Pirates! (19 page)

‘What’s that?’ Minerva held my arm. A squeaking came from all around. Tiny red sparks showed part of the darkness to be moving. A shadowy carpet undulated about us, pouring over our feet with a tiny skittering scrape of claws and a sudden brush of fur.

‘It’s the rats. They always know.’

The rats were gone as swiftly as they had come. There was a sudden silence, eerie and odd in a world where noise is constant.

‘D’you hear it?’ Minerva whispered.

A scraping, as if the ship had grazed something, merely glancing off it in a way that was of no consequence. But there are no innocent encounters between a solid surface and a ship at sea. We knew that.

‘We must hurry!’ We stumbled on towards the distant cries of desperate men left and doomed to die.

‘There she goes!’ One voice carried above the others, and the next surge brought a rending and tearing, a creaking groan followed by a series of sharp cracks. Wooden boards being torn from each other.

‘She’s stove!’

There came a sudden rushing surge, a sudden coldness and the smell of salt in the fetid bilge-water stench of the ship’s depths.

The single voice became the shouts of many men as every surge brought more breaking. Our feet slid from under us. The ship was heeling over; settling on to a resting place that was likely to be final. The water was pouring in now. From above came the cry of: ‘Every man!’ The ship was being abandoned.

The movement of the ship had sent us sprawling, but we were near to the trapdoor now. We went on, crawling on hands and knees, feeling for the bolt hole.

‘Here it is!’ Minerva hauled up the trap. ‘We’re here!’ she shouted below. ‘Hold on lads!’

We dropped down among them. The water was above our knees and rising. Men were on their feet, sliding into the water, dragging at the chains, wrenching until their wrists were bloody, shouting for help, some pleading for mercy from man and God, others cursing, thinking that they had been abandoned by both.

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Chapter 28

It was a frantic race against the rising of the water to free the men from their chains and some still wore their manacles as we struggled through the overturned world of the listing ship. It was dark below decks, and what had been wall was now floor. The sea poured down the companionway in such a gushing roar that we could not climb against it, so we had to find another way up.

‘This ship might well prove our coffin yet,’ Broom said as water poured over him. ‘Come on, lads! This way! Follow me, boys!’ he shouted as he found a different way to the deck. ‘The Navy rats have run, let’s follow ’em down!’

The deck dropped away almost sheer beneath us. Phillips, the gunner, found an axe to strike off the last of the manacles, and Broom and Halston used all their cunning and knowledge to get us off the stricken ship. We climbed and cut our way through the tangled mess of ropes, shrouds and sails, and used the main mast as a bridge to take us away from the buffeting surf and over the lines of sharp coral into the lagoon on the other side of the reef. Once we had gained calmer water, we swum and floated, clinging to jetsam, helping each other, until we reached the shore.

Not all had survived the desperate flight from the wrecked ship and, if there were no food or fresh water to be found, we would be counting those who had already perished lucky beyond measure. We were on a rocky island, a comma of coral on the blank blue ocean. Broom sent out searching parties, while the rest of us wandered the foreshore, driving the scuttling crabs from the corpses that littered the white sands.

I, for my part, could take no pleasure in my own survival. I did not know what had happened to William. Had he got away in one of the boats when the ship was abandoned, or was he lying dead on the shore? I steeled myself to look at each body. I did not find him among them. But how could I be sure? Pirate or sailor, there was no telling between them. Most were unrecognisable even as men: their clothes torn to ribbons as if slashed away by razors; their flesh shredded by the vicious coral. Many had not made it to the shore at all. Sharks threshed in the waters of the reef, driven to frenzy by the blood in the sea.

The dead were buried together: pirate, sailor, marine. No longer on different sides. All made equal by death and the sea. Pirates are superstitious, like all seamen, and they did not want to be haunted by wandering souls or spirits, so we scooped a pit above the high water line, using driftwood as spades. After we had finished, Halston bound two pieces of wood together in the shape of a cross and Broom said a few words.

