by Meg Caddy
Six of us stole through the quiet streets towards the water. We stayed clear of the light and moved along a narrow strip of beach. Read and I wore hats in spite of the darkness, the brims pulled low over our faces for the added shadow. On our shoulders we carried a jolly-boat, overturned. Strapped to the inside were my late husband and his unfortunate friend.
My feet sank deep into the sand, which was still wet from the rain. I struggled to keep my part of the boat level. I was strong enough, but the men were taller than I was and I had to reach up to bear the weight. I didn’t mind; the burden of each step reminded me that James Bonny was dead and that put a grim smile on my face.
When we reached the water’s edge we flipped the jolly-boat. We ran it into the water up to our knees and climbed in. It felt good to be back on the sea, to feel the world shifting around me again. The familiar sound of the waves licking the side of the jolly. The gentle drag of paddles through the water, pulling us away from the shore. Away from the horror and pain of Nassau.
One of the men sang under his breath, his voice rough but tuneful. I knew the song. It was ‘The Ballad of Sir Andrew Barton’. Harwood and Dobbin used to sing it together as they worked, each trying to better the other.
‘Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew says,
‘A little I’m hurt, but yet not slain…’
‘Keep it quiet, Lillburn,’ Darling said. ‘Now ain’t the time.’
For a while after that the only sound was the sea, and the quiet grunting of men as they rowed. I leaned over the side of the boat, watching the waters. During the day the water was so clear you could tell easily how deep it was just by the changing shade of blue. At night all we had was a line pulled along behind the jolly. I had the rope in my hands, feeling the difference in movement when it ceased to drag along the ocean floor.
I stared into the darkness and it winked back at me.
‘Here will do,’ I said. ‘It’s deep.’
We undid the knots securing James and his friend, both wrapped in canvas and weighted with pig-iron Darling had filched from a ballaster’s. Read looked across the boat at me. There was a question in his gaze but I didn’t know how to answer it. I diverted my eyes to the wrapped bodies.
‘Ready, Bonny?’ Darling asked.
I shrugged and finished the verse the other man had been singing before. ‘Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew says,
‘A little I’m hurt, but yet not slain;
‘I’ll just lie down and bleed a while,
‘And then I’ll rise and fight again.’
I stopped there. It still hurt just to talk, let alone sing. Lillburn, the man who had started the ballad, laughed. Darling’s beard split with a grin. I grabbed a fistful of canvas and helped the others to haul James’ companion over the side. Then we rolled James across the jolly, pulled him up, and sent him down as well. We lowered them gently so as not to make a splash. In moments they were gone, lost to the depths.
No honours. No prayers.
I brushed my fingers over the bruises James had left on my throat. When I glanced around I realised the men were looking at me. I took up an oar. None of us spoke but Darling clapped my shoulder and Read nodded at me. We rowed towards Hog Island and left my husband to the fish at the bottom of Nassau Harbour.
30
BONNY
Darling and his lads left Read and me on Hog Island. We slept beneath a piece of canvas, stretched out between trees and secured with a few short lengths of rope. It wasn’t much by way of protection and when the morning rain came in we were drenched. There was no point trying to stay dry, so Read and I sat out just beyond the beach listening to the rain through the trees and watching as the sea gnawed the shoreline. When the sky finally cleared and the tide ebbed we found enough of the pink conches to make a meal. The wood we set out was dry by midday so we cooked the conch flesh and ate. Neither of us said much. After the chaos and fear of the last few days it was a blessing just to sit with him and watch the ships come and go from the harbour.
‘We need a plan,’ he said at last.
‘I know.’
‘We need two plans. What are we going to do if your Calico’s lost?’
I winced at his bluntness and chewed on some conch flesh. What indeed.
‘We take ship on the Jeremiah and Anne,’ I said. ‘If their captain will have us. They sail under Bartholomew Roberts, don’t they? Quite a fleet, that. Over fifty ships. And if they don’t want us for the long haul I’m sure there’ll be a captain who does. We go back to sea.’
