The Pyrate

by Michael Aye

  “We wouldn’t want to impose,” Cooper said.

  Dagan replied, “You’re not, I asked you. It’s good to hear a British accent. I want to know how things were when you were last in England and why you’ve come to be a raider.”

  Cooper noticed the old salt said raiders, not pirates. But he knew. How, Cooper didn’t know, but he knew.

  ***

  The time passed very quickly, not one month but two. The ship was now newly coppered, and she had been rearmed with twenty-two nine pounders, eleven per side. She also had new swivels, forward, amidships, in the fighting tops, and on the quarterdeck. The mainmast and foremast were new, as were the spars and rigging. Dagan had gone down to the ship with either Cooper or Mac at various times. He seemed to quicken his step as they toured the ship. He missed the sea, that was plain to see.

  Lodging with Dagan had been more than Cooper or Mac could have hoped for. It was almost like family. Maggie, the cat, had even started hopping up on Cooper or Mac’s lap after supper, purring as they scratched her ears. Mac was beside himself when at the breakfast table; she brought in a freshly killed mouse.

  “She likes you,” Dagan swore. “Never knew her to offer anybody a mouse but Betsy.” He showed the two men a painting of Betsy, one of General Manning and then one of his nephew and his wife.

  Looking at the painting, Cooper swore. He looked at Mac, who shook his head and said, “It looks like her.”

  “Tell me, Dagan,” Cooper said. “Is this woman…is her name Faith?”

  “Aye, that be it,” Dagan said with surprise on his face. They then told Dagan of the encounter with the highwaymen. Shaking his head, Dagan said, “Then it’s glad I am to have met you. I will tell Gabe and Faith of our time.”

  “So you’re going to Antigua,” Cooper asked.

  “Yes, I don’t know how long I’ll stay. My sister, Gabe’s mother, is getting on in years. I may stay with her for a while if I can get a ship headed to Portsmouth.”

  “With Gabe an admiral, I don’t see getting to Portsmouth being much of a problem,” Mac offered.

  “I don’t think it will be if the war holds off,” Dagan said.

  “Do you really think there will be another war, Dagan?” Mac asked.

  “Sir Robert Basnight does,” Dagan admitted. “He is much opposed to the Royal Navy stopping American ships and pressing their seamen. He has argued with Parliament about it but feels they can’t see beyond their purse.”

  “Is he going to England?” Mac asked.

  “No, he’s headed to Bermuda, but there are Royal Navy ships as well as merchants’ ships leaving Bermuda for Antigua and Barbados every few weeks. So I’ll find passage,” Dagan said.

  Let’s have one more night out before we go our separate ways. It was hellish good luck meeting you,” Cooper swore. “I have come to feel close to you, like maybe you were my father or uncle.”

  Dagan placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “And I you, Cooper Cain, I can see squalls ahead for you, my friend, but brighter days after; if you keep your head and don’t let your desire for revenge consume you. It’s matured you, it’s hardened you but don’t let it be your undoing. The hangman doesn’t care why you’ve done what you have, only that you’ve done it. I want to tell you one more thing, something for both of you. Mac, Gabe would see you commissioned again and put in a senior role, with a letter from me. It’s yours for the asking. He would be most appreciative for your helping his family, likely saving their lives. But Gabe is a man who does his duty. Forget what Maddy or Faith said. Should one of his ships catch you in an act of piracy, he’d hang you. He’d not like it and it might cost him his marriage but he’d hang you. It’s his duty. I hope he retires before another war starts, particularly if it’s between our countries.” Dagan looked saddened as he spoke. “Remember my words, my friends.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  The wind was favorable but the bay was slightly choppy. A misty rain hung in the air, creating a fog of sorts.

  “I wish it’d rain or dry up,” Banty moaned. “I hate this type of weather.”

  It was Sunday morning and the crew was making their way back aboard ship. Some of them were showing the effects of a rough night ashore. One had his arm in a sling from a gunshot wound.

  “I told you she was in a bad mood,” Moree said.

  “Well, I didn’t notice it until it was too late,” his mate, Matt replied.

  “The pistol in her hand was a dead giveaway, if you ask me,” Moree exhorted.

