PIRATE: Privateer (30 page)

Hector touched the glowing tip of the cord to the saker’s vent. The gun fired, and there was a triple splash as the cannonball skipped across the sea towards its target. It must have
struck the frigate’s hull. They saw men thrown to the deck. The dangling topmast broke free and came crashing down.

‘Jezreel, be so kind as to swab out the barrel. We’ll get ready for a second round,’ said the parson.

He was less than halfway through the reload when de Graff’s own flag, the privateersman’s colours of blue with a white cross and the fleur-de-lis in the centre, was hauled down from
the mizzen.

‘Now what?’ asked Bartaboa.

‘We wait for de Graff to come to us,’ Hector told him.

‘You seem very confident.’

‘He plays by his own set of rules. He’ll want to come to some sort of agreement,’ said Hector.

The frigate’s longboat had given up the attempt to pull the
Sainte Rose
off the reef and was alongside de Graff’s ship. After a short stay it pushed off and came towards the
anchored pink. Someone in the bow was holding up a white sheet.

‘Are we going to let them come alongside?’ asked Bartaboa nervously.

‘Only long enough for de Graff to come aboard. No one else,’ said Hector. The tall figure of the filibustier captain could be seen seated in the stern of the approaching vessel.
Bartaboa cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted the warning. Jezreel, Dan and three of the Coromantee sailors lined the rail, pointing loaded muskets down at the visitors.

De Graff grabbed for the shroud chains and swung himself on to the main deck. The filibustier captain carried neither pistol nor sword. Nevertheless he had chosen to wear a richly ornamented
baldrick across his immaculate dark blue tunic. From the polished toes of his bucket boots to his broad-brimmed hat with its white plume to match his breeches, he cut an elegant figure that Hector
knew was designed to impress.

‘Mr Lynch,’ said de Graff. ‘Hector Lynch, isn’t it?’ His china-blue eyes flicked towards the watching crew. If he was surprised to see how few they were – and
that several looked to be former slaves – he did not show it.

‘We have some unfinished business,’ Hector said bluntly. He was determined not to be overawed by a man he had just outwitted, however formidable the other captain appeared.
‘Some time ago you intercepted a pinnace I had chartered, the
Morvaut
, and seized some valuables from me and my companions. I want them returned. If they are no longer in your
possession, I demand equal value as compensation.’

The filibustier raised a hand to his luxuriant moustache. ‘I am happy to oblige. Is there anything more?’ His voice was languid, as if discussing a minor detail.

‘Nothing. As soon as we have received the value of our property, the
Speedy Return
will continue on her voyage. You and your crew will be at liberty to continue with your efforts to
get your ship off the reef. Should that prove impossible, I’m sure your carpenters can construct additional boats to carry your crew back to Providencia.’

De Graff treated Hector to a patronizing stare. ‘You know all about small boat journeys, I seem to remember. To satisfy my curiosity, tell me how you managed to get away from my prize crew
on that pinnace and then disappear.’

Listening carefully to the cool, dispassionate voice, Hector had become aware of a pent-up fury behind the disdainful courtesy. He was about to answer when a voice from behind him said,
‘They escaped with my help.’

Anne-Marie had withdrawn into the cabin when de Graff came aboard. Now she stepped out on to the open deck and addressed the filibustier captain boldly.

The change in de Graff was startling. The veneer of politeness cracked. He rounded on the Breton, his features flushed with anger. ‘I thought as much at the time, you bitch!’ he
spat.

There was no mistaking the venom in his voice. All civility had vanished. De Graff was bitter and ferocious. ‘You’ve been leading me a dance, haven’t you? It wouldn’t
surprise me if you haven’t been playing the whore with this young man as well.’

Anne-Marie laughed in his face. ‘You fool! I helped this young man escape because he put the woman he loved before all else. He chartered my boat and went fishing wrecks to raise money for
his life with her. That appealed to me more than someone who thought of nothing but riches and the luxuries they could buy.’

De Graff’s lip curled. ‘You expect me to believe that, when you ran away with him at the first opportunity. Doubtless you gloated when you saw the
Sainte Rose
run
aground.’

Anne-Marie was having difficulty holding back her temper. Her voice shook. ‘Your pride and self-regard led you on to that reef!’ she retorted.

‘So speaks the daughter of a common prostitute and the widow of a drunk,’ said de Graff savagely.

