The negotiations with the dockyard took most of the day, there being the usual back and forth over the available spars and rope and the timeline for completion, given as several weeks, for Garin’s crew would do most of the work, day and night.
It was not unusual for the crews of ships calling at Savannah to be allowed to go ashore at night, and tonight was no exception. Garin turned his men loose after dark with orders to wait for Fallon’s signal, but otherwise to enjoy themselves and their rum. The tide should turn around midnight and begin the slow ebb out to the sea. They were to look for the signal then.
Well after dark, Fallon found Alvaron at the taffrail, staring to the east toward—Spain? He wondered if Alvaron would ever get there, and what he would do in consequence about the treasure. Fallon was glad it was not his decision to make.
“Señor,” said Fallon softly, “I fear it is almost time to say goodbye. Somehow fate brought us together and now fate must drive us apart. I can say many things, but I most want to say I am the better man for knowing you. And, God willing, we will meet again. When our countries decide we need not be enemies, we will already be friends.”
Alvaron turned toward Fallon, his eyes moist but his voice under control. “Captain Fallon, never have I met a more daring man, a more courageous leader of men. Yours is an indomitable spirit, and you have inspired not only me, but my men.”
Fallon made to demur, but Alvaron wasn’t finished.
“I will miss your guidance, señor. Your wisdom. But most of all, I will miss my friend.”
They embraced, held a moment, and then stood apart. Finally they clasped hands one last time, and then Fallon climbed down to the dock.
MIDNIGHT.
Garin walked along the wharf and eyed several of his men, most of whom were fairly drunk, but no drunker than any of the other sailors. It was a warm night, the sickle moon lighting very little of the dock and virtually none of the harbor. This was just as well, as the first of the British sailors were even then easing themselves down into Nuevo Año’s boats, only to sit anxiously, awaiting events. They were not long in coming.
At the Eagle’s Nest, a bar that was more a hole in the wall than a nest, or a building for that matter, Fallon spent some time nursing his ale and studying the American sailor off the privateer. He was a loudmouth, brutish and profane; he’d had enough to drink for two men and was loud enough for four. Nearby, a small clot of American sailors kept to themselves, eyeing their erstwhile countryman with disdain. Fallon sensed the time was now or never and, with a scowl painted on his face, he approached the big American and squared off in front of him.
“You’re on the French privateer, aren’t you, mate?” he fairly yelled to the man. “Seems like bullshit to me!”
The American’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What the hell is it to you, you cockeyed fucker? I’ll sail with whom I please and anybody who don’t like it can kiss my ass!”
“Seems like an American sailing for the French is like treason or something. They’re still attacking your shipping, for Christ’s sake! Why would they want you? That’s what I’m wondering. Maybe you’re a spy or some shit like that! Or maybe you just like raiding American ships!”
And with that the small group of Americans seemed to grow and move closer, sensing the fight coming, provoked by their own sense of patriotism and wondering at their countryman’s motivations. The big American reacted predictably, but as he drew back his hand in a fist, Fallon moved inside, rocked his head back, and brought it forward with huge force, his forehead landing on the bridge of the big man’s nose and splitting it open like a tomato.
The Eagle’s Nest erupted. The Americans piled on their rogue countryman, and Fallon backed slowly away. Now some of the French crew jumped in, along with a few Portuguese, and the call went out for reinforcements. Quickly the crew from Élan who were still aboard disembarked and came running, perhaps twenty men. Garin gave the signal for his own crew and suddenly there was a full-scale war on the docks, with tables being thrown aside and chairs breaking over backs. Men from up and down the wharf dove into the melee to hit somebody, anybody they did not know, and the fight grew until it had engulfed the waterfront.
Meanwhile, Alvaron’s men silently rowed Fallon’s crew the short way down the river to the far side of Élan. Quickly and quietly the first wave of British sailors subdued the few Frenchmen still on deck and hurried below to find the capitaine, who was actually in the heads at the moment, and barricaded him inside.
In a flash the ship was theirs!
