by Dudley Pope
As soon as Aurelia translated that, the mayor started a furious speech, lifting his hands towards Heaven and clenching both fists as though he was thumping a table. Aurelia waited until he paused for breath and at once began talking to Ned, making it impossible for the mayor to resume.
“He will not agree to that. He says if you take twenty of Carúpano’s leading citizens on board, what is to stop you sailing off and ransoming them?”
The idea seemed so ludicrous to Ned that he laughed and was promptly reproved by Aurelia. “It is not funny,” she said firmly. “The mayor is very concerned, and I think he has a right to be.”
“Yes, yes, my love, I was laughing only because obviously I have a lot to learn about smugglers. Tell him I will land twenty of my people as hostages while his people are on board.”
Aurelia translated, listened to the reply and said: “He says thirty because his twenty are important people and thus more valuable.”
Yorke shrugged his shoulders with elaborate unconcern. “Twenty-five, and if he’s not careful I’ll include Mrs Judd.”
Stifling a smile, Aurelia translated and the mayor nodded.
“Do they want to come on board now or in daylight?”
The mayor suggested eight o’clock next morning, and then added casually that it would be more convenient if the ship came alongside the jetty: it would save so much rowing, because at least sixty people would want to buy.
When Aurelia told him that, Ned shook his head firmly. “Buyers can put their mark on the items they choose, and they will pay when the boats land them at the jetty. If the buyer isn’t there to pay for his goods, they’re taken back to the ship.”
“Oh Ned,” Aurelia said, “that is being too distrustful!”
“He wanted the ship alongside the jetty so his soldiers could seize it, my love, so don’t be misled by his innocent expression.”
Aurelia paused for a moment, absorbing Ned’s words. “You’re right,” she said, “I missed the inflexion, but that is what he had in mind.”
“Tell him the boats will put twenty-five of my men on the jetty as hostages at five o’clock in the morning and take the first twenty buyers out at a quarter past five.”
“We agreed on eight o’clock,” she reminded him.
“That was before he suggested the ship came alongside the jetty. The less time he has to think of more plots the better, so tell him the new time.”
The mayor grumbled but eventually agreed, and finally Ned said: “Tell him that to avoid misunderstandings over who buys what, and the price, he should send out a man who will mark the names and prices on the goods.”
When Aurelia translated the mayor asked suspiciously why one of Yorke’s own clerks could not do it.
“To avoid any cheating. If the mayor’s man makes the marks, all the Spanish buyers will accept them.”
Again Aurelia translated, and then reported the mayor’s answer. “He wants one of your clerks to do it – no, listen Edouard, I am sure the reason is that he knows his own people will not trust his clerk.”
“Well, the buyer and Bullock can mark them together. Ask him if there is anything else.”
Aurelia did so and told Ned the brief reply. “He says he assumes you will look after him.”
“Look after him?”
“A bribe,” Aurelia said patiently. “He wants payment for the risk he is running. After all, if the Spanish government heard about this, he would go to prison.”
“How much?”
Aurelia asked and said: “He leaves it to you.”
“Sugar?”
“He says it depends how much.”
“Fifteen hundred pounds.”
“He says that is not enough.”
“That’s the price of a poor horse in Barbados. Tell him I’ll go no higher and we favoured him by visiting Carúpano first. Most ships won’t bother with it.”
That was a shot in the dark but as Aurelia translated Ned saw that it hit. The Dutch smugglers, he realized, obviously worked the ports much farther to the west, nearer to Curaçao, and rarely came as far to windward as Carúpano. If Ned walked out now and sailed, everyone in the town would guess that the mayor had been too greedy and, on the mayor’s own word, the wives were grumbling over shortages.
Aurelia said: “He agrees only because his people are so short of goods. He will sacrifice himself. But he wants the sugar landed tonight, before business starts.”
Yorke nodded: that was reasonable enough. The essential thing about a bribe was that it should be paid in secret.
