Trade Wind Read Online Free Page B

convinced (or, as Josiah Crayne observed tartly, had convinced herself), that Providence intended her to go. She had always known that there was work there for her to do. And in the event there was no one with the authority to stop her, since in addition to being in sole possession of a considerable fortune, she had now turned twenty-one and was her own mistress.
    Cousin Josiah gave up the unequal struggle and arranged a passage for her on one of his own clippers. And since he had also managed to placate family opinion by conjuring up a chaperone for her in the person of the captain’s wife, in the spring of 1859, Hero at last set sail for Zanzibar.

2
    “Ere she comes, sir!”
    The Daffodil ’s coxswain spoke in a hoarse whisper, as though he were afraid that even in that surf-loud, murmurous night, any more audible sound might carry to the deck of the distant ship that was slowly emerging from among the trees and the tall coral rocks that masked the entrance to a small, hidden bay.
    Few were aware of the existence of that bay. And those few used it exclusively for unlawful purposes. It did not appear on the official maps of the East African coast or figure on any Admiralty chart, and Lieutenant Larrimore, in command of Her Britannic Majesty’s steam sloop, Daffodil y had frequently passed within half a mile of it without even suspecting that what appeared to be part of the mainland was, in reality, a high, narrow reef of wind-worn coral, topped by a tangle of palms and tropical vegetation, and concealing a small, deep bay capable of sheltering half a dozen sea-going dhows.
    Daniel Larrimore knew the coastal waters between Lourenço Marques and Mogadishu well, for he had spent the best part of the last five years assisting in the thankless task of suppressing the East African slave trade: that traffic having greatly increased of late as the trade shrank on the West Coast, where stricter surveillance and the strengthening of the West African and Cape Squadrons had combined to make slaving an increasingly dangerous and unprofitable venture. Although he had on occasion heard rumours of a hidden bay, he had never been able to confirm them, and as recently as a week ago would have been inclined to dismiss them as fables. On the previous Thursday, however, while his ship was engaged in taking on water and supplies of fresh food at Zanzibar, one of the negro slaves whom the Arab contractor employed to carry baskets of fruit and vegetables on board had plucked furtively at his sleeve and whispered a highly interesting piece of information…
    The hidden harbour, it appeared, was no myth, but a secure and secret haven known to certain of the Arab slave traders, where they could embark slaves in safety, take refuge from storms and doldrums, and lie concealed when naval vessels were known to be on the prowl. Moreover, a notorious English-owned schooner, loaded with illegal cargo, would be leaving it at nightfall the following Tuesday, bound for an unknown destination.
    The information had been both detailed and circumstantial, but the negro could not be persuaded to tell how he had come by it, and when pressed had become frightened and stupid, and backing away, muttered that he did not understand the white man’s talk.
    Lieutenant Larrimore had been of two minds whether to believe him or not. Yet the story not only confirmed those earlier rumours, but explained how certain ships, sighted and pursued towards sundown, had managed to escape in the darkness when their sailing speeds were certainly not superior to his own. At least there could be no harm in acting upon the information; and the Daffodil had raised steam and left Zanzibar on the following day, heading northwards; her commanding officer having announced his intention of visiting Mombasa.
    Once out of sight of the island, however, he had altered course, and turning south crept down the coast as close to the shore as reefs would permit. And now, late on the Tuesday evening,