by Dudley Pope
The galleon, bow to the west, her stern to the Atlantic end of the channel, was aground and heeled towards them, to the north. Heeled slightly – just enough to notice, but so little that if she had been afloat the master could have corrected it by shifting some cargo to the other side.
He handed the glass to Aurelia and waved to Lobb, who was standing on the fo’c’sle, watching the colour of the sea ahead of the Griffin and making sure there was no reef in their path that the Spanish chartmaker had missed. Lobb was also inspecting the island of Anguilla, noting as best he could from this distance the positions of bays and their usefulness as anchorages. The chart showed the main port was on the north side of Anguilla, simply a village at the head of a deep bay.
When Lobb joined him, Ned pointed at Gallows Bay and Aurelia, having finished her inspection, gave Lobb the glass.
“So it’s still there,” she said to Ned. “And enormous. I’ve never seen such a big ship. But why are all the yards down on deck? The masts look so bare, like trees without boughs. And she’s heeled towards us.”
Ned gestured towards Lobb. “Let’s wait and see what explanations John has to offer!”
Lobb finally shut the glass with a snap and turned to Ned, grinning cheerfully. “So she’s still there. Bit o’ luck that. I’ll bet Sir Thomas and Saxby are rubbing their hands, too.”
“What do you make of her?”
“Well, without having taken soundings all round her and judging from what we’ve seen of this channel so far, I reckon she’s stuck there for good. Because she’s heeled towards us we can’t see just how much more water she needs to float – that’ll be obvious once we get a look at her other side – but from the angle of heel I reckon she needs four feet. The rise of tide round here must at the most be a foot at Springs. She probably drove up a foot or more – perhaps at the top of the Springs – before they could furl the sails, and I reckon there’s been some strong northerly winds and swells that have pushed her up another foot or so. I’m sure that’s why all her yards have been sent down – to reduce windage and because the swells were making her roll badly. Rolling gets her further on to the sandbank – her keel acts as a lever, like someone rolling up a beach, using his elbows.
“I see four boats at her bow. She hasn’t got a boat boom rigged, so that’s probably been carried away. Anyway, with this easterly wind she’s got to hang ’em off the bow, not the stern. All her boats – I reckon four are as many as she carries – are there, so presumably all her people are on board. And–” Lobb lifted the perspective glass again, adjusted the focus and had another look at the galleon, “–yes, it’s even clearer as our bearing changes. All her gunports are open – on the upper-deck anyway – on the landward side, and I’m certain the guns are run out.”
“That could be just to get weight as far outboard as possible because she’s heeled the other way,” Ned said, not because he thought that was the actual explanation but he was interested to hear Lobb’s reply.
“Even if all those guns are run out it wouldn’t be enough to correct that heel. The master will long ago have shifted over the cargo and ballast, and if that hasn’t done the trick, then running out guns won’t help.”
“Why run them out, then?” Aurelia asked.
“To shoot at the French, I reckon. Or make the French think they will.”
Ned nodded. “That’s what I thought. They can probably train them round just enough to roll a few cannonballs through the streets of Marigot. The eastern side of it, anyway, because the hill with the gun platform on top protects the rest.”
“What about the gun platform shooting at the Spaniards?” Aurelia asked. “Surely the galleon is with range?”
“Within range, yes,” said Ned. “But do the French have any guns up there? When were they last attacked? Who do they have to fear? Even supposing they have two or three guns, when was that wooden platform built?”
Lobb said gloomily: “Or perhaps they’ve done some sums. They have at the most three guns but the Dons have at least a dozen on that side, probably more. The French can’t sink the galleon because she’s already sitting comfortably on the bottom. If she has two or three hundred men on board, all armed with swords, pistols and muskets, they’re probably stronger and far better trained and armed than all the able-bodied Frenchmen in St Martin…”
“Once he knows who we are,” Aurelia said, “the French mayor or Marigot should welcome us with open arms.”
