“Ship to starboard!” he called down to the first mate.
The first mate sauntered beneath the mast. “What sort of ship?”
Petey trained the spyglass on the ship. He watched until the distant blur of sail and timber separated itself into a right good schooner, bristling with guns. The sight of so many guns alarmed him. This was no merchantman, to be sure. He scanned the outline for a flag but could see none.
“Well, Petey?” the mate called up impatiently. “What do y’ see?”
“I’m tryin’ to make it out. ’Tis a fast schooner. Two masts. Lots of guns.”
The first mate scowled, obviously all too aware of what that might mean. “The flag. What’s the flag?” His cry was seconded by the captain, who’d already been called on deck by the bosun.
Petey swung the spyglass along the ship’s fearsome flanks again, until finally he saw a flag being hoisted. “Hold a minute! They’re hoistin’ the flag now!” That in itself was a bad sign, for most ships sailed with their flags hoisted.
“God protect us all,” he muttered when he caught sight of the flag. It was black as tar, with a grinning white skull and crossbones.
“Pirates!” he shouted. “Pirates approachin’!”
“All hands on deck!” cried the captain as the bosun scurried to ring the warning bell. “Get the women below, and tell the lads to show a leg!”
Never had the ship’s crew moved so quickly into action, swinging into their duties like marionettes at a county fair. Ignoring the questions of the women, two of the sailors hustled them down the hatches as the captain barked commands, and other sailors rushed to unfurl the top sails and man the ship’s few guns.
“Full sail!” the captain shouted to the first mate, who repeated the order. “We’ll outrun them!”
Petey thought that unlikely. He kept the spyglass trained on the ship, looking for any signs of weakness and finding none. The schooner was American made by the look of her, and her light draught made her faster than any English frigate. Schooners manned by American privateers had been a sore trouble to English merchant ships during the War of 1812. Though the war was long over, many privateers had turned to pirating, and he feared that was the case with the ship that dogged them.
Perhaps when they saw there was no booty to be gained from the capture, they’d let the Chastity go. It had happened before, or so he’d heard.
“They’re gainin’ on us!” Petey called down to the captain, who in turn worked the sailors into a frenzy to get the ship moving faster. But there wasn’t much they could do. The same wind drove both ships, but the other ship was lighter and thereby faster.
Petey leveled the spyglass again. They were closer now, close enough that he could see the flag in great detail. He squinted to get a better look at the skull. This skull looked different, not like the usual skull and crossbones. Something about the shape of the head…
Horns. The skull had horns. His heart sank. Only one pirate ship bore that flag—the Satyr.
To make sure, he looked for the figurehead. When he saw the telltale carving of the mythological half-goat, half-man, he groaned aloud. Then he lifted his glass and saw the black-haired man standing in the bow. It was the Satyr, all right. And its demon owner, Captain Gideon Horn.
“‘Tis the Pirate Lord himself!” he called out as he tucked the spyglass under his arm and began to shimmy down the main mast. “‘Tis Captain Horn of the Satyr! And we’ll not outrun him! He’s got the fastest ship on the seas!”
As he reached the deck, the captain hurried to his side, his face white beneath his muttonchop whiskers. “Are you sure, man? The Pirate Lord? Why would he be after us? Our owner ain’t no nobleman, but a tradesman!”
The Pirate Lord’s peculiar choice of targets had given him his nickname. The first ship he’d attacked had been carrying its owner, a stupid earl who’d foolishly warned the pirate not to show such disrespect to “a member of the House of Lords.”
The witnesses to that first capture had immortalized the pirate’s retort: “In America, all men are equal, and even a pirate is a lord. So I bow to no one but God, sir, especially not a dandified English noble.” Captain Horn had stolen everything the earl possessed, down to the clothes on his back. And he’d stolen a kiss from the man’s own wife as well.
All of the Satyr’s targets since then had been ships owned by English nobility or those carrying noble passengers, and it was rumored he took great delight in fleecing them. Some of the nobility had even taken to traveling incognito and hiding behind other partners to protect themselves and their ships.
