PIRATE: Privateer (24 page)

After Watson had observed the fall of his third shot, he blew gently on the glowing end of the linstock and asked Hector calmly, ‘Would you prefer that I aim for the ship itself? Now that
I have my ranging.’

Hector thought that the parson was remarkably confident. Gunnery at sea was never precise.

‘Anything to make the French heave to and surrender,’ he said.

‘With the help of Our Lord and the Saints,’ replied the parson and stooped over the breech of the gun once more.

Again there was the deafening explosion. By a fickle eddy of the breeze the cloud of gun smoke drifted back across Hector’s face. He shut his eyes. There was a burnt smell and an acrid
taste on his tongue. When he looked again at the French ship, he saw that the parson had achieved the near impossible.

The shot had smashed the jib boom. The shock on the forestay had caused the foretopmast to carry away. It was tumbled sideways in a tangle of fallen shrouds and canvas. The jib itself was
trailing in the water, causing the helmsman to lose control. The brigantine was slowing down and yawing wildly. Half a dozen men were scrambling frantically to get at the damage.

Now was his chance.

‘Run out our starboard guns,’ he shouted. His crewmen hesitated. This was an order that had not been explained to them. But they saw Jezreel heaving on a gun tackle and followed his
example. In no particular order the starboard gun ports were raised, and the muzzles of the pink’s broadside appeared. Dan put up the rudder, and the
Speedy Return
bore down on her
opponent, showing her teeth. She must have made a terrifying sight, for there was frantic activity on the poop deck of the French vessel. Hector saw the man he took to be the captain cup his hands
around his mouth and call forward to his men. Moments later, the remaining topsail was let fly. It was the signal of surrender.

*

A
NNE
-M
ARIE
K
ERGONAN
was coming to the conclusion that her voyage with the
Sainte Rose
was turning
out far better than she had expected. She was comfortably seated in a tent erected for her sole use in a grove of coconut trees close to the beach. Through the open flap of the tent she could see
the pleasant sickle-shaped bay where the frigate had almost finished careening. The island of Providencia was such an idyllic spot that she wondered why the English settlers had abandoned it. Its
remoteness was its only drawback and that was precisely why Captain de Graff had made it his base, and in doing so had done everything to make her stay comfortable. She looked around the
furnishings of her tent – a fine Turkey rug spread on the sand, a washstand of pear wood, two delicate chairs with gilded backs and embroidered seats, a full-length mirror in its ebony frame,
the escritoire which was doing duty as a table for a range of scents and powders. Of course everything was loot, right down to the matching pair of ivory-backed hairbrushes and the phials of costly
perfume. De Graff had taken them out of the hapless merchants’ ships which the
Sainte Rose
had intercepted these past few weeks. He had given his men strict orders to preserve any
items that might make her life more agreeable. The rest of the loot had been divided up if it was ready bullion or, if normal merchandise, carried away by one of the supply ships which occasionally
met up with the
Sainte Rose
. They ferried the booty back to Petit Goâve, where it was auctioned off to the shippers. Sometimes Anne-Marie imagined a particularly fine item – say,
a chest inlaid with mother of pearl – making a complete round trip: fashioned by craftsmen in Spain or France, purchased by a wealthy Creole on a visit to Europe, shipped out for the Indies
but intercepted, bought by a middleman in Saint-Domingue, and shipped back to Europe to be resold at a handsome profit.

Her dead husband’s long hunting rifle struck a discordant note among all the feminine items that decorated her tent. She had insisted on bringing the gun with her from Petit Goâve.
She kept it as her sole link with the past. Learning to shoot the rifle was one of the very few occasions when she had felt genuinely close to her husband. Philippe had been a good teacher, patient
and careful, utterly unlike the rash, loud-mouthed bully he had been otherwise. The only occasion she could remember when she had enjoyed his physical touch was when he stood behind her and put his
arms around her and showed her how to hold the gun steady, aim and fire. It had been a unique interval, when she had felt they were genuinely together in a partnership. That was before his heavy
drinking meant that his hands shook and his eyesight blurred until he could no longer hit the target.

The sight of the hunting gun brought her to the difference between Philippe and de Graff himself. Both men had been daredevils, but in Philippe’s case his bravado had been scarcely more
than show and bluster. De Graff was different. She still did not quite know what to make of him. Most of the time he was attentive and pleasant. He never thrust his company upon her and he was
gracious. Yet she was very aware that he could be arrogant, and more than once she had had a glimpse of his ferocious temper. On the surface he was intelligent, amusing and civilized. But
underneath was a darker nature that she found troubling. At times he seemed to be foolhardy, deliberately courting danger as if waiting for the day when his phenomenal luck ran out. She had watched
the sword fight between him and that young Spaniard Felipe Fonseca on the ship they had captured, and she observed how close de Graff had come to losing his life. The thought caused a momentary
chill to run up her spine, and she was surprised to find herself contemplating what she would do if her protector – which is how she had come to think of de Graff – was killed.

A shadow moved across the canvas of the tent. She recognized it as de Graff. His feet had made no sound on the sand as he approached, but he had banned any of the ordinary sailors from coming
near the tent. It was another of his courtesies, though at first it had made Anne-Marie angry because it would give the impression that the captain was saving her for himself, like some rare and
luscious fruit.

‘I trust that you are not getting bored,’ said de Graff. He had coughed discreetly to let her know he was there, before he stepped into view. ‘We’ve finished the
careening, and it remains only to shift the men back aboard, re-rig, and bring our guns off.’

‘And what do you propose then?’ Anne-Marie asked, though she had guessed the answer.

‘We will visit the Vipers reef and go fishing for salvage,’ said de Graff.