‘Without him?’
Annie. Do you love me?
I didn’t have an answer. It was all well and good to plan for giving Calico up as lost, but Read and I both knew things weren’t so simple. When it came to the moment I didn’t know if I could leave.
‘Look up.’ Read’s voice sharpened and he stood. I followed his gaze to the waters and saw a small boat headed our way. A man at the oars.
‘That’s darling Darling,’ I said as the boat drew closer. Prickles of unease sprang across my skin. If he’d been coming to drink with us he would have brought the other musicians. But he was on his own.
‘Get your axe,’ I said to Read, but he was already striding back to our belongings. He caught up his hatchet and a musket, handing the latter to me. We had to be ready to move if there was trouble in Nassau.
I strapped a belt of shot about my torso, slung the musket across my back and secured the flintlock at my belt. It felt good to have two guns on me.
Read and I waded out to meet Darling, steadying the boat as it turned on a wave.
‘What’s happened?’ Read asked.
Darling was out of breath, sweating and flushed from the journey out to the island.
‘There’s a ship coming in,’ he wheezed. ‘Looks like the Albion to me. She’s tore up pretty good but she’ll be in the harbour within the next few hours.’
Relief and fear punched into my spine. Maybe our questions would be answered sooner than we expected. I swung myself onto the boat and Read followed. We each took an oar to give Darling a chance to regain his breath.
‘A few hours isn’t enough time,’ I said between my teeth. ‘Woodes Rogers will have his men down at the docks as soon as the men disembark. He’s not going to let any pirates slip through his fingers. And Barnet…’
‘Barnet’s going to be careful too,’ Read said. ‘Especially after losing us in Cuba. He’s not going to let anyone take the pirates out of his custody and he is not going to leave for the fort without an escort of guards.’
We rowed, striking evenly, with our hats pulled down—uneasy about being so open on the water in the middle of the day. But there were plenty of boats navigating the little islands around Nassau. Once we were closer to the harbour we were just another vessel and no one paid us much mind.
We pulled into shore and the musicians and players from the Jeremiah and Anne met us. We tugged the jolly in and ducked away from the hustle of the harbour. My arms were aching and heavy from the trip in. I shook them out and fidgeted with my flintlock, anxiety starting to set in.
‘Where’s the ship?’ I asked.
‘She’s coming in from the west,’ Darling replied. ‘But she’s going to have to come around in a loop: the waters are too shallow for her draught and the wind’s not doing her any favours. She’ll have to tack and come in from the north. And if she wants to anchor near the fort she’ll have to come about and head west again.’
‘Guardships won’t let her put in right in front of the fort,’ I said. ‘They’ve had too much trouble with that of late. They won’t run any risk of being fired upon.’
‘Do we take our chances with an attack?’ Read asked.
‘Our captain won’t allow it,’ Darling said. ‘He doesn’t much mind us larking around with you, Bonny. Even helping you with your husband situation. But he’s not going to risk the Jeremiah and Anne.’
‘That’s fair,’ I said, though my stomach wrenched with disappointment. It would have b
een good to have a ship on our side.
‘We don’t even know your people are alive,’ one of the other musicians said.
‘How fast is the Albion moving?’
‘Oh, she’s limping along. They’ve had a bad time of it.’
What did I have? What could I use?
Read stood with his head down, his hands clasped about his axe. His face was tight with thought. Darling scratched his beard. The others all talked in a buzz of whispers. They peppered us with suggestions and questions. Darling waved a hand and started to engage with them. Read raised his eyes and looked at me. I could see in his face that he didn’t have a solution.
What did I have?
What could I use?
‘Let me think. Just let me think.’ I wheeled around, knotting my fingers behind my neck. ‘Darling, show me where the ship is. I want to see it.’
He nodded and together we walked up the road, keeping clear of others. The last thing we wanted was to be recognised now. If Calico was still alive on that ship he needed me.
