by Dudley Pope
“I come as a stranger,” he said, “but since Leclerc spoke to me in Jamaica, I have been considering the position of the Brethren. I saw how four of your ships behaved at Santiago, and I liked what I saw.
“But I will be completely honest with you. I think your whole approach to buccaneering is wrong. Very wrong.”
Thomas, Aurelia and Diana were watching the group of men. Close by the ship a pair of terns quarrelled noisily over a small fish; a pelican splashed into the water. A halyard slatted against the mast, rattling in the wind with the insistent noise of a woodpecker. All these isolated noises suddenly seemed very loud.
The Spaniard glanced round at the other buccaneers, as if seeking approval to act as their spokesman.
“Wrong señor? Why, we are still alive!”
“Alive, yes, thanks to your own bravery and probably luck –”
“Who are you to say we are wrong?” Leclerc suddenly interrupted, having realized that he might be held responsible if his protégé caused a fight.
Thomas Whetstone strode into the centre of the group of men, his beard seeming to bristle and his eyes glinting.
“I’ll tell you who he is to say you’re wrong: he’s the man who thought of the raid on Santiago, planned it and led it. I have not heard of the Brethren ever attempting, let alone successfully carrying out, such a raid. So, brothers, you should listen to him. You don’t have to agree, you don’t have to act, but listen!”
“Very well, M. Yorke,” Leclerc said warily, “we will listen.”
Ned looked around at the couple of dozen faces. Yes, indeed they belonged to a motley collection of men; he could see a half-drunken Falstaff at the head of an army press gang leading them fettered out of a sleepy and unsuspecting town. But he had their attention! Yet did he want it? The picture of Kingsnorth was suddenly bright in his mind: he longed to be back, but he knew Aurelia did not want to see Barbados for a long time. He had been turned into a sea gypsy by the Roundheads; it remained to be seen whether he would (or could?) ever return to the old life. But, now he looked at them, did he really want to lead this rabble? Did he want to be a sober Falstaff? Why not just the Griffin and the Phoenix, and the Peleus if Thomas wanted to come along? Surely better to plan raids on small towns, with no need to share the purchase among this crowd. No chance of treachery, everyone understanding all aspects of the particular raid… No, he wanted no part of this crowd. The decision was sudden, but he could see no alternative. He was not going to lead a rabble, of that he was sure.
“Gentlemen, I would like you to come over to the Griffin, where there will be plenty to eat and drink, because at dawn the Griffin returns to Jamaica.”
“Dawn… Jamaica?” Leclerc was dumbfounded. “But you have only just arrived in Tortuga, M’sieur. We have not even voted…”
“I have no wish to lead you,” Ned said amiably. “I thought I had, but now I’ve met you all, I have changed my mind. Not,” he added quickly, “that I think any the less of you: simply that I now realize that you are quite content with the scale of what you are doing, and do not wish to change anything.”
A flustered Leclerc took over the role of spokesman. “You made a statement and we simply asked for details. If you think we are going about our work the wrong way, then please tell us the right way!”
“Very well, I’ll give you my views, but that doesn’t change my attitude towards leading you. The person you eventually choose as the leader may disagree with me.
“I asked our Spanish friend here about your work. He said you sail to a town and raid it, but there were no Spanish ships at sea – or very few, anyway – for you to attack.
“Now, just consider a raid on a Spanish coastal town. You sail in, anchor, land on the beach from your boats, and attack the town.” He paused for several long moments, to be sure of their attention. “Tell me, what are you when you attack the town, sailors or soldiers? Which skill is the most useful, furling a sail or knowing how to outflank a crowd of Spaniards making a defence in the plaza?”
Again he paused. He knew each man was now imaging a raid, reliving the wild rush from the boats to the town, taking care to keep the slow-match alight for the muskets, the hurried search through pockets for the spanning keys to prepare the wheel-lock pistols. Soldier or sailor? Soldat ou matelot? Soldado o marinero? And whatever they were in Portuguese.
