by Gene Wolfe
One of the things I had been doing when I went out was looking at boats, and the day before I had bought a good one, new, a boat small enough that one man could handle it, but big enough to carry three. (Maybe three men and a kid, in a pinch.) It had oars, a mast a little longer than a mop handle, and a sail a little bit bigger than a blanket. We got a pole, some line that should have been for tying up weeds to burn, a few hooks, a piece of salt pork to cut up for bait, and a bucket. Nothing fancy, because I did not care whether I caught anything or not. As long as we looked like a don and his slave out for a bit of fishing, that was good enough.
Hoodahs rowed us away from the dock. Then I showed him how to set up the mast and spread the sail. When we had sailed a little-there was a pretty good breeze-I went to the bow and let him manage the tiller and sheets. After five minutes or so, I knew he was no stranger to boats. He was not an expert, either, but he had been around boats enough to understand the basics.
We sailed between the fort and watchtower just as pretty as you please, and nobody said boo to us. When we were through the strait and out in the Gulf, and not close to anything or anybody, I had Hoodahs put down the sail. I baited my hook, hoping not to catch anything, and held the pole and pretended to fish. Then I said (just as I am writing it now), "You speak English, Hoodahs. So do I, and I think it's time we leveled with each other. Where did you come from?"
"North, Chris." He pointed. "My land north."
"America?"
He stared, then shook his head, and right then about ninety percent of my hopes washed down the drain. I had been hoping-I had been praying- that he was from the future, just like me.
When I had pulled myself together, I said, "Who taught you English?"
"Master."
I got a little bit more than that out of him that day, but not much. Later, Novia and I got a little bit more. If I were to space it all out the way we got it, it would drive you crazy. So I am just going to give the gist of it here and let it go at that.
Hoodahs was a Moskito who had signed up with Captain Swan. They had raided down the Atlantic coast of South America, and maybe around the Horn. (Hoodahs's geography was pretty sketchy.) Eventually they had put in at some islands where there were rocks, trees, and goats, and not much else, hoping to shoot fresh meat. Hoodahs had been in the hunting party, and he had been left behind. Our guess was that a Spanish ship had come up, but it could have been no more than a change in the weather.
Eventually, he made a little raft and paddled it to one of the other islands. There had been a white man on it, and they had made friends and joined forces. Hoodahs called this man Master. Master had taught him English, and more or less converted him to Christianity. By that I mean he still believed everything Moskitos do, but he knew about God and Jesus, too, and I think may have liked them better.
They started building a real boat together, cutting little trees, sawing planks, seasoning the wood, and so forth. They had gotten pretty far with it, from what he said, when a ship came. Master went aboard to go back to England, but Hoodahs did not. Part of it was that he did not want to go to England, and part was that he did not trust the men on the ship. Or that is how it seemed to Novia and me.
He stayed on the island and stopped working on their boat. As well as I can figure, he was on the first island for a year or so, then with Master for at least two years and maybe longer. After that he was alone on Master's island for at least another year.
Spanish ships had come from time to time, and he and Master had al ways hidden their boat and hidden themselves, too. This time Hoodahs hid, but forgot to hide the boat-or maybe could not carry it by himself. These Spanish had dogs, and the dogs hunted him down. The Spanish caught him and made him a slave on their ship. Eventually they had sold him to the innkeeper.
As I said, I got a whole lot less than that when we were out on the boat. I am not sure whether Mahu was the most talkative man I have ever met, but I am absolutely certain that Hoodahs was the most closemouthed. I told him not to speak English to Spaniards, and warned him that he was never to tell anybody I did. At first I worried that he might do it anyway. As I got to know him better, I realized that I had wasted my breath telling him to clam up. Hoodahs was not big on telling anybody anything, and that is putting it mildly.
Nobody had stopped us, or questioned us, or made any other kind of trouble, so the next day we went fishing again, this time south into Lake Maracaibo. It was a funny setup. The eastern shore of the lake was Spanish, with a lot of agriculture and a little town called Gibraltar down toward the south end. The western shore was still wild jungle, with Native Americans there that the Spanish called Indios Bravos. Boats that came too close to their side were likely to be in trouble. I asked Hoodahs whether he wanted to join the Indios Bravos, saying that he could dive over the side and swim, and it would be okay with me. I would not try to stop him. He said no, the Indios Bravos would kill him, he was not of their tribe.
