Pirate Latitudes: A Novel (24 page)

“In the Windward Passage north of Puerto Rico.”

“North of Puerto Rico?” Hacklett said with an air of elaborate surprise. “Is there logwood in those parts?”

“No,” Hunter said, “but we were buffeted by a mighty storm for two days, and sent far off our intended course.”

“Indeed, it must have been, for Puerto Rico is to the north and east, while all the logwood is to the south and west of Jamaica.”

Hunter said, “I cannot be held accountable for storms.”

“What was the date of this storm?”

“The twelfth and thirteenth of September.”

“Odd,” Hacklett said. “The weather was fair in Jamaica on those days.”

“The weather at sea is not always similar to that of the land,” Hunter said, “as is well known.”

“The court thanks you, Mr. Hunter, for your lesson in seamanship,” Hacklett said. “Although I think you have little to teach the gentlemen here assembled, eh?” He chuckled briefly. “Now then, Mr. Hunter — forgive me if I do not address you as Captain Hunter — do you aver that there never was, at any time, an intent of your vessel and its crew to attack any Spanish settlement or dominion?”

“I do so aver.”

“You never held counsel to plan such an unlawful attack?”

“I did not.” Hunter spoke with as much certainty as he could muster, knowing that his crew dared not contradict him on this point. To admit to the vote that was held in Bull Bay was tantamount to a conviction of piracy.

“On pain of your mortal soul, do you swear that no such intent was ever discussed with any member of your company?”

“I do.”

Hacklett paused. “Let me be certain to understand your import. You sailed upon a simple logwood expedition, and by ill fortune were cast far north by a storm which did not touch these shores. Subsequently, you were captured without provocation of any sort by a Spanish warship. Is this correct?”

“It is.”

“And further, you learned that this same warship attacked an English merchantman and took as hostage the Lady Sarah Almont, giving you cause for reprisal. Is that so?”

“It is.”

Hacklett paused again. “How came you to know the warship captured the Lady Sarah Almont?”

“She was on board the warship at the time of our capture,” Hunter said. “This I learned — from a Donnish soldier, who made a slip of the tongue.”

“Most convenient.”

“Yet that was the truth of the matter. After we made our escape — which is, I hope, no crime before this tribunal — we pursued the warship to Matanceros, and thence saw the Lady Sarah debarked to the fortress.”

“So you attacked, for the sole purpose of preserving this Englishwoman’s virtue?” Hacklett’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

Hunter glanced from one face to the next on the tribunal. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it is my understanding that the function of this tribunal is not to determine whether I am a saint” — there was amused laughter — “but only whether I am a pirate. I knew, of course, of the galleon within the Matanceros harbor. That was a most estimable prize. And yet I pray the court will perceive that there was provocation for a score of such attacks — and provocation broadly speaking, admitting no legalistic quibbling nor technical point of turning.”

He looked toward the court reporter, whose duty it was to make a note of the proceedings. Hunter was astounded to notice that the man was sitting placidly and taking no notes.

“Tell us,” Hacklett said, “how you came to escape from the Spanish warship, once captured?”

“It was through the efforts of the Frenchman, Sanson, who performed with most estimable bravery.”

“You regard this Sanson highly?”

“Indeed I do, for I owe him my very life.”

“So be it,” Hacklett said. He turned in his chair. “Call the first witness in evidence, Mr. Andre Sanson!”

“Andre Sanson!”

Hunter turned to the door, astounded again, as Sanson walked into the courtroom. The Frenchman moved quickly, with smooth, liquid strides, and took his place in the witness box. He raised his right hand.

“Do you, Andre Sanson, solemnly promise and swear on the Holy Evangelists to bear true and faithful witness between the king and the prisoner in relation to the fact or facts of piracy and robbery he does now stand accused of, so help you God?”

“I do.”

Sanson lowered his right hand, and looked directly at Hunter. The gaze was flat and pitying. He held the glance for several seconds, until Hacklett spoke.

“Mr. Sanson.”

“Sir.”

“Mr. Sanson, Mr. Hunter has given his own account of the proceedings of this voyage. We wish to hear the story in your own words, as a witness whose valor has already been remarked by the accused. Will you tell us, please, what was the purpose of the voyage of
Cassandra
— as you understood it in the first instance?”

“The cutting of logwood.”

“And did you discover differently at any time?”

“I did.”

“Please explain to the court.”

“After we sailed on September ninth,” Sanson said, “Mr. Hunter made for Monkey Bay. There he announced to the several crew that his destination was Matanceros, to capture the Spanish treasures there.”

“And what was your reaction?”

“I was shocked,” Sanson said. “I reminded Mr. Hunter that such an attack was piracy and punishable by death.”

“And his response?”

“Oaths and foul curses,” Sanson said, “and the warning that if I did not participate wholeheartedly he would kill me as a dog, and feed me in pieces to the sharks.”

“So you participated in all that followed under duress, and not as a volunteer?”

“That is so.”

Hunter stared at Sanson. The Frenchman was calm and unruffled as he spoke. There was not the slightest trace of a lie. He looked at Hunter repeatedly, a defiant look, daring him to repudiate the story he so confidently told.

“What then transpired?”

“We set sail for Matanceros, where we hoped to make a surprise attack.”

“Excuse me, do you mean an attack without provocation?”

“I do.”

“Pray continue.”

“While sailing for Matanceros, we came upon the Spanish warship. Seeing that we were outnumbered, we were captured by the Spanish, as pirates.”

“And what did you do?”

“I had no wish to die in Havana as a pirate,” Sanson said, “especially as I had been forced to do Mr. Hunter’s bidding thus far. So I hid, and subsequently enabled my companions to escape, trusting that they would then decide to return to Port Royal.”

“And they did not?”