With an uneasy lurch, Petey thought of Miss Willis. Surely the man wouldn’t attack them solely because of her. Though she was the adopted daughter of an earl and the stepsister of the new earl, she wasn’t truly a lady. Besides, no one associated with the ship knew of her noble connections.
“Are you sure the ship’s owner is a tradesman?” he asked the captain. “Are you sure?”
“Aye. ‘Tis a cousin of mine. There’s not a hint of nobility aboard this ship, I tell you.”
Except Miss Willis. Petey had better get to her and warn her to say naught of her brother if they were taken. When they were taken, that is; the capture seemed inevitable.
“P’raps the Pirate Lord will let us go when he sees we got no booty,” Petey murmured.
“He’ll slaughter us, that’s what he’ll do!” The first mate was at the helm, and tossed the words back at them as if Captain Horn himself had made the threat. “I heard tell he can flatten a man with one blow of his fist!”
Petey swallowed. He wasn’t afraid of many things, but the Pirate Lord was one of them. Far as he knew, no one had ever accused the pirate of the kind of murthering and mayhem that some pirates were wont to engage in. But that didn’t mean Captain Horn mightn’t strike out in anger when he discovered the lack of booty on the Chastity.
“P’raps we should fight,” Petey suggested.
Captain Rogers snorted. “Fight? Are you bloody crazy? That’s the Satyr, man, with thirty guns if there’s one! They’d blow us to pieces! We don’t have the guns or manpower to fight off a well-armed pirate ship. Besides, if we fight, they’ll think we have something worth fighting for, and that’ll make it worse for us.”
“You can’t outrun ’em,” Petey repeated, “not with the weight on us.” As if lending credence to his words, the Satyr surged forward, hounding them like a demon on the heels of a sinner. In moments it would overtake them.
The captain glanced at his crew, then back to his first mate and Petey. “That’s our only choice, lads. Run or be taken. And I much fear that ’tis taken we’ll be unless a miracle come to save us.”
The miracle never came. Scant minutes later, the other ship hailed them, threatening to fire their guns if the Chastity didn’t halt to be boarded. And it was only as Captain Rogers gave the order to his crew to surrender that Petey remembered he hadn’t warned Miss Willis.
Chapter 4
My topsails they did shake
And the merchants they did quake,
So many I did take
As I sail’d….
—ANONYMOUS
“BALLAD FOR CAPTAIN KIDD”
Until today Sara had found the voyage fairly uneventful. True, she’d had trouble squelching the gambling of the more hardened women who liked to fleece the country maids of their rations. And she’d given many a lecture on the inappropriateness of swearing. Still, her classes had gone well, and she and Petey had succeeded in keeping the women separate from the men.
Now, however, confusion reigned around her. The women who’d been above decks had been sent below, and they gathered around Sara, panic-stricken and babbling. It took some minutes before she could make sense of what they were saying. A pirate ship approaching? Surely not. Pirates grew scarcer with every year as the British and Americans sought to clear the waters of the nasty pests. And what would they want with a convict ship that carried nothing of value?
Of course, the
y didn’t know that the Chastity carried only women. She froze, a sick fear settling into the pit of her stomach. Women. Everyone knew what pirates did to women. And if these men found no gold to sate their savage appetites, they would surely turn to other terrible pleasures.
“They’ll kill us!” Ann Morris cried above the clamor of voices, speaking aloud Sara’s worst thoughts. “They’ll rape us and then kill us! Oh, Miss Willis, what are we to do?”
Sara wanted to scream that she didn’t know, that she’d never faced pirates before. Only by great force of will did she keep the words to herself.
At Ann’s cry, the others had fallen silent, and now they watched her expectantly, as if they thought she could somehow conjure up an army of protectors to save them. Oh, if only she could.
She forced a calmness into her voice that she didn’t feel. “There’s no need to panic. The sailors will fight them off. The ship is armed and—”
“Armed?” Queenie grumbled. “A few guns is all, not enough to fend off pirates.”
