The Jezebel's Daughter (13 page)

XIV

On board the Jezebel, Caribbean Sea

March, 1716

The careening and repairs took less than a week to complete. MacIsaac ordered further modifications, namely fourteen gunports cut out of the sides of the weather deck, plus four more fore and aft, as well as modifications to the main deck so it would bear the weight of the new cannon. Those modifications took three days. Once they were complete, we sent the ship down the beach and back into the water. The process of loading all the things scattered over the beach took another day. When the ship was restocked with her guns—twenty-two brand-new, twelve-pound cannon, plus the swivel guns she'd had before back in their places on the quarterdeck and fo'c's'le—and everything else that had been spread all over the beach, and cabins and sleeping places assigned, we went roving, headed south towards Cuba. We weren't hunting any particular ship. We were just trying our luck by following the shipping lanes and hoping to take a fat prize. It seemed a particularly inefficient way to go about things, but I wasn't a captain. I was sure Captain MacIsaac knew what he was doing.

Still, it seemed that there were better ways of finding a vulnerable ship, and when I wasn't busy learning how to sail or writing in the log books or making small addenda to the charts, I gave the matter some serious thought. I felt I had landed on a workable solution, based on discussions I'd overheard between my father and his junior officers. I just had to find the perfect time to broach the subject with the captain.

A week later, we stopped for re-provisioning just off the coast of Spanish Town, Jamaica. We anchored behind a large rock formation, and MacIsaac, Ben, and a few other crew members, and I rowed ashore in on of the
Jezebel
's jolly-boats. We passed the town of Port Royal, which in its prime had been even more debauched and chaotic than Nassau. “Awful earthquake here, some twenty-five years ago,” Ben explained as we leaned against the gunwales on the quarterdeck, and the
Jezebel
sailed past the town. “Swallowed down the whole place. God's punishment for the townsfolk's wickedness.”

I looked at him sidelong and he winked at me. “Or so I be told by men with more learning than me.”

“And now Nassau is the capital of the pirate nation,” I said. “Captains Hornigold and Jennings hope to recreate the atmosphere of Port Royal in Nassau.”

Ben nodded with approval. “You be paying attention when you be in the tavern.”

“Yes, well. There was little else to do, really. Graves was not known for his conversation.”

Ben chuckled and slapped me companionably on the back. “Graves was a top earner, second only to Charles Vane. MacIsaac be up to it, though.”

“I certainly hope so,” I commented. “Otherwise he'll be marooned, right?”

“Only after a vote. If MacIsaac be out, Hamilton take over and no one be wanting that.” I chuckled at the thought of the strange little quartermaster, a man whose lack of education never got in the way of his vocabulary—or as he might say, vocabularizing—even if most of the words he spoke were made up.

We went ashore and stayed the night in the taverns and brothels of Spanish Town and despite the crew's insistence that I bed one of the whores, I managed to distract them with tales of a fictional girl waiting for me in America, one who expected me to stay truthful until I could amass enough money to return to her and marry her properly. They left off after that, and I at last found a place by the fire in the common room and buried my nose in the third volume of Arabian Tales.

The noise died down to a dull murmur sometime after midnight as the tavern cleared out. The sailors paired up with female companions for the night and left the room to pursue even more base and debauched activities. I was surprised when Captain MacIsaac joined me at my table. “Captain,” I said with a tiny smile as he sat down next to me. “Are all the girls taken for the evening?”

He looked around and chuckled ruefully. “I wouldn't swive a lass from a place like this for all the King's jewels. The French disease runs amok through those rooms,” he said, pointing up toward the ceiling. He tapped my book's cover with his blunt-nailed finger and said, “Which is your favorite?”

“Oh, I've enjoyed most of them, though I think my favorite stories are from Sinbad's journeys.” I smiled shyly. “His second voyage is the best.”

The captain's eyes narrowed a bit. “Is that the one with the giant birds and the valley of diamonds?”

“Yes, that's the one. I would love to see one of those birds.”

“I would love to see some of those diamonds,” MacIsaac said with a smirk.

