Fire on Dark Water (20 page)
Read Fire on Dark Water Online
Authors: Wendy Perriman
Ships came into harbor with old crews and new tales throughout the following weeks as the island’s tropical heat exploded into summer, and with them arrived word that Ben Hornigold might be amassing a pirate navy in the waters around Jamaica. Apparently Edward Teach was now his partner (with a six-gun sloop and seventy hands) and his men were calling their new commander—Blackbeard. From snippets of gossip here and there I learned more of this fearsome duo. Hornigold hailed from Norfolk and spoke with the native drawl, but he’d been raiding ships in the West Indies since 1713, graduating from canoes to his heavily armed sloop called the
Ranger
. His star pupil was Black-beard, who some say came from Bristol and had cut his teeth as a privateer during the Queen Anne’s War. In the past few months the two captains had seized several merchant prizes, including one stocked with flour heading for Havana, a sloop from Bermuda stuffed full of spirits, and a Portuguese vessel laden with sweet white wine. Such flagrant acts had quite incensed the local officials, who’d swiftly dispatched a Captain Mathew Munson to capture the scoundrel seamen. Unfortunately, though, Munson’s armed merchant vessel was pitifully outgunned and he barely escaped with his life after running aground on Cat Cay. The escaping members of the battered crew whispered that Hornigold’s fleet had seemingly increased to three hundred and fifty men in five terrifying vessels. Trouble was brewing out at sea and Captain Jennings was none too happy. So he spread promise of amnesty to each departing jack-tar and decreed there’d be a general Pirate Council—here—at the end of sweltering July.
Ranger
. His star pupil was Black-beard, who some say came from Bristol and had cut his teeth as a privateer during the Queen Anne’s War. In the past few months the two captains had seized several merchant prizes, including one stocked with flour heading for Havana, a sloop from Bermuda stuffed full of spirits, and a Portuguese vessel laden with sweet white wine. Such flagrant acts had quite incensed the local officials, who’d swiftly dispatched a Captain Mathew Munson to capture the scoundrel seamen. Unfortunately, though, Munson’s armed merchant vessel was pitifully outgunned and he barely escaped with his life after running aground on Cat Cay. The escaping members of the battered crew whispered that Hornigold’s fleet had seemingly increased to three hundred and fifty men in five terrifying vessels. Trouble was brewing out at sea and Captain Jennings was none too happy. So he spread promise of amnesty to each departing jack-tar and decreed there’d be a general Pirate Council—here—at the end of sweltering July.
Now, before we’d even time to worry about conscientious bounty hunters, news came that Black Sam Bellamy had been lost to a storm off Cape Cod in his latest acquisition, a Guineaman called the
Whydah
. They say that as a young sailor Bellamy fell for a Massachusetts girl called Maria Hallett and wanted to prove worthy so he decided to join the sunken Spanish treasure salvage in Florida and was part of the gang who made off with some of Captain Jennings’s silver. This easy success convinced him to throw in his lot with the buccaneers, where he soon became another of Hornigold’s protégés, eventually deposing his mentor for command of the
Mary Anne
. He then progressed to the
Sultana
and
Whydah
, and was supposedly heading back to his lover when his flagship ran into the fateful storm.
Whydah
. They say that as a young sailor Bellamy fell for a Massachusetts girl called Maria Hallett and wanted to prove worthy so he decided to join the sunken Spanish treasure salvage in Florida and was part of the gang who made off with some of Captain Jennings’s silver. This easy success convinced him to throw in his lot with the buccaneers, where he soon became another of Hornigold’s protégés, eventually deposing his mentor for command of the
Mary Anne
. He then progressed to the
Sultana
and
Whydah
, and was supposedly heading back to his lover when his flagship ran into the fateful storm.
One of the nine survivors arrived on an incoming rumrunner to spread the tale of doom. Of course, you’ll already know how six of the partially drowned eventually danced at the end of the hangman’s rope—and that Cotton Mather managed to get the two who were pressed into service finally acquitted? Well, the ninth was a Miskito Indian called John Julian who escaped the hunt and finally made it to Providence. And what a commotion he caused, let me tell you. First off, he’d managed to salvage most of a fifty-pound bag of plunder by packing the loot into wraps secured round his arms, legs and torso. It was top-notch booty that helped smooth his way to anonymity. And second, he was such a fine storyteller he kept us all entertained for weeks. John spoke a mix of English peppered with his own native words but his hands and face enacted the drama so every expression was vividly understood. He told us about being kidnapped by a rival tribe somewhere near his home on the Spanish Main, and being sold to the English and shipped to Jamaica. Two years later his owner took him to be overseer of another plantation in Antigua on board a merchantman called the
Bonetta
. Unfortunately this vessel was captured by Sam Bellamy, who took the captives to a deserted island and forced them to help careen the craft, scraping off parasites and caulking the hull to render it seaworthy.