Suddenly Leclerc nodded violently. “Yes, we need both skills, and I admit the soldier is the most important!”
Several men murmured in disagreement and Ned said: “Surely the point is that each ship needs enough seamen to sail her, but the extra men should have particular training in the art of soldiering on land.”
“Who will train the soldiers – if one agreed that they needed it?” the Spaniard asked cautiously.
“We have a garrison of three thousand soldiers at Jamaica. If you agreed to make Jamaica your base, I am sure the general commanding the garrison would be only too glad to supply instructors. Perhaps even extra muskets, pistols, pikes and powder for particular raids.”
Rideau, one of the French captains, said pleasantly but indicating the point was important: “That English general has turned Cagway into a convent. Only a few taverns and no ‘houses’. One feels he expects us to use our purchase to buy English hymnbooks.”
“But where else can you find such a good natural and friendly harbour?” Thomas asked.
“Agreed, agreed. Here, if we get a storm, let alone a hurricane, we all end up on the beach. Cagway has that great advantage.” Rideau grinned. “But if we went there, and you were our leader, you could persuade the general about the ‘houses, eh?”
Ned said: “Why don’t you persuade him yourselves? Tell him you’ll help defend Cagway – I think he is going to rename it Port Royal – and things might change. Slowly, but they’ll change. Remember, he was one of Cromwell’s generals and he’s forgotten how to laugh.”
“So you will lead us?” Leclerc said.
“No,” Ned said. “I will speak to the general for you, but you must find another leader.”
After giving a deep cough, Thomas said: “The ladies want to talk to Mr Yorke, so please excuse us for a few minutes. Anyway, I expect you will all want to discuss among yourselves what’s just been said.”
Ned followed Thomas to where Aurelia and Diana were sitting with, he noted, all the demureness of well brought up young ladies likely to have the vapours at the sound of a cuss word – until one realized that they were sitting gracefully not on a silk-covered settee but the breech of a gun.
Thomas grinned at Ned. “You’ve got them eating out of your hand,” he said. “That was a clever idea, telling them that you didn’t want to lead them after all!”
“I don’t,” Ned said.
Diana and Aurelia turned and stared at him. The Frenchwoman was the first to speak.
“What’s the matter chéri? Why did you suddenly change your mind? Half an hour ago you were proud at being asked!”
“I suddenly realized I’d have to give these dolts the reason for every move we make on a raid. That’s not leading; that’s being chairman of a committee,” he said stubbornly. “And I thought of Kingsnorth. I want to go back there one day.”
“If you go back to Kingsnorth,” Aurelia said quietly, “you will have to go alone.” None of them had any doubt about how much it cost her to speak those dozen words. No one doubted she meant every one of them.
Diana said quickly: “Ned, none of us is ready for life on land again. And supposing the Restoration doesn’t last? Supposing General Monck is overthrown and the Roundheads rally and force the King to escape to France again? The King hasn’t had time to prove himself. It seems his only chance rests on the people’s boredom with the Puritans. Not a very strong foundation. He needs time – a year or two.”
“And what about Jamaica?” Thomas added bluntl
y. “Unless we get the buccaneers to move there, I reckon the Dons will find out just how vulnerable it is. With Heffer as stupid as he is, if they keep landing troops along that north coast… Don’t forget, the one thing the Dons can muster is plenty of troops. Not many ships to carry ’em admittedly, but landing a thousand a month at Runaway Bay could see Heffer thrown out in six months.”
Ned found the fate of Jamaica, General Heffer and the entire garrison was of little interest, because he had seen in Aurelia’s eyes the answer he had to give. She had been saying for a long time that the Griffin was her home; that she did not want to return to plantation life in Barbados. He had not really believed her; women did not lead this sort of life – or rather, Diana was an exception. But the hurt look in Aurelia’s eyes a few moments ago had finally convinced him. She had thought he had let himself be persuaded to become the leader of the buccaneers so that he would stay at sea and she with him. Then suddenly, without any warning, she had heard him tell this polyglot crowd that he did not want to lead them. She thought he had betrayed her. She thought – the Devil take it – he had! But there was still time to make amends.
