by Michael Aye
Spurlock was soon back, “Guns ready, Captain.”
Cooper didn’t miss the difference in the way Taylor was addressed. Always with respect but generally much less formal. Spurlock was very formal in his reporting to Taylor. This was a time the men knew that the slightest error could cost lives if not the ship. The captain was now the law. His word was to be carried out without question, without a vote. Damnation, what a change, Cooper thought.
Taylor nodded to Spurlock, “Put one across her bow, Mr. Spurlock, but be ready. Any monkey business, give 'em a broadside.”
“Aye, Captain,” Spurlock replied.
“Damn! Of all the luck,” Cooper said.
“What is it?” Taylor asked.
“See that flag, Captain, the yellow flag with a blue “F” inside the shield. That’s a Finylson ship,” Cooper said, excitement in his voice. “Same as what you took us on.”
“Well, that’s good to know, Coop, but why is she not sailing in convoy?” Cooper could only shrug.
BOOM…the forward gun fired. Immediately the chase lowered her sails. Raven trailed behind until the other ship was almost at a stop.
“Do you surrender,” Taylor called across.
“Aye,” came the reply.
“What ship you?” Taylor asked.
“A Finylson ship, the Sea Rose.”
“Ask who’s the captain,” Cooper whispered, “it was John Lamb when I last heard.”
“Who’s your captain?” Taylor called.
“Captain Lamb.”
“That ain’t him talking,” Cooper whispered again.
“Are you Captain Lamb?” Taylor asked.
“No sir, Captain Lamb is in bed.”
Taylor gave Cooper a questioning look. Cooper replied, “He is old.”
“Stand by to receive boarders. I will warn you that I have you covered with swivels loaded with grape,” Taylor said. That ought to put the fear of God into them, Cooper thought. Turning toward Turner, the captain gave a slight nod.
“Grapnels away,” Turner barked. Grapnels flew through the air and then men hauled taut as the two ship’s hulls were pulled together. Boarders swung across from Raven to the Sea Rose. Finally Taylor, Diamond, and Turner went across. Spurlock staying aboard Raven to watch and have the guns fired if all was not as it seemed.
The young-looking mate, nervous with sweat dripping from his face spoke to Taylor, “You got a doctor with you?”
Taylor replied, “Sorry, lad, we don’t carry one.”
The mate gave a deep sigh, “I was hoping.”
“Let’s go below and see your captain,” Taylor said.
Below in the captain’s cabin, a smallish black woman shook her head when they entered. “That’s Henrietta,” the mate said. Walking over to the swinging cot, Taylor saw the ship’s captain lying in a pool of sweat. His skin was ashen gray and he had a pulse but his pupils were fixed and dilated.
“He’s almost gone,” Henrietta said softly.
Tears came to the mate’s eyes. “He was like a father to me. Damn their eyes. I hope Phillip rots in hell. The captain wanted to retire, to live out his days at home but Phillip, the black-hearted ass, said if he did he’d get no retirement. He’d signed a contract to make this voyage and he meant for the captain to honor his contract. Serves him right having this ship took.”
“Sounds like Phillip,” Cooper said.
“Why are you alone?” Captain Taylor asked.
“We sailed first to Halifax. There the captain took sick and so the convoy sailed without us. We wouldn’t, we couldn’t just leave the captain, you understand. After a week the captain seemed much better but soon he was looking bad again. I wanted to stop at Bermuda but the captain said it was better to hurry on to Antigua.”
“What’s your cargo?” Taylor asked.
“Mostly military supplies for the army garrison at Antigua. That and a few casks of wine, some odds and ends, ship supplies for English Harbour, and the rest is dry goods for merchants in Antigua.”
“Is that all?” Taylor asked with a stern look. The mate swallowed so that his Adam’s apple went up and down. “We will tear the ship apart if we have to,” Taylor growled.
“There is a locked chest under the captain’s desk. You pull up a few planks. It’s in a between space,” the mate replied.
Captain Lamb gave up the ghost by noon. Captain Taylor read from the prayer book and both crews stood by to give a good seaman a proper burial.
