Deluded Your Sailors (33 page)

I barely ventured outside the Hall during Lacey's absence. I did not shave. I tallied in my sleep. I dreamt that seven demons came to visit me, changing shape and voice, stroking me, and while they danced and sang and so distracted, they prevented me asking after the eighth, the one for whom I waited most, but it turned out he could not be bothered to come. I unlocked the trunk, loaded the pistol and for three days sat at the desk and considered shooting myself. Instead, I persevered, hardly my intention but apparently my fate. Outside: fog and soft rain as the capelin rolled in. We gorged on fresh fish, Nancy bringing me my portion.

Lacey and Truscott returned after twenty-three days. As Truscott rowed Lacey to the shallow offreach, the inhabitants assembled themselves in a ragged line. We lacked only boatswain's pipes. Lacey waded to the shore, and Truscott began calling out orders. After bellowing out that I must take charge of unloading instead of Truscott, Lacey said ‘The beard suits you, Cannard.'

Fatter. God's blood, Lacey and Truscott had eaten well, and their fuller cheeks brought to mind the pig's head an employee of Cannard and Son had given my brother and I after Father's death.

The pig's white cheeks, bristled and gently rounded, and we threw the thing away, failing to recognize that the man had liberated the head from the worm-eaten table of his own large family. Now I'd have gnawed on the ears. Now I'd clerk whatever obscene list Lacey or Port au Mal needed if it meant a bite of cheek, for with the strength given by that repulsive meat, I would be on that ketch to Harbour Grace.

I failed.

Nancy Truscott came to see me in Lacey and Truscott's absence, a stale habit of hers. I had spent some time that afternoon on the burying ground, staring up at the crumbling cliff face, staring down at the rocks sloping away beneath the tide, considering how at the fire rocks the bottom fell away, how an island defied the ocean: desperate and beautiful. Grace. I'd tried to force grace when I must wait for grace to find me. Fine then, fine, I would wait, my patience an article of faith, I would wait for God to send rescue. Yet the bottom fell away. Frightened, I returned to the Hall. Nancy Truscott had been watching me. We discussed a list she wished to see made, a list which would become increasingly important as time passed: a tally of who birthed whom, who behaved as if married to whom, which children had whose eyes.

She'd brought dried bakeapples, golden wrinkled things, that when placed in hot water and permitted to plump released a scent of elusive sweetness. She gave me water with berries in it, and in the odd firelight, if I did not squint, I might believe I sat in Bristol, in the rooms behind the offices of Cannard and Son. I might even believe I had a wife.

On June 16
^th
, 1734, I sat on the high ground where Port au Mal buried its dead, once more wearing Lacey's castoffs, once more peering through Lacey's glass. My belly half-sated with Lacey's food, and my fingers stained with Lacey's ink, I looked first at the wretched collection of houses on stilts pretending to be a settlement, then at the harbour beyond. Fog at the narrows seemed to cut us loose; our world ended in white. I tried to escape the sticky effects of that morning's dream of
Bonny Jane
and her manic compass. Two distant crashes came, as if especially violent waves were destroying themselves against a cliff. Sweating and suddenly afraid, I did feel at my neck for the cord from which dangled keys to my lost strongbox.

And at that moment, mulling these thoughts and singing to push away the dream of the wreck, I sighted a tidy sloop, making steady and sure through the fog, through the narrows of Port au Mal. The sloop sailed so nimbly I thought it could only be the skipper of
Boyne
sudden come with a new vessel. Only three men on deck, odd for calling on a new port, but then I cared little for the sloop's complement just so long as she could get me home.

Some man of sense must have heard of the Englishman in Port au Mal, some man of sense had found me. God had finally seen fit to recognize my now fourteen years' worth of prayers.

I believe I screamed as the sloop tacked to avoid the fire rocks, heading for the teeth of the sunkers that had beaten open
Bonny
Jane
. Rocks and hull collided, and the three men fell. I read the sloop's name:
Kittiwayke
.

‘Wrack!' Nancy Truscott, emerging from the Hall and tugging down her skirts, cried it. ‘Wrack!' Lacey bolted out behind her, buttoning up. One
Kittiwayke
sailor rushed to the bows and nearly fell overboard, while the second, a tall and fair man, ducked low, ran larboard and peered over the side. The third, whom I thought was the ship's boy, skittered up the ratlines to view the damage from above. Even now, writing this, I feel the wide-eyed waking dream of myself in the ratlines, screaming in that sailor's ears:

‘There! That shadow: my wreckage!'

