Pirate Code (12 page)

“Would you expect ‘im to not ‘ave a suitable escort?”

Jesamiah shrugged, winced as he remembered his back, grudgingly snapped: “Send most of the men below, I don’t want Dunwoody to discover how many we have as crew. Keep a moderate few to hand, though, eh? Just in case.” He took the telescope, had another peer through. Stated. “Personally, I’d rather we loaded a cannon and shot them out the water.”

Arms folded, Jesamiah made no attempt to help Jennings through the starboard entry port. Ignored the fact that the man’s gout was obviously paining him.

“Has the code of the sea changed with this war, then? I have always been led to believe it is marked as an act of piracy to board another man’s ship without asking permission.”

The eight marines and the overweight Dunwoody were following behind Jennings.

“I come in friendship, lad. Believe me.”

“With muskets?”

“For my protection, it is a wild night over there.”

Jesamiah said nothing, the mere thought of press gangers making him too angry for words. If he voiced his opinion he would say something he would later regret, so he held his tongue on a tight reef. Fortunately, Tiola’s voice in his head distracted him.

~
They died. I lost both of them.
~

He could hear the tears, her bereft sense of failure.

~
I’m so sorry sweetheart. You did all you could. Not all battles are won by the good at heart.
~ Mentally, Jesamiah sent a picture of himself hugging her, arms tight round her, his cheek against her hair. Felt the warm sensation of a returned smile.

~
Thank you luvver.
~

~
Are you alright? There’s trouble over there.
~

~
The men are turning ugly, they resent a promise being revoked, and they are very drunk. Drunken men know not what they are doing and forget common sense.
~

Looking around at the few assembled men, Henry Jennings’ attention lingered on Nathan Crocker leaning on the starboard rail. Once a lieutenant, Crocker had forfeited his rank when he had jumped ship some years ago. His gaze then strayed over Mr Janson with his greying hair, Toby Turner, even older. Ageing men, young boys, deserters; the typical mix of crew aboard a pirate vessel. Vernon would hang Crocker without pre-amble and these others were too old, too riddled with the joint ache and too poor-sighted and slow-witted to serve the King. Why Acorne kept them on, Jennings did not know, presumably for their knowledge of the sea and experience? Jesamiah was a man who was very loyal to his friends, and besides, Jennings knew full well the rest of the crew, those who were no doubt hiding below, were healthy young men. If he intended to kick the Spanish from the Caribbean the sort of men Vernon needed were those who could climb a mast, turn a capstan and haul a cannon’s truck with agility and ease.

“I assume you are aware of the situation?” he said to Jesamiah, who was staring towards the town, lost in his own thoughts. “Captain Acorne?”

“What? What did you say?”

Jennings repeated himself. Jesamiah only half listened.

~
I’ll come and get you. As soon as I’ve thrown Jennings off my ship
. ~

~
No, I am alright. Stefan was waiting. He has escorted me to the Governor’s house. I will be safe here for the night.
~

“Jesamiah? Are you listening?”

“I heard every word Henry. As I said earlier, Vernon will not be taking my men or this ship.”

The Dutchman’s words from earlier in the afternoon rang in Jesamiah’s ears.
“She could have a fat belly by the time you next see her.”
Damn, damn, and double damn.

~
Stefan? Tiola, what the fok was he doing waiting for you? I don’t like this. Don’t you let him touch you. You understand? Don’t let him touch you!
~

~
He can be a thoughtful gentleman, Jes. And I am his wife. But no, I will not let him touch me. Mrs Rogers has made me most welcome.
~

Dunwoody laughed as he removed his hat, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his coat sleeve. “Oh yes Vernon will, Acorne. He wants this ship badly.”

Jesamiah wrinkled his nose in disgust. A gentleman always removed his hat with the inside towards his body so that the greasy sweatband and any crawlers were not revealed. Stefan van Overstratten he would reluctantly agree, could be a gentleman when he so desired. Dunwoody? Not by any stretch of the imagination.

“You should not have boasted how fast she is, ”Dunwoody clarified. “Vernon intends to get his promotion because of her. Ain’t that nice?” He stepped hurriedly behind Jennings as Jesamiah raised his fist, threatening to hit him.

“That’s enough Dunwoody. You are here at my sufferance. Governor Rogers ordered me to bring you. I did not appreciate the order.” Producing a folded parchment from inside his coat, not noticing his tobacco pouch had come with it and dropped to the deck, Jennings thrust it towards Jesamiah, who ignored it.

“You left this on my desk. Take it. With an official King’s Commission, Jes lad, Vernon can touch neither you nor your crew. As for the
Sea Witch
, well, I’ll do what I can, but we may need to find you another ship. I think I can persuade Rogers to let you have the
Delicia
, although she has mysteriously sprung a most unfortunate leak. It will be some several days before she is repaired; then you can legally get yourself gone from here.”

