Devil's Ballast

by Meg Caddy

  Murmurs outside. From the cabin I couldn’t hear sounds from the dock but I knew we were within swimming distance: the ship was small enough even to cross the shallow waters of Nassau’s harbour. We would have to swim in the shadow of the other ships, then hide beneath a jetty until we had a moment to break across the docks and into the town. There were plenty of places to hide in Nassau. Governor Rogers was doing his best to stamp the lawlessness out of the town but pirates had a tight hold there and pirates made room for their own. Someone would take us in. We’d find a place to hide until we could get word of Calico. And then we would find a way to get him back.

  It was hard to keep still. Hard not to pace or make a sound. What was taking Read so long? Maybe the fire was already lit but no one had noticed. Maybe he’d been discovered; dragged to the upper decks, beaten, thrown overboard.

  My hands were white-knuckled on my knees. Any moment now. Any moment and I would hear a clamour, shouting. I would smell the smoke. Read would come to the door. We would escape into Nassau.

  Nassau.

  Don’t think about Nassau.

  Where the hell was Read?

  I held off. Clung to hope. Sat staring at the door, willing tendrils of smoke to curl beneath it. For screams and shouts to fill the ship. For Read to appear.

  Nothing.

  I stood slowly, my fingers wrapped around a belaying pin Read had smuggled in. I should have taken my chances earlier, risked the swim. I should have kept my gun. God I should have kept my gun. I had thought I was clever, planning ahead, trying to step faster than the men pursuing us. Do you ever stop scheming? I could hear heavier footsteps now, the rattle and clank of weaponry. Men speaking in curt, abrupt voices. My own mistakes battered my mind. Fear made my skin slick. Read’s lessons would do me no good. The belaying pin would do me no good.

  Where was Read?

  The door slammed open. I was on my feet. I swung the belaying pin, hit a man in the face. He reeled back. I used the wall of the cabin, kicked out at another man. He doubled over his stomach with a grunt. The belaying pin spun in my hand and I turned to hit a third.

  Stopped dead.

  A gun jabbed into my stomach.

  Panting, I looked up. Weighed my options. What did I have? What could I use?

  Nothing. Panic hit me like a hard wind against a sail. There was always something but now, here, I couldn’t think of a way to save my own skin.

  ‘Put the weapon down.’

  Except surrender.

  I dropped the belaying pin and it clattered to the ground. A man grabbed me by my hair, yanked my head back. I tried to keep my footing but they kicked my legs from under me. The jolt ripped out some of my hair. I hissed. They wrenched my arms behind my back. I felt my shoulder lock and strain, thought for a moment they would pop it right out of the socket. They tied my hands tight, and someone belted me across the face. Dragged me up by the hair as I fell, spitting the blood that filled my mouth. Hard to see straight. I was on my feet but barely. They shoved me out of the cabin and through the ship. I saw the captain, O’Malley, take a pouch of money from one of the men. I wanted to howl at him, to scream and fight and curse, but I couldn’t find my voice. I let them drag me up the companionway and into the fresh air. My eyes swept the deck for Read. Dead or captured? Dead or captured? I couldn’t see him anywhere.

  I tried to find my feet but they moved quickly and I stumbled as we came to the gangplank. When I righted myself I looked straight into the port I had spent so many months avoiding.

  Nassau.

  I could smell it from the ship.

  The flat, heavy reek of shit and brine. Rotten fish and conch-flesh. Animals too, though they were a quiet note in the symphony of stench. The sands of New Providence and the surrounding islands were white and the water was impossibly blue but the town of Nassau itself was a brown smudge on the land. There was a fort, that was where Governor Rogers had staked his claim on the town, but most of the buildings were run-down timber shacks. The streets were a mixture of dirt and dung. When I first arrived there, just sixteen, there had been plenty of blood in those streets.

  Clinging to the town, like the taint of shit and sea-waste, was the memory of James Bonny.

  The soldiers shepherded me down the gangway. My limbs were heavy and weak, my face throbbing and swollen. I breathed in the sour air and almost threw up.

  It looked like Nassau had cleaned itself up since the arrival of the new governor, though. People walked the streets with families. Respectable people, even. Nassau, like Charles Town before it, was becoming part of the New World. Apart from that stink.