From a small rise in the centre of the town, a hill to the south of the harbour, I could just make out the Albion using Darling’s scope. No mistaking the big vessel as she lumbered through the waves, leaning badly. She was torn and tattered and it looked like they’d put up a jury-mast to replace one lost or damaged. Whatever she’d been through, I wasn’t surprised she was so late coming into Nassau.
I stood on the hill and watched the ships in the harbour, tracking the distance between them and the Albion. Clouds were gathering beyond the harbour, the ocean taking sharp edges in preparation for the afternoon rains. Men were working hard and fast down on the docks to finish their tasks, stowing goods before they could be ruined by the storm. The clouds were heavy and I knew the rain would come down in driving sheets.
I took slow, deep breaths. We didn’t have much time. But there were other things on our side.
I turned to face Darling.
‘Will your men follow me?’ I asked.
‘Probably not. But they’ll follow me and I’m with you.’
I clasped his hand and turned to Read. ‘Got an idea.’
‘Thought you might.’
‘It’s mad.’ I took a breath. ‘Reckless.’
His face broke into a sudden, rare smile. ‘Well now. There’s a surprise.’
Read and I walked along the docks. I shed the hat and gun-belt for now. It was everything I could do not to run but we didn’t want to pull attention to ourselves. We went up and down the small rickety jetties that stretched out to various ships. To anyone else we would look like a sailor and his woman, taking in the sights of the harbour. He even made me stop so we could buy fishing tackle from one of the stalls set up by the water’s edge.
‘What exactly are we looking for, little fellow?’
‘I’ll know when I see it.’ I went along another jetty. Nassau Harbour could take almost five hundred vessels so long as they were the right type. We were in a hurry but something drew me on in my search.
And then I saw her.
She was small and narrow, built light and fast. Her sails were furled and she was moored, but I knew just from the sight of her that she would run like the Devil when she was out at sea. She wasn’t new, exactly. I could see weathering on her beams and some old damage to her bowsprit, which had a lean on it, a little to the larboard side. We could fix that. And she was clean. Her hull was smooth and she would slice through the waves. I could see some guns at her deck; probably no more than six. No good for an outright battle; enough to give us options.
In spite of our hurry, in spite of the urgency I felt, I was pinned to the spot just from the sight of her. The William. My father’s name. A smile curled around my lips. It felt like God’s jest. And a finger pointing the way forward.
‘This one?’
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her, not even to look at Read. I nodded.
We stepped out of the way as a sailor passed us by, leaving the ship with a barrel on his shoulder. Read hailed him. I adjusted the kerchief at my neck, disguising the bruises James had left there, and I kept my head low.
‘Who does this ship belong to?’ Read asked the man, his voice light and friendly.
‘Captain John Ham,’ the sailor replied. ‘You seeking passage?’
‘We are.’ Read slipped an arm about my waist. ‘Looking to get to Cuba.’ He lowered his voice. ‘My girl here, her parents aren’t too fond of me. We plan to marry in Havana. God willing, by the time we get back here they’ll have calmed some and her father won’t be so much in the mind to take his fists to me.’
The sailor laughed. ‘Well, we’re taking passengers,’ he said.
‘Any chance a couple can take a look at her before we take to the journey?’
The sailor handed the barrel to another man. ‘Let me show you around.’
I flashed Read a triumphant look. His eyes were warm. We followed the sailor aboard.
31
BARNET
The town of Nassau came into view, a stain on the green and white shores of New Providence Island. Barnet stood at the bow of the Albion, one hand clasped about a stay. The ship creaked and groaned with every large wave, her timbers and beams shivering with the strain of the distance they had come.
Just a few more miles. She could last a few more miles.
Barnet took a long breath. It was almost over. Soon the pirates would be taken, his burden lifted, and he would be able to rest before starting anew. Before finding another name to pursue.
Not before he saw these men hanged, though. He would wait long enough for that.
Gulls wheeled and keened overhead. Grey crept through the sky. Barnet tried to curb his impatience. They would reach the harbour just before the storm did. The danger was past. He would not make the same mistake twice. He would not let Calico Jack and his men out of his sight until they were in the custody of Governor Rogers.