“The sailors won’t fight,” came Louisa’s familiar cynical voice from behind Queenie. “That puling bunch? Why should they? They’ll jump ship before they lose one finger for us.”
Panicked voices rose again around Sara. She felt an unfamiliar helplessness surge in her. Louisa was right. The sailors wouldn’t fight for a shipload of convict women.
The milling voices in the hold became oppressive, and she had to struggle to keep from forgetting all her ingrained control and letting loose in a panic as the other women were doing.
Suddenly Louisa cried in a loud voice, “Listen, everybody!”
One by one the women heeded her words until only the sounds of babies crying and the children’s plaintive voices broke the silence. They listened but could hear nothing from above, except perhaps a faint muffle of voices. The ship seemed to have stopped, although it was hard to tell in the hold.
Suddenly there was a rumble as of several men jumping on the decks. Then the ship swayed ever so slightly to one end, causing the women to grasp at the bars for balance, before the ship righted itself.
“They’ve come aboard,” Queenie pronounced.
“Perhaps if we stay very still, they won’t know we’re here,” Ann Morris whispered timidly. “Perhaps Captain Rogers will tell them the hold is empty, and they’ll leave.”
“Leave?” Though Louisa’s pretty features were ashen in the lantern light, she’d lost none of her dry tone. “With just a word from our good captain? I think not. Besides, he won’t tell any lies on our behalf. We’re the only thing of value he can throw as a sop to the pirates.”
The chilling words made all the women shudder, even Sara. Never had she dreamed, when she’d jested with Jordan about being accosted by pirates, that such a thing could occur. There shouldn’t be pirates in these waters, and they shouldn’t have stopped the Chastity. This couldn’t be happening!
There must be some other explanation for the other ship’s appearance, she thought desperately. In a moment the crew would come down and inform them that it was merely a British navy ship that had boarded them, wanting supplies. No, that made no sense. They were still within a short distance of Santiago, where anyone could get supplies.
If only she and the others could fight. If only they could keep the pirates from entering the hold. But they had naught with which to defend themselves, for the women had been given nothing that could be used against their captors.
No one seemed capable of movement. Every creak of the ship added to the tension in the hot, stifling air of the hold. Even the children seemed to be holding their breaths, waiting for what would become of them.
“Oh, how I wish Petey…I-I mean, Mr. Hargraves…was down here to protect us,” Ann burst out into the ominous silence.
“Even your Mr. Hargraves cannot stop a band of pirates, Annie,” Louisa retorted. “He’s not God, you know. This time all the Miss Willises and Mr. Hargraves of the world cannot stop us from being forced into unspeakable acts—”
“That’s enough, Louisa,” Sara said sharply. “You’re scaring the children. And it’s not as if we all need to hear—”
She broke off at the telltale sound of the hatch door opening. The women all turned as one toward the stairs, their eyes gleaming with fear in the poorly lit cells.
It wasn’t a pirate, however, who descended the steps, but Captain Rogers’s nimble-footed cabin boy. As soon as the women saw him, they let out a collective sigh and surged toward the stairs.
Cries of “What’s going on?” and “Is it truly pirates?” filled the air as he stopped halfway down the steps.
“I been sent to tell you to gather your things and come on deck,” the cabin boy said. His skin was pale beneath the grime on his cheeks, and his skinny legs were shaking.
“Sent by whom?” Sara came forward to ask.
“Captain Horn, miss. Of the Satyr. ’Tis his ship that has taken us.”
The Satyr. She thought perhaps she’d heard of it, but she couldn’t remember what she’d read. “This Captain Horn is a pirate?”
The boy looked at her as if she were mad. “Aye, miss. Everybody knows that.”
It didn’t cheer her to have her fears confirmed. “And why has he asked that the women gather their things?”
“I don’t know, miss, but—”
“Come on, lad, that’s enough prittle-prattle,” shouted a coarse voice from above, cutting him off. “Tell them to be up here at once. Captain Horn wants the lot of them to present themselves on deck now or risk his wrath!”
