We ate, performed our morning toilette, such as it was, and left for the gunsmith’s.
Massey was pleased to see us. Our muskets were ready. Minimal damage had been done by the rough handling, and he pronounced them as good as new. We explained that a number of the men sailing with us had lost theirs altogether, and inquired as to what he had on hand. He only had six of the fine pieces from Dieppe, and another nine of somewhat inferior quality from England and Holland. They were similar to the piece I had arrived with; and I realized I had another I could loan someone. Massey was not willing to part with all fifteen, as that would leave him nothing to offer any other buccaneer who might be in dire straits before his next shipment. I thought this kind but misguided; but as I was often the same, I did not argue. After some haggling, we reached a price on the high side of satisfactory for twelve of them, including five of the fine pieces and seven of the others.
Massey led us into the back room and opened a vault of sorts built into the floor. There he retrieved a box with Gaston’s name on it, from amongst over thirty of its brethren. I realized Massey was truly a bank of sorts.
Gaston set the box on the corner of a work table and opened it. There was good deal of gold in the box, as well as silver and some gems. Gaston counted out enough to cover the debt to Massey, which was now several hundred pounds, more to replenish what he had spent on the horses, and then still more. He handed a good fifty pounds to me. “Keep this.”
I did not view it as money I could spend, but as a thing I held for him.
He put a similar amount into the bag he wore inside his breeches and the rest in his belt pouch. There were still over five hundred pounds in the box.
“However does he not get robbed?” I asked.
“He only holds buccaneer money. If I were robbed, I would hunt the thief to the ends of the world. He holds money for over a score of men like me.”
I chuckled. “And only those for which he holds money know of it, I would wager.”
He nodded.
Massey gave us a receipt and vouchers for us to give to the men we would allot the muskets to, as we were not going attempt to carry fourteen muskets and their shot and powder.
To my surprise, Gaston turned away from the direction of the house when we left the smith’s.
“Where are we off to?” I asked.
“I was thinking…” He sighed.
“Oui,” I prompted.
“I should have my own medicine chest.”
“Ah. Will you wish to advertise you will have one, or…”
“I do not know yet.” He led me to the apothecary. It was a crowded little shop, filled to the ceiling with shelves crammed with jars and vials of this or that potion or powder. I wrinkled my nose at the overall smell. Gaston began to converse with the proprietor, and I thought he might be a while.
Another scent caught my nose, a pleasant one; and I found the counter containing the toiletry and beauty items such as rouges, paints, creams, perfumes, powders and all manner of things for ladies and discerning gentlemen. To my delight, I also found a fine assortment of sweet oils and scented salves, far more than I would have suspected in a town of this size – until I remembered that I was not the only one who had use for such substances here, and though many of the buccaneers lacked refinement, the ones that did appreciate finer things had need of a steady supply and the money to demand variety. I set about sampling each fragrance and type in turn, to compare their smell and consistency. Gaston stopped beside me.
“We will need an adequate supply of that,” he whispered quickly in French, and moved on.
I did not dare ask him what amount he felt would denote an adequate supply. Instead I bit my lip to keep from smirking and inquired, “Any preferences?”
While the proprietor was rummaging under a counter Gaston joined me and I had him sniff the ones I favored. He still smelled deliciously of almonds, and I was disappointed there was no fragrance that matched it. He glared at me when I opened my mouth to explain this; and I shrugged and caught up his wrist, and pushed it under his nose. He sniffed and sighed and looked over the bottles.
“None match,” I said simply.
The proprietor was still looking for something Gaston had requested, and his search took him into the back room.
“Why do you not wish to speak of it?” I hissed quickly.
“It is a thing of intimacy,” Gaston snapped. Chastised, I at first bridled at this, as it bothered me that he did not wish others to know what we did as if he were ashamed. I had been ashamed until now and not wanted any to know what we did, because we did nothing. Now there was a small part of me that wanted to announce that we were actually intimate from the highest mountain top. Of course, that would make it apparent that we had not been engaged in any carnal activity of merit before. As always, my life was steeped in irony.
