The Pirate Devlin (17 page)

  'It is the opinion, the comprehensive concern of Ambassador Cayeux, his government and ours that the knowledge of the location of this gold fortune, the passage of the sloop and its no doubt unfortunate brave sailors were revealed by some division of spies to these brigands.' He took a draught of wine. 'Jacobite spies.'

  'Jacobites!' Guinneys hissed. Lieutenant Scott choked.

  'It would not stretch incredulity, gentlemen,' the Whig continued, 'to presume that this gold may be used to fund some audacious attempt to return the "Stuart" to the throne. To rekindle some Jacobite spark amongst the Catholic peoples and misguided gentry!' Taylor-Woode slammed his fist down with barely enough fervour to rattle the inkwells.

  The sound of Coxon laughing disturbed the atmosphere more.

  Whitlock's voice raised itself above the laugh. 'You find this amusing, sir?'

  'No, sir. Not at all.' Coxon calmed himself.

  'Then why the mirth, sir?'

  'I find the notion that there may be pirates who are interested in restoring a "Stuart" to the throne absurd, Mister Whitlock.'

  'It is a well-known truth, Captain Coxon, that many of these devils do in fact ally themselves with Jacobite ideals as justification for their crimes! The ones we hang every day will attest to that, sir!' he retorted.

  Samuel Taylor-Woode ignored the duel across the table. 'It is our belief that some rebellious faction has latched on to this pirate band and is directing their actions. To wit, the seizure of this gold and a warship to take it.'

  Coxon listened, his arms crossed. He allowed two ticks of the clock on the writing desk to pass.

  'As I have understood, gentlemen, you do not know what the fate of this sloop is. You are assuming this knowledge has fallen into pirate hands. Are you even sure this gold has arrived at this island?'

  'That is precisely why we need a man-of-war to sail immediately: to affirm what we do and do not know, Post-Captain!' Whitlock snapped back, his face scarlet. 'And, God willing, give us some hope of keeping one step ahead of this Jacobite terror!'

  Coxon bolted up. His chair danced away. 'I've had enough of this wash!'

  'I beg your pardon,' Whitlock exhaled. 'Sir?' His eyes widened.

  Coxon stood back from the table. 'This wash, sir! This wash! Ever since the war ended, with no common enemy, you slack-jawed philanderers have harped on about rebellion! Pirates! Jacobites! Trying to save your own hides and fortunes lest we question your worth at all!' Bile rose in his throat and he paused to swallow. His eyes were suddenly watering, clouding the table before him.

  'How
dare
you,
sir
' Whitlock hissed. His fists were white upon the table. 'Are you completely unaware of the events of the rebellion? Our
worth
, sir, is the security of this nation!'

  'Oh, spare me your servitude,' Coxon mocked. 'Erskine's pitiful folly? I could pull a better attempt out of my arse, sir. And as for this
pirate
? Five years ago you'd be making him governor of his own bloody island for what he's done! I knew men who had chased Morgan for years only to watch your fathers give him the whole of bloody Jamaica at the end of it! And you'd have given
me
an honour for shooting
this
bag of shite!' He shot a finger at Ambassador Cayeux, whose jaw fell, aghast.

  'You speak above your station, Captain Coxon!' Whitlock exclaimed.

  'With respect, Mister Whitlock' - Coxon's hands were trembling - 'this
is
my station.'

  'Steady now, John.' Land's calming voice returned order instantly. The clock ticked twice again. Lieutenant Scott was staring at its face to avoid looking at the table. 'No need for this. We're all together here.'

  Coxon looked at Land and felt his face grow hot with blushing. He looked around the table. 'I apologise, gentlemen.'

  The clock chimed twelve, a small bell like the gentle tap of a teaspoon on a plate. Coxon waited for it to finish. Talton checked his watch, wiping the surface with a tut.

  Coxon continued, 'It has been a trying time these past few months.' He sat down, exhausted from his outburst. 'I must account that I almost died through disease in Africa, and some part of me in truth did die when my ship was lost. Now I hear that my own man has fallen in with pirates. It is all too much to comprehend.' He wiped a clammy hand across his forehead. He felt nauseous.

  Taylor-Woode resumed his course. 'Be that as it may, Captain, I will take your irreverent outburst as a post- expression of your malady and the disappointing actions of your recent manservant. Our concern, I assure you, is for us all as a sovereign nation and for our allies. Your orders are contained within these sealed documents. Rear Admiral Land will decide who is to command the
Starling.
Mister Whitlock will discuss with Captain Guinneys and Mister Talton the supplying of the ship and any sale of goods, the processing of which must take no more than one day, gentlemen.'

  'Impossible!' Guinneys protested. Lieutenant Scott coughed and begged pardon.

  Taylor-Woode carried on. 'These pirates, who we believe are making their way west, have a two-week start on the

Starling.
It is possible to catch them if you adopt a twenty- four-hour sail, for our studies indicate that pirates are unlikely to sail for more than fourteen hours at a time.'

  'We can only hope that the pirates have studied the same perfect books as you, Mister Taylor-Woode,' Coxon said.

  Taylor-Woode ignored the remark. 'The
Starling
will take the Azores route to the Caribbean. From the Verdes, the pirates should take just about thirty days to reach there. Via the Azores, the
Starling
will take under forty, at good speed. With luck the pirates may head for Providence Island for supplies or to careen, that will be your edge. It will be a close thing, gentlemen.'

  'Close enough,' Land commented.