I laughed and was rewarded with a full-blown smile from the captain. “How many volumes of this story are there?” I asked. “Scheherazade recounts Sinbad's second voyage during her five hundred-fiftieth night of tales, so there must be many more.”

MacIsaac pursed his lips in thought. “I believe there are ten in total. I'm sure you'll be able to find them in London, when you return.”

We spent the next few hours, discussing books and the up-coming journey. I felt awkward with the captain at first. He was learned and mannered and I wondered about his upbringing. Why would someone so obviously brought up in a decent home, someone who had probably attended University, leave a life of ease to become a pirate? Perhaps he had been press-ganged by the British and then his ship was taken by pirates at sea. It would explain much. Having come to a decent explanation for the conundrum of Captain MacIsaac, I soon relaxed and felt comfortable enough to bring up the question of how our prizes were selected.

“Do you mean to just sail about aimlessly and hope that we come upon a merchantman that we can take?” I asked.

“Yes. That is exactly what we do.”

“And how often are you successful?”

MacIsaac shrugged, seemingly defensive in the face of my questions. “It's hit or miss,” he admitted, then added after a moment, “Mostly miss, to be frank.”

I frowned. “Wouldn't it make sense to only pursue ships that you know are there? Ships that perhaps are weaker and carry cargo of value?”

“Certainly, but how would we know that ahead of time?”

I looked around the tavern, my eyes moving over the tables and the few remaining patrons, who were well into their cups, oblivious to our conversation. I turned back to the captain with a smile; now was the time to tell him of my plans. “There are places like this tavern all over the Caribbean, yes?” MacIsaac nodded and I continued. “Men talk—a lot—when they are drunk. They talk even when they aren't drunk, especially to women. What if you had someone, a spy perhaps, in all taverns and brothels across the Caribbean? A spy who listened to the men talk, and could tell us if she'd heard tell of ships that fit the bill? You could meet with these spies periodically and then go after prizes of which you are certain.”

MacIsaac stared at me, his eyes wide with shock. “Spies,” he said quietly and a slow smile dawned across his full lips. “Why, that is a capital plan!” He seized my by the shoulders and pressed a kiss against my cheek.

Arrows of fire and ice pierced me straight through. I was frozen by the contact of his mouth on my skin, and yet I was consumed by a conflagration that burned me from toe to crown. His lips were warm and soft—nothing at all like Graves's—and it was all I could do to resist the urge to grab his hand and press my face against his to return his kiss, to slide my tongue across his bottom lip and suck it into my mouth. He quickly let me go, unaware of the visceral reaction I'd had to his touch. He stood quickly, leaving me stock-still and stunned in my chair as he went to find the
Jezebel
's quartermaster.

By mid-afternoon of the following day, we were all back aboard the ship and MacIsaac called a meeting of all hands. Once we were all assembled, Hamilton asked for quiet and gave the floor over to the captain. “For years,” MacIsaac said, standing on the main deck, just below the skids, “we have simply prowled the shipping lanes, hoping for a fat prize to just appear on the horizon. Our hunting hasn't always been successful, but despite that, under Graves's command, the
Jezebel
was one of the most successful crews in Nassau.” The few remaining crew members who had been on board when Graves was captain erupted into cheers and MacIsaac smiled, letting it go on until he raised his hands and called for silence again.

“But this is a new crew and I am a new captain, and I aim to do things a new way.” He looked up to where I was standing on the fo'c's'le and pointed me out. “Thanks to a suggestion by the master's mate, Mr. Jones, I aim to implement a system of informants throughout the islands, informants whose sole duty it is to eavesdrop in taverns, marketplaces, and whorehouses. They will listen to the merchants and find us the easiest, fattest, most vulnerable prizes. No more roving only to come up empty. No more taking on stronger ships only to lose brothers needlessly. Our prizes will be guaranteed, boys!”

There was a mixed reaction. Some of the crew erupted into spontaneous cheers, having seized upon the thrust of MacIsaac's plan, or perhaps his description of guaranteed riches. However, the vast majority of the men around me gave me astonished looks and murmured amongst themselves, no doubt discussing the captain's plan, or perhaps the source of the plan.

