by Gene Wolfe
We were fast, and that was good. But after a bit of racing along and gaining a bit on the galleon if anything, it hit me that all we were really doing was racing for the armpit of Hispaniola, where the land makes a hairpin turn to run northwest. That was where Port-au-Prince was, and there were sure to be shore batteries. If we were lucky, they might protect us. If we were not, they would probably sink us.
What looked practically certain was that once we got under the protection of those shore batteries we would not get out again until they said so, if they ever did. A good big bribe might do it-one that would leave us flat.
We would not have to make port there, though. Not unless we wanted to. We could turn north and try to slide past the galleon instead. I figured we would have about one chance in ten.
Up ahead I could see Big Cayemite Island, the little shallow channel between it and the coast, and a finger of land beyond it that would force us to turn north. That looked like a very, very big break to me just then, and I decided to go for it. If the galley followed us in there, she would have to drop back, and there was a good chance she would run aground. That is what I was hoping would happen. If she passed Big Cayemite on the north-which is what she did-I had another plan.
There are no brakes on a ship like my dear quick and slick old slider, but there are ways to stop pretty fast, and we used two of them. As soon as the galleon was out of sight behind Big Cayemite, we loosed the sheets, which spilled the wind from our sails, and we put the rudder over hard.
I think most of the crew thought I had gone crazy, but that is what we did.
If Castillo Blanco had been a speedboat with a nice big engine, I would have done a one-eighty and come out the way we went in. With the wind the way it was, there was no way. We would have had to tack, two steps forward and one back. It would have been too slow, and there was no room for it anyway.
What we did instead was sail east again, exactly like we had been going before, then gybe and head hard north so as to come up behind the galleon as she stood out to clear that finger of land. The bad part was that it was not the perfect crossing of her stern I had visualized. We came up at a slant, so our shots were more quartering than raking, and the range was five hundred yards or so.
The upshot-and it was up, we had to elevate our guns as much as we could-was that out of five shots we got three hits and two misses, and the galleon's rudder was not touched. She fired her broadside at us as we made north, too; but by the time her captain got her swung 'round for that, the range was a lot longer. If any of those shots made it as far as we were, they did not come close. We saw an awful lot of splashes, and my guess is that none did.
I was watching her through my glass, looking for hits-you can imagine. Praying for hits was more like it. I saw three, as I just wrote. I also saw all the gilding and carving on her stern, and she was the Santa Lucia, the same galleon that had crossed the Atlantic with us when I was on the Santa Charita.
After that it was a straight chase up the west coast of Hispaniola. The Santa Lucia had a couple bow chasers, and banged away with them. I would guess they were long twelves, or about that. When our stern chaser fired the first time, I was so busy trying to get a little more speed that I had practically forgotten about it. I watched the bow of the Santa Lucia through my glass for the next shot and the one after that, and the first hit right at the waterline. The next hit on her foredeck somewhere-I saw the splinters fly.
It was mighty good shooting, and I felt like I ought to run down and give the gun crew a pat on the back. Down I went, and guess who was aiming the gun and touching it off?
It was Novia, and that was when it really hit me that if something happened to me, she would be the new captain. The men swabbed the bore, loaded the new charge and the new ball, and ran the gun out again. She sighted the gun and fired it. I did not see where that shot went, but I saw the men cheer and heard her yell, "That's the way, my braves!"
When they were swabbing the bore for the next shot, I just backed out of the cabin and went up on the quarterdeck again. She was taking care of things down there as well as I could have or better. Anything I said or did was a lot more likely to hurt that operation than help it.
Right here is where there ought to be a desperate sea fight, with the Castillo Blanco slugging it out muzzle-to-muzzle with the Santa Lucia and me leading a little party of desperate men from our sinking hamburger stand onto the Spanish galleon. I would have a knife in my teeth, but I would shout something thrilling anyway.