The Albion was too large and unwieldy to take straight into port from the west. Nassau Harbour was deep between Nassau and Hog Island but from the west and east it was shallow in patches, and Barnet did not trust the ship’s steering when she had sustained so much damage. They tacked instead, carefully taking the ship around a small island so they could come in from the north. Barnet thought bitterly of the impression they should have made: gliding in to the harbour resplendent, a gleaming sword of God. Restoring order. Instead, they hobbled across the waves like common harbour-drift.
Yet another rebuke he could add to the pirates’ account.
He turned away from the bow and walked down the companionway to the brig. It was a pitiful crowd of pirates who remained there. Just eleven of them from the original crew of thirty.
They were thin and haggard. At first they had been boisterous, defiant, calling out insults and threats to the crew even as they were fed and given water. But the weeks of hardship had subdued them and now they just watched him with wary, hate-filled eyes. It stuck in Barnet’s craw that they had lost so many. He had wanted to see them all swing.
‘We approach Nassau,’ he said. ‘When we arrive you will be transported to the fort where you will be imprisoned and questioned. Governor Woodes Rogers will see you put to trial, and justice will finally be done. In your situation, I would bend my mind to prayer. Cast yourselves upon God’s mercy; Woodes Rogers will spare you none.’
The tall slave, Isaac, spat. The boy named Harwood folded his hands behind his head and rocked. His friend, Dobbin, sat slumped against the bars. He had scarcely spoken since the carnage on the beach near Havana. Barnet knew all of these men by now. He knew their names, their ages, their stations on the ship. He had had many of them beaten and interrogated across the weeks at sea. It was the one thing he’d had some control over while the Albion was at the hands of the elements.
Before he turned away from the brig he looked over at Rackham. The pirate met his gaze. He was bruised, one eye swollen shut and his lip crusted with blood. The stubble on his face had become
a straggly beard. And there was no defiance left in him. The striding captain in motley was no more. He had been beaten and bowed, and finally brought to heel. After a moment Rackham lowered his eyes.
Barnet smiled.
The roar of cannons. A black flag rising through the smoke and flames. A skull, sporting an earring and bandana, set above crossed bones. Men swung belaying pins and fought valiantly, and Jonathan wanted to be among them, should have been among them, but he was frozen. There were so many. He ran through the decks of the ship, stooped low. Like a coward. He found his way through the bowels of the vessel, down into the bilge where the sour water and the rats waited. It was almost too small for him. He had to crouch, thighs burning and heart beating on his ribs. There was a lull. He could hear the quiet slip and hiss of the foul water in the bilge, the squeak of rats, the dull rasp of the waves against the other side of the hull.
Then the screaming started.
His smile fixed, then slowly faded. These memories, these dark thoughts, had been driven from his mind years ago. Why did they plague him now, so close to victory?
A test of faith, perhaps.
Barnet was not lacking in faith.
The wind was up when he returned to the upper decks. The crew, exhausted from their long passage, worked the lines in silence. Barnet did not know how to express his admiration for their stoic courage through these difficult weeks at sea. He would have to show his appreciation from his coffers, light as they were these days.
They came into the harbour from the north. Barnet’s eyes sharpened. Smoke rising from Nassau. He leaned on the rail.
‘Keep to the east,’ he told the helmsman. ‘Looks like there’s a fire on the docks.’
‘Should we anchor further out?’ Hutch, the bosun, asked.
‘No. I will not risk rowing the pirates in to shore. It is no great matter. The rain will fall soon and make short work of any blaze.’
The fire did not look devastating, but the harbour was full enough that it was passing from ship to ship. Men scurried across jetties and docks with pails of water, trying to protect their own vessels. Barnet’s crew gave the commotion a wide berth, bringing the Albion in to a quiet mooring on the eastern side of the harbour. It meant a greater distance to the fort, but Barnet did not intend to take the pirates in until he had an armed escort in any case. For now they could stay in the brig.