To Hector’s astonishment, Anne-Marie took a quick pace towards the filibustier captain and slapped him full across his cheek. ‘I demand satisfaction for that insult,’ she
snapped. Her eyes blazed with anger.

De Graff shook his head in amazement. ‘You what?’

‘Satisfaction for that last remark. You enjoy acting the gentleman. Now prove it is more than sham.’

‘Are you challenging me to a duel?’ The filibustier was incredulous.

‘I am.’ Anne-Marie Kergonan was quivering with fury.

‘And what weapons are we to use?’ De Graff asked. He was back in control of himself, his voice icily sarcastic.

‘The insult was yours, so the choice is mine,’ she replied, her jaw set firmly.

‘Not pistols, I hope. I heard what you did to that man who disposed of your brother.’ Now de Graff’s words had a mocking ring.

‘No, not pistols.’

‘Rapier? Broadsword? I doubt that you have the reach,’ said the filibustier. He raised an eyebrow in amusement. He was enjoying baiting her.

‘You insulted both my husband and my mother, so I will defend their good name in the manner of which they would approve.’

For a moment de Graff looked baffled. Then his brow cleared. ‘You mean a duel with fusils?’

‘Exactly,’ snapped the Breton. ‘Muskets. There is sufficient space on that island over there.’ She gestured off to starboard, towards the low islet.

De Graff appealed to Hector. ‘This woman has gone out of her wits.’

Anne-Marie seized Hector’s sleeve and pulled him round so that they were face to face, barely inches apart. ‘Hector, you owe me this,’ she said slowly and deliberately.
‘That night you and your friends left the
Morvaut
in that cockboat I could have raised the alarm. But I didn’t.’

Looking directly into those angry, unblinking eyes, Hector saw how Anne-Marie Kergonan deserved the nickname Tigress. She was single-minded, implacable and fearless. She was also deadly serious
that she intended to fight a duel with de Graff.

After the space of a heartbeat, Anne-Marie added in a quieter voice, ‘If this goes wrong, look for Maria in Port Royal. That is where I told her to go in search of you.’

She released his sleeve, and Hector found himself saying, ‘I will make certain the duel is conducted fairly. Jezreel will be in charge. He knows the customs.’

‘Thank you,’ said Anne-Marie. Ignoring de Graff, she strode away in the direction of the cabin.

Hector beckoned to Jezreel. The ex-prize-fighter was still at the midships rail with a loaded musket, making sure that the longboat from the
Sainte Rose
stayed well clear. When Jezreel
had joined him, Hector said, ‘Anne-Marie has challenged de Graff to a duel with muskets. I’m putting you in charge.’

Jezreel took the matter in his stride. ‘Who is to fire first?’ he asked de Graff.

The filibustier captain shrugged. ‘My opponent’s sex gives her precedence.’

‘Do you have your own fusil aboard your ship?’

‘An ordinary musket should do just as well.’

‘You can take this,’ said Jezreel, handing over his musket. ‘It shoots straight, though it doesn’t have much range.’

De Graff accepted the gun and looked towards the island. ‘That won’t make much difference. I doubt there’s enough room for a full ground. Let’s get this over
with.’

Anne-Marie reappeared, carrying the long hunting gun she had brought aboard. Jezreel beckoned her forward so that both she and de Graff could hear what he had to say.

‘My task is to remind you of the rules so there are no mistakes. The three of us will be set ashore on that island over there. Each will carry a gun of their choice, a powder flask and a
bag of bullets, but only my musket will be loaded. I will stay at the landing place. You will walk in opposite directions until you are separated by a distance which I calculate is not less than
fifty paces. When I call upon you to stop, you turn to face one another. Is that clear so far?’

Both his listeners nodded. De Graff had a bored expression on his face as if he did not need the lecture. Jezreel continued. ‘The challenger, Anne-Marie Kergonan, will then load her fusil,
take aim and shoot at the challenged, Captain Laurens Cornelis de Graff. After the first shot, it will be the turn of the captain to fire. The exchange of shots will continue until one or other of
the duellists is killed or wounded. Is that clear?’

Again, de Graff and Anne-Marie nodded.

‘One more thing – whoever is receiving fire is obliged to remain absolutely still. That is the custom. If either party attempts to evade the bullet or distract the opponent’s
aim, it will be my duty to shoot him or her out of hand. Is that clear?’

