Captain in Calico

by George MacDonald Fraser

  Also by George MacDonald Fraser

  The Flashman Papers

  Flashman

  Royal Flash

  Flashman’s Lady

  Flashman and the Mountain of Light

  Flash for Freedom!

  Flashman and the Redskins

  Flashman at the Charge

  Flashman in the Great Game

  Flashman and the Angel of the Lord

  Flashman and the Dragon

  Flashman on the March

  Flashman and the Tiger

  Novels

  Mr American

  The Pyrates

  The Candlemass Road

  Black Ajax

  Short Stories

  The General Danced at Dawn

  McAuslan in the Rough

  The Sheikh and the Dustbin

  History

  The Steel Bonnets:

  The Story of the Anglo-Scottish Border Reivers

  Autobiography

  Quartered Safe Out Here

  The Light’s on at Signpost

  *

  The Hollywood History of the World

  CAPTAIN

  IN CALICO

  George MacDonald Fraser

  Copyright © 2015 by The Estate of George MacDonald Fraser

  Jacket design by Royce M. Becker

  Jacket artwork: pirate © Photononstop/Superstock;

  ship painting created by MT Studio/Michael Tedesco

  Author photograph by Paul Grover

  Foreword © 2015 by The Estate of George MacDonald Fraser

  Map © 2015 by John Gilkes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Scanning, uploading, and electronic distribution of this book or the facilitation of such without the permission of the publisher is prohibited. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. Any member of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or anthology, should send inquiries to Grove Atlantic, 154 West 14th Street, New York, NY 10011 or permissions@groveatlantic.com.

  First published in Great Britain in 2015 by HarperCollins Publishers.

  Published simultaneously in Canada

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 978-0-8021-2438-8

  eISBN 978-0-8021-9079-6

  The Mysterious Press

  an imprint of Grove Atlantic

  154 West 14th Street

  New York, NY 10011

  Distributed by Publishers Group West groveatlantic.com

  15 16 17 18 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  A Foreword to Captain in Calico

  The stories we loved best as children were the ones our father used to tell us on Saturday nights, when we would snuggle together under the bedcovers and wait for him to pick up from whatever cliffhanger he’d left us on the week before. The room would be lit only by the glow of a small electric fire, and when the story began, it was like falling into another world. Our father had a warm, dark voice, perfect for story-telling, and invariably the story would be about pirates. He had a special fondness for those outlaws of the sea; their flawed, restless characters captured his imagination more than honourable heroes ever could. It was a lifelong love, and so it was hardly surprising that his first attempt at full-length fiction, Captain in Calico, should be a pirate story.

  He evidently laboured at it and reworked it over a number of years, presumably in any spare time he had from working long hours as a journalist and bringing up a young family. The book is full of the influences of the writers he had loved as a boy – Sabatini, Wren, Henty, Sir Walter Scott – and the story itself is an old-fashioned yarn of the type he told us as children, but with added sex and violence. The story is based quite closely on real events in the lives of ‘Calico’ Jack Rackham and Anne Bonney, who were both notorious eighteenth-century pirates (and lovers), reflecting our father’s belief that the most compelling stories are those of real events happening to real people. Despite the failure of Captain in Calico to find a publisher, his faith in the method of using fiction to bring history to life was borne out by the later success of the Flashman novels, in which he embroidered real historical events with the exploits of his fictional anti-hero. It is interesting to see him trying his hand at a prototype anti-hero in the character of Jack Rackham, and he evidently worked hard to make him a sympathetic rogue with heroic appeal. But it was only when he came to write Flashman that he hit upon the perfect device, creating an out-and-out cad who triumphs heroically through a mixture of luck and charm, and in spite of his own cowardice and deceit.

