by Mark Keating
Woodes Rogers.
Captain General and Governor in Chief
New Providence, Eleuthera,
Harbour Island and Abaco.
They left Peter Sam to his own care and ablutions. He joined none at the head in the dawn, ate alone below behind a curtained wall of hemp close to the manger where the skinny goats and hogs tripped and swayed against the ever-growing swell and squealed and kicked through the night. He sought no company and they let him be. Only Dog-Leg Harry held the key to the hemp curtain. A tin of small beer and rum, stewed meat and potatoes and Salmagundi on a Sunday. The rule and article of everybody eating equal was waylaid for the time being.
‘No rice for Peter Sam,’ Dog-Leg would insist. ‘He needs bones a-building, Virginia potatoes is the only way.’ Devlin, still an Irishman at heart, agreed.
For ten days and nights the quartermaster was apart from the ship, a churchyard spectre haunting the lower decks like Jonah. The rest of them felt he had gone from them now, even more than during his actual absence.
Black Bill Vernon joined Devlin on the quarterdeck, standing at the breastwork rail, looking over the deck at rest, ten days east, heading back to the realm of the Malagasay.
‘Stores be low, Cap’n. Need to keep the men hot.’ He kept his voice low.
‘Good morning to you too, Bill,’ Devlin was more jolly than the brooding Sailing Master.
‘And what of Peter Sam? Ship needs a quartermaster as well as a captain. If he’s lost we should leave him lost and makes us another.’
Devlin rolled his back to the ship, his eyes now over the helm and the wake creaming along behind them. ‘Aye. He’s had the worst of it. But I saw him back in Charles Town. Saw what he did. Can’t think what he might have been through to come to this.’ He pushed back his hat and breathed in the salt and sun. ‘Some things a man has to chew over a while, Bill.’
‘Aye. But all that sailing. Men of ours dead and gone. And for nothing but an empty purse. Coxon with our gold won’t lie well.’
Devlin grinned back at the big Scot, ‘Sixteenth parallel, Bill. Trade route to the Indies and a war to boot. Back to Madagascar to pick up Will Magnes and the others. Start again. Don’t count the days we have yet to live.’
As if in response, as if indeed designed for her captain’s mood, the Shadow heeled as the scent of a sail caught her bows.
‘Sail! Deck there!’ A joyous cry erupted from the top as a white speck of promise and lading crept along the horizon fore. Devlin let others reach for scopes, he did not have to see her to bring her closer. ‘As you said, Bill, purse be low. Have to keep them hot.’
The sound of the hatch opening below drew them both to look over the rail. Dandon appeared and swept off his broad hat to them both and wished them the best of the morning, then stepped aside to let Peter Sam’s bald head follow him up.
‘I found a man lost below,’ Dandon beamed. ‘Says he heard a sail, Captain.’
The leather-clad figure stepped onto the deck and men moved away as he touched and fingered stays and wood like beloved books in a library, a tender touch for each as they spoke back to him.
He turned and looked up at the two at the rail studying him, then lowered his head and made for the steps, pulling himself up with arms taut again as they once had been.
‘Where away, Cap’n?’ he said.
Devlin pointed to the head. ‘There,’ and he gave him room at the rail. ‘The men are slack to move, Peter. They’re looking at the sail and blushing like farmers’ daughters.’
Peter Sam ran his eyes over the heads staring up at him from below and pushed back Bill and Devlin to fill the space over the deck.
‘Are you not hungry, boys!’ he bellowed. ‘We’re going back for old Will to be sure, but we needs timber and rum!’ He aimed a fiendish eye at every merry look that shone back at him.
‘Make sail, you hijos de puta! You sons of whores! All hands, you dogs! Get me down those gallants and God’s pity if I see one hole in that canvas! By God I’ll give you a hole in your back to match it!’ His arm punched towards the white face of one of them. ‘Cowrie! I be looking at you lad! Haul, you apes, and bring me some punch! By God I’ll scrape the deck with the lot of you! Close up on that slut if you wants to drink tonight!’
A cheer rolled and the deck hammered with the sound of a hundred feet beating to their duty; and Dandon sensibly backed away to the Great Cabin, his swaying elegance in everyone’s way.
The helm wheel spun, the yards began to turn. Black Bill gave the order to stand to their prey’s forefoot, to cut her off from her path to the colonies. Chase to leeward.
The bow dives. Strakes lean up wet as the Shadow heels. Running by the head she cracks the tide sending great sheets of white water over the bowsprit and a song begins to weave along the deck as men bound to their stations.
Weapon lockers are loosed. Gun ports are opened and shot garlands carried to the deck.
Word is given.
A black and calico cloth is brought from below.
O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway,—
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
Byron, The Corsair.
A Tale.
Author’s Note
This is the second adventure for Patrick Devlin and if it is your first I hope you have enjoyed it enough to read another. Whereas the first story was very much cut-and-thrust straight-forward pirate lore – treasure map, sword-fights, cannon-fire and lights, camera, action! – I wanted the second to be just as exciting but diverse enough so that it wasn’t a mere repetition.
