Pirates!

by Celia Rees

  Broom was willing to go along with it for as long as he could, not knowing who or how many he could trust. He was acting his part as captain, laughing, beaming, clapping us on the shoulder, as all the men cheered from the waist of the ship. I glanced sideways at Minerva. Her face was blank, impassive. As I often had before, I took courage from her.

  Below us, the fiddlers struck up and the flutes shrilled. Their playing was loud and frantic, rising higher and higher, faster and faster. Sweat flew from them and the crew crowded in around us, stamping and clapping, setting the whole ship vibrating until the ropes sang and the hull boomed like a giant drum. Then the music stopped, as suddenly as it had begun. The sound ebbed away and I thought that the time had come for the ducking. I readied myself to face the ordeal. Then one chord shattered the silence, echoing and discordant. It was a signal for mayhem.

  The fiddlers started another tune, faster than the first, and the stamping and yelling resumed. Crossing the line is a time of misrule, when the captain's orders count for little. On a pirate ship, they counted for nothing at all. We were pushed to one side. Some of the men already on the quarterdeck made to seize the captain instead.

  The cry went up: 'Keel-haul him!'

  'Steady lads!' Broom tried to reason, still smiling, but it was clear that this was in deadly earnest. Some of the crew were changing the rigging on the cradle, readying it to pass under the ship. Others were cheering them on. All that was wanted was a body. Teams were forming, port and starboard, ready to take the ropes that would drag the victim from one end of the ship to the other. No one could survive such an ordeal. Broom would be taken out lifeless, if the sharks didn't get him first.

  'Don't worry, Cap'n,' Croker, the tin-whistle player, winked with his one good eye. The other had been taken out by the end of a swinging hawser. 'You ain't going to be on your own.'

  We were surrounded. Men stepped forward to seize Pelling, Graham and the other officers on the quarterdeck.

  'Not those two,' Croker pointed at us. 'They've got other uses. Hack don't want 'em messed up.'

  Hack looked up and nodded, as if taking a signal to change the tune. He was behind the plot, but it was not clear who was in it, who not. By now, all the men were thoroughly roused. Reason had gone from them. Hack's music was whipping them into a frenzy of blood lust. He was playing like the Devil himself with the crew dancing to his reel.

  38

  Pelling was being bound to the capstan in the waist of the ship. Gabriel, Jessop, even Joby were similarly trussed. Men were already forming into a circle around them, brandishing knives, cutlasses, tar brushes and marlin spikes, anything they could find to jab and stab. One carried a brand taken from the galley fire. Men were lighting fuses from it, ready to put between toes and fingers. They clearly meant to sweat any who might be loyal to Broom.

  We were pushed, pulled, pummelled, mauled and manhandled in ways that left little room for doubt about what they had in mind for Minerva and me. I looked into the faces of men I had known and worked with, and saw red sweating masks leering like jack-o'-lanterns. I nearly gagged on the hot animal stink of them; the stench of rum gusting from their mouths. We struggled and fought, but the struggle was unequal. There were too many of them. Too many hands upon us. Our arms were pinned. We were held fast.

  The ship was lying idle in the water. The sails clewed up, rolled tight to the yards. The crew had left off any kind of duty. They were all crowded into the waist of the ship. Even the helmsman had left the wheel. Now, through the danger and confusion, I felt something. A wind had sprung up and, without a helmsman, the ship was turning. Others felt it, too. Sailors are as sensitive as any swinging vane to the slightest change in the weather. The ship took on a shuddering motion as the rudder jammed and there was a violent thudding from under the hull. An unsecured boom swung out, taking a couple of men with it. The rest staggered as the deck tipped and the great body of the ship groaned and juddered under them. They looked around in confusion, but there was no one to tell them what to do.

