Halfhyde had asked how von Merkatz knew he was aboard a windjammer and had entered a Chilean port.
“He doesn’t,” Smith said with a laugh. “He’s due for a happy surprise.”
Halfhyde lifted an eyebrow. “I see. In that case, how did you—”
“We hear many things along the grapevine, Lieutenant Halfhyde. Now and again we handle deserters from warships—British, Spanish, Germans have passed through our hands. Since we’re in this for the pickings, we listen. And we learn. And we forget nothing, since one day it may come in handy.”
“Like now.”
“Yes, like now.”
Halfhyde sat back, saying no more. From Iquique to Arica was around a hundred and twenty miles. The journey would take all of four days, perhaps longer. If he remained in these men’s hands for that length of time, the Aysgarth Falls would be perhaps a thousand miles out to sea if the wind stood fair for her. Although her track was known, it was never an easy task to intercept a ship at sea, the more so when she was under sail and at mercy of the wind’s vagaries. And if he reached Arica and was delivered into German hands, then he could assuredly say goodbye to the Aysgarth Falls and Captain McRafferty and indeed to his own plans for the future. Von Merkatz would have him placed in cells and would sail with him for the Fatherland, a prize to be presented to his Emperor who would then take his revenge for damage caused over the years to his ships and his pride. The British Admiralty might well be indisposed to recommend action to Her Majesty on account of a half-pay lieutenant who had already incurred their displeasure, and Vice-Admiral Sir John Willard in Portsmouth might be only too pleased to be rid of him as a son-in-law.
It was a devilish prospect. It must not be allowed to happen, but to get away would be easier said than done. The man who called himself Smith was vigilant, so was his companion sitting on Halfhyde’s other side. The captive was worth money; no doubt there would be bargaining with von Merkatz and Halfhyde had no doubt that the German would be generous. Halfhyde made the assumption that he would be hidden away somewhere in the port, while an emissary went aboard the German flagship, or more likely, so as not to be held as a kind of hostage against Halfhyde’s delivery, sent a message by one of the bumboats.
Time would tell.
MCRAFFERTY PACED the poop, a prey to mounting fears. Bullock had been threateningly insistent that he should make sail without more delay; the passenger, Bullock said, was restive and there would be difficulty over the passage money if they didn’t clear away from Iquique fast. It was only too possible that Halfhyde had fallen victim to some attack ashore and never would rejoin. All McRafferty had been able to do was to leave word with the police authority to have Halfhyde looked for, a message that was received politely enough but with scarcely any interest. This done, the orders had been passed, and the Aysgarth Falls had stood out to sea with the steam tug’s assistance until she was outside the port with a light wind on her starboard quarter. Short once again of a Second Mate and with no replacement possible now from the villainous crowd in the fo’c’sle, the Master had been obliged to take watch-and-watch on deck with his First Mate.
As McRafferty kept an eye lifting on the set of his sails, Jesson came on deck from the saloon. McRafferty looked at him with a distaste that he took pains to disguise. Jesson looked an evil man, but he had to be put up with. Already half the passage money had been paid over, and the First Mate’s bargaining had been good: one hundred pounds in gold was in the Captain’s safe, a similar amount was stowed in Bullock’s cabin. A total of four hundred sovereigns to reach Australia from Chile was, by any standard, very good payment indeed…
“Good morning, Mr Jesson.”
Jesson responded with a curt nod; he was at best a monosyllabic man, McRafferty had found, and bad-tempered. Looking around at the slightly ruffled water, then down the ship’s side as though to make some assessment of her speed, he said, “We’re not moving very fast.”
McRafferty shrugged. “The wind dictates, Mr Jesson, the wind dictates.”
“Wrong. I do.”
McRafferty stared back at him, feeling the anger rise. “Not to the wind.”
The face mottled behind the thick thatch of beard. “I’m a wealthy man, by God!”
“Then you’re a lucky one also, Mr Jesson, but no money can buy the wind.” McRafferty turned his back on a nonsensical, arrogant statement, and strode aft to the wheel, from where he cast a critical eye aloft. He could maybe get an extra knot out of her. He spoke to the helmsman. “A shade closer to the wind, Finney, just a shade.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Old Finney moved the spokes, bringing the wheel up a fraction. McRafferty watched for a while longer, then walked back to the rail and stood beside his passenger.
He said, “I shall do my best, Mr Jesson, but