MacIsaac nodded to Hamilton, who stepped up to take the captain's spot on the deck. He raised his hands and the crew settled into silence once more. “What the captain is propositioning is interesting, that's for certain. But before we take a vote, are there any dissenterive opinions?”

I hid my laughter behind my hand and glanced around the men. No one raised a hand to speak out against MacIsaac's plan, so Hamilton nodded and said, “All those favoring?” A chorus of cheers went up and I was heartened to see that it seemed to be unanimous.

“Any obstructivisers?” Silence reigned and I held my breath. “The ayes have it,” Hamilton announced after a few beats. Ben thumped me soundly on the back and the men standing next to me patted my shoulders and congratulated me. The captain caught my eye and dipped his head in a nod. I was certain that my smile was visible from England.

XV

On board the Jezebel, Caribbean Sea

June, 1716

Rather than spending the next three months chasing ships that might or might not yield a large cache of goods or coins, we sailed around the Caribbean, stopping in ports like Havana, Spanish Town, Cap-Français, and San Juan, as well as most of the Leeward and Windward Isles and parts of the Spanish Main. In each city, MacIsaac secured the services of a handful of spies, mostly whores and thieves who feared Graves's lingering reputation. I suspected that the coins the Captain used to bribe them carried more weight than the specter of Gideon Graves.

We returned to Spanish Town, where I'd originally pitched the idea to MacIsaac, after stopping in most of the major towns in the Caribbean. Since we weren't staying long in port, only the captain and quartermaster went ashore to speak to their spies. I spent several hours worrying about how the crew would react if my plan didn't work out. The men were getting restive; they'd spent months at sea, with little to show but a single prize that hadn't amounted to much. If my plan didn't yield any good leads, I was frightened that the crew would turn on me out of sheer boredom and frustration.

I needn't have worried, as it was. Just a few hours after they went ashore, the captain and quartermaster returned triumphantly. My plan had worked. A whore in one of Spanish Town's brothels overheard a conversation about an English trader whose fluyt was loaded with sugar and rice. It would be leaving from Havana, in just a week's time, headed to Charleston in America.

It took us six days to make the journey from Jamaica to the Bahamas, where we anchored just off North Bimini Island in the Florida Straits, to lie in wait. MacIsaac had been assured by his spy that there was no escort, and since it was a fluyt—a type of ship that wasn't known for carrying heavy guns—the merchantman's captain would probably give up without a fight once MacIsaac raised the black.

The waiting was the worst part. I, of course, had no experience with boarding a ship by force. The only stories I'd ever heard were from MacIsaac and Ben about the fateful fight that ended Graves's reign of terror, and that was not exactly the most heartening of tales. Ben had taken some time to teach me a bit about hand-to-hand fighting, but my pistol and the cutlass Ben had bought for me in Nassau felt foreign and awkward in my grasp.

Ben knew I was frightened and tried to help calm me by giving me quick instructions on how to use the pistol. “It be easy,” he said. “You just point it and squeeze the trigger.”

One of the other crew members upon hearing this snickered and said, “Of course, six times out of ten, the ruddy things don't even fire.” There was a chorus of laughter at my suddenly green expression and Ben shot the hecklers a baleful glare.

“Don't tell him that,” he said, rounding them up and shoving them away. He turned back to me and gave me a pitying smile. “But he be right. Pistols do misfire. That be when you use your cutlass. Let's see it.”

I drew the cumbersome weapon from its sheath and made a few half-hearted swings at him. Ben easily side-stepped them all and spent the next few hours correcting my form and my grip. By the time the look-out in the crow's nest had spotted sails on the southern horizon, I was at least competent enough not to lose my grip, and I was slowly overcoming my inclination to defend myself without being overly aggressive. Ben had driven that point home—the only way to survive was to forget about being fair, forget about sword play, and to think only of overwhelming my opponents with sheer murderous aggression. My odds of survival had gone up a touch.

“One last thing,” Ben said before I rushed off to take my place on the fo'c's'le. He reached out and gripped my forearm. “The ship be the
Nonsuch
.”