Well, sorry. I am writing the truth here, and that is not how it was. We ran north into the Gulf of Gonave with the galleon in hot pursuit. She lost her bowsprit, and when one of Novia's shots broke her foremast main yard, the Spanish gave up. Rombeau had circled around with the idea of coming up behind her, but by the time Magdelena came into sight it was all over.
Here I ought to say something about shooting big guns at sea. It is a whole lot worse than shooting wild cattle with a musket. On land, you can generally steady your musket on a tree or a rock, or lay the barrel in a forked stick you carry. There is no way to steady a big gun at sea.
What is almost as bad is that you cannot be looking through the sights when the gun fires. The recoil would kill you.
Here is what you have to do. First you notice how much the ship is rolling or pitching-most of the time. (Every so often a big one will fool you.) Then you aim the gun. The best aim is to have the base of the enemy's mast in your sights at the top of the roll or pitch. You jump out of the way and grab the slow match. You stick the burning end in the touchhole, timing it so the muzzle will be as high as it is going to go when the gun fires. It will take a quarter of a second or so for your gun to fire after you touch it off.
There is a lot of luck involved. There is also a lot of skill, particularly in knowing the roll or pitch and knowing just how long it will be before the gun fires. A pretty bad shot may get lucky. It is bound to happen now and then. But in the long run, a good shot will beat a bad one hands down.
What I did was to say a Hail Mary, starting at the bottom of a roll or pitch, and notice where the top came, then touch off the gun one word before that. I do not know what Novia did. I only know it worked for her.
21
Good-bye, Old Buddy
The last time I had seen Tortuga I had been paddling a piragua. Now I was captain of the most beautiful pirate ship anybody ever saw, and I had another one, bigger and good-looking too, with her captain under me. It made a lot of difference-the skipper of the Castillo Blanco was a heck of a lot more worried than the guy paddling the piragua had been, and had a heck of a lot more things to worry about.
"That's Turtle Island," I told Novia. "See the shape?"
She nodded, still studying it through my glass, then looked up at the gold-and-white French flag we were flying. "They will not shoot at us?"
"Good on you," I said, "you spotted the batteries. So did I. We won't come in range. Rombeau and I are going ashore in Magdelena's gig."
"You are no more French than me, Crisoforo. Send Bouton."
I told her I could pass, and I wanted to see those batteries for myself.
When Melind and I had left Tortuga, there had been no shore batteries and the town had been shot up by the Spanish. The town was back now, still shacks mostly but with wider and straighter streets, and not all shacks.
The shore battery Rombeau and I went to had five long guns, probably twenty-pounders, with a furnace for heating shot. There was a stockade to protect the gun crew. We saluted the officer in charge and told him we were law-abiding traders who just wanted to go into the harbor to do a little business.
He winked and asked if we were selling cannon-he noticed we had quite a few gunports. I explained that we had them to fight off the accursed Spanish and said I felt sure there was a small fee to be paid by each ship going into the harbor. We would be glad to pay it. How much? After that we talked about money for a while, Rombeau and I finally getting him down close to half.
We had no sooner tied up at a wharf than a soldier came with a letter saying the governor of the island wanted to parlay with both captains that afternoon.
M. Bertrand d'Ogeron was one of the biggest men I have ever seen. He was fat, sure, but he was tall, too, and there was lots of muscle under the fat. The funny thing about him was that he looked stupid, with his big, wide, fat face and little nose and mouth. Then too, he had a trick of opening his eyes wide that made him look like a real idiot. About the third time he did it, I caught on. He was hoping we would say something stupid he could use if we stuck to our story about being honest merchants. As for him, he was about as dumb as the weather glass.
"You have wine, yes? Good wine from France? I would like a lot."
No, we said, we did not have any.
"A pity, Monsieurs. Oh, a great pity! One cannot get good wine here. Rum. Rum is not wine." He looked like he was about to cry, and shook his head.
We agreed and said we just wanted to buy supplies, and maybe sign up a few sailors who needed work.
"No wine?"
"None." We shook our heads, both of us.