  In ones, twos, and groups, the men came aboard the ship until Johannes proclaimed they were all accounted for. After leaving Norfolk, Raven had sailed to Savannah. They’d spent a week there, and then sailed for Barataria. where Mac and Cooper had visited Cindy, ate their fill of Belle’s home cooking, fished with Jumper and smoked Gus’ cigars while he and Mac played music and sang.

  LaFitte had been gone when the Raven had dropped anchor, but Dominique Youx said he’d planned to be back on Sunday. Dominque warned Cooper about the increasing number of British ships in the Gulf. Lafitte did return on Saturday afternoon. Cooper and Mac enjoyed the evening meal at LaFitte’s house overlooking the tiny kingdom set up by LaFitte. Pirate, privateer, smuggler, whatever you labeled the man, he was also a leader and an organizer.

  After the meal, Cooper told him that they had planned to set sail on the morning tide, weather permitting. As they shook hands in departing, LaFitte held Cooper’s hand a bit longer as he spoke, “Eli Taylor is my friend. He set great store in you. By saving his life you have made me happy, as I do not wish harm to come to my friends. Therefore, I will extend to you, my young friend, the same courtesy Eli enjoyed. You bring your plunder or slaves to me and you will get the same deals Eli enjoyed.” Cooper thanked LaFitte, and the men shook hands once more and headed to the Raven.

  Once at sea, the misty rain increased to a drizzle and a moderate wind picked up with gray skies overhead. “A gloomy start,” Johannes snorted.

  Off to starboard the land faded away until the ship was alone…and alone they stayed. Not a single prize was sighted. After a quick meeting, the crew voted to give up on the Gulf. Mac and Johannes looked at the charts and decided to set a course to pass through the Yucatan Channel and into the Caribbean, rather than coming about and reverse the course they’d just sailed.

  After weeks of zigzag in the Caribbean, they’d only taken one ship. It was a Spaniard that had little value except for fifteen slaves. The ship did have a good supply of wine, cocoa, and a few casks of rum. They sailed on to Saint Croix where the slaves were sold along with the wine and cocoa. Departing Saint Croix, they decided to sail the Atlantic coast up to Nova Scotia. If pickings were still poor, they’d head south.

  “Slaves seem to be the biggest profit,” Quang said. “Maybe we could head toward the Guinea coast and take a slaver.”

  “Might even look at the Indian Ocean,” McKemie volunteered. “The Honest Johns should be making their voyages home soon.”

  So it was agreed, sail north but not to Nova Scotia, only to Savannah, spend a week ashore and then head south again. First to the slave routes and then the East India trade routes.

  ***

  “Deck thar! Something afloat off the larboard side, two points off the bow.”

  It was a good hour after sunrise. The Raven was just north of Puerto Rico. They had passed well to seaward of the island with its huge fort and great guns. The crew rushed to the larboard side. It was a grate and a man clung to it. Diamond had a grappling hook cast out and snagged the grate, pulling it up to the side of the ship. Quang went down the battens at the entry port and got a rope around the man clinging so desperately he’d torn some of his fingernails off.

  Aboard the ship, Dr. Cannington examined the man who looked more dead than alive. His back was sunburned, his face red, his lips were cracked and swollen. “Get a cup of water,” Cannington ordered.

  The man was coming around and grabbed at the offered cup. “Just a little at fir
st,” Cannington told him in a soft soothing voice. “We have plenty.”

  After a few sips, the man smiled, wincing at the pain in his lips. “I thought I was a goner.” He lay back down and was then taken below.

  Cannington had the gel squeezed from aloe plants in a jar. He rubbed it across the man’s back, his face and lips.

  “What’s that?” Cooper asked.

  “Aloe, they say the thick gel-like juice helps to heal burns,” Cannington said.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “A herb woman in New Orleans,” Cannington replied.

  “Herb woman?” Cooper asked.

  “Yes, she was healing folks with her remedies long before I was born. Aunt Fanny, they call her. She is a Creole woman, says she’s over a hundred years old. Regardless, I’ve found many of her herbs very useful,” Cannington said.

  “I hope it works,” Cooper said. “He looks a shitten mess.”