“I don’t want that tub, I’ve got me own ship. I’m standing on ‘er. And I’ve told you, I don’t want no poxed king’s commission neither.” With an unhurried sound of grating steel Jesamiah drew his cutlass, shifted it to his left hand and with his right, as slowly, pulled the pistol from his belt. “You are out-staying your welcome, Henry. I suggest you leave.”

“You are being a prize fool. Anyone suitable to serve is expected to sign up.”

Jesamiah laughed. “So what happened to the amnesty? Our pardons? The promise of our freedom providing we did nothing illegal? It were a bit short bloody lived weren’t it?”

“The consequences of war, lad. The sorry consequences of war.”

“Your war, your consequences. I ain’t giving up my ship or my freedom for a war I don’t care about. Please go. I do not want to shoot you.” To emphasise his sincerity he half cocked the hammer with his thumb. “My reluctance is not from cowardice, you understand. Spilt guts do so make a mess of m’deck.”

Resigned, sliding the parchment into his pocket, Jennings shook his head. “You leave me no choice Captain. I regret, I must ask you to accompany me ashore. Governor Rogers cannot risk you slipping away and it will be for your own good, I am sure you do not want a charge of treason around your neck.”

Jesamiah was untroubled. “Add it to the tally of misdemeanours. One more accusation will not make much difference. I can only hang once.”

“You will not hang. You will be incarcerated and left to rot.”

A half smile creased Jesamiah’s face as he stepped forward two paces. “I don’t think so. You have to arrest me first – with this lot of landlubberly daffodils? Two of your men have neglected to cock their hammers, three have what looks to be damp powder, so the primer will never fire. Curlylocks on the end has already pissed his breeches, and I doubt the other two have the balls to fire, probably on account of my lads holding blades at their throats.” With his pistol he made an elaborate gesture to indicate Jennings was to turn around, see for himself the men with drawn knives and readied pistols who had come silent, on bare feet, from the shadows.

Dunwoody gurgled as Isiah Roberts held a dagger to his Adam’s apple, the sharpened blade gleaming in the flicker of the on-deck lamps.

“Whereas my men,” Jesamiah smiled indolently, “have dry powder and their weapons are loaded, primed and cocked; as is mine.” He clicked the hammer full home. “Of the two of us, Henry, who is more likely to have the order to shoot obeyed?”

“Nay, nay lad!” unafraid, Jennings put one finger on the pistol barrel and turned the gun aside. “I knew it would be futile to attempt to arrest you, but for the sake of formality I had to try.” He motioned to his men they were to put up their weapons and return to the boat. They did not need telling twice.

Dunwoody alone, released from Isiah’s grip, complained in his belligerent whine. “You are not going to let him go? The Governor’s orders were to bring him in. Tied and bound if need be!”

With a look of utter disdain Jennings peered into his face.“ Then you tie and bind him. Good luck to ‘ee.”

Blustering, muttering a protest, Dunwoody turned towards the entry port, as he began to descend remembered a secondary mission. He withdrew a small scroll of paper from his pocket, tossed it at Jesamiah’s feet. “Van Overstratten said I was to deliver that. Said to tell you the deal is not negotiable. I reckon he’s changed his mind about his wife and is going to thrum her hard enough to set ‘er breeding.”

Furious, Jesamiah leapt at him, rammed his knee into the vile creature’s groin and followed with a jab from his cutlass guard to the windpipe. Choking, gasping, Dunwoody doubled over, but Jesamiah caught him, picked him up as if he were a sack of cabbages and tossed him overboard.

Such was the general low opinion of Dunwoody, even the militia settling themselves into the boat, laughed.

Peering down into the dark sea at the spluttering, splashing object, Jennings disdainfully shook his head, “Take no notice of him, Jesamiah. He is a worm with an acid tongue. Unfortunately, I suppose we will have to fish him out.” He stepped awkwardly, wincing, down on to the first cleat as his men began to haul an incensed Dunwoody from the water.

He paused, said quietly, “Vernon will come Jes lad, later tonight or early tomorrow. He has already informed Rogers that he intends to commission the
Sea Witch
. Apart from the
Challenger
she’s the only seaworthy vessel in harbour. If you fight for her he will shoot you. If you try to run, Rogers will declare you a pirate and outlaw you.” Jennings nodded towards the
Challenger
; “She has twice the men and twice the gun power. Although the
Sea Witch
is faster and the better ship to handle, unless you can catch Vernon on the hop you will be blasted to pieces before you get half way out the harbour. Do not even consider the idea, even though most of her crew, and Vernon himself, are ashore rounding up suitable men to press into service.”

