Freebooter

by Tim Severin

  Arriving in front of Avery, Hector was relieved to see that the Fancy’s captain was unperturbed. He was standing astride, hands on his hips and bending his body from side to side, exercising to ease his back muscles. It occurred to Hector that Avery had spent the night sleeping on deck like all his crew as there was no longer a captain’s cabin now that the poop deck had been cut away.

  ‘I have a feeling that we are about to adapt our plans, Lynch,’ he murmured as he straightened up.

  There was a clatter of oars being dropped and a slight scraping sound as the rowing boat came alongside, and then the two lookouts appeared. They half-ran, half-stumbled to where Avery stood. Both men were out of breath and the light of early dawn was enough to show their nervousness and the guilty looks on their faces.

  ‘What is it?’ Avery asked, a slight hint of irritation in his voice.

  ‘The Moors, sir,’ blurted one of the men. He was a gangling specimen, with spindly arms and legs, his hair sticking out at all angles.

  ‘What about the Moors?’ asked Avery.

  ‘They’re through the Channel already, well through.’

  Avery put up his hand to stroke the bristles on his chin, calmly delaying the moment before asking casually, ‘What do you mean “well through”?’

  ‘That’s it, sir. They went through the Small Channel during the night.’ Even from two yards away Hector could smell the rum on the man’s breath.

  Avery turned to Hector. ‘Is that possible, Lynch?’

  ‘If they had really good pilots, I suppose so.’

  Avery pressed his lips together in a tight line and raised an eyebrow. ‘In a flat calm, like we had for most of last night?’

  Hector remembered Jacques pointing out the strong current running in the strait. ‘They could have taken advantage of the current to carry them through.’

  ‘Skilfully done then,’ said Avery drily. He turned his attention back to the sailor. ‘And where’s the fleet now?’

  ‘Near out of sight, sir,’ the man confessed. ‘Well to the south.’

  Avery gave a deep sigh as if to emphasize that he felt surrounded by fools and incompetents. Looking past the two shame-faced lookouts, he raised his voice. ‘It seems we’ve missed the fleet.’ His voice carried well.

  There was a chorus of groans, oaths and angry shouts from those of the crew who had wandered aft, curious to find out what was happening. Someone shouted, ‘Shit! All this way for nothing!’

  Avery was unperturbed. ‘We will give chase and overhaul them. This gives give us more time to pick our targets.’

  The mood on Fancy was turning ugly. Frustration and anger swept through the onlookers. Quartermaster Hathaway stepped up, grabbed the thin man by the collar, twisted the cloth so his victim nearly choked and hauled him away. The other man looked around nervously and sidled off to one side, trying to avoid notice.

  Avery called for silence. ‘We won’t have a sailing breeze for another hour at least. We’ll tow Fancy out of the bay.’

  He turned to his coxswain. ‘Dann, lower our boats, put your best men into the pinnace.’

  It was a shrewd move, Hector thought as he watched Dann cuff and push the men to their duty. Giving them some work to do would distract the men from their immediate disappointment.

  Avery took Hector by the elbow and drew him aside. ‘It seems you were right about the Small Channel. What course do you think the Moors will now take?’

  ‘Depends where they’re headed,’ Hector answered. As usual, Fancy’s captain was thinking clearly, calmly assessing what should be done next. ‘My guess is that they’ll keep following the coast, staying within sight of land.’

  Men were calling across to the nearby ships, relaying the bad news. All around the squadron there were more baffled shouts, howls of rage.

  ‘I told you we should have been in position earlier!’ It was Captain Tew. Amity was anchored no more than fifty yards away and he had a speaking trumpet to his lips. ‘I’ve had enough of this dithering and hesitation,’ he bellowed. He spun on his heel and stalked away across his sloop’s deck, giving orders. There was a flurry of activity and his crew began bringing up their anchor, though there was still no sign of the morning breeze.

  ‘The cheating bastard,’ growled Dann. Amity was sprouting long thin legs, three on each side of the long, black hull, like some water insect. They were sweeps, the long oars for moving a boat when becalmed or manoeuvring in harbour. Fancy was too large and heavy to be moved in this way, but Amity was light and nimble enough for them to be effective.

  Hector checked the other vessels. News of the Moors’ escape had reached them, and it seemed that none of them carried sweeps like Amity. Instead they were beginning to copy Fancy’s example, lowering their boats and preparing for the long laborious tow that would bring them out of the anchorage.