The two ships got underway then. Once Grand Cayman Island was sighted the crew that didn’t wish to become free men were put into two longboats with their personal belongings. Captain Taylor gave the mate fifty guineas. “This should tide you over until you all get home.”
“Thank you, Captain, for everything,” he said.
***
A complete inventory was carried out. There were bales of military uniforms that had little or no value. One bale was military cold weather coats.
“They were going to Antigua, didn’t they say,” Diamond asked.
“That’s what they said,” Cooper answered.
“Well, it’s like the military to make a shitten mess of things. Who needs a winter coat in the West Indies? Maybe we can sell them, maybe we ought to just throw them over the side,” Diamond said.
“Farmers will buy them,” Taylor said, “them and the boots if we can’t sell them to planters for their slaves.”
“Bet don’t nobody will want these damn brass buckles,” a pirate named Harry said. He was bald all over.
“Well, those cannons, muskets, pistols, swords, powder, and shot will bring a nice profit,” Turner said, joining the conversation.
Spurlock intervened saying, “Captain, those English cannons are good nine pounders. I’d like to use them and replace these old six pounders.”
“Will Raven stand the recoil?” Taylor asked.
“May have to brace up the timbers a bit, Captain, but she’ll hold,” Spurlock answered.
“The extra weight might cost you a knot or two,” Mac said, speaking for the first time.
“Tell me, Cooper,” Turner asked, “do you think those sailors will tell, you were one of us that took their ship?”
“I don’t know, but in truth, I don’t give a damn. I want to ruin the Finylsons,” Cooper replied.
“Well said,” Spurlock declared. “Now, Rooster be a good mate and get us a bottle of rum while the captain counts the specie.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Raven and her prize cruised for a month along the normal trade route without spotting another sail. They had decided to head back to Grand Terre when a small lugger was sighted. It was a small costal trader and she was heavily laden, sitting low in the water.
Captain Taylor had Spurlock put one across her bow and she hove to immediately. She only had ten crewmen: the captain, three sons, and six cousins. They were from Jamaica. The hold was full of good Jamaican rum and Spanish wines. From the looks of the ship, the captain and his family were not poor.
“How much were you to be paid for delivering your cargo?” Captain Taylor asked.
The man took off his hat and told the captain, “Twenty five guineas.”
“For delivering a load of rum,” Taylor snorted, giving the little captain an evil eye. It was not that far from Jamaica to Grand Cayman, which is where the invoice said the cargo was headed.
“Well, there is our personal items we were going to sell and what we would have carried back to Jamaica.”
Not liking the idea that he was being duped, Taylor called for Mr. Diamond. “Put these men over the side with a cask of water. They can rig a sail with an oar. You can also throw in two bags of ship’s biscuits.”
Damme, Cooper thought, I’ve seen a most generous and humble side to the captain, now I’m seeing the hard side.
“Getting soft he is,” Rooster declared. “Time was, he’d put them in a boat and drop the water cask in the boat.”
It took a moment for Cooper to realize the sig
nificance of Rooster’s comments. Dropping a water cask over the side meant it would go right through the boat’s planks. They’d have to swim for it or drown. The captain decided they’d head back with the hopes of picking up a straggler in the Gulf of Mexico. Surprisingly to Cooper, Captain Taylor sent David MacArthur aboard the small island trader as prize master with a small prize crew. This showed his faith in Mac’s abilities.
***
The sun was sinking over the horizon and the sky had a reddish tint that seemed to merge with the Gulf waters.
“Grand Terre tomorrow,” Quang said as he sat down to share a bottle of rum and cigars with Cooper. The ships were moving along with a soft breeze that was just enough to fill the sails.
“Not if the wind don’t pick up,” Diamond said as he walked by.
“It will be brisk before the night is over,” Quang replied. “Storm to the east of us, we’ll get some wind, maybe rain from it.” Diamond eyed Quang but didn’t dispute him.
Rooster walked up and greeted the two, “Captain wants you, Coop.”
Cooper had lost some of his earlier anxiety when the captain called him but he couldn’t help but wonder the reason for the summons. Entering the captain’s cabin, Taylor pointed to a chair. “Yes sir,” Cooper said as he was seated.