“Very well. One last thing, though; tell him that payment for goods must be made in specie.”
“Specie? Oh, you mean gold or silver coins?”
Ned nodded and she translated. The mayor began another long harangue, saying it was usual to trade some hides.
“No hides. No trading. Hides smell. And we’d take all night to decide on prices.”
The mayor knew he was beaten and with a deep bow to Aurelia and a peremptory nod to Ned, indicated that he had to visit the town’s businessmen to prepare them for their early start.
The bargain hunters of Carúpano may have had to leave their beds a good deal earlier than usual, but they were well dressed, with silk hose, ostrich plumes or bright feathers in their hats, and doublets covered with more lace than had been the fashion in England for fifty years or more.
Ned had expected the first twenty men to arrive in old clothes, protesting their poverty, and while they looked over the samples displayed on deck, commented about it to Saxby.
“Mrs Wilson,” the master said succinctly. “They heard from the mayor about the lady who speaks Spanish. I’ll bet each of them was torn between wearing old clothes to plead poverty, or wearing his best clothes to impress Mrs Wilson!”
“Well, we gain because we’ll get higher prices!”
“Aye, but as soon as we get down to putting a price on whatever they’ve chosen, I’d be glad, sir, if you’d leave it to me and Mrs Wilson.”
Ned looked startled. “Why, don’t you think…”
“No, sir, and nor does Mrs Wilson.”
“So you’ve been talking it over, then?”
“Aye, and Mrs Judd and Mrs Bullock too, and,” Saxby said with a grin, “it was agreed you was a very nice gentleman but if we weren’t careful, the Dons would – well, buy too cheaply.”
“All right, you’ll be the manager.” He saw Aurelia and waved to her. “Saxby’s been telling me what a good business couple you two make, so tell the Dons that Saxby’s the captain. Then they’ll know that his word is final; they won’t come appealing to me.”
“I shall be glad when they start business: starting before the sun is up… Brrr, I am so cold!”
There was a call in Spanish, and she and Saxby walked forward, to where a group of Spaniards were busy inspecting the goods under the watchful eye of seamen, with Mrs Judd walking among them. The enormous woman’s effect on the Spaniards varied: some eyed her with longing, obviously speculating; others seemed nervous, as though unsure what could happen in a ship where women seemed to play an important role, and thinking it wiser to equate bulk with authority.
Ned went down to the cabin and swung himself up into Aurelia’s hammaco. The thin feather mattress and silk sheet still held the impression of her body and although he intended to spend the time thinking over the Griffin’s next move, he dozed off. He was woken by an excited Aurelia to find it was noon, the sun streaming bright through the skylight.
“Chéri! You sleep while Mr Saxby and I make such bargains! All our men are back on board, the money is collected – boxes of pieces of eight! – and Mr Saxby is looking for you because he is anxious to sail!”
Ned swung himself out of the hammock, shaking his head to wake properly, embarrassed to have the owner found sleeping when the
ship was at anchor in an enemy port and with a score of the enemy on board at any one time.
“Are the goods landed?” he asked anxiously.
“Yes, just as you arranged. The buyers and Mr Bullock marked the items – Mr Saxby and I arranged the price – and after the buyers were taken back to the jetty the canoes took over the goods. Burton and Bullock handed over the goods and took the money.”
Yorke nodded, annoyed with himself for having spent the whole of the time in Aurelia’s hammock.
“Oh yes,” Aurelia added, “Mr Saxby decided the Griffin’s boat should be the treasury, so armed seamen sat in it while Burton handed down the money. And Edouard…”
Ned looked up: he recognized the way she said: “And Edouard…” It was always the preliminary to bad news or an unwelcome decision. “And Aurelia?”
“The Dons thought we were Dutch and took great delight in telling us of a great defeat of the English.”
Ned was not surprised: he guessed the news that Aurelia was going to give him. It was an expedition which could not hope to have succeeded. Untrained men not accustomed to the climate and without artillery, and half their small arms in the storeships which could still be in the London docks for all the good they were doing, would have been better employed cutting sugarcane than fighting well-trained Spaniards.
