Our guns may have been fiercer, but the Spanish were better sailors. While our sails luffed overhead and our ship made weak and miserable leaps over the jagged waves, their red crosses were stretched tight across the full canvas sheets and their cutwater sliced through the choppy swells like a razor. In no time at all, Cosecha pulled up on our broadside.
Clouds rolled back, revealing the sun the same way Cosecha’s gun ports opened, showing us her iron teeth. My heart sunk into my gut as I squinted in the sunlight. Heat instantly engulfed the scene. Sweat poured out of my pours as our gunners prepared to beat the Spaniards to the blow. Who would fire first? Our men were swift to prime, load and aim our guns, but they were not quick enough.
“Fuego!” The Spanish word echoed in the thick, salty air.
Cosecha fired first.
The force of her four guns igniting all at once blew me backwards. The sight of my men being blasted to bits by shrapnel and splintered timbers ripped through my mind, paining me much deeper than the feel of busted timbers stabbing into my flesh as I hit and slid across the deck.
One of our guns answered to her four, doing very little damage in comparison. Arising from the floor I’d been thrown to, I saw that Renard’s buccaneers were firing hot and accurate musket balls at Cosecha’s stern. But her great guns were still too far out of range. In the meantime, Cosecha fired again. Her broadside shot across the gap, filling the air with black smoke and splattering our deck with blood. Damn it! We had come too far to fail now. We could not lose this fight.
With Dennel’s help, Burton remained strong at the tiller. While they worked together to keep the ship steady over the wild tide, Burton shouted, “If we can’t out shoot them and we can’t out sail them, then by God, we’ll outthink those bastards!”
Cosecha lit up again. Ducking to miss splintering timbers, but once again being pierced by shrapnel, I listen closely to his plan.
“We have more men and they know it, we just need to unite our crews. Cut out the sails! Slow her down until Dorado catches up. If Cosecha wants us, she can have us both!”
Watching Barlow—bloody and limping—hurrying for the sails and shouting at the unskilled sailors, I joined the master carpenter on his way up the shrouds.
Dodging musket balls and choking on black smoke, all the while distracted by the sight of our village burning in the distance, I made it to the yard and commanded the sailors through the process of cutting out the sails.
Feeling Isabella slow and watching Dorado catch up as Cosecha slipped ahead, I heard Burton shout at our gunners, “Blast her at the stern!”
Our surviving but injured gunners gathered enough strength to fire two shots through the weak wood of Cosecha’s stern quarters. Timbers exploded, exposing the interior of the cabin and sending furniture and even a stern gun toppling in the blow.
Dorado had caught up enough to hit her the same way. From where I was perched in the yard, I heard the ripping, tearing cry that echoed the thump of her great guns. Looking toward the source of the unfamiliar sound, I saw that the shot had been aimed high. The strange piece of ammunition hit Cosecha’s mizzen yards and somehow tore her rigging to shreds. Taut lines whistled as they broke free, causing the mizzen sails to fall loose. Renard was wailing from the helm, orchestrating this enthralling tactic and leading his gunners to fire again. They did. This shot did the same and completely disabled the sails, slowing Cosecha’s pace and trapping her between us.
Surrounded, Cosecha’s gunners dispersed to both sides, dividing her forces in two. She managed to fire from both port and starboard, but having the advantage now, our men were able to stay out of harm’s way.
Smoke billowed in the air, darkening the now sunny evening. Choking on the cloud, Burton shouted, “Board her!”
Watching my men throw grappling hooks over Cosecha’s gunnel, I rushed down the shrouds and prepared to board the enemy ship. Climbing up on the rail, I felt the ship swaying on the tumbling tide, and almost lost my balance as the hulls crashed together. I caught myself and regained my footing just in time to see that Renard’s crew was also boarding. Through the smoke, they appeared as a fearsome reflection of our bloody and growling men as we leapt over the gunnel to serve the Spaniards their final taste of doom.