I watched as he quickly and methodically sniffed every container with earnest concentration, and realized I was a fool. Gaston had no more qualm than I concerning any knowing we were matelots and therefore presuming what they would. He merely wished, as I did, to keep the details of such things a private matter as they should be. I experienced a dollop of guilt that I should abuse his intent so. He was not the ghosts of my past. I vowed to both respect my matelot’s wishes on the matter of privacy and to exercise even more vigilance against habitual thoughts that had been learned at the hands of others.
He found two he seemed to favor: one was spicier and the other fruitier, with the latter particularly reminding me of berries.
“I do not know of this berry one,” I whispered. “If one of us were coated in this, Pete might mistake us for a pie, and there would be no end to the bloodshed that would ensue.”
Gaston found this very amusing, and had difficulty composing himself when the apothecary returned. He chose a spicy cinnamon-smelling salve and a musky oil that became sweet when warmed by the skin, and added several jars and vials of each to his growing pile on the counter.
Other than the oil and salves, which he said we would stockpile in my chests during voyages, he bought no more of each item than he could carry. I helped assemble the chest as Gaston directed. The box itself was much like the one he had bought for the plantation, only larger by half. The front and top opened to reveal shelves and rows of compartments, which we filled with vials and muslin bags of various herbs and powders.
I was appalled at some of the prices, especially when he paid ten pounds for a bag of buds of some flower. The bag would not fit inside the chest, either. Then Gaston explained it contained poppies, and they were the thing one made laudanum from. He said it was a thing not always available and well worth the price. Once I knew what they were, I was more appreciative of them.
It was late morning when we finally returned to the house, the chest carried between us. I was thankful it would be on a ship and we would not have to lug it about.
Once we reached the house, Rachel informed us that the rest of them had gone looking for us. With a sigh, we deposited the new chest in our room and went in search of our friends. We found them at Theodore’s. Pete was outside talking to several men I did not know. Striker was inside, talking with Bradley and Theodore. He saw me at the window and waved us off. We withdrew and waited, and Striker emerged a moment later.
“Bradley is distraught,” Striker explained as we walked a little distance from the others.
Striker seemed sober, but appeared to be suffering from the after-effects. He kept glaring up at the sun as if its brightness were a personal affront.
“I would imagine,” I said.
“Aye, he’s had one blow after another, Siegfried being the worst of course. But in addition to losing his matelot, he lost his ship, half the men who sailed with us, all of that gold – and these last few months, some ailment has killed a goodly number of his slaves, so his plantation is a right mess.”
“I feel great sympathy for him, especially on the loss of Siegfried.”
“Aye,” Striker sighed.
“If I ever lost Pete…” He trailed off and regarded us, and we nodded. There was no real need for words.
“Will he wish to sail?” I asked. “It sounds as if he may need the money.”
“I don’t think so.” Striker regarded me speculatively.
I smiled. “Here is the discussion you missed at our table.” I quickly relayed all that had been said among the Bard, Cudro, and me. He listened without comment; and when I finished, he took a deep breath and scuffed sand about with his toe and a great deal of thought. I waited.
“Do you trust Cudro?” he asked.
“As far as I could throw him.”
“Can you lift him?” Striker finally looked up to grin.
Gaston chuckled.
“I think not,” I grinned. “However, the nine or so men I do trust could throw him a good distance, if you catch my meaning?”
“Aye. When you speak of it in those terms, I think any of us can throw him. Gaston proved that handily enough.”
My matelot shrugged.
“True,” I said. “I am not fond of his having a good number of the crew in his favor, though.”
“Neither am I. We would need remedy that. For now, let us go and look at this ship. I will tell those inside that we are going. And where were you this morning? We sent the others on already.”
“Purchasing a medicine chest.”