We stopped at Gibraltar, got some wine and something to eat, and I talked about fishing with a couple of men where we ate. The man who sold us our food said that Hoodahs would have to take his outside, then said that Hoodahs would run away when he saw he was not chained. I said he would not, don't worry about it. He got his food, ate outside, and did not run away.
The day after that, we decided to try the Gulf again. It was a nice setup for defense, with a narrow strait that was too shallow for ships anywhere except right down the middle between Lookout Island and Pigeon Island. The watchtower was on Lookout Island, on top of a little hill that was just about the whole island.
Pigeon Island was bigger, maybe twenty or thirty acres. The fort was stone, built so that any ship that went down the strait to Maracaibo had to sail right under the guns. When I had gotten a look at it two days before, I had seen right away that the only way to capture it was to attack it on the landward side. Eight or ten big galleons might have been able to knock it down, but they would have lost four or five ships first.
There was a little cove over on the shallow-water side, pretty well hidden by trees. We tied up there, and I explained to Hoodahs that I needed to have a look at that side of the fort without being seen. He said, "Me first. Watch hands," and faded into the underbrush like smoke. I followed him, trying to move fast without making any noise. Trying, I said. I moved less than half as fast as he did, and made ten times more noise. Or a hundred, because he did not make any noise at all, and I did. I would move ahead as fast as I could for five or ten minutes, then I would catch sight of him waiting for me. He would wait to make sure I had seen him, motion for me to follow, and fade out.
After that had happened twice he did not go, but stayed right where he was, pointing. There was a little clearing in front of us, and he was pointing to the other side. I caught up with him and looked across that clearing as hard as I could. What I saw was more trees and more brush. Nothing else.
Hoodahs motioned for me to follow, and faded off to his left, not going into the clearing at all. I am dumb, but I was not dumb enough to step out there. I followed him, and when we had gone maybe twenty or thirty feet, there was a trench about three feet deep with gravel on the bottom, and a thick wall of dirt not quite two feet high in front of it. There were little bushes scattered along the top of that wall, looking like they had been planted there. In front of it were more little bushes, not high enough to block the view of anybody looking over it.
We followed it around until we were looking across the clearing from the other side. Hoodahs came as close to smiling as I ever saw-by which I mean that his mouth was set in stone, but his dark and narrow eyes were laughing-raised an imaginary musket, and pulled back the invisible hammer. I nodded to show I got it, and we went on to the fort and had a good look at that.
A couple of days after that, I got all dressed up in the fancy clothes I had been buying in Maracaibo, strapped on my long sword and Novia's dagger, and Hoodahs and I sailed up to that fort and tied up at the wharf, all as open and aboveboard as you
please. I told the colonel I was a soldier, a captain, who had come to Maracaibo from Havana hoping to get a promotion from General Sanchez.
And I showed him the letter that Novia and I had cooked up, complete with a pretty scarlet ribbon and the smudged red wax impression left by the "official" seal Long Pierre had carved for us. It talked about the good family in Spain I came from (which really was Novia's) and praised me to the skies. I had held the pen that signed it, but the name on it belonged to the governor of Cuba.
When the colonel had read all that, I told him I had been promised an audience with the deputy governor and General Sanchez in a few days, and I wanted to show them I was already familiar with the military situation here.
He stood me a glass of good wine and showed me all over the fort. Which was, I admit, pretty impressive. Impressive from the seaward side, particularly.
I did various other things in Maracaibo after that, sometimes with Hoodahs and sometimes on my own. None of them were important, although some of them were fun.
Then my fortnight was up, and we sailed out to meet Harker in the Gulf and went aboard, tying our little boat on behind Princess.
30
Our Attack
Capt. Burt welcomed me with a big smile and a glass of wine. "You're lookin' healthy, Chris. How's everythin' on the Sabina?"
