“Sir, sir,” replied the secretary, attempting to dab the coffee from his frock coat with a handkerchief. “This is really a bad start to the day, I must say. Very rude of you to come barging in like this without an appointment or so much as a knock. Who are you and whatever are you thinking?”
“I’m Ezra Somers and this is my daughter, Elinore, sir. We own the Somers Salt Company on Grand Turk Island, and I’m thinking if you don’t tell us the governor’s whereabouts this instant you will never see another teaspoon of salt on this island!” Somers’s face was now as red as a radish.
“Good God! We don’t have a governor at this moment, Mr. Somers,” said the secretary. “Well, not technically. Lord Dunmore left office, and we have an acting governor for the moment; Robert Hunt was appointed just weeks ago. But he isn’t here either.”
“Then where the hell is he?” demanded Somers.
“He is touring our fortifications at the moment. He’s at Fort Charlotte. I’d be happy to—”
But Somers and Elinore had turned on their heels and left. Fort Charlotte was clearly visible from the harbor and it should be no trouble getting there; they were in comfortable walking clothes and the sun was not too unbearably hot as yet. Fort Charlotte was a new fort, having been built by Lord Dunmore in 1789 and named for the wife of King George III. Thus far it had never fired a shot in battle, but perhaps Somers would have something to say about that, too.
Within thirty minutes they’d crossed the waterless moat surrounding the limestone fort and gained entrance through the massive doors that were guarded by no less than five sentries. Robert Hunt’s entourage could easily be seen on the upper rampart with its commanding view of Nassau Harbor. Somers limped up the steps gamely, Elinore not far behind, and he broached the small group surrounding Hunt more or less the way he’d entered Government House, that is, in a burst.
“Governor Hunt, sir, may I have a word?” Somers was calmer when out of breath, and Hunt turned to him with a curious look on his face, less appalled than his secretary had been.
“Yes? How can I be of service, sir?” Hunt replied. “You are quite out of breath, I see. Pray compose yourself.”
The entourage moved outward slightly, allowing Elinore to enter the circle. “Sir,” she began evenly, looking Hunt squarely in the eye. “My father and I have come to call your attention to a pirate, an infamous and dangerous pirate, in your harbor just below who has raided and plundered the Somers Salt Company of Grand Turk Island and killed many of our sailors and those of the Royal Navy.” This might have been a stretch but Bishop might have lost men in Caicos Straights.
“But Miss…?”
“Elinore Somers, and this is my father.”
“Miss Somers, what you say may well be true, but we would need rather more substantive proof of this pirate’s activities. Who is he? What ship is he on? Are there witnesses who will come forth? What would you have me do?”
Now Somers was recovered, color rising on his throat. “You’re leaning against a Goddamned cannon, sir! And Jak Clayton is down below, a murderer and thief! He’s in that big frigate in the harbor just there…shit!”
And they all turned to follow his gaze, his bulging, disbelieving eyes as Renegade was just making sail, the land breeze taking her out of Nassau Harbor. Silence in the group.
“I’m sorry I can be of no help to you,” the acting governor said kindly. And they chose to believe he meant it.
SIXTY-ONE
IT WAS a clear night, and Fallon briefly thought of Elinore, wondering if she could see the same stars as he, wondering what she was thinking. He would have liked to have thought of her longer, much longer, but there was work to do.
Fallon had led the British and the Spanish crews out from the woods in single file, skirting the rice fields and opening a gate to a pasture along the way, letting the horse and mules inside. He had them at the appointed place—about half a mile upriver from Hutchinson Island—at the appointed time and found Nuevo Año’s boats waiting to ferry the men to Hutchinson Island.
After more than an hour of back and forth, aided by slack tide, Jones had all the men aboard the beached ship. Alvaron greeted them warmly, British as well as Spanish sailors. Much of the bullion had already been brought up on deck, though by no means all, and the men fell to work immediately off-loading it onto the beach. Nuevo Años crew initially stiffened at the sight of the British crewmen, but Alvaron’s men spread the word of their goodwill, particularly toward their capitán, and gradual acceptance took hold. Since the ship’s larboard side faced the wharf across the harbor, the combined crews were unloading off the starboard side, so there was little chance of the treasure being discovered. Still, Alvaron had a sail ready to cover the growing pile of bullion come morning.
