Scarlett

by Christopher C Tubbs

  Her ex-slaves all elected to stay on board ship and be the harbour guard as they were afraid of being taken again. Montoya was tagging along behind her and Steven, armed for war and vigilant. His reputation was enough to keep drunken men away from them. He could not, however, join them in the Council and elected to wait outside.

  The meeting was held in the great hall of King’s House, which was the local government building for Port Royal and Sir Christopher’s residence. It was as grand as its name, being as large as one of the biggest warehouses and painted white with a red shingle roof.

  The hall was obviously designed for banquets and had large windows that were open to catch the breeze, oversized chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, and paintings adorned the walls. There was a long dark wood table down the centre, around which sat the captains in comfortable high-backed chairs with Sir Christopher seated at the head of the table.

  Henry Morgan sat to his right and another flamboyantly dressed man who Scarlett didn’t know to his left. The other captains sat down each side seemingly choosing where they sat based on alliances or friendships. Scarlett chose a seat around midway down the table and pulled up a chair, Steven sat beside her.

  She wasn’t told whether weapons were allowed, but looking around, she was pleased she decided to dress in her fighting gear, which included her full complement armoury. Many of the men looked at her and were whispering comments to their neighbours. She caught one about her ruthless reputation.

  “Gentlemen, and lady, welcome,” Sir Christopher called the meeting to order, banging his knuckles on the table. “We have some new members, so to be sure we all know who’s who, why don’t we introduce ourselves. You first, Stanley,” he nodded to the man at the far end of the table on the opposite side to Scarlett.

  “Stanley Hopkins, the Swordfish,” he introduced himself.

  “Theobald Drijfout, het Amstel,” the next said with a decided Dutch accent.

  Each man in turn introduced himself until they got to Scarlett.

  “Scarlett Browning, the Fox,” she said and frowned as the man to her left quipped with a strong Scottish burr,

  “You are at that! Iain McGregor, the Ptarmigan.”

  The last two introduced themselves. There were six British, four French, and the Dutchman. Sir Christopher took back control before Scarlett could react.

  “Captain McGregor may have inadvertently hit the nail on the head as I have had it reported that certain of the Spanish are spreading the tale of “el zorro escarlata,” which I believe translates to The Scarlet Fox. They tell of a ruthless killer and slaughterer of innocents.” He smiled at Scarlett.

  “Your reputation is starting to grow but you have a cautionary tale to tell I believe, my dear Lady.”

  Scarlett resisted shooting the condescending git and told the tail of the Spanish betrayal of the flag of truce and the crucifixion of her crew. She left out no detail no matter what it cost her. She then went on to tell them,

  “I will take two lives for every one that they take or have taken from me and if they resist, I will slaughter their officers to a man. I have spared some just so they can tell others.”

  “Well spoken,” Sir Christopher applauded her, “in pursuit of my goals as military commander of the Jamaica station, I am all in favour of your methods and intentions. Further, I encourage all of you to raid any and all Spanish settlements and holdings using whatever means you deem appropriate.”

  There were murmurs around the table as that was discussed. Scarlett looked at Steven and whispered,

  “He is declaring war on the Spanish without getting the crown involved. This will seriously hurt them when it starts to bite into the flow of goods back to Spain.”

  “Those four Frenchmen and the Dutchmen aren’t privateers. They’re buccaneers from Tortuga. If he’s sanctioning them as well, the Spanish are in for a rough time!” Steven added.

  The rest of the meeting was taken up with mostly irrelevant nonsense, in Scarlett’s mind, except one point,

  “When the time is right,” Sir Christopher stated, “we will call a gathering of all privateers and buccaneers to make a concerted attack on one of the large Spanish cities. There will be booty and treasure for all.” That got a general cheer and a some banging on the table. “Captain Morgan will coordinate the gathering so please make your compatriots aware so when the call comes, we gather as many as possible.”

  The meeting broke up, and Morgan called to her, “Can you wait behind, Scarlett?” She exchanged a look with Steven and waited.

  “Thank you,” Morgan stated as he finally broke off from an extended discussion with Sir Christopher. “To be honest, its Scarlett I wanted to talk to,” he said and gave Steven a significant look.

  “Oh, if that’s the case, I will be on my way,” Steven replied with a smirk, and left the two of them alone.

  “I was just going to invite you to dinner if you would join me,” he said and looked at the weaponry she carried “You will be quite safe, I’m sure your guard dog is waiting outside,” Morgan told her as he led her towards the door.

  Montoya was indeed waiting ‘just outside the door’ and gave Morgan a look that, without changing his expression at all, spoke volumes.

  “That man has a way that would make a saint mind his manners,” Morgan winced as they walked arm in arm towards one of the better establishments in town.

  Scarlett gave a very rare, girlie giggle,

  “Oh, never mind him, you don’t have any bad intentions, do you?”

  He smiled.

  “Well, only a couple.”

  Scarlett sobered and took her arm from his.

  “Any men I care about have a tendency to come to bad ends.”

  He turned to face her.

  “That is not your fault, and I believe it’s my decision whether I take the risk of a bad end or not.”