“You don’t seem sad, Edouard – you do not ask what happened!”
“I don’t need to. Penn and Venables attacked Santo Domingo and were driven off. Now they are trying to beat their way back to Barbados against the Trade winds.”
“You are only partly right. According to the word reaching Cumaná, the main port nearest here, they landed twenty or thirty miles past Santo Domingo, tried to march back to the city and their camp was struck by cholera and thousands died. The fleet then sailed westward.”
“West? West! Oh, perhaps they’ll try to get back to England through the windward passage between Hispaniola and Cuba.”
“The Spanish feared an attack on Hamaica.”
“Hamaica?” he repeated, puzzled until he realized she was pronouncing the J of Jamaica in the Spanish way. “Why, Jamaica’s a small island.”
He took the Wagstaffe chart from the drawer. “Yes, here it is: west of Hispaniola and south of Cuba. What’s the use of such a place? The Spanish from Hispaniola or Cuba can easily recapture it. Hmm…so that’s all Cromwell gets for his great expedition! I’m glad I’m not Penn or Venables reporting that they picked one lemon when the Lord Protector sent them to get a whole apple orchard!”
“Apples do not grow in the islands,” Aurelia said.
“Oh, madame, do not be so literal!”
“I am French. We are logical.”
“Lovable, too, most of the time. But let me remind you that limes, lemons, oranges, bananas, tobacco and sugar did not grow here until the Spanish first planted them. There were no cattle, horses, hogs, asses or mules – until the Spanish brought them. Nor palm trees.”
“Is that really true? No bananas? No sugar? No cows and sheep?”
“Quite true. No dogs either, nor poultry.”
“Why did you not tell me before?”
Ned gave a short laugh. “Madame Wilson, you have forgotten that in three years’ acquaintanceship in Barbados we were never alone, and your husband disliked any conversation of which he was not the centre.”
She nodded in agreement. “Well, now you have a long time in which to catch up with my education.”
“Are you ready for your first lesson?”
She looked startled but said yes.
“I love you.”
She looked coquettishly at the back of her hands. “I learned that lesson long ago.”
“How long?” he asked, suddenly curious.
“Oh – I don’t know!”
“Try and remember – I want to know!”
“You will become unbearable!”
“Stop being French and so logical!”
“I think you fell in love with me when you first saw me. There, are you satisfied?”
He was, but he was hurt that she did not ask him a similar question.
“Edouard, you look so like a dog who has had his bone taken away. You want to ask when I fell in love with you.”
Ned shrugged his shoulders. “Of course not. It is of no importance.”
She laughed delightedly. “I love you when you sulk. But I do not need to think about it.”
“Why? You do not care?”
“I know. I can tell you the exact date!”
“Stop teasing. I was serious.”
“So was I. It was the seventeenth day of March, 1649.”
Bewildered, he thought back. “How do you know that?”
“It was the day we first met,” she said matter-of-factly, not asking for any confirmation. “But chéri, Mr Saxby is waiting for orders.”
Chapter Eleven
The Peninsula de Araya is a long finger of land running parallel to the coast, with occasional cliffs and headlands joined by beaches. Three small islets lying just offshore are low and bare, the centre one being white and the highest. The peninsula forms a banana-shaped gulf on its island side and the port of Cumaná on the mainland makes the other side of the entrance.
Afterwards Ned and Saxby blamed themselves for not passing ten miles offshore, but they were anxious not to miss the little port of Barcelona, their next destination about twenty-five miles past the western tip of the peninsula and the entrance of the gulf.
They were not sure later whether the guarda costa had been lying in wait for them, hidden by the western end of the peninsula, or whether she had simply left Cumaná to look for the Griffin, no doubt warned by a messenger sent by the mayor of Carúpano who, with his bribe of sugar by now well hidden away, was anxious to show the captain-general of the appropriately named province of Sucre what a zealous fellow he was.