"At home, my mother-oh, my poor mother!-would set before me the best food in Provence, and the best wine." He sighed hard enough to fill the mainsail. "They say she is dead. This I do not believe. My poor mother, my poor, old mother. Dead. She? It cannot be! Think you she is dead, Monsieurs?"
We said it seemed pretty unlikely and brought up the sailors again.
"Honest sailors, Monsieurs? You neglected to say honest sailors." Here he gave us the idiot stare. "You neglected to say it, but you would not want men who would filch your goods. No, no!"
I said, "We need men so badly we'd take any kind, Your Excellency."
"Pirates? You would not accept pirates, surely?"
"They may wish to reform, Your Excellency. We need men very badly." I shrugged. "You comprehend, I'm sure."
"French pirates." He nodded and looked pleased. "Good honest Frenchmen, such as we ourselves are."
Rombeau said, "Any kind. I'd soon teach them how to talk."
I added, "We need them badly, you see."
"Again?" He cupped his ear. "Say it again? I did not understand you."
I repeated what I had said.
"Well, well. It is simple enough, isn't it? You need men. I have it now. Need men. And supplies? Food? Rum? Sailcloth? Rope?"
We nodded.
"I see." He picked up a beautiful china inkstand and stared at it as if he had never seen it before. "Why, look there! It has a tower with a lot of roofs. More roofs all the time!" The quill fell out, and he bent to pick it up, grunting. I thought sure he would spill the ink, but he did not.
He straightened up and put the quill behind his ear. "Monsieurs, I have sad, sad news for you." He gave us the idiot stare. "Are you bound for China? There are fortunes made in the China trade every year."
We said no.
"Silk for the ladies. Tea? Scores of other things. You must go! But there are no honest sailors here-none! I myself have never visited China. Never been there! I am but a poor man, a man exiled from his homeland and his poor old mother, Monsieurs."
I said, "We're poor men, too, Your Excellency. Poorer than you are, I'm sure."
"English sailors? You would not want English sailors, I know. They are pigs, those English."
"Any kind, Your Excellency. We would soon teach them French, as Captain Rombeau says."
M. d'Ogeron shook his head. "They cannot be trusted. You are French, Monsieur?"
I said I was.
"Odd. Odd? Well, well, well! Each time you speak-well, it doesn't matter, does it?" He stared, nodding to himself. "Are we not all children of Adam, Monsieurs? I know I am. My poor mother often explained it. I myself, Monsieurs, am the partner of an English merchant." He nodded again, took the quill from behind his ear, stared accusingly at it as though it had tickled him, and dropped it on the floor.
I said, "I hope your partnership profits you, Your Excellency."
He sighed. If the quill had been on his desk, I think he would have blown it off. "It is not my ship, Monsieur. Only my partner's, and he cheats me. Cheats me abominably! And yet… And yet he brings me a little gold from time to time."
I said, "That's good."
"It is, Monsieur. Perhaps you know him, being English yourself?"
"No doubt I might know him, Your Excellency, if I were English."
"Captain…" He stared at me again, staring for so long it was hard not to say anything. "Burt? My partner and dear friend Captain Burt?"
I smiled. "Why, yes, Your Excellency. As it happens I have the honor of knowing a Captain Burt. An honest man and a good sailor, just like me."
"I see." D'Ogeron scratched his head. "I am forever dropping things, Monsieur. My, um, crayon. That feather thing. You are not troubled in that way, Monsieur?"
"I am," I said. "Why, I dropped two pistols only this morning." A pistole is a Spanish gold coin, and I figured he would know it.
He smiled. "It is fortunate they were not loaded. Mon Dieu! They might have killed you."
Rombeau said, "Yes, Your Excellency. Or somebody else." "You have Spaniards on your ship, Monsieur?"
Rombeau looked at me, and I knew he was thinking of Don Jose and Pilar. I said, "He has only a few, Your Excellency."
"That is well, but there should be more to stop the bullets."
I said, "Oh, I would not wish any harm to the Spanish, Your Excellency. We intend to trade down the Spanish Main, south of Maracaibo."