I could feel the blood draining from my face and the sounds and sights around me were suddenly some distance away, as if I were experiencing things from the far end of a very long tunnel. “Jamie Abbot's ship?” I whispered.

“Graves gave quarter to most on the ships we took,” Ben said, sidestepping my question. “MacIsaac won't do no different. If Abbot don't put up a fight, he be safe. I'll watch for him. What he look like?”

“Tall and thin, like a bean pole. He's got a large port-wine stain on his brow, just above his left eye.” At Ben's blank look, I explained. “A large red blotch on his forehead.”

“I'll watch for him.” He gave me what I'm sure he thought was a reassuring smile and then went on about his business.

My legs felt wooden as I climbed the stairs to my place. I hunkered down behind the gunwale and closed my eyes in prayer. It was not for myself that I asked God to intercede. It was for the captain of the
Nonsuch
, and for Jamie. I prayed that the captain would realize that he was outmatched and surrender without a fight. I prayed that if the captain chose poorly, that Jamie would be safe and live to go home to Susannah and their parents. I prayed that God would help turn the
Nonsuch
's captain's heart towards peace. I prayed that God would keep Jamie safe, and that He would help Ben see Jamie immediately, before the fighting started. If it started at all. Ben said MacIsaac would give quarter. I prayed that was true.

I heard MacIsaac calling out orders from his spot near the side of the binnacle and the ship's wheel, but couldn't make heads or tails of them. I was still reeling from Ben's revelations and from the anticipation of a fight. I might be called upon to kill someone today. I might be killed myself. Almost as an afterthought before opening my eyes, I commended my soul into God's care and keeping. I felt lighter instantly, and everything around me came into sharp contrast. Colors were more vibrant, sounds louder, scents stronger. Whatever happened, I knew that if I should be killed, I would be reunited with my family in Heaven.

I checked my belt once more, feeling for the small bag Ben had given me when he'd presented my pistol. In it were extra balls, flints, and a powder measure. I also had a powder horn hanging from my belt, and as I touched it, I replayed the steps necessary to load a pistol. Ben had made me practice over and over until I could do it quickly and accurately. He promised that the knowledge and skill would keep me safe and I trusted him.

The
Jezebel
came about hard to starboard, either preparing for boarding or to fire our guns at the other ship. MacIsaac called out to Duquesne, the boatswain, to raise the black as we sailed still closer to the
Nonsuch
.

A spotter, who was high in the portside mizzen shrouds watching the other ship, called out, “She's got swivel guns, Captain! Fore and aft both.”

MacIsaac's eyes narrowed and his face went hard. “Are they manned?” he called back.

“Aye, captain! Pointing right at us.”

“Open the ports. Prepare to fire, but do not fire until my command.”

I craned my neck and looked over the top edge of the gunwale at the
Nonsuch
. I could just barely see heads sticking out above the edges of her own gunwales. Somewhere, Jamie Abbot was probably sitting just like me, maybe even praying just like me. As I thought about it, I realized that most of the men were probably in the same position. They were not hardened pirates like my crew; they were merchant sailors, probably press-ganged in Portsmouth or Bristol and held against their will, forced to work in squalid conditions for little or no pay. They were no better than galley slaves. My regard for MacIsaac grew even more; by raising the black—a sign that he was prepared to offer quarter—he had ensured many of those sailors' lives would be spared. But only if the
Nonsuch
's captain made the choice to surrender.

I prayed even harder for God to guide the
Nonsuch
's captain towards the right decision.

A quiet settled over the ships as we each waited for the other to act. I could hear the men to either side of me breathing—quick, shallow breaths that did little to calm themselves. Everywhere I looked, faces were drawn in worry or they wore expressionless masks, as each man prepared themselves for battle. Hands reflexively clenched and released weapons, gripped rosaries, or fingered other charms. The air was thick with the stench of fear-sweat and a ripple of terror swept through the decks, raising the hairs on my arms and at the nape of my neck. All eyes were on the other ship, waiting for them to strike their colors and raise a white flag.