“Care for a glass of hock?” Captain Taylor asked.
“Aye, Captain, that would be nice.” Private stores, Cooper decided.
“Rooster keeps a bottle in the bilges to keep it cool,” Taylor said, as he poured a glass.
Cooper had started to develop a taste for rum since they’d set out on the voyage, but the hock went down well, arousing old taste buds used to the finer beverages. Rooster brought in two plates of roasted kid with a tangy sauce, sweet potatoes that were sliced thin and topped with butter and cinnamon. A loaf of bread that was not to stale was offered. There were no vegetables.
“Top your glasses?” Rooster asked. The captain nodded the affirmative. After topping the glasses, Rooster left.
So this was to be a private conversation. Damnation, Cooper thought, am I about to be cast ashore? The captain said only a few words during the meal. When he finished, he pushed his plate back and belched. “Hits the spot, does it not?” he asked.
“Aye,” Cooper replied. “Not near as good as Belle’s cooking or that in New Orleans but for sea fare it’s not bad.”
“Do you have any questions about the voyage thus far, Coop?”
Taking a last bite of the kid, Cooper thought as he chewed. “Is Barataria the only place we can sell our plunder?”
Taylor smiled, “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve always been told it’s not good to put all your eggs in one basket, as it were,” Cooper relied.
“Good Cooper. No, Barataria is just convenient for the time being. I also sell our products in Savannah and Charleston. Barataria has a good market for now. LaFitte is a good businessman; he doesn’t try to cheat you and it’s close to New Orleans.”
“Meaning Debbie? I wondered if that might be an influence,” Cooper said.
“To be successful you have to have the minimum of three things; product, market, and a place to rest,” Taylor said. “You noticed we passed an American merchant trader our first day heading out to sea.”
“Aye,” Cooper said.
“We are pirates, Cooper. The penalty is death, usually by hanging. But no American can ever accuse us of taking one American vessel. I’ve gone out of my way a few times to help some American ship in distress. My name is well thought of in the southern states. I own, in partnership with a Colonel Jedidiah Lee, a small fleet of traders. I am a partner with two gentlemen, Mr. John Will and Mr. Brett Randle, in a group of warehouses and merchant ships in Savannah. So I have a place to lay my head when I need rest. We prey upon the British, the Spaniards, and to a lesser degree the French. I try not to kill anyone and I also try to be fair with the ship’s master and crew if they behave. If not, we show no mercy. It’s a risky game we play but one that is most rewarding. To be truthful, Cooper, it’s one of which I begin to tire. I think another year and I’ll pass this hellish game on to someone else.”
“One of your crew,” Cooper asked, picking up his glass. He was not ready for Taylor’s response.
“Those rogues? Hell no. They are good men as blackhearts go, but we’ve argued more than once over how to run things. It comes down to whom they would rather have as a captain. If it’s me, we do things my way. They’ve all been paid a King’s ransom over the years by keeping me as captain and most have lived to enjoy their gains. Therefore, I’m still the Raven’s captain. But I’m getting long in the tooth. They know it and accept it. Now, Cooper, let’s get down to why I asked you here. Every since you met Sophia, you’ve been mooning over her like a lovesick cow. She took a shine to you as well. But the truth is, Cooper, she is not a free woman.”
“Is she married?” Cooper asked.
“No…no, she’s under contract.” Seeing the puzzled look on his friend’s face, Taylor topped their glasses with the rest of the hock and said, “Let me explain. First you will have to admit New Orleans is like no other place you’ve been, probably not another place like it in the world. There are lots of free women of color in New Orleans. A good number of them have mated with whites. Plantation owners frequently bed their slaves. The result is often a child of mixed blood. Over the years these offspring have further mated until the black lineage is reduced and they have more white features than black. This has made for some beautiful women, as you have seen. Almost every man of substance has one of these women as a mistress and provides his sons with the same enjoyment. I know that you heard Pierre talk of the upcoming Quadroon Ball.”
“Yes sir,” Cooper replied.