To me the underlying story will always be of the men themselves in a world where freedom was limited to those who could afford it. Perhaps the world hasn’t changed all that much.
I have a pirate and he will be a pirate. I assure you at no point will Devlin see the error of his ways or fight the good fight. He will fight for his men, for his right to be free, and, of course, for fortune. If you are reading this book because you love pirates you’ll understand. If you’re reading it because you love adventure you’ll understand. If you’re reading it because you love intricate naval fiction and gentlemen pining over women and rising book by book through the ranks, your ship is over there. I’ll take my berth on the Shadow.
And so on to this story. At first I think the hardest part was trying to say to people, ‘It’s a pirate story. It’s about porcelain.’
Doesn’t exactly stir the blood does it?! But to take it in context you have to try and imagine a world without porcelain. Then try to imagine a world of glass, pottery, gold and pewter drinking vessels and even leather mugs, and then pour a boiling drink into them and hold it in your hand. I don’t think it stretches credulity to say that pretty much every ceramics maker in Europe worked feverishly to discover why Chinese porcelain had such properties that their own products did not.
So imagine that you could turn up in that world with a cup that kept cool to the touch. And only you knew how to make it. There’s a reason why it was called ‘White Gold’.
Early European ceramic makers believed the secret was bone, human or otherwise, crushed and mixed with clay that produced the hardness. Consequently, Bone-China and porcelain are still confused.
The story of the letters of the priest is true, and they did disappear, although in reality when they reappeared the secret was known throughout Europe, and by 1750 European production even outstripped that of China, but the mystery of the letters and the hunger to obtain the secret was enough to fuel my imagination. It really was as valuable and mysterious as the Philosopher’s Stone. It’s a fascinating subject and I encourage anyone to look into it.
Now, t
he pirates. Chronologically this story takes place in real history. From the moment Woodes Rogers arrives in the Bahamas the story follows actual events. In fact, with the exception of Devlin and his men (Coxon, Seth and Ignatius etc.), every other major character is real. But I must clarify some details.
Firstly, Woodes Rogers. For purposes of drama I may have painted him to be a bit more ruthless than his biographers would like. He was a great man, but (and I’m sure pirate aficionados would agree) you don’t sack cities, capture treasure-ships, get half your jaw blown off, whilst still giving orders holding your face together, without being a bit of a hard bastard. Challenge that if you want.
Rogers remained governor of New Providence until 1721 when he was imprisoned for debt after the insolvency of the company that sent him there. He was given back the office in 1728 after it was resolutely agreed he was the only man for the task. He died in Nassau in 1732. His statement back to Whitehall: ‘Piracy expelled, commerce restored’ remained the motto of the island until independence in 1973. His statue in Nassau is the only statue of an English governor of the colonies of England portrayed drawing a sword.
Howell Davis. A real pirate, and every pirate fan knows where he ends up and so, no, we haven’t heard the last of him. But, my liberty as a writer, in order to work Seth Toombs into the story and to get Devlin to Nassau, was to tweak history and place him with Seth on the Mumvil.
In reality Howell turned pirate on the Buck when Rogers did actually send the two ships to sloop-trade with the Spanish and he never returned to Providence. I make good on this of course in that Howell leaves Nassau on the Buck and into his own future. That closes my circle and fully opens his. We will see Howell again.
Palgrave Williams. One of Sam Bellamy’s captains. Yes, a goldsmith, yes, married with children and son of the Attorney General of Rhode Island who in middle-age decided to up-sticks and join Bellamy to become a pirate. He did get off at Block Island before the storm that sunk the Whydah and the official salvage of the ship produced exactly as quoted, the final line of which was ‘… and two great guns.’ Enter Palgrave Williams to purchase the Chinese gun and get it to New Providence for me.
Palgrave did retire and even married again. A few years later returning to piracy before retiring again. Why would a successful business and family man keep returning to the sea again and again? Risking death by noose in middle-age for a life of adventure and swift reward? I can only assume, not having Palgrave’s opinion on the matter, that it is for the same reason that some men today buy motorcycles or sports-cars or take up surfing past a certain age.
Blackbeard. I don’t think I could have had a pirate story set in this period without having the most infamous pirate of the time strutting his stage; which is why I also put him in the first book in order to set him up for this one.
His involvement with Governor Eden and Eden’s complicity is still a matter of debate and his deliberate or accidental grounding of the Queen Anne’s Revenge still produces fist-fights amongst pirate historians. He did blockade Charleston and did ask for a chest of medicines for his ransom (he also raided a few ships and had a few thousand pounds’ worth of coin) and he never came ashore, but I thought it more romantic and relevant to my story that the chest had purposes other than that his men were riddled with syphilis.
By November 1718, after this story ends, Blackbeard was dead. Hunted down by private purse courtesy of Governor Spotswood despite seemingly having immunity since he first arrived in the Carolinas.
Or then again perhaps he simply knew too much about a Chinese cannon and a bundle of letters. You can never tell with pirates.
Mark Keating. July 2010.