He smiled again. "I wish you well in it, Monsieurs. But you must be careful they do you no harm either, you adventurous young captains. Fear has its uses! It was a favorite saying of my late mother's, Monsieurs. The braver the mice, the fatter the cats. You are not cats? Un chat regarde bien un eveque."
Rombeau said, "Only now and then, Your Excellency." I do not believe he understood what either of us were talking about, and when we were leaving, he tried to get me to look at the little leather bag I had dropped. I had to grab his arm and hustle him along. Baseball tonight. Fr. Phil does not care about it, so he took the Youth Center for me so that Fr. Houdek would have some company while he watched the game. Pittsburgh is in town, so I cheered for them while Fr. Houdek took our team.
We bet-the winner had to say the seven o'clock next morning. Pittsburgh won by one run, which was probably the way it should be. "Une serie vaut bien une masse," I told Father. He must have thought I had gone flatout crazy. We bought powder and shot in Tortuga, filling the magazine again. Watered, of course, and bought a dozen other things. No trouble with the merchants, and before we left I found that d'Ogeron's man had been going around to them, telling them to treat us fairly. Or else. D'Ogeron was an honest politician-when you bought him, he stayed bought.
A clerk told me how he had been threatening the merchants, after swearing me to secrecy. What harm he thought it would do for the matter to become known, I cannot imagine. But I swore and have kept my oath until now.
When we had everything on my list, I bought one thing more: a piragua. We had the longboat-not as big as the Magdelena's-and the jolly, but I had a feeling we might need something more. From what some of the men had told me, Capt. Burt took fishermen's boats sometimes. Maybe I could have done that, too, but I would never have felt right about it. We stowed my piragua under the longboat.
From what I had learned on Tortuga, the Spanish had been pushed back, and the French controlled the whole east end of Hispaniola again. I was told that it was a good market for slaves, too, because the supply of indentured servants was drying up. I suppose that was because too many of them were coming back to France and telling people what it was like. I kept the slave thing in the back of my mind, thinking we might catch a Spanish slave ship again. But it did not happen.
We did not have to cruise far along the north coast before we spotted buccaneers on the beach, waving rags on sticks and wanting to sell us dried meat. We put in, both ships, and bought all they had.
When I had handed over the money and everything was nice and friendly, I said, "I used to know a man in your business. He was a good shot, and I'd like to talk him into joining us, if I can. His name was Valentin. Anybody know him?"
All of them laughed, and one said, "You would like to earn the reward, Captain. Who would not? We do not have him, and if we did we could not be cozened out of him so easily as that."
Of course I said I didn't know there was a reward, and how much was it? Was it d'Ogeron who'd offered it?
"One hundred pieces of eight, Captain, dead or alive. Another captain has offered it-no mean offer, as I think you will agree."
He had forgotten the captain's name, but another guy remembered it. It was Capt. Lesage. I wanted to know if this Lesage was captain of the sloop Windward. They said no, he had a three-master, the Bretagne.
After that I took Jalibert and Pat the Rat and went inland to look for Valentin. I knew where he liked to hunt and where he liked to hang out, and we went to all those places. He was not in any of them, and there was no sign we could see that he had been there recently. We found some ashes where Valentin used to dry meat, but they were cold and had been rained on-once anyhow, and probably more than once.
After three days, I decided we would go up to the cave. It would at least tell me whether he had ever gotten the musket and so forth I had left there for him, and after that we would go back to the ship.
That was where I found him, and Francine, too. Dead. They were not just bones, like all the Native Americans who had been killed in there, but their bodies were pretty dry. They had been shot once, both of them, him through the head. The musket I had gotten for him was there, empty, and he may have killed Francine and himself. It could be. I do not know. It could also be that somebody found them there and shot them both. Two men might have done it, or one man with a musket and a pistol.
I left them where they had fallen, and we closed the mouth of the cave with stones, a lot of them. I do not know whether it has ever been found. I hope not.