There was a yell of alarm and a frantic order bellowed from the Star’s poop. Something was being shouted through a speaking trumpet, but Rackham never heard it. Kemp was kneeling by the nearest gun, his handspike going furiously while the match spluttered openly now in the hand of his mate.
‘Quickly! Christ! Quickly!’ Penner plucked off his hat and dashed it on the deck in an anguish of excitement. They were dead level, bow to bow and stern to stern, and Kemp leaped back from his gun. He shouted his order in a cracked voice, there was an instant of silence, and then the Kingston seemed to explode beneath their feet.
The ship leaped and rocked beneath the shock of the broadside and Rackham staggered at the wheel. Through the clouds of acrid smoke that swirled back from the guns, filling the waist and rolling up to the poop, he heard the ponderous thunder as the carriages were run back. Kemp was yelling like a madman as the crews ran to swab out their barrels and ram home fresh charges; above the babble of sounds Ben was roaring orders to the topmen and hands at the braces.
Rackham looked through the thinning smoke to the Star. That one broadside had taken terrible effect. The brig’s bulwarks looked as though they had been swept by some huge flail; at one point a great yellow splinter trailed down into the water, carrying a tangle of canvas and rope with it, part of the poop rail had been carried away, and there was one gaping hole near the waterline.
Two voices, one calling orders and the other shrieking, carried across the water. He could see men ascending the rigging, like insects creeping on a web, and on the poop a hatless figure was shaking his fist at them.
‘Stand by to go about!’ Ben’s voice cut through the hoarse cheer from the Kingston’s deck as she drew away from the other ship. Men were pointing and shouting; Kemp, the lower half of his face a black mask of powder, was wrestling with the second gun as it was run forward.
They went about in a great arc that left a creamy horseshoe on the blue water and ran down on the Star’s port side. She had her guns out now, but Rackham guessed the upheaval there must be on her decks and was not anxious. It was one thing to take a broadside in battle and fire one in return; it was quite another to be surprised and have to drive to the guns men shocked and dazed by the impact.
‘Fire as your guns bear!’ yelled Kemp, and as the Kingston cruised past she poured shot after shot into the King’s brig, raking her mercilessly at the main-deck level. The Star seemed to stagger in the water beneath that hammering; one of her forward guns went off and a ball screamed over the Kingston’s stern, while another shot ricochetted off the water and struck the pirates’ side with a resounding crash.
Rackham whistled another man to the wheel and dropped down the ladder to the waist where Penner was marshalling his men. One quick survey of the havoc wrought by the second broadside was enough. There was no useful purpose to be served by punishing the Star further; it would only mean useless slaughter and would render her a floating wreck. As they bore down for the third time the running out of Kemp’s guns was a precaution only; what was still to do would be done by the three lines of boarders drawn up to the Kingston’s rail and stretching the length of the waist.
As they bore down on the Star’s quarter Penner waved his hand and a cheer burst from the triple ranks. It was answered by a feeble chorus from the Star, and then a series of little grey plumes of smoke broke out like flowers from the side of the King’s ship, and musket-balls whizzed over the Kingston. One pirate gave a cry of pain and collapsed on the deck, and then from the shrouds above came the answering rattle of musketry as Penner’s sharpshooters fired down into the Star.
‘Stand by to board!’ bawled Penner. Only a few yards separated the ships now; the crackle of firing mounted as the Kingston swung in, and a pin in the rail at Rackham’s side was smashed to splinters by a stray ball. He grasped a line to steady himself against the coming shock as the grappling irons sailed over the water on to the Star’s deck. Through the musketry smoke he could see the scarlet file of marines and an officer with drawn sword at their head, while about them milled the Star’s seamen.
The vessels met with a jar and groan of timber that sent a shudder through the Kingston’s length, fell away slightly and then ground together as the men hauled on the grapples. Penner pulled himself on to the rail and leaped for the rigging across the gulf between the ships, and the first rank of boarders followed on his heels. The volley of the marines crashed out, and then Rackham found himself in a mob of tearing, striking, cursing men on the Star’s deck.
