“I could treat you as a stowaway and have you thrown overboard; you deserve that for the mess you were making of lacing that tackle.”
Ernest stood, head down, tears pouring down his cheeks.
“Walk behind me, between those two, while I think what to do with you,” she ordered. He was picked up by a grinning Montoya and Berko and put into place.
“You have a sharp eye,” Steven noted as they resumed their walk after he detailed another crewman to redo the tackle. He noticed that the surrounding men were grinning having seen what happened and were making sure they did their jobs correctly.
“Hmm? Yes,” Scarlett answered distracted, she saw the culverin. The new gun port was cut through to the right of the bowsprit and the big gun was in place. But to make it fit, they’d removed the forward most demi-culverin.
“We couldn’t fire and reload it with the foremost gun fitted,” Steven explained. “We stowed that as far aft on the other side as we could get it to counter the extra weight on the bow. It would be better balanced if we had one on either side.”
Scarlett could see the sense in that and the loss of the front two demi-culverin didn’t really signify.
“You!” she barked at Ernest, who almost jumped out of his skin, “do you know where the armourer’s yard is?”
“Yes, ma’am, on Tower Street!”
“Get down there and tell Caldwell, the man who owns it, that Miss Scarlett wants another five and a half-inch culverin and to get it down here before the tide turns.”
Ernest took off like a hare with hounds on its tail.
“Do you think he will come back?” Steven mused to no one in particular. Scarlett just cast him a look and called for Frank van der Molen the carpenter.
Ernest ran like the devil was on his heels. Montoya and the black man scared the living shit out of him and there was no way he wanted Scarlett sending either of them after him. He dodged pedestrians and jumped a pig that wandered across his path down Fishers row then down an alley between a ship chandler and a whore house into Tower Street.
He was an orphan who never knew his father and whose mother was a tuppenny whore before she died at the hands of a drunken sailor. He was seven at the time and survived because the other whores took him in and fed him until he was big enough to feed himself.
He first saw Scarlett eating with Captain Morgan in the restaurant where he made a ha’penny a day washing dishes and thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Then he heard about her exploits and thought it all sounded very exciting.
He got his chance when cartloads of stores were being moved back on the ship after it had its bottom fixed. He managed to sneak aboard by just picking up a crate and carrying it on. He then mingled with the crew who thought he was one of the new signings. He saw how they were threading the tackles on the guns, and when he was told to put one together, he just had a go.
He arrived at the Armourer’s yard and ran straight in through the gates. He squawked in surprise when he found himself swept up by a huge pair of arms as Caldwell intercepted, what he thought was, just another youngster trying to nick some brass.
“Gotcha ya, little bugger. You’ll get no brass today from my yard!”
“Oy, ain’t no thief!” Ernest squawked, “I’ve come from Miss Scarlett!”
Caldwell put him down but held on to his arm with one massive hand.
“Oh yeah? So, what do Miss Scarlett want?” he asked, expecting a pack of lies.
“She says she wants another five and an ‘alf-inch gun thing and you’s to get it down t’ her ship before the tide changes.”
Caldwell let him go as there was no way an urchin would know to ask for that.
“Well, you just run back down there and tell her that I only have one left and I will bring it to her within the hour.” He then clipped Ernest around the ear for good measure to send him on his way.
Ernest ran, his ear burning. A couple of local dogs seeing this as a chance to have some fun raced along beside him and he was cheered along by the whores leaning out of their windows. He waved in greeting but kept going. He didn’t want to disappoint Scarlett.
He shot up the gangplank and spotted her talking to a man wearing a leather apron. He skidded to a stop at her side and waited for her to notice him.
Scarlett saw him coming down the dock and laughed at the sight of the youngster haring along with two dogs barking and jumping at his side. They stopped at the bottom of the gangplank, knowing they would get a kick if they tried to climb it and watched him disappear aboard.
She let him get his breath before looking around and treating him to the full force of her smile. He just looked at her with his mouth open.
“Well? What did Master Caldwell say?”
“Oh, yes,” he stammered as he realized she was waiting for him to speak, “he will have the culve… whatsit, thing, here within the hour.”
“Excellent,” she exclaimed happily. “Frank, this is the boy I told you about.”
Frank looked at Ernest then stepped up and felt his biceps, looked at his hands, and asked him to show him his teeth.
“I will give him a go,” he concluded in his Dutch accent.
“Ernest, Frank is going to take you as an apprentice carpenter, teach you how to work with wood to make and repair ships.”
Ernest was surprised. That was the last thing he expected but if it meant he could stay on the ship, then he would also ‘give it a go.’
Ernest was told that being an apprentice means that you are, in fact, a ‘gofer.’ He didn’t get the joke when one of the carpenter’s mates called him it the first time but after a day or so of running here, there, and everywhere for nails, a piece of wood from the store, tools, and all manner of things, he finally realized it meant ‘go for’.
Their first job was to cut a new gun port in the foredeck the other side of the bowsprit to the existing one. The gun was delivered as promised and was now being offered up to see exactly where the ring bolts would need to be fitted and what reinforcement would need to be added to the deck to take the strain.