They worked that night in shifts, bringing the bars up from the lowest depths of the hold to the deck, then throwing them off the side to land in the soft sand. Other crewmen then picked up the bars and stacked them high up the bank above the tide line. Occasionally, the British seamen stopped to stare at what was in their hands. Any single bar was worth more than any man would see in his lifetime. And while it might have been tempting to steal, such was their loyalty to Fallon that they resisted.
Fallon had asked Jones to mark the waterline before they’d begun shifting the bullion, and watched with satisfaction as it gradually, minutely, rose higher. The next high tide would be mid-morning, some six or seven feet, and so they worked diligently throughout the night to be ready.
By dawn they were nearly finished, the men exhausted, the treasure moved up the beach and covered by a sail. The men slept about the deck, some on the beach itself, oblivious to the light of day. Fallon dozed against the binnacle, having worked alongside his crew throughout the night. His last thought before sleep was that there were six ships loaded like this one, and he wondered that there was that much gold and silver in the world.
Fallon awoke to Alvaron nudging him gently with his crutch. “Captain Fallon, do you feel that?”
Fallon did not want to wake up, wanted to sleep forever in fact, and was about to resent the nudge when he felt the ship move, just a bit, but move. Instantly he was awake, for by now it was mid-morning and Nuevo Año was—again that barely perceptible rocking—she was going to float, by God!
And indeed, within three hours Nuevo Año was anchored close off Hutchinson Island, floating as proudly as an empty, mastless hulk of a ship could float. The tide was still making, and the ship had pulled around with her bow pointed downriver toward the sea, revealing her cargo piled high under a sail on the shore. Alvaron wisely had posted just one guard, and he without a musket, so as not to call undue attention to the value of what lay beneath the sail.
Bleary-eyed men, aching and sore from using muscles not used in some time, ate their breakfast and rested until mid-afternoon, when the tide had turned and the ship swung around again, bow upriver to the west now, her bulk hiding the boats going back and forth removing the treasure from the beach. This required a new plan, and a different set of muscles, as there was no boom and tackle to lift the bars; so the bars were stacked in threes or at most fours and hoisted up to the deck by hand in canvas bags. Groups of men lined the entire starboard side of the ship, leaning over with their bags, awaiting their loads. They worked all afternoon until evening, loading and hoisting and lowering the bullion down into the hold of the ship until the tide turned again, and they could at last rest. Only half the bars had found their way into the hold; the rest would have to wait until tomorrow.
Fallon joined Alvaron for dinner in the great cabin while Garin set the watches and changed the single onshore guard to several guards for the night. Fallon could see that Alvaron was very tired, the strain showing on his face and in his sagging shoulders. But there seemed more to it than that.
“Captain Fallon, I must come to a decision about the treasure,” Alvaron confided. “That is, if we get out of here with it, whenever that will be.”
Fallon had just fini
shed pouring a fresh glass of wine for them both, and looked up, curious that his friend had been wrestling with a problem to which he was oblivious.
“When we first saw this ship you gave me your word you would not act against Spain’s treasure,” Alvaron continued. “And you are an honorable man. But I find myself in the curious position of considering an act against Spain myself. You see, Captain, I have no wish to see France get this bullion. Not when Spain herself needs it so badly. Besides, I have fought the French for many years. I don’t see France as an ally we can trust.”
It was indeed a difficult position for Alvaron, and Fallon could see the problem: How to get the treasure to Spain, but keep it out of French hands, when the government had specifically sent him to Portobelo to get it for France? If Alvaron did not deliver the treasure, now that he had at least part of it, he could be hanged for treason. And yet, fate, in the form of Nuevo Año, may have handed him an opportunity to recover his honor by doing his duty.
