Buccaneer (15 page)

Two hundred yards ahead the Spanish patrol ship had reached the end of her track and begun to turn. Her port guns had not yet been reloaded. Hector could imagine the gun crews crossing the deck to help their comrades prepare the starboard battery for the killer blow. They would be checking that each gun was properly charged, its shot wadded firmly home, priming powder in place, match burning. All they then had to do was wait until the brigantine came round on her new course and steadied. Then they would make the final adjustment to bring their guns to bear. By that time the pirogues would be within point blank range.

‘We’re done for,’ muttered Johnson, ‘but we’ll not go without a fight.’ He was checking his musket, waiting for the Spanish ship to come within range.

Hector’s gaze searched the water beside the patrol ship. He could no longer see the dark shape that was Dan and the upturned canoe. Perhaps the Spanish vessel had run him down.

Then, unexpectedly, the brigantine appeared to falter. Halfway through her turn, she hung in one position, her bow directly downwind, her stern towards the pirogues and unable to bring any of her cannon to bear. There was confusion visible on her deck. Sailors were climbing into the rigging, trying to readjust the sails. Others were scurrying along the deck, apparently without purpose.

‘Their helmsman’s a right blunderer,’ said Otway who was steering the pirogue. ‘He’s lost control of the ship.’

‘Head directly for the brigantine,’ yelled Hector. ‘There’s a man in the water. We have to pick him up.’

Otway hesitated and Jezreel gave him a great shove which sent him flying. Seizing the tiller the big man set the pirogue’s course towards Dan’s head which had bobbed to the surface. Hector looked round to see what was happening with the other two pirogues. Both had set extra sails and were increasing speed. They were drawing away. Soon they would be past the Spanish patrol vessel, and out of danger.

There was a ragged volley from the Spaniards, musketry not cannon. Some of the musket balls whizzed overhead, but others puckered the water around the swimmer. The Spaniards had seen Dan. He ducked down, making a more difficult target.

‘Now that’s a foolish thing to do. Let’s see how far he gets,’ said Johnson. On the stern of the brigantine half a dozen sailors were clustered at the rail, an officer with them. A rope had been lowered, and one man was climbing over, ready to descend. The Bay Man slid the ramrod back into its place beneath the long barrel of his gun, crouched down in the pirogue, and held steady. There was a second’s pause before he pulled the trigger. The noise of the shot was followed immediately by the sight of the sailor losing his hold and tumbling down into the water.

Hector pushed past to where he could look forward, directly down into the sea. He heard a musket ball thump into the woodwork beside him, and more shots from the Bay Men. Less than ten yards away, Dan’s head had reappeared, the long black hair sleek and wet. He was grinning. Hector gestured to Jezreel at the helm, pointing out the new course. A moment later, Dan’s hand reached up and in one smooth movement the Miskito wriggled aboard.

‘What did you use?’ asked Hector.

‘My cousin’s striking iron,’ his friend replied. ‘I slipped it between the rudder and the stern post when the steering was hard over. It’ll have driven in even further when the rudder was centred. They’ll not get it free until they have a man down who can hack it out with a chisel. Until then their rudder’s jammed.’

Hector was aware that the sound of the Spaniards’ musketry was growing more distant. Jezreel had turned the pirogue so the boat was running directly away from the brigantine, presenting the smallest target. Looking astern, he could see the patrol ship was still crippled, driving helplessly downwind. By the time she was under control again, it would be dark and the three pirogues would have made their escape. Several of the Bay Men were already on their feet, waving their hats at the enemy and jeering. One man turned his back and dropped his pantaloons in derision.

‘The Bay Men have agreed to go farther south,’ Hector explained to his Miskito friend. ‘There are former buccaneers among them who claim to know the hidden places on the coast where their old comrades-in-arms gather. They plan to rejoin them, finding safety in numbers now that there’s a Spanish warship on the prowl.’

‘Then they’ll have to go hungry for a while. We can’t go back to collect the sea cow. But it means we can pick up Jacques on our way,’ said Dan.

He settled himself more comfortably against a thwart, and Hector found himself contemplating how the unselfish comradeship of men like Dan and Jacques contrasted with the cold-hearted, self-serving avarice of men like Captain Coxon.

J
ACQUES HAD
at last been able to try out his pimento sauce. It was something he had wanted to do ever since he first tasted one of the dark brown berries. The flavour had intrigued him, a peppery mix of clove and nutmeg with a hint of cinnamon. He had bought a handful of pimentos in the spice market at Petit Guave and kept them safe and dry in a cartridge box. Now he crushed his hoard and sprinkled the fragments into the cavity of a large fish Dan had gutted for their supper. Adding coconut milk and salt, the ex-galerien had wrapped the fish in leaves and buried it in a pit of charcoal coals to bake for three hours. Finally, he watched as Hector, Dan and Jezreel sampled the result.

‘What do you think of the gravy?’ he enquired proudly. He had carefully poured off the juices into an empty coconut shell and was dipping each piece of fish into the sauce before handing out the food.

‘I would have added some ginger,’ said Jezreel, pursing his lips and adopting a solemn expression.

For an instant the Frenchman took the suggestion seriously. Then he realised that the prize fighter was poking fun at him. ‘Being English, you’d put in sugar and oats and make a porridge of it,’ he retorted.

‘That’s if I were Scots, not English. You’ll have to learn the difference, Jacques.’ The big man licked his fingers. ‘But this will do for a start. Some day I will have to show you how to make a decent pudding. Only the English know how to make puddings.’

