Wake of the Perdido Star (51 page)
Read Wake of the Perdido Star Online
Authors: Gene Hackman
Around midnight, as the soldiers were starting to drift back toward their barracks, Matros himself stopped next to Jack at the bar. He stared at the American bleary-eyed. “¿Cómo se llama usted?”
Jack was relieved; his patience had waned. His thoughts momentarily returned to his mother, face down in the road, eyes glazed, lips moving soundlessly. “No habla español, señor.”
The sergeant got closer and breathed into his face.
Jack smiled at him. “Do you speak English?”
The sergeant seemed to understand the word “English.” “¡Inglés, no! Español solamente.”
Jack stepped away. “I'll have that hank of hair spouting from your face clutched in my fist before the night is out, you son of a whore,” he said. Jack's smile was so broad it would have taken a cynical man indeed to discern the anger behind his words.
The sergeant did not seem to understand, nor, Jack felt, could he remember his face. Matros ordered another drink and signaled for the bartender to refill Jack's glass.
Jack didn't touch the gifted beer, but dropping his smile he looked straight ahead, watching the sergeant in the broad mirror behind the bar.
The man tried to get Jack's eye. “¿Su nombre, su nombre?”
“El hijo de Pilar.”
Jack grabbed his ale and slowly let the amber liquid spill onto the bar, never taking his eyes off the sergeant. He dropped the glass at the soldier's feet and walked toward the door. The sergeant stood dumbfounded. The tavern became deathly still. There wasn't a chance this insult could be ignored. There was a wonderful sense of well-being that surged through Jack as he walked slowly out of the tavern. It was almost like a dream.
“¡Cabrón!” the sergeant bellowed, rushing into the street. He caught up with Jack halfway down the block and spun him around with a hand as big as a breadfruit. Jack looked over his shoulder at the half dozen guardia who had followed. He deemed
there were too many to fight, so he turned, knowing the sergeant would follow. The sergeant towered over Jack, pleading with him to show himself as a man and defend his honor. Jack continued walking, glancing behind him. Finally, there were only the two of them. The rest had started back.
there were too many to fight, so he turned, knowing the sergeant would follow. The sergeant towered over Jack, pleading with him to show himself as a man and defend his honor. Jack continued walking, glancing behind him. Finally, there were only the two of them. The rest had started back.
Jack turned. “¿Me recuerda? Remember? You followed me from the American consulate the other day.”
The sergeant tried to focus. “Your español good, cabrón.” He exploded in Spanish: “Why you insult me for doing my duty? You foreign son of a bitch.”
“Was it also your duty to murder my mother, Sergeant Matros?” Jack asked in Spanish. The man blinked in disbelief, then, in recognition, uttered, “You should have been dead, like your whore mother. But no matter, you will be, soon.” A dagger appeared in the sergeant's hand. He made a slow clumsy lunge but Jack stepped aside easily and drove his foot into the man's knee.
Matros went down but was still full of fight. Jack grabbed at the hand holding the blade. The sergeant was strong but no match for Jack's speed and determination. With both hands, Jack bent the sergeant's wrist back until it cracked. Matros's scream swept the night. He tried to roll away but Jack relentlessly pounded his fists into him. Breathless, the American sat atop him, grabbing his thick mustache with his left hand. Then he stretched Matros's head back, exposing his fat neck, and the dagger made a ripping sound as it sliced through the soft skin. Matros's pin eyes became as big as doubloons, the life pouring from his throat onto the cobblestone street.
It took Jack only minutes to get back to the ship and to quickly recruit Paul and five others, all with weapons, to follow. Without a word they made their way up the deserted streets to Count de Silva's hacienda, where Jack ordered the door stove in. No one
seemed to be home. They ransacked the villa, ripping down heavy drapes, breaking dishes and glassware. Two frightened servants huddled in a corner of the great hall. Jack yelled to them, “¡Vámonos!” and they scuttled out the broken front door. The men of the
Star
took heavy silver goblets, gold plates, and anything that seemed of value, tossing them into makeshift bags. Jack stopped at a small table near the front entrance. The note he had sent to the count earlier in the day was on the table. It had been opened and presumably read.
seemed to be home. They ransacked the villa, ripping down heavy drapes, breaking dishes and glassware. Two frightened servants huddled in a corner of the great hall. Jack yelled to them, “¡Vámonos!” and they scuttled out the broken front door. The men of the
Star
took heavy silver goblets, gold plates, and anything that seemed of value, tossing them into makeshift bags. Jack stopped at a small table near the front entrance. The note he had sent to the count earlier in the day was on the table. It had been opened and presumably read.
Jack stood at the front entry and screamed for his men to torch and burn everything to the ground. They began setting fires everywhere.
Paul stood watching. “I don't think we'll be invited back.”
With a savage glint in his eye, Jack grabbed an andiron from the fireplace and drove it through the face of a beautiful grandfather clock.
“I think you've lost your sense of humor, Jackson,” Paul said.
“Let's make our way back to the ship, lads,” Jack called out. “We've got a fireworks display to start.”
The
Star
eased her bulk away from the quayside, the eerie silence markedly different from the usual roar of orders; on this night everyone knew his job. The only sound came from the creak of timbers, waking from their two-week rest, and the occasional snap of sails dropped by the crew aloft.
Star
eased her bulk away from the quayside, the eerie silence markedly different from the usual roar of orders; on this night everyone knew his job. The only sound came from the creak of timbers, waking from their two-week rest, and the occasional snap of sails dropped by the crew aloft.
At the helm, Quince whispered to Jack that they were lucky to have a shore breeze. “It'll carry us midstream and we can begin to tack. I'll tell you, I have a real knot in my craw, shipping out without that little chink on board. I'll miss that Chinaman. What's the plan, Jackson?”