The rest of Fallon’s crew were quickly ferried down to the privateer while the battle on the waterfront raged. It was doubtful the fighting would end anytime soon. No one was really winning; in fact, few even knew why they were fighting.
Fallon made his way to the schooner, dodging a few fists along the way, and with help from Aja untied the lines holding the ship to the dock. Fallon ordered the jib and staysail set and the helmsman edged Élan out into the ebbing tide and the dark night. In a quarter mile the French crew, including the capitaine still inexplicably clutching his trousers, were put into a ship’s boat and cast off into the darkness. Colston stood in the bows of the schooner, a purloined chart in his hand and, by the light of a dim lantern, navigated as best he could, for it would be a catastrophe indeed to run aground after having executed such a glorious, ridiculously glorious, blow against France.
SIXTY-FOUR
FIRST LIGHT saw Avenger catch the land breeze and edge out the Río de San Juan to leave the anchorage in her wake. Davies was on the quarterdeck taking his morning exercise along the larboard rail, while Kinis stood by the helmsman as the sails were let fall and the ship gathered speed.
It was almost slack tide at the mouth of the river. The sea before the ship was as placid as a lake, there being some miles before the edge of the northward current. Once clear of the river’s mouth, Kinis set the course northward toward a line of low islands just off the coast that bore exploring; if no trace of Fallon was found they would continue on up the coast, checking each port and river as far as Charleston. If still nothing was found by Charleston, well, there was no plan beyond that.
Davies stopped his pacing and leaned on the rail to consider the coastline. It was beautiful from aboard ship. The tidal marshes and lowlands were a vibrant green against the wooded backdrop of America. It was along these same shores that Great Britain had fought and lost to the rebellious Colonists who barely had a navy. Incredible to think about really, and Davies saw it as a testament to the power of American determination and courage versus British hubris.
Beauty appeared on the quarterdeck in fresh slops, looking rested, two cups of coffee in her hands, one of which she passed to Davies at the rail. “Nico would say this was a day when anything was possible,” she said amiably. “Fine morning, good breeze building, so let’s find that fucker.”
Davies smiled, envying Fallon his friendship with this able woman and appreciative that his own relationship with her was growing closer. She’d even insisted he call her Beauty, as Fallon did. They sipped their coffee and chatted about small things, the ship and this and that, the building of the rafts, the value of Kendricks, and how a steady diet of coconuts could work on your insides.
For some reason Davies wanted to tell her about Paloma; well, he felt the need to tell someone. But what? That he’d met a woman who had kissed him and then said good-bye? That wasn’t a story. That was a moment in time.
“Deck there, sail off the starboard bow!” called the lookout as Davies was finishing his coffee. “One of those American schooners, I make!”
The day was growing increasingly clear, and from the masthead it was possible to see for some fifteen miles. Davies and Beauty both moved to the starboard railing and trained telescopes on the schooner, still a small image to them. If she turned and ran there would be no catching her; besides, the war with America was over. Still, another ship was always intriguing.
Kinis ordered the British ensign sent up
but did not alter course, for Talbot Island was off their larboard bow and would need exploring. In fact, within minutes it would be time to lower the pinnace. Those minutes went by, but Kinis held off bringing Avenger into the wind to heave-to. He wanted confirmation of the schooner’s intent first.
Now signals were breaking out from the schooner’s gaff, but the wind had come northerly and blew the flags toward Avenger, making them difficult to read.
“Deck there, schooner is flying a British ensign. And she’s signaling,” came the call from the lookout. “Trying to make out the flags…Have Admiral Fallon aboard.”
THE CREW aboard Élan had recognized Avenger immediately, and soon the cheering began. More than seventy men with one voice, one joyous voice, climbed the ratlines and crowded the bows of the schooner as the two ships converged. Fallon smiled broadly at Aja, whose idea it had been to promote him, and found himself totally, wonderfully giddy. After weeks under the constant strain of command, holding his breath at every twist and turn, he could finally exhale.