Jesamiah was frowning at the note Dunwoody had delivered. Jennings sighed, had the fool listened to a single word? He had liberally sprinkled hints and information, hoped it had not all fallen on closed ears, he could hardly speak any plainer.

As the oarsmen rowed to the jetty, Jennings peered over his shoulder, looked back at the
Sea Witch
; she certainly was beautiful, he could understand why Vernon wanted her. Jesamiah was still standing near the entry port reading that note van Overstratten had sent. Jennings knew what was in it, Dunwoody could never keep a secret near the sound of chinking coins. The first part was instructions to a London clerk about disposing of a secret cargo of indigo the second, for providing legal papers for an annulment. Jennings smiled. So far, so good but only if Acorne took the bait.

“Good luck, Jes lad,” he murmured under his breath. “Use your wits and your skill. Don’t let me down boy. Please don’t let me down.”

Nineteen

“As I see it we have one of two choices. We stay, lose the
Sea Witch
and get ourselves chained to King George, or we say bugger the lot of ‘em and fight our way out of here.”

Calling the men into the lamplit gloom of the gun deck, Jesamiah patiently explained the situation. It was not a good one. Deliberately, he made no mention of missing spies, marooned barrels of indigo. Or Tiola.

A moment’s thought only and most of his men were nodding for the second option.

“Be aware, lads, Vernon will come after us – if we get out in one piece – or if not him personally any of the several pirate hunters who prowl the sea lanes out there. We’ll be marked men. Dead men. Rogers has promised that. Anyone who leaves harbour without a Letter of Marque will hang.”

Dramatically he mimed a noose tightening round his neck. A few of the men added gruesome gurgling noises. One shouted, “Don’t worry Cap’n, I’ll cling on t’yer legs t’send you off quicker!”

“With hangers-on like you, Jenks, who needs Vernon as an enemy?” Jesamiah quipped.

“We expected to hang before we took this offered pardon,” Isiah Roberts stated when the laughter had died down a little. “So what has changed? We have had a few weeks’ respite, some decent nights in bed with pretty women and more than a few bellyfuls of rum. To be honest, I find myself getting bored with it.”

“The strumpets are getting bored with you more like!” someone guffawed.

“Nay! Bored with trying to find his apology for a pizzle in the dark!”

Isiah bore the crude banter well. Laughter, teasing each other, was a part of the loyal brotherhood forged through friendship and respect between comrades. Equally, any one of them would fight alongside the other, watching the next man’s back; or when the time came for mourning, would send the fallen to rest in the deep, and grieve for lost friendship.

A group of half a dozen men were at the back. Elijah Perkins stood, fiddling with his cap. “Begging your pardon Captain, me and Will, along with Carve, Jason and Morrison here, we feel we’d rather take our chance ashore – we don’t want to appear disloyal, but Will here’s got a sweetheart, and Jason, well, he wants to get back to Devon to see his old mam again; I’d not say no to going with him. It’s not that we don’t want to be with you, it’s just that…”

Jesamiah interrupted with an accepting smile. He knew these men like the pattern of scars on his right arm. “Its just that at the moment you are not outside of the law and you’d rather not deliberately cut your anchor cable. I quite understand lads. I suggest any of you who don’t want to make a run for it take one of the boats and pull over to the far side of the harbour, lay low until dawn then go straight to Henry Jennings. He’ll sort you out. I’ll send a letter explaining you refused to come with us, that’ll ensure you keep straight with him. I can’t guarantee you’ll not end up serving with Vernon or anything, but that’s the risk you will have to take.”

“Even if we do, Cap’n, ‘least it’ll be legal.”

Letting the rumble of discussion swirl through the men for a while, Jesamiah sat on a barrel, thinking, one arm resting on his thigh, the other leg swinging, outwardly calm, appearing in control. Inwardly, shrieking his rage and despair. Thinking about the note van Overstratten had written, the addendum he had scrawled beneath the instructions to his London Clerk:

I have Tiola. No indigo, no Tiola.

You will never see her alive again. I’ll make sure of that.

And Tiola had said Stefan was a gentleman? Jesamiah wanted to leap up, arm his men and attack the town, wanted to run his own riot through the streets, to burn and plunder and kill; wanted to loose this congealing tightness of anger that was twisting his guts into knots. But all he did was sit there, thinking.

He was caught between the gallows and the noose. If he went over there to try to take her by force he would be arrested – or shot – and lose the
Sea Witch
. If he ran for it, he would lose Tiola. Or would he? If he returned to piracy most certainly, she would not tolerate that. But what if they left harbour and…?

“There is one other alternative,” Jesamiah said slowly, the idea growing, mulling it, weighing the consequences. The excited chatter faded as he waited for complete silence and then outlined his plan in a few, concise words.

“What if we bare our backsides to the English Government, to Rogers and his broken promises, aye, and to Commodore Edward bloody Vernon, all in the one go?”