‘Lord receive the souls of those buried here and have mercy upon them. There but for Your grace go we.’

The searching parties came back. No water.

We were marooned.

We all stood together as the sun sank lower in the sky and bowed our heads to pray for the dead, and for the living. We prayed for delivery, for a ship. For if one did not come and take us off the island, it would not be long before thirst took us, a day or two, three at the most, and we’d be following those we had just buried into the unknown. The only thing left would be a nest of bleaching bones.

I stayed there after the others had gone to find a place to rest among the dunes. I sat watching the sun set, the wrecked ship standing in gaunt silhouette against its great red circle. The sea turned from crimson to purple, and all the time I prayed that a boat would come to take us off this island, and I prayed for William, hoping that he had got the boats away, and that he had taken a place in one of them and had survived.

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Chapter 29

Vincent had not deserted us. By noon the next day, a sail showed on the horizon, small as a lozenge, flickering in and out of sight, lost in the glare and glitter of the sun on the water. As the ship grew larger, we could see by the rigging that she was a schooner.

The
Swift Return
sailed into the bay on the other side of the island where the water was deeper. A few questioned where she’d been and grumbled that she needed renaming, for we were all mighty thirsty and hungry by the time she was sighted. Vincent explained that he had been playing ducks and drakes with the Navy. He had sighted a flotilla of small boats, sails hoisted, the men hauling for all they were worth. By that, he knew that a wreck was certain and had come in search of us. But William’s ship was not the only one in the vicinity.

‘So there’s a good chance that those in the boats would be found?’ I asked him.

‘Aye,’ he replied, giving me a curious look. ‘Drinking grog and eating biscuit right now, I shouldn’t wonder. The Navy ship changed course to pick ’em up. That’s how we managed to slip past. Why should you care?’

I did not answer, but left him with Minerva. He was glad enough to see her safely returned.

‘Only sips of water!’ Graham knocked a bucket from the hands of a guzzling pirate. ‘And eat sparingly. Too much water and food all at once will cause you to swell like gourds and go off like grenadoes.’

Not all the pirates heeded the doctor’s advice. Although none actually exploded, they were soon lying in their hammocks groaning with bellyache.

The schooner left the bay, searching for a deserted cay out of the Navy’s way, where we could hold up and call ship’s council, for Broom to declare his intentions and say where our next cruising ground should be.

The crew assembled in the fo’castle.

‘It’s my opinion,’ Broom began, ‘that the Caribbean is getting a little too
active.
Navy don’t look kindly on those that wreck their ships from under ’em.’ A cackle went round at that. ‘So we have to set a fresh course, boys. To somewhere new. Somewhere different. Where we ain’t known. And I’m proposing,’ he looked around, ‘I’m proposing, mates, that Africa might prove a suitable destination.’

‘Africa?’

It was as if he’d thrust a marlin spike into a hornet’s nest. The council grew rowdy. Everyone was entitled to his say and was determined to have it. The wrangling did not die down until Vincent shot a pistol in the air.

‘Hear the captain out, boys. Hear the captain out!’

It took a couple more reports to bring them to silence, but at last they all settled down. Whatever the uproar, Broom’d get my vote. Anything that would take us away from these waters. I wondered how long it would take for the Brazilian to hear of our adventures with the Navy?

Broom stepped into the centre of the circle and looked around him, waiting for complete quiet.

‘What do you want, boys?’ he asked them. ‘What do you want from this piratical way of life? Why did you go on the account?’

Broom’s questions set off another storm of shouting. He stood, legs apart, feet square on the deck, right hand grasping his cutlass hilt as he did in the face of a gale.

‘Freedom!’

‘No masters!’

‘No mad captains to take us to rot on the Guinea coast!’

That last remark brought laughter, and Broom laughed with them.

‘Aye,’ he said, ‘that’s right enough. But what else, boys? What else?’