“Are there loyalists like yourself, Capitán Alvaron, who would see Godoy’s actions as betraying Spain?” Fallon asked.
“Yes, Spain is so political there is always opposition to anything.” Alvaron laughed, breaking the tension of the moment. “Perhaps we deserve our history, no? Always so much intrigue. But to your question, there are those like myself who see Charles IV as a puppet controlled by France. He can usually be found hunting somewhere on the continent, leaving Godoy in charge of the government. Spain is no longer one of the great powers of the world, señor.”
They sat at dinner, then, mostly in silence, each with his own thoughts leading in different directions. Each silently concluding that unless the treasure was taken to Spain it would be treason. For his part, Fallon would honor his word not to attempt to re-take the treasure and hope that Alvaron would find a way, any way, to keep the bullion from reaching France, though he couldn’t imagine what it would be.
SIXTY-TWO
AT FIRST light Davies sent the pinnace to explore the Río de San Juan. The river had a wide entrance, which would have made for an easy escape from the storm, and then it rather dramatically narrowed and swung south, back toward St. Augustine.
Davies had high hopes of finding some trace of Fallon and his crew there, but after spending most of the day exploring the river they found nothing to suggest Fallon had come that way. The pinnace came back aboard, having taken soundings of the river, and Avenger made her way inside the entrance and anchored for the night.
That evening and the next day brought storms, raging late summer storms that, although certainly not of hurricane strength, nonetheless brought strong east winds that effectively kept Avenger bottled up in the Río de San Juan.
Davies spent the day looking deep within himself. He was not normally so introspective, but something had happened to him that night in Matanzas that had destabilized him emotionally, and he was heeling in the stiff breeze of confusion. If the truth be told, he had never been in love before, only deep lust. And so this feeling for Paloma was entirely new, both welcome and not, and he paced his cabin most of the day trying to come to grips with it.
Beauty spent the day studying the charts of the east coast of America, for this was new country to her. Kinis had very kindly told her all he knew, genuine respect in his voice, pointing out the entrances to Savannah and Charleston as being particularly easy to navigate according to the sailing master.
Damn this storm, she thought to herself, wondering if Fallon was even alive and, if he was, what the hell he was doing. And, as she looked at the charts, where was he doing it?
THE FIERCENESS of the wind and pelting rain did not keep the British or Spanish seamen from their work of moving the treasure aboard Nuevo Año, and thankfully the storms meant there were few men on the wharf today to observe them.
At some point in the early forenoon, Alvaron asked Fallon to take over supervision while he went below with Crael to fit his new peg with a leather bucket to hold his leg. Crael had rather remarkably adjusted to life without liquor, albeit much of his abstinence had been forced upon him by the shipwreck. He adjusted a strap on the bucket and wiggled the peg, then adjusted another strap, for it was critical that the peg be an extension of the leg—and stable.
The peg was a fine piece of work, but thumping around the cabin Alvaron could see it would take time to master. Turning quickly was a particular problem, and several times he fell into the furniture as he practiced. Crael left him to his efforts and went back on deck to report success to Fallon, with the caveat that Capitán Alvaron would need some time to adjust to walking.
“Thank you, Crael,” said Fallon to his surgeon. “You have been indispensible to the Service these last weeks. Many men would be dead without you. Capitán Alvaron among them.”
Crael looked at Fallon, the author of his abstinence, but also perhaps his savior. “Thank you, Captain,” he said simply, but there was deep gratitude behind those words.
By the forenoon all the treasure was at last aboard, and the wet and bedraggled crew went below to attempt to dry off. Fallon stayed on deck, looking at the wharf, specifically toward the far end of the wharf where the French privateer nestled against the dock.
An hour later he still stood, the rain running unnoticed off his face, until the wet hair on his arms managed to stand up. My God, he thought, perhaps there was a chance to get home and strike a blow for Great Britain at the same time! The idea was madness, of course. But it had the virtue of being the only idea he had to get out of Savannah.