Bonetta
. Unfortunately this vessel was captured by Sam Bellamy, who took the captives to a deserted island and forced them to help careen the craft, scraping off parasites and caulking the hull to render it seaworthy.
The captain supposedly took a liking to John and urged him join the Brethren of the Coast, which finally assured his freedom. Then Bellamy—that infamous Prince of Pirates—let the other prisoners leave on his old sloop while the swashbucklers sailed off on the bigger prize. Within a few weeks they’d taken the British
Sultana
as it left the Spanish Main with a cargo of logwood. Their captain offered no resistance because he was recovering from a previous wound, so the outlaws, boasting they were Robin Hood’s Men, spared their pleading lives. The buccaneers then took the new vessel to a remote inlet and over the Christmas period converted her into a fighter, soon acquiring even more manpower from the scattered remnants of Captain Martel’s crew (who’d been hiding on one of the islands after being attacked by the Royal Navy’s
Scarborough
). And by the close of February they’d captured one of the most advanced ships ever built—the
Whydah
. John happened to be on board their new galley the night that she made her fatal run up the Atlantic into a violent storm off the coast of Cape Cod.
Sultana
as it left the Spanish Main with a cargo of logwood. Their captain offered no resistance because he was recovering from a previous wound, so the outlaws, boasting they were Robin Hood’s Men, spared their pleading lives. The buccaneers then took the new vessel to a remote inlet and over the Christmas period converted her into a fighter, soon acquiring even more manpower from the scattered remnants of Captain Martel’s crew (who’d been hiding on one of the islands after being attacked by the Royal Navy’s
Scarborough
). And by the close of February they’d captured one of the most advanced ships ever built—the
Whydah
. John happened to be on board their new galley the night that she made her fatal run up the Atlantic into a violent storm off the coast of Cape Cod.
The survivor told of the sinking with such flair that I probably ain’t going to do it no justice, but here’s what I can remember. On that horrendous night John was on deck lashing equipment against the violent nor’easter that had risen up out of nowhere. The ship was driven onto a shoal in sixteen feet of water some hour round midnight. Violent winds pummeled the boat aground making it impossible to do anything but bind to the ropes for safety. Huge incoming waves swept the decks, washing away whatever was not strapped firm, and John clung on with his arms gripped tight round the main mast, hoping his body was wedged close enough in to avoid the hurtling cannons ripping through everything in their paths. Another great surge snapped the top of the mast, which miraculously fell the other side of John, but which drew the ship off the bar and into deeper water, capsizing her and forcing the craft below the freezing surf. John couldn’t swim but he held on grimly to the length of shattered wood in his grasp and allowed the tide to sweep him inland. He looked back once to see if anyone else had been thrown to safety but all he saw was the sinking stern—and even the terrified screams were drowned by the screeching gale. The ship had perished in sight of land, so the strong Indian willed his legs forward until he washed up amid a pile of debris on the sand. Each pulse of the sea spewed another batch of dead bodies until the whole beach seemed coated in bloated corpses. John lay semiconscious while the breath returned to his lungs, and then he made himself stand up before those notorious wreckers—the Moon Cussers—arrived to plunder among the salvage. One of the chests swept from the hold had breeched against the rocks spilling its treasure to the angry winds. So John rummaged through the heavy bags of gold dust, tore the shirt off a body that wouldn’t be needing it any, and set off inland before the first of the scavengers could arrive. He learned later that only nine souls had survived the disaster, and that the other unfortunates captured for trial in all likelihood would be executed. As John’s tale passed from tongue to tongue word came from Jennings that this newcomer was to be shown every civility because he brought with him the best of all possible news—that the deceitful Black Sam Bellamy would cheat no one ever again.
Sometime around the middle of June things came to a head with Annie and Jim. I’d just been trying out some new dances to a whiny set of bagpipes when the captain appeared with his women on either arm. The sailors who were sat center table instantly melted to the edges of the room to make way for the entourage, and their king took up the slack. Anne looked ravishing in a gold outfit that flaunted Pierre’s finest cross-stitches while Meg made an equally beautiful companion in a red satin dress that flowed to the floor like wine. The captain ordered a flagon of sherry and invited some of the onlookers to join their party.
Now Jim was sat with a young man called Albert Sparks, one of Violet’s regular punters pining to become something more. Albert was about the same age as my mate but his years on the water had cured his face to leather. His thinning hair was the color of gingerroot but his eyes were vivid and kind and he made Violet laugh out loud like no one I’d ever known. Well, as Albert was telling some tall story, Jim looked across at the captain publicly fondling his wife and something snapped in his self-control. Next thing I knew he’d blundered up to Annie’s table and had grasped her roughly by the arm. Then he roared, “Hey up, hussy! You’re coming home with me.”