“The situation certainly isn’t as I pictured it,” Ned admitted. “I’d expected we’d end up quarrelling with the French about who was going to capture the galleon. Anyway, we’ll soon see. You can tack in towards Marigot now,” he told Lobb. “We should be able to lay it nicely. We’ll anchor off the town, putting the hill with the battery between us and the galleon!”
By now all the Griffin’s seamen were on deck, lining the bulwark on the starboard side, and from the snatches of comment borne along in the wind the men were impressed by the sheer bulk of the galleon, though none seemed particularly overawed. For a moment Ned was irritated: like Lobb and Aurelia, they took the whole thing in their stride. Mr Yorke will find a way. That was the damned trouble; everyone expected Mr Yorke to perform miracles. Well, Santiago and Portobelo had been attacks on towns and forts. But what about that galleon? Did they expect him to cast a spell on her so that when they woke up tomorrow morning she would have shrunk to a quarter of her present size?
Chapter Fourteen
Ned watched the Governor General carefully. Charles Couperin was much younger than he had expected: perhaps a year or two past thirty, he was slim, with a face that verged on thin but was tanned, strong white teeth (a striking comparison with his deputy, who had a row of teeth protruding from a large mouth like a battered portcullis), a narrow hooked nose and ears which were pointed, adding the hint of foxiness.
Charles Couperin had started off being alarmed by their arrival: he had met them at the crude landing stage, politely wary as Ned introduced Thomas, Saxby and Aurelia. Obviously he had been watching Ned and Thomas more closely than the others. Aurelia in her split skirt and her hair crammed under a broad-brimmed hat which kept the glare of the sun out of her eyes had been taken for a man until Ned introduced her and Couperin, turning with a polite greeting, found himself staring at a beautiful woman who, smiling, answered in perfect French.
Couperin’s residence was a couple of hundred yards back from the jetty, a large, wooden-framed house recently whitewashed. If any women lived there, they had been ordered to keep out of sight. A male black slave dressed in what was intended as a livery modified for the Tropics took their hats, and Couperin led them into a large room which obviously he used as a parlour.
Both he and Ned had surprised each other: Ned had not enunciated his own name very clearly, and it was not until he began to describe their voyage from Jamaica that Couperin suddenly exclaimed, in good English: “The Buccaneers! You are the Admiral of the Brethren of the Coast! And this gentleman – you sir, must be the nephew of the late – comment dit-on?”
“Lord Protector,” murmured Aurelia, “Oliver Cromwell.”
“I am,” Thomas admitted, “but that was a matter of chance. Had it been up to me, I’d never have employed him as an ostler, let alone chosen him for an uncle!”
Couperin nodded but was too polite to smile, obviously trying to recall what an “ostler” was.
Finally, when all the formalities were completed, Couperin raised his eyebrows and asked politely: “Do you intend to stay long in St Martin?”
Just as Couperin had been surprised to find that Ned was in fact the leader of the buccaneers, so Ned had been surprised to discover that Couperin, while the Governor of St Martin, was officially also the Governor General of the much more prosperous island of St Christophe, better known to the English as St Kitts. Apparently the French half of St Martin came
under the rule of St Kitts.
Ned smiled, to take any sting out of his answer. “You will forgive me for asking how long you are going to stay here?”
Couperin shrugged his shoulders, thought for a few seconds, and considered the fact that the French and the English were friends, while out here, anyway, France and Spain were enemies.
“As you may have noticed, you are not the only visitors to Marigot…?”
“Well, intentional visitors,” Ned said. “We have sailed in, anchored, and come on shore to present our compliments.”
“True, true,” Couperin said cautiously. “But is it wisdom or accident that led you to drop your anchors so that the hill hides you from the ship in the other bay?”
Thomas laughed drily as Ned said: “Wisdom. That ship does not – at first glance, anyway – seem to be French-built. Nor does she seem to be properly anchored. The only cable we have been able to see leads out on her quarter. And, of course, she is heeled and her yards have all been sent down on deck. Is the captain a friend of yours?”