The sound of that menacing voice sent the women into a frenzy. They dashed this way and that, gathering their meager possessions, cautioning the children, and drawing on their shoes, for many of them had begun going barefoot once they’d reached warmer waters.
Soon they were heading toward the stairs with rough canvas bags clutched in their hands. Most of them even carried the makings for their quilts. Before they could climb the steep ladder stairs, however, Sara moved in front of them. She wouldn’t let them go into this alone. Someone had to speak for the women, and it might as well be her.
“Listen to me, ladies. Remember all we’ve been talking about. No matter what they do to you, your soul is your own. They can’t touch it if you hold it safe within you.”
Her words seemed to give them courage, though it was a somber group who followed her up the stairs through the ’tween decks and then up to the top deck. The sight that met Sara’s eyes as she emerged into the brilliant sunlight was a sobering one. The Chastity’s crew lined the sides of the ship, guarded by the most presentable bunch of pirates she’d ever expected to see.
For one thing, they were clean and orderly, quite the opposite of Captain Rogers’s none too fastidious crew. How could these men be pirates? Why, there wasn’t an eye patch or a hook among them! And as the women massed on the deck, they didn’t hoot or grab at them or make any lewd remarks.
But their indecent attire certainly befitted pirates. Leather vests predominated, often without so much as a scrap of a shirt. She’d never seen so many bare-chested men in her life…nor so many heads of shoulder-length hair.
Then she caught sight of their weapons and her blood froze. Knives with carved bone handles gleamed in their hands, and a few had pistols tucked into their belts. They might be clean and orderly, but those weapons made it clear what they were here for. All too clear indeed.
Before she could brood further on it, however, a stocky, bearded man with a wooden leg ordered the women to proceed along the deck to the bow. There they found more pirates, a crowd that far outnumbered the Chastity’s crew and even perhaps the women themselves.
Then the crowd parted, and she was given her first glimpse of the man who could only be the Satyr’s captain.
He stood with his legs splayed apart and his arms crossed over his open-necked white shirt and leather vest, a serious expression hardening the already harsh angles of his face. With narrowed eyes, he watched the women crowd onto the d
ecks.
She didn’t know how she knew he was the captain; she just did. There was a certain haughtiness in him that was lacking in the others. There were other things, too, like his great height. And his clothes, which were as fine as any she’d seen. The dove-gray breeches hugging his muscled legs were of an excellent cut and quality, and his belt was crowned with a jeweled buckle.
His ship’s name suited him perfectly. Even though he wore weathered black boots where hooves should be, and there were no horns peeking out above his unruly shoulder-length black hair, his expression bore such mocking satisfaction that only a real satyr could have matched it. His brutally thorough gaze assessed the women, as if to ferret out their every weakness.
And his face! Though clean-shaven, it was also that of a satyr’s—blatantly masculine, coldly handsome despite its thick brows and crooked mouth…and frighteningly menacing. What was it that made him seem so fearsome? Perhaps it was his scars—the crescent-shaped one that bisected his wind-reddened cheek, and the tiny slash along the outer edge of his eyebrow that seemed narrowly to miss his eye. Most assuredly, the huge saber he wore tucked in his wide leather belt had something to do with it.
But it was more than that. She suspected this man would be alarming even if devoid of scars and saber and dressed in frock coat and beaver hat.
“Good day, ladies,” he said with a distinctly American accent when all the women were above decks and the hatches closed. With a grin that took some of the edge off his fierce looks, he surveyed the crowd and added, “We’ve come to rescue you.”
His words were so unexpected, so completely self-assured, that Sara bristled. After all his blatant methods of intimidation, after he’d stood here surveying the women like cattle before the slaughter, he had the audacity to say such a thing!
“Is that what they’re calling thievery, pillage, and rape these days?” she snapped.
As a murmur of shock passed through the Chastity’s crew and the women moved back from her as if to distance themselves from their mad companion, Sara cursed her quick tongue. Oh, but she was done for now. She might as well have begged him to slice her in two with that wicked saber. This was no civilized lord or blustering sea captain whom she could lecture with impunity; this man had no morals, no scruples, no hint of mercy about him.
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