I said thank you and "Fine, sir. Novia had to shoot one guy while I was gone and hang another one, but she says it's done wonders to bring the rest into line. So do Red Jack and Bouton."
"I've known it to help, myself." Capt. Burt grinned. "You'll be short two men, just the same."
I shook my head. "You're right, sir, she was down two men. The man she hanged had killed Compagne, so that was two. But the one she shot-it was one of the Cimaroons-is recovering. I brought us another man when I came back, so we've only lost one, really."
"You're sure he ain't a spy, Chris?"
"He was a Moskito slave, sir. They just about beat him to death. He hates the Spanish worse than I hate… well, anybody."
"You trust him."
"Absolutely. If you knew him like I do, you'd trust him, too."
"Good enough." Captain Burt leaned back, making the steeple with his fingers. "Tell me about the fort."
"Strong on the water sides, not so strong on the others. The walls fronting the strait are granite, about four feet thick. Landward-"
"How many guns?"
"On the water side? Sixteen. There are ten eight-pounders, four twelve-pounders, and two twenty-fours. They have two furnaces for heating hot shot."
He rubbed his hands together. "You got into the fort, Chris?"
"Yes, sir. It was no great trick."
"I'm impressed. I thought you were a man worth havin' when we met in Veracruz. Remember that?"
"Yes, sir. I'll never forget it."
"I didn't know how right I was. Like some more wine?"
I shook my head and put my hand over my glass.
He poured more for himself. "Now let me count up. Four men for each of the eights, that's thirty-two. Four twelves, you said. Let's say six men for each of them, which is another twenty-four-fifty-six so far. Two twenty-four-pounders. They could be worked by eight, but let's allow ten-another twenty men. There will be officers, men to tend the furnaces, and so on. I'd say a hundred at least. Does that square with what you saw?"
I shook my head again. "It's more like two hundred, Captain. I'd guess about a hundred and sixty. Maybe a hundred and eighty, but at least a hundred and sixty."
He nodded, I would say to himself. "Stand against a fleet. L'Olonnais took the place, you know. Got a fortune out of it and scared Spain half to death. They've made it a lot stronger than it was in his day. Tell me about the watchtower. Is it part of the fort?"
"No, sir, it's not. It's on a different island on the other side of the strait- Isla de la Vigia. It means Lookout Island. It's a stone tower on a hill. I'd guess the tower must be about fifty feet high, but the top of the tower must be close to a hundred feet above sea level. Whenever a ship comes into the Gulf, the tower signals to the fort. I tried to crack the code, but I couldn't."
"I take it the strait's narrow? That's how it looks on every map I've seen."
"Yes, sir. Really narrow, and the channel down it is worse. Narrow and crooked. There's a famous sandbar called El Tablazo about ten feet down. A lot of ships get hung up on it."
"I've got the picture." The steeple came back. "What would prevent our taking the tower, Chris?"
"Fire from the fort. Soldiers from the fort or from the barracks outside the city."
"There are more soldiers there to defend the city, then."
"Yes, sir. About eight hundred, from what I saw of them."
"Good soldiers?"
I shrugged. "About average, I'd say. I don't know a lot about soldiers."
"Good soldiers stand straight and keep themselves as clean as possible. Like marines." Capt. Burt rose as he spoke, walked to the big stern windows and looked out at Snow Lady. "I don't imagine you know much about marines, either."
I said, "No, Captain. I don't."
"I wish I had some. I wish the Navy would lend me a couple of hundred. Or more." As he walked back to his chair, I noticed that the deck beams just cleared his head. I had to crouch in that cabin, just like I crouched in our cabin on Sabina.
"I've got two plans to propose, Chris. Maybe they're both workable. Maybe neither one is. I'd like your frank opinion of both."
"Sure," I said. "You'll get it, Captain."
"Good. Here's the first. We land on the western shore of the Gulf, march along the coast staying out of range of the guns of the fort, and take the city."
"Sure." I nodded. "That's what I was thinking when I got there. It might be done, sir, but it carries some big disadvantages."
"Which are?"