I leapt across the gap. My feet landed hard on Cosecha’s gunnel and I threw myself onto her deck. Smoke laid low over the planks, marring my vision. As I brandished my sword, the sound of timbers creaking, muskets firing, men screaming in pain and growling with strength, surrounded me like echoes in a dark and foreboding tunnel. Using my blade as a shield as well as a weapon, I once again forced my way across the deck of an enemy ship. Slicing, stabbing, and tearing open every man in my path, I threw their dead and dying bodies to the side until there was no one left to kill. The few men who had survived the onslaught were thrown into the sea, left to drown.
Just as I thought we had cleared the deck and were safe to sail away, two buccaneers came running up from the hold. “Retreat! Retreat! The ship’s going to blow!”
Their panicked shouts clarified that two Spaniards were found in the hold and had set the ship on fire so we would not be able to keep it.
Knowing we were doomed if the flames hit the powder keg, we all rushed back to our own ships. We cleared the deck just in time to escape the fire that had rushed up the gangway and taken hold of the main deck. In a matter of seconds, we cut the grappling hooks loose and then hurried to make sail.
Once the sheets were home and Isabella and Dorado Escudo were sailing due north-east, Cosecha exploded. Looking back to observe the carnage we were leaving in our wake, I watched the ball of fire devour the main mast. When it died down, every sail and all the yards were heavy with flames. Behind the burning ship, the jungle surrounding the ash and rubble that once made up our village continued to burn. The bay was still littered with Spanish longboats and the beach was flooded with soldiers, but as far as I could see the buccaneers had fled the scene. If any were left behind, they would stay behind, for it’d be too risky to lose our stronghold…
I still had no idea just who had made it to Dorado, and had yet to see who of our own we lost in the damage, but once again, I was one of the survivors. Holding tight to my sword, feeling wet and sticky blood covering my skin and flavoring my saliva, I realized how badly I’d been injured. I had been stabbed a great many times and was riddled with splinters, and every muscle in my body throbbed and ached. I hurt all over and was exhausted, but the pain somehow signified the magnitude of our success.
The Spanish had come here intending to chase us away with death and fire, but this crew was built on a strong and fearsome brotherhood that would not be defeated by an organized army. We were free men who fought not only to defend our land, but the personal liberties we held so dearly.
As they had hoped, they were now in possession of the land, but what they had not considered was that we buccaneers would escape the shore they planned to burn us on, use their own weapons against them, and take their ships and sail away.
Not only had we survived this Spanish invasion, but we conquered, and were still free men.
Part V
Precarious Betrayal
Tortuga
Autumn of 1641
Chapter 19
Far from Over
Gaze locked deep on the smoke clouds lingering around the shore of Hispaniola, I listened to Burton’s prayer as Barlow and Peck dropped the dead men into the sea. Four good men gave their lives to offer us this victory. The sounds of their bodies splashing in the water echoed in my ears and shivered my soul. They had not lived to see the evening breeze filling the sails of the two-masted brigantine we had gained, and they were not here to see how riddled with shot damage she was, but every bloodstain on deck and gaping hole in her hull served as a reminder of their sacrifice.
As for those of us who survived, three were severely injured and stowed away in the sick berth, while the remaining thirteen were aching, bleeding, and exhausted. We’d eaten a bit
of grub from the galley and drank down a great deal of the water supply, but all were far from satisfied. At this point, I didn’t know what it would take to ever again feel at ease, but finding someone with any sort of doctor’s knowledge would be a good start.
With the short burial service concluded, I wandered over to the tiller to see what Burton had in mind. Tying one of my sashes around the deep and painful stab wound on my forearm—just above my bracer—I said, “So, can I call you captain now?”
“Perhaps. For now, at least.” He puffed on a cigarro and held it tight within his clenched lips. “We can reassess our situation once we get our wits about us. First thing, how are the men in the sick berth doing?”
“Worse than you and me,” I pointed out the bloody gash on his forehead, “but better than the dead.”
Unable to remove his one hand from the tiller to wipe the slow running blood from his temple, he shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m as chipper as a lark, but I reckon we should get the others to a doctor as soon as possible, eh?”