  The guards dragged me along the docks. A familiar ship caught my eye: the Jeremiah and Anne, darling Darling’s ship, was tucked into a quiet mooring. The sight gave me a flicker of comfort: still a pirate’s town.

  Fishermen paused and straightened, watching as the soldiers marched me towards the fort. It was a four-pointed grey stone building at the west end of the port. The walls rose higher on the northern side, facing out to the harbour. The fort was in a bad place strategically but in that moment, towering, it carried the promise of the gallows.

  I had walked this road once before, brought before Governor Rogers on charges of adultery. He was new to the post then, striding into Nassau like a middle-aged avenging angel. He told me to return to my husband and submit to him on pain of public flogging. I sailed away with Jack that same night.

  Now I tried to stop at the entrance to the fort. My feet dug into the ground, my breath came tight and shallow. I was afraid of being convicted, afraid of being hanged, but more than anything I was afraid they would give me back to my husband. I would rather dance the hempen jig, as pirates said, than die at his hands in the dark shack where I had been a prisoner for two long years. The soldiers pushed me forward. I felt the musket at the small of my back.

  Woodes Rogers came to greet us at the entrance. Roughly forty years of age, a seaman born and bred, he carried himself with upright military bearing. His hands were folded behind his back, his shoulders square. His clothes were so stiff they hardly moved when he sighed.

  The flesh around his eyes was grey. His lips were dry and cracked. His vice-like grip on Nassau was costing him his health.

  ‘Mistress Bonny,’ he said. ‘I had hoped I would not see you in these circumstances a second time.’

  I mustered a shrug and tried to keep my voice light. ‘What can I say? I live to disappoint.’

  ‘Flippancy ill becomes you, madam.’ Woodes Rogers had been a fierce commander cross-decks and I could see it in him now. His crew would have stepped-to smartly when he gave an order—nothing like our ragged band of cut-throats. ‘I think you underestimate the gravity of your situation.’

  ‘Then you’re mistaken,’ I said. If I kept my tone brash, forced a swagger into each shuffling step, perhaps I could feel braver. It had worked before. ‘I walk with my eyes open, Governor Rogers. Where’s Barnet? Where’s my Calico?’

  His brows drew together and he turned to the guards escorting me. ‘Bring her inside,’ he said.

  The fort had been a dilapidated old pile when I arrived in Nassau three or so years before. Years under pirate rule meant the buildings were neglected in favour of the ships and when Rogers arrived, I’d heard, there was just the one gun in the fort. He had made some improvements since then but the fort was still in dire need of work. The bricks were crumbling and moss-licked and the open ground was rough, uneven beneath my feet. I breathed in the scent of wood and tar and smoke. Men-at-arms trained in the yard but they were really no more than boys-at-arms. Most of them looked younger than Dobbin and Harwood. Lads who had come out here to Nassau because they were too naive—stupid—to know what sort of shit they were being shovelled into. Rogers had brought Nassau quickly into line but I imagined the initial victories were souring, proving less complete than he had hoped.

  Rogers led us into a small chamber with a heavy door. Not a cell but an office of sorts. There was a stout table and wooden c
hairs. I dropped into a chair before it could be offered to me. One of the soldiers jerked me up by my shoulder and I laughed at how petty that was when they shoved me back down again as soon as Woodes Rogers took his seat.

  ‘Adultery is one thing. Piracy is another.’

  He wasted no time. I couldn’t help but admire that about him. Rogers was a hard man—he’d had to be, to survive two years in Nassau and actually bring it to some good. If I had been a man, or at any rate an obedient one, I could see myself serving under him.

  There was some commotion outside. Rogers’ eyes flicked to the door, distracted, and then he looked back at me.

  ‘I am loath to condemn a woman to the noose,’ he said. ‘And if you see trial, madam, you will certainly be condemned. Do you understand that?’

  More noise from outside, and then the door jerked open. One of the guards peered in, looking sheepish.

  ‘Governor Rogers, sir,’ he said. ‘Some lawyer fellow. Says he’s here representing the interests of a William Cormac?’

