"She's flyin' a red an' yeller flag, sir!"
Peary snorted surprise and grudging admiration. "So she is! Must be a Spaniard." He lowered the telescope and spoke to Scott. "That's your man Hurst aloft ... as no-account a sailor as ever shipped out of Charleston, but with the damnedest pair of eyes of any man I ever knew."
Taking the glass, Scott looked for himself, confirming the report. Fox picked up the subject of Hurst. "He's a tough bastard, too. Says he used to be an Indian trader. Funny sort of fellow to turn to the sea."
"He probably got into a scrape ashore," Peary said carelessly. "He'd been in a brawl the night the captain brought him aboard."
Scott heard, but chose to ignore the possibility that Peary had aimed a barb at him. He and his brother-in-law had been getting along very well in the Caroline, and life was more pleasant that way. He thought a moment about Hurst. The muscular borderer had won his place in the fo'c'sle by whipping three different seamen in as many days soon after the brig cleared Charleston. And if Hurst cared for any one thing in the world, it was his rifle. He frequently sought permission to clean the weapon, and once he demonstrated his marksmanship to Scott by shooting three gulls on the wing out of four tries.
"I think you're right about her being a Spaniard, Mr. Peary,' Scott said after a few moments. He tucked the telescope under his left arm and frowningly wondered if the United States and Spain were at war.
"I never saw a Spaniard in these waters," Fox commented. He hesitated a moment. "Of course, pirates could fly any flag. Don't forget that piracy is common out here."
"Well," Scott said dryly, "we'll avoid trouble if we can, but not by running from it. Mr. Peary, you'll keep most of the crew 'tween decks until I give the word to open 'em you'll keep the gun ports closed."
Fox took the glass and went aloft. He studied the oncoming vessel for several minutes, then returned to the deck and sought out Scott. "Sir, she may be a Spaniard with a lascar crew; but from their dress I'd say her people are Malays. Take a look. See for yourself, sir."
Scott did so. "Anything necessarily wrong with that."
"No, I suppose not. But there are plenty of Malay pirates in these waters, and sometimes they get hold of a pretty good-sized ship."
"Whatever they are, there are a lot of 'em," Scott said, still looking. "They're all wearing loincloths and red caps, except one fellow in a yellow jacket and cap. He's wearing a white skirt."
"I noticed, sir. The fellow in yellow probably is royalty, or at least a big chief. Only the rulers can wear yellow or have gold ornaments. White's for the ruling class, too."
Scott studied the ship herself more closely. She was smaller than the Caroline and apparently more lightly armed. Her master was a poor seaman, too, by Scott's standards: her sails were ragged and her rigging slack. Finally he lowered the telescope and rubbed his eyes.
"I think," he said slowly, "that we'll do our talking at a distance . . . just in case. It's common knowledge that pepper traders carry considerable specie, isn't it?"
Fox nodded. "Aye, sir. And there ain't much a Malay date wouldn't do for twenty thousand Spanish-milled dollars."
When the bark was within hailing distance, Scott spoke her through his trumpet. "Ahoy! What ship is that?"
He got no answer.
"Ahoy!" he shouted again. "What ship?"
Still no reply. Scott set his jaw. "Mr. Peary!"
"Sir?"
"Show her our teeth! Run out the guns!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
Then Scott spoke the stranger again. "Sheer off—or we fire!"
This time agile Malay seamen swarmed aloft in the bark and began taking in sail. That's better, Scott thought. Once more he demanded the name of the ship. Now the man in the yellow jacket and cap rose from the chair in which he was sitting-
"Santa Ines de Manil," he bawled across the shining water.
"Speak English, damn you!" Scott shouted.
"Let me try my Malay on him, sir," Fox said.
"Go ahead. And tell him to stay clear of us or we'll blow him to hell."
Fox's Malay was good, if not fluent, and he and the captain of the bark exchanged a good many words. Finally he turned to Scott again. "He's a Malay, all right. He says he trades out of Manila under the Spanish flag; that he's off course and short of both food and water. He wants us to let him have some of both."
Scott frowned. "I can't say no to that; but I would like to know why he wasn't steering for the Sumatran coast."
Fox smiled thinly. "It could be that he's not welcome on the Pepper Coast. These people fight among themselves a lot, village against village. I'll ask him, though."
A few minutes later he turned to Scott, who meanwhile had ordered the first officer to shorten sail. "He says he's afraid of shoals near Tapanuli; that he doesn't know the waters. And he says again that he needs food and water . . . enough to last three days. He can go into Benkulen, he says, but he's afraid to go inshore north of there."
Scott rubbed his chin. "According to your chart, there are plenty of coral heads and sand shoals north of Benkulen. Still, Fox, I've got the feeling he's lying."
The second officer shrugged. "Could be, sir. It's hard to get a straight answer from a Malay."
The captain frowned. "Damn it all, I still can't say no to a request for food and water. I'd like to look around his ship myself, but that wouldn't be wise."
Fox grinned. "No, it wouldn't. If they're pirates, they'd like nothing better than you as a hostage."
"Tell him to heave to and send over a boat. . . . Heave to, Mr. Peary. Keep all hands ready for action."
By the time the Malay captain boarded the Caroline the two vessels had drifted nearly a quarter of a mile apart. Scott eyed the man interestedly, seeing a small, bold-looking, brown-skinned fellow carrying a sheathed sword in addition to the gold-hilted creese thrust in the waistband of his skirtlike kain sarong. Two of his seamen accompanied him aboard, both armed with razor-sharp, wavy-bladed daggers which differed from their leader's only in that the hafts were bone. Fox took over as interpreter.
"His name is Suran," the second mate said. "He's a dato or chief."
If Suran had been on short rations, it had been for a very limited time. Both he and his boat crew looked well fed to Scott. While Fox translated, he stared about him in an insolent fashion irksome to Scott; but his words, as repeated by the second officer, were extremely polite.
"All right," Scott said. "Tell him we'll let him have three days' water and rations. He must have a hundred men in that ship."
Fox told him and Suran bowed and smiled in Scott's direction. Then he said something in a low voice to one of his men and the fellow started aft toward the ladder leading to the 'tween deck.
"Stop that man, Mr. Peary," Scott called. "Keep him off the gun deck."
Peary spoke sharply to the Malay,who paid him no attention. Flushing, the first officer knocked him down with his fist. "You son-of-a-bitch, when a white man speaks, you jump to obey!"
The man who had been felled suddenly yanked his creese free and leaped to his feet. Peary covered him with his pistol, and the willingness to kill was plain in his angry face. Suran suddenly spoke up, calling his man to heel. Then he spoke apologetically to Fox.
"He says no harm was intended, sir," Fox told Scott. "He was just curious."
A lie, Scott thought. He eyed Suran, who met his gaze blandly. Without turning his head, he spoke to Fox. "Give him what he wants."
More talk in Malay ensued.
"Now what?" Scott demanded impatiently.
"He says he will be forever grateful and Allah will bless you. Also, he's got to summon another boat."
"Damnation!" Scott exclaimed, inclining his head toward the Malay chief, who was waving his yellow cap over his head. "He's doing so now."