Captain in Calico

The Flashman Papers

Flashman

Royal Flash

Flashman's Lady

Flashman and the Mountain of Light

Flash for Freedom!

Flashman and the Redskins

Flashman at the Charge

Flashman in the Great Game

Flashman and the Angel of the Lord

Flashman and the Dragon

Flashman on the March

Flashman and the Tiger

Novels

Mr American

The Pyrates

The Candlemass Road

Black Ajax

Short Stories

The General Danced at Dawn

McAuslan in the Rough

The Sheikh and the Dustbin

History

The Steel Bonnets:

The Story of the Anglo-Scottish Border Reivers

Autobiography

Quartered Safe Out Here

The Light's on at Signpost

*

The Hollywood History of the World

Copyright © 2015 by The Estate of George MacDonald Fraser

Jacket design by Royce M. Becker
Jacket artwork: pirate © Photononstop/Superstock;
ship painting created by MT Studio/Michael Tedesco
Author photograph by Paul Grover

Foreword © 2015 by The Estate of George MacDonald Fraser
Map © 2015 by John Gilkes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Scanning, uploading, and electronic distribution of this book or the facilitation of such without the permission of the publisher is prohibited. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated. Any member of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or anthology, should send inquiries to Grove Atlantic, 154 West 14th Street, New York, NY 10011 or
[email protected]
.

First published in Great Britain in 2015 by HarperCollins Publishers.

Published simultaneously in Canada
Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 978-0-8021-2438-8
eISBN 978-0-8021-9079-6

The Mysterious Press
an imprint of Grove Atlantic
154 West 14th Street
New York, NY 10011

Distributed by Publishers Group West
groveatlantic.com

15 16 17 18   10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The stories we loved best as children were the ones our father used to tell us on Saturday nights, when we would snuggle together under the bedcovers and wait for him to pick up from whatever cliffhanger he'd left us on the week before. The room would be lit only by the glow of a small electric fire, and when the story began, it was like falling into another world. Our father had a warm, dark voice, perfect for story-telling, and invariably the story would be about pirates. He had a special fondness for those outlaws of the sea; their flawed, restless characters captured his imagination more than honourable heroes ever could. It was a lifelong love, and so it was hardly surprising that his first attempt at full-length fiction,
Captain in Calico
, should be a pirate story.

He evidently laboured at it and reworked it over a number of years, presumably in any spare time he had from working long hours as a journalist and bringing up a young family. The book is full of the influences of the writers he had loved as a boy – Sabatini, Wren, Henty, Sir Walter Scott – and the story itself is an old-fashioned yarn of the type he told us as children, but with added sex and violence. The story is based quite closely on real events in the lives of ‘Calico' Jack Rackham and Anne Bonney, who were both notorious eighteenth-century pirates (and lovers), reflecting our father's belief that the most compelling stories are those of real events happening to real people. Despite the failure of
Captain in Calico
to find a publisher, his faith in the method of using fiction to bring history to life was borne out by the later success of the Flashman novels, in which he embroidered real historical events with the exploits of his fictional anti-hero. It is interesting to see him trying his hand at a prototype anti-hero in the character of Jack Rackham, and he evidently worked hard to make him a sympathetic rogue with heroic appeal. But it was only when he came to write
Flashman
that he hit upon the perfect device, creating an out-and-out cad who triumphs heroically through a mixture of luck and charm, and in spite of his own cowardice and deceit.

Captain in Calico
was rejected by publishers, and in time he came to regard these rejections as justifiable – in the margin of an early typed account of its rejection he has written, apparently years later, the word ‘deservedly' – but we believe he retained affection for the story, and the spark of his early and earnest faith in its merits never quite died. We say this because we believe he would have destroyed it otherwise, not left it in a fireproof safe in his old study for us to find after his death. Of course, eventually he hit upon the inspiration of bringing his beloved pirates to life in a quite different way, when he wrote
The Pyrates
– a book of comic genius, and one to which the movie
Pirates of the Caribbean
may owe more than a small debt.

An early reader's report on the manuscript and letters from The Authors' Alliance are direct in their criticisms of the work, seeing it as over-long and derivative. But whatever the novel's flaws, there is no denying that the style is polished, the characters are deftly drawn, and the writing is vivid and powerful.

A book such as
Captain in Calico
would probably be even less likely to find a publisher today than sixty years ago – not because it isn't excellently written, but because ripping yarns are hardly fashionable now – and we do not want readers to be deceived into thinking it is vintage George MacDonald Fraser, and of the standard of the Flashman novels or the McAuslan short stories. Indeed, we thought long and hard before allowing it to be published, and are only doing so because we believe that, as an early work,
Captain in Calico
is a delightful curiosity, one which we hope will provide fans of GMF with a fascinating insight into the inspirations and creative impulses that turned him into such a fine novelist. That he was always a great storyteller was never in doubt. We knew that as children, long ago.