  Chapter 12: Hidden Treasure

  They sailed to St Lucia and approached the bay. Scarlett had the crew melt down the native artefacts into small ingots of about a pound weight each and these, along with their excess coin, were stowed in a mahogany chest bound with iron and secured with a pair of the strongest padlocks they could find.

  Montoya was a lot calmer now that the artefacts had been melted. He muttered something about the spirit having been driven away or some such nonsense. Scarlett didn’t understand what his problem was but was happy he was settled now.

  They anchored and the boats were loaded with casks as if they were just watering. One of the casks was much heavier than the others and the men handled it very carefully.

  Scarlett, Montoya, Steven, Jim, Daniel, and Bill were already on shore and were wandering through the forest looking for the ideal place to hide their treasure.

  “Once we find a place, how will we find it again?” Bill asked as they came upon a clearing.

  Scarlett stopped them and replied,

  “Daniel will make a map using immovable landmarks and instructions only we will understand. We will make two copies and each copy will be cut in half. Each one of us will take a half and keep it hidden and safe. That way, if any of us are killed or captured, the location will not be lost or given away.”

  “What if…” Bill started to ask.

  “Bill, shut up,” Steven laughed and slapped him on the back, “your ‘what if’s’ will drive us mad and we have work to do.”

  They walked about a mile inland and came to a steep valley with a stream running down it. Above it on the ridgeline was an odd shaped rock formation that resembled a wolf or dog’s head if viewed from a particular direction. If you stood in that exact spot and turned due West, you could see a fissure in the rock face of a cliff that looked like a lightning bolt. If you followed the point of that, it led you to a small cave.

  They noted the spot, retrieved the chest from the beach, put the chest inside, and sealed the cave with a large rock from the stream bed.

  They just finished when they realized Kefash sat on a log watching them. Sca
rlett faced him, made the gesture of greeting, and asked Steven to translate,

  “Greetings man of my mother,” she said formally.

  “Hello, daughter of my woman,” he replied with a smile, “why are you hiding a box in a hole in the rock?”

  Scarlett explained that it contained things that she and her crew found precious, wanted to keep safe, and that they would return and add to it later.

  Kefash nodded.

  “I understand. We will watch and if any white men come and try to take it, we will kill them.”

  “If they are my men, they will tell you they come from the Scarlett Fox.”

  Kefash thought that was good. They didn’t have foxes on the islands, so he didn’t understand the reference but la renard écarlate was a good password.

  “You will follow me to my village,” he told them in a tone that didn’t invite refusal.

  They had to work to keep up with him even though he looked like he wasn’t rushing. He glided through the trees, never tripped on a root, and just seemed to slip between hanging vines and branches. By the time they came out of the forest on to the grassland where the village was, Scarlett had twigs in her hair and was puffing like a sixty-year-old.

  They had obviously been seen approaching as Unkata was stood waiting for them and stepped forward to embrace Scarlett. She said something sharp to Kefash, and he grinned at her as he replied.

  “My woman thinks I made you walk too fast. Come, I want you to meet someone.”

  He led them into the village and towards a hut set slightly away from the others. A very small old man sat on a stool braiding some chord and Kafish indicated to Scarlett that she should step forward.

  “You’re European!” she exclaimed as he looked up at her.

  “And you must be the one Kefash calls Scarlett,” he replied in stuttering English. “He didn’t exaggerate the colour of your hair. Please excuse my English. I haven’t had occasion to use it for many years.”

  She looked at him carefully and realized he was a dwarf. His head, arms, and shoulders were adult-sized, but he had a short torso, domed chest, and very short legs. His skin was tanned to the colour of old leather and was just as wrinkled.

  “It’s why I am still alive and not decorating Kefash’s totem,” he grinned as he watched her scan him from head to toe. “They hadn’t seen a midget before. My name’s Absalom, by the way.”

  Scarlett sat on a stool opposite him and asked,

  “How did you get here?”

  “Aah, now that’s a story all on its own,”

  Absalom took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he recalled his adventure. His English becoming smoother as he talked.

  “I was a ships’ boy on Christopher Newport’s Sea Venture. She was owned by the Virginia Company and was sailing supplies to Jamestown. It was rumoured that he took me on as I was the result of an affair he had with a whore down in Portsmouth. Anyway, be that as it may, I was on the ship, which was at the head of a convoy of nine ships when they got caught in a hurricane off of Bermuda.

  She were a new ship and I reckon she were built on the cheap cus as soon as we got into the blow all her caulkin’ started to work loose and we was takin’ on water at a fearful rate.

  Now, one of the passengers was Admiral Sir George Somers, a real Navy man, and he took over the helm and command of the ship as all the others were at a loss as to what to do. He told us all to hang on to something as to save the ship he were goin’ to run her up on the reef!

  He saved the lives of around one hundred and fifty colonists and crew, and the ship’s dog. I were right fond of her.” He paused to take a drink from a wooden beaker he had beside him.

  “Anyhow,” he continued, “most got ashore. We only lost ‘alf a dozen who were washed off the rocks by the waves.

