The Daredevil Snared

Arsene – Dubois’s lieutenant, second-in-command, presumed French

Cripps – Dubois’s second lieutenant, English

Plus twenty-eight other mercenaries – of various ages and extractions

Captives:

Dixon, Captain John – army engineer

Hopkins, Lieutenant William – navy, West Africa Squadron

Fanshawe, Lieutenant – navy, West Africa Squadron

Hillsythe – ex-Wolverstone agent, governor’s aide

Frazier, Harriet – gently bred young woman, Dixon’s sweetheart

Wilson, Mary – shop owner-assistant, Babington’s sweetheart

Mackenzie, Ellen – young woman recently arrived in the settlement

Halliday, Gemma – young woman from the slums

Mellows, Annie – young woman from the slums

Mathers, Jed – carpenter

Plus eighteen other men – all British of various backgrounds and trades

Diccon – young boy, seven years old

Amy – young girl, six years old

Gerry – boy, ten years old

Plus sixteen other children – all British,ranging from six to ten years old

Plus five other children – all British, ranging from eleven to fourteen years old

On board The Prince:

Fitzpatrick, Lieutenant Frederick – First Mate

Wallace, Mr. – Master

Carter – Bosun, goes into the jungle but returns to the ship

Quilley – Quartermaster, goes into the jungle and remains with Caleb

Hornby, Mr. – Steward,goes into the jungle but returns to the ship

Johnson – midshipman,goes into the jungle but returns to the ship

Foster, Martin, Ellis, Quick, Mallard, Collins, Biggs, Norton, and Olsen – midshipmen and experienced seamen who go into the jungle and remain with Caleb.

On board The Raven:

Lascelle, Phillipe – Captain, privateer, longtime friend of Caleb’s

Reynaud – Bosun, goes into the jungle but returns to the ship

Ducasse – Quartermaster, goes into the jungle and remains with Phillipe

Fullard, Collmer, Gerard, Vineron – midshipmen and experienced seamen who go into the jungle and remain with Phillipe

Plus four other seamen – all of French extraction, who go into the jungle but return to the ship

CHAPTER 1

July 14, 1824

Jungle east of Freetown, West Africa

Caleb Frobisher moved steadily forward through the jungle shadows. His company of twenty-four men followed in single file. No one spoke; the silence was eerie, stretching nerves taut. Beneath the thick canopy, the humidity was so high that forging ahead felt like walking underwater, as if the heavy atmosphere literally weighed on their limbs.

“Hell’s bells,” Phillipe Lascelle, at Caleb’s heels, breathed. “Surely it can’t be much farther.”

“It’s only midmorning,” Caleb murmured back. “You can’t be wilting already.”

Phillipe snorted.

Caleb continued along the path that was little more than an animal track; they had to constantly duck and weave under and around palm fronds and low branches festooned with clinging vines.

Somewhere ahead lay the slavers’ camp they’d come to find—or so Caleb fervently hoped. Despite his determination to unwaveringly abide by the rule book throughout this mission, thus proving to all and sundry, and his family especially, that he could be trusted with such serious endeavors, sometimes instinct—albeit masquerading as reckless impulse—proved too strong to resist. His brother Robert’s hand-drawn map described the location of the slavers’ camp—Kale’s Homestead—when approached from the west. However, Caleb had studied the camp’s position and decided to come in from the north. From all he’d gleaned from Robert’s notes, the slavers would be alert to any incursion from the west; they would almost certainly have lookouts posted, making west not the wisest direction from which to approach if one’s intention was to seize the camp.

Which was, rather plainly, their purpose; why else would twenty-five strong men all armed to the gills be trooping through such a godforsaken place?

Three nights before, Caleb, in his ship, The Prince, closely followed by his old comrade-in-adventure, Phillipe, in his ship, The Raven, had slipped into the estuary on the night tide. They’d kept to the north shore, well away from the shipping lanes leading into Freetown harbor, and sailed deeper down the estuary and into Tagrin Bay, reducing the risk of detection by any naval vessels going into and out of the harbor; according to Robert’s information, the West Africa Squadron should now be in port, and Caleb would prefer to avoid having to explain himself to Vice-Admiral Decker.

They’d anchored off the southern shore of the bay at a spot Caleb judged was due north of Kale’s Homestead. According to Robert’s map, miles of jungle lay between the slavers’ camp and the ships’ positions; Caleb hadn’t known how passable that jungle would be, but his confidence had been bolstered by the intelligence they’d gained from natives living in a village nearby. Phillipe had a way with languages—another excellent reason for inviting him along—and he’d quickly established a rapport with the village elders. The villagers had known of the slavers’ camp, but, unsurprisingly, avoided it with a near-religious fervor. Sadly, they’d known nothing about any mine or similar enterprise anywhere in the vicinity, but they’d been happy to point out a narrow track that, so they’d insisted, led more or less directly to the slavers’ camp.

Unfortunately, the villagers hadn’t known the name of the slavers’ leader. Caleb clung to the hope that he and his men weren’t going to find themselves at some other slavers’ camp entirely—and trudged on. They’d set out on the previous morning, leaving skeleton crews on their ships and taking the strongest and most experienced of their men. Seizing a slavers’ camp would be no easy task, especially if there were any captives currently in the slavers’ clutches.

Turning that prospect over in his mind—wondering what he might do if it proved to be so—Caleb led the way on.

He almost didn’t trust his eyes when, through the dense curtain of trees, palms, and vines, he glimpsed a pale glow—indicating a clearing where daylight flooded in, banishing the jungle’s pervasive gloom.

Then their narrow track ended, opening onto a wider, better-maintained path, one clearly frequently used.