Hunt for White Gold

by Mark Keating

  ‘Make your sails, Bill. Keep Coxon at our quarter. I’ll grab Dandon from out of a bottle and confer with him a while.’ He ducked back into the cabin, leaving Bill alone to sample the sight of the first of the staysails appearing between the masts of the Milford.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Night and the Atlantic, the darker blue, the wide rolling waves instead of the ticklish crystal lap of the Bahamas. Two ships laboured beneath the first planets of the evening and Venus and Mars had seen it all before. Abaco and Eleuthera far behind them, both ships were trimmed by the head and bows down as they ploughed through the deeper waters. Some time before the first dogwatch the Shadow had set northwest by north, and the Milford had followed and closed to less than a mile. But the darkness had fallen too soon for Coxon.

  ‘Too late to engage her tonight,’ he concluded, looking about the stars above his sails. ‘We’ll keep to this course and hope she is still there in the morning.’

  Such a comment drew a querying word from Halesworth. ‘Surely she is not apt to vanish in the night, Captain?’

  Coxon nodded towards the stern of the ship to their fore. ‘She is vanishing even now, Halesworth.’

  Halesworth looked out, noticing only then that in the swift blackness that was drawing itself about them the pirate ship ran without stern or sidelights. She was a black blot on the horizon at best, but soon even that shape would be indistinguishable against the night and the Shadow’s presence would only be marked by the brief snuffing out of a star as her sails and masts rolled by.

  Coxon patted his sailing master’s shoulder. ‘Shadow by name and nature, Halesworth. Never mind: thanks to your sails we are gaining. I shall have him on the morrow. Bring him back to Providence.’

  ‘If Devlin is on the ship, Captain.’ Halesworth checked his log as the bosun’s mate yelled out the speed from the drogue. ‘This could just be a ruse to draw us from Providence. A goose chase with nothing to show for it whilst Devlin is cutting Rogers’ throat as we slumber.’

  Coxon laughed. It was the first time Halesworth had heard such a sound and he baulked as if punched by the man beside him. ‘Oh, Mister Halesworth!’ Coxon patted his shoulder again. ‘What sport! It could be a fine ending for the world whatever side the dice come up! But a man without a feeling in his gut is a curious thing. We should have you stuffed by and by!’ Coxon moved to the fo’c’sle, leaving Halesworth shaken by the sudden bout of joviality he had just witnessed, his pencil and the speed forgotten.

  ‘This is a trick not known to me, Cap’n.’ Black Bill spat to the deck for luck.

  ‘For me also, Bill. But it should work. I’m all for engaging Coxon after we get Peter Sam, but beforehand don’t seem quite as fair. I just needs to gain an edge. Put some space between us and keep on to Teach.’

  Bill demonstrated his compliance by loading his pipe in silence and looking over the taffrail with Devlin to the Shadow’s cutter and jolly-boat sent out behind them under the conspiracy of the night. The ship had been brought-to, her sails braced aback to give her the barest movement, slowed to luffing so as the lads sent out in the boats could swim back and grab the man-ropes laid alongside and be hauled to the Jacob’s ladder once their job were done.

  Devlin and Bill heard the sea swallow the anchors but could see nothing; then came the sound of the ten men assigned to the task swimming back to the ship.

  ‘Get them in and get us out!’ Devlin’s voice was urgent, conscious of the ten minutes lost and mindful of the ten minutes it would take to get up a speed again, but Bill was already at the helm, waiting until the last man was pulled aboard so he could yell at those straining at their braces and waiting for the word.

  Devlin stared hard at the dim horizon and there he saw, at the limit of his sight, the soft twinkle of the Milford’s sidelights along her rigging jigging up and down under a trio of stars. He held out his thumb, one eye closed, and she disappeared in front of it. ‘Stay to that course, John,’ he whispered along the line of his outstretched arm. ‘Just for an hour more, if you please. Stay right behind me.’

  Then Bill was shouting, and men, rope and canvas worked together as the Shadow let go and moved on, obediently, willingly, as much a member of the crew as any of them. She’d sprout wings if her captain only asked it of her.