  In less time than it took for coxswain Dann to get his pinnace into position and rig a towline to his own vessel, Amity was on the move, steering to pass very close under Fancy’s stern. Several of Avery’s crew gathered there and yelled across, asking if Amity wanted any volunteers to help with the sweeps. Their requests were met by jeers from Tew’s men. ‘Go shares with you lot, not likely! Get stuffed!’ one them crowed.

  Tew raised his speaking trumpet again. He was close enough to be looking up to where Avery stood at the warship’s rail. ‘A pilot would be helpful. Send me Lynch.’

  Avery turned to Hector. ‘Your choice,’ he said, then lowering his voice he added, ‘It could be to our advantage.’

  Hector thought furiously. He did not want to abandon his friends. Tew’s sloop would be well away from the island by the time the other ships towed clear. With Amity’s superior speed under sail, there was no chance that he could get back aboard Fancy for many hours.

  Avery was calling back to the other captain. ‘I’ll send Lynch to you if you agree to get ahead of the Moors and turn them back toward the rest of us. You’ll still have the pick of them.’

  ‘It’ll be like driving sheep!’ Tew gave a confident laugh.

  ‘Lynch, I rely on you to see he keeps his word,’ Avery said in a quiet aside.

  Hector came to his decision. He flung one leg over the rail and climbed halfway down the rope ladder that Dolphin’s drunken lookouts had used to come aboard. He hung there, dangling against the warship’s hull as Tew shouted for the starboard-side sweeps to be taken in. The sloop glided past less than an arm’s length away and Hector timed his jump. As he landed sprawling on the sloop’s deck, he heard Jacques call from above him, ‘Save some plunder for us.’

  SIX

  Tew grasped him by the shoulder as he got to his feet. ‘Those pilgrim ships will be waddling along. With a stiff breeze on her quarter, Amity can catch them before they know what’s happening.’ He pointed to the two low headlands on each side of the entrance to the anchorage. ‘The moment we’re clear of those, I want to steer south-south-west.’

  The sloop’s captain was dressed in the same long blue coat that he had worn when he came ashore in St Mary’s. His eyes gleamed with excitement. Hector judged that the thrill of the chase exhilarated Tew as much as the prospect of plunder.

  ‘It would be safer if we took the same route we used when we entered the anchorage . . .’ Hector began.

  ‘I know that,’ Tew smiled wolfishly, ‘but the best place to find the wind at this time of day is three or four miles offshore. Now get up on the bowsprit and show us where to go. I’ll watch for your signals.’

  Hector made his way forward. It was the first time he had been on Amity and, just as Jezreel had told him back in St Mary’s, the sloop was old and evidently the worse for wear. Her deck boards were scarred and warped, the seams in need of caulking. Thick layers of black paint failed to cover up major repairs to her bulwarks, and the top section of her tall, raked mast was held in place with wooden splints and a tourniquet of heavy rope. He counted only sixteen guns; all of them were sakers that fired a ball less than six pounds in weight, barel
y a quarter the weight of Fancy’s main armament. Everything about the vessel looked to be in need of replacement or strengthening – except the ship’s company. The six-man teams on the sweeps were driving the sloop through the water expertly. No one was shouting orders or urging them to keep rhythm. Amity had a first-class crew, a good match for her fire-eating captain.

  Grasping a forestay to stop himself falling into the water, Hector edged out on the sloop’s long, slanting bowsprit as far as he dared. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that the other freebooter ships had yet to move. It would be another hour before they emerged from the anchorage, towed by their boats. Even then they might still have to wait for the breeze. By that time, if Tew was correct, Amity would be almost out of sight, overhauling the pilgrim fleet.

  He turned his attention to the sea directly ahead. He could already see several white patches where the swell, barely perceptible in the dawn calm, lifted and broke lazily over submerged rocks. Those dangers were easily avoided. Elsewhere the sea was a shifting pattern of deceptive shadows. With the sun not yet over the horizon, he would have to judge whether a darker patch was a danger to the ship or nothing more than a misleading illusion. During his reconnaissance with Jezreel and Jacques he had plotted the positions of many of the outlying rocks, but not all of them and he had left his notes where they belonged, with Fancy’s charts. It was now a question of using his judgement. He took a deep breath and began to concentrate. Amity was gliding along at two or three knots, and the only sounds were the regular splash of sweep blades, the grunt and shuffle of the oarsmen as they took up the strain and the faint mutter of water sliding along the sloop’s black-painted hull.