“Truly?” He looked to Gaston.
“Aye,” Gaston sighed without looking at us.
I gave Striker a warning look, and he shrugged amicably.
He slipped inside and informed them we were off. As he collected his matelot, he inquired of the men Pete had been speaking with as to which ship they were sailing on. When he found their answers somewhat nebulous, he let them know that we might be sailing soon and looking for men. This seemed to please them, and they said they would wait to hear more as to final decisions on such matters.
We made our way to the Chocolata Hole by way of the market, where we acquired fried fish for lunch. Once at the Hole, we retrieved our flyboat and sailed out just beyond the entrance of the bay, where the prize rode at anchor. She looked a great deal like the King’s Hope, but somewhat smaller, being a three-masted English merchant ship with primarily square rigged sails. She carried far more cannon, though: ten, with eight along the rails and two under the forecastle in the bow. Her gunwale seemed full of holes as a result, and I knew her to have even less deck space than the King’s Hope.
Overall I was not impressed with the look of her, and more importantly neither was Striker. Yet he was not appalled, either, as apparently she was similar to most of the ships he had sailed before crossing to the New World.
She was named the Flor de Mayo, which translated to May flower. I informed the others of this and Striker shrugged, “Mayflower, damn common name for a ship. I saw two in English waters and heard of a couple more. It must have been her name when they took her.”
Tom threw us a line as we pulled alongside; and when we climbed the ladder, we found Dickey and Belfry with him. I was sure the Bard was cursing my name.
“What a surprise to see you all here,” I said.
“We just came to see the ship,” Belfry said. “Apparently Tom will be staying.”
Liam, Otter, Davey, and Julio were aboard, and a number of other men I recognized, but not Cudro or his men, or thankfully Hastings. The Bard was sitting on the quarterdeck steps looking quite tired and out of sorts. I joined him as Striker went forward and, starting at the forecastle, went from fore to aft, poking here and there, and then went below to presumably do the same. Pete followed him, and after a moment of confusion, so did Tom.
“She needs to be careened, Hell, she needs to be swabbed and stoned,” the Bard said, and patiently worked on loading and lighting his pipe with one arm in a sling.
“And you?” I asked.
“I could use a good careening myself.”
“The scraping or the packing with tar and coating with pitch?” I teased.
“All,” he chuckled. He fumbled with the flint for a moment, and then handed it to me along with the pipe.
“Light this, would you?” He grinned. “It’s been a while since I was packed with anything. There we were.” He pointed to an area of the main deck near us, where I noticed there were still bloodstains. “Spanish guns on us all around, and all I could think of was how long it had been since I last engaged in any kind of carnal delight other than my own good hand. I kept thinking I wanted to do it once more before I died. I was not even concerned with who or what.”
We laughed, though Gaston was a little more restrained and Dickey and Belfry seemingly somewhat embarrassed. When I recovered, I lit the Bard’s pipe and took a pull before handing it back.
“I have heard there are whores in town. I have actually seen some of them.”
The Bard grimaced. “Have you truly seen them? I have more respect for the little man. Nay, I need a matelot.”
“I am sure Pete and Striker could make recommendations.”
He shook his head and grinned. “Nay, I would rather see to the matter myself.”
Belfrey and Dickey were watching us with a degree of discomfort, which annoyed me, but I did not comment on it. Gaston was leaning on the quarterdeck rail and looking about. I moved to join him and did likewise. There seemed to be a great deal of rigging above us. I remembered the King’s Hope had required relatively few men to actually sail her, though. Then I regarded the deck and thought of the much larger hold this vessel would have as compared to the sloop.
“Speaking of men, how many will we need?” I asked.
The Bard shrugged. “We could sail with twenty. She can carry a hundred more.”
I thought that insane. “Are there a hundred men available?”
“Probably, but do we want them? It is a somewhat similar situation to the whores.”