Kittiwayke
did not sink. Little sound escaped her, the fog muting everything. She listed as much as ten degrees, and once enough water flooded aboard she would slip beneath the surface amidst foam and a roar, but right then she seemed stable enough.

The fair man had disappeared below and now came back on deck to heave cargo over the side. I wondered why neither of the other two helped him, but it became clear that
Kittiwayke
carried next to naught. Truscott and John Dunn launched their dories. Another cry from the women on shore, and from myself: ‘Topsails!'

A small frigate came into existence out of the fog. She was dangerously close to the shore, tacking in through the narrows on a violent angle. She flew the Red Ensign: Royal Navy.
Dauntless
, bearing down on the ruined
Kittiwayke
. A Royal Navy frigate, here!

In my excitement, a long-forgotten state, I threw Lacey's glass against the plank that marked the grave of the men from
Bonny
Jane.
I quickly retrieved it, unbroken.
Christ, Christ, Son of God,
I prayed,
by all, by all, by all that is holy, by all that is right, guide that
frigate past the sunkers. Grant me pity: grant me hope.

Christ listened. There came no more yelled confusion down at the shore; the inhabitants stared in silence at the second ship.

Dauntless
picked flawlessly through the narrows, past the sunkers, until she set to anchor near
Kittiwayke
. Grappling hooks bristled out, but
Dauntless
heeded the protests from
Kittiwayke
and disturbed the hazardous sloop no further. The wind picked up, parting the fog slightly and carrying to us a confusion of words.

Captain Cleasby of
Dauntless
addressed Matt Finn of
Kittiwayke
, for that ship's boy stood the master, demanding that Finn come aboard the frigate with his strongbox. In Truscott's dory, Lacey chose that moment to rise to his feet and introduce himself and offer his assistance, whereat a red-haired lieutenant bade him wait.

The last few fishermen now returned home, rowing one by one around the two vessels. Lacey and the lieutenant parleyed a moment longer, but a sudden cry from
Kittiwayke
interrupted, a brief cry but bodily deep.
Kittiwayke
's captain, I saw through the glass, had fallen to his knees and now tried to beat his head against the fiferail. The large blond man hauled him back, whereat the captain struck him. The large man turned his face aside, resigned to something, and
Kittiwayke
's master rushed belowdecks.

Dauntless
floated ever closer, near crushing Truscott's dory for his refusal to move, until
Kittiwayke
lay near enough for the red-haired lieutenant to swing aboard, followed by a small boarding party, armed. The remaining two
Kittiwayke
men surrendered, palms raised, heads down, there being naught else for them to do, and the
Dauntless
lieutenant ran below. He returned a scant moment later, with
Kittiwayke
's master shouting protest, voice shrill enough to furl canvas.

The complement of
Kittiwayke
transferred to
Dauntless
. The lieutenant and captain conferred briefly, then the lieutenant and
Kittiwayke
's master went below with two Marines, while more Marines escorted
Kittiwayke
's two sailors elsewhere, the brig most like. A midshipman called down to Lacey, accepting his offer on the captain's behalf. A party would be coming ashore presently, so would Lacey see to the accommodation of officers and a prisoner?

Lacey bowed, a hazardous move in a dory. Truscott rowed him ashore quickly. Lacey's face and voice lit up with delight as he ordered everyone about and demanded from me explanations I'd no hope of giving him.

They came ashore at dusk. The prisoner stared straight ahead in fury and met no man's eye; the lieutenant, suffering from catarrh, kept his pistol fixed on the prisoner; the captain scowled at the settlement in disgust. ‘Which one of you is Lacey?' he asked.

Our fishing admiral stepped forward, beach rocks clacking beneath his God-walker boots. ‘I am.'

‘Good day, sir. I am Captain William Cleasby, commanding His Majesty's ship
Dauntless
. My first lieutenant, Mr Kelly. And that is Matt Finn, common pirate.'

Finn snorted as though dismissing a paltry bet. ‘I am the master of the coastal trading sloop
Kittiwayke
, harried down into this harbour whereupon my vessel was wrecked. Captain Cleasby, you shall answer to Newman Head of Salem.'