  Time passed. Whenever he saw a hazard, he raised an arm and pointed. Tew, standing close to the mainmast, immediately called out an instruction to the men at the sweeps. Obediently they eased the stroke on one side or stopped altogether, or they pulled harder on the other side so that the vessel changed direction. Slowly, very slowly, the sloop progressed, leaving the anchorage behind, then weaving her way between the underwater hazards that ringed the island. After a while the sun rose and the slanting rays penetrated the clear water, making it easier to distinguish the dark mass of solid rock from the shadow cast by a strand of cloud or a raft of seaweed floating half-submerged. Eventually, after more than half an hour of intense concentration, Hector became aware of a slight lift and fall of the hull as the sloop entered deeper, safer water. He decided that his vigilance was no longer required. He was inching his way back along the bowsprit when Tew gave the order to the oarsmen for the sweeps to be brought inboard and stowed. There was an immediate flurry of activity as men ran to throw off the securing lines and haul on the lift that raised the sloop’s main yard. Tew found time to give Hector a quick nod of thanks, then looked away to the north. There, a quarter of a mile away and rapidly coming towards them, was a catspaw, a ripple on the flat surface of the sea, the first sign of the morning breeze. Above Hector’s head, the rising mainsail shivered, flapped and then flapped again. The sail was far larger than he had expected, its worn canvas faded to a greyish-brown. Some areas were so threadbare that pinpricks of sunlight showed through the thin fabric. Patches of newer material had been sewn on to strengthen the weakest areas and repair various splits and tears. Scarcely had the mainsail been fully set than the rigging gave a low creaking groan as it took up the pressure of the first puff of wind. The crew were already hurrying forward to hoist the sloop’s two headsails. By the time they had finished, Amity’s deck had taken on a slant beneath his feet. Tew’s pride in his vessel was vindicated: the sloop gathered pace, surging forward, the water now swirling past,

  Hector chose his moment. He waited until everything had settled down on board, each sail adjusted to precisely the right angle, the falls of the ropes coiled down neatly, lookouts posted. Only then did he approach Tew, who had taken up his position by the windward rail. The flamboyant captain was hatless, and the rapidly strengthening breeze occasionally flicked his long dark hair across his eyes.

  ‘What speed’s she doing?’ Hector asked.

  Tew glanced over the stern at the sloop’s bubbling wake. ‘Seven or eight knots.’

  ‘A fine vessel.’

  Tew laid a hand on the worn timber beside him. ‘Amity may be old, but given the right breeze on the quarter she can outrun many a new-built ship.’

  ‘I was wondering about her name – Amity meaning “friendship”?’

  Tew showed his teeth in a thin smile. ‘You’re thinking that it’s a strange name for a vessel that rarely displays any friendship to others.’

  Hector judged his next words carefully. ‘But a good name for a vessel of Libertalia, where men live in harmony. I understand that Captain Misson asked you to take charge of their ships.’

  Tew scowled angrily. ‘I’d like to know where that rumour got started,’ he snapped testily. ‘There’s no truth in it. I’m part owner of Amity, along with investors in New York. Amity is the name her builders gave her at the very start. They were Puritans and over-pious, but they knew how to make a fine ship.’

  Hector hid his disappointment. The reason he had decided to transfer from Fancy to the sloop was the chance it gave him to question Tew in person about Libertalia. He decided to risk Tew’s ill temper with one last approach. ‘I’m hoping to settle in Libertalia with my wife, but I haven’t been able to learn where Captain Misson is to be found.’

  The wind was increasing to a stiff breeze, the first white-tipped waves forming. Amity thrust her bow into one, throwing up a burst of spray that came rattling on board. The helmsman braced himself at the tiller, feet apart, to keep the sloop on her course.

  Luckily Tew was quick to regain his good humour, and the flush of anger that had risen to his face faded. He was relishing the way his ship was responding to sailing conditions that suited her so perfectly. ‘What I know about Misson is only what I’ve heard: that he was a serving officer in the French navy when he fell in with a renegade Italian priest who preached the merits of liberty and equality. They stole a warship and set out for Madagascar . . .’ He paused and gave Hector a meaningful glance. ‘Does that sound familiar to you?’

  ‘Apart from the bit about the Italian priest, Captain Avery did the same. I hadn’t thought of that before,’ Hector admitted.