“Indeed they did not. Mr. Hunter, once returned to command of his ship, forced us to set sail for Matanceros to carry out his original intent.”

Hunter could stand no more. “I forced you? How could I force sixty men?”

“Silence!” bellowed Hacklett. “The prisoner will remain silent, or he shall be removed from court.” Hacklett turned back to Sanson. “How did you fare with the prisoner at this time?”

“Badly,” Sanson said. “He clapped me in irons for the duration of the voyage.”

“Matanceros and the galleon were subsequently captured?”

“Aye, gentlemen,” Sanson said. “And I was placed in the
Cassandra
thusly: Mr. Hunter went aboard the ship and determined that she was unseaworthy, after the attack on Matanceros. He then gave me command of this poor ship, in the manner of marooning, for he did not expect her to survive the open sea. He gave me a small crew of men who felt as I did. We made for Port Royal when a hurricane overtook us, and our ship was shattered with the loss of all hands. I, myself, in the longboat, managed to come to Tortuga and thence here.”

“What know you of Lady Sarah Almont?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Not until this moment,” Sanson said. “Is there such a person?”

“Indeed,” Hacklett said, with a quick glance at Hunter. “Mr. Hunter claims to have rescued her from Matanceros and brought her safely thus.”

“She was not with him when he left Matanceros,” Sanson said. “If I were to conjecture, I should say Mr. Hunter attacked an English merchantman and took her passenger as prize, to justify his wrongdoings.”

“A most convenient event,” Hacklett said. “But why have we not heard of this same merchantman?”

“Probably he killed all hands aboard and sunk her,” Sanson said. “On his homeward voyage from Matanceros.”

“One final inquiry,” Hacklett said. “Do you recall a storm at sea on the twelfth and thirteenth of September?”

“A storm? No, gentlemen. There was no storm.”

Hacklett nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Sanson. You may step down.”

“If it please the court,” Sanson said, and left the room.

There was a long pause after the door slammed with a hollow, echoing sound. The court turned to face Hunter, who was trembling and white with anger, and yet he fought for composure.

“Mr. Hunter,” Hacklett said, “can you charge your memory with any particulars to account for the discrepancy between the stories you have related and those of Mr. Sanson whom you have said you respect so highly?”

“He is a liar, sir. A foul and black liar.”

“The court is prepared to consider such an accusation if you can acquaint the court with particulars which will serve in evidence, Mr. Hunter.”

“I have only my word,” Hunter said, “but you may have ample evidence from Lady Sarah Almont herself, who will contradict the French tale in all respects.”

“We shall certainly have her witness,” Hacklett said. “But before calling her, a perplexing question remains. The attack on Matanceros — justified or no — occurred on September twenty-first. You returned to Port Royal on October twentieth. Among pirates, one expects that such a delay represents a sailing to an obscure island, for the purpose of concealing treasure taken, and thus cheating the king. What is your explanation?”

“We were engaged in a sea battle,” Hunter said. “Then we fought a hurricane for three days. We careened in an island outside the Boca del Dragon for four days. Subsequently, we set sail but were besieged by a kraken—”

“I beg your pardon. Do you mean a monster of the depths?”

“I do.”

“How amusing.” Hacklett laughed, and the others on the tribunal laughed with him. “Your imagination to explain this monthlong delay gains our admiration, if not our credence.” Hacklett turned in his chair. “Call the Lady Sarah Almont to give evidence.”

“Lady Sarah Almont!”

A moment later, looking pale and drawn, Lady Sarah entered the room, took the oath, and awaited her questions. Hacklett, with a most solicitous manner, peered down at her.

“Lady Sarah, I wish first to welcome you to the Jamaica Colony, and to apologize for the dastardly business which must be your first encounter with society in these regions.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hacklett,” she said, with a slight bow. She did not look at Hunter, not once. That worried him.

“Lady Sarah,” Hacklett said, “it has become a question of importance to this tribunal whether you were captured by Spaniards and then released by Captain Hunter, or whether you were captured by Captain Hunter in the first instance. Can you enlighten us?”

“I can.”

“Please do so freely.”

“I was aboard the merchantman
Entrepid
,” she said, “bound from Bristol for Port Royal when . . .”

Her voice trailed off. There was a long silence. She looked at Hunter. He stared into her eyes, which were frightened in a way he had never seen.

“Go on, if you please.”

“. . . When we spotted a Spanish vessel on the horizon. It opened fire upon us, and we were captured. I was surprised to discover that the captain of this Spanish ship was an Englishman.”

“Do you mean Charles Hunter, the prisoner who stands before us now?”

“I do.”

“Please continue.”

Hunter hardly heard the rest of her words: how he had taken her onto the galleon, then killed the English crew and set the ship afire. How he had told Lady Sarah that he would pretend he had saved her from the Spaniards, in order to justify his raid on Matanceros. She delivered her story in a high-pitched, taut voice, speaking rapidly, as if to finish the matter as quickly as possible.

“Thank you, Lady Sarah. You may step down.”

She left the room.

The tribunal faced Hunter, seven men with blank, expressionless faces, examining Hunter like a creature already dead. A long moment passed.

“We have heard nothing from the witness of your colorful adventures with the Boca del Dragon, or the sea monster. Have you any proofs?” Hacklett asked mildly.

“Only this,” Hunter said, and, swiftly, he stripped to the waist. Across his chest were the tears and scars of giant, saucerlike suckers, an unearthly sight. The members of the tribunal gasped. They murmured among themselves.

Hacklett banged his gavel for order.

“An interesting amusement, Mr. Hunter, but not persuasive to the educated gentlemen present. We can all surely imagine the devices you employed, in your desperate predicament, to re-create the effects of such a monster. The court is not persuaded.”