Directly in front of him a seaman was levelling a pistol, but in the same moment a boarding-pike thrust by a pirate took him in the chest and he fell back into the press. Penner was plunging forward ahead of them with a seaman dragging at his legs, and just beyond him the marine officer was calmly issuing orders, sword in hand, with one eye on his file and the other on the battle raging almost at his elbow, as cool as though on a barrack square.
Rackham turned, cutting at a sailor who was rushing at him. He missed his stroke but recovered, and with one hand protecting his face and the other swinging his broadsword, drove his way through to the open space at the foot of the poop ladder. From within a yard of where he stood to the other end of the waist the deck was a madhouse of struggling, stabbing men, but even as he watched the third wave of boarders swept over from the Kingston and their impetus carried the fight forward, leaving the after part of the deck clear of all but half a dozen who had fallen. Above him, on the poop, he could hear the clamour of fighting, and as he set his foot on the ladder an officer in a blue coat came hurtling down and landed almost at his feet.
Before he could rise Rackham was on top of him, one hand on his throat, pinning him down. A glance at the newcomer’s dress, also the fact that he had been on the poop, made Rackham suspect that here was the Star’s commander. He shortened his sword and brought the blade up in front of his captive’s face.
‘Strike!’ he shouted. ‘Bid them strike!’
The officer glared and tore at the fingers on his windpipe, Rackham slipped sideways, and then they were under the feet of men racing for the ladder. Rackham fetched up in the scuppers, scrambling to his feet, and as he did so he heard a voice above the din, shouting.
‘Quarter!’
Another took up the cry, and as he regained his balance it became a chorus from the forward part of the ship.
He looked about him. The officer was being hauled to his feet by two pirates while a third threatened him with a dirk. Dazed and helpless, the officer turned an agonised face towards the fore part of the waist and groaned at what he saw. Ringed against the rail by the body of pirates the seamen of the Star were throwing down their arms, and in the bows a similar scene was being enacted.
Unbelievably almost, the capture of the Star had been completed in a few minutes. Even now there were as many of the Star’s seamen fit to fight as there were pirates, but the sudden double shock of the broadsides, followed by the fury of the boarding, had proved too much for them. One had cried ‘Quarter!’ and then another, and in a moment the fight had been won and lost.
Rackham, with Penner jubilant beside him, and the eyes of every man in that crowded waist upon him, turned to the captain of the Star. Bankier’s face was working with fury, and when Rackham addressed him he replied with an outburst which culminated in an assurance that he would see every man of the Kingston’s crew rotting in chains before the month was out.
Rackham was amused. ‘We’ve heard the like before, so you can save your breath. You’ve a long pull ahead of you.’ He stepped closer. ‘Now, then, where’s your cargo?’
‘Find it yourself and be damned’ was the fierce retort.
One of the pirates holding him growled and raised his fist, but stopped at a sign from Rackham, and Bankier’s mouth twisted in contempt.
‘Observing the niceties,’ he sneered. ‘We’ll see your manners in a different light, no doubt, when you stand on the scaffold.’
Rackham considered him. There was somethi
ng odd about this fellow’s behaviour. He had seen captains of captured ships before – cowards, blusterers, cold, hard merchantmen, and those who were simply downright hostile. Bankier would seem to belong to the last category, but he was a shade sardonic for a man who had just suffered an ignominious defeat.
Abruptly Rackham turned away. ‘Hold him close, Ben. Ned, Bull, come below with me. We’ll find the dollars for ourselves.’
He led the way below decks with Penner, Bull carrying an axe at their heels. Behind them came every pirate who could struggle down the narrow companion into the ill-lit ‘tween-decks. This was their moment, and they trooped below whooping and laughing like schoolboys. Lanterns were lit and they descended into the hold.
It was close and stuffy, with only a faint glimmer of light from the hatchway. Rats scampered away as the yellow glare of the lanterns illuminated the shadows, and Penner gave a yell of delight which was echoed by the men behind at the sight of the score or more heavily bound chests which lay between the sacks of ballast.