  ‘Exactly.’ Tew gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Though I’ve never heard Long Ben talk about liberty and equality. More often he talks about plunder.’

  ‘So there’s been a mix-up, some sort of mistaken identity.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Tew shrugged. He looked up again at the perfect set of the sloop’s straining sails. ‘I have a vague recollection of meeting someone with the name of Misson. It might have been on my last trip. Somewhere along the Madagascar coast. But he wasn’t a sea captain, least of all in command of a warship. Otherwise I’d have remembered more clearly . . .’

  ‘I’d be grateful for any more details, if you do recall them,’ said Hector. He was unable to keep a note of despondency from his voice. Amity’s captain had been his last remaining hope for information.

  Tew sensed his gloomy mood. ‘Lynch, put Misson out of your mind—’ He broke off as an excited cry of ‘Sails ahead!’ came from one of the lookouts posted on the foredeck. ‘Where away?’ he shouted back.

  ‘On the starboard bow!’

  Men were rushing to the starboard rail, gazing forward eagerly. Several swung themselves up into the main shrouds to get a better view, their expressions hungry and impatient.

  Tew hurried along the deck to join the lookouts, then beckoned to Hector to join him. ‘Just two ships, large ones. What do you make of them, Lynch? And where’s the main fleet?’

  The sails were not where Hector had expected to find the pilgrim fleet: well out to sea. ‘Perhaps they took the Big Channel last night because their pilots considered them too unwieldy to go safely through the Small Channel using the current,’ he suggested.

  Tew chewed his lip, staring towards the unknow
n ships. Hector could see that he was strongly tempted to investigate a possible new prey.

  ‘Long Ben is relying on Amity to get ahead of the pilgrim fleet and turn it back towards Fancy and the others,’ he reminded Tew.

  Tew ignored him, frowning as he weighed up his options. For several minutes the only noises were the sound of the wind in the rigging and sails, the rhythmic creaking as the sloop flexed to the motion of the sea and the regular swash of the waves against her hull. Finally, Tew came to a decision. ‘We’ll go after them!’ he called out to his crew.

  There was an outbreak of whooping and cheering, accompanied by the stamping of feet on deck. People were slapping one another on the back, and someone began to clang the ship’s bell vigorously. Amid the hubbub there was a shout of ‘Let’s drink to that!’ and very soon bottles and tankards were being passed around as the jubilant crew toasted their coming good fortune and made wild guesses on how much plunder they would win.

  When Hector next looked towards the stern, he saw that someone had gone aft to set an unusual flag on Amity’s ensign staff. He presumed it was Tew’s personal banner. White on black, it showed a man’s arm brandishing a broad-bladed cutlass.

  SEVEN

  Amity raced on. The weather was perfect for the chase. In bright sunshine the breeze strengthened, lifting the crests off the waves in brief flashes of white foam whose contrast gave the sea an even deeper, richer blue. By mid-morning it was clear that the two unknown ships had not attempted to spread more sail in an attempt to outrun the pursuit but were deliberately holding their course. They kept ploughing sedately forward even though the sloop was in full view and catching up fast. Aboard Amity the crew’s initial confidence slowly changed to a puzzled, more thoughtful caution. The noisy chatter died away as the men looked towards the two vessels, calculating the odds. They were formidable ships, much larger than anyone had anticipated. Hector judged that the smaller of the two was the same size as Avery’s powerful Fancy and, like her, appeared to be a warship though of an unusual type. Her two huge triangular sails reminded him of his days aboard a Turkish galley. The second vessel was immense, the largest vessel that he had ever encountered. He could see a resemblance to a Spanish galleon though this ship was more spectacular. Fully 800 tons, she was a floating castle, with a high forecastle, three masts and a great towering stern. Hector counted four decks, perhaps five, from sea level to her poop. But what struck his eye most of all was the exuberance of decoration. Riotously bright colours had been applied everywhere: red, blue, purple and gold – they dazzled and gleamed in the sun. The stern was wide enough to have a span of five glazed windows and was richly carved with geometric shapes, each one painted and gilded to bring out the pattern. The same motifs were repeated all along the sides and carried right forward to the massive bows. Coloured streamers, some almost as long as the vessel herself, and cloths and pennants of every shape and size fluttered at the yardarms and mastheads, while a huge yellow ensign flew from a gilded flagstaff at the stern. The effect was of a sumptuous pageant at sea.