He had never seen a gun fired and listened intently when the men argued over what had to be done and how. Apparently, they were going to have to beef up the bow so it could cope with the extra strain. He was fascinated by how a timber was shaped with an adze and learned the hard way that they were very sharp. From then on, he treated every tool with a great deal of respect.
Scarlett was pleased with the changes and dealt good-naturedly with some of the teasing comments from the other captains that wandered by to see what ‘that woman were doin’ to her ship.’
The harbour was filling up as the buccaneers and privateers answered Sir Christopher’s call and it was soon apparent that the Fox was one of the biggest and newest of the lot.
The only bigger ships were Sir Christopher’s Flagship HMS Centurion; a forty-gun monster with twenty, five-and-a-half-inch Culverin Extraordinary on the lower deck firing twenty-pound shot, and twenty Culverin Ordinary on the upper deck throwing seventeen-pound shot. She had three hundred men on board, including soldiers. The vice admiral’s ship, the Griffin, was slightly bigger than the Fox and built in the English style.
A recruitment drive grew the crew to two hundred and fifty, of which Scarlett ensured forty could double up as bowmen. Most of them were Welsh and left Britain because their skill was superseded by the musket, which anybody could point and shoot. The bows they brought were enormous, some had a pull of over a hundred pounds, and the arrows had heavy steel heads that came in a variety of styles for punching through armour or ripping through flesh.
The men’s right arms were overdeveloped for drawing these monsters having been trained since they could walk to do it. They also had broad slightly lopsided shoulders, but this strength made them ideal for hauling up sails as well.
They lost a few more to fever but the surgeon’s policy of keeping the infected on-deck in the fresh air seemed to help and the death rate of those infected stayed at around on
e in five. The survivors were given the chance to get back to full health but if weren’t able fast enough, they were put ashore with their share and a promise that they could re-join the ship later.
What Scarlett hated most about being in port were the mosquitoes. They were everywhere and to get some sleep, she had a tent of lace netting made and slung over her cot at the suggestion of a dressmaker in the town. It made her bed warmer but at least it kept the little bastards out at night.
Finally, the ships were assembled, a hundred of the fourteen hundred buccaneers were shipped aboard the Fox, and they followed the Centurion out of port. This private army would be a plague of biblical proportions when it descended on the unfortunate Spanish.
Campeche was on the West side of the Yucatan Peninsula, and their route took them around the North of Jamaica where they were joined by another seven ships. The four French and three Dutch brought them up to twenty-one in total. The fleet headed West by Northwest with the current aiming to pass through the Caiman Islands with Caiman Grande on their Larboard side.
As they slipped through the islands, pods of dolphins wove between the ships catching a ride on the bow waves. The men laughed as they watched them, telling each other they were a sign of good luck.
As they continued into open water, they saw whales broaching, sending their sparkling plumes into the air with a loud whoosh. Scarlett was entranced, she had never seen this before.
“Fin whales,” Daniel stated confidently from behind her, making her jump.
“How can you tell?” Scarlett asked.
“See that plume? It’s a single spout and see how big the bodies are?” he pointed to a great grey body as it rolled forward, a huge tail appearing then sliding below the waves as the whale sounded.
“He’s huge and mean with it. Whalers won’t take it on cus if they do, that tail can smash your boat and they be so big that they can drag you under if you harpoon them. No, he’s a fin alright.”
“So, where do they get the oil and whalebone from?” Scarlett puzzled.
“There be a whale they call the Right whale because it’s the perfect whale to catch for oil. They are big as well, but not as big as those old Fins over there,” he thought for a moment or two as he remembered hunting the beasts. “When I was younger, I sailed on a whaler. Captain was a Basque, knew his business and we made good money. Bloody dangerous work but you can make a fortune doing it.”
Scarlett had him tell her how they hunted them.
“Well, once you spot the whale, you launch the whale boats. They carried four oars, a steersman, and the harpooneer. They would get in close to the beasts on the surface and the harpooneer would try and embed his wicked, sharp, and barbed weapon in its back. The harpoons had a hundred yard of line on and when the whale were stuck, it would dive and try to go deep. The rope would be let run out but slower than the whale wanted to,”
“What like you would hold in an unbroken horse?”
“Yes like that. What they tried to do was wear the poor beast out so it had to come to the surface. Once it came up, they would try and finish it off before it dived again.”
He went on to describe how it was flensed (cut up) and boiled down to extract the oil, and Scarlett decided she would rather take the finished product than go harvest it herself.
They continued on the same heading. Cuba on their starboard side until they drew level with the Cabo de Cotoche and swung around to the West. Suddenly, there was a cry from a lookout,
“Devil fish!”
“What the hell?” Scarlett exclaimed and went to the side. She couldn’t see anything,
“Where away?” she cried.
“Square of the larboard bow! About a quarter mile distant!”
Scarlett climbed on a cannon and wrapped her arm through the ratlines to steady herself, then put a telescope to her eye.
“Jesus and Mary!” she exclaimed as she suddenly saw a bat-like black and white shape with devils horns curved around its face, leap from the water, flapping its wings before belly flopping back with an almighty splash. She noticed that there was a dark patch in the water near where it was and suddenly from the middle of it, four more launched into the air.
