"I'm going over and have a look at the Sally, Hurst," he said abruptly. "Then I'm going into Quallah Battoo. Want to go along?"
"I'm with you, cap'n," the woodsman said easily.
The Salem brig was hard and fast aground in shoal water a half mile off Quallah Battoo and nearly a mile from the anchorage of the Caroline. She canted to larboard at an angle of more than thirty degrees. No native boats were visible in the bight when Scott set out to visit the wrecked ship, and Fox said none had put out from the town that day. Scott thus assumed that the pirates had found the silver specie Bryant carried to buy pepper. Approaching the vessel, the Charleston captain surmised that the shifting sands of the bottom already had taken an even firmer grip on the hull; by now the Sally Culbreath probably could not be floated by a spring tide.
Searching the gutted ship was difficult because of the angle at which she lay, and Scott and Hurst soon were drenched with sweat. They explored her from stem to stem, topside and below, finding a few bags of pepper which had been overlooked or simply tossed aside. Every article of value, including weapons and compasses, had been removed. Both cannon were missing, either carried away or tipped into the shallow sea. The cabin deck, the deck of the forecastle and parts of the inner hull had been ripped and chopped with axes, and all glass had been shattered.
"Mean bastards," Hurst commented, fingering splintered mahogany paneling in the captain's cabin. "This was mighty nice woodwork, I'd say."
"They were looking for money," Scott told him. "He probably had it hidden around the ship."
Hurst looked down at the deck, then bent over and picked up a shiny object. He held out a Spanish-milled dollar to Scott. "I reckon they found what they were lookin' for."
"If they didn't, they'll be back. There are ways of making a man talk."
"I got a good idea of what you mean, cap'n," Hurst said grimly. "I damn near got my feet put to a fire once back home."
Scott fingered the hard silver thoughtfully. He didn't like to think about the fate awaiting Dorcas ... if, indeed, she hadn't already met it. By now she might be the wife or concubine of some rajah, or she might be on her way as a slave to become one or the other in some distant part of Sumatra. He thought so much about her that he really gave small thought to the others taken from the ship. Suddenly he handed the money back to Hurst. "Keep it. And now we might as well head for Quallah Battoo. You speak the language better than I do, so I'd like to have you along."
Hurst grinned crookedly. "I want to go along. Ain't no tellin' what we'll stumble on or overhear. I got ears like a rabbit."
"You know we're asking for trouble when we go into the place, don't you?"
Hurst made a snortingly derisive sound. "iVe walked into a passel of drunk Indians in my day, cap'n. There ain't no meaner people in th' world than drunk Indians. They're meaner'n a she-b'ar with cubs."
Scott was grateful to have the man on his side. He spoke frankly. "I don't think any of the rajahs will tell us anything, nor will any of the other Malays, but there's a Chinaman in the town who came out to the Caroline with news about Muzaffar."
"I remember," Hurst said when he paused. "I didn't get a look at th' feller, though."
"I did," Scott said doubtfully, "but I'm afraid I won't recognize him even if we see him. Damn' Chinamen all look alike to me."
"Could be that he'll see you and figure what you want to find out," Hurst said comfortingly.
Much to Scott's surprise, no Malays congregated to meet the ship's boat. In fact, very few natives were visible in the blinding afternoon sunlight. However, despite the fact the streets and bazaar were virtually deserted, Scott and every man in the boat crew knew Malays were watching each move. At any moment they might be fired on or rushed by a howling mob armed with swords and the wavy-bladed creeses. Scott hoped he looked as nonchalant as did Hurst when they started for the bazaar.
They saw a number of Chinese merchants squatting in the shade of their places of business, but none looked up at them. Figuring that he couldn't deal openly with the man he sought, Scott simply let all the Chinese see him. The informant would know what he wanted to know, just as Hurst had said.
They made the rounds of the rajah's residences, but found only Chedula at home. He was bland in his speech, telling them nothing. Finally they returned to the ship's boat.
"I was kind of hopin' we might see Osman," Hurst said. "I'd like to know if 'e's mixed up in this business. What you reckon we'd better do now, cap'n?"
Even though he hadn't really expected to learn anything directly, Scott had hoped some hint might be dropped accidentally. As things stood, he could only hope the Chinese informant's palm might itch for silver enough to make him pay the Caroline a visit after dark. If that didn't happen, he supposed he'd just have to try to seize hostages or bombard the town.
"We'll return to the ship and wait," he answered. "It's all we can do for the time being... except try to persuade Darus to remain with us awhile longer."
"Darus is all right," Hurst said. "He'll stick with us now. Maybe 'e'll even give us a hand. After all, we did kill 'is tiger for 'im."
25
SCOTT himself took the watch that night. Pinched by anxiety and frustration, he couldn't sleep. Pacing the waist of the brig, where a couple of lanterns shed faint yellow light, he faced up to the fact that he didn't know what to do. He lacked the strength both to force a search of Quallah Battoo and its environs and at the same time protect the Caroline. Unless the Chinese informer appeared in the dark hours—unless he obtained specific information enabling him to pinpoint an attempt at rescue—there wasn't anything effective he could do. He and Hurst had persuaded Darus to remain in the vicinity, but it was plain that the rajah did not want to provoke the rulers of Quallah Battoo additionally.
Scott thought a great deal about Dorcas in the hours following the swift-failing tropical twilight. Fifteen people, all told, had been in the Sally Culbreath when she drove aground, but he found himself considering the fate of the others only occasionally. In the darkness beyond the glow of the lanterns Scott could almost see her... feel again on his mouth the kiss with which she had wished him Godspeed. Damn it all, he thought, there must be some way of saving her... of rescuing all of them. If only the Chinaman would appear!
Fox came on deck at midnight and offered to relieve him, but he dismissed the man almost brusquely. If the man could sleep, let him.
"I guess you know how I've felt ever since it happened," the mate ventured before returning to his hammock. "What is there to do? There isn't anything we can do without losing the ship, at least."
"Goddammit, I know that," Scott snarled. Then his voice softened. "Go on and get some sleep, man. There's no reason for both of us to pace the deck."
"I know how you feel, sir," Fox said sympathetically. "I really do."
About an hour after midnight, as the ship swung on the j ebbing tide, Scott heard a faint cry from the calm sea.
"Mr. Fox! Mr. Fox!" He shook his head violently, unsure that he had heard anything. But a barefoot seaman pattered up to him. "Sir, did you hear it... the voice callin' Mr. Fox?"
It came to them again, closer now, though still faint. It was an almost despairing sound... the cry of an exhausted swimmer.