Scarlett

by Christopher C Tubbs

  The canvas bag was heavy, and she could feel it contained large coins. She opened it. Around twenty doubloons slid out when she tipped it up.

  She tutted and shook her head.

  “Disarm him and send him back to the ship in irons. I will deal with him later.” She put the coins back in the bag ignoring the squawked protests and pleads of innocence. She would have to make an example of him but exactly how, she couldn’t decide.

  She was disturbed from her reverie by a crewman who asked her to come and see what another group found. He led her to the church and the first thing she saw was a pile of golden alter goods just inside the door. She stopped to look, but the grinning sailor urged her to follow him further in.

  In front of the alter was the body of the priest, a black robed monk who still had a sword in his hand. He lay in a pool of his own blood, and Scarlett frankly didn’t care. She and the church were only on nodding terms in England and to her, one Spaniard was just like another, whatever clothes they wore.

  The sailor led her behind the alter, which had been pulled out. Behind it was an opening that was big enough to crawl through.

  “You want me to go through that?” she asked.

  “Aye cap’in, it be worth the effort.”

  She got down on her knees and after a short fight with her sword, which seemed intent on tangling itself in her legs, crawled into a small room that was lit by a pair of lamps.

  “Well, I be damned!” she exclaimed as her eyes fell on a pile of what had to be gold, but it was fashioned into fantastic objects. Masks, bracelets, statues of fantastic beasts, breast plates, and all sorts of other wonderous objects.

  “Get the leader of the settlement and bring him here,” she called to the sailor, “and a work party to get all this to the ship.”

  Montoya poked his head through the hole and his eyes widened. He looked frightened and backed out quickly. Scarlett noticed and crawled back out into the church proper. Archie caught up with her when he heard she was asking for the leader to be brought over.

  “Ask him what is wrong,” she said as she stood in front of Montoya.

  Archie talked to the still shaken man and got a gabbled response. Montoya gesticulated and pulled faces while he spoke. When he stopped, Archie looked at him for a long moment as he sorted out what he heard into something he could pass on to Scarlett.

  “Well, what did he say?” she demanded, running short of patience.

  “He said something about the serpent god and that the gold belonged to the children of the serpent god and that they would come and take it back and cut our hearts out.”

  She was about to ask him more when Paul arrived with the leader.

  “Where did they get this gold,” she asked, pointing to the pile on the floor, which looked a lot smaller now that it was out in the open.

  “He said it comes from a city in the jungle in a region called Yucatan. It was brought here in payment for sugar by ships travelling from Cartegena,” Archie translated.

  “That explains the soldiers and the plantations,” Scarlett replied. “Ask him what this town is called.”

  “Santa Isobel Colon.”

  “Do they have slaves here?”

  “He says they have them on the plantations.”

  “Tell him I will trade their lives for the slaves.”

  “He says they aren’t his slaves to trade.”

  “Then he better persuade the plantation owners to give them up or they will all die.”

  Steven, ten men, and the leader went out to the plantations on horseback. Just before dark, one man returned and reported that they were laying siege to a plantation house and facing fierce resistance. Scarlett rolled her eyes and wondered how anything got done if men were left in charge.

  The next morning, Scarlett turned up at the plantation with twenty-five men, a cart with two barrels of gun powder, and a coil of fuse. The house was fortified and had shuttered windows with gun loops that allowed them to cover all the approaches.

  “Ahoy, the house!” she had Archie shout in Spanish, “You have ten minutes to surrender or we will blow your house and you will be massacred.”

  The answer was colourful, profane, and basically a no.

  Scarlett ordered the men out into an arc facing the big double doors of the house. Most of them were armed with Arquebus or hand cannon and they made a show of deploying behind trees and rocks. The horses were unharnessed from the cart and two men pushed it to the end of the path leading up to the doors.

  Scarlett stood by the cart with a burning torch in her right hand, the end of a fuse in her left, and ignored the buzzing bullets that flew from the house in her direction.

  “Times up! Last chance to surrender!”

  More shots were her only answer, so she lit the fuse, and the two men started pushing the cart towards the doors making sure they stayed behind it to shelter from the desperate fire from the loopholes.

  There was an explosion. Smoke and dust poured into the air from the other side of the house.

  “What the hell?” exclaimed Steven and looked at Scarlett, who just looked back at him with a smug grin as shouts and screams came from the inside of the house.

  Three minutes later, the double doors opened and Bill Martin, the second mate, stepped out wiping his sword on a rag.

  “All done, Captain. Place is ours.”

  Scarlett led the way in. She passed the still intact cart and stepped over the bodies lying in the entrance hall. She had a word with a couple of her men who were having wounds attended to by the surgeon and his assistant then made her way to the rear of the house. The rear wall was blown apart.

  “The whole thing with the cart at the front was just a diversion?” Steven choked out as what happened sunk in.

  “Looks like it,” Scarlett grinned back at him.

  There was a scream followed by a torrent of Spanish and another scream. Paul appeared from a room off to the side of the main corridor dragging a woman behind him by her hair.