“Why are they doing that?” she exclaimed, half in delight, half in wonder. Steven climbed up on the next gun, and men were climbing up the rigging to get a better look.
“Something could be chasing them, I suppose,” he offered.
“Oh! My lord!” Scarlett exclaimed and laughed delightedly as the sea erupted in leaping fish. Some even flipped over onto their backs before splashing back into the sea, sending scintillating sprays of water into the air.
They sailed on, turning South as they passed the point that evening. The flagship reduced sail to the point they were making just a couple of knots to maintain steerage. Sir Christopher wanted to hit the town at dawn and drop off a thousand of their men just short of the city for a surprise attack.
“Red light from the flagship!” called the forward lookout.
“Heave to! Back the foresail!” Steven ordered. “Landing party to the boats!”
About half of the hundred extra Buccaneers they were carrying would be ferried across.
“Avast there!” she called as they began pushing and shoving to get into the boats. “Stand orderly or it will take all bloody night!”
They ferried the men across over three hours and it was with a sense of relief that the last of the boats returned and they could make way again.
“Is it always like this?” Scarlett asked Jim, who was at the wheel.
“What, tense an’ nervous-like?” he replied with a gentle smile.
“Yes, my stomach is in knots and all the butterflies in the word are flying around in it,” she grimaced. “I don’t get this when we take on another ship.”
“It’s just the unknown. You don’t know what t’expect, so you get nervous,” Jim tried to reassure her.
Scarlett wasn’t convinced and fought the urge to run to the head in her cabin, whether to throw up or try and ease the gurgling in her bowels, she wasn’t sure.
It seemed like an age until they sailed up to the port. The first thing Scarlett looked for were the fortifications that defended the town from attack from the sea. One, Fort San Miguel, on the southern end was a at least two hundred feet across with cannon on the high stone walls.
They could hear shooting and it was obvious the surprise attack had not been successful, and they were facing fierce resistance. It was 08:00 and it was time for the rest of the raiders to hit the shore. The men swarmed into the boats with Scarlett in her usual place in the bow of the lead boat.
The cox’s cried the stroke, and the boats skimmed across the glassy water towards the shore. A puff of smoke followed the sound of a cannon firing from Fort San Miguel and a ball splashed down near the Griffin. Both the Centurion and the Griffin set springs on their anchors, and the ships swung to bring their batteries in line.
Thirty-eight cannon replied and Scarlett could see the balls hit the walls of the fort. She expected the wall to light up in reply, but almost at the shore, she realized no more cannon had been fired. There was, however, plenty of shooting coming from the town.
She led her men into the streets. The houses were built close to each other and the way was narrow. The shadows were deep and dark as the sun hadn’t risen above the rooves yet.
Scarlett yelped and ducked for cover as a ball gauged a hole in the stucco wall by her head, spraying her with chips. She looked around for the shooter but could see no one. Montoya tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the roof of a house further down the street.
She couldn’t see anyone to start with then a movement caught her eye. It was a hand ramming a rod down a barrel that stuck up over the low wall that surrounded a roof. The hand stopped, and a barrel rose over the wall followed by a head.
The shooter was looking for a target and Scarlett provided one. She ran from cover across the street closely followed by Montoya. The gun fired
, and she felt the bullet pass between her and the Carib. She immediately turned and ran down the street towards the house where the man was hiding.
They nearly got caught out, as there was a second man on a roof further down and Montoya was almost hit, the bullet just skinning his shoulder.
They dove into the alley between the houses and Scarlett regretted it as soon as they entered. It stank of shit and garbage and what was lying on the floor defied description.
Breathing through her mouth and trying not to gag, she worked her way down the alley to see if there was a way up to the roof. There was a rough wooden ladder lying in the alley, covered in the slime and shit that covered the floor. Scarlett looked around but couldn’t see any other means to gain the roof, so she went to pick it up.
Montoya saw her move towards the ladder with a look of disgust, stepped forward, and picked it up before she got to it. He propped it against the wall. It was just long enough if they propped it almost vertically. Scarlett looked at the dripping slime on the rungs and braced herself, took hold of a rung with her left hand, held a pistol in her right, and started to climb. The rungs were slippery and the whole think rickety, but she was able to slowly make her way up if she kept her body close to the ladder. If she leaned back at all, it threatened to topple.
She approached the top and peaked over the edge. The gunman was just finishing reloading. She waited until he took aim at something down the street then stepped up one more rung so her shoulders were above the wall, aimed, and fired.
She knew she hit him even as the ladder started to fall backwards, toppled by the recoil of the pistol. She shrieked as she felt herself falling, gripping the ladder even though she knew it was pointless.
Scarlett walked back to her men; Montoya followed with a completely straight face. Her back was covered in the slimy, disgusting filth from the alley floor, and her hair was matted with the – stuff.
Steven came out from behind the building they were using as cover and stepped up to her, saw the look on her face, sniffed, and stepped back, his eyes watering. He opened his mouth to ask what happened, but Scarlett just held up a hand as she walked past, heading for the beach.
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