The crew looked at each other, puzzled, like schoolboys found slow at their lessons.

‘Well, I’ll tell you then, shall I? Gold, my boys. Gold. Wealth and treasure.’ He looked around. The mention of gold had got their attention. ‘Ain’t that the truth of it?’

‘Aye.’ There was a ripple of agreement. ‘That’s true enough.’

‘Course it is! That’s why we all signed on!’ Broom began walking up and down, sure that all eyes were upon him. ‘Now, we could stay here in these waters and risk the Navy’s wrath, for they are after us, boys, none doubt it. They don’t take kindly to ships lost, like I say, so after us they’ll stay. We could remain in these waters, dodging His Majesty’s finest ships. We could lead them a dance. I’m sure we could. But they’ll likely get us in the end, and then there’ll be a different style of dancing. The kind that happens at the end of a rope. Many a good crew and captain have done that jig, boys.’ He looked up. A shiver went around the company, as he knew it would. ‘And for what? Boxes of buttons, bolts of cloth, barrels of sugar and molasses. Cargoes we’re lucky to give away for the price of a tot o’ rum.’ He gestured, arms wide. ‘The ships sailing
these
waters ain’t hardly worth the trouble and risk of boarding. That’s a fact. I didn’t take up this way of life for that.’ He looked them over. ‘And I’ll warrant you didn’t, neither. I wanted gold and silver, to make my fortune. I’d wager you did, too.’

He looked around them. He had them in his hands. They were listening quiet as mice before a cat.

‘I know where to get it. I know where there’s gold and silver held in great store. Coin and ingot, as much as a ship can carry.’

His eyes were as bright as the gold he was describing. The crew stared up at him, their eyes wide, as if the hoard were already before them, as if they could feel the weight of the bullion, the cool slippery coins running like fish through their fingers. He smiled, and his eyes narrowed, reflecting the men’s own greed back to them.

‘Trust me, boys and I’ll lead you to it.’ His voice grew quiet, inviting them into the conspiracy. ‘All you got to do is trust me and you’ll never live in want again. Neither will your children, or their children after that, I shouldn’t wonder. Now, what do you say? Who’s for, and who’s agin?’

What choice did he give them? All doubts were swept aside. Broom’s plan was passed unanimously. He did not normally encourage drinking on board, but that night was given over to celebration. A great punch bowl was set up, Broom mixing it himself with sugar, rum and brandy from his own cabin. When that was finished, fresh barrels were breached. No one went thirsty that night. The fiddlers struck up and the decks were cleared for dancing. It was near dawn before the last pirate keeled over on the deck. They slept where they fell, no doubt dreaming of the gold that their captain had promised them. I only hoped that Broom could deliver those dreams to his men. If he could not, he would not stay captain for long.

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We Lived and Reigned as Masters of the Sea

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Chapter 30

The
Swift Return
was a small ship to undertake such a crossing. Pelling was as keen as any on gold and riches, but he was a worrier, and it was his job to look after the interests of the crew.

‘What if we run out of water, or victuals?’ he asked, his wrinkled face creasing further.

‘The
Swift
might not be large,’ Broom pointed out to him, ‘but she’s fast. We’ll reach Cape Verde in no time, no time at all. We can always pick up supplies on the way, if we run low.’

By which he meant we could take a ship or two, but these were not the normal sea lanes. Merchantmen were few. The only ships that we were likely to meet would be slavers on the middle passage. No slavers. Broom was adamant. Either here, or on the coast of Africa. They carried little of any value, except their human cargo, and that was nothing but trouble. Broom was not alone in wanting to avoid them. Slave ships were rarely attacked. Their foul smell travelled on the wind for miles. They were universally avoided.

It wasn’t until we were approaching the coast of Africa, that Broom decided that we definitely needed another ship. The lookouts were instructed to keep their eyes peeled for a merchantman. Pelling’s ears pricked up at that. When he asked why, he was told that it was all part of the plan.

