He looked as though someone had jabbed him right in the gut. I shrugged a little. “I spent the journey from England with the master's mate,” I offered as an explanation. I couldn't tell him truthfully about all the time my father had dedicated to teaching me how to read charts, take depth soundings, and the like with so many of the crew near enough to overhear. Perhaps I would have an opportunity to explain further at a later time. MacIsaac nodded slowly, his eyes on the chart and my face in turns.
“Shall I make a note of the changes, captain?” I asked.
He handed me a quill and pushed the ink pot closer to me. “Please do, Mr. Jones.”
Soon, I was seated at the captain's desk, studying all the charts he had and making changes where I could, while he chatted with the new crew members, helped them read and sign the articles, and issued orders to proceed with the careening and repairs to his ship. The sounds around me faded into a soft buzzing as I concentrated on the charts, using the dividers and latitude scales to measure distances, annotating where I made changes in case anyone wanted to compare the differences.
The line of sailors waiting to sign the articles eventually dried up and Ben came back for me. He took one look at the charts and shook his head. “Maybe you should be the master and I be only the mate,” he said, his tone petulant and grumbly. “How you learn this?”
“Her Majesty's Navy,” I explained, happy that it was the truth as well as being part of my cover story.
Ben made a thoughtful noise and showed me how to roll up the charts so they wouldn't be damaged and where to repack the navigation tools. Once we were finished, we went to take our turns with the scrapers and the buckets of pitch. It was hard work, and when we finished just before sunset, my muscles felt liquid. I was too tired to even eat supper and wanted nothing more than to lie down in my cot. I was asleep before my head even hit the pillow.
The next day was more of the same, though in the afternoon, I was afforded the opportunity to scamper up and down the ropes, bringing supplies to the men working on repairs to the decks and the gunwales. I ferried mallets, nails, boards, augers, and buckets of pitch back and forth between one side of the ship to the other. My movements across the ship were accompanied by cries of “Look at the monkey!” as I climbed higher and higher and leapt fearlessly between ropes. A peek down at the beach showed Ben and Captain MacIsaac's faces contorted with worry. They winced whenever I swung hand-over-hand along the yards.
I felt alive for the first time since the Resolution sunk. I was free and had discovered that climbing the ropes was something that I loved and that brought me joy. No one had any hold over me, no one was demanding anything from me that I wasn't willing to do. The sun was bright and felt good on my skin. The water was warm and a perfect blue for as far as the eye could see. And in just three months' time, I would be home in England once more.
XIV
On board the Jezebel, Caribbean Sea
March, 1716
The careening and repairs took less than a week to complete. MacIsaac ordered further modifications, namely fourteen gunports cut out of the sides of the weather deck, plus four more fore and aft, as well as modifications to the main deck so it would bear the weight of the new cannon. Those modifications took three days. Once they were complete, we sent the ship down the beach and back into the water. The process of loading all the things scattered over the beach took another day. When the ship was restocked with her guns—twenty-two brand-new, twelve-pound cannon, plus the swivel guns she'd had before back in their places on the quarterdeck and fo'c's'le—and everything else that had been spread all over the beach, and cabins and sleeping places assigned, we went roving, headed south towards Cuba. We weren't hunting any particular ship. We were just trying our luck by following the shipping lanes and hoping to take a fat prize. It seemed a particularly inefficient way to go about things, but I wasn't a captain. I was sure Captain MacIsaac knew what he was doing.
Still, it seemed that there were better ways of finding a vulnerable ship, and when I wasn't busy learning how to sail or writing in the log books or making small addenda to the charts, I gave the matter some serious thought. I felt I had landed on a workable solution, based on discussions I'd overheard between my father and his junior officers. I just had to find the perfect time to broach the subject with the captain.