“Well, when the females turn of age, a mother finds a suitable, might I add a wealthy, benefactor. A contract is negotiated where the girl becomes the man’s mistress. It usually includes a place to live, an allowance, and recognition of any offspring along with provisions that they be provided for, including an education until they are of a certain age. Now, the lighter the skin of the girls, the higher the price. A mulatto, which means one black and one white parent, doesn’t bring much unless someone takes a particular fancy to her. A quadroon is the designate for a person with one black grandparent and three white or Caucasian grandparents; another way to look at it is she’s one quarter black and three quarters white. An octoroon is one eighth black and seven eighths white, and so on. The mothers of the girls start at an early age, by the time they have their first monthly I was told, to teach the girls how to pleasure a man. I have it on good word these mothers teach their girls to be virtuosos in the erotic arts. These arts are mentioned at the time a contract is negotiated.”
“How long are these contracts?” Cooper asked, feeling almost as dejected as he did when he was forced to leave England.
“The arrangement usually ends if say it’s for a planter’s son and he gets married. However, it’s not unheard of for it to last a lifetime. Marriages are sometimes arranged for financial benefit and therefore the man keeps his lover forever.”
“Is Sophia a quadroon or an octoroon?” Cooper asked his voice barely audible.
“Sophia is a mustefina, Cooper. She is only one sixteenth black. With her beauty she is a prize indeed. I would not doubt she brought in ten thousand dollars.”
“Why was she at Miz Cindy’s?” Cooper asked.
“Ah…there lies the problem. Her contract was with a planter for his oldest son by the name of Henri d’Arcy. Henri got married but he must have bragged to his brother how skilled and pleasing Sophia was as a lover. He came home to Sophia’s house to find his brother, Paul, trying to force himself on Sophia. A fight ensued and Paul was killed. Cain and Abel if you will. Sophia was sent to Cindy until things could be sorted out. So you see, Coop, she is not a free woman.”
“Would Mr. d’Arcy sell her?” Cooper asked Taylor.
“I’m not sure,” Taylor admitted. “If you like I
will have Lawyer Meeks test the waters. But remember, Cooper, and I don’t mean this to hurt you, Sophia must be some kind of lover for a man to kill his brother. If the father decided to sell her contract you’d better be prepared to defend your purchase, because I’m sure you will be challenged to a duel.”
“So be it,” Cooper said. “Let’s see Mr. Meeks.”
“Humph…,” Taylor snorted, “you are forgetting one thing, Cooper. Do you have ten thousand dollars or more?”
Cooper’s response didn’t take the blink of an eye. “No, but you do. You can have every schilling I make until you are paid back.”
“Cents, Cooper, in America it’s dollars and cents. But just to ease your mind, I will have Jean LaFitte deliver a message to Mr. Meeks before we sail again.”
Cooper looked at his friend, “Eli, do you mean it?”
“Aye, I do. So learn all you can, Coop, so you can increase your shares. Right now they don’t amount to…as the English say, a fart or a farthing.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was Sunday afternoon and a freshening breeze blew across Barataria Bay. Coop and Mac sat around the stern of Raven with several other crew members. Since signing the articles and having been a part of the recent voyage the last of the barriers had tumbled down. Men who had previously given a cautious acknowledgement now sat down with the newcomers, shared a tot of rum and engaged them in conversation. It was like a series of test that they had to pass. Cooper thought he’d become accepted when he fought LaRoche. He had in some quarters, but now no one kept their distance and the hands had taken him under their wings determined to make a seaman of him. A rum bottle was being passed around and cigars and pipes were being smoked.
One of the men, a man from Georgia named Moree, was trying to light a cigar and was having a devilish time of it. Mac handed his cigar so Moree could use it to light up. “This wind is something,” Moree remarked.
His comment caused a little laugh and grin to break out on Johannes’ face. Johannes was a German with a natural gift at painting and drawing sketches. Smiling, he looked at Moree and Banty and said, “Speaking of the wind made me think of Rooster and the captain’s parrot.” The mentioning of this incident caused the men to break out laughing. Banty laughed so hard, he cried.