Voyage of Malice

by Paul C R Monk

  ‘You have changed, but I knew who you were the moment I saw you, Monsieur Delpech.’

  He glanced at the instruments that Jacob had laid out on the table before him for study. But Jacob had already instinctively grabbed a dismembering knife.

  ‘You have equally changed since we last met, Lieutenant Ducamp. When you ransacked my house.’

  Ducamp stood calm and still. He said, ‘For sure, I am a changed man, ever since I left the king’s service. On this ship, see, we respect every man’s creed, colour, and class. And there is no majesty, no bourgeois, just good men, and a right salty bunch they are too. I have not come seeking an argument, but to suggest that what happened in France, stays in France. So you can put down your knife before you cut someone.’

  Jacob stared at the face that brought back memories of humiliation, of pain, and of his separation from his wife and children. And now it brought him news he had been dreading to hear, that he must be on a freebooting buccaneer ship.

  ‘So, have we a deal, Doctor?’ continued the bosun.

  Jacob gave a reluctant nod, and said, ‘I see now why the crew are not in uniform.’

  ‘We’re not pirates, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’re on a commission to transport Captain Cox to the settlement of Virginia. From there, he’ll take a frigate back to London with his spoils of war, so he can fulfil the contract of his amnesty. But we are not pirates.’

  *

  Delpech settled into his new role quickly and, to his surprise, without much queasiness. Apart from a splinter removal, a successful tooth extraction, and the treatment of a gunpowder burn, all of which earned him the respect of the crew, there was little to do during the first few days. He read extensively, prayed frequently, and prepared lotions to remove gunpowder from flesh and a decoction of wine vinegar to treat burns, should the need arise for them again.

  Jacob was at first taken aback by the crew’s apparent lack of unity in dress and naval rigour—they slept or lounged, some with legs interlaced, wherever they chose to lie on their mats or hitch up their hammocks. But he soon saw it did not seem to hinder the progress of the ship. And they did not drink excessively, nor was there any dicing for coin. These privateers, as they were known, seemed to Jacob’s now more discerning eye competent enough in performing their tasks, which gave him some cause for reassurance.

  The heat was bearable, food and drink were in plentiful supply, and the Joseph was making good headway. So far, the voyage was turning out to be, both in the figurative and the literal sense, one he could easily stomach.

  He and the bosun managed to keep their distance from each other until the third day, when Jacob heard a sudden clamour above deck. It was mid-morning. He was reading in his cramped enclosure by lamplight.

  He looked up from his book as someone scuttled down the steps from the deck above. A moment later, a young crewmate of slight build and with soft facial hair was standing in front of the canvas partition of the surgeon’s quarters.

  ‘Beg your pardon, Doctor, you are needed on deck,’ said the young man, catching his breath.

  ‘What is it, Steven?’ said Jacob, putting his book to one side and getting up. He liked the lad, who was respectful, willing to help, and desirous to learn to read, which Jacob encouraged by setting him lessons in English.

  ‘It’s the bosun, Doctor,’ said young Steven, accompanying Jacob towards the steps. ‘I reckon he must have misjudged the distance sliding down the rigging. Don’t think he’s used to it. Rope burns yer palms, and when that happens, you come unstuck, and down you go.’

  By the time Jacob arrived on the scene, Ducamp was regaining consciousness, though still lying where he had landed. He gave a loud cry as his arm collapsed beneath him, when he tried to push himself up off the deck.

  ‘Broken collarbone,’ said Blunt, the quartermaster.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Jacob, inspecting the wound. ‘Pray, help him to his feet, and bring him to my quarters. He will suffer less out of the sun.’

  This was not entirely true, for already the surgeon’s den was like a bakehouse. The truth was, Jacob strode back below deck not for the comfort of the patient, but to glance over his charts and literature on dislocation.

  Ten minutes later, Ducamp was lying on a table in the privacy of the surgeon’s quarters, where the injured limb was dowsed in camomile oil. Next, Jacob gave Ducamp a piece of cloth to put in his mouth, to keep him from biting off his tongue. Then he asked Steven and the accompanying mates to hold the patient down. Remaining aloof to the muffled grunts of agony, he pulled and worked the bone back into its joint until the bump of the bone had disappeared, and the patient was calmed.