  An hour later, McKemie knocked on the door of the captain’s cabin. “Doc says you need to come down,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  The sailor was sitting up when Cooper made his way into the sick bay. Glancing up from his patient, Cannington said, “I think you need to hear this, Captain.” Cooper was still trying to adjust to the new title.

  “My name is Browne, sir, Brown with an e at the end.”

  “Alright,” Cooper said, and then waited for the man to continue.

  Browne with an e took a sip of water and then touched his lip. A spot of blood was on his finger. “I’ll put more aloe on your lip after you tell the captain what you told me,” Cannington said. “But hurry, he’s got a ship to run.”

  “I was a mate on the merchant brig, Mary Ann. We were headed to Antigua.” This caught Cooper’s attention. “We were off the coast of Puerto Rico, when we were attacked by a pirate just before dusk. They killed the captain and crew right off. They took all the women passengers’ prisoners and Lord Basnight. They will use the women and ransom Lord Basnight.”

  “How many women were there?” Cooper asked the man.

  “Several, maybe ten or twelve, but two of them were Admiral Anthony’s wife and daughter.” Cooper now listened intently. “They don’t mind using the women up and then…” Browne made the sign of slicing one’s throat.

  “I had heard you mention the admiral’s wife and daughter,” Cannington said to Cooper. “I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Thank you, Beau.”

  Cooper then turned back to Browne. “Did you by chance hear where they were going?”

  “Yes sir, Culebra. It’s a little island off the coast of Puerto Rico. They have a camp of sorts setup there.”

  “How did you manage to get away?” Cooper asked suddenly.

  Browne looked embarrassed, “I was using the head, sir, so I just lay low. I saw them set a fuse to blow up the ship so I eased over the side. When the ship blew up, I spied the grate and latched on. You know the rest.”

  On deck, Cooper took a breath. He had to try to save the women. But he couldn’t order the men to attempt the rescue. They were free men; part of the brethren of the coast. To attack other brethren just wasn’t done. Well, if they wouldn’t help, he’d have them put him ashore and he’d do what he could.

  “Mr. MacArthur,” Cooper called. “Put the ship about, and then call all hands for a meeting.”

  ***

  The meeting had gone far better than Cooper had imagined. He quickly explained the events and then stretched it a bit by saying the Anthony women were good friends of his and Mac’s.

  “Aye, and don’t forget I know the ladies as well,” Beau Cannington said.

  Cooper couldn’t remember if the doctor had met Faith and Maddy or if it was a little white lie to add to the cause.

  “Do you know who took them?” Bridges asked.

  “No, only where,” Cooper admitted.

  “Probably El Diablo or one of his lieutenants,” Spurlock volunteered. “These are his waters.”

  “Do we bargain for the two or just take the lot?” Robinson asked.

  Spurlock answered the question, “There’ll be no bargaining with his like, we take it or die trying, but there’ll be no bargaining.”

  “Is it not against the code?” McKemie asked.

  Diamond spoke with Johannes echoing his words, “The code don’t mean shat to that bunch of rogues. They’d everyone slit your throat over the last swallow of rum in a bottle and then laugh about it.”

  A man named Johnson spoke up, “I don’t like crossing swords with free men but if they’s took the captain’s friends I say let’s be about getting them back and damn ’em to hell if they don’t like it.” Several men agreed.

  Cooper looked at Johannes, who nodded and then shouted, “Then let’s be putting it up for a vote. Them what’s willing to go after the women, raise your hand.” A quick glance told Cooper he had the vote. “No need counting, Captain, the crew is with you,” Johannes said.

  “Thank you, men,” Cooper said.

  Spurlock, Diamond, Johannes, and Mac all sat around the captain’s table looking over a chart. Culebra looked to be about fifteen miles from the southeastern coast of Puerto Rico.

  “This chart doesn’t show much,” Spurlock said. “But there are good beaches here, at this end of the island. The chart doesn’t show it but there are a couple of smaller islands just off this coast. At the other end of the island is a good size cove or harbor. The water is deep enough to anchor in up close to the beach. It offers good protection from storms. The first beach I mentioned has the best landing spot for boats but from there to here is a good five to seven miles. Up and down hills and lots of sand and palmetto bushes; also a lot of plants with long thorns on them.” Spurlock said this holding his thumb and index finger apart to emphasize the length. “They hurt worse than getting stabbed with a dirk.”