  Just for a moment, the hands that held us slackened their grip. That was all the chance Minerva needed. She twisted like a cat away from her captor and leaped on to the nearest grating, grabbing a flaming brand and a bottle of rum as she went. Her sudden escape brought men clustering around her, their numbers threatening to overwhelm her, but the converging crowd reared back as she swept the brand round. The air was full of the smell of singeing hair and whiskers, then the reek of rum as she emptied the bottle through the grating. Directly underneath her lay the powder hold. The glass smashed, and she held the burning brand hovering over the gaps in the hatch.

  'Any closer and Fll drop it! I'll take all of us down to the bottom of the ocean. I swear it!' The men looked at each other, wondering whether to believe her. 'And the gold!'

  At the mention of that, they stepped back.

  I don't know whether she would have blown us all to kingdom come, or how long she could have held them at bay with the threat of it. Perhaps some of them thought she had, for the sudden boom of an explosion and a billowing of smoke brought a surge of panic.

  'Attack! Attack!' someone shouted, and everyone crowded to the rails.

  A ship was heading straight for us. A ship in full sail. She had already loosed off one shot, now she let go another across our bows. She was showing a black hoist, with a crudely cut red heart pinned upon it, which meant we could expect no quarter, and she was closing fast.

  The captain of the vessel stood on the quarterdeck, his face set and determined. The men forming up for boarding were mostly black. The very ones who some of the crew had said would never be sailors and had wanted to sell back into slavery. They were loyal to Vincent and to him only, Minerva had told me. The rebels could expect no mercy from them.

  The fiddlers had ceased playing some while ago. Now they disappeared, making themselves scarce below. Those who had been so brave in leading the mutiny were fast melting away. All the time the other ship was closing. The men looked about them as if waking from a dream, knowing that they should take action, but at a loss as to what they should do.

  There were many things that they could have done. Used Broom to bargain for their lives and freedom. Rallied and fought off the boarders. But cowardice and confusion gripped their hearts and they did nothing. The ships ground together. Vincent and his men leaped aboard and the ship was taken with no blood shed and no shot fired.

  The rebels were identified and tried for mutiny with all the solemnity of a court of the Admiralty. The ringleaders, Hack and Croker, were hung from the yard-arm, their bodies cut down and fed to the sharks. The others were cast off in an open boat, with enough food and water to get them to the Portuguese islands, or to the coast of Africa.

  The gold that had caused all the trouble was shared among the remainder of the crew. The company was ripe for dividing. It was time for our ways to part.

  39

  Not all of the men who remained loyal wanted to continue with Broom. Once they had their share, they wanted to leave African shores and go back to the West Indies, the life there being known to them, and more to their liking. They would have been better off staying with us on the Swift Return, but there was no way to know what was waiting for those who left on the Fortune. Halston was to be captain, with young Andrews as navigator. A great feast was held for them, the last time the crews would be together. The next day they sailed away from us, a tiny dot on the horizon; then they were gone.

  The next to leave was Surgeon Graham. It grieved my heart to see him go, but he had long tired of the life. He left us at the Cape of Good Hope. From there he would take ship back to England and begin a new life as a doctor. He begged again for me to go with him, repeating his offer for me to pose as his daughter.

  'Why not, Nancy? We'd make a good pair, you and me. We have enough money between us to live in a handsome way. We could settle in any city you please. This is no life for a young lady like you.'

  I laughed. 'I'm not a young lady – I am
a pirate.'

  'And you grow old beyond your years. I fear for you if you persist in this life, with all its violence and danger – and ... and coarseness. I am afraid it will mark you for ever. You have already seen things no woman should have seen.' He shook his head. 'And who knows how long it will be before you are taken, or killed by some villain? No one lasts long on the account. Come with me, I beg you. What do you say?'

  I asked for time to think, but already knew what my answer would be. I could not leave Minerva, I told him, and she would not come with me.

  'Why not?' Graham asked. 'She would be free, after all. She would come not as slave, or servant, but as your companion.'

  'She might be free in law, but ... ' I tried to explain to him how Minerva felt. 'She says that she does not want to live in a place where she would always have to endure the stares of the curious, the comments of the idle-tongued and vicious.'