  Captain in Calico was rejected by publishers, and in time he came to regard these rejections as justifiable – in the margin of an early typed account of its rejection he has written, apparently years later, the word ‘deservedly’ – but we believe he retained affection for the story, and the spark of his early and earnest faith in its merits never quite died. We say this because we believe he would have destroyed it otherwise, not left it in a fireproof safe in his old study for us to find after his death. Of course, eventually he hit upon the inspiration of bringing his beloved pirates to life in a quite different way, when he wrote The Pyrates – a book of comic genius, and one to which the movie Pirates of the Caribbean may owe more than a small debt.

  An early reader’s report on the manuscript and letters from The Authors’ Alliance are direct in their criticisms of the work, seeing it as over-long and derivative. But whatever the novel’s flaws, there is no denying that the style is polished, the characters are deftly drawn, and the writing is vivid and powerful.

  A book such as Captain in Calico would probably be even less likely to find a publisher today than sixty years ago – not because it isn’t excellently written, but because ripping yarns are hardly fashionable now – and we do not want readers to be deceived into thinking it is vintage George MacDonald Fraser, and of the standard of the Flashman novels or the McAuslan short stories. Indeed, we thought long and hard before allowing it to be published, and are only doing so because we believe that, as an early work, Captain in Calico is a delightful curiosity, one which we hope will provide fans of GMF with a fascinating insight into the inspirations and creative impulses that turned him into such a fine novelist. That he was always a great storyteller was never in doubt. We knew that as children, long ago.

  Sie, Caro and Nick Fraser

  Contents

  1. The Man from the Sea

  2. The Stratagem

  3. Sea Trap

  4. Major Penner

  5. Swords behind the Tavern

  6. Anne Bonney

  7. The Amorous Invalid

  8. Captain Harkness Converses

  9. The Plotters

  10. The Snare

  11. The Quarry

  12. Under the Black

  13. The Action

  14. Mosquito Bank

  15. On the Account

  16. The King’s Colours

  17. The King’s Justice

  18. Kate Sampson

  19. The Price of Piracy

  20. The Passage

  1. THE MAN FROM THE SEA

  Surveying the distant strand of silver beach washed by the blue Caribbean rollers, Master Tobias Dickey made a mental remark that the view was prodigious fine and life was very good to live. His contentment was born out of a good supper eaten after a hard day’s work, and also out of that sense of wellbeing which had possessed him ever since
the day on which he had first set foot in this beautiful New Providence of the Bahamas.

  He stood at his window in Governor’s House, a small, portly man well advanced into middle age, pulling at his pipe of Gibraltar tobacco and comparing its fragrance with that of the bougainvillea with which the garden abounded. Life and the evening were quiet, and Master Dickey never dreamed that he was waiting on the threshold of a high adventure in which he was to be called to play a not unimportant part.

  ‘When I reflect,’ he was to write later in his journal, ‘on the Peaceful Temper with which I compos’d myself to Rest, suspecting nothing of what was to Befall, I never cease to wonder at the manner in which Providence ever reserv’s its most Sudden Strokes for the time when we are least prepar’d, even as the Tempest Breaks when the Tropick Day is most Serene.’

  Certainly nothing could have been more placid and contentedly reflective than Master Dickey’s mood as he knocked out his pipe, took a last look at the scene on which the sudden Caribbean night would shortly be descending, half closed the broad screen doors and prepared for bed.

  It was a far cry, he thought, from a draughty garret in Edinburgh to a Governor’s residence, from clerking in an advocate’s office to his present post as first secretary, man-of-affairs, and close confidant of the Governor of the Bahamas, Captain Woodes Rogers. Yet it had only been the merest chance that had crossed his path with Woodes Rogers’ two years ago when the captain had been renting the Bahama Islands from the Lords Proprietors and obtaining a commission as Governor. Dickey had been a cog in the legal machine which had been engaged on that complex business, but Rogers, the great discoverer and privateer, had noted his diligence and had offered him his present employment. Dickey had accepted with the eagerness of one escaping from slavery, nor, he reflected as he climbed into his comfortable bed and watched the shadows lengthen across his spacious apartment, had he had cause for one moment to regret his step.

