PIRATE: Privateer (22 page)

Jezreel left the parade ground and began to make his way back towards the harbour and the
Speedy Return
. He walked with long, quick strides so as to outpace the gruesome old men. There
was another clap of thunder. The rain was not entirely over. He could see almost the entire length of the High Street, empty of people except for those who had been taking shelter in the shops.
Now, taking advantage of the break in the rain, they popped out like rabbits flushed from cover and began to scurry towards their homes. In the far distance, Jezreel caught a glimpse of a woman
moving away from him and, for a moment, he thought he recognized her. The set of her shoulders and the way she walked put him in mind of Hector’s wife, Maria. But it was a far-off view, and
of course he must be mistaken. Maria was in Tortuga. Besides, the woman in the distance was a mother. She was shepherding her three children to get them home before it began to rain again.
Dismissing the thought as a coincidence, Jezreel turned aside and took the shortcut through a lane which would bring him to the waterfront. Five minutes later he was back aboard the
Speedy
Return
and greeted with relief by Hector.

‘I’m glad you came back early, Jezreel,’ he said. ‘We’re setting sail tonight.’

‘What about the extra crew? Have you decided to sail short-handed?’ Jezreel asked, surprised.

‘Bartaboa and the Reverend have solved our problem for us. They have promised that they’ll have enough skilled seamen aboard soon after dusk.’

Jezreel suppressed a snort of disbelief. It was galling that someone else had done his job for him. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’

But he was wrong. As darkness fell, Bartaboa and the Reverend Simeon Watson left the ship briefly and reappeared within a quarter of an hour leading a group of fit-looking men. Jezreel counted
eight of them as they came aboard and, without a word, disappeared below deck. Moments later Bartaboa was asking Hector for permission to unmoor the
Speedy Return
and leave the dock.

Jezreel and Hector exchanged glances. There was a slight pause, then Hector nodded. Dan went to the helm. Bartaboa, Jezreel and the others hoisted the jib and a deep-reefed mizzen. None of the
new crew members appeared on deck to help. The first stirring of the off-shore breeze pushed the
Speedy Return
away from the quay and within a few paces the pink was gliding under the guns
of Fort James. Above her the crenellations were black against the starry night sky, so close that when the sentry called down to wish them a fair voyage, his voice seemed to come from their own
masthead. As the little ship headed into open waters, Jezreel felt the vessel come alive beneath his feet, the deck heaving softly to the rhythm of the swell. A tight cluster of several lanterns
came in view. They were no more than a pistol shot away, close on the port side. At first Jezreel mistook them for the lights of a fishing boat working its nets by night. But then, in the yellow
glow cast by the lanterns, he made out the figures of a dozen men. They were on the islet known as Deadman’s Cay, putting the finishing touches to the gibbets on which to hoist the four
corpses in full view of every vessel entering Port Royal. What remained of the cadavers after carrion seabirds had pecked away the rotting flesh would serve as a warning to those who dared to
challenge authority.

Jezreel felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. He was uncomfortably aware that something was not quite right about Hector’s privateering commission. It had been given out too
easily and quickly, almost furtively. If it proved to be invalid, everyone aboard the
Speedy Return
was acting outside the law. The eight new crew members that had come aboard so furtively
were all black men. He knew for sure that they must be runaway slaves. Anyone found guilty of helping their escape would face the death penalty and finish up suspended from gibbets on
Deadman’s Cay.

*

O
N THE DAY OF THE HANGING
, Maria had taken the children shopping as a diversion. Her occasional visits to Port Royal depended entirely on Mrs Blackmore.
They took place whenever Mrs Blackmore wanted to call on her friends or attend one of the balls and receptions given by the wealthier merchants and planters or, less frequently, by the Governor.
For however much Mrs Blackmore resented Lord Inchiquin, she was not averse to attending one of the official gatherings. On these trips to Port Royal she usually brought along her three
grandchildren so that their father could see how their education was progressing. The captain himself spent very little time at the plantation. He preferred to live in the family’s town house
in Port Royal. There he attended to his commercial interests and dabbled in local politics.

That morning, Charles, the younger boy, had got to hear about the hanging. Over breakfast he had kicked up a fuss and pleaded to be allowed to see it. To silence his constant nagging, Maria had
hurried the children out of doors and walked them briskly down to the foreshore at Fort Charles. Then she had taken them into a pewterer’s workshop to show them how the mugs and plates were
made, and finally brought them to a pastrymaker’s on the High Street to buy sweet cakes. They had emerged from the pastry shop and were walking towards the Blackmores’ town house on
York Street when the first torrential rain caught them in the open. Maria had ducked with them into the nearest shop, a cordwainer’s, to take shelter from the deluge. They had stayed until
the worst of the rain was over, with Charles complaining of the smell of curing hides and whining that he should have been allowed to see a man hang, while Maria wistfully examined a pair of fine
grey leather shoes in the French fashion which she knew she could not afford.

They emerged from the shop when the rain stopped and set off towards York Street, Maria holding the little girl by the hand. She was busy keeping an eye on Charles, making sure that he did not
double back and evade her. So she did not see Jezreel.

That afternoon came the ritual inspection of the children by their father. Maria smartened up her charges to look presentable and brought them into the front room which Captain Blackmore used as
an office and to entertain. As usual the fat man with the goatee beard was also present. Maria had learned that he was Señor Pimiento, the commercial agent sent from Cartagena to oversee the
operation of the asiento, the licence to trade with the Spanish colonies. His role was to question the children in Spanish to see what progress they were making in learning the language. Henry, the
elder boy, was proving himself to be a dunce. On this occasion he stared back mulishly at his questioner, barely able to utter a single phrase. Charles stumbled through a few stiff sentences.
Fortunately the little girl, Mary, had an ear for languages and she chattered away, charming her interrogator. Maria hovered discreetly in the shadows, puzzling about the Spaniard. She detected an
undercurrent of understanding between him and the captain which she found difficult to fathom. She was careful not to catch Captain Blackmore’s eye for she was aware of the covert glances he
made in her direction. Every night, when staying at the Port Royal house, after she had put the children to bed, she locked her bedroom door.