“Go tell ’em, Ned,” Thomas said. “Sea soldiers, that’s what we’ve got to be. Tell ’em Ned, they’re on the brink of accepting it. Sea soldiers.”
Chapter Six
Standing up on the barrel of the windlass and looking down at the buccaneers, Ned found that he was having to take important decisions with conflicting ideas bouncing round his head like peppercorns in a mill. Item, lead the Brethren – and be condemned to roam the seas, never to walk the boundaries of his own property and watch seed sprouting and giving fruit. Item, return to Barbados – and lose Aurelia, because she had just said she would not go back. Item, carry on buccaneering with just the Griffin, Phoenix, and Peleus (assuming Thomas would come with them). Item, buy a plantation in Jamaica (or, rather, get a grant of land and clear it and start a plantation) knowing the new King might give the islands back to the Spaniards, or the Spaniards might send out a fleet to recapture it (a fleet which could collect the waiting bullion and at the same time retrieve Jamaica).
The buccaneers were patiently watching him, and then Leclerc called out: “Tell us, M. Yorke, if we vote unanimously for you, will you lead us?”
Just say what you think, he told himself, and then realized that even now he was far from sure what he thought. At least, he knew what he was thinking – half a dozen contradictory ideas – but had no idea, despite Aurelia, what he had decided.
“Well, even though it’s not Sunday, you’re going to hear a sermon,” he said, keeping his voice crisp and carefully avoiding any emotion. “First, as I’ve just told you – at least, I think you all heard, but I’ll repeat it – you are soldiers, not sailors. Buccaneering means attacking Spanish towns and large villages, and ransoming the leading citizens, relieving the wealthy of their gold and silver plate, and such like. A few sailors are needed to sail your ships to the new target. But the true buccaneer, the man who gets the purchase and brings it on board, must be a well-trained soldier.
“You are not well-trained soldiers,” he told them flatly. “You are a noisy rabble. Brave but so untrained that you forget to light your slow-match and are incapable of carrying out orders. Anything distracts you. Men ordered to seize the town hall forget about it if they see a tavern on the way: they’ll stop and get drunk.
“Do you want to be buccaneers, collecting a good purchase and bringing it on board your ships, or are you simply satisfied to be drunken looters? Four of your ships had a good purchase from Santiago, but that was because every man had orders and most – most, but not all – carried them out.
“You should regard yourselves as sea soldiers. You should drill with musket, pistol, sword, halberd, pike and cannon. Each of you should know how to lay a train of powder to blow up a building; you must learn how to make petards and secure them to the doors of fortresses. Building scaling ladders and using them must be second nature. You must know how to light and throw grenades so you blow up the enemy, not yourself because of your fumbling.”
He paused and looked round at the men. To his surprise they were not looking resentful; instead they seemed sheepish, like boys just caught by a farmer with their pockets full of his apples. They were listening; they were accepting his criticisms. Were they accepting his suggestions, though?
Leclerc said: “Who can train us, then? Obviously we don’t know about all this soldiering. We need instructors.”
“They’re available in Jamaica, as I’ve told you. The general commanding the garrison will provide them.”
“But that means going to Jamaica,” Leclerc exclaimed.
“Of course it does! And it gives you as a base one of the finest, most protected anchorages in the West Indies. Do you want to stay in this rathole, sheltered by a narrow reef? One hurricane, perhaps even a storm will see every one of your ships cast up on that beach over there. In Jamaica, the general is bulding forts to defend the entrance to Cagway, or Port Royal, as it is to be called. We’ve given him the Spanish guns, shot and powder we took from Santiago. Or perhaps you prefer to rely on that crazy fortress up there with its two guns? You don’t keep men on watch so it’d take you an hour to fire a single shot – assuming the shot haven’t rusted and swollen so they jam in the bore, or that the powder isn’t damp, or that the wood of the carriages hasn’t rotted.”