‘Glory be!’ said the Major. ‘There they are, Johnny! There they are!’ He thumped Rackham’s back and started past him down the ladder. ‘Our fortunes made!’ he crowed. ‘A king’s ransom for us all! God bless His Majesty and Governor Woodes Rogers, say I!’ He seized a padlock and rattled it. ‘Quick, quick! Let’s have them open and see the pretty, pretty dollars!’
Even Rackham was laughing as they crowded round the chests, each with its locks sealed with great blobs of wax bearing the royal crest. They were like children, pushing and jostling to get near enough to touch the massive iron bands that bound the lids, shouting foolish computations of the contents and already spending in riotous imagination the fortune under their hands.
Rackham shouldered them away from the centre chest, a ponderous case with the arms of Castile worked in metal on the lid. It was secured by a stout padlock and chain, but Bull’s axe would make short work of that.
‘Back and give him room,’ he ordered, as Bull spat on his hands. ‘And when it’s open keep your fingers clear of it. Look all you’ve a mind to, but leave the silver alone. Right, Davie.’
Bull stepped forward, swung the axe above his head, and brought it down with all his strength, the heavy blade biting deep into the hasp that held the padlock and striking sparks from the metal. A second blow shore the lock away, and there was an immediate surge forward by the men as Rackham prepared to throw back the lid.
‘Here they come’, gloated a voice. ‘Let’s be seein’ them, Jacky.’
Rackham crooked his fingers under the lid and tugged it free. He heaved it back, and the gasp of expectation from the onlookers died stillborn as they stared unbelievingly at what should have been a mass of glittering coins and ornaments but was not. The chest was filled with stones.
Rackham gazed down at them in horror, and Penner actually fell back a step. For a full three seconds there was dead silence, and then Bull, with a horrible oath, expressed the bewilderment of all.
‘What the hell’s yon?’ His eyes glared from the stones to Rackham and back again. ‘They’re stones; bloody stones!’
Penner thrust his hand into the chest. ‘It can’t be … underneath … packed down …’ His fingers scrabbled among the little rocks, tearing them aside. ‘Holy Saints! It must be here!’
‘Bubbled!’ roared Bull, smashing his axe down in a frenzy of rage. ‘Bubbled! D’ye know what it is? It’s a bloody blind! A blind!’
In a moment there was pandemonium. Men flung themselves at the chest, swearing and striking, pulling out the stones in the vain hope that the silver might be concealed beneath them. Others, less distracted, turned their attentions to the other chests, and one by one the locks were forced. But in each case the result was the same: the chests were packed with stone and shingle, with not the trace of a single coin among them.
Rackham stood like a man in a nightmare. All about him men were jostling and cursing, pouring out floods of filthy invective against Woodes Rogers, the King, and each other. As yet it had not occurred to them to turn their rage on Rackham, but he had no illusions that they would not remember him when their first anger was spent.
He forced his way to the ladder and mounted the second step. He saw Bull catch sight of him and throw out an arm to point at him, but before the denunciation could be spoken, Rackham had attracted the mob’s attention.
‘Wait!’ he shouted, and the noise subsided a little. They pressed round the foot of the ladder, glaring up at him. ‘This isn’t played out yet,’ he went on. ‘We don’t know what it means …’
‘I know what it means!’ shouted Bull, elbowing his way forward. ‘It means we’ve sailed like blind bairns after a shipful of stones!’ A roar of approval greeted this, and he went on fiercely: ‘Aye, and mebbe worse. Who’s to say it’s not a trap, eh? Tell us that!’
‘You hold your tongue!’ shouted Rackham. ‘If you’d as much wit as you’ve wind you’d know that the one man who can tell us where the silver’s gone is on deck, under guard, and that nobody baits a trap unless they know there’s game to walk into it. And nobody knew that.’
‘Nobody but you and that red-headed bitch you’ve been tumbling,’ began Bull, but his words were lost in the general uproar.
‘Get the King’s captain! Up and get him!’ There was a rsuh for the ladder, but Rackham, with Penner at his heels, was first through the hatchway with the disappointed pirates swarming behind them.
