Tom Fleck 0002: The Black Caravel by Harry Nicholson

Author:Harry Nicholson [Nicholson, Harry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical Fiction
ISBN: 9781535378086
Google: f5YyvgAACAAJ
Amazon: 1535378085
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2016-08-30T06:00:00+00:00

'Captain, we'll get trouble from this lot, and their stink makes me heave.' Christopher Skerry glowered at the throng of ragged men. Men from a dozen lands crowded the long deck of the galley. Ben Hood and his ship's mate stared down from the wreck of the forecastle. 'We've Englishmen among them, and there's Irish.' Skerry paused for breath. 'There's Scotch, Frenchies and Spaniards. A couple of Danes. There's others too — heathen-heads from God knows where.'

'None of them stink as bad as your Whitby ginnels, Mister Skerry. More important, at least twenty white men, a couple of women, a clutch of Africans, and one dog, have shipped with the caravel. The senhor has recovered his crew. See how the fine gentleman gives out orders and makes ready to sail. Where do we stand now?'

'On the deck of a Barbary corsair. On congealed blood is where we stand. And no cargo to fetch a profit — unless we take up slaving.'

'Aye, but yonder we've a prospered crewman. He's taken on a servant.' He shouted above the gabble of voices, 'How now, young'un?'

At the foot of the foremast, an immobilised Isaac Fleck stared down onto the glistening shoulders of a huge African. The man knelt on the deck, muscular ebony arms wrapped around the Englishman's rumpled stockinged legs. 'He grabbed me and won't leave off, sir. I only chucked him a lump of cheese.'

Ben Hood spat over the side and grimaced at the mate. 'We've an oared galley and a cargo of slaves. The market for such be on the Coast of Barbary. I've no wish to poke around that shore, make no mistake.'

'Nor me, captain. But we've a cargo of strangers. By the look of some, I'd not have easy nights. We might put them ashore somewhere — if they don't cut our throats first. Once we're rid of them, we could ship oars and sail our prize home. This hull looks well fashioned. Built of precious Atlas cedar. She's light, swift, and slow to rot. We've caught a rare bird and good might come of it yet. And the crew expects a share of the prize.'

'Seems you have it all worked out, Mister Skerry.'

'And I've worked out why two of the pirates had yellow hair, and why this galley was so far north. Dutchmen brought her here.'

'Dutchmen in league with the Barbaries?' Ben Hood spat over the side. 'I don't care much for the world these days.'

'Captain. Senhor Norte comes aboard.' The call came from Isaac, in the process of extricating himself from the embrace of the African.

'Then pull alongside of me and make ready your Portuguese lingo.'

'Amigo. Henrico Nortes, agradecido.' Senhor Norte now sported a blue velvet doublet and matched hose. He grasped Ben Hood's massive hands and held them. Words poured from him, and a tear trickled into his beard. He touched the head of a slender boy at his side and boomed out, 'Capitao Benjamin, este homem filho Benjamin. Benjamin. Agradecido.'

The captain freed his hands. 'Translate the gentleman's blather, Isaac.

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