Sie, Caro and Nick Fraser

1. The Man from the Sea

2. The Stratagem

3. Sea Trap

4. Major Penner

5. Swords behind the Tavern

6. Anne Bonney

7. The Amorous Invalid

8. Captain Harkness Converses

9. The Plotters

10. The Snare

11. The Quarry

12. Under the Black

13. The Action

14. Mosquito Bank

15. On the Account

16. The King's Colours

17. The King's Justice

18. Kate Sampson

19. The Price of Piracy

20. The Passage

Surveying the distant strand of silver beach washed by the blue Caribbean rollers, Master Tobias Dickey made a mental remark that the view was prodigious fine and life was very good to live. His contentment was born out of a good supper eaten after a hard day's work, and also out of that sense of wellbeing which had possessed him ever since the day on which he had first set foot in this beautiful New Providence of the Bahamas.

He stood at his window in Governor's House, a small, portly man well advanced into middle age, pulling at his pipe of Gibraltar tobacco and comparing its fragrance with that of the bougainvillea with which the garden abounded. Life and the evening were quiet, and Master Dickey never dreamed that he was waiting on the threshold of a high adventure in which he was to be called to play a not unimportant part.

‘When I reflect,' he was to write later in his journal, ‘on the Peaceful Temper with which I compos'd myself to Rest, suspecting nothing of what was to Befall, I never cease to wonder at the manner in which Providence ever reserv's its
most Sudden Strokes for the time when we are least prepar'd, even as the Tempest Breaks when the Tropick Day is most Serene.'

Certainly nothing could have been more placid and contentedly reflective than Master Dickey's mood as he knocked out his pipe, took a last look at the scene on which the sudden Caribbean night would shortly be descending, half closed the broad screen doors and prepared for bed.

It was a far cry, he thought, from a draughty garret in Edinburgh to a Governor's residence, from clerking in an advocate's office to his present post as first secretary, man-of-affairs, and close confidant of the Governor of the Bahamas, Captain Woodes Rogers. Yet it had only been the merest chance that had crossed his path with Woodes Rogers' two years ago when the captain had been renting the Bahama Islands from the Lords Proprietors and obtaining a commission as Governor. Dickey had been a cog in the legal machine which had been engaged on that complex business, but Rogers, the great discoverer and privateer, had noted his diligence and had offered him his present employment. Dickey had accepted with the eagerness of one escaping from slavery, nor, he reflected as he climbed into his comfortable bed and watched the shadows lengthen across his spacious apartment, had he had cause for one moment to regret his step.

Since their landing in New Providence two years ago and the expulsion of those pirates who had used it as a haven there had been much to occupy the new Governor and his assistant. Woodes Rogers saw the Bahamas as an estate of which he was to be steward for twenty-one years, and he set about to make it a model for the Western seas. To a remarkable extent he had succeeded and Master Dickey, at the
Governor's right hand in all things, had been made to feel that he too was doing his share towards making history in the Caribbean.

Thus Master Dickey had ample grounds for satisfaction as he lay musing, and as the shadows deepened in the garden outside he began to doze gently.

He came out of his half-sleep with a sudden start, his thoughts racing back to identify the noise that had disturbed him. Something had moved on the verandah. There had been a quick scraping, as though a foot had brushed over the boards. He listened, straining to catch the sound again, and gradually, as he lay in the warm silence, he became aware of an almost imperceptible but regular rustling just beyond the screen doors. Someone was standing there, and Tobias could hear him breathing.

It was almost dark outside, and he could see nothing but the dim oblong of light between the doors. Slowly he reached out a hand towards the table at the side of his bed, in the drawer of which he kept a loaded pistol as a precaution against nocturnal marauders. His hand closed on the knob and at the same moment a board creaked on the verandah, and a vague shape loomed in the narrow space between the doors.

Sweat broke out on Master Dickey's forehead, but the hand which drew open the drawer and descended on the pistol butt was quite steady. Gently he drew the weapon out and rested it across his body, the barrel pointing towards the window.

‘Come in wi' your hands up', he ordered, his finger ready on the trigger in case the intruder should make a sudden move.

To his astonishment the screen doors were pushed gently aside and the figure on the verandah stepped into the room.
‘If you have a pistol, take care what you're about,' said a deep voice.

‘God save us!' exclaimed Master Dickey. He sat bolt upright in bed, the pistol extended in the direction of the stranger. ‘Stop you there, my lad. Not a step closer. Guards!' He raised his voice in summons. ‘Guards!'

‘Why wake the house?' The stranger's voice sounded almost amused to Master Dickey's incredulous ears. ‘You've no need for guards. My business is with Governor Rogers.'