  After the storm died down, they salvaged the cargo and most of the ship itself, as she were well stuck on the rocks, and started building two smaller ships. There were plenty of good straight cedar on the island to replace what we couldn’t get from old Sea Venture and it were on one of the logging trips we came upon a load of Indians who had come to the island from Cuba.

  They had those big canoes that hold about thirty men and they were curious about what the white men were up to. They were fearsome fellers all painted up and ready for war,” he broke off as the memory took him, “and old Somers, he offered them trade goods to leave us alone, but they weren’t that interested in beads and the like. Then they saw me, I was about ten years old then and could just about carry a bucket without fallin’ over.

  Anyhow, they was fascinated by me and demanded me in exchange for leaving the others alone, so I got taken. I reckon Somers thought it was a good deal as I weren’t much use for anything.”

  “You have lived with them ever since?”

  “Yes, first with the Taino and then I was traded to the Caribs or Kalinago as you know them.”

  Kefash said something to Absalom, which caused a look of surprise.

  “He said he wants me to go with you and teach you the language of the people.”

  Kefash spoke again,

  “You are on a spirit quest?”

  Scarlett nodded.

  “He wants me to advise you and guide you. I think he means in dealing with the other tribes.”

  “You will be welcome on my ship,” Scarlett told him and wondered why Kefash hadn’t had him teach him English. She turned to Kefash.

  “Thank you for the gift of this man. I will protect him and treasure him.”

  They were treated to a meal and Scarlett didn’t ask what the meat was but suspected it was iguana. The fruit and vegetables that came with it were delicious and she enjoyed the company of her adoptive mother and children.

  After they ate, Absalom got up, went into his hut and after a few minutes, returned with his belongings wrapped in a cloth slung over his shoulder. It was time to get back to the ship.

  Chapter 13: Where’s yer Buccaneers?

  They took the opportunity to careen and clean the bottom of the Fox as they had been at sea for a long time now and she was noticeably slower. The beach had just the right slope for them to do it easily and trees, which they could use as anchors, to turn the ship from side to side. While that was being done, they had a meeting and agreed that a trip to Tortuga would be a good next step. They’d met a couple of Buccaneer captains at the Captains’ conference but knew nothing about their main base of operations and it could be an alternative market for their prizes.

  The men heard all sorts of stories about the fun and debauchery that could be had in Tortuga in the bars in Jamaica. The tales, probably highly exaggerated, painted a picture of unrestricted pleasure where nothing was banned or controlled, and some men were keen to try it, which focused them on cleaning the hull as quickly as possible.

  Scarlett’s view was it was probably a drunken, pox ridden hell hole, and she would make sure she had at least three if not more bodyguards with her if she went ashore.

  The Island of Tortuga was positioned just off the Northeast corner of Espanola, so it would be a hard slog against the prevailing winds to get to it directly by passing between Cuba and Espanola from the South. The alternative was to sail to the North of Espanola following the current.

  The danger was they would run into a Spanish warship but, no risk no reward, thought Scarlett as they pulled out of the bay. They would only take on what they thought they could beat and now they had a clean hull with a fresh coating of tar they could probably outrun most ships.

  The men were happy from their time ashore and were generally content with having Scarlett as their captain. They were also aware that the ex-smugglers and freed slaves were all fiercely loyal to her and then there was Montoya. No one wanted to take on Montoya, his reputation as a fighter and the rumours that he took his victims ears as trophies were enough on their own to protect her position.

  Montoya generally kept himself to himself. Not because he didn’t like his fellow crew members, but becaus
e he just didn’t understand them. Along with the black fellows, he learned English well enough to converse, but the rest of the crew were only interested in talking about women, drink, and gold. None of which interested him that much.

  Money wasn’t important to a Carib unless it was used to help feed the tribe and like food, you didn’t need any more than you could use. He tried alcohol, but he didn’t like what it did to either his mind or his body. He preferred to smoke the weed his people grew and the white men called tobacco. If he wanted a woman, he would find a willing Carib woman or take one in a raid. He certainly wouldn’t pay for one.

  Scarlett was different. She was strong and a skilled warrior, like the spirit women of his tribe who would fight alongside the men. They didn’t take ears for prizes, but many had pouches made from the scrotums of their defeated enemies. She was also daughter of the mother of the tribe of Kefash, who he met on the island, and now they also had his totem, who Scarlett called Absalom, with them.

  All in all, he was content except for one thing; there was a man on the ship called Alrick Trevallyan. He came from a tribe called the Cornish and spoke a strange dialect of English. He didn’t like having a woman on the ship let alone in charge of it. He heard him speak of Scarlett and call her a “pyskadores,” which he didn’t understand, and when he asked Steven, he didn’t know either.

  He waited until Trevallyan was on night watch when the night was particularly dark with no moon and slipped up behind where he stood in the bow. Trevallyan was blissfully unaware that he was being watched and hummed a jolly shanty as he looked out into the night.

  Montoya drew his knife and stepped behind him. He made no noise so Trevallyan was surprised when an arm came around his neck and a blade laid against his Adam’s apple.

  “Tell me why you not like Scarlett,” a soft voice said in his ear.

  “A woman has no place on a ship. It’s bad luck,” he replied and tried hard not to swallow.

  “When did she bring bad luck?” the voice asked again.