  'I will leave the peculiar details to your orders, gentlemen. One batch each for Captains Guinneys and Coxon.' He slung the sealed papers to the officers' side of the table. 'Our prayers are that we are all wrong, that the gold is safe and the sloop merely lost. If not, then prepare to eradicate a formidable force that may well threaten the peace of our nation.'

  Two hours later found Guinneys and Coxon on the quarterdeck watching a barge carrying some of their cargo to shore under the watchful eyes of Talton and Whitlock. The latter issued the transire, the customs warrant for the company's goods, though Talton palpitated with fury at the undervalued receipts with which Whitlock had furnished him.

  The morale of the men improved with the vast assortment of hogsheads that were swung on board. For months they had loaded badly packed Indian goods from the factories along the Bengal coast. Now beer, rum, salted meats, sauerkraut and vegetables were stowed below, taking their minds from the English shore so tantalisingly close.

  Guinneys tapped his forehead to Coxon and left the seemingly brooding post-captain, his five-guinea hat disappearing down the aft companion.

  Coxon had been given command of the
Starling
for the mission, his rank of post-captain and his experience outweighing that of Guinneys, despite his foul humour in the Great Cabin.

  Guinneys declined the quasi-rank of master and commander, and temporarily resigned himself to first lieutenant, immediately shuffling every other officer on board down a peg or two. A situation that made Coxon mildly uncomfortable.

  Guinneys had merely smiled at the prospect of being yet another few months away from his creditors. He had even offered Coxon his valet, but Coxon had refused, asking for a volunteer amongst the men. The skinny form of Oscar Hodge had stepped up to the post gladly, although Coxon had found his permanently half-closed right eye, a remnant from a disorder of the nerves apparently, somewhat disconcerting.

  The two men had not shared their orders. Coxon was unsure whether Guinneys had even bothered to open his, for he had accepted his demotion with a nod to Rear Admiral Land and a glass of wine to his lips, before removing his effects from the Great Cabin, even leaving the wine rack in the coach untouched.

  Coxon's orders repeated the importance of ensuring the safety of the gold. The sloop had sailed with an escort. A French barque that had landed nine marines and one captain to protect the small outpost. She had then sailed on to Massachusetts and the sloop back to Calais. The barque would return to the island in late June, at which time the
Starlings
duty would cease. Easy words. Easily written and dusted by a fine hand.

  The elaborate script confirmed the English interest: His Majesty was only concerned to establish whether the safety of the gold had been compromised by pirate action. If not, wait for the French barque and secure the island. If so, hunt down the pirates without hesitation or mercy.

  Coxon scoffed at the idea of a gold depository. He had no doubt that such secret locations existed, the islands of the Caribbean as numerous as fleas on a dog and Europe ready to flare up again at any moment, but he doubted that it held such a noble purpose of wages for the forces of France and her colonial governors.

  France was building. Fortifications had sprung up all over her American colonies since the end of the war. He rolled out the map before him and nodded to himself. Aye. The gold was nothing more than scrap metal for cannon, he could be sure of that. They would not be pleased to see an English warship.

  All the officers had studied the paper that the island lay detailed on. She sat a few minutes north of the twentieth parallel, above the Caymans, close to the archipelago of the Cuban Jardines.

  If the pirates had taken a route through the Bahamas, to make Providence, they could either turn south to Hispaniola and take the Windward Passage or sail west and around the long north coast of Cuba to reach the island, adding a week to their journey. It would be longer. But it would be safer.

  Coxon would take the Windward Passage, then creep up through the Cayman Trench. He hoped the pirate captain would take the quieter route west around Cuba's northern shore. A safe pirate drag.

  If luck and fate were with him, the two would approach the island from opposite compass points almost to the day.

  Coming together like jousting knights across a battlefield, their lances now bowsprits. But the weather gauge would be with the
Starling,
not the pirates, for the trade winds blew from the south.

If
the pirates did go through the Bahamas, of course.
If
they went to Providence. Too many unknowns. Too many maybes and second-guesses, and all the while there was the possibility that his own man was their leader.

  How could it be Devlin? Coxon found it inconceivable that a man he had known, trusted, could willingly turn pirate.

  The lure was there for any common man, no doubt, but surely not Devlin? Coxon himself had beaten many of the unsavoury aspects out of the man. He had shown him attitudes to raise himself from the gutter.

  Perhaps he had been too kind. He had taken the magnanimous bearing of his father and shown respect to the Irishman, even taking the time to confer knowledge upon the man.

  On discovering that the former butcher's boy could read, Coxon had loaned him his copy of Dampier's memoirs and bestowed him access to the logs on Sundays. Devlin was good company. A bright young man, born wrong.

  If the assumption was true, there would come a day when he would stand before him. That day would end with Devlin cowering like an apologetic dog. One that had once slept on the floor of Coxon's own cabin, now biting the hand that had given him a semblance of dignity beyond his birthright.

  The unloading and loading would carry on into the night by lantern and sidelights. The
Starling
was a fine ship. A fifth- rate with thirty-four guns, going against, according to his orders, a twenty-six-gun frigate and a ten-gun brigantine. By the time he reached the Azores, his blond young men would be black with powder and firing three rounds per minute in their sleep. Her lines were weatherly enough to sail five and a half knots; laying five points from the wind, she would fairly fly to the Antilles. Aye, a good ship.

  The whole Jacobite nonsense had incensed him. Whatever the politicians' true motives were, he had been given the opportunity to have some portion of revenge against at least some of the men who had attacked the
Noble,
attacked his ship.

  And as for Devlin? A man who had stood behind Coxon for years, lurking in his shadow? Coxon stifled the thought and moved slowly down to the deck, watching all turn their heads away from his step. His world
was
getting larger.

Chapter Eight