  'But she would have money. Status.'

  I nearly laughed. As if that would make any difference? People would see her as being above her station, and that might even make it worse. Graham was a man of sensitivity and intelligence; why could he not see that?

  'I could go into any tavern, in any port,' I attempted to explain further, 'and dressed like this, as a man, I would receive no comment, as long as my coin was good. But if I went in dressed as a woman?'

  'I begin to see ... '

  'She wants to live where the colour of her skin is of no more note than yours or mine would be in Bristol, or London. She is of a mind to go to Madagascar.'

  'Vincent's country? The old pirate haven?'

  I nodded. 'It is our next destination. It is Vincent's idea, and Broom is all for it.'

  'And you will go with them?'

  I nodded.

  'What about that young man of yours, William? We could look for him together. I could explain ... '

  I remembered our last encounter. Over the months, I had gone over it in my mind so much that now it seemed a complete and hideous disaster.

  'I no longer think of him.'

  'Hmm.' Graham looked at me quizzically, rubbing his chin. 'You expect me to believe that, do you?'

  'I mean in terms of marriage. I could not bear the humiliation of finding him with another.' 'Very well,' he sighed. 'If your mind is made up.'

  'It is.'

  Graham had been like a father to me, and I would miss him cruelly, but my decision was final. He would have to return to England without me.

  'In that case, I wish you well and safe from danger.' He kissed me on the forehead. 'I will send news when I can.'

  So we watched him sail away.

  'Do you regret not going with him?' Minerva asked as his ship left the harbour.

  'No,' I said, and meant it.

  'You do not stay just because of me?' she asked, worried. 'I would not want that.'

  'That is part of it.' I had to be honest with her. There is little hidden between us. 'You are my sister. The only family I have, or want. But it is not entirely because of you.'

  I told her of my other reasons for rejecting Graham's offer. If I put on the bonnet and cloak of a doctor's daughter, life would lose its savour, like meat without salt. Life would become insipid, like some floury English pudding, not sweet and sharp to the mouth like the fruits of the south. Graham would have his work, his patients; my prospects would lie in making some kind of marriage. I described a line of whey-faced suitors. My mind would always swing like a compass to William. I still wore his ring. I would marry nobody, if I could not marry him. But he was most likely promised to some nice young woman, a captain's daughter. Even if I found him, I would merely fill his life with confusion, ruin his career when he had worked so hard for advancement. I loved him too much even to contemplate it. So, I would grow an old maid in London, or Edinburgh, or Bath, or Tunbridge, or some other spa, dispensing tea and murmured sympathy to the wives and daughters of Graham's wealthier patients.

  'I'd rather stay on the account,' I finished. And I meant it.

  The Daemon Lover

  40

  So we came to Madagascar, the pirate haven.

  Vincent guided us into a sheltered deep-water bay, protected from the open sea by two high promontories. A place called Keyhole Cove, the entrance being narrow, not easily seen from the open sea, and protected by long reefs.

  Broom stood at the prow, spyglass in hand, casting an eye over the wide white beach and the dark green hills behind. He swung his glass up and squinted through it, taking in the cliff-top heights.

  'A couple of cannon up there and this will be tighter than Portsmouth harbour. Well done, Sir.' He grinned at Vincent, throwing his arm round the mate. 'This will do. This will do very well.'

  He gave the order to haul in sail and drop anchor. Then he ordered the boat out and we rowed ashore. We trudged along the wide expanse of the beach until we came to a slipway of sorts, made of splintered wooden boards, which led to a path leading up the cliff. It was crumbling now, part washed away by rushing flood water, and all overhung by vegetation, but signs remained of its original formation. The steps cut into the cliff were shallow and wide, their edges reinforced with rough hewn stones and thick planks. We toiled up the slope, Vincent and his men slashing a way with their cutlasses. Vincent knew this place well. He assured us that there was a pirate village above the bay.