  Wiping his soaked brow, he turned to the men. ‘Thank you, that will be all,’ he said.

  He proceeded to apply a cataplasm made of oatmeal to the bruised and tender shoulder. Next, he began binding it. Ducamp, relieved to feel his shoulder tightly bandaged, at last broke the silence.

  ‘I thank you, Doctor,’ he said.

  ‘I am carrying out my duty, Monsieur Ducamp. That is all.’

  ‘Look, you cannot blame me for the dragonnades. I was only carrying out orders, and frankly, it was one reason why I left.’

  Jacob finished tying the knot. ‘It is done,’ he said. ‘You are free to go.’

  But Ducamp remained seated, and in a conciliatory tone of voice, he said, ‘I kept your wife and your children from my men. I stayed awake to make sure they were not touched, Monsieur Delpech. See, my own lad would have been about your boy’s age.’

  Jacob took a cloth to wipe his hands, and in a voice of controlled patience, he said, ‘My wife is now a refugee in a foreign country without resources, my children have been taken from her, and my young daughter is dead, Monsieur Ducamp.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear that, truly, but I tried.’

  Jacob did not answer.

  Holding his arm, Ducamp got up from the table and crossed the floor to the canvas partition. As he opened the flap, he said, ‘Listen. There’s been a change of plan. And there may be fighting at some point along the way. If there is, stay close to me.’

  The bosun exited the surgeon’s den, leaving Jacob perplexed. His puzzlement was doubled that afternoon when, going by the poop deck, he overheard the pirate in a discussion with the captain over the destination of their voyage. Captain Brook wanted to head for the Gulf of Mexico; the pirate preferred the Bay of Honduras. Yet was this man not supposed to be on board as a detainee? It certainly did not appear so. Moreover, Jacob was not aware that the latter port of call was en route to Virginia.

  *

  On the fourth morning out of Port Royal, the lookout spotted land. Jacob was busy cleaning his instruments. Using his medical book, he was able to identify the many and varied gruesome tools of the trade for dismembering, cauterising, and bullet extraction. He climbed the deck steps to see for himself the distant island, dotted with palm trees. And with grim irony, he noticed crewmates here and there cleaning their instruments too, though theirs were made to maim and kill—cutlasses, axes, muskets, and pistols.

  By the time the sun had shifted an hour past its zenith, they were putting into a commodious cove where another sloop was already anchored.

  As the Joseph carefully ventured into the clear blue waters of the natural harbour, there came a gut-churning explosion that made Jacob wonder about the intentions of the moored vessel. But when Captain Cox, standing at the bow, removed his hat and swept it before him in a gesture of salutation, a great roaring cheer rose up from the other ship’s deck.

  Jacob’s suspicions were confirmed. This whole commission was a farce planned in advance to free Captain Cox.

  Ducamp’s offer of protection now became clear, as did the captain’s claim that Jacob would find means to pay off his indenture. They were about to go freebooting.

  *

  The following day, the crew emerged as fresh as bilge rats. If any Spanish guardacostas should come upon them now, Jacob knew they would be as goo
d as pigs to the slaughter. He had remained on board, preferring his own company to revelling ashore with the mates of the Fortuna, who had recovered their captain. He also chose to turn a blind eye to their drunken antics along the beach with the fall of the evening.

  What had he done to end up in this devil’s lair? He could not for the life of him fathom why it had pleased God to lead him to bear witness to the devil’s machinations. All he could do was continue to breathe through it, upholding his faith until God showed him the way to freedom.

  After a sluggish start, the Joseph and the Fortuna left the island that Jacob had found out to be Caiman Grande. They set sail westward towards the Yucatan Passage, which would take them through the Gulf of Mexico.

  As they sailed on to the south side of Cuba, the lookout sighted the distant masts of a lone frigate. The captain was with Doctor Delpech, who was treating his syphilis.

  ‘What she be flying?’ he asked Quartermaster Blunt, waiting on the other side of the canvas sheet.

