Authors: Kerry Newcomb
Mad Morgan (29 page)
T
hey came from the sea, a congregation of tall ships with their cruciform masts and wide sails bulging, they came on the trade wind, easing along the coast until Henry Morgan recognized the inlet from which he had set forth two months ago in the fishing boat he christened
Little Nell
. Nell was with him now, standing at his side on the main deck of the
Glenmorran
. She watched his face brighten with recognition and heard him shout orders to Pierre Voisin at the wheel, to turn the sloop to starboard and point the bow toward the narrow entrance between two spits of land that opened onto pristine bay ringed on three sides by dense forests.
hey came from the sea, a congregation of tall ships with their cruciform masts and wide sails bulging, they came on the trade wind, easing along the coast until Henry Morgan recognized the inlet from which he had set forth two months ago in the fishing boat he christened
Little Nell
. Nell was with him now, standing at his side on the main deck of the
Glenmorran
. She watched his face brighten with recognition and heard him shout orders to Pierre Voisin at the wheel, to turn the sloop to starboard and point the bow toward the narrow entrance between two spits of land that opened onto pristine bay ringed on three sides by dense forests.
Morgan issued orders to Israel Goodenough, who hurried amidships, cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, “Mister Kogi! Captain Morgan requests you signal the others if you would be so kind.”
“At his pleasure,” Kogi called out. The African riding on the main top unfurled a crimson banner and hung it from a stay. Meanwhile, Israel Goodenough instructed his gun crew to fire a signal round from the only cannon aboard, to make sure they had the attention of the other ships. The
Glenmorran
, like the other vessels, was virtually unprotected. Morgan had ordered all the cannons to be removed from the ships comprising his makeshift armada, and left back in Port Royal, a gamble that allowed each vessel to carry more than its usual
complement of men. Each vessel had been permitted a single twelve-pounder for the purpose of signaling one another. Thomas LeBishop only grudgingly gave up the
Jericho's
cannons. But in the end he relented, when Morgan threatened to leave him behind.
Glenmorran
, like the other vessels, was virtually unprotected. Morgan had ordered all the cannons to be removed from the ships comprising his makeshift armada, and left back in Port Royal, a gamble that allowed each vessel to carry more than its usual
complement of men. Each vessel had been permitted a single twelve-pounder for the purpose of signaling one another. Thomas LeBishop only grudgingly gave up the
Jericho's
cannons. But in the end he relented, when Morgan threatened to leave him behind.
A shot rang out from the
Jericho
, the
Westerly
with its complement of Royal Marines, and the
Bluefields
, where Dutch Hannah and Calico Jack and Anne Bonney had taken up with each other and formed a consort the likes of which Morgan didn't even want to think about. The other ships, a pair of flutes captained by Six Toes Yaquereno and Cockade Tom Penmerry, also reported and followed the
Glenmorran
into the bay.
Jericho
, the
Westerly
with its complement of Royal Marines, and the
Bluefields
, where Dutch Hannah and Calico Jack and Anne Bonney had taken up with each other and formed a consort the likes of which Morgan didn't even want to think about. The other ships, a pair of flutes captained by Six Toes Yaquereno and Cockade Tom Penmerry, also reported and followed the
Glenmorran
into the bay.
Nell sensed her father standing beside her. She turned and nodded in an unspoken greeting. Sir William tried to imagine the little girl he had taught to sail, the child he had bounced upon his lap. Who was this blue-eyed woman, dressed in canvas britches, a seaman's linen shirt and waist sash, her bosom crisscrossed with pistol belts, powder flask, and shot pouch? She'd vouchsafed a proper lady's nosegay for throwing daggers. Who was this vixen, her cheeks tan and tinged with windburn, her auburn hair concealed beneath a yellow bandanna? His daughter, a hellion? And keeping company with Henry Morgan? He suddenly felt old, assailed by every father's lamentâwhere did the time go? When had the river reached the sea?
Morgan ordered the johnnyboats lowered away. He intended to be the first person ashore. Nell patted her father's arm then hurried to rejoin her paramour, wanting to be at his side when he set foot upon the coast of Panama. Morgan exhorted the crew to put their backs into the oars while he stood at the bow. Rafiki Kogi, who had scrambled down from his roost to take his seat at the stern, kept the oarsmen working in cadence with a singsong chant. He sang of hard work, of times long gone, words he had once labored to in the fields of those who had purchased him on the slave docks; a slave, but now free, the equal of any man in Port Royal, equal among the Brethren, for whom gold was the only color that mattered.
“Pull to the left
Pull to the right
Put the child to bed
Put out the light.
Break my back
But I won't cry
Break these chains
Before I die.”
Pull to the right
Put the child to bed
Put out the light.
Break my back
But I won't cry
Break these chains
Before I die.”