“Indeed,” I agreed, and then looked to Renard’s ship, that had sailed ahead of us. “Maybe they got away with some healing hands.”
Barlow met us at the helm. Fanning Burton’s cigarro smoke away from his face, he coughed, “Fat Annie said Renard’s rush could be in order to reach the healing sorcerer on Tortuga.”
“Sorcerer?” I winced.
Barlow cocked a brow. “Aye, she said his name is Magie Noire and that men travel from far and wide to receive his services. Sounds like a good plan to me, unless of course you have a better idea.”
I couldn’t help but think about my grandfather’s negative opinion of sorcery and witchcraft. Scratching my head, finding lumps all over and dry blood stuck in my locks, I stuttered, “No. I just…well… Ah, at this point, anyone who can help our injured men will do.”
“Exactly.” Barlow said.
“Aye. Aye.” Fat Annie chirped as she joined us, the surviving dogs following her and eating the snacks she fed them. “And Magie Noire knows better medicine than anyone in England or France. His hut isn’t far from town. And at this rate…” she pointed at the largest island on the horizon. “Well, I’ll bet you a deep down in the throat dick suck that we’ll be to Tortuga by sundown and healed before dawn.”
As Burton scowled at her statement, Barlow asked, “Is that Tortuga?”
“That it is,” Annie said. “See how it looks like a turtle? That’s why Columbus named it Tortuga.”
It did look like a turtle. As I turned to face her, planning to ask more questions, I noticed that her mouth was surrounded in blood like she had eaten someone. I didn’t dare ask about that. “So, where is the port? Which side will we land on?”
Appearing to like the fact that I was talking to her, she batted her sand caked eyelashes and rubbed my arm. “There is a natural harbor on the southern shore. It faces Hispaniola and we’ll have to navigate the channel.”
I yanked my arm away from her and took a step back. “Have you been there before?”
“Plenty of times.” She proudly stated. “LeRouge has auctioned off us whores there before. It’s a nasty place. Hardly more civilized than your village, but there are some buildings and there is a fort.”
“Ask her who operates the fort?” Burton said to me, clearly not wanting to address Fat Annie personally.
“Who operates the fort?” I laughed as I relayed the question she’d already heard.
“The French. Well, Frenchmen. Like Hispaniola, Tortuga has no king and has been claimed by the buccaneers who fight to defend it. But most of the inhabitants are French. You’d be wise to learn the language if you plan to stay there.”
“I’m not staying any longer than it takes to fix this damn ship,” Burton said to Barlow and me as if Fat Annie had never spoken.
Chuckling about their interactions, I knelt down to pet the dogs, Calahu and Tallulah. As my fury friends rubbed their heads on me, Peckadennel came walking over. Covered in black powder and bloodstains, like the rest of us, they approached us at the helm. Both of their heads darted back and forth between Burton and me. They were each nervously twiddling their fingers. “Um, Captain, and Bentley, and, well, uh…”
“Spit it out already.” I fanned my hand at them.
Peck gulped. “We lost the prisoners.”
The prisoners. I completely forgot about them during the action.
“How the hell did you do that?” Burton yelped.
“Well, uh,” Dennel mumbled.
“It went like this…” Peck scratched his neck, but did not finish his sentence.
I patted his back. “We all lost a lot of things back there. I’m sure you did what you could. Just tell us what happened.”
He took a deep breath. “When the Spanish sailed in and the battle began, we weren’t sure what to do with them. It didn’t seem right to keep them held up in the stocks—”
“That sounded an awful lot like murder,” Dennel added.
“Aye.” Peck concurred and looked at Burton. “And we know you never meant for them to be murdered, sir.”
“You’re right about that.” Burton agreed. “What happened, then?”
“Well, while we were debating, Renard came over and suggested we turn them loose to help us fight. He said every hand counts. Watching those dreadful soldiers rowing ashore, shooting their guns and wielding their swords and torches, we figured he was right. So, we let them loose.” He hung his head.
