Captain Theodore Seward had been hired a decade past to guard the Quarries and their small entourage back home in Texas and he had steadfastly fulfilled that duty on their many trips abroad. His companions had joked on their most recent that the retired ranger stood out in the streets of London as though Buffalo Bill himself had ridden into town.
With his sweeping gray moustache, tall “Stetson” and folksy ways right down to bolo tie, piping on his frontier lapels and the seams of his riding britches, the man drew a crowd whenever he performed his duties in the public eye.
The captain had suffered the exposure with a dignity that belied his extreme discomfort, so he had been tickled pink to learn that his employer Archibald “Gusher” Quarrie wanted him to accompany his parents Clive and Abigail, daughter Lilly and retinue on a journey that would take them from foggy England to South Africa where Gusher had been engaged with an expedition to discover and secure oil supplies.
Apparently things had gone well, and the Quarrie patriarch was in the midst of signing contracts with the ruling government that would engage him and his company for several more years in the development of those resources.
So Gusher wanted his family near.
And Captain Seward had been only too happy to oblige. The idea of traveling to the Dark Continent and going cheek and jowl against dusky warriors and savage beasts appealed more to him than the “polite” society he had been plunged into while wrangling the Quarries.
“I like looking my enemies in the eye,” he had said to Dr. Van Resen during their first meeting on the S.S. Dunwich. “Some of these dinners the Quarries go to, hell, it’s gotta be something like Custer felt in the long grass at Little Big Horn.”
Van Resen had quickly warmed to the big fellow, something he’d soon attributed to their mutual preference for honesty and the truth—painful or not.
“I like it plain, Doc—same as I enjoy my liquor,” the Texan had said in the salon aboard the Dunwich after his charges had retired for the evening. He and Van Resen had made a habit of meeting late for a nightcap of one sort or another. Captain Seward had brought along several bottles of his favorite, tequila, which Van Resen had immediately regretted sampling.
They took up this tradition each night aboard the S.S. Dunwich, and continued it when they later changed vessels.
Captain Seward had originally booked passage to South Africa on the large British steamship, but a wireless message from Gusher was relayed en route that they should transfer from the S.S. Dunwich to another ship at Freetown.
The plan was for a South African business associate’s private steam yacht the Lancet to meet them there at the end of its long northern journey, and would then be available for their use on the return trip.
Seward was not one to like surprises, but as he said, “I know who waters my horse,” so with his employer’s permission he had asked his new acquaintance Dr. Van Resen to join them on the faster ship, along with the pasty Holmes fellow who had somehow talked young Lilly into inviting him aboard.
Neither Seward nor Gusher, his employer, had come up with an effective defense to the cherished youngster’s requests, so she had a habit of getting her way.
The only other souls on the sleek new ship were the 25 or so that made up the command and crew, and Seward had judged the owner negligent in his hiring practices. He told Van Resen none too quietly that he had deep reservations about the sailors he had seen.
“They put me in mind of the bandits and riverboat gamblers that I run across in my travels,” he had said. “Who knows what company they keep between jobs, and a rich man’s ship like this Lancet draws the wrong kind of attention, if you ask me. Hell, I done my reading. It wasn’t that long ago that pirate corsairs sailed up and down this here coast.”
Van Resen had worked to dismiss the big man’s concerns by speaking of the steam yacht’s virtues. Small and powerful, the Lancet had been chosen for her speed, and maneuverability. She could sail much shallower waters than the Dunwich, and if the Texan was concerned about pirates; well, few ships could catch the one they were on.
Seward was never convinced, and sadly Van Resen was soon to share his new friend’s reservations. Neither of the men was wholly surprised when the “pirates” were exposed to be among the crew.
“Oh, Theodore...” Van Resen whispered the words huskily, turning to look south along the beach as his companions struggled with their fears.
Memory of their nightly tradition caused Van Resen’s eyes to water and throat to close like they had when he’d tried the Texan’s favorite drink.
Captain Seward would have been a great help to them there on the edge of a wild continent. He was resourceful: a marksman, accomplished Indian fighter and totally fearless. In the end, that last quality had proven the castaways’ greatest blessing and had sealed the big Texan’s doom.
2 - The Mutiny
Captain Theodore Seward had appeared to be unconscious or dead at the feet of the mutineers when the scoundrels forced Van Resen, Holmes and the black butler Jacob Raines along with his charges, the elder Quarries, into the lifeboat.
All of the men looked worse for wear sporting bruises, bloodied noses and torn clothing after losing their recent battle for freedom. Around and under them on the lifeboat were piled bags and wooden crates along with most of their belongings—any of those things that were not made of precious metal or had been judged by their captors to be of little value.
Distantly, the breakers had roared against the African coast as the mutineers glared down from the deck of the Lancet.
Those nefarious men were led by a pig-faced little sailor of indeterminate heritage named Mr. Manteau. For