The banter between the former prize fighter and the ex-galerien had begun within moments of their first meeting when the three pirogues had collected Jacques from the beach where Dan had left him. Then they had continued along the coast to a sheltered inlet which, according to Otway, was a favourite careenage for buccaneer ships. ‘It’s known as Bennett’s Cove,’ he had explained. ‘If we wait here, there’s a good chance that a buccaneer vessel will show up, and we can volunteer for her crew.’ Hector thought again of the Coxon’s Hole on the chart he’d copied for Snead in Port Royal, but said nothing. His previous encounter with buccaneers had left him wary of joining their company. Anyone associated too closely with them might finish up condemned for piracy and dangling on the end of a hangman’s rope.

Fortunately the past two weeks had brought a change in the weather, with day after day of blue skies and brilliant sunshine tempered by a sea breeze which kept off the midges and mosquitoes. So the friends were lounging contentedly on the beach while the rest of their party was some distance away, close to the three pirogues drawn up on the strand.

Jezreel finished eating and lay back on the sand, stretching out his massive frame. ‘This is the life. Can you imagine what conditions are like back home? March gales most likely, and rain. Can’t say I feel like going back there for a while, even if the logwood cutting didn’t work out.’

‘Only a dolt would think of making his fortune by chopping wood,’ Jacques observed. ‘Anyone with brains would let others do the work, then relieve them of their profits.’

‘You talk like a thief.’

‘I only took what others were too stupid to keep safe,’ said Jacques smugly.

Jezreel looked over at Hector, eyebrows raised. ‘He was a pickpocket in Paris,’ the young man explained. ‘Until he got caught and sent to the galleys. That was where we met.’

‘Nimble fingers make light work,’ announced Jacques lazily. He extended one arm up in the air, and closed his fist. When he opened it, there was a pebble held between forefinger and thumb. Closing his fist, he opened it again, and his hand was empty.

‘Saw plenty of tricks like that when I was in the fight game,’ grunted Jezreel. ‘The booths were full of mountebanks and charlatans. Many pretended they were from foreign lands. You would have done well with that foreign accent of yours.’

‘Given an audience, I wouldn’t even have needed to speak,’ rejoined Jacques.

‘No wonder it’s called dumb show.’

Jacques shied the pebble at Jezreel who caught it deftly and, in the same movement, threw it back. The stone bounced off the Frenchman’s hat, dislodging a small black object which fell to the sand.

‘Watch what you’re doing! I don’t want to smell like a logwood cutter,’ said Jacques and was about to tuck the item back into the hatband.

‘What have you got there?’

Jacques passed the object across to his new friend who looked at it, puzzled. It was the size and shape of a large black bean, slightly shrivelled.

‘Why would you want to wear a dried dog turd in your hat?’ Jezreel asked.

‘Smell it.’

‘You must be joking!’

‘No, go on.’

Jezreel held it up to his nose and sniffed. It had a definite musky smell.

‘What is it?’

‘A cayman’s cod. I bought it in the market the same time I got the pimentos you’ve just been enjoying.’ Jacques took back the object. ‘It’s a gland. Crocodiles and caymans have them in their crotch and armpit, and they give off a pleasant smell. Better than a reeking blood-soaked smock.’

‘Well, thank god you didn’t put it in the sauce as well.’

Their exchange was brought to an end by a shout from Otway. He was at the back of the beach where the rise of the dunes gave him a vantage point. ‘Ship! Standing in,’ he called.

Everyone got hurriedly to their feet and gazed out to sea. The sun was behind them so they could easily make out the pale flash of the sails. To Hector’s inexperienced eye the vessel looked very much like the Spanish guard ship, for she had two masts and was a similar size. He felt a twinge of fear that the Bay Men had been caught off guard once again. He doubted that they would be able to escape a second time. But Otway was jubilant.

‘That’s Captain Harris’s ship, I’m sure. I served on her once. We’re in luck. Peter Harris is as bold a commander as you could wish.’

He was proved right when the newcomer dropped anchor and sent her boats ashore, towing a string of empty barrels. Captain Harris had called at Bennett’s Cove to take on fresh water.

‘The ship is headed south to Golden Island,’ announced Otway who had found former shipmates among the watering party. ‘There’s to be a gathering of the companies there. But no one seems to know the full details. It’s to be decided by a council.’

‘Will Captain Harris take on any new men?’ asked Hector.

‘That’s for the ship’s crew to decide.’ Seeing Hector’s look of incomprehension, Otway added, ‘Among buccaneers everything is decided by vote. Even the captain is chosen by election.’

‘It makes sense, Hector,’ said Jacques. ‘No one gets any pay. They work for their share of plunder. The larger the crew, the smaller the share-out.’

Otway had an embarrassed look on his face. ‘Of course I’ve said that we all want to join. But the ship is already overcrowded with more than a hundred men aboard, and they are reluctant to add any more.’ He was avoiding looking at the others. ‘I am known to them already, so the crew is willing to add me to their number, together with my partner over there.’ He nodded towards the one-eyed Bay Man who had worked with him at logwood cutting. ‘. . . and naturally they’ll take Dan aboard if he is willing.’

‘Why naturally?’ asked Hector. He was not sure whether he wanted to join such suspect company but it rankled that they were being so choosy.

‘The buccaneers always need strikers,’ Dan explained. ‘They are not fishermen and they don’t have time to go ashore and hunt. They rely on Miskito strikers to get fish and turtle for them, otherwise they would go hungry.’ He turned to Otway. ‘Tell your friends that I’ll not join unless my three friends here come with me.’

Otway went off to consult with the watering party, and returned with the news that if Dan would bring Jacques, Jezreel and Hector out to the ship, they could make their case to the assembled crew.