“Touché,” Couperin said, adding: “She is the reason why I am here and not at my office in Saint Christophe.”
And, Ned thought to himself, now is the time to stop this gentle jousting and start bargaining. “Your negotiations with the Spaniards have not been – well, they have not come to a satisfactory conclusion?”
“When a–” Couperin looked at Aurelia for help, “–a voleur de grand chemin?”
“A highwayman,” she said.
“Ah yes. When a highwayman aims a pistol at an unarmed person, it is less a matter of negotiation than force majeure.”
“Indeed it is,” Ned agreed. “You have no ships, and no guns in your battery on the hill–”
“Oh yes,” Couperin said, “we have some guns up there. Three. But the wood of the platform is rotten, and termites…”
“So you cannot fire them.”
“No, but that is not a problem.”
When Ned raised his eyebrows questioningly, Couperin said: “I mentioned force majeure. If we fired a gun – a single gun, even a pistol – at that Spanish ship, they would bombard the town of Marigot. Unfortunately the hill protects only a third of the town.”
“Are you sure they will open fire?”
“I have the captain’s promise,” Couperin said drily. “In writing, in fact. Do you wish to see his letter?”
Ned shook his head. “What happens now? It could take a year to get that ship afloat – if a hurricane doesn’t destroy her first.”
“Ah, yes; we pray for a hurricane! But we have not enough French ships or troops to do anything about the Spaniards, and within a week or so help will be arriving for them. From Cartagena,” he added.
“From Cartagena? Are you sure?”
“Oh yes, I am very sure,” Couperin said bitterly. “My own ship is on her way to Cartagena – has probably arrived by now – to fetch help.”
So this Frenchman was working with the Spaniards! Ned glanced at Thomas, who looked puzzled. Aurelia suddenly said something in French to Couperin, speaking so quickly and unexpectedly that Ned missed it.
When Couperin answered, using an expression Ned did not understand, Aurelia explained: “The Spaniards took the ship in which the Governor General had come over here from Saint Christophe and sent it off to Cartagena. Monsieur Couperin is marooned here – at least, until another ship arrives from Saint Christophe.”
“He wasn’t thinking of going anywhere while the Dons are aground out there, was he?” Thomas asked her, as though Couperin was not in the room.
“No, I have no plans,” Couperin said with an easy smile. “Apart from anything else, I’m hoping that when they return the Spaniards will give me my ship back.”
Does he know? Ned was not absolutely sure. If the galleon had run aground in the darkness, then the French might think she had come in from the Atlantic, from Spain, and was loaded with only an ordinary cargo. Surely they must have found out she was in fact bound for Spain – the men who had brought the news to Jamaica had known. Was Couperin playing some deep game? Perhaps. Had he made some bargain with the Spanish, letting them use his ship to go for help in return for a substantial reward? If so, Couperin was foolish to think that the Dons would keep to the bargain.
So – did he know the ship was almost certainly laden with gold and silver and gems intended for the King of Spain’s treasury? The more he thought about it, the more puzzled Ned became. Was Couperin a prisoner in his own island, threatened with death and destruction if he did not leave the Spanish alone so that they could send up ships to carry the bullion and gems back to Cartagena, leaving the ship herself to rot or fall to pieces on the sandbank which was clearly never going to yield her up?
Or was Couperin quietly dealing with the Dons on his own behalf, as Charles Couperin, shipowner, not Charles Couperin, His Excellency the Governor General? Had the Spanish stolen his ship – or had they chartered it? Had the Dons threatened to raze most of Marigot – or had they paid off Couperin so that the galleon was left in peace until help arrived from Cartagena?
Ned admitted to himself that he would probably have trusted Couperin but for the appearance of his deputy, who combined the shifty amiability of a dishonest horse coper with the bland deceit of a bishop. The man nodded after every statement by Couperin, as though approving it, yet Ned was far from sure the man spoke English.