‘’Ere,’ Pelling called to me. ‘You’re close to ’im. What’s he up to?’

I shrugged my shoulders and told Pelling what the captain had told me. When I’d asked what the exact plan was, he’d invited me to ‘wait and see’.

‘Even if we find a ship, I don’t know how we’re going to man it,’ Pelling said gloomily. ‘We’re under strength as it is.’

A number of the crew had fallen sick during the voyage across the Atlantic. They had been left at the Cape Verde Islands, Graham fearing a spreading contagion if they were left on board. A Navy ship in the harbour had kept our stay short. There had scarcely been time to take on all but the most essential supplies. Perhaps that was why Broom was going in search of a merchant vessel.

Later the next day, the man at the masthead shouted, ‘A sail! A sail!’

She was far to starboard, almost on the southern horizon. She looked big, a three-masted merchantman. Broom smiled as he trained his spyglass upon her.

‘She is perfect!’

His eyes held the gleam of coins again as he folded his spyglass, ordering the sails set to catch every scrap of wind and the helmsman to steer two points to the starboard bow.

We came upon the ship rapidly. She turned, hauling in sail and tacking across the wind to meet us. As she neared, the ensign went down and she hoisted a black flag.

‘She’s a pirate!’ The call came down from the masthead.

‘What colours?’

‘Can’t see for the flapping.’

Pelling was up the rat lines fast as a monkey.

‘Red skellington on a black ground. That’s Low!’ He scampered back down to the deck. ‘I thought he was dead! He’s a devil, he is. He’s cowardly, what’s more. Not to be trusted at all ... ’ He ran off to tell the captain, who ordered our flag hoisted.

Our colours were answered by cannon shot across our bows. Broom ordered returning fire and the two ships came on towards each other, each manoeuvring for advantage, trying to show the least side towards the other. The red skeleton danced in the wind, while our own skull and crossed bones glared from the mizzenmast.

Stories about Low spread up and down the ship like St Elmo’s Fire.

‘He don’t give no quarters, puts whole crews to the slaughter.’

‘Cut off the lips and ears of one captain, so I heard, and fried ’em up in front of ’im.’

‘He cut the liver and lights out of another poor bugger and made his mates eat ’em.’

‘I heard it were a heart he cut out.’

‘He rammed his gun in the mouth of some other luckless bastard and fired straight down his gullet.’

The two ships were now within hailing distance of each other.

‘Pipe down there!’ Vincent growled. He watched the men carefully, trying to measure their mood. Such tales of terror can serve to stiffen the sinews of resistance, or they can strike such fear that the ship is lost before it is even boarded.

‘Where from?’ A voice from the other ship shouted over the water.

‘From the sea.’ Broom gave the answer of all pirate captains.

‘And you?’

‘From the sea also. Don’t believe I know you.’

‘Captain Broom. And you?’

‘Edward Low.’

‘I heard you were dead.’

Low’s laughter rang out, made loud and hollow by the speaking tube he held in his hand.

‘Well, you heard wrong. Though many wish me so.’

They were close enough now to speak man to man. The crews lined up to face each other. Their swivel gun was trained upon us. Phillips turned ours to match it.

Low had left his quarterdeck and stood, arms folded, in the body of his ship. He was tall and handsome, with long fair hair falling down his back. He was as fond of ribbons and fancy clothes as was our captain. If it were not for the weapons bristling about his person, it would have been easy to take him for a gentleman.

‘Nice rig you’ve got there, Captain. She has a colonial look about her.’

‘Made in Baltimore,’ Broom countered.

‘Thought so,’ he nodded. ‘I was quite of a mind to attack. I can’t abide Americans, being at war with them for insult done to me.’

‘He’s at war with the whole world! Said it himself!’ Pelling muttered under his breath. ‘Americans particularly. Vowed to destroy any he came across. Could’ve blown us right out of the water. We was lucky!’