"A tough march, to start with. The men won't like that. We'd have to leave half our force on the ships, just like Portobello, but Maracaibo's a lot bigger."
"And we've fewer ships. Go on."
"We'd be seen landing by the watchtower. That would give General Sanchez-he's in the city now-two or three days to arrange a defense outside the city. Not just soldiers, but cannon."
"No element of surprise," Capt. Burt murmured.
"Exactly, sir. It would also give General Sanchez time to call for more soldiers from Caracas. He'd get them, too. He's the highest-ranking officer in Venezuela, from what I hear."
"We might beat him before they got there, Chris. Or so I'd hope."
"Yes, sir. We might, but we'd have to get our hands on the gold fast, and they'd have had lots of time to hide it. If we hadn't gotten it, we'd have to fight the fresh soldiers, too. If we beat them, we'd still have to carry everything out to the ships the same way we came in. And if Caracas sent ships instead of troops marching overland-"
Capt. Burt cut me off. "Exactly. That's the great objection. Our ships'd be trapped in the Gulf like so many rats. They'd have to fight their way out, with their crews at half strength."
"Leaving us," I added.
"Right. I take it we agree my first plan's workable but damnably risky. Here's my second. Don't be afraid to get rough with it. All the guns in the fort are directed toward the strait?"
"All but two eight-pounders, sir. Those are pointed inland."
"Good. We could bombard the watchtower without being shot at by the fort, from what you say. We'll knock it down, blinding them. When there's a good stiff wind on a dark night, we'll run through the strait. We'll take the city and threaten to burn it and kill our hostages if the fort doesn't surrender."
I said, "I like that one a lot better than the first, Captain. The strait would be the tricky part. The longer we wait for a favoring wind, the longer the Spanish will have to send for ships and soldiers. And to get them."
Capt. Burt nodded. "I agree, of course. We'll have to act within the next few nights."
"It's narrow, too, and we'll have to feel our way with sounding poles. Any
ship that runs aground will be knocked to pieces as soon as the sun's up."
"I understand."
"What's worse is that any ship that runs aground may block the channel for the others. If they've entered the strait, they'll have to kedge to get out. May I tell you how I'd do it, sir?"
He nodded, and I did. We came into the Gulf in broad daylight, proudly flying our black flags. Sabina was in the lead, and the man at the masthead called down, "Tower's makin' signals, Cap'n. I can't read 'em, though."
I grinned at Novia and said, "I imagine it is." I remember that so well that I cannot resist putting it in.
She insisted on going with me in the longboat. We landed-all our boats landed-on the west side of the Pigeon Island, the side away from the strait. Putting it another way, we landed just about opposite the fort, which put us behind the ambush that Hoodahs and I had found. I had hoped to catch the soldiers as they beat it back into the fort, but nobody had warned them. We came up behind them while they waited in their trench. We drove them like sheep to the northern end of the island, where our ships' guns did for a hundred or more before they could surrender.
After that we jumped the fort from behind, took it, and drove iron spikes into the touchholes of the guns. There was hardly anybody left inside, and I doubt that more than a dozen shots were fired.
So I had been wrong about the soldiers. I was wrong about the city, too, because I had expected street fighting with the civilians and General Sanchez's soldiers. He used his men to cover the evacuation instead. That might have been good if the civilians had stuck together. As soon as they were clear of the city they scattered like chickens, and he could not have covered them all with five thousand men. We sent strong parties pretty much wherever we wanted to, and rounded up a lot of them, with the gold, silver, and jewelry they had been trying to save from us.
That was when I really found out why Capt. Burt rated buccaneers as highly as he did. Our buccaneers could load and fire twice in the time it took a soldier to load and fire once, and they could bowl over a running man at fifty paces. There were days when it seemed like the only time anybody was hit by one of those soldiers was when the soldier was aiming at somebody else. Hand-to-hand was liable to be pretty even-the side with the most men won. (That was just about always us.) But the way to win with the fewest losses was to follow a party of civilians who were hot to get away from us and pick off the soldiers who were trying to protect it. In half an hour they would have hardly one man left.