So? Ned was wondering just how much to reveal to Couperin. He found he wanted to hear Aurelia’s opinion: she had an instinctive feel for people. And Thomas – he was rarely wrong. Saxby, too, seemed to be able to judge people as well as he could ships and horses.
Ned turned to Couperin and said frankly: “I would like to talk with my friends. After that,” he added by way of encouragement, “we may have a suggestion to make.”
Couperin stood up at once. “There’s no need to go out in the scorching sun,” he said with a bow to Aurelia. “Please make yourselves comfortable here. Call the servant if you wish for something to quench a thirst – that is the English phrase, isn’t it? – and I and my deputy will sit in the shade of the palm trees that you can hear rustling behind the house.”
As soon as they were alone, Thomas growled: “Is he telling the truth about his ship or spinning us a yarn?”
Ned looked at Saxby. “I believe his story that the Dons have stolen his ship to fetch help.”
He turned to Aurelia. “And what do you think?”
“I believe him, too. He’s frightened for the town – village, rather – and I suspect that every penny he owns is in that ship, which is why he’s worried that he won’t get it back.”
“And what do you think, apart from not being sure?” Ned asked Thomas.
“I trust Couperin: his deputy worries me, though: I’d be wary of telling him the time o’ day in case he stole my watch!”
Saxby said quietly: “And what do you think, sir?”
At that moment Ned saw the galleon again in his imagination, and the fleeting picture made up his mind for him. “I believe him.”
“You didn’t a few minutes ago,” Thomas said shrewdly.
“No, I didn’t. I thought the Dons might have struck a bargain with him.”
“What changed your mind?” Aurelia was curious.
“The galleon’s guns. Those facing the town are still run out, and from what I could see with the glass, trained round forward ready to fire. They don’t help right the ship. If Couperin had struck a bargain with the Dons, those guns would have been run in and the portlids closed – especially as these heavy tropical showers must drive in through the ports and soak everything.”
Thomas nodded judicially. “You’re right Ned – as usual. Obvious really when you think about the guns still run out, but the trouble is the rest of us can’t see
m ever to be able to spot the obvious. Shall I call Couperin back?”
Once the Governor General had returned, still upset that his guests would take no refreshment, Ned said: “I wanted to talk to my friends about the reason why we have come to Marigot, and your problems.”
“Ah, my problems,” Couperin glanced at his deputy and then said: “You are a fortunate man, Mr Yorke: you have friends you can trust and with whom you can discuss your problems and your plans.” He held out his hands, palms uppermost. “I am the Governor General. The people look to me. If I asked their opinions, they would think me indecisive. I would lose their trust.”
Ned nodded sympathetically. “The buccaneers are called ‘The Brethren of the Coast’, and they elected me their leader. That’s the important thing: I can lead, but I can’t force them to follow. They follow only if they agree with my plans. If not – well, I suppose they go their own way, though it hasn’t arisen, so far.”
“But I thought there were many of you,” Couperin said. “Twenty or thirty ships. I see you have only three.”
Ned laughed and decided to tell Couperin the truth, or at least enough of it to explain why the whole buccaneer fleet was not anchored off Marigot. Couperin listened carefully and as soon as Ned finished, made a point Ned had not yet thought about.
“If your buccaneers are capturing the ships approaching Cartagena, they might catch mine. Which means – apart from anything else – that this Spaniard here gets no help…”
“Well, I promise you that you’ll get your ship back!” Ned said. “But let’s leave that aside for the moment and consider this galleon. Have you any idea what cargo she’s carrying?”
“Gold, silver, gems, I suppose…perhaps a few tons of leather, coffee, herbs. But mainly bullion. But you know that!”
Ned nodded, and Couperin glanced at his second-in-command as though inviting comment. Ned realized that the man must after all speak English.