Later that evening in his room Hector began – and then tore up – half a dozen letters to Maria. He had still not composed a fair copy by the time Luis came early next morning to take him to a meeting with the Governor in his office.
‘You’re quite a catch, it seems,’ said Don Alonso with a mirthless grimace. The map still lay spread on the side table. ‘The Audiencia wants you delivered to the capital, to Lima itself, for interrogation. Afterwards you will be tried for piracy.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Have you written that letter for Maria?’
Hector shook his head.
The Governor gave up. ‘Then all I can do is to wish sincerely that you and Jezreel receive a fair trial. Luis will escort you to the dock, where your ship is waiting. When you go aboard, your parole to me is at an end. From then on, you are the responsibility of her captain. He is keen to set off at once.’
As Hector left the room, he glanced back. Don Alonso was rolling up the map and there was a sombre expression on his face. He had the look of a man who had completed a very distasteful task.
‘PRAISE BE we’re let out of our hutch from time to time,’ said Jezreel, standing up to his full six and a half feet and stretching. ‘Or I’d have a permanent stoop by now.’
The aviso was a small, lightly built sloop. Since leaving Valdivia, the two friends had been permitted to exercise on her quarterdeck for two hours every afternoon. For the remainder of each day they were confined to a small, windowless cabin, which Hector surmised was normally used as a storeroom. It smelled of old sacks and damp, and the ceiling was so low that the big man was obliged to crouch double or go on all fours whenever he moved about.
‘How far do you think we’ve come?’ asked Jezreel. He swung his arms from side to side to loosen his shoulder muscles. His wounds had long since healed, and he looked gaunt, but fit.
‘Impossible to say,’ answered Hector. He stared out at the mainland coast, some ten miles away to starboard. He could see nothing that might give him a clue as to how the sloop had progressed along her route. The view had altered little in the past three weeks of sailing. There was the same sequence of coastal ranges and the same blue-grey haze where the land rose steeply to the mountain chain that ran parallel to the coast. The only difference was that the mountain crests no longer carried any snow.
‘Can’t say I’ll be sorry when this voyage is over, even if we have to face interrogators at the end of it,’ said Jezreel.
‘My guess is we’ll reach our destination in the next day or two,’ said Hector.
The lookout called down that a sail was in sight to the north-west.
The aviso’s captain, a stocky and phlegmatic Basque named Garza, growled at the helmsman to hold his course.
‘Seems I guessed right,’ said Hector. ‘We’re probably close enough to our destination for our captain to think he can outrun the stranger and get safely into harbour.’
Half a dozen sailors led by the boatswain hurried about the deck. Here and there they made minor adjustments to sheets and braces, though Hector could discern little increase in the vessel’s speed. The sloop was already carrying full sail.
Another shout from the masthead, this time confirming that the stranger was definitely on course to intercept.
The steersman watched the captain nervously, as Garza ran stubby fingers through his beard, made his way to the ratlines and climbed up to join the lookout. A short time later the Basque was back down on deck. ‘Friends of yours, I think,’ he growled to Hector as he stepped past him.
Jezreel leaped eagerly on to the ship’s rail. Grabbing the shrouds to steady himself, he raised one hand to shade his eyes against the sunlight reflecting off the sea and stared at the approaching vessel.
‘She’s a two-master. I think she’s the Bachelor’s Delight,’ he exclaimed gleefully.
The Basque captain overheard. ‘Tell your big friend not to get his hopes up,’ he called out to Hector. ‘That ship will never catch us.’ He turned to the helmsman, and Hector caught the words ‘inner channel … as close as you dare’.
‘What’s he doing?’ asked Jezreel. He jumped down on deck. The sloop was abruptly changing course.
‘Our captain has decided to run for the shallows, where the Delight won’t be able to follow us,’ answered Hector. ‘The aviso draws less water, and I expect the steersman knows every back-channel and bolthole through which to escape.’
Over the next two hours Captain Garza’s tactics were borne out. The colour of the sea changed from dark blue to opaque grey-green as the sloop fled into shoal depths, running fast and keeping well ahead of the pursuit. Hector saw they were steering directly for a narrow channel between a small island and the shore.
‘The Delight can’t follow us through there without the risk of running aground,’ he commented to Jezreel. ‘She’ll be forced to turn back.’
‘Maybe Cook, if he’s still captain, will catch us as we come out from behind the island at the far end of the channel,’ said Jezreel hopefully.
‘More likely the aviso will drop anchor in shallow water behind the island, and wait. We’re in plain view of the coast, and messengers will already be on their way to alert a Spanish warship to come to the rescue. The Delight can’t afford to linger like a cat in front of a mousehole.’
Abruptly Captain Garza blurted out what was clearly a Basque profanity. His attention was fixed on the channel ahead.
Looking in the same direction, Hector saw the masts of a ship beyond the island, and the flash of canvas as she spread her topsails. Soon afterwards the vessel herself came in view, sailing down the channel towards them. An instant later he recognized the Cygnet.
Behind him Jezreel let loose a great whoop of pleasure. ‘Who’d have thought it? Our high-principled Captain Swan has turned pirate. Ha-ha! He’s working with the Delight.’
The ambush became clearer by the minute. The aviso was now too close to the coast to double-back and flee, and if she continued on her course, she was sure to run into the Cygnet’s guns. Captains Swan and Cook, if they were still in command, had executed a neat pincer movement. Their prey was caught.
Certainly the sloop’s Basque captain thought so. With a snarl of disgust, Garza cupped his hands around his mouth and called out to his crew to stand by to drop sail. Then he stepped across to the helm and, taking the tiller in his hand, brought the little ship’s head to wind. The aviso carried no cannon and had relied on her speed. She was at the mercy of her captors.
The Cygnet maintained her confident approach. Smaller than her consort, her shallow draught allowed her to come within hailing distance of the sloop. Hector could see his former shipmates lining the rail as they examined their latest prize appraisingly.
‘There’s Jacques,’ called out Jezreel. The ex-prizefighter swung himself back on the rail and let out a great roar. ‘Hey, Jacques. Have you learned to make a decent pudding yet?’
A ragged cheer went up from the Cygnet’s crew as, one by one, they recognized Jezreel by his size. They waved their hats, there was a confusion of catcalls and yells of greeting. Someone fired his musket in the air to celebrate. A boarding party scrambled into the longboat and was on its way to take possession of the sloop. Jacques stood in the bows, grinning broadly.
‘Mes amis! So they did not waste string to garrotte you,’ exclaimed the Frenchman as he scrambled up the aviso’s side and gave Jezreel a delighted thump on the back. Jacques beamed with delight as he turned to Hector. ‘None of us thought we would ever see you again.’