Captain Cleasby did not even look at Finn. ‘Newman Head answers to His Majesty, the King of England, as do the settlers here.'

‘Pirate?' said Lacey. ‘That little weed? What knows he of savagery?'

Matt Finn met Lacey's eye. Lacey took the step back.

‘I be no pirate.'

Captain Cleasby still did not turn his head, addressing the rocks now. ‘Pirate, murderer, thief. Now stop your mouth, or I'll stop it up for you.'

Lacey looked Finn, Kelly and Cleasby up and down in his insolent fashion. ‘Captain Cleasby, I be confused. Why is a murdering pirate standing free on the King's own land? Does he not belong in irons?'

‘Parley, Lacey. Alone, if you please.'

‘Aye, sir. My Hall and rooms stand ready. This way. Cannard, with me.'

‘Is there a plague of deafness here? I said, alone.'

‘John Cannard is my clerk, Captain Cleasby. What you say to me, you may also say to him. Besides myself, he is the only lettered man in the settlement. We may need him. I vouch for his discretion.'

‘On both your lives, I'll accept your good word.'

Lacey nodded.

‘Very well. Mr Kelly.'

No one spoke again until we stood at awkward angles to one another inside the Admiral's Hall.

‘Where is it, Lacey?' asked Cleasby.

‘Where is what?'

‘Finn is a pirate,' Cleasby began, but Finn interrupted to protest he was the captain of a Salem coastal trader. Cleasby's hands twitched as he barked at Finn. ‘You are His Majesty's prisoner and will conduct yourself accordingly. Lacey, this murderer fled to this settlement – what do you call it?

‘Port au Mal. After Utrecht –' ‘I expect Finn has sailed here before to deposit prize, prize which rightfully belongs to the King.'

Lacey chuckled. ‘Buried treasure? Captain Cleasby, I can assure you –'Whereat it came my turn to interrupt. ‘No, Captain Cleasby,
I
can assure you. I am John Wesley Morgan Cannard, and you must listen to me. My father was Frederick James Cannard originally of London and then of Bristol. He owned Cannard and Son Shipping.

I was sailing to Harbour Grace when my brigantine was wrecked here, in 1719. My
Bonny Jane
is strewn on the same rock that captured
Kittiwayke.
I have prayed, sir, prayed until I no longer knew I prayed, for an English ship to come, for any ship to come.

Had Finn arrived before now, believe me, sir, I would not be here to argue with you.'

Kelly studied me now, quite keenly, but Cleasby carried on as though I'd said naught.

‘Lacey, you can give me your word Finn has left no prize here?'

Lacey glanced from Cleasby to me as if asking if I could believe what I heard. ‘Aye.'

‘One detail troubles me, Lacey, and it is this: I do not believe you. I have it on good authority that somewhere in this settlement is buried King's prize – gold – which we must recover.'

‘Then you got it on the guess of a madman or an idiot.'

‘You are Irish, Lacey, and that is enough to make me doubt your loyalty. What else is it you pretend?'

‘Irish? I'm orange as King Billy himself. I own a ketch called
Boyne,
man. I collude with neither papist nor pirate. By God, sir, this insult, and we have given over salvage rights to you.'

‘That
Kittiwayke
jetsam already belonged to the King.'

Finn could stay dumb no longer. ‘Captain Cleasby, there be no prize here. I could have died happy never hearing of Port au Mal. Tis not even named on my chart.'

‘Be silent! Lacey, you will accompany us back to
Dauntless
, where you will remain on board until the prize is uncovered. We will dig up every grave and burn down every shack if necessary.'

Lacey crossed his arms. ‘I will do no such thing.'

‘Then I shall shoot you where you stand.'

Lacey uncrossed his arms and showed his palms.

Cleasby nodded. ‘It is well you insisted on bringing your clerk.'

For three days
Dauntless
tars dug up the ground and found only stones, rummaged through beach rocks and found only water, tore through the shacks and found only wood. So orderly: a polite and disciplined sacking, almost tedious. They near dismantled the Admiral's Hall, upending barrels of food; one midshipman even ordered the tars to sift the flour for gold dust. The second and third lieutenant questioned us all, relentlessly: had we seen gold, coins or dust, little figures, battered rings, Virgin Marys, foreign kings?