‘I hate Yankees,’ Low said again. ‘Like their ships, though. Now I know that you’re not one of them, we can be friendly. Come aboard, Broom, why don’t you? Share a bowl of punch with me.’

‘Be glad to, Captain.’ Broom ignored Pelling, who was shaking his head and hopping about as if bees were stinging him. ‘We’re in want of supplies. I wonder ... ’

‘We have plenty.’ Low smiled. ‘And will be happy to share with you. Come. Bring your officers.’

When the ships were grappled together, Pelling wouldn’t go, so Broom beckoned Vincent to him and Halston, who was now second mate. At the last minute he added me to the party as a kind of midshipman.

‘A pretty one, too,’ Low winked at me. He was not so handsome up close, his skin pocked and turned to leather by the sun and weather, his hair thinning under his tricorn hat, and his blue eyes bleak and cruel. He led us under the quarterdeck into his cabin. It was spacious and well appointed, with a line of windows looking out over the stern.

The table was set with a great silver punch bowl. Low bade us sit down.

‘Your health, Captain.’ He took out a pistol and cocked it. ‘Drink,’ he said, holding the gun to Broom’s head.

Broom took the bowl in both hands, sweat popping on his forehead.

‘All of it.’ Low smiled.

Broom glugged down about a quart, before choking and coughing. The rest of it slopped down his tunic.

Low laughed and discharged his gun in the air, before grabbing for another. It must have been the signal for a general attack. From outside came a roar and the booming of the swivel gun. Our gun answered. Wood splintered as part of the quarterdeck was shot away. The outer deck exploded, shrieking turned to screaming as men scattered or fell where they stood, limbs shattered, blood showering over the deck. Grenadoes followed, sending smoke billowing into the cabin. We threw the table over and reached for our weapons. Low fired into us, but Broom pushed his arm upwards, causing him to miss his mark. We drew our cutlasses and we fought our way out of the cabin and on to the deck.

The fighting was fierce on both ships. Low’s men had swarmed on to the
Swift Return
, while our men had come on to his ship to attempt our rescue. We were heavily outnumbered, our men spread thin on both vessels. The fight was hopeless. We were bound to lose. But who thinks of that in the thick of battle?

The deck swirled with smoke; it was like fighting in a fog. There was no time to draw a pistol, and guns are useless at close quarters. We had to slash our way back to our own ship. In the confusion, I found myself being pushed backwards by Low, in the wrong direction. I fought as hard as I could, but he was too strong for me. It was all I could do to parry his blows. His blade was longer and heavier than mine. One powerful cut caused sparks to fly and sent my weapon spinning out of my hand. I jumped back, but the sword caught me, slashing down from throat to navel, cutting through my coat and shirt to the skin.

I thought I was done for, but Low drew back.

‘My, my! What have we here? He came towards me. His blade whispered past my cheek and he plucked a lock of hair from my shoulder. ‘You
are
a pretty one, and no mistake.’ He rubbed the hair between his fingers. ‘As golden as guineas. Who would have thought that Broom would have such a prize on board that tub of his?’ He parted my shirt with his sword and stared. ‘No need to rush things. A dish to be consumed at leisure.’ I spat at him and swore. His sword was at my throat again. ‘You will learn some manners, Madam, or I’ll share you with my crew and then feed you to the fish.’

He dragged me to a companionway, booting me in the back to force me down the stairs. Once at the bottom, he took me by the scruff of my coat, pushed me into a little storeroom and slammed the door. I heard him hauling boxes of shot, piling them up to stop me getting out.

I put my back against the door, pushing and shoving, but I could not budge it. I looked down and wondered at all the blood smeared about me. I looked up, thinking it must be coming through from the deck. I put my hand to my chest, and it came away red. My shirt was soaked, and my coat. The sight made me light-headed. I sat down suddenly, as if my legs had been kicked from under me, and I remembered nothing more.