  “You been stabbed with a dirk?” Cooper asked.

  “Aye, Captain, and the damn thorns as well,” Spurlock answered. “They both hurt to hell and back.” The man said it with such conviction; the little group couldn’t help but chuckle.

  After the men quieted down, Spurlock said, “Back your arse into one of the thorns and then we’ll see who laughs.” No one laughed this time. “I recommend we set a party ashore here, Captain, and come up on the camp from behind. At a set time, Raven can put into the harbor and if the blackhearts are anchored there, we can fire a couple of broadsides into their ship. Sink it then and there, and you’ll not have to deal with it later.”

  Both Johannes and Diamond agreed. “Who knows,” Diamond said, “we’re likely to find more plunder than we’ve come across in weeks.”

  “Aye, but this ain’t no stroll down the French Quarter,” Spurlock said. “These are a tough bunch of rogues. Careful or not, some of us is not likely to make it back to the ship,” he said in a solemn voice.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  It was a three quarter moon, and the clouds were moving fast and would dim the moon’s light on the beach for a few moments time to time. Three longboats had shoved off from the Raven and had just run up on the white sand.

  “Probably rain in the morning,” somebody volunteered, only to be hushed by a mate.

  Once the boats could be seen safely ashore, Raven set sail. The plan was to anchor just off the entrance of the harbor until two a.m. or the alarm was given. Hopefully, it would be the first. Cooper, Mac, and Spurlock had each come ashore in a different boat and met up on the beach. Johannes and Diamond had stayed aboard and would bring Raven in at the time discussed.

  The Raven’s crew looked like a bloodthirsty lot with scarves around their waists, bandanas around their heads, pistols tucked into their waistbands, and cutlasses, blades gleaming in the moonlight, held in their hands. After walking up a narrow path to the top of a hill, the glow of campfires could be seen in the distance.

  “Somebody’s home,” Spurlock said.

  The group went down the hill and up another. At the top of this hill, parts of
the harbor could be seen.

  “I don’t see a ship,” Banty volunteered.

  “Could be closer into shore,” Mac said. “You can’t see close in from here.”

  The beach was still a half mile off. They continued on until they could hear the surf as it washed ashore. Smoke from the fire floated on a slight breeze. The smell of the smoke mixed in with the smell of vegetation and the sea.

  Banty shimmied up a palm tree and looked about. “There’s a large palisade and you can see people moving about inside. Several huts are nearer the beach and a large tent is near the beach. It’s a whitish color so it’s probably made from sails. I count six fires, one by the tent and the rest in front of the huts. There are lanterns hanging along the palisade. Several men are walking about, some with women. It looks like there is a pig on a spit. Everybody seems to have a bottle or a mug.” Banty paused and then added, “I don’t see a ship. They’s a shitten mess of the whoresons but no ship.”

  “Does it look like they’re settling down for the night?” Cooper asked, hopefully.

  “Not so’s you can tell, Captain, much like it is at Barataria,” Banty said.

  Cooper nodded, not surprised. At Barataria, the men usually didn’t start to go down until the sun started coming up.

  “Let’s move closer. If they’re as drunk as you say, they ain’t likely to notice us,” Cooper said.

  The palisade was similar to the one Gaspar had. Palmetto logs lashed together with ship’s ropes. Only this one was poorly built. After watching for a bit, a guard was spotted making his rounds. He stopped at some place or another, grabbing some girl or woman who stood to close to the barrier. He’d grope her and make lewd, vulgar comments and then walk on. As he neared where Cooper and his men were hidden, Cooper motioned to Quang to eliminate the blackheart.

  Quang didn’t reply, but before he knew it the Oriental leaped out at the unsuspecting man and twisted his neck, snapping the spine before the man could speak. Robinson quickly pulled the man into the tree line.

  Cooper took a chance and walked over to the enclosure. “Faith,” he called, his voice just above a whisper. “Faith, it’s me. Cooper Cain.”