  She was built for war and painted black for subterfuge with swords and guns for ballast. A death’s head for her colours and crewed by miscreants and thieves, the Shadow was a pirate ship. Freedom was her only country. What could indentured men do to her?

  ‘I hold, Captain, that we can only follow Devlin’s ship.’ Halesworth sipped at his port, his cheeks already flushed at half a glass. It was past twelve and had been a late indigestible supper if it were not for the port, blessedly warm. Halesworth leant in from his seat over the table. ‘We do not know where he is going. Whether he is tied to Blackbeard or not. What he intends to do.’

  ‘He intends,’ Coxon refilled Halesworth’s glass, ‘to be a pirate.’ He sat back, fulfilled by his statement. ‘And, may I remind you, Mister Halesworth, of the object of your commission as part of the King’s proclamation.’ Coxon stretched to his desk, the paper to hand, snapped it straight up and read from it in an affected German accent but with an added French lisp: ‘“And we do hereby strictly charge and command all our Admirals, Captains and other officers at sea, and all our Governors …” and so on and so on “… to seize and take such of the pyrates who shall refuse or neglect to surrender themselves accordingly.”’ He leant back in his chair and returned the paper to the desk. ‘So there it is, Mister Halesworth. Devlin forsook his chance for surrender. Who cares where he is going? I’ll ask him when I catch him. All I know is that we are gaining on her, even in her dark cloak. But she can’t hide in the light of day.’

  ‘Well I just hope we have the men for it, that’s all.’ Halesworth tipped back his glass. ‘They say you can only stomach to fight a pirate once.’

  Coxon smiled. ‘Let me tell you about the pirate, Mister Halesworth. First,’ he held up his hand and began to count off his fingers, ‘they have what they call, “the vapours”,’ he swallowed a belch. ‘This involves a cauldron of green or black smoke, shielding the ship, terrifying the other crew into thinking they are something mystical or fanciful.’ He plucked his second finger. ‘Then they have music. Drums, pipes, whatever. Makes them sound indifferent, makes it seem like their victory is so assured that they can play a song whilst your men are wetting themselves.’ A third finger. ‘Then there is their “fireworks”. Grenadoes, bottles, anything they can throw. Smoke and mirrors, nothing more.’ A fourth finger was pulled, Coxon amused now by Halesworth’s interest. ‘Then there is the—’

  His sentence was choked off by the sudden jerking pitch of the ship that jammed the table into his guts and sent both men flying onto their backs, lucky not to be hit by the crash of breaking plates and bottles landing around them.

  Panicked shouts ensued without and the rushing of feet came through the overhead from the quarterdeck as Coxon scrambled to his feet and checked that no fire had spilled from the swinging lanterns.

  ‘We have run aground!’ Halesworth pulled himself up and made for the coach and the deck with Coxon.

  ‘Impossible,’ Coxon snapped back, reaching for his hat just as Rosher heaved in the outer door.

  ‘We have hit something, Captain!’ Rosher exclaimed. ‘Bosun is pulling in sail lest we break the rigging.’

  Halesworth mumbled to Coxon’s back as they crept onto the creaking, protesting deck. ‘Perhaps a ship-wreck. We are in the Florida trade routes. They say these are haunted waters between here and Bermuda.’

  Coxon pretended not to hear and made for the fo’c’sle, shouting to every man he barged past, his stride confident, hands clasped behind him and hat snapped low, all mannerisms designed to show the panicked men that he and not the faithless sea was in command.

  ‘What goes on here? Why have we been brought to?’ He had reached the bow and the huddle of men l
eaning over the cathead looking down at the hull.

  ‘A hawser is on our keel, Cap’n.’ One of them held a lantern over the cathead for their captain to see for himself. ‘It’d have been slack. Else we’d have just broke through. Like as not floated up by barrels. Caught us like a net. Must be maybe four shackles long I reckon to drag us to, Cap’n.’

  Coxon looked down at the cable stretched along the strakes, creaking and straining to hold the ship that still had some momentum but was now tending to leeward as the stern came about and the cable held. Coxon looked aft, out into the darkness, and imagined the cable perhaps threaded through the thole pins of ship’s boats then down into the depths to be anchored at least five times the depth of the sounding, for that is what he himself would have done, and then repeated on the other side. Similar to the anchor chains that would be laid across harbours such as at Maracaibo or Cadiz to prevent men-of-war from entering.