Again his listeners nodded.

‘Good. Then let us go to the island,’ said Jezreel. He went to the rail and beckoned to the longboat to come alongside.

*

H
ECTOR WATCHED THEM
go ashore on the island. Too far away for him to make out the details, he could see Jezreel take up his place at the water’s
edge, then the longboat rowed clear. Anne-Marie and de Graff began walking off in opposite directions. He counted the number of their paces. It was between thirty and forty, and the distance
between them was at least seventy yards when Jezreel must have called a halt. He saw the two duellists turn and face one another. He wondered if Anne-Marie had the strength to hold the
long-barrelled hunting gun steady. What followed would require skilful marksmanship. That was why men like her dead husband, the cattle hunter, had chosen this strange way to settle their quarrels.
They prided themselves on accuracy with a gun.

De Graff was standing very tall, his back straight. He held his musket cradled in his arms and looked directly at his opponent. He had not deigned to turn side on and present a narrower target.
Even at that distance his posture was one of boredom, not fear. Facing him, Anne-Marie was taking her time. Hector saw her place the butt of her hunting gun on the sand, pour in a measure of
powder, drop in the musket ball, and ram it home. Deliberately she slid the ramrod back into its slot. Then she raised the weapon to her shoulder. Legs braced, she seemed to pause for a long time,
the gun levelled. De Graff was like a blue and white statue. He had taken off his hat and placed it on the ground beside him. A whisper of breeze lifted his yellow hair.

There was a puff of smoke as Anne-Marie pulled the trigger, followed by the hollow report of the musket shot.

For a brief moment de Graff stayed standing. Then his own musket slipped from his arms and, very slowly, he toppled over to one side, fell to the sand, and lay without moving. Jezreel was
running forward to assist him. Anne-Marie had dropped her fusil, and she too was running along the strand towards her victim.

Hector had to squint against the glitter of the sunshine off the bright sea. Jezreel had knelt down beside de Graff’s body, presumably to check the extent of the wound. Anne-Marie joined
him, and from her movements he guessed that she was tearing a strip from her dress to use as a bandage.

Then Jezreel stood up and came striding back down the beach to the water’s edge. He waved to the waiting longboat, beckoning it closer. Three or four of the oarsmen jumped into the
shallows and ran up the beach. They picked up their captain, carried him back and put him in the longboat. Jezreel and Anne-Marie scrambled aboard and then the boat sped off towards the stranded
frigate.

‘He’s badly hurt by the look of it,’ observed Jacques. He had come to stand alongside Hector at the rail. They watched the longboat reach the
Sainte Rose
and the wounded
captain being hoisted aboard.

‘Let’s hope they have a competent surgeon,’ said Hector. He held no real dislike for de Graff.

‘De Graff runs that ship more like a buccaneer than a royal vessel. There should be a good sawbones aboard,’ said Jacques. It was common practice among buccaneers and privateers to
club together before a voyage and hire their own surgeon who could deal with shipboard illness and battle wounds.

‘I think I ought to go across and see if I can help,’ said Hector. He had been a surgeon’s assistant at one time and had dealt with gunshot wounds.

‘Hello, it seems that they’re coming to us for something,’ observed Jacques not long afterwards. The longboat had again put off from the frigate and was rowing rapidly towards
them. When the boat was within earshot, a man stood up and began shouting urgently.

‘What’s he calling for?’ asked Hector.

‘He’s asking for a priest. Anne-Marie must be a crack shot,’ observed Jacques dourly.

Hector ran in search of Watson. He found him seated on a cannon, hat on head and Bible in hand. He was reading passages from Scripture, first in English, then consulting a slip of paper and
mouthing the translation to his audience of two of the Coromantee sailors. ‘Reverend, the frigate is calling urgently for a priest,’ Hector told him.

Watson looked up. ‘If it’s to administer the last rites, then Graff will want a Papist, not me.’

‘I doubt he’ll care very much what sort of clergyman he gets. I’ll go with you,’ said Hector brusquely.

Watson closed his Bible with a snap and accompanied him to where the longboat had already pulled alongside. Moments later they were being rowed towards the
Sainte Rose.
‘Is your
captain badly hurt?’ Hector asked one of the oarsmen in French.