“Tortuga’s served us well up to now,” protested Coles.
“Yes, indeed, Tortuga has served you – but you’ve had no hurricanes and the Spanish have never attacked. By the same token your present methods of buccaneering serve you. They’ve never brought you a decent purchase, but they serve!”
“What do you propose then?” Coles asked.
Ned noted the word “propose”. Not “suggest”, which could mean an idea from someone who might not stay to carry it out, but “propose”. To him, that implied a plan that he was expected to stay and carry out.
“Move to Port Royal and train, and don’t embark on any raid until the training is complete.”
“But there aren’t enough women and wine in Port Royal,” Brace protested. “We’re not monks!”
Ned turned to the north and looked carefully at the village of Cayona and then he stared across the so-called “Low Lands” on either side of it. Then he turned to inspect the mainland shore.
“They must be well concealed among the rocks and bushes,” he said. “At first glance a stranger cannot see any streets lined with taverns and brothels. One cannot even see a street. Nor even a single trollop waiting in the shade of a tree.”
“Aye, true enough,” Brace admitted, “but Port Royal’s no better.”
“Oh yes, it is. The streets are there and so are the taverns and the brothels. Wait – ” he told Brace “–let me finish. They are there but closed at present. Although in the future the general may not officially permit brothels, if they happen by chance to reopen I think I can guarantee he won’t close them again.”
“Mon Dieu, how can you guarantee that?” Leclerc exclaimed.
“If I was the leader of the Brethren, I should call on the general and make a bargain. I should say that if my ships were there at a time of danger to Jamaica, the buccaneers would help defend it. In return, Port Royal must be allowed to grow like any other port. I would also need some guarantees about customs duties and excise tax on the liquor and tobacco we need, and instructors for the training of my sea soldiers…”
“Do you now mean, then, you will in fact consider being our leader?” Leclerc asked quickly.
“Yes, – providing you accept my terms.”
Leclerc leapt up onto the barrel of the windlass, showing a remarkable agility for such a plump man. “Brothers, you have heard M. Yorke’s ideas. Have you any more questions to ask him?”
No one spoke as Leclerc pointed at each man in turn.
; “Then let us vote. I propose M. Yorke as our new admiral, and the man to whom we give our allegiance. First, hands up those against him.”
The men stood still, waiting.
“Hands up those in his favour.”
Every man raised an arm and a few laughingly lifted both.
“I declare M. Edward Yorke unanimously elected admiral of the Brethren of the Coast,” Leclerc said, speaking slowly and clearly. He repeated it in French and Spanish, and apologized to the Dutchmen and the two Portuguese, who assured him they understood.
Leclerc turned to Ned and held out his hand. As the two men shook, Leclerc said, “You should appoint your own second-in-command. Because he must work closely with you, it’s better he’s a friend than someone forced on you by popular vote.”
Ned looked round at the buccaneers, who began cheering him. He held up his hand for silence. “Thank you. I hope you’ve made a good choice. As far as my second-in-command is concerned, most of you know Sir Thomas…” Ned said. “In the meantime, I give my first order: tomorrow at one hour after dawn we sail for Port Royal.”
As the Griffin came head to wind off the governor’s jetty at Port Royal, with twenty-seven other buccaneer ships following her like the tail of a kite, Aurelia waited until she heard the anchor splash down and then said: “You know, I feel as though I’m coming home again!” She waved towards the Blue Mountains to the north, now a pearl grey in the early light, and then across to the flat sand-spit. “Do you realize that the second and third times you came in here were triumphs?”
Ned, thinking of his forthcoming visit to General Heffer, looked blankly at her, and she explained: “The second time you brought back the maize from Riohacha and the prize which Saxby now commands, and the third you were returning from Santiago. Now, for the fourth, you’re a species of admiral!”
Ned grinned and gestured astern. “And I’ve brought along a crowd of scoundrels whom Heffer will consider as having only one aim, to turn Port Royal into a vast bordello!”