The boat scraped sand and Morgan leaped over the side and splashed the few remaining yards to shore, striding up onto the beach, ferocious as a storm that's blown ashore, grateful to feel solid earth beneath his legs after nine days at sea. He drew his cutlass and raised it aloft in his right hand, his left extended, fingers splayed. His eyes blazed and his limbs shuddered for a second and then he loosed a terrible cry that sent shivers coursing the length of Nell's spine, and had the same effect on the dozen men who leaped after her and slogged to shore.
“Henry?” she said, gingerly approaching, startled by the cry that had issued from somewhere deep within him, a place of rage and anguish and a fierce exultation. He frightened her, and she loved him.
Morgan turned and looked at her, returned the cutlass to his belt and held his out his arms, fists close together. “Break these chains before I die.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will know, when Panama City lies at my feet.”
Before long, johnnyboats from the other ships dotted the blue waters of the bay. Above the masts with their trimmed sails, the seabirds whirled and sang, wild gulls and terns, their garbled cries carried to shore and mingled with the sounds of the jungle, the high-pitched chatter of night monkeys, and the rasp of tree frogsâand all of it suspiciously like laughter, as if the creatures of earth and sky knew something Morgan and his men did not.
The signal pyre was where Morgan had left it, but taller by a third. No doubt Kintana and his men had added to it. Morgan wondered if the Kuna were still keeping their vigil somewhere inland. Or had they given up on him?
They might have come to the end of their string.
Morgan was late, overdue by nearly a weekâor Kintana might be dead. In the jungles of Panama, there were no guarantees of tomorrow.
They might have come to the end of their string.
Morgan was late, overdue by nearly a weekâor Kintana might be dead. In the jungles of Panama, there were no guarantees of tomorrow.
Morgan removed a brass flask from a pouch, uncorked the bottle and emptied the whale oil it contained onto the timber. He struck flint, using his pistol for a firestarter. Flames danced along the branches, grew ravenous, feasted on the taller logs, spread quickly, leaped skyward, sent a column of smoke and sparks spiraling toward the sky like spent prayers.
Then there was nothing to do but unload the ships and men. Morgan watched them come on and marveled at the mixture. Had there
ever been an army as disparate as this? There was Captain Alan Hastiler, his ears no doubt still ringing from Sir Richard's admonishments, and the King's own Royal Marines. Farther along the beach, Nell Jolly and the crew of the
Glenmorran
, a salty bunch loyal to a fault. Maybe for a moment he had his doubts about Nell's presence, that he was placing her in jeopardy. But Nell was free to follow her heart. Indeed, Morgan did not rule by some decree. They called him Captain and followed him because they chose to, he had earned their trust. Freedom was the precious element. Nell chose to be at his side. And Henry Morgan was grateful. And as for her safety ⦠well, now, she could take care of herself, and thinking any less would be an insult to her.
ever been an army as disparate as this? There was Captain Alan Hastiler, his ears no doubt still ringing from Sir Richard's admonishments, and the King's own Royal Marines. Farther along the beach, Nell Jolly and the crew of the
Glenmorran
, a salty bunch loyal to a fault. Maybe for a moment he had his doubts about Nell's presence, that he was placing her in jeopardy. But Nell was free to follow her heart. Indeed, Morgan did not rule by some decree. They called him Captain and followed him because they chose to, he had earned their trust. Freedom was the precious element. Nell chose to be at his side. And Henry Morgan was grateful. And as for her safety ⦠well, now, she could take care of herself, and thinking any less would be an insult to her.
Morgan considered the rest of his force, aristocratic sons of Jamaica's landowners, the sons of shopkeepers and merchants anxious for adventure. Here were the men from a Maroon village, silent, dark-skinned warriors who had more in common with the Kuna than the men they sailed with. But the Maroons were welcome. Morgan knew they were relentless fighters. And then more freebooters, pirates of every size and shape, Calico Jack and Anne Bonney and the rest, and last but never least, the Black Cleric and his
Jericho
boys and every one a cutthroat. There wasn't one of the Cleric's “choirboys” whom Morgan would turn his back on.
Jericho
boys and every one a cutthroat. There wasn't one of the Cleric's “choirboys” whom Morgan would turn his back on.
LeBishop troubled him more than any of the others. The man had his own goals and Morgan suspected they would reach beyond the walls of Panama City. The Black Cleric was also driven by a thirst for vengeance, for the indignity he had suffered at the hands of Elena Maria and her new husband.
Doña Elena Maria troubled Morgan. She still mattered to him after all that had happened, even while he loved Nell, and yet though he continued to care, he also was keenly aware how she had betrayed him, plotted his death. Morgan intended to settle the matter one way or another. But he was not Thomas LeBishop, whose mind worked in devious ways. He did not hate like the Black Cleric.
Then again, no one did.
