Sacred Hunger - Barry Unsworth [132]
At this moment, while the two were looking fixedly at each other, there came a cry from deck of a craft sighted. Thurso at once seized his hat and without a further word or glance stumped out of the cabin, the surgeon following. They stood on deck watching the approach of a narrow dugout with a framework amidships covered with palm thatch.
‘That is a river boat, Mr Barton,’ Thurso said in his usual tones.
‘Aye, sir.’
The captain raised his telescope. ‘They look like Susu people to me,’ he said. ‘They have got someone there under the awning. It is a white man,’ he added after some moments. It was not until the dugout was considerably nearer and riding broadside on to them that they were able to see that the man in the shadow of the thatch was Calley, wearing only a pair of filthy cotton drawers, with his arms bound behind him.
‘So,’ Thurso said grimly, ‘one of our birds has come home to roost. These are up-country people. We shall need the linguister.’
‘Standing by, sir, Captain.’
‘What the devil is funny?’
‘Nothing funny, Captain. Some these men mebbe speak Malinke.’
‘Tell them they are welcome aboard,’ Thurso said. ‘Tell them they can come up.’
Jimmy shouted down to the men in the boat below in a language of high, wavering pitch changes. He listened to the grave reply.
‘They say they not coming up, sir.’
‘Why in perdition not?’
‘They say they don’ like come up on the ship. They perlite people, don’t like to say it, my ’pinion they scared of being panyared for slaves.’
‘They can trust me. I am known up and down this coast. I wouldn’t carry off free Africans. I give them dashee, one demi-john brandy. Tell them I am pleased they catch this runaway buckra man.’ He looked balefully down at the unfortunate Calley, who sat in the shade of the palm thatch, head down, a picture of dejection. His upper arms were drawn together behind him with twisted raffia, so tightly that his neck tendons and the powerful muscles at his shoulders were tense with his efforts to withstand the traction.
Jimmy translated, rubbing his chest in a circular fashion and half extending his right arm towards the boatman to indicate Thurso’s deep and abiding pleasure at the capture.
‘They say they trust you and they believe you.’
‘Good. They are sensible fellows.’ Thurso looked down approvingly. ‘Why aren’t they moving?’ he said impatiently after a moment.
‘They not coming up, sir. They say they believe you now but you may change mind while they on the way up and you cannot gantee that you will not change mind as nobody can gantee future thinking of his mind.’ In relief at having got through to the end of this difficult sentence, Jimmy forgot himself again and smiled broadly. ‘So they not coming up,’ he said. ‘That the top and tail of it.’
‘By God,’ Thurso said savagely. ‘That man shall suffer for this when I get my hands on him. If we had been homeward bound, with the slaves discharged, I would have let him rot ashore. Tell them the brandy will be lowered down to them. All they have to do is to loose his bonds in a way that will allow him to mount the accommodation ladder.’
Jimmy spoke again and the man in the prow of the dugout replied in a long and statesmanlike speech marked by grave, emphatic gesture.
‘Beggin’ your pardon, Captain,’ Haines said, still seeking favour and reinstatement, ‘why don’t we shoot one of the beggars? That one gabblin’ now. We could pick him off easy. That would bring ’em round.’ He paused a moment, clearly taken with the beautiful simplicity of his idea. ‘Why not shoot ’em all?’ he said.
‘You blockhead,’ Thurso said, turning upon him sharply. ‘Risk rousing the coast against us? Who would come trading to the ship after that?’
‘They not satisfy with the offer,’ Jimmy announced.
‘Very well, I can give them tobacco if they prefer.’
‘No, sir, pardon me.’ In pure nervousness now Jimmy smiled again. ‘They want brandy and tobacco,’ he said. ‘That is dashee for catch him. They say they want also ten bar slave price.’
‘What?’ Thurso’s brows drew together.