Striker was swearing. My eyes followed my ears. He was regarding the first cannon.
“Is there a problem?” I asked the Bard.
“Only if you consider rust a problem.”
I snorted. “We have procured all the muskets Massey will let go in one batch, but I know nothing of cannon.”
“Under normal circumstances, we would not have call for them,” the Bard sighed. “But this old lady lacks the speed and maneuverability of the sloop. Half the cannon are good; the other half can be fired, but not for an extended engagement. We should have gun crews and a gunner as a result. Yet I cannot see us sailing with a hundred unless we’re raiding. It’s too many men to feed otherwise without a guarantee of prey.” He seemed to be rambling to himself.
“So what are you saying, that we should sail with sixty men, eighty?” I asked.
“We’ll sail with whatever we get. If God smiles upon us, a goodly number of them will be familiar with cannon.”
I thought of how formidable a group the sixty-six who sailed on the North Wind had seemed and how crowded I had initially thought us.
“I suppose gathering buccaneers for such a venture is relatively easy, as opposed to hiring sailors for a merchant voyage,” Belfry noted in odd juxtaposition to my thoughts.
“Aye, or pressing them into the Navy,” the Bard agreed.
Regarding Belfry standing on the deck in his full breeches, hose, coat, and hat, I was struck by how out-of-place he looked amongst us; yet this man had done far more sailing than I, and was an accomplished seaman. I tried to imagine him dressed as a buccaneer and could not. I tried to imagine him sailing with us, and could not do that either. He was a product of the Old World and not this new one.
“I was thankfully able to avoid the Navy,” Belfry said earnestly. “I was apprenticed as a cabin boy when I was twelve, and have been sailing since.”
“Have you worked aloft?” The Bard asked.
“I have learned the ropes, sir, but only the truly magnanimous would call me an able-bodied seaman.” Belfry shrugged. “In truth, I must admit a certain calling to the sea, as it is apparently quite in my bl
ood. After the loss of the King’s Hope I told myself I would happily live without ever setting foot upon another vessel; but I find, upon standing on these decks, that I am gripped with a certain fondness, perhaps nostalgia. And, to my amazement, I have even been giving thought as to the amount of time I have before the arrival of my betrothed and the stock for our haberdashery next spring, and reasoning to myself that I would indeed have time to sail on a voyage of short duration. Yet I see no way that I may be useful to this endeavor, as you do not appear to need my skills and I do not possess the skills you do require.”
Needless to say, I was quite taken aback by his words. I was not the only one to feel this. Dickey was regarding his business partner with horror.
“Can you navigate, read a chart, man a whipstaff?” the Bard asked.
Belfry shrugged and nodded. “Aye, but you have men to do that, and it is my understanding that young Tom will be in your tutelage for such matters.”
The Bard sighed. “Aye, but it’s damn good on a ship to have as many men as possible who can perform the same tasks, as you never know what may occur and people die. You would be an asset. Granted, it would take some adjustment on your part, as things are managed quite a bit differently here than on a merchant ship.”
Belfry regarded me, and I proffered a shrug. “You have heard the results of our last voyage.”
The Bard waved me off. “That was a strange and cursed voyage. It will be talked about for years. Normally no real hardship befalls us. There is risk, but for the men sailing the ship it is far less than for those who board or raid.”
“I bow to the Bard’s greater experience in such matters,” I said.
“As well you should,” the Bard said. “So what say you, Belfry?”
Belfry looked to his still-agitated business partner. “We will not receive stock, or I a wife, until February at the earliest, as they will not sail during the hurricanes. I have been considering seeing if Theodore could put me to good use and I could learn a new trade in the process, but there may be far more money involved in this venture.” He looked to us. “Could there not?”
“Or there could be nothing,” the Bard said. “But aye, if we take a fine prize, every man aboard gets an equal share and that is often at least twenty pounds. We’re sailing for the Galleons along the Cuban coast. We should not be gone more than two months.”
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