Dennel lifted his. “They fought alongside us, they did. Smedley, Rupert, and Tennison each did real good to help us defend the encampment, but once we ran down to fight the Spaniard’s on the beach we lost sight of them.”
I rubbed my sweaty forehead. “So, we don’t know if they lived or died?”
“We’re sorry, sirs.” They said in unison and both lowered their dirty and blood splattered faces.
“Well, it is possible they could have made it safely to Renard’s ship, over there.” I waved my hand toward Dorado.
“One can only hope.” Burton let out a long breath, then stood tall and addressed Peckadennel. “Thank you for the report. Now, stand up straight and listen here. I would not have left you two in charge of them had I not trusted you. And that very trust stands solid to this moment. We all endured a wild ride through Hell back there and I know you did your best to do the right thing. Things did not go as planned, and that happens. We’ll just hope we can find them, or, that they are dead.”
They both thanked him for his forgiveness and promised to never let him down again.
“All right. With that settled,” Burton said, “Let’s talk more about this captain business.” After lighting a new cigarro, he called for all the men aboard to gather around. Once everyone but the three injured men were on deck and at attention, Burton addressed the crowd. “It won’t be long until we reach Tortuga, but in the meantime, I think it would be wise to establish some officer positions before we dig into the hold or begin distributing chores.”
Everyone agreed. Burton nodded. “I know you buccaneers like to vote, and I respect that. So, tell me, who do you think would be best as your captain?”
I was first to answer. “You, of course.”
Barlow quickly and loudly exclaimed, “I’ve never sailed for a better captain, so you have my vote, to be sure.”
Peckadennel agreed with Barlow.
Ziare commented, “Not many of us know how to sail. He does and he sailed us well. Plus, I just like him. Burton has my vote.”
Zean, the tall and lanky silver haired Frenchman who served as the butcher at our encampment, twisted his thick and waxed mustache as he said, “Aye. Burton led us through that battle and I know he’ll steer us straight from here on out.”
His brother Gean, the short and muscular fellow who cared for the shore cannons around our camp like prize possessions, concurred with Zean’s statement. The rest of the men cheered, happily accepting Burton as their new captain.
Holdin
g the tiller with one hand, Captain Burton bowed and said, “Thank you for the honor. But remember, a captain is only as good as his crew and needs a solid first mate to help keep things running smoothly between them. Feel free to nominate who you think would be best for the position, but I’ll have you know right now that my vote goes for Mason Bentley.”
Hardly able to believe what I was hearing, I looked at Burton to be sure he had not misspoken. He was as serious as could be and the others were now applauding for the notion. As they hooted about how I could sail and fight and made for a good mediator, Zean laid his hand on my shoulder. “So, what say you, Bentley? Will you be our quartermaster?”
Struggling to resist the grin that wanted to rise on my lips, I held my expression solid as I answered, “It would be my honor.”
Once their applause settled, Burton suggested to me, “How about you write everyone’s names and ranks in your journal. Start using it as a logbook of your own.”
I let him know that I liked that idea as I opened his sea chest and pulled out my bag.
As I plucked out my journal, the men attempted to elect Barlow as bosun.
“No, no, no.” Barlow shook his head. “I’m no leader, but I am a carpenter and this ship needs work. Vote me in as master carpenter and your ship will always sail in top condition.”
As the men cheered to accept his offer, Gean said, “But you are the best sailor! Who will be our bosun?”
Burton looked at Peck. “Timothy Peck has been sailing since he was a wee lad, and he knows these ships bow to stern. He climbs those shrouds faster than the rats. I nominate him.”
The men mumbled amongst themselves for a minute, and then quickly decided that since Peck knew the most about the ship’s operations, it made the most sense to elect him as bosun. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he accepted the position. Zean knew how to cook so he was assigned as galley bitch, and being how Gean had been a lead gunner for the French navy, he was now our master gunner.
King of My Nightmare (King of My Nightmare, Book 1): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories Page 30