At daybreak next morning, while the children were still asleep, she quietly left the house to search for Hector. Yesterday’s thunderstorm had cleared the air, and the sky was a pale
sapphire blue. She headed directly to the waterfront, her spirits lifted by her sense of purpose. It was less than a five-minute walk, and she had got to know several of the nightwatchmen during
previous visits on the same quest. It was to them that she would direct her questions, asking if they had seen a party of four men, one of them a big tall man with a scarred face who looked like a
prize-fighter, and another a Miskito Indian.

But yet again she was disappointed. None of her informants could help. Afterwards she stood on the edge of the quay, gazing out over the mass of shipping waiting at anchor until there was space
alongside at the dock. She wondered if perhaps Hector and his friends were asleep on one of those vessels. She felt frustrated that she had so little time to spend searching for him on each visit
to Port Royal. She had a recurring worry that Hector might come ashore in Port Royal only long enough to take passage to Tortuga to join her, and arrive there to find her gone and with no clue as
to where to look for her. Sometimes she feared that she had made a mistake in setting out to search for him. Perhaps she should have stayed in Tortuga.

She took a deep breath and told herself not to be defeatist. She would find an excuse to come back to the waterfront later in the day. There were plenty of idlers hanging around the docks who
had nothing better to do than watch the comings and goings. She would ask them. A bout of heavy coughing drew her attention to two old men rummaging through the rubbish on the dock. She guessed
that, like many elderly people, they got up early, and they came to the waterfront on the off-chance that they could scavenge something worth keeping. She could hear them bickering, their voices
raised in dispute.

‘You owe me three pesos,’ one of them was saying.

‘You’ve no proof!’ said the other. ‘That big fellow never said he saw a heel hanger.’

‘He didn’t know what to look for. You saw the scars on his knuckles. Probably had his brains rattled loose.’

Maria came alert. ‘Excuse me. Who are you talking about?’

‘Big, ugly ruffian. Watched the execution with us yesterday,’ replied the old man, eyeing her suspiciously.

‘Do you know his name?’

The old man shook his head. ‘No, but I reckon he was friends with those hempcracks, though he acted as if he didn’t know them. Looked a right villain himself, as if he had been in
any number of fights.’

Maria kept her hopes in check. ‘Where is he now?’

The old man shrugged. ‘We saw him go down the High Street. He turned down Sweetings Lane, maybe he was on his way to have a drink. You could ask that fellow over there.’

A bleary-eyed servant had just emerged from the door of the nearby tavern. The faded sign had a badly drawn image of a fully-rigged ship and the name of the ale house – the Three Mariners.
He crossed to the edge of the quay and dumped a bucket of slops into the already foul water. Maria hurried after him.

‘Excuse me, I’m looking for a big man, well over six foot. I’m told he came here yesterday. He looks as if he might have been a prize-fighter. Broken hands and some scars on
his head. Have you seen him?’

The servant put down the bucket, hawked up a gob of phlegm, and spat it into the water. ‘Can’t help. James was serving yesterday evening, he might know. You’ll find him inside,
sweeping up.’

Maria went into the tavern. The place reeked of sweat and tobacco and strong drink. A man in an apron was pushing a broom around the filthy floor.

‘Are you James?’ Maria asked.

The man nodded.

‘I’m told you were working here last night. Did you see a big man with the looks of a prize-fighter?’

The servant treated her to a long, calculating inspection. Maria thought he was probably wondering if she was trying to track down an errant husband. She hoped she did not look too vengeful.

‘This man might have been in the company of three others,’ she coaxed. ‘One of them a Miskito Indian. And another would be speaking with a French accent.’

James leered, showing broken teeth. ‘Didn’t see him yesterday. But he was here with his friends more than a week ago. The mounseer ordered claret.’ He used the broom to
rearrange the little pile of sawdust he had accumulated. ‘Typically Frenchified, putting on airs.’

Maria could feel her heart pounding. Hector was here in Port Royal. ‘Do you know where I can find them now?’ she asked.

James turned and shouted into the back of the room. ‘Herbert! Do you know what happened to that foursome who were here the other week? One of them was a bruiser you wouldn’t want to
meet on a bad day, another an Indian.’

‘I saw the big fellow a couple of days ago,’ came back a disembodied answer. ‘He was coming off that smugglers’ pink anchored up by James Fort. Next to the government
warehouse.’

Maria spun round and hurried from the tavern. Abandoning all pretence of composure, she ran the length of the quay, passing the line of moored ships. ‘What’s the hurry,
darling!’ she heard someone shout. ‘Hope he’s worth it!’

She reached the end of the dock, the blood pounding in her ears. A watchman was sitting on a pile of lumber, smoking a clay pipe.

‘I’m looking for the smuggling boat,’ she blurted.

He removed the pipe from his mouth, and blew out a stream of smoke. ‘You mean the
Speedy Return
,’ he said.

‘Where is she now?’ asked Maria breathlessly.

‘She was moored here for almost a month,’ said the man. ‘But she left last night. All very odd. No one seems to know where she’s headed, or when she’ll be
back.’

J
ACQUES HAD PREPARED
a stew to be eaten on the first day at sea. He had boiled beef, ham and capon together, then added onions, peppers, okra and sweet
herbs, and the flesh of a dozen land crabs.