Word of what had passed had flown to the deck, and Ben and his guards were with difficulty restraining those who surged about the little group of white-faced officers. When Rackham appeared they fell back, and he advanced on Bankier, drawing his dirk from his waist.
Bankier was pale, but there was no trace of fear in his eyes as Rackham gripped him by the collar and presented the point of the dirk at his chest.
‘Now,’ said Rackham, and his voice was strained and husky, ‘I’ll ask you once, and that’s all, and if you don’t answer I’ll put this knife through your throat. Where’s the silver?’
Bankier knew it was no melodramatic threat; in fact he regarded his own fate, and the fate of his men, as foregone already. But he smiled even as the dirk pricked him beneath the chin.
‘The silver?’ He spoke loudly, so that all should hear. ‘To the best of my knowledge it should be on its way to Charles Town. Too far away for you, pirate. You’ll never see it now – unless it’s to Charles Town they take you for your hanging.’
‘Charles Town?’ echoed Rackham. He stared into the sneering face, and then shook Bankier in his rage. ‘You’re a liar! Rogers would never risk it in Spanish waters! He would be a fool, and that he’s not.’
‘Less of a fool than if he sent it to Port Royal,’ snapped Bankier, and Rackham knew he was telling the truth, impossible as it seemed. Rogers could not possibly have known that an attempt would be made on the treasure, and yet his dispatching of the Star to Jamaica as a blind was the kind of precaution that would appeal to his calculating brain. Rackham began to see a dozen reasons why Charles Town might be a safer destination, and knew again the sickness of despair.
The realisation of how they had been tricked brought an uproar of rage from the pirates. They surged about the officers, one of whom was felled before Ben’s guards could protect him. Bankier’s coat was half torn from his back, and he and his subordinates would have been battered to death on the spot if Ben had not hustled them up the ladder to the safety of the poop. Rackham mounted the ladder and faced the throng in the waist, but his attempts to make himself heard were drowned in the uproar.
Bull’s voice was raised above the others. He thrust his way to the front, a fearsome figure towering above his mates.
‘The bastard’s lying!’ he shouted. ‘Charles Town be damned! Give him down here and we’ll find soon enough where t’silver’s gone!’
There was a roar of approval and a rush for the ladder with Bull in the van. He bounded up and stopped with a startled oath just in time to save himself fr
om impalement on Rackham’s dirk.
‘Wait.’ The sharp command as much as the naked weapon made them pause. ‘There’s no time for this. We’ll deal with the prisoners as I think fit. In the meantime, there’s this vessel to search and strip and make seaworthy again. Malloy, have Kemp sent to me from the Kingston, and signal Bennett in the sloop to come alongside. You, Bull,’ – he let the point of the dirk fall away – ‘see that this brig’s cleared of every dollar aboard.’
It was a shrewd reminder that there might still be some profit to be gained from their prize, and he was asserting his authority at the same time. Malloy, obedient by instinct, turned away, and as Bull hesitated, Rackham sheathed his dirk and ascended to the poop as though his orders were the end of the matter. For most of them the prospect of loot was enough, and there was a hurried dispersal in the waist in which Bull and his followers quickly joined.
Rackham summoned Penner, and the Major ascended the ladder slowly. The last few minutes had wrought their change in him: he was suddenly old and tired, and the high colour had faded in his cheeks.
Rackham drew him aside. ‘Look you, Ned, there’s little time for what’s to do. If things go ill we may find ourselves on a lee shore. We’ve promised these scum a fortune, and they haven’t got it, but I doubt if they’ll go the length of wanting our blood for a bit yet. They don’t know where to go or what to do, and whoever can tell them is their master – for a time.’
Penner nodded. ‘And then?’
‘I don’t know. I must have time – time to think, to see us safe out of this business somehow – you and me and Anne. Now, this is what’s to do. Bankier and his men must go. If the like of Bull had his way they’d go over the side with shot tied to their feet – after he’d had his fun with them. That I’ll not have. I’m going to give them your sloop.’
Captain in Calico Page 15