  ‘French colours, Cap’ain, and she be a biggen.’

  Jacob had finished applying the mercury ointment to the captain’s skin. Brook grunted thanks to the doctor, then went swiftly to the quarterdeck to scrutinise the French vessel.

  Jacob was left wondering if being captured by the French navy could be the answer to his prayers. Could it be the lesser of the two evils? But then, it suddenly did not seem so bad to be committing fraud as a privateer’s doctor. At least, it was something he would rather do than find himself back in a French prison, where he might well face execution. And besides, was he not doing goodness among these outcasts that society had disowned?

  Then he remembered the treaty signed by James II and Louis XIV while he was in his prison in France. It meant there was normally no cause for hostilities between the two nations. There again, affairs in Europe did not seem to be of great importance in everyday dealings in these faraway lands, which Jacob now realised were very much a law unto themselves.

  But Captain Brook did not turn against the wind to escape the French warship. Instead, with the prevailing westerly full in her sails, the Joseph veered north by northwest, closely followed by the Fortuna, to give chase to the massive frigate.

  Leading the way at a steady ten knots, the Joseph closed the gap within a matter of hours. By late afternoon, it became clear that the French ship was heading to Isla de los Pinos, the large island off the southwest coast of Cuba.

  As the buccaneers approached under English colours, the French ship struck her main sails and sat waiting on the south side of the isla. She was colossal, twice the size of the English sloop. Yet Captain Brook continued his approach.

  Jacob stood nervously near the main mast, inwardly praying for his wife and children, that they might find peace and safety from their tortures, should he perish this day. And he hoped to God he would stand courageous at his station, should a battle arise.

  The Joseph, which had cut through the waves faster than the Fortuna, was within gunshot of the brigantine’s prow. As the English sloop slipped closer through the lapping waters, Delpech could now perceive the tall stature of the French master, standing on the quarterdeck with his back to the westering sun. He could only make out the French captain’s outline, but it was enough for him to recognise the man who had lent him his house on Cow Island.

  The sloop, having shortened her sails, was now within shouting distance.

  ‘What brings ol’ Captain Brook a roving in these waters?’ called Captain Laurent de Graaf over the bulwark using a loud hailer. ‘Hunting sharks, are we?’

  ‘Aye,’ barked back Brook, ‘and it looks like we’ve found a ship full of ’em!’

  De Graaf let out a loud laugh.

  *

  Within the hour, both sloops and the French frigate had weighed anchor at a musket shot from the south-facing shore of Pinos Island.

  The Dutchman quit his ship with a mulatto and was soon climbing aboard the Joseph, where Captain Brook met him with a welcome. ‘Young scamp still tempting the devil, is he?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said de Graaf, ‘and it looks like I’ve found ’im!’

  The two men clasped each other’s shoulders affably.

  As they strode to the captain’s cabin, a familiar face caught the Dutchman’s eye. De Graaf offered a civil nod of recognition to Jacob, then proceeded to the stern of the ship without a word. There, he lowered his head into the captain’s cabin, where Captain Cox was already waiting. Crewmates crowded around the open door to listen in on the conversation. It was their democratic right.

  *

  Decidedly, nothing was made to be clear in this world where English privateers mingled with senior French officials. An hour later, feeling abandoned to his fate, Jacob looked up at the man who had just settled against the bulwark beside him. He said, ‘It seems, Lieutenant, that you were right about the change of plan.’

  ‘That’s de Graaf,’ said Ducamp.

  ‘Yes, I have already made his acquaintance, in different circumstances.’

  ‘I wager he wants us to join him on a foray on Cuba.’

  ‘On land? But that would equate to piracy.’

  ‘Not if he has a letter of marque for it. Cheer up, Monsieur Delpech, ’cause if he has, it means you can buy back your freedom sooner than you thought. Long as you don’t get killed, that is.’

  There was a movement of the crowd around the captain’s cabin. Brook stepped out, followed by de Graaf, the mulatto, and Cox. The expectant crew gathered around them or climbed up the standing rigging. Jacob and Ducamp approached.