  I sat up. Clenched my fists and tried to wipe the surprise from my face.

  I didn’t recognise the lawyer at first. He was tall and harried-looking, his clothes, though neatly pressed, both old and old-fashioned. I could tell he was irritated from the flush in his cheeks and the glares he shot over his shoulder at the guards. When the door was closed he turned to Governor Rogers and dipped into a bow. His eyes flashed towards me. I recognised him then. Recognised him and found myself torn between shocked silence and wild laughter.

  Ned Fletcher. The clerk whose name I had stolen when Barnet first took me.

  He had been a scrawny, bookish child with bad skin and a nervous stammer. He was still thin but he had filled out somewhat in the last five years.

  ‘Edward Fletcher, sir,’ he said. ‘I represent Mister William Cormac.’ He saw Rogers’ blank expression and hurried to elaborate. ‘Mistress Bonny’s father. We received communication from Captain Barnet that John Rackham’s crew had been apprehended, and I was sent here from Charles Town in case Mistress Bonny was also in custody.’

  Rogers gave me a hard look.

  ‘Hello, Ned,’ I said. ‘Good of you to come. How is Father?’

  Fletcher ignored me. ‘We were informed Mistress Bonny is wanted for piracy,’ he said. Gone was the nervous stammer. His voice was quiet but resonant, like a preacher’s. ‘Mister Cormac sent me to discover the nature of these charges.’

  ‘I think it is entirely possible Mistress Bonny has engaged in acts of piracy,’ Rogers replied dryly. ‘It is not a stretch of the imagination.’

  ‘With all due respect, Governor Rogers, imagination has little place in the law.’ Fletcher folded his hands behind his back. ‘Are there witnesses?’

  ‘Captain Jonathan Barnet and his crew,’ Rogers said.

  ‘And where are these accusers?’

  My heart felt as if it would beat right through my skin.

  Rogers hesitated. At length, he answered: ‘Captain Barnet wrote to me weeks ago, and is expected in Nassau soon. He seems to have been…delayed.’

  Relief slipped between my ribs. Perhaps there was a chance after all. For Calico at least. If they had been wrecked, it was even possible Calico and the crew had managed to overthrow Barnet. Maybe they were free even now.

  ‘If there are no witnesses, what charges can possibly be made against Mistress Bonny?’

  Maybe there was a chance for both of us.

  Rogers eyed Fletcher in silence for a moment, his gaze steely. ‘She will be held in custody until witnesses can be produced,’ he said. ‘I am not fool enough to let her escape again.’

  ‘But she will not be tried for piracy until then?’

  ‘That is so.’

  It was a small concession, but one I could live with.

  ‘Understand, Mister Fletcher, if no witnesses are eventually produced, Mistress Bonny will be tried for adultery instead. She will be publicly flogged and imprisoned for a length of time, and then she will be returned to her husband.’ He looked at me. ‘It is not so grave a sentence as I would wish but I will not see your crimes go completely unpunished.’ His shoulders were tense, irritation square on his face. Woodes Rogers was a man who was used to getting his own way, and Fletcher’s arrival had ruffled him. I imagined he would have gone ahead and tried me without witnesses if he had been given the time to do so. To tie up loose ends. Rogers was known for negotiating with pirates—it was his arrival that had extended a King’s pardon to all those who surrendered—but he had a limit.

  That was fine. I didn’t need to work with Rogers. I just had to find a way to get out before his threats bore fruit.

  Hope was wild, caged in my ribs. I fought to contain it, to keep my features blank. Fletcher’s intervention had bought me the only thing I needed: time.

  27

  BONNY

  The rest of the cells being occupied by other men, most of them pirates, Rogers put me in a cellar. Edward Fletcher was permitted to stay with me for a short while. I was chained to an iron loop set into the wall, which made me think they must have had pirates in here before. Fletcher stood on the opposite side of the room. I wanted to thank him for coming, for intervening on my behalf, but he spoke before I could get a word out.

  ‘Your father received your letter.’

  ‘I gathered.’

  ‘I thought you had run out of ways to break his heart, madam,’ he said. ‘But you have outdone yourself this time.’