The guarda costa was a cutter smaller than the Griffin but mounting fourteen guns, five each side plus bow and sternchasers. She had a narrow beam, sweeping sheer and was built for speed: her role was to guard the coast against foreign smugglers and pirates, and her captain knew his job.
The moment Saxby saw the guarda costa coming out from behind the point he turned the Griffin up to the north, but it took time, and while Burton got his men to the guns the bulky ship had sagged down towards the guarda costa, which came alongside to fire her starboard broadside, stretched across the Griffin’s bow, and then ranged along the larboard side to fire her second broadside. She then began dropping astern, obviously reloading both broadsides.
While this was going on Aurelia, Mrs Judd and the other women were pulling the wounded away from the Griffin’s guns, which had yet to fire. Burton was bellowing orders, trying to get the men to work fast without making mistakes.
Saxby was standing by the two men at the huge tiller while Ned went to join Burton, who paused long enough to say: “Another couple of broadsides like that sir, an’ we’re done for. Our guns are so small we might as well be throwing bricks at him.”
Ned went aft again to tell Saxby.
“Aye, sir, I didn’t say nowt at the beginning, but Burton’s right.”
Mrs Judd hurried up. “Four dead, eleven wounded.” With that report she hurried forward again.
Ned looked at Saxby. “A third of our people. Once Burton gets our guns firing we might…”
Saxby shook his head and looked astern as the guarda costa tacked across the Griffin’s wake, three hundred yards astern, and began bearing away slightly to come up alongside again.
“There’s only one chance, sir. Order everyone below except me and the helmsman!”
Yorke stood still, trying to work out what Saxby intended.
“Hurry, sir, for the love o’God; it’s our only chance. Trust me!�
��
Yorke shouted the order. Burton called back, beginning an argument, but Saxby’s bellow cut him short. Aurelia and Mrs Judd protested at leaving the wounded on deck but an enraged roar from Saxby silenced them. Within a couple of minutes the Griffin’s decks were empty of men: the guns stood loaded, slowmatch burned, but only Saxby, the two men at the tiller and Ned were on deck.
The guarda costa sliced up a bow wave that glittered in the sunshine like scattering diamonds and Ned watched her, knowing that this must be how a rabbit watched an approaching stoat. Whatever Saxby intended, he knew this was no time to interrupt him with questions, but sailing along like this with not a man at the guns seemed the same as surrendering.
Was that what Saxby intended doing? Now, the stocky figure was peering over the taffrail, watching the guarda costa and calling an occasional order to the men at the tiller, but he was planning some sort of trick, not surrender.
That was the only advantage of fighting the Spaniards. Against the French or Dutch one could, if completely outnumbered, surrender and know that as a prisoner one would be treated reasonably well. As a prisoner of the Spanish, the choices were the salt mines or the stone quarries for the rest of one’s life, or being handed over to the Inquisition. Three alternatives to which an honourable death in battle was preferable. Which made him wonder what Saxby intended doing.
The guarda costa was approaching fast and he could see heads watching over the starboard side and the stubby black fingers of the guns poking out of the ports. The red and gold flag of Spain streamed out, and for a moment he wished the Griffin was flying her colours. Perhaps it was better that a ship and her crew without a country fought – if this was called fighting – without colours.
Fifty yards…forty…thirty… He could picture the Spanish gunners poised with their linstocks, ready to dab the glowing end of the slowmatch into the touchhole. Twenty yards…now the guarda costa’s jibboom was level with them as they stood at the taffrail…
Suddenly Saxby darted to the tiller, yelling at the two men, and heaving against it with his shoulder. He screamed at Yorke to duck down.
The Griffin turned with what seemed to Yorke to be a curious mixture of maddening slowness and awful majesty right across the path of the guarda costa, whose jibboom and bowsprit came over the Griffin’s afterdeck like an enormous lance.