  “Found this un hiding in a bedroom,” he said and threw her to the floor at Scarlett’s feet. She had jet black hair and was dressed in fine satin.

  “Who are you?” Archie asked.

  “She’s the daughter of the owner of the plantation,” he translated.

  “What to do with her?” Scarlett mused.

  “We could give her to the men,” Steven offered.

  Scarlett knelt beside her, wrapped her fist in her hair, and turned her head so she could see her face. She was a pretty little thing with large terrified eyes.

  “What do you think señorita, should I give you to my men? Your father caused me a lot of trouble and I want payment for that.”

  The girl, Scarlett could see now, was no more than fifteen or sixteen years old and looked at her in horror. Archie was keeping up a constant translation.

  “I think I will spare you that. You shouldn’t have to pay for the sins of your father. If we had to do that, I would be hung by now. No little one, you will be left and can tell people what happened here. I only wanted your slaves. If your father had handed them over, I would have let them all live.”

  She sighed and stood up.

  “Give her to the headman of the village.”

  She ignored the grumbling from the men.

  Her men released thirty slaves from the sheds where the owners locked them up before barricading themselves in the house. They found a strong box with some gold and jewels and a wardrobe of fine woman’s clothes in the Spanish style. They ignored the crops but took the barrels of refined sugar and molasses.

  The other two plantations gave up without a fight when the leader told them what had befallen the first one. They came away with seventy slaves and a full hold of sugar.

  Chapter 11: The Council of Captains

  It was time to go back to Jamaica, but first she had to deal with Stoggins. Privateers took the charter very seriously and Stoggins was caught red-handed breaking one of the cardinal rules. Scarlett had no choice but
to make an example of him.

  “Steven, gather all the men on deck please and bring Stoggins to the quarter deck.”

  The wretch was dragged up by two of his shipmates, who having heard what he did, had no sympathy for him. He was harshly treated by the looks of things and was practically carried up the steps.

  “I saw this man, Arnold Stoggins, take a pouch of twenty-three doubloons from a strong box he found in the village, and when he delivered the box to the pile of loot on the dock, I saw him walk away with the pouch in his shirt.”

  She looked around the gathered crew, assessing their mood and saw anger, contempt, but no hint of mercy. Stoggins was, apparently, not the most popular of men.

  “This is against the charter and the charter clearly says that any man who withholds anything that should be shared by the brotherhood shall be expelled from the brotherhood. It doesn’t say how.”

  She stepped over to Stoggins, who was slumped over the rail.

  “Hold him up so they can see him,” she ordered.

  Montoya and Jim White grabbed his arms and forced him to stand.

  “Is there anyone who has anything to say in support of him?” Scarlett asked.

  No one spoke up.

  “No one?” she asked again.

  “He don’t eat much,” quipped an anonymous voice from the centre of the crowd, causing a ripple of laughter.

  Scarlett smiled at that and held up a hand.

  “Then I say we cast him ashore on one of the islands between here and Jamaica with a pistol and one load. Do you agree?”

  The men looked at each other and there were muttered exchanges before there was a general growl of agreement.

  They set sail, the slaves divided between the Fox and the prizes. On the Fox, they were huddled on the foredeck as the hold was full. They ate the same as the crew, which caused the cook to complain about having to prepare extra portions.

  A week later, a third of her men were stricken down with fever. To start with, the surgeon thought it was swamp fever as one man after another became ill with fever, headache, chills, back pain, fatigue, loss of appetite, muscle pain, nausea, and vomiting. But soon, he had to change his diagnosis to the Yellow Jack as some of the men turned yellow with jaundice. It seemed completely random to Scarlett, some men recovered after three or four days while around one in three went yellow, developed the black vomit, and died within a week.

  They lost eleven men in that fortnight, added to that, Stoggins was left on a small uninhabited island in the middle of nowhere and the Fox was down twelve men. A shouted exchange with the prizes revealed that a further four had died on them.

  Scarlett was spending an hour a day teaching Montoya English and he was learning fast as he got plenty of practice with the rest of the crew.

  “We will have to look for more men when we get to Jamaica,” she confided in him one morning as they sat together to one side of the quarterdeck.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “To replace those we lost from the fever,” she replied.

  “Why not ask them black fellers?” he suggested with a nod to the foredeck.

  “What, the slaves?”

  “Some were warriors before they were slaves. Make them free, they follow you anywhere,” he told her.

  She looked at him in surprise. The thought that the blacks were anything other than slaves hadn’t occurred to her.

  “They hate the Spanish. They want kill them,” Montoya concluded. He knew he had said enough.

  “ARCHIE!” Scarlett called as she stood up then realized Montaya could probably translate for her just as well as Archie.

  Nine of the slaves on the Fox and three from the prizes turned out to have been warriors at some time in the past. All agreed to sign on in return for their freedom. Montoya made them all swear an oath of loyalty to Scarlett on something they held sacred. Several made blood oaths, cutting their palms and smearing the blood on their foreheads, others swore by gods she had never heard of.