Below decks at last, Fallon called for Aja to bring towels and fresh slops. “Thank you,” Fallon said gratefully. “How are you coming along, Aja? We’ve barely spoken since we reached Savannah.”
“Well enough, Captain, sir,” said Aja. “Have no worries for me. I am very happy to be off that trail.” Fallon could understand, and he knew it was true for all the men. It was good to be on the water again, if only temporarily.
“Aja, I can only imagine how you must feel having experienced so much in these past few weeks,” Fallon said sympathetically. “Your head must be spinning with all that’s happened. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Suddenly tears began filling the boy’s eyes and ran rivulets down his dark face to drip noiselessly on the deck, mixing with the raindrops falling off Fallon’s clothes. On instinct, Fallon opened his arms and Aja stepped inside their circle; the strength of Fallon’s embrace seemed to relieve him of the need to be strong or brave or a man. His body heaved with sobs for a moment, then quieted.
Slowly, Aja stepped back and dried his eyes with his sleeve, then straightened his back. “I don’t know why I did that,” he said sheepishly.
“You don’t have to know,” said Fallon gently. “You just have to know that everything is going to be all right now. No matter what happened in the past. Do you believe me?”
Aja looked at Fallon with hope and concern on his face. “Yes, Captain, sir. Everything is going to be all right now,” he repeated.
Fallon squeezed the boy’s shoulders. “Good,” he said in an upbeat voice. “Now off you go. I have to dry off, and you do, too! Between the two of us we’ve gotten you very wet!”
Aja smiled weakly and almost laughed a little as he left. Fallon watched him go and in that moment felt an emotion he’d never felt before. It caught him unawares and flooded over him. He felt…like a father. It both took him aback and pleased him. And, truth be told, it frightened him a little because it felt like a different kind of responsibility than all the other responsibilities he had on his shoulders.
Fallon shivered, for he was still soaked through, and it quickly brought his mind back to the situation at hand. He took off his wet slops, then dried and dressed and went aft to see Alvaron. He found him in the great cabin, pacing and turning and, occasionally, staggering, determined to master his new leg.
“I see you are doing wonderfully, sir. Your new leg suits you admirably,” Fallon said in greeting.
“It’s almost mine to command,
Captain Fallon. But I must thank you for loading the rest of the bullion today; in fact, I must humbly thank you and your men for all that you have done. I doubt in the annals of war there has ever been such cooperation between allies, much less enemies.”
They both laughed, and when they were almost finished, laughed some more. They certainly were an incongruous pair of friends.
“Tomorrow I will put on Capitán Tornell’s best uniform and pay a visit to the dockyard to negotiate for spars and rigging,” said Alvaron, sitting down on a chair to rest. “It could never have happened without your help. I am quite at a loss to repay you.”
Fallon hesitated to ask what he had in mind to ask, for it was not a quid pro quo, just a favor. An enormous favor.
“Capitán Alvaron, if there were an attempt on the French privateer at the end of the dock tomorrow night by a desperate group of Englishmen, is there a chance you could, well, be asleep?”
Alvaron smiled, not even needing to consider his answer after all Fallon and his men had done for him. “The French privateer means nothing to me,” Alvaron said, “especially after learning that France is to receive my country’s treasure. I wondered when you would decide on a plan, sir. And I can do more than be asleep tomorrow night. I can stay awake to help you.”
“I was hoping you’d say that, my good friend,” said Fallon with relief in his voice. “Allow me to tell you what I am thinking.”
SIXTY-THREE
THE NEXT day dawned a hazy yellow, and after the hands had had their breakfast and the tide had slacked, Alvaron had the ship warped across the harbor toward the dockyard. Jones had hidden the British seamen below decks with orders to remain quiet.
As the boats pulled the ship to the shore, Alvaron stood alone on the quarterdeck, resplendent in his uniform of gold lace, looking very important indeed. Garin assembled the Spanish crew and went over the plan Fallon had proposed to Alvaron, which, after all the British sailors had done to help them, they greeted warmly. Sailors from all countries loved a good fight.
The Bermuda Privateer Page 25