Now he could see Davies clearly, and Kinis, and someone next to…by God it was Beauty! It was Beauty! Now all hell broke loose on board Élan, and Fallon and Aja found themselves jumping and waving with the rest, for seeing Beauty safe—and there was Cully! In spite of himself Fallon began crying; he tried to hide it but couldn’t, and he was still biting his lip and trying to stop when Élan rounded up into the wind and hove-to on the starboard tack, half a cable’s distance from Avenger, who had also rounded up to heave-to.
A signal broke out from the big ship’s gaff: Admiral report on board.
That dried Fallon’s tears, and he was still laughing at the joke when he and Aja climbed down into Élan’s gig and were rowed to Avenger’s side, there to be greeted by the entire crew, Davies and Beauty at the front, followed by Kinis and the rest, all sense of decorum and naval etiquette out the window. Now there were wet eyes all around, in spite of themselves. Beauty hugged Fallon so hard it almost cracked his ribs; she was thinner but had lost none of her strength.
They looked at each other a long moment. “Welcome back, you fucker,” she said, a broad smile on her face.
“Welcome back yourself,” he said. “I never doubted it.”
But now the backslapping and questions began in earnest, and it was some time before Fallon realized he had left poor Mr. Jones aboard Élan without orders and, besides, the crews would want to be together. At last, Davies suggested they anchor back in the Río de San Juan for the remainder of the day and night, as he really did want to hear Fallon’s report, though he could already foresee the parting to come.
IN THE early evening Sea Dog’s old crew transferred to Élan and Harp’s old crew transferred to Avenger, bringing things more or less full circle. Fallon shook Jones’s hand warmly, for here was a First among Firsts by his lights. And here was Crael, looking thin but clear-eyed and fit, and Fallon clapped him on the back to congratulate him on his particular journey from captivity.
That night Fallon, Beauty, Davies, and Kinis dined in the great cabin on board Avenger, and within four bottles of claret all things were known that would ever be known. Davies listened to Beauty tell her story again for the benefit of Fallon, and heard Fallon tell his for the first time, and Davies recounted the story of Matanzas and the short-haired women, leaving out a particular short-haired woman. When it was all told they were fairly well drunk and more than a little glad to be alive together. They counted two treasure ships definitely wrecked or sunk, Punta and Rio, with Estrella and Valiente doubtful to make it to Spain or even to have survived. Davies had loosed a full broadside into Nuevo Año before he broke off action and took his own orders to heart: Save your ship. Of the last treasure ship’s fate there was no telling. Perhaps she had fallen to Clayton, or perhaps she had survived, or more likely she’d sunk.
Even under the effects of the wine, Fallon omitted the existence of Nuevo Año in Savannah per se, only suggesting that Alvaron had spotted a Spanish ship in the harbor and intended to sail on her to Spain. Davies could not be expected to give his word not to attack a treasure ship when those were his explicit orders. For Fallon there was no moral dilemma. His commission as Acting Commander in the Royal Navy was effectively over. He was only a privateer again. And besides, he had given his word to Alvaron.
At last Fallon and Beauty were rowed back to Élan, doing their best to sing together but hopeless at it. Still, it was a spectacular night under a cloudless, impossibly starry sky, and they were all free. A little bit very drunk, but free.
SIXTY-FIVE
THE NEXT morning crept in under low cloud, a somewhat dispirited beginning full of humidity and headaches enough to go around. It was well after what passed for sunrise when Fallon was rowed over to Avenger with a throbbing head and a lump in his throat. Both he and Davies knew without knowing that the wind was about to blow them in different directions.
Over coffee in the great cabin, a heavy silence was punctuated by attempts at starting sentences. All around them the sounds of a ship preparing for sea.
Finally, Davies. “I must say, Captain Fallon, I’m not sure I can adequately do justice to your service to the Crown, or to me personally, in my dispatches. You volunteered to put yourself and your ship and crew into grave danger, made more horrifically dangerous by the hurricane. And look what you’ve accomplished! Really, I’m afraid words will fail when I write my report for their Lordships.”