A week later, we stopped for re-provisioning just off the coast of Spanish Town, Jamaica. We anchored behind a large rock formation, and MacIsaac, Ben, and a few other crew members, and I rowed ashore in on of the Jezebel's jolly-boats. We passed the town of Port Royal, which in its prime had been even more debauched and chaotic than Nassau. “Awful earthquake here, some twenty-five years ago,” Ben explained as we leaned against the gunwales on the quarterdeck, and the Jezebel sailed past the town. “Swallowed down the whole place. God's punishment for the townsfolk's wickedness.”
I looked at him sidelong and he winked at me. “Or so I be told by men with more learning than me.”
“And now Nassau is the capital of the pirate nation,” I said. “Captains Hornigold and Jennings hope to recreate the atmosphere of Port Royal in Nassau.”
Ben nodded with approval. “You be paying attention when you be in the tavern.”
“Yes, well. There was little else to do, really. Graves was not known for his conversation.”
Ben chuckled and slapped me companionably on the back. “Graves was a top earner, second only to Charles Vane. MacIsaac be up to it, though.”
“I certainly hope so,” I commented. “Otherwise he'll be marooned, right?”
“Only after a vote. If MacIsaac be out, Hamilton take over and no one be wanting that.” I chuckled at the thought of the strange little quartermaster, a man whose lack of education never got in the way of his vocabulary—or as he might say, vocabularizing—even if most of the words he spoke were made up.
We went ashore and stayed the night in the taverns and brothels of Spanish Town and despite the crew's insistence that I bed one of the whores, I managed to distract them with tales of a fictional girl waiting for me in America, one who expected me to stay truthful until I could amass enough money to return to her and marry her properly. They left off after that, and I at last found a place by the fire in the common room and buried my nose in the third volume of Arabian Tales.
The noise died down to a dull murmur sometime after midnight as the tavern cleared out. The sailors paired up with female companions for the night and left the room to pursue even more base and debauched activities. I was surprised when Captain MacIsaac joined me at my table. “Captain,” I said with a tiny smile as he sat down next to me. “Are all the girls taken for the evening?”
He looked around and chuckled ruefully. “I wouldn't swive a lass from a place like this for all the King's jewels. The French disease runs amok through those rooms,” he said, pointing up toward the ceiling. He tapped my book's cover with his blunt-nailed finger and said, “Which is your favorite?”
“Oh, I've enjoyed most of them, though I think my favorite stories are from Sinbad's journeys.” I smiled shyly. “His second voyage is the best.”
The captain's eyes narrowed a bit. “Is that the one with the giant birds and the valley of diamonds?”
“Yes, that's the one. I would love to see one of those birds.”
“I would love to see some of those diamonds,” MacIsaac said with a smirk.
I laughed and was rewarded with a full-blown smile from the captain. “How many volumes of this story are there?” I asked. “Scheherazade recounts Sinbad's second voyage during her five hundred-fiftieth night of tales, so there must be many more.”
MacIsaac pursed his lips in thought. “I believe there are ten in total. I'm sure you'll be able to find them in London, when you return.”
We spent the next few hours, discussing books and the up-coming journey. I felt awkward with the captain at first. He was learned and mannered and I wondered about his upbringing. Why would someone so obviously brought up in a decent
home, someone who had probably attended University, leave a life of ease to become a pirate? Perhaps he had been press-ganged by the British and then his ship was taken by pirates at sea. It would explain much. Having come to a decent explanation for the conundrum of Captain MacIsaac, I soon relaxed and felt comfortable enough to bring up the question of how our prizes were selected.
“Do you mean to just sail about aimlessly and hope that we come upon a merchantman that we can take?” I asked.
“Yes. That is exactly what we do.”
“And how often are you successful?”
MacIsaac shrugged, seemingly defensive in the face of my questions. “It's hit or miss,” he admitted, then added after a moment, “Mostly miss, to be frank.”
I frowned. “Wouldn't it make sense to only pursue ships that you know are there? Ships that perhaps are weaker and carry cargo of value?”
“Certainly, but how would we know that ahead of time?”