‘Governor Rogers?' Master Dickey pushed back the bed clothes and stepped out on to the floor, keeping the bed between himself and his mysterious visitor. ‘And what the devil d'ye mean by creeping aboot my window, then? Guards!' he shouted again. It seemed that the intruder must be a lunatic.

The heavy tramp of feet and the sound of voices in the passage outside his door heralded the arrival of sentries. Knuckles rapped on the panels.

‘Private Nicholas, sir. Is aught the matter?'

‘Come in!' called Dickey sharply, and the door opened. ‘Light the candle on my side table, sharp, now! There's a mad man in here and I have a pistol pointin' at him.'

‘Christ!' exclaimed the startled soldier. Dickey, his eyes still straining against the dark at the dim figure beyond the bed, heard the sentry stumble against the table as he fumbled for the candle.

There was a rasp of flint, and then a yellow spear of flame as the sentry lit the candle. By the candle's faint light the dark shape on which Dickey's pistol was trained came to life as a big man in white shirt and breeches, with a kerchief bound sailor-fashion round his head, who stood calmly surveying the little lawyer and the gaping sentry. In the doorway the light twinkled on the brass buttons of a guard
sergeant, and behind him Dickey saw the startled faces of two other soldiers.

The intruder's face, aquiline and brown as a gypsy's, wore an expression of mild amusement. ‘You're a game little bantam,' he remarked to Dickey. ‘Governor Rogers should sleep easy of nights.'

‘Haud your tongue!' snapped Tobias. ‘Sergeant, when ye've done gawping d'ye think ye might tak' this thief o' the night under arrest? Bestir yourself, man!'

Hastily the sergeant strode forward and grasped the intruder by the arm. The guards stationed themselves one at each side of the prisoner. With a sigh of relief Master Dickey laid aside his pistol.

‘A fine watch ye keep, sergeant,' he observed acidly. ‘Hauf the hoose might have been murdered in their beds, and where were you wi' your sentries?'

The sergeant glowered at the prisoner. ‘Come on, you,' he began, but Master Dickey cut him short.

‘Wait, wait, wait. Sentry, get another light till we see what manner of bird we've caught.' He came round the end of the bed and confronted the prisoner. ‘You, now. Who are ye and what are ye after?'

The big man smiled down at him. He was a fine-looking fellow, Dickey admitted, a grand body of a man with those mighty shoulders and that narrow waist. ‘You'll grin on the other side of your face, my buckie,' the lawyer added sharply. ‘What d'ye mean, keekin' in my door at this hour o' the nicht?'

‘I told you,' replied the prisoner mildly. ‘I want to see Governor Rogers. Why else would I be here?'

‘Tae rob and murder, like enough,' snapped Master Dickey. ‘For why did ye no' come in the light o' day like an honest man?'

‘I'll talk to Governor Rogers,' said the other.

Master Dickey stared and shook his head. ‘The man's plainly demented,' he observed. ‘Here, you, sergeant, tak' him tae the guard-house. Ye'll see the Governor, my lad, have nae fear o' that. And ye'll no' be so glib then, I'm thinking.'

The sergeant tightened his grip on the prisoner's arm, but without apparent effort the big man brushed it away.

‘I'll see the Governor,' he said quietly. ‘What I have to say won't wait. I've no wish to spend the night in some stinking prison, either. Now, sir,' he addressed Dickey, ‘you seem to be a man of some sense; you may be sure Governor Rogers will want to see me, even if he has to leave his bed for it. Will you summon him, or shall I shout for him?'

In spite of the man's cool insolence, Dickey found himself impressed. There might be something in what he said. In these troubled times the Governor had dealings with some queer cattle, and the lawyer had been in New Providence long enough to learn not to judge folk by their appearance. Then too, the fellow had given no trouble; he had not the look of a petty thief, nor was he armed. Master Dickey frowned and pondered and made his decision.

‘Call the Governor, sergeant, if ye please.'

The prisoner inclined his head. ‘I'm obliged to you, sir.'

Master Dickey's judgement in summoning the Governor proved to be sound. A less active official than Woodes Rogers might have consigned the mysterious visitor to the lock-up for the night and Master Dickey to perdition for ever, but the Governor of the Bahamas was a man who had learned in a hard school the value of prompt investigation. When roused from sleep and informed that a sea-faring man wished to see him on a matter of importance, Rogers said nothing
beyond a command that the anonymous intruder should be conducted to the study.

Presently he descended to the hall, wearing a light silk robe over his sleeping clothes, and heard the full tale of Master Dickey's adventure from the lawyer himself. The little Scot was not at his best; he had discovered in returning his pistol to its drawer that it had not been loaded and, in consequence, his report was less calm and ordered than it should have been. Rogers received it without comment and passed on into the long panelled study where the prisoner awaited him.