  A slow drag. Four shackles. Three hundred feet of rope across the water. Aye, no doubt floated with empty barrels like a reef marker. Devlin had counted on his, on Coxon’s, accuracy of sail not to waver from the Shadow’s stern.

  The Milford was caught fore, by the gripe between the keel and the cutwater. Devlin was lucky that the trapping anchors held as the ship pulled against them and lucky, too, that the thole pins did not wrench from the gunwales of the boats set against them. And finally he was lucky that the Milford stayed her course and fell into the rope. Just lucky. Not clever at all.

  ‘Lower a man and cut us free,’ he said calmly to the hands around him. ‘All’s well, boys. The pirate has cost us a few minutes, nothing more. Cost him two anchors and two boats and all his cable no doubt.’ He pushed away from the cathead to the uninspired face of Mister Halesworth.

  ‘We have broken brails and earrings, Captain. Ripped free from the sudden stop. Some gaskets to be replaced also. It’ll maybe be an hour before we can make sail again, what with the dark and all.’

  Coxon brushed past the sailors and pushed Halesworth gently along with his shoulder away from the fo’c’sle. ‘An hour will cost me the Shadow, Mister Halesworth. We would be giving Devlin five miles whilst you give me bare poles!’ His voice had lost the comforting assurance from mere minutes ago within the cabin, where front buttons were undone and neckties loosed.

  Halesworth’s defence did nothing to remove the rigid animosity from his captain’s face. ‘It is not my error, Captain. It is your orders to maintain full sail throughout the night!’ He sighed and wiped his face then offered as much as he could. ‘The main and fore courses are fine, I believe. Perhaps warp us along some as well. I could make two knots before full repairs, Captain.’

  Coxon touched Halesworth’s forearm and thanked him warmly, which unsettled Halesworth even more. ‘So it will not be an engagement as soon as I had hoped. You were correct after all, Mister Halesworth: we are to follow him and nothing more.’ He looked about the deck absently. ‘He has bested me again. Without a shot. The pirate does not wish to engage, which means he is nearing his goal. He is heading for the Americas. We shall follow his wake.’ Coxon sniffed the air, looking about the ship. He nodded, agreeing something within himself before resuming his past conversation. ‘I was telling you of the fourth thing, Mister Halesworth, before we were abruptly interrupted, was I not?’

  Halesworth looked at the hand still on his forearm then up into the eager eyes boring into his own. ‘Indeed. After the fireworks, you said. A fourth aspect about the pirates …’

  Coxon let go the arm. ‘They love each other. That is the thing about them. They love each other like brothers. It is their greatest weakness beside drunkenness.’ He turned away, vanishing around the foremast, moving amidships, shouting encouragement at every busy back he saw, his voice like a giant’s above the urgent clatter and clamour of repair.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Taken from the Navigation Acts.

  Pertinent to England and her colonies

  with regards to foreign trade.

  For the increase of the shipping and encouragement of the navigation of this nation wherein, under the good providence and protection of God, the wealth, safety, and strength of this Kingdom is so much concerned. Be it enacted by the King’s most Excellent Majesty, and by the Lords and Commons in this present Parliament assembled, and by the authority thereof, that from and after the first Day of December, 1660, and from thence forward, no goods or commodities whatsoever shall be imported into or exported out of any lands, islands, plantations, or territories to His Majesty belonging or in His possession of His Majesty, His heirs, and successors, in Asia, Africa, or America, in any other ship or ships, vessel or vessels whatsoever, but in such ships or vessels as do truly and without fraud belong only to the people of England or Ireland, dominion of Wales or town of Berwick upon Tweed …

  … And be it enacted, that no alien or person not born within the allegiance of our Sovereign Lord the King, His heirs and successors, shall from and after the first day of February 1661, exercise the trade or occupation of a Merchant or Factor in any the said places.

  Blackbeard snorted through his rum and tossed the paper back to Ignatius. ‘Aye. That’s what pirates are for. I’ve grown wealthy on the fact. America trades only with England. Piracy would be gone overnight if it were otherwise.’