  At the top of the cliff, the path passed through a high rampart, now partly tumbled down, topped by the remains of a stout palisade. A wooden gate had been thrown aside, but the gap was still so narrow that we could only pass through in single file. The top of the rampart showed a clear view out to the bay. A steady breeze blew in from the sea, pleasant after the heat of the climb, cooling to our sweating skin. A tumbled gun platform rose to our right, and another to our left, topped by corroded cannon which must once have been trained on the encampment's approaches but now lay slumped, pointing at the sky.

  I had expected to see huts and buildings in the clearing that lay in front of us, but it was just an open space, overgrown now with creeping ground plants and sprouting new growth as the forest slowly reclaimed it. There were no signs of any buildings.

  Broom looked around, hand resting on his cutlass. 'Any risk from the natives?' he asked, looking to Vincent to advise him, this being his country.

  Vincent laughed. 'Hardly. This whole place is fady. The people keep away.'

  'Fa-dee?' Broom frowned. 'What does that mean?'

  Vincent frowned in his turn and blew out his cheeks. He had a difficult time explaining. It meant something forbidden, he said, like wearing a hat in church, or a woman whistling on board, but more, something unclean, like eating rat or dog.

  The men listened and nodded, looking solemn, as if they knew all about such things.

  'Where are the natives?' Broom still gripped his cutlass.

  'They live a way from here. They come out when they're ready,' Vincent said. 'When they learn we ain't slavers. They're friendly.' He touched his captain's hand. 'Won't be no need for that.'

  'But if this was a pirate village,' I asked, 'where are their houses?'

  'They lived in a solitary way.'

  He showed us the points where paths meandered away from this empty centre and wound off into the forest, marked by tall growing hedges long since turned to tangled thicket. Vincent led us forwards, slashing and cutting at the opening of one of the labyrinthine tracks.

  'Be careful!' he cried, pointing to the floor and to the sides. It was a long time since anyone had been up here, but long thorns and flint-like stones still stuck out of the ground. Shards of glass and sharp pieces of metal glinted in the thickets that crowded to our shoulders and almost met over our heads.

  'What is all this?' Broom demanded. 'Were they afraid of the natives? Of being attacked?'

  Vincent laughed. 'They were afraid of each other.'

  The pirates had lived singly like spiders, inside elaborate webs of traps and snares rigged to give warning of anyone approaching. They had squatte
d in their citadels, each guarding his treasure from his fellows.

  'What happened to them?'

  'Some went back on the account, or turned respectable, taking amnesty from the government.'

  'What about those who stayed?'

  'Who knows? Flux, fever, a surfeit of rum – or poison.' Vincent laughed again. 'Not all Malagasy women liked their pirate husbands. In the end, they all died and no one lives here. My father did not live here.' He answered my unspoken question. 'He lived with my mother in her village. The pirates left, or died one by one, until finally this place was deserted.'

  We looked about us, thinking of the old pirates, ever more distrustful, listening out for intruders, while death came up the path for them, padding on silent feet, invulnerable to cutting stones and pricking thorns. Suddenly, the woods echoed and clamoured with the most unearthly crying and calling, a sound both plaintive and mournful, as if the lost souls of all those dead pirates were calling one to another, and to us. The noise made us all startle. The men looked around, their faces white and fearful, as voice after voice added itself to the din.

  Vincent grinned at our discomfort, although I saw him shiver when the noise started up.

  'Indri,' he pointed to black-and-white creatures flitting high above us through the forest canopy. 'It is a creature,' he thought for a moment, 'like a monkey. We call it father-son.'

  He hacked a way through to the dwelling place at the end of the winding path. It was, indeed, a little citadel, surrounded by ditches and ramparts, but still standing, stoutly built and solid. Broom stood on the porch, smiling his satisfaction, brushing away cobwebs in the same brisk way he would deal with any fears of old pirates or lingering superstition. For the houses to be sound and well placed, that was all that mattered.