A thunderous boom was followed immediately by an angry roaring sound as grapeshot rent the air. The deck across from me exploded in a shower of wood. Men screamed as slivers of the decks at least four inches long embedded themselves in exposed flesh or left behind jagged tears. One sailor lost his leg below the knee and another his entire right arm.

All around me confusion reigned and my mind went blank, overloaded by screams of pain and anger, shouted orders, the color of blood, the stench of burned flesh and gunpowder. I distantly heard MacIsaac deliver the order to fire just before our full battery unloaded against the side of the fluyt, the barrage tearing huge gaping holes into the hull above the waterline.

“Close with them, Mr. Harris,” MacIsaac ordered the helmsman. “And pray the bastard surrenders. Reload!”

I stood up finally, icy daggers of terror punching through my guts, and leaned over the gunwale, puking up what little I had in my stomach. I felt hands grabbing my arms and pulling me back down to the deck. A voice shouted in my ear, sounding like an angry, buzzing bee. I slapped it away and the hands shook me, rapping my head solidly against the gunwale. My vision swam and the edges of the world went a little gray. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and looked up. Ben's bloody face swam just before me. There was a ragged gash across his brow and blood was cascading down his face.

He asked a question, something about my well-being, before his hands moved briskly, with business-like precision, over my body. I tried to shove him away but he held onto me, staring into my eyes. Finally he nodded, clapped me on the shoulder, and ran into the chaos midships.

“Range?” MacIsaac called out.

“One hundred yards and closing quickly!” Duquesne replied.

“Prepare to board!” Men on the main deck below me produced ropes attached to large hooks with wicked-looking prongs at the end.

A few moments later, there was a bone-jarring thud as the hulls of the two ships collided. The men with the ropes and hooks climbed up to the gangway and stood balanced on the gunwales, and threw the ropes across the small gulf between the ships. Once the hooks were secure in the other ship's sides, pirates began pouring over the
Jezebel
, some jumping from the top of the gunwales, some crawling through the open gunports, some climbing the ropes.

The pirates and the merchant sailors squared off against each other, weapons pointed at their enemies, eyes narrowed both out of anger and against the smoke and grit in the air. Neither bunch looked anxious to start killing, though I had no doubt they would if pressed into action. The decks of the
Nonsuch
's were a mess of broken, bleeding bodies and gaping holes where our cannonballs had ripped straight through. Men moaned and screamed and I felt light-headed again and swallowed reflexively against another rising tide of bile in my throat.

I tried to sort through the crowd, looking desperately for Ben or Jamie, but I couldn't see either man through all the haze and smoke and my thick tears. I stayed behind on the
Jezebel
, watching as someone lowered a plank across the two ships, resting it on the gunwales.

A slightly frumpy figure in a gray yak's hair wig, brocade coat, and fine leather shoes emerged from the center of the crowd. MacIsaac walked across the plank, his hands resting on the butt of his pistol and the pommel of his sword. Despite his common clothes and his lack of a wig, he cut a more dashing, more noble figure than did the other captain, who probably was noble-born.

“Are you the captain of this ship?” MacIsaac called down to the man in the wig.

“I am. Sir David Wyndham Edward Tennant, Baron Glenconner,” the wig said with a courtly bow. “And you are?”

“Captain Sebastian MacIsaac, late of Nassau, New Providence,” he answered, exaggerating his Scottish accent, no doubt to drive home his nationality to the English baron. “Do I have your surrender, Glenconner?”

“My men will be safe?”

“Your men will be given the choice to join my crew or be put ashore in the next safe port we come to.” MacIsaac paused for a moment and then seemingly off-hand asked, “Tell me, did you order my ship to be fired upon?”

“I did, sir.” The wig seemed proud of his decision.

Without hesitation, MacIsaac drew his pistol and fired it at the
Nonsuch
's captain. The ball struck him square between the eyes and he collapsed to the deck. I gasped and covered my mouth in shock. Tears filled my eyes and I turned away and sank to the decks, hidden from the crew behind the gunwales. Try as I might, I was unable to rid my mind of the sight of the baron's eyes as he died. He looked so shocked and betrayed—much the same as I was feeling.