I looked around the tavern, my eyes moving over the tables and the few remaining patrons, who were well into their cups, oblivious to our conversation. I turned back to the captain with a smile; now was the time to tell him of my plans. “There are places like this tavern all over the Caribbean, yes?” MacIsaac nodded and I continued. “Men talk—a lot—when they are drunk. They talk even when they aren't drunk, especially to women. What if you had someone, a spy perhaps, in all taverns and brothels across the Caribbean? A spy who listened to the men talk, and could tell us if she'd heard tell of ships that fit the bill? You could meet with these spies periodically and then go after prizes of which you are certain.”
MacIsaac stared at me, his eyes wide with shock. “Spies,” he said quietly and a slow smile dawned across his full lips. “Why, that is a capital plan!” He seized my by the shoulders and pressed a kiss against my cheek.
Arrows of fire and ice pierced me straight through. I was frozen by the contact of his mouth on my skin, and yet I was consumed by a conflagration that burned me from toe to crown. His lips were warm and soft—nothing at all like Graves's—and it was all I could do to resist the urge to grab his hand and press my face against his to return his kiss, to slide my tongue across his bottom lip and suck it into my mouth. He quickly let me go, unaware of the visceral reaction I'd had to his touch. He stood quickly, leaving me stock-still and stunned in my chair as he went to find the Jezebel's quartermaster.
By mid-afternoon of the following day, we were all back aboard the ship and MacIsaac called a meeting of all hands. Once we were all assembled, Hamilton asked for quiet and gave the floor over to the captain. “For years,” MacIsaac said, standing on the main deck, just below the skids, “we have simply prowled the shipping lanes, hoping for a fat prize to just appear on the horizon. Our hunting hasn't always been successful, but despite that, under Graves's command, the Jezebel was one of the most successful crews in Nassau.” The few remaining crew members who had been on board when Graves was captain erupted into cheers and MacIsaac smiled, letting it go on until he raised his hands and called for silence again.
“But this is a new crew and I am a new captain, and I aim to do things a new way.” He looked up to where I was standing on the fo'c's'le and pointed me out. “Thanks to a suggestion by the master's mate, Mr. Jones, I aim to implement a system of informants throughout the islands, informants whose sole duty it is to eavesdrop in taverns, marketplaces, and whorehouses. They will listen to the merchants and find us the easiest, fattest, most vulnerable prizes. No more roving only to come up empty. No more taking on stronger ships only to lose brothers needlessly. Our prizes will be guaranteed, boys!”
There was a mixed reaction. Some of the crew erupted into spontaneous cheers, having seized upon the thrust of MacIsaac's plan, or perhaps his description of guaranteed riches. However, the vast majority of the men around me gave me astonished looks and murmured amongst themselves, no doubt discussing the captain's plan, or perhaps the source of the plan.
MacIsaac nodded to Hamilton, who stepped up to take the captain's spot on the deck. He raised his hands and the crew settled into silence once more. “What the captain is propositioning is interesting, that's for certain. But before we take a vote, are there any dissenterive opinions?”
I hid my laughter behind my hand and glanced around the men. No one raised a hand to speak out against MacIsaac's plan, so Hamilton nodded and said, “All those favoring?” A chorus of cheers went up and I was heartened to see that it seemed to be unanimous.
“Any obstructivisers?” Silence reigned and I held my breath. “The ayes have it,” Hamilton announced after a few beats. Ben thumped me soundly on the back and the men standing next to me patted my shoulders and congratulated me. The captain caught my eye and dipped his head in a nod. I was certain that my smile was visible from England.
XV
On board the Jezebel, Caribbean Sea
June, 1716
Rather than spending the next three months chasing ships that might or might not yield a large cache of goods or coins, we sailed around the Caribbean, stopping in ports like Havana, Spanish Town, Cap-Français, and San Juan, as well as most of the Leeward and Windward Isles and parts of the Spanish Main. In each city, MacIsaac secured the services of a handful of spies, mostly whores and thieves who feared Graves's lingering reputation. I suspected that the coins the Captain used to bribe them carried more weight than the specter of Gideon Graves.