  ‘I have here a letter of Marque and Reprisal,’ said de Graaf, holding up a wax-stamped document, ‘to punish our Spanish neighbours for their barbarism. And the more we are, the merrier!’

  Captain Brook then roared out, ‘Are we up to it, lads?’ The whole ship rocked with a hearty cheer.

  The Dutchman left behind his mulatto named Joe, captured on a previous coastal foray. Joe, a former Cuban slave, knew the coast waters well and would serve as guide, should the ships become separated. De Graaf then made his way along the deck, accompanied by Captains Brook and Cox. He stopped in front of Jacob, who was now standing by the main mast.

  ‘Delpech?’ he said.

  ‘You know our doctor?’ said Captain Brook.

  ‘Indentured doctor,’ corrected Jacob. He could only hope the Dutchman would not question his occupation.

  ‘We met on Cow Island,’ said de Graaf with a quizzical look. But without further comment, he walked on, climbed down to his boat, and joined his vessel.

  The face-to-face with the Dutchman had been awkward. What more could Jacob have said in front of fifty pairs of eyes? He could hardly explain his circumstances, or complain about his lot. And would there have been any point, given that the man was part and parcel of this association of rovers?

  TWENTY-TWO

  There was something bracing about being in the middle of a seafaring force, something that almost made Jacob forget the immorality of the imminent raid.

  It was early October. The Caribbean winds had become more variable, and the flotilla was tacking back along the luxuriant south-facing shore of Cuba. With time on their hands, the crew prepped their weapons or practised their aim with pistols and muskets. Jacob admired how these well-seasoned hunters invariably hit their marks, despite the pitch of the ship.

  One afternoon on the main deck, the bosun insisted Jacob learn something of swordplay for the sake of his welfare, and consequently for that of the entire crew. But Jacob was not keen.

  ‘At least learn defence, man,’ said Ducamp, holding out a sword to the doctor. ‘’Cause neither Jehovah nor Neptune will stop a steel blade from running through your spleen!’

  Albeit reluctantly, Delpech took the sword, which won him a resounding cheer from the crew. Their cheers abated, however, when he declared he would not kill a man. He had made it his duty to save rather than destroy life.

  On hearing the cheer, Captain Brook had ventured out from
his cabin. ‘You’ll soon get a taste for it, Doctor,’ he said, swaggering up to Delpech.

  An intimacy had grown between them after Jacob treated his syphilis, which consisted of applying a mercury ointment to his facial and genital sores. And, with scientific gravitas, Delpech showed all those infected by the painful disease how to rub in the unction.

  Cupping a large hand on the ball of Jacob’s shoulder, Brook said, ‘Then before you know it, the smell of black powder and blood on steel will be the perfume of your dreams!’

  ‘I very much doubt that, Sir, with all due respect,’ said Jacob, whose new-found importance among captain and crew allowed him a certain liberty of expression.

  The captain let out gruff snarls, which was his form of laughter. ‘Kill or be killed, Doctor!’ he said.

  He then turned to Ducamp with a look of exasperation which told the bosun to make the man see sense. The doctor was too precious to lose.

  Brook went back to his cabin, where he continued to extract navigation information from Joe the mulatto in exchange for kindness, food, and coin. Joe was already planning ahead.

  Meanwhile, Ducamp turned to Jacob and said in French, ‘He’s right, you know. It’s kill or be killed. And you best make up your mind now, because when you’ve a cut-throat in your face, it will be too late!’

  *

  Bound by language and culture, the two men very often sat together, smoking tobacco on a chest or on steps. Jacob had long since adopted the pipe. Even when not lit, it was invariably planted in his beak nowadays. For if smoking on land kept mosquitoes from his ears, at sea it kept the foul bilge waters from infesting his nose.

  On one occasion, Jacob let the bosun steer the conversation to something that was clearly on his mind. He had been beating about the bush, especially now that Jacob read the Bible aloud to any mates who would listen—and many of the men did, including Quartermaster Blunt. Jacob sensed Ducamp needed to get something off his chest.

  ‘You say you obey God’s will, but so do Catholics. How do you know God listens to you and not to them?’