  Since their landing in New Providence two years ago and the expulsion of those pirates who had used it as a haven there had been much to occupy the new Governor and his assistant. Woodes Rogers saw the Bahamas as an estate of which he was to be steward for twenty-one years, and he set about to make it a model for the Western seas. To a remarkable extent he had succeeded and Master Dickey, at the Governor’s right hand in all things, had been made to feel that he too was doing his share towards making history in the Caribbean.

  Thus Master Dickey had ample grounds for satisfaction as he lay musing, and as the shadows deepened in the garden outside he began to doze gently.

  He came out of his half-sleep with a sudden start, his thoughts racing back to identify the noise that had disturbed him. Something had moved on the verandah. There had been a quick scraping, as though a foot had brushed over the boards. He listened, straining to catch the sound again, and gradually, as he lay in the warm silence, he became aware of an almost imperceptible but regular rustling just beyond the screen doors. Someone was standing there, and Tobias could hear him breathing.

  It was almost dark outside, and he could see nothing but the dim oblong of light between the doors. Slowly he reached out a hand towards the table at the side of his bed, in the drawer of which he kept a loaded pistol as a precaution against nocturnal marauders. His hand closed on the knob and at the same moment a board creaked on the verandah, and a vague shape loomed in the narrow space between the doors.

  Sweat broke out on Master Dickey’s forehead, but the hand which drew open the drawer and descended on the pistol butt was quite steady. Gently he drew the weapon out and rested it across his body, the barrel pointing towards the window.

  ‘Come in wi’ your hands up’, he ordered, his finger ready on the trigger in case the intruder should make a sudden move.

  To his astonishment the screen doors were pushed gently aside and the figure on the verandah stepped into the room. ‘If you have a pistol, take care what you’re about,’ said a deep voice.

  ‘God save us!’ exclaimed Master Dickey. He sat bolt upright in bed, the pistol extended in the direction of the stranger. ‘Stop you there, my lad. Not a step closer. Guards!’ He raised his voice in summons. ‘Guards!’

  ‘Why wake the house?’ The stranger’s voice sounded almost amused to Master Dickey’s incredulous ears. ‘You’ve no need for guards. My business is with Governor Rogers.’

  ‘Governor Rogers?’ Master Dickey pushed back the bed clothes and stepped out on to the floor, keeping the bed between himself and his mysterious visitor. ‘And what the devil d’ye mean by creeping aboot my window, then? Guards!’ he shouted again. It seemed that the intruder must be a lunatic.

  The heavy tramp of feet and the sound of voices in the passage outside his door heralded the arrival of sentries. Knuckles rapped on the panels.

  ‘Private Nicholas, sir. Is aught the matter?’

  ‘Come in!’ called Dickey sharply, and the door opened. ‘Light the candle on my side table, sharp, now! There’s a mad man in here and I have a pistol pointin’ at him.’

  ‘Christ!’ exclaimed the startled soldier. Dickey, his eyes still straining against the dark at the dim figure beyond the bed, heard the sentry stumble against the table as he fumbled for the candle.

  There was a rasp of flint, and then a yellow spear of flame as the sentry lit the candle. By the candle’s faint light the dark shape on which Dickey’s pistol was trained came to life as a big man in white shirt and breeches, with a kerchief bound sailor-fashion round his head, who stood calmly surveying the little lawyer and the gaping sentry. In the doorway the light twinkled on the brass buttons of a guard sergeant, and behind him Dickey saw the startled faces of two other soldiers.

  The intruder’s face, aquiline and brown as a gypsy’s, wore an expression of mild amusement. ‘You’re a game little bantam,’ he remarked to Dickey. ‘Governor Rogers should sleep easy of nights.’

  ‘Haud your tongue!’ snapped Tobias. ‘Sergeant, when ye’ve done gawping d’ye think ye might tak’ this thief o’ the night under arrest? Bestir yourself, man!’