So now the time has come, Anne-Marie thought. This is when de Graff reveals his true motive. She had long suspected that all the pampering had only been to make her agree to assist in the search
for the Spanish wreck. Suddenly and unexpectedly she found herself wishing to remain in this pleasant limbo with de Graff, and for him to keep the spell unbroken for another day or so.

‘If we are to leave this island soon, I propose we enjoy a last walk together,’ she said.

‘With pleasure, as always,’ said de Graff. He stood waiting politely until Anne-Marie emerged from the tent, and the two of them strolled down through the coconut trees and turned
along the beach. It was a walk that they had made many times, usually in the evening when the air had lost its noon-day heat. But today, at the earlier hour, the sand was still hot to the touch,
and Anne-Marie took care to walk on the cooler rim of hard wet sand where the tide had just begun to recede. They would turn back at the far end of the beach where it ended in a mangrove swamp.
Before then they would have to pass the makeshift camp set up by the men from the
Sainte Rose
. It was an untidy straggle of bivouacs with no semblance of order. Shelters had been made by
throwing a length of sailcloth over stacks of boxes. Some of the crew had merely strung hammocks between the trunks of palm trees, while others had cut down palm fronds and woven low flimsy shacks.
Scattered on the ground were odd lengths of spare timber, coils of rope, kegs, blocks, bundles wrapped in sacking, ballast stones, netting, all the paraphernalia normally stowed aboard their ship.
Today, in the centre of the camp, the cooks were boiling up the midday meal, and the blue smoke from the cooking fire drifted down towards the shore. It carried the smell of the wood they were
burning mingled with the odour of spices in the pot – a scent which Anne-Marie could not identify. It was exotic; tempting yet peppery. Like de Graff himself, she thought.

‘Will the men be sorry to leave the island?’ she asked.

De Graff gave a sardonic laugh. ‘They will be delighted, for they are growing restless. They know that a clean ship is essential to catch the prey in a chase, but resent the work that is
involved.’

‘And what do they think of fishing a wreck?’

‘They are happy to do anything that might fill their pockets.’ He laughed again, without humour. ‘Our supply of grog is running out and that makes them all the more eager to be
gone. Without strong drink to divert them, the men need the prospect of loot to spur them on. They dream of spending it on more rum and brandy and women.’

‘And you? Why do you seek riches?’ she asked.

A serious look appeared on the strong face with its splendid moustache. ‘Wealth allows me to surround myself with the luxuries I appreciate – music, fine food and wine, an elegant
wardrobe.’

‘You did not mention women?’

‘For at least ten years I’ve not laid eyes on my wife. Nor do I know where she is. We have gone our separate ways, and I have little wish to see her again. Doubtless she has changed.
Perhaps she does not wish to see me.’ He turned to face her. ‘My perspective on women has changed. I look to the future.’ He smiled, showing white teeth.

Anne-Marie was left wondering quite what he meant.

L
ESS THAN A
quarter-mile away Hector and Dan were crouched ankle deep in the black ooze of the mangroves. Five days had passed since they had captured
the French vessel and found she was the
Meteor
, a store ship bound for Providencia with supplies. After shifting the French captain and his men to the
Speedy Return
, Hector had put a
prize crew on the
Meteor
and the two vessels continued to Providencia and were now hove to off the west coast. On their approach they had steered well clear of the bay at the north end of
the island which, according to the chart found on the
Meteor
, was where
Sainte Rose
was based.

‘If Laurens de Graff is still in command, it’s no wonder that frigate has been so troublesome,’ said Hector, squinting through the tangle of mangrove stems. He and Dan had
rowed themselves ashore in the cockboat to scout, and approached the bay under cover. The two men had recognized the
Sainte Rose
instantly.

‘She’s almost ready for sea after careening. Another couple of days and we would have missed her,’ said Dan.

A launch had set out from the frigate and was heading directly across the bay towards the far headland.

‘De Graff’s yet to bring his guns aboard, but that shouldn’t take long,’ said Hector. The headland overlooking the entrance channel was such an obvious spot for a shore
battery that they had detected the defensive works without difficulty.

‘So you can now tell Lord Inchiquin where he can find the raider,’ replied Dan.

There was a whiff of marsh gas and a wet squelching sound as he pulled one foot out of the sucking slime of the swamp. Dan was about to begin making his way back to the cockboat when Hector laid
a hand on his arm. ‘Wait a little while longer. I think there is a way we might repay de Graff for robbing us of the salvage from the Spanish wreck.’

Dan treated his friend to a quizzical look. ‘Hector, I hope you are not planning anything rash. Those guns up on the hill will smash to splinters any ship that tries to force the
entrance.’

‘It would also be in our interest if we made sure that the
Sainte Rose
stays in Providencia long enough for the Spanish flota or the Navy to get here and deal with her,’ said
Hector.

‘That’s not what Governor Inchiquin expects. He only asked us to locate the raider.’

‘True. But he’s only postponed our trial for piracy, not cancelled it. If we can come back to Port Royal and say that we’ve crippled the
Sainte Rose
and she’s
there for the taking, I doubt that the Spaniards would continue to press charges against us.’

The Miskito searched his friend’s face for clues. ‘Cripple the
Sainte Rose
! And how do you propose to do that? Even if we ambush her as she leaves harbour, it would be
matching French culverins against our little sakers. Simeon Watson is a remarkable gunner, but we would be reduced to matchwood inside an hour.’

‘I’m not thinking of a naval battle. We can damage the
Sainte Rose
even before she leaves the anchorage,’ said Hector thoughtfully.

He was about to explain further when he noticed that Dan was staring towards the beach. Usually impassive, the Miskito had a startled expression. ‘There’s Anne-Marie Kergonan,’
he said.