He had their attention. They listened.

When he finished talking the silence brooded as heavy as lead. Then a few whispers and quiet words began to stir; shuffling feet, coughed phlegm was spat onto the deck. More than a few heads were shaking.

Rue, leaning against the starboard bulkhead, massaged his bush of a beard. “That is asking a tall commitment of us, Jes.”

“Have you any alternative ideas then?” Jesamiah snarled back. “I’m asking a lot, but I’ll be in this with you, and I will not take anyone with whom this sits ill. If you like not my intention, return ashore with Elijah, I’ll not think the worse for any man who does so, even you Rue.” It took an effort for him to say that, Rue had been a good friend but if it was necessary he was prepared to sail with a skeleton crew rather than take reluctant hands.

“All I need is enough men to help me get out of this harbour. No more than that.” He rubbed his sweating palms along his thighs, anxious. Added, “The gamble, lads, is to hope this war is a damp cartridge, all smoke and no shot. When it’s over there’ll be another round of amnesties, if things go as I believe they will, we’ll be able to negotiate us a new pardon.”

“That is a big if though, Cap’n. A mighty big if,” Jansy said, sucking on his unlit pipe – even in harbour Jesamiah did not permit smoking below deck.

Jesamiah stood, rested his palms on an overhead beam, leant forward slightly. “Life can be one big if. We are all going to meet our Maker one day, and as I see it, I’d rather be standing hat in hand before Him as a free, happy, man, than a miserable, shackled slave. You die only the once, whether you’ve led the life of a celibate, sober monk like Finch here,” Finch growled and said a crude word, accompanied by a matching gesture. “Or a whoremongering drunk, like me.”

Laughter. The crew were coming round to the idea.

“Me’bbe so,” Finch interrupted, “but when me time’s up I want t’know I’ve bloody enjoyed me life, just in case whatever place I end up in turns out not t’be all it’s cracked up as.”

“You? Enjoy life, you miserable old bugger?” Jesamiah chuckled.

“I suppose you mean in case there’s no rum or crumpet down there?” Toby jested.

“No. I mean in case me bleedin’ wife’s there an’ all!”

Amid the roars of laughter, Rue shoved himself off from the wall, unfolded his bare arms as he stepped forward, his French accent strong as often it was when he became emotional. He cleared his throat waited for the humour to subside, gained everyone’s attention.

“We roam where we like, taking the easy pickings and enjoying the reward, but none of us, not one of us standing ‘ere ‘as ever taken it for granted to see another dawn. All we’ve ever wanted is to enjoy what we ‘ave now, not pass our days regretting and thinkin’ on the what might ‘ave beens. This proposal worries me, I ‘ate the Spanish, as I know our
Capitaine
‘ates them. But I love this ship. I would do anything to not lose ‘er. I am with
mon ami
Jesamiah Acorne, and may God, or the Devil, judge me for my loyalty to comrades and friends.
Et les Anglais?
They can go to ‘ell with their broken promises.”

“Aye!”

“Well said.”

“I’m in!“

“And me.”

Voices shouting, more cheers, then Jasper, propped up in a cot to one side of the deck, and masking the pain of his shoulder, hastily patched-up by Mr Janson, queried, “Oughtn’t we take a vote on it? Keep the Code? We’re entitled to vote for a pirate code, ain’t we?”

“That you are,” Jesamiah agreed, nodding in the youth’s direction. “I’ll leave you to it. You have a free vote, do as your conscience guides. Not that many of you scallywags would recognise a conscience even if it leapt up and bit yer backsides. I’ll be in my cabin. When you’re done, there’ll be a gold guinea apiece, whether you stay or go.”

Not all captains agreed with the idea of the code of conduct. Different ships, different crews, had their own interpretation of the Articles that governed their sea-roving ways. Guiding rules; keep your weapons in good order, no smoking below deck, no fighting or gambling on board. An equal share of the plunder; the right to elect or eject a captain. Jesamiah agreed to most of the common rules, most of them made good sense, but the
Sea Witch
was his, he would not be deposed, men were free to serve under him or not as they chose. He never stopped any man who decided he’d had enough from leaving, but most of the crew were content with their captain. Jesamiah was a fair man who gave his word and kept it. He never asked anyone to do what he could not do himself; knew his business, knew his ship. His crew, on the whole, were stubbornly loyal to him; even so, with their Captain listening they felt inhibited, their thoughts and opinions hobbled. With him gone the talk heightened, the few growls of discontent were muttered louder, accompanied by expressive gesturing and shaking heads, a few raised voices bordered on argument.

But when it came to loyalty most of the men aboard the
Sea Witch
were united and stubborn. When they voted with a solemn show of hands it was overwhelmingly in Jesamiah’s favour.