  For the first time, she looked at them as something other than just goods to be traded and noticed that many carried the scars of brutal whippings on their backs. She grinned to herself. These were her new shock troops.

  The rest, which were smaller men, women, and children, were kept together in irons on deck for the rest of the voyage, which took another week.

  They moored in Port Royal around the same place they had before, and Scarlett went ashore with Steven. They were escorted by Montoya and two of the new crewmembers, who she had discovered were called Berko and Emeka. She was surprised when none of the men she took on raised any objections to the remaining slaves being sold. In fact, she got the impression that the warriors were somewhat contemptuous of their former brethren.

  The same harbourmaster’s clerk approached her, and she realized she hadn’t asked his name the last time they had met.

  “Well met, Mr.?” she said as he approached with the same two soldiers tagging along behind.

  He brightened at the unexpected attempt at familiarity.

  “Jedediah Smythe, Miss Browning,” he responded with a smile.

  “Three ships this time,” Scarlett smiled at him and he got out his board and paper to note down the names as Scarlett recited them. She paid the three shillings and turned to leave. The youth, emboldened by her smiles, stepped forward to ask if she would join him for a drink that evening, only to be cut off by the two big black men that were following her.

  He looked up at the one on the left and saw he had scars cut into his cheeks that stood out and made him look fearsome. He looked to the other and he had scars on his cheeks and his forehead. They smiled, showing bright white teeth and the first one shook his head.

  Scarlett was oblivious to the scene behind her and walked into town to find Malakai Harwood to get their prizes and cargo sold. She was told by his housekeeper,

  “He’s daan the Mermaid havin’ a feed and a wet,” in her grating East-end of London accent

  “Two ships plus cargo consisting of hardwoods, spices, tobacco, sugar, and molasses and forty-eight slaves,” Scarlett informed him as they sat in the Mermaid drinking glasses of wine.

  “What became of the Merlin?” Malakai asked and noticed the hurt in her eyes as soon as he said it.

  “She was captured by the Spanish after she went into Cartagena under flag of truce to collect a ransom. The crew who survived the boarding were crucified on the city wall,” she told him.

  “Including François?”

  “No, he was put in a gibbet and hung from a scaffold.”

  “Jesus Christ! Are they still there?” Malakai gasped.

  “No, we raked the wall with grape to finish them quickly,” Steven replied quietly, “better that than what the bastard Spanish would have them suffer.”

  “This needs to be told to the Council of Captains,” Malakai told them emphatically, “there’s been talk of taking hostages lately and they need to be warned.”

  “Never heard of that,” Steven commented with a frown.

  “Sir Christopher started it a month or so ago to organise the privateers and buccaneers against the Spanish,” Malakai informed them, “there is one due this Saturday afternoon.”

  The next morning, there was a note delivered to her from Morgan,

  My dear Scarlett

  I am so pleased you are back from your latest cruise safely. I have heard that the Merlin was lost in extraordinary circumstances and on behalf of Sir Christopher, I would like to invite you to the Council of Captains, of which you are automatically a member. The next meeting is at two this Saturday afternoon at King’s House. You can bring one other with you.

  Sincerely Yours,

  Henry Morgan

  “That clashes with the slave auction,” Scarlett frowned after she read it out loud to Steven, Bill, and Daniel.

  “Well, I should go with you to the Council,” Steven stated flatly.

  “I can go to the auction,” Bill offered, albeit reluctantly as he wasn’t reall
y in favour of slavery.

  “You’d be no good there,” teased Daniel, “you would want to free them all and we’d end up paying more than we made. I’ll go to the auction.”

  “That’s settled then,” Scarlett agreed.

  Scarlett kept the golden artefacts they discovered in the church stowed in a hidden compartment in her cabin. The idea that they came from a people from the interior of the mainland was teasing at her mind.

  The auction of the cargo and the two hulls went well, and the revenue was divided as per the charter. Once they sold the slaves, they could be on their way. But first, she had to attend the Council and give the crew the chance to enjoy their hard-earned gains. Like most men in the ‘trade,’ her crew drank and whored when they were in port and most would spend every penny they took ashore if given the chance.

  As many had signed up to make enough money to be comfortable when they got home, Scarlett offered them the choice of taking their entire share or for her to hold half for them. Surprisingly, most of the crew opted to only take half with less than a third taking it all. This meant they had a strong box full of gold on the ship. She knew it wasn’t the safest place to keep it because if anything happened to the ship, they would lose everything. She decided they needed a safe haven away from Jamaica and had an idea that the cove or somewhere near it on St Lucia could be just the place.

  Steven and Scarlett walked down High Street towards King’s House. The taverns and brothels that made up about half of the establishments along the street were full of sailors spending their pay as fast as they could. Alcohol was exorbitantly expensive and the whores likewise.

  Syphilis was rife amongst the whores and more than one of her crew would show signs of the pox if they elected to ride bareback rather than use condoms, about two weeks after they left port. The surgeon would charge them for holy bark or quicksilver cures, which in Scarlett’s opinion, were a waste of time as anyone who got it eventually went mad and died whatever the surgeon did.