  Hastily the sergeant strode forward and grasped the intruder by the arm. The guards stationed themselves one at each side of the prisoner. With a sigh of relief Master Dickey laid aside his pistol.

  ‘A fine watch ye keep, sergeant,’ he observed acidly. ‘Hauf the hoose might have been murdered in their beds, and where were you wi’ your sentries?’

  The sergeant glowered at the prisoner. ‘Come on, you,’ he began, but Master Dickey cut him short.

  ‘Wait, wait, wait. Sentry, get another light till we see what manner of bird we’ve caught.’ He came round the end of the bed and confronted the prisoner. ‘You, now. Who are ye and what are ye after?’

  The big man smiled down at him. He was a fine-looking fellow, Dickey admitted, a grand body of a man with those mighty shoulders and that narrow waist. ‘You’ll grin on the other side of your face, my buckie,’ the lawyer added sharply. ‘What d’ye mean, keekin’ in my door at this hour o’ the nicht?’

  ‘I told you,’ replied the prisoner mildly. ‘I want to see Governor Rogers. Why else would I be here?’

  ‘Tae rob and murder, like enough,’ snapped Master Dickey. ‘For why did ye no’ come in the light o’ day like an honest man?’

  ‘I’ll talk to Governor Rogers,’ said the other.

  Master Dickey stared and shook his head. ‘The man’s plainly demented,’ he observed. ‘Here, you, sergeant, tak’ him tae the guard-house. Ye’ll see the Governor, my lad, have nae fear o’ that. And ye’ll no’ be so glib then, I’m thinking.’

  The sergeant tightened his grip on the prisoner’s arm, but without apparent effort the big man brushed it away.

  ‘I’ll see the Governor,’ he said quietly. ‘What I have to say won’t wait. I’ve no wish to spend the night in some stinking prison, either. Now, sir,’ he addressed Dickey, ‘you seem to be a man of some sense; you may be sure Governor Rogers will want to see me, even if he has to leave his bed for it. Will you summon
him, or shall I shout for him?’

  In spite of the man’s cool insolence, Dickey found himself impressed. There might be something in what he said. In these troubled times the Governor had dealings with some queer cattle, and the lawyer had been in New Providence long enough to learn not to judge folk by their appearance. Then too, the fellow had given no trouble; he had not the look of a petty thief, nor was he armed. Master Dickey frowned and pondered and made his decision.

  ‘Call the Governor, sergeant, if ye please.’

  The prisoner inclined his head. ‘I’m obliged to you, sir.’

  Master Dickey’s judgement in summoning the Governor proved to be sound. A less active official than Woodes Rogers might have consigned the mysterious visitor to the lock-up for the night and Master Dickey to perdition for ever, but the Governor of the Bahamas was a man who had learned in a hard school the value of prompt investigation. When roused from sleep and informed that a sea-faring man wished to see him on a matter of importance, Rogers said nothing beyond a command that the anonymous intruder should be conducted to the study.

  Presently he descended to the hall, wearing a light silk robe over his sleeping clothes, and heard the full tale of Master Dickey’s adventure from the lawyer himself. The little Scot was not at his best; he had discovered in returning his pistol to its drawer that it had not been loaded and, in consequence, his report was less calm and ordered than it should have been. Rogers received it without comment and passed on into the long panelled study where the prisoner awaited him.

  2. THE STRATAGEM

  Dismissing the guard with instructions that sentries be posted in the passage and outside the window, Rogers seated himself behind the long polished table which served him for a desk. Master Dickey took his place unobtrusively at his own smaller table by the window while the Governor considered the tall seaman who stood before him.

  Woodes Rogers at this time was slightly past his prime, although still young to have reached the eminence to which his talents had raised him. Discoverer, circumnavigator, sea-fighter and administrator, to his fellow-countrymen in that second decade of the eighteenth century he was comparable with Drake and Raleigh, and not least because of his privateering exploits in the South Sea against the old enemy, Spain. These, incidentally, had made him immensely rich.