We returned to Spanish Town, where I'd originally pitched the idea to MacIsaac, after stopping in most of the major towns in the Caribbean. Since we weren't staying long in port, only the captain and quartermaster went ashore to speak to their spies. I spent several hours worrying about how the crew would react if my plan didn't work out. The men were getting restive; they'd spent months at sea, with little to show but a single prize that hadn't amounted to much. If my plan didn't yield any good leads, I was frightened that the crew would turn on me out of sheer boredom and frustration.
I needn't have worried, as it was. Just a few hours after they went ashore, the captain and quartermaster returned triumphantly. My plan had worked. A whore in one of Spanish Town's brothels overheard a conversation about an English trader whose fluyt was loaded with sugar and rice. It would be leaving from Havana, in just a week's time, headed to Charleston in America.
It took us six days to make the journey from Jamaica to the Bahamas, where we anchored just off North Bimini Island in the Florida Straits, to lie in wait. MacIsaac had been assured by his spy that there was no escort, and since it was a fluyt—a type of ship that wasn't known for carrying heavy guns—the merchantman's captain would probably give up without a fight once MacIsaac raised the black.
The waiting was the worst part. I, of course, had no experience with boarding a ship by force. The only stories I'd ever heard were from MacIsaac and Ben about the fateful fight that ended Graves's reign of terror, and that was not exactly the most heartening of tales. Ben had taken some time to teach me a bit about hand-to-hand fighting, but my pistol and the cutlass Ben had bought for me in Nassau felt foreign and awkward in my grasp.
Ben knew I was frightened and tried to help calm me by giving me quick instructions on how to use the pistol. “It be easy,” he said. “You just point it and squeeze the trigger.”
One of the other crew members upon hearing this snickered and said, “Of course, six times out of ten, the ruddy things don't even fire.” There was a chorus of laughter at my suddenly green expression and Ben shot the hecklers a baleful glare.
“Don't tell him that,” he said, rounding them up and shoving them away. He turned back to me and gave me a pitying smile. “But he be right. Pistols do misfire. That be when you use your cutlass. Let's see it.”
I drew the cumbersome weapon from its sheath and made a few half-hearted swings at him. Ben easily side-stepped them all and spent the next few hours correcting my form and my grip. By the time the look-out in the crow's nest had spotted sails on the southern horizon, I was at least competent enough not to
lose my grip, and I was slowly overcoming my inclination to defend myself without being overly aggressive. Ben had driven that point home—the only way to survive was to forget about being fair, forget about sword play, and to think only of overwhelming my opponents with sheer murderous aggression. My odds of survival had gone up a touch.
“One last thing,” Ben said before I rushed off to take my place on the fo'c's'le. He reached out and gripped my forearm. “The ship be the Nonsuch.”
I could feel the blood draining from my face and the sounds and sights around me were suddenly some distance away, as if I were experiencing things from the far end of a very long tunnel. “Jamie Abbot's ship?” I whispered.
“Graves gave quarter to most on the ships we took,” Ben said, sidestepping my question. “MacIsaac won't do no different. If Abbot don't put up a fight, he be safe. I'll watch for him. What he look like?”
“Tall and thin, like a bean pole. He's got a large port-wine stain on his brow, just above his left eye.” At Ben's blank look, I explained. “A large red blotch on his forehead.”
“I'll watch for him.” He gave me what I'm sure he thought was a reassuring smile and then went on about his business.
My legs felt wooden as I climbed the stairs to my place. I hunkered down behind the gunwale and closed my eyes in prayer. It was not for myself that I asked God to intercede. It was for the captain of the Nonsuch, and for Jamie. I prayed that the captain would realize that he was outmatched and surrender without a fight. I prayed that if the captain chose poorly, that Jamie would be safe and live to go home to Susannah and their parents. I prayed that God would help turn the Nonsuch's captain's heart towards peace. I prayed that God would keep Jamie safe, and that He would help Ben see Jamie immediately, before the fighting started. If it started at all. Ben said MacIsaac would give quarter. I prayed that was true.
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