  What a sanctimonious arse. ‘I’m inventive,’ I shrugged. ‘I thought you were in London.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘A long way to come for the sake of your former employer’s errant daughter.’

  ‘I was in Charles Town when he received the letter. He figured you would be in some sort of legal trouble, so he asked me to come. He had no inkling of how deep the problem ran. I have been hearing stories about the female pirate since I arrived here.’

  I ignored that. ‘And you came when he sent you? Just like that?’

  ‘I owed your father a debt of gratitude.’

  I wondered what my father could possibly have done to deserve such loyalty. He had none of mine.

  Fletcher cleared his throat. ‘I will do my best for you at trial, madam, but from the sound of it, the evidence is damning. You should prepare yourself for the worst.’

  ‘Or you could just let me out.’ The cuffs rubbed on my wrists. I shifted, trying to ease the pressure. ‘Find a guard, give him a sweet little pouch of coin, get the key. What’s one pirate? One female pirate.’ He opened his mouth but this time I was the one who ploughed on. ‘Honestly Fletcher, do you think I was some sort of mastermind in all of this? I was seduced by a pirate and I ran away with him. I didn’t actually do any pirating. I stayed below for most of it. I was afraid of the crew.’

  Fletcher was unmoved by my lies. ‘I will see to it that you are properly fed,’ he said. ‘Make no trouble. Make no attempts to escape. Such a thing can only damage your standing in this case.’

  I didn’t reply.

  ‘Would you like to write to your father?’ he pressed.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you have anything to tell me that might be helpful?’

  ‘You could slip me a gun. That would be helpful.’

  Fletcher sighed. He went to the door, signalling to the guards to let him out. They did so and the cellar door closed behind him with a heavy thud. I shut him out of my mind as soon as he was gone. He would not be of use.

  I sat back against the wall and took stock of my surroundings. It was dark and close in the cellar. There were barrels but they contained nothing but salt and food. No powder or weapons, nothing I could use as a club. There was a heavy lock on the other side of the door. No way to tamper with it.

  I sighed and sat against the wall. Fletcher wouldn’t help me. And Read…what had happened to him? If the crew had decided to flog him they might have found out about his chest bindings. Maybe he had fought, and been killed. Maybe they thr
ew him over the side as soon as they found him.

  He was probably dead. My stomach twisted. There was a hollow ache in my chest. If I could have found tears I would have shed them.

  Thinking of Read led me to thoughts of Calico. Out in the wild waters somewhere. If he was alive perhaps we could find a way to get out. Of course, if he was alive and captive, that meant Jonathan Barnet was still alive and there were the all-important witnesses. Couldn’t win either way.

  Still, I found myself hoping Calico was alive. Even if it damned me. Even if I swung for it.

  Annie. Do you love me?

  Ah, Calico. I came to sea with you, didn’t I?

  The guards considered themselves quite the stage performers, calling insults and lewd suggestions through the door. I thought I recognised one of them. Nassau was a small town and many former rogues seemed to have taken respectable jobs, but it hadn’t changed their manners. I bit my tongue. I didn’t want them opening the door and coming in, not while I was chained to the damn wall. So long as they stayed on the other side of the door I could ignore them.

  But their taunting escalated when they started drinking and one of them began to bark at me. I set my teeth and hunched my shoulders. How long would it be before Barnet arrived in the harbour? How long would it be before a guard took it into his head to break the rules and pass through that door? They could hurt me, rape me, kill me. This was not the way I wanted to die. Chained in a cellar like a dog.

  One of them thumped on the door. I twitched back in spite of myself. They laughed. Heart going hard, I stood and tried to steel myself. If they came in they would get a fight from me.

  A hiss cut through their laughter: it stopped abruptly. I heard them move away from the door. Clipped footsteps along the stone. A few low comments I couldn’t hear. Then the lock clicked and the door swung open again. I squinted against the light.

  The blocky form of Woodes Rogers stood in the door. My eyes adjusted to the new light and I watched warily as he stepped into the cellar. The guards were silent now; their governor tolerated no nonsense. He had a gun at his hip and I had the wild, stupid idea to make a grab for it. I crushed the thought before I could act on it. With my feet chained, I’d never get near him.