“Sir, it was an honor to serve you,” Fallon replied. “My regret is that you don’t have a fortune in Spanish treasure aboard after all you went through.”
“Well, it was never about getting the treasure for either one of us. It was about keeping France from getting it. And by God we did that.”
Fallon swallowed hard. He hoped it was true, and would stay true.
They sat a bit longer, looking out the stern windows, and then it was time to leave. “Where are you off to now, Captain? Home to Bermuda?” Davies asked.
“Bermuda by way of Nassau, sir,” Fallon answered. “Not a direct route, but I am hoping to learn something of Clayton—alive or dead—and that is where there will be something to learn. I want some resolution for all of us.”
“Then Godspeed, sir. It has been a remarkable voyage with you. If ever I can repay the debt, on behalf of England or myself, you have only to ask.”
They shook hands briefly, and then Fallon was over the side to be rowed back to Élan. Before he was aboard and the boat hoisted, Kinis had Avenger’s anchor up and was setting sail for English Harbor. Davies stood at the stern, his ship gathering way, and as Fallon glanced at his friend one last time, he saw him salute.
For Davies, it was back to English Harbor and all the problems he’d left behind. There were troubles aplenty in the Caribbean and not enough ships or men or time to deal with them all. Part of him stayed behind with Fallon, a good friend now. Part of him was still in Matanzas, on a beach in the starlight, falling in love with a woman he barely knew. He wondered, now, as he watched Élan sink below the horizon, which part of him exactly was going home.
“WELL, ADMIRAL,” Beauty said to Fallon with more than a hint of sarcasm, “we’re ready to get underway. I would suggest some gunnery practice along the way, if I might. I’ve asked Cully to try the great guns and allot men to their positions.”
“Yes, by all means, Beauty,” replied Fallon, easily letting the sarcasm roll off his back. “Let’s be off to the south. We’ll drop some barrels in a few miles and give Cully his head.” Fallon was in an apprehensive mood, not knowing what he would find in Nassau, or if he would ever find Clayton and have to return to Bermuda with unfinished business in his wake.
They sailed southeast for most of the day, Cully getting in his gunnery practice and pronouncing himself satisfied, and the crew getting adjusted to the sailing qualities of the big schooner. She was fast, even in a light breeze, and after handling the wheel for the better part of two hours, Beauty was satisfied she knew the ship.
That
night they anchored in a small cove inside a reef off Great Bahama Island. They were in the lee of the island, thus the breeze was light and they needed to set only one anchor. It was warm, and Fallon went for a quick plunge before dinner, swimming around his new ship and admiring her lines. He hadn’t learned much after rifling the capitaine’s cabin, further proof that she was a privateer. As he swam down the side, the glow of the sunset radiantly lit the stern and as he rounded he noticed that Élan had been painted over a previous name. Apparently she’d been renamed after her capture, but the French had not made much of a job of the painting. The light was fading quickly, but Fallon could just make out her original name underneath: Rascal.
Now that’s more like it, he thought to himself. Besides, it was always bad luck to change a ship’s name. As proof, look what happened to the last owners! He decided to change the name back at the first opportunity, not knowing when that might be.
That night Fallon invited Beauty to dinner to discuss plans for Nassau. It was a fine dinner, the French capitaine having stocked the hold with fall vegetables and a suckling pig, and there were enough stories that hadn’t been told before and were only just remembered to keep the evening going. Still, Fallon was reflective. When at last it was time for the evening’s business, Fallon asked Beauty for her thoughts on gathering information in Nassau, now that Cortez had sailed away with Avenger. It required someone who could go ashore and fit in easily without attracting undue attention, someone who could handle themselves if things got dicey.
“I think I have just the person, Nico,” Beauty said smiling. “But it’s someone you likely haven’t noticed before now. It’s a little surprise.”
And then Beauty looked toward the cabin door and called for Aja. When he appeared she winked at him and said, “Would you please fetch Theo?”
The Bermuda Privateer Page 26