shroud, and bellowed in English, ‘What ship are you?’
‘Cygnet out of Bristol.’
‘And a right stupid lot of bird-brained buggers too,’ called someone from the waist of the Delight.
A wave of relieved laughter washed over both ships.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER the Cygnet’s commander was climbing up the Delight’s side while his grinning boat crew exchanged banter with Cook’s buccaneers leaning over the rail.
‘I am Charles Swan,’ said the new arrival, stepping across to shake Cook by the hand. The Cygnet’s captain was an affable man of middle age, dressed in a faded blue coat and grubby buckskin breeches. His face would have been unremarkable – watery blue eyes and regular, slightly chubby features – but for the fact that his eyebrows and the stubble of close-cropped hair were so pale as to be almost invisible. By contrast, his skin was sunburned a harsh and painful shade of pink.
‘Swan, did you say? Then I take it that you had a hand in the naming of your vessel,’ said Cook with a half-smile. He was regarding the other man with baffled caution.
‘That’s correct. I own a tenth share. Calling her the Cygnet was an act of self-indulgence,’ conceded Swan. He seemed naively unaware of how close he and his ship had come to being attacked and looted.
‘It is unusual to meet an English ship in this region.’
‘I’m here with a licence to trade with the Spanish in Peru, a licence granted to me by the Duke of Grafton.’
‘You’ve come here to buy and sell,’ exclaimed Cook. His eyebrows shot up, he was so astonished.
Swan appeared not to notice. ‘Exactly. Our two countries are at peace, and His Grace the Duke saw an opportunity for mutual commerce.’
He nodded towards the north-east horizon. ‘Over there in Chile the colonists are paying exorbitant charges for goods brought out from Spain and trans-shipped across Panama. Aboard the Cygnet we have a cargo of iron goods and fine woollen cloth, which we should be able to sell to great advantage, having much less cost of freight.’
Cook was almost lost for words.
‘But surely you are aware that the Peruvian Viceroy forbids all trade with foreigners?’
‘That is why I did not hoist any colours on your approach,’ answered Swan amiably. ‘I am aware of the antipathy between the two nations. I thought the English flag might attract an unprovoked attack. Equally, if I had hoisted a Spanish flag, I might later be accused of sailing under false pretences. No nation likes to see their emblem borrowed without a by-your-leave.’
Cook shook his head in amazement. ‘I wish you and the Duke luck with your venture. But don’t be surprised if you meet with disappointment.’
‘What about you? What brings you here?’ asked Swan, though it must have been clear from the number of armed ruffians on deck that the Delight was not a peaceable merchantman.
‘We proceed to Juan Fernandez,’ said Cook. ‘We had a difficult passage around the Cape.’
‘I preferred Magellan’s Strait. The transit took more than
two weeks and was challenging – frequent gales, no depth for anchoring, fog and mist – but we got through,’ answered Swan. He sounded a little smug.
‘And now where are you headed?’ asked Cook as he deliberately changed the subject.
‘I thought to try Valdivia first. It is the closest town on the coast. I wish to begin my trading there.’
Hector, who had been listening to the conversation, saw his chance.
‘Excuse me, Captain Swan,’ he interrupted. ‘Would you need an interpreter for your commercial negotiations?’
Swan’s eyes lit up as he recognized the young man. ‘You are the person who called out to us in Spanish. Indeed, I took you to be a Spaniard. I fear my own efforts at the language were all too clumsy. Unfortunately my factor – a most excellent speaker of Castilian – died at sea some weeks ago. So yes, I do require a trustworthy interpreter.’
‘Then I am willing to act for you.’
Swan’s watery blue eyes looked enquiringly at Cook. ‘Are you able to let this young man go?’
‘He has not signed articles, so he can do what he wants,’ Cook answered curtly.
Hector decided to press home his advantage. ‘I am travelling with three friends. Perhaps they also could join me on your ship? One of them is a fine cook.’
Swan beamed with pleasure. ‘It sounds as if I am getting a real bargain.’
‘Not entirely,’ Cook responded sourly. ‘You’ll be taking on a blind man.’ He nodded towards Dan, still standing nearby with a bandage across his eyes.
Swan was about to speak when Hector intervened. ‘My friend’s eyesight may soon return. He was partly blinded during a lightning storm last night, but he can still see a little.’
Swan held up a hand and stopped him. ‘He too may join the Cygnet.’ Then, unexpectedly he added, ‘I too have been similarly afflicted.’
And without further explanation he began to take his leave of Cook.
THE RIDDLE OF Captain Charles Swan’s last remark was solved on the way back to his ship with Hector and his friends in the Cygnet’s launch. The captain groped in his pocket and pulled out a pair of spectacles. Each lens was the colour of freshly cut slate. Swan placed them on his face, carefully hooked the wire loops around his ears, then tied a leather thong behind his head to hold them securely. For a moment Hector was reminded of a blind beggar, his sightless eyes hidden behind black glass. But on looking more closely, he realized that he could still discern the captain’s eyes, though dimly.
Swan anticipated his reaction. ‘Vanity precludes me from wearing them on meeting strangers. All too often they think they are dealing with an unfortunate.’
‘Maybe there are times when it is useful to conceal your eyes,’ Hector ventured.
‘A shrewd observation. It’s said that in China the judges wear such spectacles in court so that their thoughts are hidden until they deliver judgement.’
‘But that’s not why you wear them?’
‘Bright light, especially when reflected off the sea, hurts my eyes. Like your friend here, it sometimes damages my vision, leaving me half-blind for hours at a time.’
‘You were never struck by a fireball, nor stared at the corposant?’
‘Indeed not. The doctors tell me that my condition is often found among those whose hair has little colour. Wearing these spectacles reduces the risk and discomfort.’
Hector twisted in his seat and took a last look at the Bachelor’s Delight. He would miss a few of her crew, in particular the navigator William Dampier, who was a thoughtful and intelligent man. But John Cook was not to be trusted. He was an outright bandit of the sea, and his men were no better. Hector was not sorry to be leaving them.
FIVE
AFTER THREE WEEKS in Swan’s company Hector had grown accustomed to seeing two smoky dark lenses fastened to his captain’s face whenever the sunshine was bright. Now Swan was squinting through them into the early-morning glare as he looked forward over the Cygnet’s bow. It was a clear, bright day and they had arrived on the coast of Chile with the first hint of an onshore breeze filling the ship’s sails as she glided gently into the entrance of a deep gulf. The low headlands on either side were shrouded with a dark mantle of scrub and native forest, and the hills behind them appeared wild and desolate. If the chart had not shown that the town and port of Valdivia lay within the gulf, Hector would have thought the land was uninhabited.