  Ignatius folded away the transcript with a smile to his ignorant companion. ‘It is true. A gentleman here must pay three times the price for a hat than he would in London. For he can buy it from no other place. It is almost a public service that you and your kind perform, Teach.’ He saluted him with his glass.

  They were in Ignatius’s study, alone, waiting both for the clock on the mantle to chime for luncheon and for the call from the harbour that the Shadow was at anchor.

  Ignatius eased back in his leather chair, taking in the tall crimson-coated pirate that had governors at his hand. ‘Do you not see however, Teach, that these colonists must grow tired, frustrated, at shipping everything they produce through England? They have no free will to create a trade with any other European nation. They must purchase everything from the motherland. And sell their produce only to the motherland at a price set by a King they have never seen.’

  Teach shrugged. ‘I have never seen the King. I trades with who I please and he stays out of my pockets.’

  ‘But the motherland produces what? Cheese and cloth,’ he scoffed. ‘Yet it suckles from this land some of the most valuable commodities in this world: rice, coffee, sugar, even cotton soon enough if it takes. And by the time it comes back, the man who sowed it gets one third to call his own.’

  Teach dragged a chair from the wall to sit on. For two days now he had endured Ignatius’s conversation, that never meandered to women or to cards, the libation as dry as caked mud and feathers.

  ‘I care not for Parliament’s botherings, Ignatius. Just for me own neck and those of me men.’

  ‘Ah, but if just one governor of just one colony could have the secret of the production of true porcelain things could change. Not a thing that must be grown and reaped, not a ship built from the oak of her land. A product. Unique and respected. Craved throughout the world. More valuable than gold. Things would change.’ He sighed. Some fulfilment was lost on Teach beaming proudly across him. ‘But it is no matter: you, Teach, do not have the letters.’

  Teach licked at the last of the rum on his lips and looked back to the bottle on the commode. ‘Aye, but as I said, Devlin surely does. And he comes for his man. I believe that in securing Palgrave when none could I had the best bargaining. But that Irish patroon had beat me to it.’

  Ignatius said nothing on the matter. Blackbeard’s eyes revealed sufficiently that such a compliment to Devlin’s ability wounded the pirate’s ill-earned pride.

  ‘It was fortunate for me that I had put both of you to the task. Although in truth I did not suppose that the pirate Devlin could outdo the great and terrible Blackbeard.’ His gentle insult was softened by his hand gesturing to the green b
ottle for Teach to help himself.

  Teach rose and strode across the room. ‘But I came to you, Ignatius,’ he poured four fingers’ worth from the bottle. ‘In deference. My relations with Governor Eden hold me in good stead for best price for your letters,’ he raised his glass respectfully. ‘And for the dispatching of Devlin if you wills it. No blood on your hands as it were.’

  Ignatius did not return the raising of glass. ‘I do not need your assistance in either matter, Teach.’ He looked out the window to his secluded high-walled garden, indifferent to the murderer within his walls. ‘You may think that you are in a room in a colonial house in the council of Charles Town, a town that is sworn to kill you, and that you have friends in valued positions on your side.’ He swung his grey eyes back to Edward Teach. ‘But you are in my world, and you are waiting for me to let you remain alive within it.’

  Teach sank his rum, his eyes staring over the rim of the glass to the man at the desk beyond. The blood pulsed behind his eyes and his fingers gripped white against the rummer as Ignatius looked back at him in sympathy for his ineptitude.

  The silent commune between them broke off as Ignatius’s office door burst open and his servant gasped an apology for not knocking. ‘Begging your pardon, Mister Ignatius sir, Mister Teach, but the pirate ship you described, Mister Teach, is in the harbour, sir. A boat is coming to the wharf!’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  On a hot afternoon near the end of August the people of Charles Town went about their business. Rice was sacked and carted to the customs house for its long journey back to England. Beer was supped warmly in the taverns by those who had earned its comfort and swallowed bitterly by those who had not, and who rued their days.

  Roughly pasted above the stone fireplaces of the inns and on the wooden walls of the customs house were the general notices and by-laws that the council deemed imperative to inform its visitors and denizens of.