Anne tried to wriggle free of the pasty knuckles as she shouted back, “Get away, Jim, if you know what’s good for you. . . .” But the fingers tightened and lifted the woman onto her feet. She shot a glance at the captain to gauge his reaction. Jennings continued to sip solemnly on the sherry with a half-amused smirk twisting the corners of his mouth. “Harry!” she called to her lover. “Make him let go.”
With slow deliberation, Jennings pushed back his chair—then quicker than a rattlesnake his dagger was suddenly pricking the back of Jim’s angry neck. “Release the lady,” he whispered.
“She’s my wife!” James protested. “ I . . . I have a right. . . .” Annie wrestled her elbow free and glared in her husband’s face. “I’m with the captain now. And he’s twice the man of you!” Jim raised his arm as if to strike her when Jennings caught hold of his flying wrist with his free hand, all the while pushing the dagger farther into his neck with his other. Red beads appeared where the blade snagged and Jim’s hands flew to the weapon to halt its progress, wiggling and squirming until the tip slipped round under his chin allowing Jennings to press him into Annie’s vacated chair. The rejected husband sat in embarrassment, holding the end of his shirt against the dripping wound. Anne stared pitifully, her mouth grim with loathing. Meg remained seated, and poured the captain another drink from the flask on the table as he took up his former place.
Jennings savored the liquid fire, running his tongue round the inside of his mouth before he decided, “You can take her.”
“What?” Anne exclaimed in furious disbelief. “What are you saying, Harry?”
The captain replied, “I’m saying, you should go home, Mrs. Bonny.”
“You’re done with me?” she demanded to know. “Just like that?”
Henry Jennings nodded his head and cast a knowing glance in Meg’s direction. The other woman had never spoken a word—but the delight on her face showed most evidently that she didn’t much like sharing her man, even though she shrugged a conspiratorial look of compassion in Annie’s direction. For once in her life Anne was at a loss for words. She hauled herself to her proudest height, pushed a stray lock of hair behind her right ear, kicked the miserable man in the chair to his feet, then marched briskly out of the bar ahead of James. The eerie silence hanging over the smoke lay suspended in awe for just another few seconds until the captain roared, “Play us a lively jig!” And the bagpipes groaned into action.
That was a sobering encounter for me as well. I realized that it didn’t matter none how much I gave to Jim, or how hard I tried to insert myself into his void; he was a one-woman scoundrel who foolishly believed he’d just won back his prize. And I was once again the dross left rudderless and abandoned. At that time I didn’t know what had just taken place, but within the week it became evident that something big had occurred. First off, after striking no luck for months Jim was magically given a berth on the first cruise out of port—a vessel bound for Madagascar, which meant he’d be away from his newly won wife for months. Apparently Jennings had decided that if he was no longer bedding Anne, then her husband wouldn’t be either. And second, Pierre warned Annie she needed to find another benefactor quickly since she’d now got no money, no protection, and had effectively been thrown to the sharks.
Yet although me and Anne usually avoided each other, I ached to know if Jim had left me a message before his hurried departure. So a couple of days later, when Violet suggested we pay a visit to Pierre’s dress shop, I readily agreed to trudge alongside. I’d expected to find the rejected woman pale and shunned and lowly—but imagine my surprise when I discovered her radiant and gleaming, already at work on her next roguish plan. Pierre joked indiscreetly that Annie had now set her sights on the wealthiest man in the entire Carribees—the powerful Chidley Bayard.
As we entered the shop Annie was bent over a piece of cut cloth conversing with the flamboyant Frenchman about a particular design. She looked up from their chatter and sneered a contemptuous huff in our direction saying, “You’re too late. He’s already gone, and good riddance.”
I nodded that I’d heard that news and then mumbled, “We know. How are you doing, Annie?”
“Mrs. Bonny to you,” she corrected. “And it’s none of your damn business.”
Pierre was embarrassed by Anne’s rudeness and said pointedly, “But my dear madame—the Mademoiselles Violet and Lola have been taking good care of Monsieur James. . . .” He knew Violet paid the rent.
Annie, however, did not. She raised a sarcastic eyebrow and spat, “Oh, I’m sure that the gypsy jade has greased his mast on many a past night, although what he ever saw in such a miserable doxy is quite beyond my ken. . . .” The irate wife threatened to move toward me, but Pierre touched her arm with sufficient import to hold her back. So instead she turned her scathing tongue on Violet and muttered, “And I’ll warrant that you’ve had him too!”
Violet replied in an even voice, “Aye, Annie. But long before he met with you.”
“Then the only one he’s not slept with is Pierre I suppose. . . .”
Her male friend blushed, shrugged his shoulders enigmatically, and then confessed, “Well . . .” He winked at the three of us and there was an uncomfortable pause. Then Annie suddenly burst out laughing. I’m not sure if she believed the outrageous statement (or whether we did either) but his comment broke the tension by highlighting the ridiculousness of this cuckolded wife’s moral inquisition. So the shrewd dressmaker took advantage of the shift in mood and asked politely, “And how may we assist my dear jeunes filles?”
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