THE WRECK OF the Westflinge came in view shortly before midday. The ship still lay crumpled across the reef. Even at a distance, it was clear that her back was now broken. The tall, narrow stern of the vessel had become detached and drifted a short distance from the rest of the hull, which was still impaled on the coral where she’d been abandoned. At the waterline the midships section had bulged, bursting open like a rotten melon. There was no sign of any of the three masts. They must have toppled overboard and been carried away by the current. The gnawing of the tide and the action of waves had searched out the wreck’s weaknesses and were prising her apart. There were breaches in her sides through which daylight showed. In places the planks had cracked off short, leaving jagged ends. The remaining timbers were dappled with blotches of black fungus.
The kora kora approached cautiously, a lookout in the bows searching for a clear passage between the coral heads, the paddlers barely dipping their blades into the water. Eventually, a hundred paces from the remains of the Westflinge, the lookout called a halt. The kora kora could approach no closer without risking her own fragile hull.
‘Hector, let us see if we can get at those guns. Best keep your boots on, or the coral will cut your feet,’ Dan advised. He was already pulling off his shirt, and a moment later was clambering down the outrigger struts and lowering himself into the warm, pale-green water. Hector followed him, and together they half-waded, half-swam towards the wreck. As they floundered forward, they could hear the suck and gurgle of the tide washing through the gaping holes in the Westflinge’s side, and caught the flicker of small, brightly coloured fish that clustered near the hull, feeding on the growth of weed.
They came close enough to the wreck and circled round so that they could climb in through the open stern. Dan reached up and took hold of a plank’s end to pull himself inside. As he tugged, the plank broke off and he slipped back with a splash. He regained his feet and looked down at the fragment of wood still in his grasp. ‘Now we know why we couldn’t find any leak,’ he said. He held out the timber to show to his friend. The three-inch-thick piece of wood was riddled with passageways the thickness of a straw. Dotted amongst the passageways were small, pale shelly grubs smaller than a fingernail. Looking closer, Hector saw they were tiny, burrowing animals, each with a spiral-shaped head like a miniature drill.
‘Shipworm,’ declared Dan. ‘The hull is consumed with them. I am amazed she stayed afloat as long as she did. She must have been leaking in dozens of places.’
He reached out again and snapped off another chunk of wood. It came away in his hand like a section of honeycomb. Grimacing with disgust, he threw it into the sea. ‘In another couple of years there’ll be nothing left of her on this reef, except a few iron bolts and a pile of ballast stones.’
‘Not many of them, either. We dumped most of the ballast overboard,’ Hector reminded him.
Together they climbed through the opening and found themselves in the aft section of the hold. The water was up to their knees, and there was a reek of decay in the half-lit belly of the ship. Small, grey crabs scuttled up the curved frames of the hulk and fled into dark cracks in the timber as they waded carefully towards the companionway leading up to the deck. They trod gingerly. The footing was uneven where sections of plank had buckled inwards, and layers of seaweed and slime made the footing treacherous. They climbed the companionway – half the steps were missing – and emerged on the decaying deck. Skirting around the more obviously rotten patches, they made their way to the starboard gunwale. There, still lashed down to ring bolts, was one of the two cannon they’d kept back. Dan tapped the barrel. ‘That is lucky. Brass,’ he said. ‘Old-fashioned, but more durable. If it had been iron, we could have had a problem with the weight.’
Hector was looking at a coat of arms cast into the metal of the barrel. A large letter V impaled the letters O and C. ‘The crest of the Dutch East India Company,’ he said. ‘I wonder how Vlucht got his hands on it.’
‘Probably looted it from some luckless Company ship. I reckon he was as much a pirate as he was an interloper.’
The Miskito circled the gun muzzle with his hands, gauging the size. ‘Five-pounder, or thereabouts,’ he commented. He rubbed away the dirt from the touch-hole. ‘Nothing here that some careful attention cannot fix. We’ll need the right tools, and some round shot. Let’s see if we can find a wormer.’
They searched what remained of the vessel above water. In the forecastle Hector located the gunner’s stores. There was a wormer with a threaded head, which Dan would need in order to clean out the barrel after firing, a powder ladle, three heavy spikes to use as levers for moving the gun, and a rammer.
‘No sign of a sponge?’ asked Dan as Hector brought out these tools and set them down beside the cannon.
‘No, but there’s a box of wads that should fit.’
‘We will need those. We can always wrap some wet cloth around the butt end of the rammer to make a sponge.’
‘There was another tool – a rod with a set of springy claws at one end. But I left it behind.’
‘That will be a searcher for checking for cracks inside the barrel. No use to us, as we could not mend any flaws even if we found them. We’ll have to take a chance that the guns are sound. Did you manage to locate any round shot?’
‘No.’
Dan looked serious. ‘That’s odd. We can load the two little lantaka with musket balls and pebbles, but if we want to use the big cannon against a stockade, we need to have the right-sized shot.’
‘Maybe these guns were just for show,’ said Hector.
Dan thrust an arm down the barrel. ‘I can feel the wad, though it’s soggy and damp. Behind it there’s the ball. I’d say he was a captain who preferred to leave the guns charged and shotted in case they were needed in a hurry.’
He withdrew his arm and together they crossed the sloping deck and investigated the second cannon. It, too, was ready-loaded. ‘Are you sure you’ve looked everywhere for a shot locker?’ Dan asked.
‘There’s nothing. I guess Vlucht was too mean to keep proper artillery stores,’ said Hector.
‘No point in salvaging two cannon when we have only two rounds of shot to fire from them. One cannon will have to do,’ said Dan.
Hector looked across at the kora kora, still hove-to fifty paces away on the fringe of the reef, unable to come closer. ‘How do you propose to do that?’ he enquired doubtfully.
‘Ask the Omoro to build a raft on-shore, and then come out at high tide and take this gun off.’
They waded their way back to the war canoe where Prince Jainalabidin’s face lit up with excitement when Hector explained how Dan wanted to proceed. The boy spoke rapidly to the chamberlain.
‘The prince says that we Omoro know all about building rafts,’ translated Mansur. ‘We use them for fishing in the river. His Highness says that he can order his men to have a raft ready in less than three hours, and they will remove the cannon from the wreck by nightfall.’
Hector hid his doubts that the work could be done so quickly. ‘Then, with His Highness’ permission, I suggest that Jezreel and Dan go back to the Westflinge and get the cannon ready. Jacques and I will stay in case we can be of assistance.’
The kora kora shifted to the same creek where the Westflinge’s castaways had earlier set up their camp, and soon Hector had to admit that he’d underestimated the Omoro. Her crew divided into teams and disappeared into the jungle. Within half an hour one squad returned carrying stalks of giant bamboo, six inches in diameter and thirty feet long. They stripped off the leaves, and then used their heavy knives to shave away the hard, shiny outer skin. This, according to Mansur, meant that the lashings of the raft would grip. Meanwhile another team had reappeared with lengths of rattan and split the vines lengthwise. When all the materials were ready, the entire workforce set about fastening the bamboos side by side with the rattan strips, then attaching cross-braces to give the raft its shape. By mid-afternoon they had pushed the raft into the water and, with Hector and Mansur aboard, were propelling it towards the wreck of the Westflinge.