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By nightfall, most of the force was ashore and the inlet was ringed with campfires as the watch was posted and men settled down for a well-deserved rest. Rum flowed and cookpots were filled with rice and beans and jerked beef. The men ate their fill and rolled into their blankets for a quiet rest beneath the stars. Morgan and a handful of hardy
souls, among them Rafiki Kogi, Sergeant Robert McCready, and Dutch Hannah, who liked to prove she could outwork, outfight, outshoot, and outdrink any man, added timber to the pyre, brought the blaze back to its former glory, and then retired for the night.
souls, among them Rafiki Kogi, Sergeant Robert McCready, and Dutch Hannah, who liked to prove she could outwork, outfight, outshoot, and outdrink any man, added timber to the pyre, brought the blaze back to its former glory, and then retired for the night.
Morgan and Nell managed to sneak away from the armed host. He brought her to a small clearing a dozen or so yards into the jungle. She looked with some misgiving at the thick stand of palm trees and the barrier of great leafy fronds that protected them from being seen. But Morgan's confidence inspired her. She relaxed, and reclined alongside him. Morgan produced a wheel of cheese, a bottle of port, dried fruit and biscuits. She was appropriately impressed.
They ate in silence, feeling comfortable with the proximity of his force and the journey that lay ahead. And when they had finished their meal, the two reclined beneath the stars. Nell's skin was cool to the touch, as if kissed by the moonlight. Together they surrendered to the hunger harbored in their hearts. They clung to each other in the timeless dance of desire. Their passion was a kind of prayer, a union made holy, a oneness that is the purpose of love, a yearning to be connected to the Divine.
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In the morning, the sun rose over the ashes of the pyre. And with the dawn came gray skies, a warm downpour, then a damp mist that curled among the palms like the spirits of the dead. Morgan woke and lay quiet with Nell in his arms, enjoying the stillness until it was shattered by LeBishop haranguing several of the men about the foolishess of this venture. “The Cleric's picked a poor time and place to find a flaw in my plans,” Morgan muttered.
“He'll talk himself out soon enough, like every big wind that blows hard.” Nell sat upright and reached for her clothes, found herself staring up at Anne Bonney who had been enjoying her own nightly tryst with Calico Jack. Anne grinned and cocked a thumb in the direction of the beach.
“The Black Cleric's preaching poison. Best you face him down or you'll wind up handed a black spot and forced aside.”
Morgan rose and pulled on his clothes, ignoring Anne Bonney, who only pretended not to watch. When he had left the clearing, Bonney chuckled. She noticed her shirt ribbons were untied and the folds parted to reveal her enormous bosom. “Well now, I see why you kept him in your gunsights all these years. A man like that needs more than one woman.”
“Don't bet on it,” Nell replied icily.
Anne Bonney was taken aback. Calico Jack's paramour chuckled and backed away; her heavyset frame rippled as she laughed. “These men of ours, bless 'em, says I. Keep your honest sods, I'll take a man with a little hot steel in his blood.”
Out on the strand, where the longboats were drawn up on the shore, Thomas LeBishop had assembled his own crew and many of the men from the other boats as well. But the crowd fell quiet as Morgan entered their midst. However, the Black Cleric held his ground.
“What mischief are you conspiring now, LeBishop?”
“We are free men here, we can discuss what we will.”
“Indeed. I would have it no other way. And if you choose to leave, so be it. I have no need for cowards.”
LeBishop's expression grew mottled and his eyes blazed. “I say this is a fool's errand.”
“Do you indeed,” Morgan laconically observed.
“We have eyes. You did not tell us about the jungle. We thought you'd use the road out of Portobello.”
“The road is well patrolled. Panama City would know of our coming long before we arrived,” Morgan said. “But no one expects a force of any size to attempt to cross the isthmus through the lowlands and bayous.”
“Of that I have no doubt!” LeBishop waved a hand toward the forbidding-looking wall of trees and vines. “Look at that green hell. You expect us to march through that all the way to Panama City.”
“I do. And I expect us to fight like the devil when we arrive. I expect each of us to fight and maybe die, but to take the city and if we live, lay claim to the treasure of the Dons.” Morgan folded his muscled arms across his solid chest as he searched the faces of the men around him. “We shall sack the city then return by the road. The patrols will retreat toward Portobello and warn that fort of our approach. However, we shall bypass the fort and march down the coast to our ships and return to Jamaica with the wealth of the Dons.”
Let LeBishop appeal to their failing courage; Morgan would play to their greed.
“We'll never see Panama City,” the Black Cleric said. He strode from the circle and walked toward the vast green barrier of vines and fronds and towering trees. LeBishop turned his back to the jungle and held up his hands in dismay, spreading the flaps of his coat until he resembled some overgrown, gangly raven as he confronted Morgan
and the rest of the men. “And who will guide us across the isthmus?”
and the rest of the men. “And who will guide us across the isthmus?”
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