For a moment, Jack thought also of Quen-Li. He hated starting the action in earnest without knowing the cook's whereabouts, but
he could delay no longer. “The plan is to provide Mr. Count de Silva enough light to be able to see his warehouses burn to the ground. I've promised him a fireworks display, and by the name of God, I'm going to live up to my word.”
he could delay no longer. “The plan is to provide Mr. Count de Silva enough light to be able to see his warehouses burn to the ground. I've promised him a fireworks display, and by the name of God, I'm going to live up to my word.”
“What took place at the embassy?”
Jack spat out an oath and sprang to the rail, calling to Mentor, swinging gracefully in the mizzen, “Ahoy up there! Look alive! Secure that bloody sheet 'fore it wakes the bleedin' town!” Mentor scrambled for the loose line. Jack returned to Quince.
“The consulate was unsympathetic. You'd think I was a criminal by the way they treated me. . . . I've given up the idea of trying to recoup the fields. They've been sold for taxes.” He paused and a wicked smile broke his face. “I intend to harvest a different sort of goods.”
“Jack, you'll do your best work if you remain calm. A cool head begets warm results.”
Jack looked at Quince and winked. “Are you good to man the helm?”
“Aye, aye, Skipper,” Quince answered.
Jack leapt from the quarterdeck to the waist of the ship, whistling softly to the men aloft to come down.
“Load the port and starboard guns. Stay starboard-to for now. We'll fire one round on each pass for range, then finish with a full broadside. Incendiary rounds, Paul, wrap them with oil rags. Scamper topside with the eyepiece and give us the range after the first round. The rest of you listen up. Once we've salvoed, we'll start our tack and try to come about a full one hundred and eighty degrees. So we'll have to look lively. Now turn to, get those pieces loaded.”
Jack returned to the quarterdeck and Quince.
“I hope the wind holds. We'll be in hell's path if we find ourselves in irons at the end of the bay.”
“I'll lay off as much as I dare, to keep up our way. But she'll be close.”
Paul and Jack had talked earlier about the targets, two warehouses
and an open long shed overflowing with dry goods. The fire from de Silva's hacienda kept the buildings along the waterfront in stark relief.
and an open long shed overflowing with dry goods. The fire from de Silva's hacienda kept the buildings along the waterfront in stark relief.
From high in the crow's nest, Paul called out for the helmsman to come five points to their port. Quince responded with a deft spin of the wheel. Another call from Paul confirmed the target.
Jack cupped his hands to his mouth. “Where away, Paul?”
“Coming up on three hundred yards off our bow.”
“What range when we're squared up?”
“Two hundred yards.”
Jack looked at Hansumbob, bouncing from one foot to the next, waiting for orders. “Bob, what's your cannon set at?”
“Two hunnert yards. Just like the man said. Yes, just like the man said. He said âtwo hunnert,' so that's what I set her at, sure did, yes sir. Just right smack on a hunnert an' a hunnert. Cranked her up there myself. She was already set on zero, Jack, so I took four full turns and it came up on two hunnert, is that what ye wanted?”
“That's it,” Jack said with a grin.
It was Jack's plan to fire a round to get the range just before reaching parallel with the warehouses. It would give them just moments to readjust the rest of the cannon for their salvo. Jack sprinted back to the quarterdeck, staring intently into the night. He called back to Hansum in a low voice, “Stand by, Bob . . . ready now . . . steady . . . fire!”
Hansumbob placed the wick with the reddened coal on the touch hole at the end of the barrel. A slight flash balanced by a tremendous boom filled the Habana night as the shot tore across the water. Jack heard Paul shout from high in the masthead that they were short fifty yards.
Jack turned to Mentor and told him to crank up half a turn and fire, starting with the number one gun. The gunner lit off his cannon, followed immediately by the next four. Paul reported at least one direct hit on the warehouse to the west. It appeared to be on fire.
Jack sprang back down to the gun deck. “Reload! Reload! We've two minutes before we come about!”
The men were already hauling the heavy cannon out of their ports and swabbing the hot barrels. Jamming the powder package into the long cylinders, they rolled the heavy iron balls wrapped in oily rags into the barrels and tamped them with the blunt end of the swab. Hansumbob reloaded first, as he had fired first. “Fire at will!” Almost in unison the starboard guns sent another flaming salvo into the western warehouse.
Jack yelled to Hansum to have the gunners stand to on the port side. He heard them securing the pieces just fired and scurrying across the ship to the port guns as he ran back to Quince at the helm. “If we come about hard now, where will we end up?”
“We'd be better to wait a minute, Jack, so our guns will be perpendicular to the shore.”
“Aye, give me the word.” Jack watched the fire from the hacienda, too anxious to stay in one place. The smoke rolled skyward, blackening the early morning sky. There were people scurrying about in a vain attempt to squelch the building's flames. Jack's concern for Quen-Li distracted him even now. They must try to find him; their triumph would seem incomplete with him gone.
The port guns had been loaded and the crew had released the port sheets. They were holding the starboard lines, waiting for their orders, grinning as they watched the fires blaze freely in the warehouse to the west. Quince shouted, “Stand by to come about!” There was wild anticipation on board as the whole crew realized that if they weren't fast enough in this next operation, they would be caught dead in the water at the end of the bay, extremely vulnerable because of the light air.
Quince commanded the men to look lively. He spun the heavy wheel to his right. The
Star
seemed to shudder for a moment, then her bow swept across the view of the burning warehouses. The crew coordinated with Quince beautifully, bringing
the ship back along the path they had just sailed, albeit fifty yards closer to shore.
Star
seemed to shudder for a moment, then her bow swept across the view of the burning warehouses. The crew coordinated with Quince beautifully, bringing
the ship back along the path they had just sailed, albeit fifty yards closer to shore.
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