Hector continued gazing at the shore. His eye was caught by a pale triangle among the breakers crashing on the reef. Moments later he saw several more of these triangles, rising and falling to the rhythm of the waves, keeping pace with the ship. It took several minutes for him to realize they were sails. The boats beneath them were either too small or too low in the water to be visible at that distance.
‘Frisky little beggars,’ observed a sailor standing beside him. ‘You’d have thought they’d capsize in that surf.’
The sailing boats quickly worked clear of the surf and set a slanting course to intercept the Nicholas. Hector squinted in surprise. Something was strange. He’d grown accustomed to the pace of movement at sea: the initial glimpse of a distant sail, the long, slow approach as the other vessel drew closer and closer, and the sudden haste in the final moments. But this was different. The cluster of triangular sails, at least a dozen of them, was approaching at the pace of a troop of horsemen moving at a brisk trot. They were catching the Nicholas as if the larger ship was dawdling, instead of pressing forward under full sail.
Hector took another look at the oncoming boats.
They reminded him of a school of hurrying dolphin. They surged across the surface of the sea, spray flying, thrusting the water aside, often showing the full length of their hulls, which were painted a rusty red with white trim.
The sailor beside him let out an admiring whistle. ‘They must be doing twelve knots, maybe more,’ he said. ‘You wonder they don’t thrash themselves to bits.’
Soon the boats were very much nearer. Hector could see their general resemblance to the dugout canoes on the coast of West Africa. Yet these craft were altogether lighter and more finely shaped. Projecting out from the side of each of them was a structure that he had never seen before. A frame of poles supported a second, much smaller hull some six or seven feet away. This second hull acted as a long, narrow float and balanced the vessel so that it skimmed over the tops of the waves instead of ploughing through them.
Several of the Nicholas’ crew had gone below to fetch their muskets. They were back on deck, loading powder and shot and checking the flints were dry.
‘Don’t shoot unless you have to. We must conserve our powder,’ shouted Arianz from the quarterdeck. Everyone knew his meaning. The Ta-yin’s men had carried off the kegs that contained the vessel’s reserve stock of gunpowder. All the men had left was whatever they had previously transferred to their powder flasks.
‘They do not look warlike,’ observed Dan. He had joined Hector on the foredeck and was watching the approaching canoes. The Miskito’s dark eyes lit up with approval. ‘Now there is something I would like to try out at home,’ he said. ‘Those side floats are ingenious. They make their craft sit higher, and able to carry more sail, than we would among my people.’
The leading canoe had drawn level with the Nicholas. The canoe’s crew were skilfully spilling wind from the sails to slow down their craft and keep pace with the lumbering visitor. Hector saw Eaton glance farther aft. The remaining canoes were also closing the gap. Soon the Nicholas would be surrounded by a squadron of the strangers.
‘Don’t let any of them come aboard,’ the captain ordered harshly. ‘Make them keep their distance.’
The lead canoe carried four or five men, who stood and shouted.
‘What is it they are calling?’ Jacques asked.
Hector strained to hear. ‘I think they’re calling out “Hierro, hierro”, Spanish for iron.’
‘Well, at least they have a few words of a language we can understand,’ grunted the Frenchman.
One of the canoe men picked up a basket from the bottom of his craft and held it up on show.
‘He wants to trade iron for whatever he has in that basket,’ said Hector.
As usual Dan had the keenest eyesight. ‘They’ve brought out coconuts and other fruit.’
‘Mon Dieu, thank God for that,’ exclaimed Jacques. ‘I’m sick of the men complaining about mouldy salt fish and the maggots in the bread.’
Several of the Nicholas’ men had begun waving at the other canoes to come closer, but a bellow from Eaton stopped them. ‘Wait until we have found shelter. Then we’ll trade.’
For the next half-hour the Nicholas ran on, the strange spidery canoes keeping pace with ease. The vessel cleared the southern point of the mainland and an obvious anchorage came into view, where a small island offered shelter from the northeast breeze. Slowing, the Nicholas headed for a patch of smooth water. The leadsman cried out that there were twenty fathoms of water, and her helmsman put her sails aback. Even before the anchor was let go, her escort of canoes came clustering forward.
‘Remember, allow no one aboard,’ repeated Arianz.
‘Hierro, hierro,’ the natives shouted.
‘I’ll give them hierro,’ growled a suspicious sailor. ‘Bunch of arse-naked savages.’
Not one of the islanders wore a stitch of clothing. Big, strapping men, their skins were a dark tawny colour with a very slight hint of yellow. They were taller than many on the Nicholas, and had large, square, fleshy faces. Most wore their long, black hair loose, though a few had shaven skulls and topknots. They appeared self-confident and friendly.
‘Have we any spare iron to trade with them?’ asked Jacques.
‘Only odds and ends,’ said Jezreel.
One of Eaton’s men was holding up a couple of broken links of anchor chain for the canoe men. They shook their heads and began making a circular motion with their arms.
‘What are they trying to tell us?’ asked Hector.
Dan clicked his fingers as he worked out the answer. ‘They want iron barrel hoops – most ships would carry them.’
The cooper was sent for, and he reluctantly agreed to dispose of three damaged hoops from his stores. These were waved in the air, and immediately two of the canoes shot closer.
A barter followed. Stolck leaned over the gunwale, acting as negotiator. Eventually, after much sign language and haggling, it was agreed to exchange two iron hoops for five baskets filled with fruit. Then a native on the second canoe pointed to some large gourds lying at his feet, and held up one finger.
‘What is that one trying to sell?’ asked Jacques.
‘Coconut oil, I guess,’ said Dan. The islander mimed wiping the contents of the gourds on his skin and using it to dress his hair.
‘Fresh coconut oil,’ said Jacques eagerly. ‘Let me have that. I will mash up the last of our stale bread and make fried doughboys.’
‘Make sure they don’t cheat us,’ Dan warned Stolck. ‘Get the fruit and oil on board before we part with the iron hoops.’
The two canoes sidled alongside, ropes were lowered and baskets and gourds attached. Only when these were lifted into the ship were the iron hoops relinquished. The crews of the canoes appeared to be very pleased with their trade. Their sheet-handlers tightened their lines. The men in the stern twisted their paddles to act as rudders and the canoes veered away, rapidly gaining speed as they headed back to the distant shore.
Stolck brought the first basket of fruit across to Jacques and laid it on the deck. ‘There you are, Cook. There should be plenty to go round.’ He began to lift out the coconuts. Then he swore. Underneath the top layer of fruit the basket had been filled with rubbish and gravel.
Jacques dipped a spoon into the coconut oil and licked it. ‘Delicious,’ he announced. Then he looked down at the surface of the gourd and frowned. He dipped the spoon again, tasted and spat. ‘Putain!’ he exclaimed. ‘We have been cheated. The coconut oil is only floating on the surface. The rest is sea water.’